She is right in this, but I cannot help protecting her for I have done so almost half my life, and indeed I do not think I could stop now even if I wanted to.


Tuesday 2 August

We rode out to the common this morning and I was astounded by Miss Crawford’s rapid progress.

‘You did not think I could do it,’ she said to me teasingly. ‘Come, admit it.’

‘On the contrary, I never had a doubt of it,’ I told her. ‘I have seldom seen anyone take to horseback as rapidly as you have done.’

‘We must go out again tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I am sure there must be some other fine rides hereabouts, and we ought to make the most of the weather whilst it is so fine.’

‘Oh, yes, there are many pleasant rides,’ said Maria, ‘and there are an abundance of shady lanes, so that we may take our exercise even if the day is hot.’

‘Then I am at your disposal,’ said Miss Crawford.

Crawford was included in the invitation and we have arranged to meet again early tomorrow morning.


Wednesday 3 August

Three times now we have ridden around the country and Miss Crawford has never once complained of the heat, though it has been very hot. Today was no exception and we were all glad to arrive back at the Parsonage, where we sat in the shade and drank lemonade.

‘You must dine with us this evening,’ said Mrs. Grant. She turned to Maria. ‘We cannot prevail upon you to stay with us, of course, Miss Bertram, as rumor has it a certain person might be calling at the Park this evening, and we must not suppose any entertainment we can offer you will be equal to his. But I hope we may prevail upon you, Mr. Bertram, and you, Miss Julia, to join us.’

Maria returned to the Park and Julia and I spent a very agreeable evening at the Parsonage, with a fine dinner and Miss Crawford’s excellent harp to entertain us. Crawford joined her in a song and persuaded Julia to join in, too. Usually reluctant to sing, she yielded to Crawford’s entreaties and we were all very well entertained.

Julia and I walked home through the warm summer evening, glowing and cheerful, but when we returned to the Park we found that Maria, Mama and Aunt Norris were very much the reverse. Maria would scarcely raise her eyes from her book and wore a scowl; Mama was half asleep and even Aunt Norris was silent. Fanny was nowhere to be seen, but when I asked if she had gone to bed, her own gentle voice spoke from the other end of the room and she said she was on the sofa.

‘That is a very foolish trick, Fanny, to be idling away all the evening upon a sofa,’ my aunt scolded her. ‘Why cannot you come and sit here, and employ yourself as we do? If you have no work of your own, I can supply you from the poor-basket. You should learn to think of other people; and take my word for it, it is a shocking trick for a young person to be always lolling upon a sofa.’

‘I must say, ma’am, that Fanny is as little upon the sofa as anybody in the house,’ remarked Julia.

Fanny by this time had joined my aunt at the table, and I saw that she was looking far from well. When I questioned her, she admitted she had a headache, and that she had had one since before dinner. It was not hard to find out why, for my aunt had sent her out into the garden to cut roses.

‘It was very hot,’ said Mama, ‘though it was shady enough in the alcove where I was sitting.’

I was vexed that Fanny had been so ill used, and further vexed to discover that she had not only been standing and stooping in the hot sun, but that she had been sent across the park to my aunt’s house twice, the first time to take the roses and the second time to lock the door.

‘For she forgot to lock it the first time, so she was obliged to go again,’ said my aunt.

‘This should never have happened,’ I said, as I put my hand sympathetically on Fanny’s head. ‘It was too hot for anyone to walk much in the sun today, and certainly too hot for Fanny.’

‘If Fanny would be more regular in her exercise, she would not be knocked up so soon,’ said my aunt. ‘She has not been out on horseback now this long while, and I am persuaded that when she does not ride she ought to walk.’

I said no more, but took a glass of Madeira to Fanny and made her drink it. Vexed as I was with Mama and Aunt Norris for keeping her out so long in the sun, I was more vexed with myself, for it was I who had deprived her of her exercise by encouraging Miss Crawford to ride the mare. And it was I who had left her without any choice of companionship whilst we were away.

However unwilling I was to check a pleasure of Miss Crawford’s, I resolved that Fanny must have the mare whenever she wanted, for I would not see her ill again.


Thursday 4 August

I made good my resolve and took Fanny out for a ride this morning. I found that I had missed her company. The pleasant, fresh-feeling morning inspired us to travel farther afield than usual and we rode to Bridge’s farm. We called in to see Mrs. Bridge, for Fanny had heard that she was not well, and found her in bed with the new baby beside her. The other children were running wild, for although the eldest girl did her best, the younger ones would not mind her. Fanny set about seeing to Mrs. Bridge’s comfort and helping her with the baby whilst I called the children to order, and soon they were usefully occupied. When we left the house there were fresh flowers in an earthenware jar on the windowsill, the floor had been swept, Mrs. Bridge was easy, the baby was sleeping, and the other children were playing outside in the sunshine. We returned to the house. Having seen Fanny safely indoors, I went round to the stables to speak to the coachman, and when I went into the house at last I found that Rushworth and his mother were there. They had revived the plan of a visit to Sotherton and it had been decided that we would all go on Wednesday; all except Fanny, who was to stay at home with Mama.

‘I am sure Fanny would like the visit,’ I said. ‘I know she particularly wants to see the avenue. She may take my place and I will stay at home with you, Mama.’

There were the usual protests but at last I had my way.


Monday 8 August

There was a change of plan this morning, for Mrs. Grant offered to stay behind with Mama, and so I am to go with the others to Sotherton. I could not help my spirits rising at the thought of spending a day with Miss Crawford.


Wednesday 10 August

It was a perfect morning for our journey to Sotherton. Crawford arrived early with his sisters and Mrs. Grant alighted from the carriage, saying, ‘As there are five of you, it will be better that one should sit with Henry, and as you were saying lately, that you wished you could drive, Julia, I think this will be a good opportunity for you to take a lesson.’

Julia mounted the box and sat next to Crawford whilst Maria took her seat within. Fanny and Miss Crawford joined her and I mounted my horse. Mrs. Grant and Mama waved us of, with Pug barking in Mama’s arms, and we were away.

As I rode behind the barouche I could not help but observe Fanny, and take satisfaction from her expression, which spoke of her delight at everything she saw. The road to Sotherton was new to her and her face lit up at each new view. The landscape was pretty with the harvest and there was plenty to see, with the cottages, the cattle and the children all adding to the color.

‘These woods belong to Sotherton,’ said Maria as we reached Rushworth land, and she was rewarded by a look of admiration from Fanny, for indeed, the woods were majestic, and in the heat of the day they delighted us not only with their grandeur but with their ability to provide us with welcome shade. ‘I believe it is all now Mr. Rushworth’s property, on either side of the road.’

The mansion soon came in view. Miss Crawford looked curious, Fanny interested, and Maria proud, and small wonder, for it is a fine property. Julia paid it no heed, for she was attending to Crawford, and he was equally absorbed in teaching her.

We arrived at last and found Rushworth at the door to receive us. Maria blossomed under his attentions, and the attentions of his mother, and she pointed out all the attractions of the house to Mary Crawford with the consciousness of a young woman who would soon be calling it home.

‘This is very elegant,’ said Miss Crawford as we went into the dining-parlor, where a collation was laid out.

‘It is one of the newer additions to the house,’ said Mrs. Rushworth. She was an attentive hostess and, as we ate, Rushworth returned to the subject of the improvements to the estate. He proposed driving Crawford round it in his curricle when he should have finished his repast, the better to give his opinion.

‘But that would be to deprive ourselves of other eyes and other judgments. Would it not be better to find some carriage that could accommodate us all?’ Crawford asked. The point was still being discussed by the time we finished our repast, and the matter was delayed by Mrs. Rushworth offering to show us around the house before we set out. Fanny was fascinated by the furniture and the rugs; the marble and the damask; and the family portraits which lined the walls. Miss Crawford, though, was restless, and confided in me that she had seen many such houses.

We went into the chapel, and here Fanny was disappointed.

‘This is not my idea of a chapel. There is nothing awful here, nothing melancholy, nothing grand, no fleur-de-lys, or quatre-geuille, or garlands.’

‘You have been influenced too much by Scott. This is no Melrose Abbey,’ I said with a smile, for Fanny’s reading had prepared her for something far more Gothic.