Edmund Bertram's Diary (7 page)

‘I believe I have, but this is hardly fair; I see what you are at. You are quizzing me about Miss Anderson,’ said Tom.

‘No, indeed. Miss Anderson! I do not know who or what you mean. I am quite in the dark. But I wil quiz you with a great deal of pleasure, if you wil tel me what about.’

‘Ah! you carry it off very wel , but I cannot be quite so far imposed on. You must have had Miss Anderson in your eye, in describing an altered young lady. You paint too accurately for mistake. It was exactly so. The Andersons of Baker Street. We were speaking of them the other day, you know. Edmund, you have heard me mention Charles Anderson. The circumstance was precisely as this lady has represented it. When Anderson first introduced me to his family, about two years ago, his sister was not out, and I could not get her to speak to me. I sat there an hour one morning waiting for Anderson, with only her and a little girl or two in the room, the governess being sick or run away, and the mother in and out every moment with letters of business, and I could hardly get a word or a look from the young lady — nothing like a civil answer — she screwed up her mouth, and turned from me with such an air! I did not see her again for a twelvemonth. She was then out. I met her at Mrs. Holford’s, and did not recol ect her. She came up to me, claimed me as an acquaintance, stared me out of countenance; and talked and laughed til I did not know which way to look. I felt that I must be the jest of the room at the time, and Miss Crawford, it is plain, has heard the story.’

‘And a very pretty story it is, and with more truth in it, I dare say, than does credit to Miss Anderson. It is too common a fault. Mothers certainly have not yet got quite the right way of managing their daughters. I do not know where the error lies. I do not pretend to set people right, but I do see that they are often wrong.’

‘Those who are showing the world what female manners should be, are doing a great deal to set them right,’ said Tom gal antly.

‘The error is plain enough, such girls are il brought up. They are given wrong notions from the beginning. They are always acting upon motives of vanity, and there is no more real modesty in their behavior before they appear in public than afterwards,’ I said, for the business seemed clear to me.

‘I do not know, I cannot agree with you there,’ said Miss Crawford. Turning back to Tom, she said, ‘It is much worse to have girls not out give themselves the same airs and take the same liberties as if they were, which I have seen done. That is worse than anything — quite disgusting!’

‘Yes, that is very inconvenient indeed,’ agreed Tom. ‘It leads one astray; one does not know what to do. The close bonnet and demure air you describe so wel (and nothing was ever juster) tel one what is expected; but I got into a dreadful scrape last year from the want of them. I went down to Rams-gate for a week with a friend . . .’

And he embarked on another anecdote, which entertained Miss Crawford no less than the first. I searched my memory for something light and amusing with which to entertain her, but my years spent looking after the estate had given me no such diverting moments, and I was pleased when at last the conversation returned to Fanny.

‘But now I must be satisfied about Miss Price,’ said Miss Crawford. ‘Does she go to bal s? Does she dine out everywhere, as wel as at my sister’s?’

‘I do not think she has ever been to a bal ,’ I said.

‘Oh, then the point is clear. Miss Price is not out.’

I could not help thinking about the matter further, though, when Miss Crawford left us. Fanny is eighteen, and my sisters were both attending bal s by that age, schooled in what was expected of them by Mama and my aunt. But for some reason Fanny had been overlooked. I raised the point with my aunt, who said only that she was sure Fanny had no notion of being brought out, and Mama, who said that Fanny was too young, for she was not strong and so it was unsuitable for her to be brought out as early as my sisters.

‘Besides,’ she said, ‘I need Fanny to stay with me when you al go to a bal . I could not do without Fanny.’

I think, for the time being, I wil say no more, but I wil not have her neglected, and once my father returns I mean to broach the subject with him. Fanny must have her share of the pleasures as wel as everyone else, and as Mama wil no longer be lonely when Papa returns it wil then be the time for Fanny to start going into society.

Monday 18 July

Tom left for Brighton this morning. He went early, saying to me, ‘Never fear, I have promised Papa not to gamble, and I mean to keep my word. I am a reformed character!’

I gave him a look, but he only laughed, and then he was on his way. He showed no regret at leaving Miss Crawford, and as he had never once talked of abandoning his trip so that he might spend more time with her, I believe he is not serious in his feelings for her.

To my relief, Miss Crawford does not seem to be serious in her feelings for him, either. I thought she would be in low spirits at his departure, but when she and her brother cal ed on us this afternoon she was ‘bright as the day, and like the morning, fair’.

‘And are you missing your brother?’ Miss Crawford asked Julia, as we walked out in the grounds.

‘Not in the least,’ said Julia.

‘And you, Mr. Bertram?’ she asked me. ‘How wel that sounds,’ she mused, ‘for now that your brother is away, you are no longer Mr. Edmund Bertram, but Mr. Bertram. Wil you miss your brother?’

‘I wil not have time, for he wil be home again in a few weeks,’ I said.

‘Very true. I should not miss my brother if he were to go away, as he talks of doing, to look after his estate, but perhaps others here would.’

Maria said politely that of course he must be missed if he went, whereupon Crawford said that his going was by no means certain, and that as he had only himself to please, and as Mrs. Grant pressed him to stay, he believed his estate could do without him a little longer. I was pleased for Miss Crawford’s sake. She and her brother are close, and I know she enjoys his company, for al her teasing: smal wonder, when she has neither mother nor father, and only a half sister in Mrs. Grant.

We soon parted company, too soon for my liking, but we are to meet again tomorrow. Miss Crawford’s person and appearance grow on me daily and I find myself thinking that any day in which I do not see her is a day il spent.

Thursday 21 July

We were joined for dinner by Rushworth, for he had returned from visiting his friend. Maria seemed pleased to see him and introduced him proudly, which did much to al ay my fears about her feelings for him, and Rushworth seemed very pleased to be with us. Before long he began talking about the improvements his friend was making to his estate.

‘I mean to improve my own place in the same way,’ he said as we went into dinner. ‘Smith’s place is the admiration of al the country; and it was a mere nothing before Repton took it in hand. I think I shal have Repton.’

‘If I were you, I would have a very pretty shrubbery. One likes to get out into a shrubbery in fine weather,’ said Mama.

‘Smith has not much above a hundred acres altogether in his grounds, which is little enough, and makes it more surprising that the place can have been so improved. Now, at Sotherton we have a good seven hundred, without reckoning the water meadows; so that I think, if so much could be done at Compton, we need not despair.’

I saw Miss Crawford glance at Maria, and Maria looked pleased at this talk of her future home.

‘There have been two or three fine old trees cut down, that grew too near the house,’ went on Rushworth, ‘and it opens the prospect amazingly, which makes me think that Repton, or anybody of that sort, would certainly have the avenue at Sotherton down: the avenue that leads from the west front to the top of the hil , you know,’ he said. Fanny and I exchanged startled glances.

‘Cut down an avenue!’ said Fanny to me in an aside. ‘What a pity! Does it not make you think of Cowper? Ye fal en avenues, once more I mourn your fate unmerited.’

‘I am afraid the avenue stands a bad chance, Fanny,’ I said.

The conversation turned to talk of alterations in general and Miss Crawford began to speak of her uncle’s cottage at Twickenham, but as she did so I was surprised to find that she seemed to blame him for the dirt and inconvenience of the alterations he was making. Her liveliness seemed out of place and her drol comments, instead of lifting my spirits, dampened them, for it was disagreeable to hear her speak so slightingly of the man who had taken her in when her parents had died.

I was glad when the conversation moved on to her harp.

‘I am assured that it is safe at Northampton; and there it has probably been these ten days, in spite of the solemn assurances we have so often received to the contrary,’ she said. ‘I am to have it tomorrow; but how do you think it is to be conveyed? Not by a wagon or cart: oh no!

nothing of that kind could be hired in the vil age. I might as wel have asked for porters and a handbarrow.’

I smiled at her naïveté, for she was surprised that it should be difficult to hire a horse and cart at this time of year! What did she expect, when the grass had to be got in?

‘I shal understand al your ways in time; but, coming down with the true London maxim, that everything is to be got with money, I was a little embarrassed at first by the sturdy independence of your country customs,’ she said. ‘However, I am to have my harp fetched tomorrow. Henry, who is good-nature itself, has offered to fetch it in his barouche. Wil it not be honorably conveyed?’

Her humor was infectious, and I found myself looking forward to the morrow, for if there is one instrument I like above al others, it is the harp. Fanny expressed a wish to hear it, too.

‘I shal be most happy to play to you both,’ said Miss Crawford. ‘Now, Mr. Bertram, if you write to your brother, I entreat you to tel him that my harp is come. And you may say, if you please, that I shal prepare my most plaintive airs against his return, in compassion to his feelings, as I know his horse wil lose.’

‘If I write, I wil say whatever you wish me,’ I replied, rather more reluctantly than I had intended, for I was dismayed to know that she stil thought of Tom, even though he was no longer with us.

‘But I do not, at present, foresee any occasion for writing.’

‘What strange creatures brothers are! You would not write to each other but upon the most urgent necessity in the world. Henry, who is in every other respect exactly what a brother should be, who loves me, consults me, confides in me, and wil talk to me by the hour together, has never yet turned the page in a letter; and very often it is nothing more than, “Dear Mary, I am just arrived. Bath seems ful , and everything as usual. Yours sincerely.” That is the true manly style; that is a complete brother’s letter,’ she said comical y. Fanny, however, saw nothing amusing in it, and was indignant on behalf of her own brother, her much-loved Wil iam. She could not help saying boldly, ‘When they are at a distance from al their family, they can write long letters.’

I was glad that love had driven her to do what encouragement had not; for it did me good to hear her join in the conversation and express her views, rather than sit quietly by.

‘Miss Price has a brother at sea, whose excel ence as a correspondent makes her think you too severe upon us,’ I explained, as Miss Crawford looked startled.

‘Ah. I understand. He is at sea, is he? In the King’s service, of course?’

Fanny had by that time blushed for her own forwardness, but as it was an excel ent opportunity for her to speak, I remained resolutely silent, so that she had to continue. As she began to talk of Wil iam she lost her shyness, and her voice became animated as she spoke of the foreign stations he had been on; but such was her tenderness that she could not mention the number of years he had been absent without tears in her eyes.

Miss Crawford civil y wished him an early promotion, and a thought occurred to me.

‘Do you know anything of my cousin’s captain? Captain Marshal ? You have a large acquaintance in the Navy, I conclude? ’ I asked her, thinking that perhaps something might be done to help Wil iam.

‘Among admirals, large enough, for my uncle, as you know, is Admiral Crawford; but we know very little of the inferior ranks,’ she said. ‘Of various admirals I could tel you a great deal: of them and their flags, and the gradation of their pay, and their bickerings and jealousies. But, in general, I can assure you that they are al passed over, and al very il used.’

Again I was surprised and unsettled by her lack of respect for her uncle and his friends, and I replied with something or nothing, saying, ‘It is a noble profession,’ and the subject soon dropped.

A happier one ensued, and before long we were talking of the improvements to Sotherton again. Crawford’s opinion was sought, as he has done much to improve his own estate, and the long and the short of it is that we are al to make a trip to Sotherton, so that we can give our opinions as to what should be done with the park.

Friday 22 July

I found that Miss Crawford’s remarks about her uncle preyed on my mind and I decided to consult Fanny, for I knew I could rely on her judgment. I repaired to her sitting-room at the top of the house and tapped on the door. A gentle ‘Come in’ bid me enter, and I was soon inside the room. I felt better the moment I stepped over the threshold. Everything about the room spoke of Fanny’s personality: the three transparencies glowing in the window, showing the unlikely juxtaposition of Tintern Abbey, a cave in Italy and a moonlight lake in Cumberland; the family profiles hanging over the mantelpiece; the geraniums and the books; the writing desk; the works of charity; and the sketch of HMS Antwerp, done for her by Wil iam, pinned against the wal . I believe there is scarcely a room in the house with so much character or so much warmth.

‘Wel , Fanny, and how do you like Miss Crawford now?’ I asked her as I took a seat.

‘Very wel ,’ she said with a smile. ‘Very much. I like to hear her talk. She entertains me; and she is so extremely pretty, that I have great pleasure in looking at her.’