And Who Can Be In Doubt Of What Followed Page 7

  “Jealously does not become her.”

  “Certainly not. I must see if something cannot be done about it.”

  Several weeks passed in which Henry was able to enact his plans. He had thought of leaving town for Everingham, as he told Fanny he would, and while a small pang was experienced in knowing she would disapprove of his procrastination, the lure of melting Mrs. Rushworth's hostility overrode any attending discomfort. His progress, over just the few formal meetings that had occurred between the two since the Fraser's party, had been considerable. Mrs. Rushworth was easier in her acknowledgment of him, and his very judicial attempts to not mention Fanny in her presence, an act made easier by Edmund's return to Mansfield, had their effect. Furthermore, when news of Tom Bertram's illness spread quickly through the town, as any misfortune befalling the heir of a very pretty property will, Henry was quick to perceive how such ill-tidings could be turned to his purpose. As knowledgeable as he was in the workings of the female heart, he knew just how to approach Maria in the very manner that must engage her sentiments, and if the thought crossed his mind that she seemed relatively unaffected by her brother's waning health, despite her protestations otherwise, he did not for long dwell upon the suspicion. After all, she was not the lady he wished to marry, so if he found that she lacked a tender heart it was of no concern to him. On the contrary, it rather made his current activities all the more innocuous. For Henry Crawford was a man who liked occupation, and while Fanny remained in Portsmouth, he thought the diminishment of Maria Rushworth's animosity towards him a very worthwhile manner in which to ward off idleness. If such a course aroused any lingering affection she might still harbor for him, he trusted that it would cause her no enduring degree of suffering.

  As for Mrs. Rushworth, seeing Henry again only served to increase her already notable intolerance for her husband, a trend intensified by Julia's relocation to their cousin's home in Bedford Square. Maria suspected the move had something to do with increasing her younger sister's access to Mr. Yates, who, having recently arrived in town, had been paying her notable attention, but she cared little for that, only feeling put out that she now faced increased solitude with her husband. His inescapable presence was agonizing, and she had taken to feigning evening headaches in order to escape his affections. This malady, however, did not prevent her from enjoying the social delights of London, where she often found herself in Mr. Crawford's company. Seeing him in proximity to her husband was insupportable: one possessing all the grace, while the other so notably lacked that essential refinement. Inevitably, her heart having long ago succumbed to the former's charms, she felt her dismissive stance towards him fade. Although she tried to maintain her rancor, she was unable to, especially when he began to pay her such specific notice. No mention of Fanny was made between them, and Maria flattered herself that her superior charms were having their inevitable effect, erasing the sad image of her dowdy cousin from his mind. Yet her triumph was uncertain as long as she could so vividly recall that it was Fanny who had secured an offer of marriage from Henry, not her eminently more eligible self. The notion that she should test the extent of his attachment occurred to her uneasy mind and, regardless of her better judgment, would not be erased.

  It was when she was in this precarious mood that Mr. Rushworth received news of his mother's intentions to join her son and daughter-in-law in Wimpole Street for the remainder of the season. The newlyweds had been invited to spend time in Twikenham by Maria's new friends the Aylmers, a couple in whose society she often found the Crawfords, with whom they seemed to be on very good terms. She had thought to decline the invitation, having no wish to confine herself to a small party in which her husband's company would be inescapable, but now she saw an opportunity to rid herself of his burdensome presence. Suggesting that he should accompany his mother on her journey from Bath, as, indeed, he was accustomed to doing prior to his marriage, she easily convinced him to repair to the spa town rather than attending her to the Alymers. Her hint that time out of the city, and in relative solitude, would be just the thing to repair her health played no small part in his ready compliance.

  To do Maria justice, she had no notion that Henry would find himself likewise in the neighborhood of Richmond, though the thought did flit through her tortured mind that when he learned of her intended visit, as he inevitably would, a decision to retreat from the city would be a testament to his renewed devotion. So when he called at the Alymers, not long after her arrival, her spirits soared at the sight of him. This was how it should be, Maria and Henry together, with no odious Mr. Rushworth to hinder their interaction. Her friend, Mrs. Alymer, showed no disapprobation for what quickly revealed itself to be a determined flirtation. Indeed, that kind lady dropped several hints in Maria's ear regarding the best means of maintaining discretion and avoiding censure when engaged in such activities. And so they met everyday, and for the first time since her marriage, Maria found herself not only happy, but blissful. All the high spirits that belonged to Miss Bertram resurged in Mrs. Rushworth. Only two things hindered her elation: the constant reminder her name provided that she was, no longer, a Miss Bertram after all, and the ever present, unnamed shadow of Fanny. The latter, at least, she could address.

  Her time at Twickenham was rapidly drawing to a close. She had received word from her husband regarding his return to London, and Maria knew that she must be there to welcome both him and the Dowager. To shirk such responsibility was precisely the kind of faux pas that Mrs. Alymer had warned her against. Her time was running out, and though she feared the response, her heart dictated that she must know what was Henry's present stance towards her cousin. Had Fanny indeed been plunged from his memory? Or was he once again only trifling with her affections, building her up for yet another shattering disappointment, like the one she had suffered when he retreated from Mansfield upon Sir Thomas' return from Antigua? She was determined to learn the truth.

  It was on her final evening with the Alymers that she broached the subject. Henry had been invited to dine and, being a small party, and one hosted by those who wished to throw no rubs in the way of their guests' amusements, it was an easy matter to garner privacy once the gentlemen rejoined the ladies after the meal. In a quiet corner of the drawing room, Henry and Maria made themselves comfortable, engaged in the kind of nonsensical, slightly risque conversation that had come to define their interactions. When he spontaneously took her hand – an impulse arising from the moment and atmosphere – the lady felt emboldened to speak.

  “Do you return to London, or is it still your intention to retreat to Everingham, thereby depriving us of your company?”

  “I do have business to attend to, and it has been put off rather longer than it should be, but I feel no remorse, though I know I should, for having succumbed to the pleasures of the moment, rather than applying myself to the rigors of duty.”

  “Does your duty still include rescuing my cousin from the hardships of Portsmouth?”

  Henry’s start was noticeable, having been totally taken aback by Maria's reference to Fanny. They had seemed to have an unspoken arrangement not to mention his hopes in that area, and it was this assumption that had allowed him to proceed in the current, diverting flirtation. Fanny need never know of it, as she would undoubtedly disapprove, and he had thought that Maria’s silence on the subject indicated her tacit agreement to not confuse simple diversion with either party's lasting romantic interests. Quickly recovering from his surprise, he replied in a manner befitting their casual dalliance:

  “My offer does indeed still stand to return her to Mansfield, though I am glad that I have had the opportunity to enjoy the amusements of Richmond instead.”

  This did not quite satisfy Maria. “But you will hasten to my cousin's call, should she request you to? Even if it meant forsaking your present pursuits?”

  “As a gentleman, I am honor bound to. I have given her my word.”

  “I had not thought your honor so dear, nor your word so unbreakable.”


  Now Henry was truly alarmed. While he had often engaged a lady's affections and then abandoned her, he had never allowed himself to be placed in a situation where he would be called upon to defend his actions. It was not in his nature to verbally dash a lady's hope, and his withdrawal had always proven a sufficient end to all affairs grown tiresome. Not knowing what to say in response to such a direct attack, he fell back upon custom and evaded the question. Smiling, as if amused, he raised his voice to address the room: “Say Alymer, we cannot possibly allow Mrs. Rushworth to spend her last evening in such a mundane manner. What say you to a game of cards? That should keep us all highly entertained.”

  The suggestion was eagerly agreed to, Mr. Alymer being a great gamester, and decorum necessitated that Maria relinquish her stance and comply with the will of the company. She recognized that her thrust had been thwarted, and, having never been accustomed to failure, Henry's parry only strengthened her resolve to press the point upon their next meeting. That it would surely take place in London, under her husband and mother-in-law's eyes, was of no account. Her pride would not allow her to retreat when her heart had already strayed so far.

  Henry, on the other hand, gratefully withdrew to town, and upon arrival immediately sought out his sister's sage counsel. To his dismay, Mary had heard rumors about his activities in Richmond.

  “I am afraid the town is rather alive with it. Society already had its eye on you both, you know, her cold reception of you at the Fraser's party having been very well observed. Such a reversal in her sentiments was bound to attract notice.”

  “But I care naught for the woman, and why should mere flirtation put everything I hold most dear at risk? Nearly Fanny's very last words to me were, 'We have all a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person can be.' If I had heeded her advice, I certainly would not now be in this predicament.”

  “She will be the making of you, Henry, if your foolishness has not destroyed your chances with her. At least you could have amused yourself with someone other than her own cousin, then perhaps the likelihood of her learning of the affair, retired as she lives, would have been very slim.”

  “What had I best do now that the damage, by your estimation, has already been done?”

  “I will write to her at once, asking her again to allow us to convey her to Mansfield in the strongest terms. If I mention your having seen Mrs. Rushworth at Twickenham, casually of course, it should assure her of the innocence of your dealings.”

  “Thank you, Mary. And if she should still refuse, I will depart for Everingham instantly, thereby sparing myself further encounters with Mrs. Rushworth.”

  “You had best leave now. Why linger, when it will only give her further opportunity to embroil you in unwanted gossip?”

  “When she is under the gaze of that vulture of a mother-in-law? I think I have little to fear in the immediate future. Besides, if I am at Everingham, how am I to be on hand to hear Miss Price's response when it arrives?”

  But Henry had put too much stock into Maria's discretion, as we are all unfortunate enough to already know, and rejoice or deplore the miscalculation as each sees fit. Her reunion with Mr. Rushworth – whose presence was more inescapable than ever now that his mother was on hand to ensure the newlyweds behaved as such – was precisely the catalyst she required to throw all caution to the wind. Within the week, when the Rushworths spotted Mr. Crawford at the theater, Maria beckoned to him to join their box in such a particular manner that he had little choice, not being willing to publicly snub her, other than to comply. Under the very perceptive nose of her Mrs. Rushworth, Maria proceeded to engage Henry in the exact same kind of banter that had become their habit while in Richmond, and there was little he found himself capable of doing to stop her. Mr. Rushworth, formerly so oblivious to anything that might be considered clandestine, was put on his guard by his mother, and expressed his wrath not only openly, but vulgarly, catching the attention of all in attendance. Henry retreated as gracefully as he could, but his mortification was necessarily severe. He decided to instantly repair to Everingham, a far more safe location to await word from Fanny, but the damage was already done.

  Amongst the many witnesses to Mr. Rushworth’s expressions of indignation was one Mr. Harding, a dear friend of Sir Thomas'. Possessing a very clear notion of how his friend would react to such a display as that in the theater, he not only sent word of warning to Mansfield, but also took it upon himself to call in Wimpole Street the very next day. Anxious to thwart any larger scandal than that already incurred, and finding a Mr. Rushworth very happy to receive his guidance and forgive his dear Maria, he began to have good reason for thinking his efforts not in vain. The two Mrs. Rushworths, however, who proved far less manageable, shattered this illusion, the younger resenting his interference, and the elder resenting her. Insistent that her daughter was not to be trusted, Maria – proud and disdainful, but not above panic – revolted against such censure, and hastily packing a few necessities, she fled Wimpole Street for the house of Admiral Crawford, where Henry currently resided.

  The very proper man who opened the door with a disapproving eye at first strove to bar the distraught Mrs. Rushworth from entering the residence, her lone bandbox an alarming accouterment to his knowledgeable eye, but Maria resisted such treatment. She would be admitted.

  Henry was from home, but the Admiral, overhearing the beginnings of a highly promising scuffle, ventured forth from his study to investigate. Mrs. Rushworth was not backwards in making her object known, and the Admiral, always matrimony’s sworn enemy, saw her made confortable while awaiting his nephew’s return.

  The sight of Maria ensconced in the Admiral’s drawing room and taking her tea with his mistress was no welcome one to Henry’s eyes. Seeking the Admiral, it was in faltering tones that he demanded what had possessed him to admit the lady, questioning if he knew what consequences were likely to result from his hospitality.

  “Oh, yes, my dear boy,” came the blithe reply. “I know precisely what Mrs. Rushworth’s presence in my house portends, and it is my fervent hope that these circumstances may do you some good.”

  Henry was all astonishment. “How can such scandal possibly prove beneficial, sir? I cannot see how these circumstances might result in anything less than disaster.”

  “Yes, a disaster of epic proportions is no doubt in store for your precipitate plans to shackle yourself in unadvantageous marriage, but little else of significance will result. You may find your amusement in Mrs. Rushworth until she grows tiresome, and that will be the end of it.”

  “Sir!” Henry protested.

  “You did not think I knew of your intentions towards Miss Price? Come, my boy! You bring her brother forward, take sudden excursions to Portsmouth, of all places, and waste your energy in unnecessary improvements at Everingham. Do believe in my ability to put two and two together.”

  Henry’s dark complexion had turned stark white at this recital. “Miss Price is exactly the woman to do away every prejudice you have against matrimony. I am sure it is she you yourself would describe … “

  “There is no need for all this,” the Admiral interrupted his nephew. “Certainly the sun seems to rise and set in her eyes, but as I believe the lady to be cousin to Mrs. Rushworth, you had best resign the memory of her orbs, astronomically astounding as they may be, to your past.”

  “I must convince Maria to return to Rushworth,” he desperately replied.

  “Try you may,” the Admiral replied, “but I think you’ll find the lady most determined to abandon respectability, and I must say I like her all the more for it.”

  Even had Henry succeeded with Maria, which he did not, his fate was already sealed. Had Mrs. Rushworth sought shelter anywhere else – with her cousins, with whom Julia stayed, or even Miss Crawford – the damage done by her removal might not have been so irreparable, but the elder Mrs. Rushworth had sent a maidservant after the refugee, who instantly reported back to her mistress whi
ther Maria had gone. The two ladies, even in the short time they had been together, had disagreed; and the bitterness of the elder against her daughter-in-law might perhaps arise almost as much from the personal disrespect with which she had herself been treated, as from sensibility for her son. By the time Henry arrived home, a few lines of tantalizing exposure were already being conveyed to a well-known gossipmonger, functioning under the self-titled moniker “journalist”, a claim bolstered by the column bearing his name in a leading London paper.

  Seeking his sister’s comfort the next day, Henry was instead confronted with the following lines from the morning paper:

  It was with infinite concern the newspaper had to announce to the world a matrimonial fracas in the family of Mr. R. of Wimpole Street; the beautiful Mrs. R., whose name had not long been enrolled in the lists of Hymen, and who had promised to become so brilliant a leader in the fashionable world, having quitted her husband's roof in company with the well-known and captivating Mr. C., the intimate friend and associate of Mr. R., and it was not known even to the editor of the newspaper whither they were gone.

  “Oh, Henry!” she cried, agony acute in her voice, when she finished reciting the nearly memorized passage. “How could you?”

  “I was from home when Mrs. Rushworth arrived. My uncle admitted her,” he bitterly replied.