October 19, 2025 • 24 mins
Listen Ad Free https://www.solgoodmedia.com - Listen to hundreds of audiobooks, thousands of short stories, and ambient sounds all ad free! Join us as we unveil a new chapter each day from Austen's celebrated works, including "The Watsons," "Sense and Sensibility," "Pride and Prejudice," "Persuasion," "Northanger Abbey," "Mansfield Park," "Love and Friendship," "Lesley Castle - Dramatic Reading," "Lady Susan," "Jane Austen's Juvenilia," and "Emma." Delight in the charm, romance, and wit that have captivated readers for centuries, expertly narrated for your listening pleasure. Whether you're savoring Austen's prose for the first time or revisiting old favorites, let Daily Jane Austen be your daily escape into the refined world of classic literature. Subscribe now and embark on a daily journey through Austen's timeless tales!
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter thirty eight. The novelty of traveling and the happiness
of being with William soon produced their natural effect on
Fanny's spirits. When Mansfield Park was fairly left behind, and
by the time their first stage was ended and they
were to quit Sir Thomas's carriage, she was able to
take leave of the old coachman and send back proper
(00:21):
messages with cheerful looks. Of pleasant talk. Between the brother
and sister, there was no end. Everything supplied an amusement
to the high glee of William's mind, and he was
full of frolic and joke in the intervals of their
higher toned subjects, all of which ended if they did
not begin in praise of the Thrush conjectures how she
(00:41):
would be employed schemes for an action with some superior force, which,
supposing the First Lieutenant out of the way, and William
was not very merciful to the first Lieutenant, was to
give himself the next step as soon as possible, or
speculations upon prize money, which was to be generously distributed
at home, with only the reservation of enough to make
(01:02):
the little cottage comfortable in which he and Fanny were
to pass All their middle and latter life together. Fanny's
immediate concerns, as far as they involved mister Crawford, made
no part of their conversation. William knew what had passed,
and from his heart lamented that his sister's feelings should
be so cold towards a man whom he must consider
as the first of human characters. But he was of
(01:25):
an age to be all for love and therefore unable
to blame, and knowing her wish on the subject, he
would not distress her by the slightest allusion. She had
reason to suppose herself not yet forgotten by mister Crawford.
She had heard repeatedly from his sister within the three
weeks which had passed since their leaving Mansfield, and in
each letter there had been a few lines from himself,
(01:47):
warm and determined like his speeches. It was a correspondence
which Fanny found quite as unpleasant as she had feared.
Miss Crawford's style of writing, lively and affectionate, was itself
an evil, independent of what she was thus forced into
reading from the brother's pen. For Edmund would never rest
till she had read the chief of the letter to him,
(02:08):
and then she had to listen to his admiration of
her language and the warmth of her attachments. There had,
in fact been so much of message, of allusion, of recollection,
so much of Mansfield in every letter, that Fanny could
not but suppose it meant for him to hear, and
to find herself forced into a purpose of that kind,
compelled into a correspondence which was bringing her the addresses
(02:31):
of the man she did not love, and obliging her
to administer to the adverse passion of the man she
did was cruelly mortifying. Here too, her present removal promised
advantage when no longer under the same roof with Edmund.
She trusted that Miss Crawford would have no motive for
writing strong enough to overcome the trouble, and that at
(02:52):
Portsmouth their correspondence would dwindle into nothing. With such thoughts
as these, among ten hundred others, Fanny proceeded in her
journey safely and cheerfully and as expeditiously as could rationally
be hoped. In the dirty month of February, they entered Oxford,
but she could take only a hasty glimpse of Edmund's
college as they passed along, and made no stop anywhere
(03:14):
till they reached Newbury, where a comfortable meal uniting dinner
and supper wound up the enjoyments and fatigues of the day.
The next morning saw them off again at an early hour,
and with no events and no delays, they regularly advanced
and were in the environs of Portsmouth, while there was
yet daylight for Fanny to look around her and wonder
(03:35):
at the new buildings. They passed the drawbridge and entered
the town, and the light was only beginning to fail.
As guided by William's powerful voice, they were rattled into
a narrow street leading from the high Street, and drawn
up before the door of a small house now inhabited
by mister Price. Fanny was all agitation and flutter, all
(03:55):
hope and apprehension. The moment they stopped, a trollopy looking
maid servant seemingly in waiting for them at the door,
stepped forward, and more intent on telling the news than
giving them any help, immediately began with the thrush is
gone out of arbor, please sir, and one of the
officers has been up dere too. She was interrupted by
a fine tall boy of eleven years old, who, rushing
(04:18):
out of the house, pushed the maid aside, and while
William was opening the chaise door himself, called out, you
are just in time. We've been looking for you this
half hour. The Thrush went out of harbor this morning.
I saw her. It was a beautiful sight. And they
think she will have her orders in a day or two.
And mister Campbell was here at four o'clock to ask
for you. He has got one of the Thrush's boats
(04:39):
and is going off to her at six, and hoped
you would be here in time to go with him.
A stair or twoward Fanny, as William helped her out
of the carriage, was all the voluntary notice which this
brother bestowed, but he made no objection to her kissing him,
though still entirely engaged in detailing father particulars of the
Thrushes going out of harbor, in which he had a
strong right of interest, being to commence his career of
(05:01):
seamanship in her. At this very time another moment, and
Fanny was in the narrow entrance passage of the house
and in her mother's arms, who met her there with
looks of true kindness and with features which Fanny loved
the more because they brought her aunt Bertram's before her,
and there were her two sisters, Susan, a well grown,
fine girl of fourteen, and Betsy, the youngest of the family,
(05:24):
about five, both glad to see her in their way,
though with no advantage of manner in receiving her. But
manner Fanny did not want. Would they but love her,
she should be satisfied. She was then taken into a
parlor so small that her first conviction was of its
being only a passage room to something better, And she
stood for a moment expecting to be invited on. But
(05:46):
when she saw there was no other door, and that
there were signs of habitation before her, she called back
her thoughts, reproved herself, and grieved lest they should have
been suspected. Her mother, however, could not stay long enough
to suspect anything. She was gone again to the street
door to welcome William. Oh my dear William, how glad
I am to see you. But have you heard about
(06:06):
the thrush? She has gone out of harbor already three
days before we had any thought of it. And I
do not know what I am to do about Sam's things.
They will never be ready in time, for she may
have her orders to morrow. Perhaps it takes me quite unawares.
And now you must be off for Spithead too. Campbell
has been here quite in a worry about you, And
now what shall we do? I thought to have had
(06:28):
such a comfortable evening with you, and here everything comes
upon me at once, Her son answered, cheerfully, telling her
that everything was always for the best, and making light
of his own inconvenience in being obliged to hurry away
so soon. To be sure, I had much rather she
had stayed in harbor, that I might have sat a
few hours with you in comfort. But as there is
(06:48):
a boat ashore, I had better go off at once,
and there is no help for it. Whereabouts does the
thrush lay at Spithead near the canopus? But no matter.
Here's Fanny in the parlor, and why should we stay
in the passage? Come? Mother, you have hardly looked at
your own dear Fanny. Yet in they both came, and
missus Price, having kindly kissed her daughter again and commented
(07:09):
a little on her grove, began with very natural solicitude
to feel for their fatigues and wants as travelers, poor DearS,
how tired you must both be, and now what will
you have? I began to think you would never come, Betsy,
and I have been watching for you this half hour.
And when did you get anything to eat? And what
would you like to have? Now? I could not tell
whether you would be for some meat or only a
(07:31):
dish of tea after your journey, or else I would
have got something ready. And now I am afraid Campbell
will be here before there is time to dress a steak.
And we have no butcher at hand. It is very
inconvenient to have no butcher in the street. We were
better off in our last house. Perhaps you would like
some tea as soon as it can be got. They
both declared they should prefer it to anything. Then, Betsy,
(07:51):
my dear, run into the kitchen and see if Rebecca
has put the water on, and tell her to bring
in the tea things as soon as she can. I
wish we could get the bell mended, but Betsy is
a very handy little messenger. Betsey went with alacrity, proud
to show her abilities before her fine new sister. Dear
me continued the anxious mother. What a sad fire we
have got? And I dare say you are both starved
(08:13):
with cold. Draw your chair nearer, my dear. I cannot
think what Rebecca has been about. I am sure I
told her to bring some coals half an hour ago. Susan,
you should have taken care of the fire. I was upstairs, Mama,
moving my things, said Susan in a fearless, self defending tone,
which startled Fanny. You know you had, but just settled
(08:33):
that my sister, Fanny and I should have the other room,
and I could not get Rebecca to give me any help.
Father discussion was prevented by various bustles. First the driver
came to be paid. Then there was a squabble between
Sam and Rebecca about the manner of carrying up his
sister's trunk, which he would manage all his own way.
And lastly in walked mister Price himself, his own loud
(08:56):
voice preceding him as with something of the oath kind.
He kicked away his son's portmanteau and his daughter's band
box in the passage and called out for a candle.
No candle was brought, however, and he walked into the room. Fanny,
with doubting feelings, had risen to meet him, but sank
down again on finding herself undistinguished in the dusk and
(09:16):
on thought of. With a friendly shake of his son's
hand and an eager voice, he instantly began, ha, welcome back,
my boy, glad to see you. Have you heard the news?
The thrush went out of arbor this morning, sharp as
the word. You see. By God, you are just in time.
The doctor has been here inquiring for you. He has
got one of the boats and is to be off
for Spithead by six, so you'd better go with him.
(09:38):
I have been to Turners about your mess. It is
all in a way to be done. I should not
wonder if you add your orders to morrow. But you
cannot sail with this wind if you are to cruise
to the westward, and Captain Walsh thinks you will certainly
have a cruise to the westward with the elephant. By God,
I wish you may. But all Scholarly was saying just
now that he thought you would be sent first to
the Texel. Well, well, we are ready whatever happens. But
(10:00):
by God, you lost a fine sight by not being
here in the morning to see the thrush go out
of harbor. I would not have been out of the
way for a thousand pounds. Oh scowly ran in at
breakfast time to say she had slipped her moorings and
was coming out. I jumped up and made but two
steps to the platform. If ever there was a perfect
beauty afloat, she is one, and there she lays at Spithead,
(10:21):
and anybody in England would take her for an eight
and twenty. I was upon the platform two hours this
afternoon looking at her. She lays close to the Endymion,
between her and the Cleopatra, just to the eastward of
the sheer Hulk. Huh, cried William. That's just where I
should have put her myself. It's the best berth at Spithead.
But here is my sister, sir, Here is Fanny, turning
(10:42):
and leading her forward. It is so dark you do
not see her. With an acknowledgment that he had quite
forgot her. Mister Price now received his daughter, and, having
given her a cordial hug, and observed that she was
grown into a woman, and he supposed would be wanting
a husband soon, seemed very much inclined to forget her again.
Fanny shrunk back to her seat with feelings sadly pained
(11:04):
by his language and his smell of spirits, and he
talked on only to his son, and only of the thrush,
though William warmly interested as he was in that subject,
more than once tried to make his father think of
Fanny and her long absence and long journey. After sitting
some time longer, a candle was obtained, but as there
(11:24):
was still no appearance of tea, nor from Betsy's reports
from the kitchen, much hope of any under a considerable period,
William determined to go and change his dress and make
the necessary preparations for his removal on board, directly that
he might have his tea in comfort afterwards. As he
left the room, two rosy faced boys, ragged and dirty,
about eight and nine years old, rushed into it, just
(11:47):
released from school and coming eagerly to see their sister
and tell that the thrush was gone out of harbor.
Tom and Charles. Charles had been born since Fanny's going away,
but Tom she had often helped to nurse, and now
felt a particular pleasure in seeing again. Both were kissed
very tenderly, but Tom she wanted to keep by her,
to try to trace the features of the baby she
(12:09):
had loved, and talk to him of his infant preference
of herself. Tom however, had no mind for such treatment.
He came home not to stand and be talked to,
but to run about and make a noise, And both
boys had soon burst away from her and slammed the
parlor door. Till her temples ached. She had now seen
all that were at home. There remained only two brothers
(12:30):
between herself and Susan, one of whom was a clerk
in a public office in London, and the other midshipman
on board an Indiaman. But though she had seen all
the members of the family, she had not yet heard
all the noise they could make. Another quarter of an
hour brought her a great deal more. William was soon
calling out from the landing place of the second story
(12:50):
for his mother and for Rebecca. He was in distress
for something that he had left there and did not
find again. A key was mislaid. Betsy, accused of having
got his new hat and some slight but essential alteration
of his uniform waistcoat, which he had been promised to
have done for him, entirely neglected. Missus Price, Rebecca and
Betsy all went up to defend themselves, all talking together,
(13:12):
but Rebecca loudest, and the job was to be done
as well as it could in a great hurry, William
trying in vain to send Betsy down again or keep
her from being troublesome where she was, the whole of which,
as almost every door in the house was open, could
be plainly distinguished in the parlor, except when drowned at
intervals by the superior noise of Sam, Charm and Charles
(13:33):
chasing each other up and down stairs, and tumbling about
and hallooing. Fanny was almost stunned. The smallness of the
house and thinness of the walls brought everything so close
to her that added to the fatigue of her journey
and all her recent agitation, she hardly knew how to
bear it. Within the room, all was tranquil enough for Susan.
(13:55):
Having disappeared with the others, there were soon only her
father and herself remaining, and he, taking out a newspaper
the accustomary loan of a neighbor, applied himself to studying it,
without seeming to recollect her existence. The solitary candle was
held between himself and the paper, without any reference to
her possible convenience. But she had nothing to do, and
(14:16):
was glad to have the light screened from her aching head.
As she sat in bewildered, broken, sorrowful contemplation. She was
at home, but alas it was not such a home,
she had not such a welcome. As she checked herself,
she was unreasonable. What right had she to be of
importance to her family? She could have none, so long
(14:38):
lost sight of William's concerns must be dearest there had
always been, and he had every right. Yet to have
so little said or asked about herself, to have scarcely
an inquiry made after Mansfield. It did pain her to
have Mansfield forgotten, the friends who had done so much,
the dear, dear friends. But here one subject swallowed up
(15:01):
all the rest. Perhaps it must be so, the destination
of the thrush must be now pre eminently interesting. A
day or two might show the difference. She only was
to blame. Yet she thought it would not have been
so at Mansfield. No, in her uncle's house there would
have been a consideration of times and seasons, a regulation
(15:21):
of subject, a propriety and attention towards everybody, which there
was not here. The only interruption which thoughts like these
received for nearly half an hour was from a sudden
burst of her father's not at all calculated to compose
them at a more than ordinary pitch of thumping and hallooing.
In the passage, he exclaimed, devil, take those young dogs,
(15:43):
how they are singing out? Ay, Sam's voice louder than
all the rest. That boy is fit for a boswain.
Hollah you there, Sam, stop your confounded pipe. Rushall be
after you. This threat was so palpably disregarded that though
within five minutes afterwards the three boys all burst into
the room together and sat down, Fanny could not consider
(16:04):
it as a proof of anything more than their being
for the time thoroughly fagged, which their hot faces and
panting breath seemed to prove, especially as they were still
kicking each other's shins and hallooing out ats sudden starts
immediately under their father's eye. The next opening of the
door brought something more welcome. It was for the tea
things which she had begun almost to despair of seeing
(16:25):
that evening. Susan and an attendant girl whose inferior appearance
informed Fanny, to her great surprise, that she had previously
seen the upper servant brought in everything necessary for the meal. Susan,
looking as she put the kettle on the fire, and
glanced at her sister, as if divided between the agreeable
triumph of showing her activity and usefulness and the dread
(16:46):
of being thought to demean herself by such an office.
She had been into the kitchen, she said to hurry
Sally and help make the toast and spread the bread
and butter. Or she did not know when they should
have got tea, and she was sure her sister must
want something off her journey. Fanny was very thankful, she
could not but own that she should be very glad
of a little tea. And Susan immediately set about making
(17:08):
it as if pleased to have the employment all to herself,
and with only a little unnecessary bustle, and some few
injudicious attempts at keeping her brothers in better order than
she could, acquitted herself very well. Fanny's spirit was as
much refreshed as her body. Her head and heart were
soon the better for such well timed kindness. Susan had
an open, sensible countenance. She was like William, and Fanny
(17:31):
hoped to find her like him in disposition and good
will towards herself. In this more placid state of things,
William re entered, followed not far behind by his mother
and Betsy. He complete in his lieutenant's uniform, looking and
moving all the taller, firmer, and more graceful for it,
and with the happiest smile over his face, walked up
(17:52):
directly to Fanny, who, rising from her seat, looked at
him for a moment in speechless admiration, and then threw
her arms round his neck to sob out her various
emotions of pain and pleasure. Anxious not to appear unhappy,
she soon recovered herself, and, wiping away her tears, was
able to notice and admire all the striking parts of
(18:12):
his dress, listening with reviving spirits to his cheerful hopes
of being on shore some part of every day before
they sailed, and even of getting her to spithead to
see the sloop. The next bustle brought in mister Campbell,
the surgeon of the Thrush, a very well behaved young
man who came to call for his friend, and for
whom there was, with some contrivance, found a chair, and
(18:33):
with some hasty washing of the young tea makers a
cup and saucer, And after another quarter of an hour
of earnest talk between the gentlemen, noise rising upon noise,
and bustle upon bustle, men and boys, at last all
in motion together, the moment came for setting off. Everything
was ready, William took leave, and all of them were
gone for the three boys, in spite of their mother's entreaty,
(18:56):
determined to see their brother and mister Campbell to the
sally port, and mister Price walked off at the same
time to carry back his neighbour's newspaper. Something like tranquility
might now be hoped for, And accordingly, when Rebecca had
been prevailed on to carry away the tea things and
missus Price had walked about the room some time looking
for a shirt sleeve, which Betsy at last hunted out
(19:17):
from a drawer in the kitchen. The small party of
females were pretty well composed, and the mother, having lamented
again over the impossibility of getting Sam ready in time,
was at leisure to think of her eldest daughter and
the friends she had come from. A few inquiries began,
but one of the earliest, how did her sister Bertram
manage about her servants, was she as much plagued as
(19:39):
herself to get tolerable servants soon led her mind away
from Northamptonshire and fixed it on her own domestic grievances,
And the shocking character of all the Portsmouth servants, of
whom she believed her own too were the very worst,
engrossed her completely. The Bertrams were all forgotten in detailing
the thoughts of Rebecca, against whom Susan had also much
(19:59):
to depose, and little Betsy a great deal more, and
who did seem so thoroughly without a single recommendation that
Fanny could not help modestly presuming that her mother meant
to part with her when her year was up. Her year,
cried missus Price. I am sure I shall be rid
of her before she has stayed a year, for that
will not be up till November. Servants are come to
(20:20):
such a pass, my dear im Portsmouth, that it is
quite a miracle if one keeps them more than half
a year. I have no hope of ever being settled.
And if I was to part with Rebecca, I should
only get something worse. And yet I do not think
I am a very difficult mistress to please. And I
am sure the place is easy enough, for there is
always a girl under her, and I often do half
(20:40):
the work myself. Fanny was silent, but not from being
convinced that there might not be a remedy found for
some of these evils. As she now sat looking at Betsy,
she could not but think particularly of another sister, a
very pretty little girl, whom she had left there not
much younger when she went into Northamptonshire, who had died
of few years afterwards. There had been something remarkably amiable
(21:04):
about her. Fanny in those early days had preferred her
to Susan, and when the news of her death had
at last reached Mansfield, had for a short time been
quite afflicted. The sight of Betsy brought the image of
little Mary back again, but she would not have pained
her mother by alluding to her for the world. While
considering her with these ideas, Betsy, at a small distance
(21:26):
was holding out something to catch her eyes, meaning to
screen it at the same time from Susan's What have
you got there, my love, said Fanny, Come and show
it to me. It was a silver knife. Up jumped Susan,
claiming it as her own, and trying to get it away,
but the child ran to her mother's protection, and Susan
could only reproach, which she did very warmly and evidently
(21:48):
hoping to interest Fanny on her side. It was very
hard that she was not to have her own knife.
It was her own knife. Little sister Mary had left
it to her upon her deathbed, and she ought to
have had it to keep herself long ago. But Mamma
kept it from her and was always letting Betsy get
hold of it, and the end of it would be
that Betsy would spoil it and get it for her own,
though Mamma had promised her that Betsy should not have
(22:09):
it in her own hands. Fanny was quite shocked. Every
feeling of duty, honor, and tenderness was wounded by her
sister's speech and her mother's reply. Now, Susan cried missus
Price in a complaining voice. Now, how can you be
so cross? You are always quarreling about that knife. I
wish you would not be so quarrelsome poor little Betsy,
(22:31):
How cross Susan is to you. But you should not
have taken it out, my dear, when I sent you
to the drawer. You know I told you not to
touch it, because Susan is so cross about it. I
must hide it another time, Betsy, poor Mary little thought
it would be such a bone of contention when she
gave it me to keep only two hours before she died,
poor little soul, she could but just speak to be heard,
(22:52):
and she said, so prettily, let sister Susan have my knife, Mamma,
when I am dead and buried. Poor little dear. She
was so fond of it, Fanny, that she would have
it lay by her in bed all through her illness.
It was the gift of her good godmother, Old missus
Admiral Maxwell, only six weeks before she was taken for death,
Poor little sweet creature. Well she has been taken away
(23:14):
from evil to come my own, Betsy, fondling her, you
have not the luck of such a good godmother. Aunt
Norris lives too far off to think of such little
people as you. Fanny had indeed nothing to convey from
Aunt Norris but a message to say she hoped her
goddaughter was a good girl and learnt her book. There
had been at one moment a slight murmur in the
(23:35):
drawing room at Mansfield Park about sending her a prayer book,
but no second sound had been heard of such a purpose.
Missus Norris, however, had gone home and taken down two
old prayer books of her husband with that idea, but
upon examination the ardor of generosity went off. One was
found to have too small a print for a child's eyes,
(23:55):
and the other to be too cumbersome for her to
carry about. Fanny, fatigued and fatigued again, was thankful to
accept the first invitation of going to bed, and before
Betsy had finished her cry at being allowed to set
up only one hour extraordinary in honor of sister, she
was off, leaving all below in confusion and noise again,
the boys begging for toasted cheese, her father calling out
(24:18):
for his rum and water, and Rebecca never where she
ought to be. There was nothing to raise her spirits
in the confined and scantily furnished chamber that she was
to share with Susan. The smallness of the rooms above
and below, indeed, and the narrowness of the passage and staircase,
struck her beyond her imagination. She soon learned to think
with respect of her own little attic at Mansfield Park,
(24:41):
in that house reckoned too small, for anybody's comfort. End
of chapter thirty eight,
Chapter thirty eight. The novelty of traveling and the happiness
of being with William soon produced their natural effect on
Fanny's spirits. When Mansfield Park was fairly left behind, and
by the time their first stage was ended and they
were to quit Sir Thomas's carriage, she was able to
take leave of the old coachman and send back proper
(00:21):
messages with cheerful looks. Of pleasant talk. Between the brother
and sister, there was no end. Everything supplied an amusement
to the high glee of William's mind, and he was
full of frolic and joke in the intervals of their
higher toned subjects, all of which ended if they did
not begin in praise of the Thrush conjectures how she
(00:41):
would be employed schemes for an action with some superior force, which,
supposing the First Lieutenant out of the way, and William
was not very merciful to the first Lieutenant, was to
give himself the next step as soon as possible, or
speculations upon prize money, which was to be generously distributed
at home, with only the reservation of enough to make
(01:02):
the little cottage comfortable in which he and Fanny were
to pass All their middle and latter life together. Fanny's
immediate concerns, as far as they involved mister Crawford, made
no part of their conversation. William knew what had passed,
and from his heart lamented that his sister's feelings should
be so cold towards a man whom he must consider
as the first of human characters. But he was of
(01:25):
an age to be all for love and therefore unable
to blame, and knowing her wish on the subject, he
would not distress her by the slightest allusion. She had
reason to suppose herself not yet forgotten by mister Crawford.
She had heard repeatedly from his sister within the three
weeks which had passed since their leaving Mansfield, and in
each letter there had been a few lines from himself,
(01:47):
warm and determined like his speeches. It was a correspondence
which Fanny found quite as unpleasant as she had feared.
Miss Crawford's style of writing, lively and affectionate, was itself
an evil, independent of what she was thus forced into
reading from the brother's pen. For Edmund would never rest
till she had read the chief of the letter to him,
(02:08):
and then she had to listen to his admiration of
her language and the warmth of her attachments. There had,
in fact been so much of message, of allusion, of recollection,
so much of Mansfield in every letter, that Fanny could
not but suppose it meant for him to hear, and
to find herself forced into a purpose of that kind,
compelled into a correspondence which was bringing her the addresses
(02:31):
of the man she did not love, and obliging her
to administer to the adverse passion of the man she
did was cruelly mortifying. Here too, her present removal promised
advantage when no longer under the same roof with Edmund.
She trusted that Miss Crawford would have no motive for
writing strong enough to overcome the trouble, and that at
(02:52):
Portsmouth their correspondence would dwindle into nothing. With such thoughts
as these, among ten hundred others, Fanny proceeded in her
journey safely and cheerfully and as expeditiously as could rationally
be hoped. In the dirty month of February, they entered Oxford,
but she could take only a hasty glimpse of Edmund's
college as they passed along, and made no stop anywhere
(03:14):
till they reached Newbury, where a comfortable meal uniting dinner
and supper wound up the enjoyments and fatigues of the day.
The next morning saw them off again at an early hour,
and with no events and no delays, they regularly advanced
and were in the environs of Portsmouth, while there was
yet daylight for Fanny to look around her and wonder
(03:35):
at the new buildings. They passed the drawbridge and entered
the town, and the light was only beginning to fail.
As guided by William's powerful voice, they were rattled into
a narrow street leading from the high Street, and drawn
up before the door of a small house now inhabited
by mister Price. Fanny was all agitation and flutter, all
(03:55):
hope and apprehension. The moment they stopped, a trollopy looking
maid servant seemingly in waiting for them at the door,
stepped forward, and more intent on telling the news than
giving them any help, immediately began with the thrush is
gone out of arbor, please sir, and one of the
officers has been up dere too. She was interrupted by
a fine tall boy of eleven years old, who, rushing
(04:18):
out of the house, pushed the maid aside, and while
William was opening the chaise door himself, called out, you
are just in time. We've been looking for you this
half hour. The Thrush went out of harbor this morning.
I saw her. It was a beautiful sight. And they
think she will have her orders in a day or two.
And mister Campbell was here at four o'clock to ask
for you. He has got one of the Thrush's boats
(04:39):
and is going off to her at six, and hoped
you would be here in time to go with him.
A stair or twoward Fanny, as William helped her out
of the carriage, was all the voluntary notice which this
brother bestowed, but he made no objection to her kissing him,
though still entirely engaged in detailing father particulars of the
Thrushes going out of harbor, in which he had a
strong right of interest, being to commence his career of
(05:01):
seamanship in her. At this very time another moment, and
Fanny was in the narrow entrance passage of the house
and in her mother's arms, who met her there with
looks of true kindness and with features which Fanny loved
the more because they brought her aunt Bertram's before her,
and there were her two sisters, Susan, a well grown,
fine girl of fourteen, and Betsy, the youngest of the family,
(05:24):
about five, both glad to see her in their way,
though with no advantage of manner in receiving her. But
manner Fanny did not want. Would they but love her,
she should be satisfied. She was then taken into a
parlor so small that her first conviction was of its
being only a passage room to something better, And she
stood for a moment expecting to be invited on. But
(05:46):
when she saw there was no other door, and that
there were signs of habitation before her, she called back
her thoughts, reproved herself, and grieved lest they should have
been suspected. Her mother, however, could not stay long enough
to suspect anything. She was gone again to the street
door to welcome William. Oh my dear William, how glad
I am to see you. But have you heard about
(06:06):
the thrush? She has gone out of harbor already three
days before we had any thought of it. And I
do not know what I am to do about Sam's things.
They will never be ready in time, for she may
have her orders to morrow. Perhaps it takes me quite unawares.
And now you must be off for Spithead too. Campbell
has been here quite in a worry about you, And
now what shall we do? I thought to have had
(06:28):
such a comfortable evening with you, and here everything comes
upon me at once, Her son answered, cheerfully, telling her
that everything was always for the best, and making light
of his own inconvenience in being obliged to hurry away
so soon. To be sure, I had much rather she
had stayed in harbor, that I might have sat a
few hours with you in comfort. But as there is
(06:48):
a boat ashore, I had better go off at once,
and there is no help for it. Whereabouts does the
thrush lay at Spithead near the canopus? But no matter.
Here's Fanny in the parlor, and why should we stay
in the passage? Come? Mother, you have hardly looked at
your own dear Fanny. Yet in they both came, and
missus Price, having kindly kissed her daughter again and commented
(07:09):
a little on her grove, began with very natural solicitude
to feel for their fatigues and wants as travelers, poor DearS,
how tired you must both be, and now what will
you have? I began to think you would never come, Betsy,
and I have been watching for you this half hour.
And when did you get anything to eat? And what
would you like to have? Now? I could not tell
whether you would be for some meat or only a
(07:31):
dish of tea after your journey, or else I would
have got something ready. And now I am afraid Campbell
will be here before there is time to dress a steak.
And we have no butcher at hand. It is very
inconvenient to have no butcher in the street. We were
better off in our last house. Perhaps you would like
some tea as soon as it can be got. They
both declared they should prefer it to anything. Then, Betsy,
(07:51):
my dear, run into the kitchen and see if Rebecca
has put the water on, and tell her to bring
in the tea things as soon as she can. I
wish we could get the bell mended, but Betsy is
a very handy little messenger. Betsey went with alacrity, proud
to show her abilities before her fine new sister. Dear
me continued the anxious mother. What a sad fire we
have got? And I dare say you are both starved
(08:13):
with cold. Draw your chair nearer, my dear. I cannot
think what Rebecca has been about. I am sure I
told her to bring some coals half an hour ago. Susan,
you should have taken care of the fire. I was upstairs, Mama,
moving my things, said Susan in a fearless, self defending tone,
which startled Fanny. You know you had, but just settled
(08:33):
that my sister, Fanny and I should have the other room,
and I could not get Rebecca to give me any help.
Father discussion was prevented by various bustles. First the driver
came to be paid. Then there was a squabble between
Sam and Rebecca about the manner of carrying up his
sister's trunk, which he would manage all his own way.
And lastly in walked mister Price himself, his own loud
(08:56):
voice preceding him as with something of the oath kind.
He kicked away his son's portmanteau and his daughter's band
box in the passage and called out for a candle.
No candle was brought, however, and he walked into the room. Fanny,
with doubting feelings, had risen to meet him, but sank
down again on finding herself undistinguished in the dusk and
(09:16):
on thought of. With a friendly shake of his son's
hand and an eager voice, he instantly began, ha, welcome back,
my boy, glad to see you. Have you heard the news?
The thrush went out of arbor this morning, sharp as
the word. You see. By God, you are just in time.
The doctor has been here inquiring for you. He has
got one of the boats and is to be off
for Spithead by six, so you'd better go with him.
(09:38):
I have been to Turners about your mess. It is
all in a way to be done. I should not
wonder if you add your orders to morrow. But you
cannot sail with this wind if you are to cruise
to the westward, and Captain Walsh thinks you will certainly
have a cruise to the westward with the elephant. By God,
I wish you may. But all Scholarly was saying just
now that he thought you would be sent first to
the Texel. Well, well, we are ready whatever happens. But
(10:00):
by God, you lost a fine sight by not being
here in the morning to see the thrush go out
of harbor. I would not have been out of the
way for a thousand pounds. Oh scowly ran in at
breakfast time to say she had slipped her moorings and
was coming out. I jumped up and made but two
steps to the platform. If ever there was a perfect
beauty afloat, she is one, and there she lays at Spithead,
(10:21):
and anybody in England would take her for an eight
and twenty. I was upon the platform two hours this
afternoon looking at her. She lays close to the Endymion,
between her and the Cleopatra, just to the eastward of
the sheer Hulk. Huh, cried William. That's just where I
should have put her myself. It's the best berth at Spithead.
But here is my sister, sir, Here is Fanny, turning
(10:42):
and leading her forward. It is so dark you do
not see her. With an acknowledgment that he had quite
forgot her. Mister Price now received his daughter, and, having
given her a cordial hug, and observed that she was
grown into a woman, and he supposed would be wanting
a husband soon, seemed very much inclined to forget her again.
Fanny shrunk back to her seat with feelings sadly pained
(11:04):
by his language and his smell of spirits, and he
talked on only to his son, and only of the thrush,
though William warmly interested as he was in that subject,
more than once tried to make his father think of
Fanny and her long absence and long journey. After sitting
some time longer, a candle was obtained, but as there
(11:24):
was still no appearance of tea, nor from Betsy's reports
from the kitchen, much hope of any under a considerable period,
William determined to go and change his dress and make
the necessary preparations for his removal on board, directly that
he might have his tea in comfort afterwards. As he
left the room, two rosy faced boys, ragged and dirty,
about eight and nine years old, rushed into it, just
(11:47):
released from school and coming eagerly to see their sister
and tell that the thrush was gone out of harbor.
Tom and Charles. Charles had been born since Fanny's going away,
but Tom she had often helped to nurse, and now
felt a particular pleasure in seeing again. Both were kissed
very tenderly, but Tom she wanted to keep by her,
to try to trace the features of the baby she
(12:09):
had loved, and talk to him of his infant preference
of herself. Tom however, had no mind for such treatment.
He came home not to stand and be talked to,
but to run about and make a noise, And both
boys had soon burst away from her and slammed the
parlor door. Till her temples ached. She had now seen
all that were at home. There remained only two brothers
(12:30):
between herself and Susan, one of whom was a clerk
in a public office in London, and the other midshipman
on board an Indiaman. But though she had seen all
the members of the family, she had not yet heard
all the noise they could make. Another quarter of an
hour brought her a great deal more. William was soon
calling out from the landing place of the second story
(12:50):
for his mother and for Rebecca. He was in distress
for something that he had left there and did not
find again. A key was mislaid. Betsy, accused of having
got his new hat and some slight but essential alteration
of his uniform waistcoat, which he had been promised to
have done for him, entirely neglected. Missus Price, Rebecca and
Betsy all went up to defend themselves, all talking together,
(13:12):
but Rebecca loudest, and the job was to be done
as well as it could in a great hurry, William
trying in vain to send Betsy down again or keep
her from being troublesome where she was, the whole of which,
as almost every door in the house was open, could
be plainly distinguished in the parlor, except when drowned at
intervals by the superior noise of Sam, Charm and Charles
(13:33):
chasing each other up and down stairs, and tumbling about
and hallooing. Fanny was almost stunned. The smallness of the
house and thinness of the walls brought everything so close
to her that added to the fatigue of her journey
and all her recent agitation, she hardly knew how to
bear it. Within the room, all was tranquil enough for Susan.
(13:55):
Having disappeared with the others, there were soon only her
father and herself remaining, and he, taking out a newspaper
the accustomary loan of a neighbor, applied himself to studying it,
without seeming to recollect her existence. The solitary candle was
held between himself and the paper, without any reference to
her possible convenience. But she had nothing to do, and
(14:16):
was glad to have the light screened from her aching head.
As she sat in bewildered, broken, sorrowful contemplation. She was
at home, but alas it was not such a home,
she had not such a welcome. As she checked herself,
she was unreasonable. What right had she to be of
importance to her family? She could have none, so long
(14:38):
lost sight of William's concerns must be dearest there had
always been, and he had every right. Yet to have
so little said or asked about herself, to have scarcely
an inquiry made after Mansfield. It did pain her to
have Mansfield forgotten, the friends who had done so much,
the dear, dear friends. But here one subject swallowed up
(15:01):
all the rest. Perhaps it must be so, the destination
of the thrush must be now pre eminently interesting. A
day or two might show the difference. She only was
to blame. Yet she thought it would not have been
so at Mansfield. No, in her uncle's house there would
have been a consideration of times and seasons, a regulation
(15:21):
of subject, a propriety and attention towards everybody, which there
was not here. The only interruption which thoughts like these
received for nearly half an hour was from a sudden
burst of her father's not at all calculated to compose
them at a more than ordinary pitch of thumping and hallooing.
In the passage, he exclaimed, devil, take those young dogs,
(15:43):
how they are singing out? Ay, Sam's voice louder than
all the rest. That boy is fit for a boswain.
Hollah you there, Sam, stop your confounded pipe. Rushall be
after you. This threat was so palpably disregarded that though
within five minutes afterwards the three boys all burst into
the room together and sat down, Fanny could not consider
(16:04):
it as a proof of anything more than their being
for the time thoroughly fagged, which their hot faces and
panting breath seemed to prove, especially as they were still
kicking each other's shins and hallooing out ats sudden starts
immediately under their father's eye. The next opening of the
door brought something more welcome. It was for the tea
things which she had begun almost to despair of seeing
(16:25):
that evening. Susan and an attendant girl whose inferior appearance
informed Fanny, to her great surprise, that she had previously
seen the upper servant brought in everything necessary for the meal. Susan,
looking as she put the kettle on the fire, and
glanced at her sister, as if divided between the agreeable
triumph of showing her activity and usefulness and the dread
(16:46):
of being thought to demean herself by such an office.
She had been into the kitchen, she said to hurry
Sally and help make the toast and spread the bread
and butter. Or she did not know when they should
have got tea, and she was sure her sister must
want something off her journey. Fanny was very thankful, she
could not but own that she should be very glad
of a little tea. And Susan immediately set about making
(17:08):
it as if pleased to have the employment all to herself,
and with only a little unnecessary bustle, and some few
injudicious attempts at keeping her brothers in better order than
she could, acquitted herself very well. Fanny's spirit was as
much refreshed as her body. Her head and heart were
soon the better for such well timed kindness. Susan had
an open, sensible countenance. She was like William, and Fanny
(17:31):
hoped to find her like him in disposition and good
will towards herself. In this more placid state of things,
William re entered, followed not far behind by his mother
and Betsy. He complete in his lieutenant's uniform, looking and
moving all the taller, firmer, and more graceful for it,
and with the happiest smile over his face, walked up
(17:52):
directly to Fanny, who, rising from her seat, looked at
him for a moment in speechless admiration, and then threw
her arms round his neck to sob out her various
emotions of pain and pleasure. Anxious not to appear unhappy,
she soon recovered herself, and, wiping away her tears, was
able to notice and admire all the striking parts of
(18:12):
his dress, listening with reviving spirits to his cheerful hopes
of being on shore some part of every day before
they sailed, and even of getting her to spithead to
see the sloop. The next bustle brought in mister Campbell,
the surgeon of the Thrush, a very well behaved young
man who came to call for his friend, and for
whom there was, with some contrivance, found a chair, and
(18:33):
with some hasty washing of the young tea makers a
cup and saucer, And after another quarter of an hour
of earnest talk between the gentlemen, noise rising upon noise,
and bustle upon bustle, men and boys, at last all
in motion together, the moment came for setting off. Everything
was ready, William took leave, and all of them were
gone for the three boys, in spite of their mother's entreaty,
(18:56):
determined to see their brother and mister Campbell to the
sally port, and mister Price walked off at the same
time to carry back his neighbour's newspaper. Something like tranquility
might now be hoped for, And accordingly, when Rebecca had
been prevailed on to carry away the tea things and
missus Price had walked about the room some time looking
for a shirt sleeve, which Betsy at last hunted out
(19:17):
from a drawer in the kitchen. The small party of
females were pretty well composed, and the mother, having lamented
again over the impossibility of getting Sam ready in time,
was at leisure to think of her eldest daughter and
the friends she had come from. A few inquiries began,
but one of the earliest, how did her sister Bertram
manage about her servants, was she as much plagued as
(19:39):
herself to get tolerable servants soon led her mind away
from Northamptonshire and fixed it on her own domestic grievances,
And the shocking character of all the Portsmouth servants, of
whom she believed her own too were the very worst,
engrossed her completely. The Bertrams were all forgotten in detailing
the thoughts of Rebecca, against whom Susan had also much
(19:59):
to depose, and little Betsy a great deal more, and
who did seem so thoroughly without a single recommendation that
Fanny could not help modestly presuming that her mother meant
to part with her when her year was up. Her year,
cried missus Price. I am sure I shall be rid
of her before she has stayed a year, for that
will not be up till November. Servants are come to
(20:20):
such a pass, my dear im Portsmouth, that it is
quite a miracle if one keeps them more than half
a year. I have no hope of ever being settled.
And if I was to part with Rebecca, I should
only get something worse. And yet I do not think
I am a very difficult mistress to please. And I
am sure the place is easy enough, for there is
always a girl under her, and I often do half
(20:40):
the work myself. Fanny was silent, but not from being
convinced that there might not be a remedy found for
some of these evils. As she now sat looking at Betsy,
she could not but think particularly of another sister, a
very pretty little girl, whom she had left there not
much younger when she went into Northamptonshire, who had died
of few years afterwards. There had been something remarkably amiable
(21:04):
about her. Fanny in those early days had preferred her
to Susan, and when the news of her death had
at last reached Mansfield, had for a short time been
quite afflicted. The sight of Betsy brought the image of
little Mary back again, but she would not have pained
her mother by alluding to her for the world. While
considering her with these ideas, Betsy, at a small distance
(21:26):
was holding out something to catch her eyes, meaning to
screen it at the same time from Susan's What have
you got there, my love, said Fanny, Come and show
it to me. It was a silver knife. Up jumped Susan,
claiming it as her own, and trying to get it away,
but the child ran to her mother's protection, and Susan
could only reproach, which she did very warmly and evidently
(21:48):
hoping to interest Fanny on her side. It was very
hard that she was not to have her own knife.
It was her own knife. Little sister Mary had left
it to her upon her deathbed, and she ought to
have had it to keep herself long ago. But Mamma
kept it from her and was always letting Betsy get
hold of it, and the end of it would be
that Betsy would spoil it and get it for her own,
though Mamma had promised her that Betsy should not have
(22:09):
it in her own hands. Fanny was quite shocked. Every
feeling of duty, honor, and tenderness was wounded by her
sister's speech and her mother's reply. Now, Susan cried missus
Price in a complaining voice. Now, how can you be
so cross? You are always quarreling about that knife. I
wish you would not be so quarrelsome poor little Betsy,
(22:31):
How cross Susan is to you. But you should not
have taken it out, my dear, when I sent you
to the drawer. You know I told you not to
touch it, because Susan is so cross about it. I
must hide it another time, Betsy, poor Mary little thought
it would be such a bone of contention when she
gave it me to keep only two hours before she died,
poor little soul, she could but just speak to be heard,
(22:52):
and she said, so prettily, let sister Susan have my knife, Mamma,
when I am dead and buried. Poor little dear. She
was so fond of it, Fanny, that she would have
it lay by her in bed all through her illness.
It was the gift of her good godmother, Old missus
Admiral Maxwell, only six weeks before she was taken for death,
Poor little sweet creature. Well she has been taken away
(23:14):
from evil to come my own, Betsy, fondling her, you
have not the luck of such a good godmother. Aunt
Norris lives too far off to think of such little
people as you. Fanny had indeed nothing to convey from
Aunt Norris but a message to say she hoped her
goddaughter was a good girl and learnt her book. There
had been at one moment a slight murmur in the
(23:35):
drawing room at Mansfield Park about sending her a prayer book,
but no second sound had been heard of such a purpose.
Missus Norris, however, had gone home and taken down two
old prayer books of her husband with that idea, but
upon examination the ardor of generosity went off. One was
found to have too small a print for a child's eyes,
(23:55):
and the other to be too cumbersome for her to
carry about. Fanny, fatigued and fatigued again, was thankful to
accept the first invitation of going to bed, and before
Betsy had finished her cry at being allowed to set
up only one hour extraordinary in honor of sister, she
was off, leaving all below in confusion and noise again,
the boys begging for toasted cheese, her father calling out
(24:18):
for his rum and water, and Rebecca never where she
ought to be. There was nothing to raise her spirits
in the confined and scantily furnished chamber that she was
to share with Susan. The smallness of the rooms above
and below, indeed, and the narrowness of the passage and staircase,
struck her beyond her imagination. She soon learned to think
with respect of her own little attic at Mansfield Park,
(24:41):
in that house reckoned too small, for anybody's comfort. End
of chapter thirty eight,
Popular Podcasts
Stuff You Should Know
If you've ever wanted to know about champagne, satanism, the Stonewall Uprising, chaos theory, LSD, El Nino, true crime and Rosa Parks, then look no further. Josh and Chuck have you covered.
Crime Junkie
Does hearing about a true crime case always leave you scouring the internet for the truth behind the story? Dive into your next mystery with Crime Junkie. Every Monday, join your host Ashley Flowers as she unravels all the details of infamous and underreported true crime cases with her best friend Brit Prawat. From cold cases to missing persons and heroes in our community who seek justice, Crime Junkie is your destination for theories and stories you won’t hear anywhere else. Whether you're a seasoned true crime enthusiast or new to the genre, you'll find yourself on the edge of your seat awaiting a new episode every Monday. If you can never get enough true crime... Congratulations, you’ve found your people. Follow to join a community of Crime Junkies!
The Breakfast Club
The World's Most Dangerous Morning Show, The Breakfast Club, With DJ Envy, Jess Hilarious, And Charlamagne Tha God!