Friday 14 October

I am relieved that it is over, and that I have told my father how sorry I am for letting things get so out of hand. He was forbearing and shook hands with me, and I thought how lucky I was to have such a father. He gave instructions for Christopher Jackson to dismantle the theatre this morning, and he dismissed the scene painter. When the latter had gone we discovered how careless he had been, for he had spilt quantities of paint and had spoilt the floor. My father looked grave, but said only that he would see to its restoration, and that, all in all, he was lucky it was no worse.

This afternoon proved happier than the morning. Having seen his steward and his bailiff, and having walked in the gardens and nearest plantations, my father called me to him and congratulated me on what I had done. ‘It has all been well cared for. I could not have wished the estate in better hands,’ he said.

Rushworth returned to Sotherton first thing, leaving Maria restless, and at last the house is beginning to return to normal.


Wednesday 19 October

The Crawfords were once more with us today, and I could not help thinking how different our meeting was from the last one. Maria blanched when Crawford announced his intention of leaving the neighborhood, but I thought it no bad thing as, perhaps, he and Maria had become rather too friendly of late.


Thursday 20 October

Yates left this morning. My father walked him to the door and wished him a pleasant journey. I believe he was glad to see him go, for Yates is just the trifling, silly sort of fellow my father does not like. Indeed, I believe Julia is the only one of our party who will miss him, for she spent a great deal of time with him when he was here; perhaps more than was wise, considering that my father would never welcome him as a suitor. But she is young, and she will soon forget him. My aunt soon followed Yates out of the door, carrying a parcel.

‘I will not inconvenience you by making you dispose of the green baize curtains,’ she said to my father. ‘I will dispose of them somehow; indeed I believe I could use a pair of green baize curtains in my own home.’


Friday 21 October

The house seemed quiet today, for with Yates and Crawford gone, and the Grants excluded — my father not wishing to meet new people just at the moment — we were reduced only to ourselves. I did not regret Yates, but I regretted the Grants, and with them the Crawfords. I said as much to Fanny as we went outside for our stargazing.

‘The Grants have a claim. They seem to belong to us; they seem to be part of ourselves. I am afraid they may feel themselves neglected. But the truth is, that my father hardly knows them. If he knew them better, he would value their society as it deserves; for they are in fact exactly the sort of people he would like. We are sometimes a little in want of animation among ourselves.’

‘It does not appear to me that we are more serious than we used to be — I mean before my uncle went abroad. As well as I can recollect, it was always much the same.’

‘I believe you are right, Fanny. The novelty was in our being lively. Yet, how strong the impression that only a few weeks will give! I have been feeling as if we had never lived so before.’

‘Do you not think the house is better for being quieter?’ asked Fanny. I brought my thoughts back from their pleasant paths.

‘It is certainly a relief to have Yates and Rushworth gone. Miss Crawford we must always miss. She has been so kind to you, Fanny, that it grieves me to be without her company, but I am sure my father will want more society once he has accustomed himself to being at home.’

Fanny looked dismayed, and I asked her if she were warm enough, for the night was cold, and once I was assured she was comfortable we turned our attention to the night sky. The peace and tranquility of it were balm to my spirit, and Fanny’s spirit blossomed, too. Together we traced the constellations and did not leave off until a cold wind sprang up and drove us indoors. Once back in my room, my thoughts returned again to Mary. When I think of her, and all the light and liveliness she has brought me, I feel admiration swelling up inside me, for she has shown me a side of life I never knew existed.

I am serious, too serious, I know it. My responsibilities have made me that way. But when I listen to her... watch her... talk to her... my responsibilities melt away and I feel young, as I ought to.


Monday 24 October

I happened to go past the Parsonage today and encountered Miss Crawford and Mrs. Grant just setting out for a walk. I begged leave to accompany them and before long the three of us were walking along together.

‘What a pity the play came to nothing, after you had all worked so hard on it,’ said Mrs. Grant.

‘We must not be surprised that Sir Thomas wanted his house to himself,’ said Miss Crawford. ‘It was not to be supposed that he would welcome intrusion after his return from such a long absence.’

‘No, indeed. But it is a pity, all the same. I found myself enjoying it and I was looking forward to playing the role of Cottager’s Wife. She was a woman of good sense if not many lines.’ She turned to me. ‘And was your father pleased to be home? It must be a very big change to him, after his year in the Indies.’

‘Yes, indeed, but he is very glad to be back with us, particularly as his business was successfully concluded, for he missed Mansfield and his family.’

‘He found you all in health and looks, which was a blessing, ’ said Miss Crawford.

‘Yes. He commented particularly on Fanny’s improved appearance. He was very glad to find her looking so well.’

‘She is at an age when improvements are generally to be found. I hope she did not mind him telling her so, for she seems almost as fearful of notice and praise as other women are of neglect.’

I smiled at this, for it was true, and when I spoke to Fanny later, I noticed that she blushed again when I referred to my father’s remarks.

‘You must really begin to harden yourself to the idea of being worth looking at. You must try not to mind growing up into a pretty woman,’ I told her.

She looked at the floor in confusion, for she seems to have no idea of it, and yet Fanny is one of the prettiest young women of my acquaintance. Were it not for Miss Crawford, indeed, I believe she would be the prettiest.


Tuesday 25 October

We dined at Sotherton today, and a dull time we had of it. Rushworth talked of his dogs and his sport, Maria seemed out of sorts, and spoke barely two words to anyone. She took no notice of Rushworth and I wondered again if she should be marrying him.

I cannot make her out. Sometimes she seems pleased with him, or to miss him, but sometimes she seems as though she wishes herself far removed from him.

My aunt and Mrs. Rushworth were the only people who seemed to enjoy the evening, and I was glad when it was over.


Wednesday 26 October

I could contain myself no longer. I spoke to my father about Maria’s engagement this morning, telling him of my concerns, but he reassured me by saying he had already spoken to her about it.

‘She assures me that she has no desire of breaking the engagement, that she has the highest esteem for Mr. Rushworth’s character and disposition, and she has no doubt of her happiness with him,’ he said.

I looked my doubts.

‘Love is not the only reason for marriage, Edmund,’ he said to me seriously, ‘in fact it is sometimes better if a woman is not blinded by love for then she goes into the marriage with a clear mind, and has no unpleasant surprises. Rushworth will never be a leading character, but he has no vices. Besides, a young woman who does not marry for love is in general more attached to her own home, and Mansfield Park being such an easy distance from Sotherton, it means only that we will see more of Maria here than we would otherwise.’

I was not comforted by this interview as much as I had expected to be, but if my father is satisfied that Maria will be happy, and if she herself is still in favor of the match, then I believe the marriage will go ahead.


Monday 31 October

Mrs. Rushworth has moved out of Sotherton, in preparation for Maria’s wedding, and has gone, with her maid and her footman, to Bath.

NOVEMBER

Friday 11 November

And so it has happened at last. This morning Maria was married. The wedding went well, with Maria being in good looks and elegantly dressed, attended by Fanny and Julia. Mama stood with her salts in her hand all the time, whilst my father looked dignified. Dr Grant performed the ceremony with feeling and then it was done.

‘I knew how it would be as soon as I saw her with him for the first time last year,’ said Aunt Norris this evening. ‘ “What a thing it would be for our Maria to marry Mr. Rushworth”, I said, and now, you see, with a little contriving, it has come to pass. How happy Maria looked this morning!

And no wonder. The mistress of Sotherton, with a house in London, and the added felicity of a few weeks in Brighton to enjoy. How lucky she is, to be going to Brighton! And it is just as lovely at this time of year as it is in the summer.’

‘Just so,’ said my father.

‘And how lucky Julia is, to be going with her, for she is sure to enjoy the amusements as much as Maria. And when they have exhausted the novelty of Brighton, they will have London to look forward to.’

She continued in similar vein until at last she had talked herself to a standstill. A silence fell. There was no Maria at the pianoforte or Julia wandering around the room; no Tom, for he has gone to town, and no Crawford, for he has returned to his estate.