The day after Sir Thomas' arrival, he called Fanny into his study.
"I was pleasantly surprised to notice how much your beauty has blossomed, Fanny," he said when she'd shut the door. "Perhaps not so pleasant was the discovery of just how close you have grown to Miss Crawford."
Fanny was silent for a moment. She tried to think of a reason for why he would disapprove of Mary, but the only reason that came to mind was -
"From my understanding, Mr and Miss Crawford significantly encouraged the...festivities I found on my return last night, the details of which have now been fully explained to me."
"Oh, Miss Crawford was not -" Fanny cut herself off - it had occurred to her that Mary had, in fact, been one of those keenest to put on a play. But then again, there hadn't actually been significant opposition to the idea either. Not from her. Certainly not from Edmund, once he had taken a part that put him close to Mary.
"That is not what I called you here to talk about," Sir Thomas said before Fanny could build up the courage to point that out to him. "Fanny, I have been informed that…" Unusually for him, he seemed to be struggling with a way to phrase what he wanted to say. "I was regrettably absent for your eighteenth birthday, but certain people have informed me of the names which you bear on your wrists. The Crawfords are rich. I am not opposed to any sort of attachment between our families, even considering their recent...lapse of judgement. Perhaps, though, you should focus on Mr Crawford. After all, you cannot marry a woman."
He smiled at the idea, as though he found it amusing in its ridiculousness, but Fanny could not believe that. If he found it so unbelievably silly, then why would he bring up the idea at all? Why would he couple it with his admission that he knew the names on her wrists? She was so stricken with fear that she almost forgot to nod.
"Now that the subject of soulmates has been brought up, I feel I should warn you that it is time for you to come out. A ball will be held in your honour here at Mansfield."
She must have looked particularly horrified at this, for once Sir Thomas had taken one look at her face he continued,
"Your brother William will be able to join us for the event; I have made enquiries and discovered that he will be able to take shore leave during the time which I propose for the ball to take place. No doubt he will write to inform you himself in due time."
That made her brighten up; when Sir Thomas waved at her to leave, she did so cheerfully.
As she hurried out of the room, Sir Thomas called for her to send Maria in.
"Mary," Henry declared after breakfast on the following day, "I have an important announcement to make." Dr and Mrs Grant were still downstairs; he had lead her away in order to have some privacy.
"You have decided to run away to sea after last night's disastrous first meeting with Sir Thomas Bertram," Mary guessed.
"No, no, of course not." Henry took a breath. "Mary, I do believe that I am in love with Fanny Price."
Mary felt a pang of jealousy - one which she attempted to hide as she asked, "And what do you expect me to do about this hopeless infatuation?" Perhaps she wasn't so very successful in her attempt.
"Why I expect you to help me woo her, of course," Henry said, a bit put out at his sister's reluctance. "I intend to go Bath, ostensibly for business with my uncle, although naturally it will be assumed that my true aim is to avoid the eagerly awaited nuptials of Mr Rushworth and Miss Bertram - indeed, I am sure that Miss Bertram prefers me to him, and I would not want to cause any trouble on such a happy occasion - where I will stay longer than is, perhaps, necessary, in order to purchase the perfect gift for Miss Price. She will not, of course, accept such a gift from me, so I want you to give it to her in my stead."
Mary thought for a moment. If she encouraged Henry's courtship of Fanny, then a marriage would likely take place, and she could be sure to keep her always close by. But on the other hand, she was worried that Fanny would genuinely fall in love with Henry, and then any chance of anything between the two of them would be gone. She weighed the two options up. Jealousy, for the moment, won out.
"No," she said. "I do, however, appreciate your departure; I will be able to keep Miss Price all to myself, without any interruptions from your ill-advised attempts to woo her."
Henry scoffed. He wasn't used to his sister refusing to be an accomplice in his schemes. "Honestly, Mary, if you were a man then I would suggest that you were in love with the girl." He paused. "You are not, I take it?" He said it hesitantly; it sounded a silly suggestion now that he'd said it out loud.
"Of course not," Mary said quickly. "Now, get yourself ready to visit Mansfield; I want to see the grand patriarch of the house by the light of day."
Fanny was overjoyed to see Mary, and was almost bursting in her eagerness to tell her the news.
"Oh, Miss Crawford," she exclaimed. "William is coming to visit! My uncle has just informed me of it."
"I am surprised at how pleased you seem at the opportunity to see him," Mary remarked, a slight smile on her face. "Why, if my own brother were to go to sea for years I would be glad that he was causing trouble for someone else."
Fanny's joy immediately vanished, and Mary realised her mistake.
"Of course," she said quickly, "I should not assume by Henry's example that all brothers are as infuriating as he is. Although," she could not resist from adding, "William has been with the Navy for a fair while now. Perhaps he has been corrupted by his fellows."
The horror on Fanny's face deepened, and Mary was quick to explain that she was joking. But that did not stop the idea from being planted in Fanny's mind, no matter how much she told herself that William would be the same as he had been, despite her letters from him that assured her that all was well.
It was not long before the marriage between Maria and Mr Rushworth took place. As he had promised, Henry retreated to Bath in order to avoid any trouble that might be caused by his presence. The marriage went ahead smoothly, for the most part. Of course, Maria did not love Mr Rushworth, a fact which most people apart from the groom himself were all too aware of, but he was very rich, which perhaps largely made up for that unhappy circumstance. Henry's absence was noticed by Maria, who became strongly convinced that Henry loved her so much that he couldn't bare seeing her wed to another man. This was, of course, very far from the truth, but it pleased her to think it, especially as she was still sore from the lack of interest Henry had shown her, and as no-one was privy to her thoughts, no-one was able to contradict them.
With Maria's departure from Mansfield, along with Mr Rushworth and Julia, the time for William's visit came closer and closer. Fanny, still sore from Mary's ill-chosen joke, forbore from speaking about him with her, but she still thought of his arrival constantly, excitement and nervousness combining so that she would have been made quite restless, had fear of Mrs Norris not kept her for the most part in check.
Another important event happened during the wait for William; not, perhaps, something that would have seemed significant to others, but which sat in Fanny's heart amongst her most cherished memories.
On an errand for Mrs Norris Fanny had been caught in the rain. Since she was nearer to the parsonage than the big house, Mary and Mrs Grant had charitably allowed her to stay, and even loaned her clothes. That was not the significant part. Mary, to her shock and chagrin, learned that Fanny had not yet heard her play her harp. Inexcusable oversight! Why, hadn't Shakespeare once called music the food of love? If Fanny was not yet in love with her, then an hour with a harp would no doubt solve that problem.
It was truly beautiful. Despite herself, Mary was slightly disappointed to see that Fanny seemed more adoring of her than the piece she was playing, one which required a large amount of skill to pull off. Still, when Mary finished she was full of praise, begging her to play something else, and Mary was satisfied.
Fanny's mind was filled with the music, and the beauty of the performer, for the entire day. She was so absorbed by it that she barely heard Mrs Norris scolding her for being late.
Mary's joke had made Fanny fearful, but those fears soon turned out to be unfounded; William arrived with a huge smile on his face, just the same as the boy she remembered from her childhood, albeit quite a bit taller. For a long time, the two were inseparable. Neither Mary nor Edmund, despite their closeness to her, could tear her away from her beloved brother, who she had not seen in so long. Henry, just returned from his excursion to Bath, made a valiant attempt, but he similarly fell short.
"Miss Price is very close to her brother, is she not?" Mary remarked to Edmund one day.
"He is a reminder of her younger years," Edmund replied in explanation. "Do you know that when she first arrived here, the hardest thing for her was being away from William?"
Mary watched the two of them together. William was enthusiastically telling Fanny a story from the Navy, and she looked the most contented Mary had ever seen her. "I can believe it," she said.
"After I helped her write a letter to him, she became far more cheerful," Edmund continued. "I do not believe that anyone could come between Fanny and William. Not even a husband."
"Mm. Quite different to my relationship with Henry. Which is not to say that I do not care for him," Mary added quickly when she saw Edmund's inquisitive look, "but he can be awfully foolish sometimes. Fanny seems like she worships her brother."
Edmund smiled slightly. "She certainly does."
"Mr Bertram, do you mind if I excuse myself from this conversation?" Something had just occurred to Mary.
"Certainly, Miss Crawford," Edmund replied, trying not to sound too disappointed.
"I hope that I am not interrupting anything," Mary said as she came to sit beside Fanny and William, "but I wish to speak to Miss Price."
"Oh, not at all, Miss Crawford," Fanny said cheerfully. "William had just finished telling me one of his Naval stories."
William smiled at Mary. "So this is Miss Crawford? Fanny has been telling me all about you, miss."
"Has she really?" Mary looked at Fanny, who blushed.
"I would like to thank you for being so kind to her, miss," William continued. "I know how lonely she can feel sometimes, even with cousin Edmund."
"Your sister's company has been a pleasure to me," Mary replied, and had the satisfaction to observe Fanny's blush deepen in colour. "If there is any family resemblance between the two of you then I am sure that we shall get on wonderfully." She returned to Fanny. "Miss Price, I am sorry for any offence my earlier comments may have caused; I see that your brother is far more wonderful than my own, and it was unfair of me to say such things."
"I am sure Mr Crawford has good qualities," Fanny protested. She looked over at him as she said so. He was looking at her with an expression that made her start.
"Oh, certainly. They are just safely hidden away, beneath his many bad ones." Mary turned to William. "But enough about my regrettably wayward brother; I am sure you will learn of his ways soon enough. I do not suppose that you have any more tales to regale us with?"
Unsurprisingly, Henry was keen to ingratiate himself with the brother of his soulmate. During his time in Bath he had only become yet more smitten with Fanny - or, at least, his own idea of her - and the mark on his wrist had grown bolder and bolder as he gained faith in the idea of a soulmate. He keenly offered the services of a horse more than once to William, for the purpose of hunting in the grounds, although this was less likely to make Fanny like him than he would have thought - she was in a state of great anxiety at each exertion, until her brother returned unharmed. But Henry paid no heed to this concern, apart from the charming way it showed Fanny's love for her brother. He began to fall deeper still into love, and, after one particular visit to the Bertrams - where Henry had talked to Fanny a little, and William a great deal, to be the more likely to please the sister - he was elated. He even began to kiss his soulmate tattoo.
"Oh, to think that I ever doubted the truth of this simple mark!" he declared. "Do not you think, Mary, that Miss Price was especially beautiful today?"
Mary, who had actually spent a great deal of time - far more than her brother had - talking with Fanny, smiled. "Yes," she said. "Exceedingly so. Her brother must bring it out in her. Did you see the way her eyes sparkled with adoration as she watched him talk?" She realised what she had said and abruptly fell silent.
"Oh, certainly," Henry said, apparently oblivious to the nature of Mary's words. "I believe that I am more in love with her than ever. Why, if she continues like this, I shall marry her!"
"I am sure that that would be marvellous for all of us," Mary replied, trying to ignore the tight feeling in her chest. She wasn't usually the sort to get jealous. But then again, she had only experienced mild flirtations before. This was something more serious.
"You do not seem pleased for me, Mary," Henry said. "I would have thought that you would be overjoyed."
Mary gave him a tight lipped smile. "Oh, I am," she said. "I look forward in great anticipation to your wedding."
For Mary was so used to women falling in love with her brother that she never supposed that Fanny Price would be different, even if it took her a little longer than most.
"Mr Crawford was very polite to me this evening," William remarked to Fanny when they were alone.
"Yes," Fanny replied. "I should thank him for the kindness he showed you - the kindness he has continually shown you throughout your visit."
"I saw the way he looked at you. Does he -" William stopped himself when he saw Fanny's shocked expression. "Do you...?" he ventured.
"Mr Crawford? No, no, not at all." Fanny frowned. "I had never even considered..."
"His sister, on the other hand..."
Fanny stared at him. "What?"
"I mean that the two of you seem close."
She found herself lost for words. Eventually she forced out, "I suppose we are."
William regarded her carefully. There was still that gentle affection, the desire to look after his younger sister, that had been there when they were younger. "Fanny," he said, "is there something that you wish to tell me?"
The mark on Fanny's wrist felt like it was burning into her skin. She had a sudden desire to burst out, to tell William everything. But a terrible, gnawing fear held her back. "No," she said. She felt sick. "No, I do not think so."
Concern flashed in William's eyes, but he didn't press her. "Well," he said instead, "I hope that you know..." he hesitated, uncertain quite how to phrase it. "I can see that you have become incredibly close, even in the little time that you have known her." He smiled. "I think that you should hold on to that."
Fanny could only nod. She felt like she'd been stripped of her voice. All she could think was, Does he know? What would happen if he knew? She tried to calm her fears. My friendship with Mary - with Miss Crawford - is perfectly natural. There is nothing to know.
There came a knock at the door and Fanny pushed her fears to the back of her mind. Edmund came in; when he saw William he looked embarrassed.
"Fanny," he said, "I had wanted to tell you something, but I now see that you are busy."
William stood up. "Not at all, cousin," he said graciously. "If you want to tell Fanny something in private then I am very happy to leave."
He was quick to prove this. Edmund sat down in the seat William had just vacated. He looked nervous.
"Fanny," he began when he was sure that William was out of earshot, "I am...I am in love with Miss Crawford. I intend to ask her to marry me."
Fanny felt like something was stabbing into her, but she made an effort to ignore it. "If you think that it shall make the both of you happy, Edmund..."
"That is very true - only, I have no idea if it will make her happy. She spends so much more time with you than me; tell me, does she talk of me often?"
"Not very often," Fanny admitted reluctantly. She wanted so badly for Edmund to be happy, that it almost hurt her to let him down in such a way. Yet there was a part of her that was relieved that Mary hadn't shown Edmund the same attention he had shown her.
Edmund deflated somewhat. "Oh, well, if that is the case -"
"I think that you should still ask her, Edmund," Fanny said determinedly, trying to force her discomfort away. "I am sure that she would make you happy."
Edmund immediately brightened up again. "Well, if you think so, Fanny..." He leapt up. "Then I shall." He faltered for a moment. "But perhaps not quite now. Fanny, this is not something that I have told anyone else, but...I believe Mary to be my soulmate. If that is true, then I cannot afford to make any mistakes should I choose to propose." Taking a deep breath, he thanked Fanny for her time and went out of the room.
William would probably not come back for a while yet. Fanny stared absently at the floor. Her eyes stung slightly in that way they would just before tears started falling, and she felt a strange hollow feeling in her chest. She took a deep breath.
Edmund would marry Mary, and they would be happy. She felt that with certainty. Mary would be right for Edmund. Mary, who was often so good, and charming, and captivating -
Another breath.
She was in love with Edmund. Yes, that was why she was upset. It was foolish to think that she would have ever been good enough for him, but that was why. It had nothing to do with the strange feelings Mary had awoken inside her, and definitely nothing to do with the incriminating mark on her wrist. Almost instinctively, she pulled up her sleeve to stare at it. Mary Crawford. Even seeing the name made her heart beat faster and caused an unconscious smile to spread across her face. Oh, how she wished Mary could have been with her in that moment!
A knock on the door. Fanny quickly pulled her sleeve down and rushed to open it.
Behind it was Edmund. He smiled apologetically. In his hand was a chain.
"I forgot to give this to you. It is for the cross William has given you, so that you can wear it around your neck."
Fanny smiled her thanks. She must have looked upset, because the next thing Edmund said was,
"If you are upset about my proposal to Mary, you must not be. It might feel as though I am taking your friend - who is your platonic soulmate, after all - away from you, but I promise that that is not the case. If she does agree to marry me, we shall not be very far away from you."
Fanny thanked him again, and shut the door. Then she leaned against it and heaved a heavy sigh. She almost wished that the Crawfords had never come to Mansfield - but then she thought of Mary, and the idea of a world without knowing her caused a great ache in her chest.
Henry's plan to find the perfect gift for Fanny had come to nothing for various reasons, the first and foremost being that during his trip he had come to the unfortunate realisation that he did not know her well enough to judge what present would be most well-received. Fortunately, Mary came to the rescue, however unwillingly; she happened to mention one evening the amber cross Fanny's brother had brought her from Sicily, and what a shame it was for Miss Price that she did not have a chain with which hang it around her neck. That was just the thing! He had given Mary the perfect necklace for the purpose a short while ago, and if he could only convince her to make a gift of it for Fanny, then he would succeed after all. What did it matter if the gift had passed into another person's hands first? It was still, in a way, a gift from him to her. But it was not to be; Mary soon made it very clear that she would have nothing to do with the matter, and so he decided, very reluctantly, that he would be the one to give the gift to Fanny, after he had acquired it (with questionable legality) from Mary's jewellery box. It wasn't, of course, the proper thing to do, but since Mary had refused he was forced into it. Besides, Henry had never given much thought to what society considered acceptable behaviour. And he was certain that Fanny would be so taken with him that she would ignore the manner of giving and accept it on the spot.
The gift in question was a rather overly ornamental gold necklace, perhaps not entirely to the young woman's taste, but she was sure to take it out of gratitude, if nothing else.
Unfortunately, when (on one of Fanny's increasingly regular visits to the cottage) he tried to give it to her, he discovered that he had been beaten to the punch - by Edmund of all people!
Fanny looked embarrassed. "Oh no, Mr Crawford, I could not possibly accept this from you. It was very kind of you to think of me, but I already have a chain for my cross, given to me by cousin Edmund."
Henry forced a smile that looked more like a grimace of pain. If only he hadn't been delayed by Mary's refusal - he could have been the one to bestow the first gift! "I do not mind at all," he lied. "But surely you will not refuse it outright?"
This made Fanny even more uncomfortable. "It would be improper, Mr Crawford," she said, "unless you were openly courting me." The very idea caused her discomfort to again increase.
Henry bowed. "Of course; I understand." She was right, of course, but he had been so used to women accepting his gifts regardless of impropriety that it had not even entered his mind that she'd refuse.
He made his excuses and went to walk outside.
Mary smiled and showed a bracelet to Fanny.
"I'm sure that you will not refuse this, Miss Price. Now, I realise that it may look suspiciously like a bracelet which I have in my own room, but I have to tell you that that is pure coincidence and -"
"Miss Crawford..."
Mary saw her expression and sighed. "Of course, of course. I should have put more effort into a gift, I admit, but I am afraid that the thought completely slipped my mind until today, and now there is no time for it."
"Miss Crawford, you need not trouble yourself so much."
"Nonsense!" Mary snapped her fingers. "Ah! It is not much of a gift, of course, but it's the only one I can offer - my company!" She beamed at Fanny. "I shall be as charming as I can be for your sake." She took a step closer to Fanny and tapped her on the nose. "In return, for as you know I am terribly selfish and would never do anything without reward, you must promise me a dance."
"You are joking, surely."
"On the contrary; I am as serious as I have ever been."
"I...but..."
"Two good friends sharing a dance can hardly be seen as improper, can it? If it really worries you, then I am sure that we can find some secluded spot where no one will notice."
Fanny stared at Mary, awed by her lack of fear. Men and women who meant nothing to each other danced together, it was true, but there had always been that rule: it must be a man and a woman. Quite like marriage, really.
"You may have a dance with me, Miss Crawford," she found herself saying.
Mary was overjoyed. "Excellent!" she cried, and bent over to kiss Fanny on the cheek. "Now," she declared, "you must have much to prepare, and I shall not keep you."
As Fanny went on her way, she thought of the kiss, the mark of which still burned on her cheek. Her heart felt like it was flying high above the world, and she couldn't explain why. The idea of a dance with Mary, perhaps. But why would that - no, she wouldn't think about it. And yet, even with that promise to herself, she remained in a daze until the evening.
The ball was impressive, as any ball hosted by a rich family was likely to be. In truth, Fanny was rather overwhelmed by the noise and the people, all of whom were eager to meet the young woman it was in honour of. Her nervousness was alleviated somewhat when she shared a dance with Edmund, but soon her partner was again a stranger, and at every available opportunity her eyes were searching the room for Mary.
At last - after what can only have been half an hour at most but felt much longer - the Crawfords arrived. Fanny's breath caught in her throat. Mary looked beautiful.
Her gloves were carefully embroidered with patterns that Fanny couldn't quite pick out from that distance. Mary's hair was more intricately styled than usual, and she wore a dress that was clearly far more expensive than those of other women in the room.
None of these things were what took Fanny's breath away. It was the way Mary seemed to absorb the mood of the room; her eyes sparkled with the joy of the moment.
Beside her was Henry, wearing a dark scowl which momentarily deepened when he saw Fanny, Edmund's chain around her neck. Then he seemed to recover himself, and sent a charming smile her way. She shrank from it.
Mary came up to her. "As I promised," she said, "my company."
Fanny smiled weakly. "I was worried that you would not come."
Mary looked offended. "I cannot think why; I am only fashionably late, not rudely late." In truth, she had spent perhaps longer than usual on her dress, so keen had she been to Fanny.
"Perhaps we are simply not up to date on the latest fashions, here in the country," Edmund suggested. When he had noticed Mary, he had begun to make his way towards them. "May I request a dance, Miss Crawford? I apologise for not asking earlier, and I suppose your dance card must be quite full -"
"Not at all, Mr Bertram. In fact, I seem quite unpopular in this small community. As to your question: certainly you may request it, but you really should be asking whether I shall accept it."
"Shall you?"
Mary thought for a moment. "Yes," she said at last. "I believe I shall." She turned to Fanny. "I hope you will excuse us, Miss Price. Do not fear, however; I shall return later in order for you to fulfil your promise." She smiled as Edmund led her off into the crowd.
Fanny danced the set with Tom. He had never been close to Fanny, and so wasn't eager for conversation, something which relived Fanny as it aligned perfectly with her own current feelings. She needed time to think. A dance with Mary was such a pleasant idea, but she wasn't sure quite how they'd get away with it. They couldn't dance one of the sets; everybody would notice. And if they slipped away, surely it wouldn't be long before someone found them missing.
It seemed impossible, but she had promised Mary...
The set ended. Mary went up to her, still in the same cheerful mood she had been in since she had arrived. Edmund trailed slightly behind her, unsure.
Mary was about to speak, but when she saw Edmund still there, she stopped abruptly. He looked uncomfortable.
"If you wish to speak with Fanny more privately, Miss Crawford, I would be happy to leave," he said.
"Thank you," Mary replied. "Your offer is much appreciated." She said it in a way that implied that she would be far less polite if he didn't take the hint and leave.
Edmund walked off, his shoulders bowed slightly in disappointment. Mary turned back to Fanny.
"Now," she said. "I believe that you are yet to fulfil your promise to me."
"I do not know how we can -"
Mary leaned closer to her. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "No one here is paying any attention to you. To be sure, they likely all wished you well at the beginning, but now their hearts are full with the excitement of the ball. No one shall notice if we leave for a less...well populated area of the house." She took Fanny's hand and began leading her away. Fanny made a show of resistance, but even though she tried to deny it, she knew deep within her that she wanted this. There was no harm in it - it was only a dance, after all; she had danced with several different people that night, and it should mean nothing.
But a dance with Mary! Her heart filled with joy even at the thought of it.
Mansfield Park was a large house, and had many guest bedrooms which were very rarely used. After some searching, Mary found one of them sufficiently far from the ball and dragged Fanny in after her, shutting the door after them.
"Shall we start with a quick dance?" she asked. "But please, I entreat, make it one I can hum easily. What we lack in terms of instruments can be made up for with my own voice."
"I am afraid that I am not very knowledgeable on the subject of dances, Miss Crawford," Fanny admitted, not without a little embarrassment.
Mary tutted. "What has that cousin of yours been teaching you? Very well, we shall dance the first dance of the last set. I think that I am still able to remember the tune."
It was a quick dance, one that left them both out of breath, especially Mary, since - as she had promised - she had undertaken to hum the tune.
They paused to recover. Mary regarded Fanny with a smile. An idea had come into her head.
"Miss Price," she said. "Have you ever heard of the waltz?"
Fanny looked scandalized. The waltz - a shocking dance from the continent, one condemned by many authorities, not least amongst them religious leaders.
"The waltz?" she said. "But that is -"
"Frowned upon by all polite society. I am perfectly aware of its reputation," Mary replied. "Of course, it cannot possibly be such a bad thing in our case, since we are two women, and there cannot be any of the criminal sensuality found in other cases. It is simple enough to learn, which perhaps may account somewhat for the criticism it faces; with such a simple dance, how are the dance masters to earn their keep?"
Fanny could not hold back a smile. "How do you know this dance, Miss Crawford? I would not have thought that you could come across it, here in England. Perhaps it is not so shocking a thing in London?"
"Ah, now you must allow that to be my own secret, Miss Price. Regardless of how I came about the knowledge, I am willing to teach it to you, should you so wish."
Fanny thought for a long moment. "As you have said, we are women, and so there cannot be the objection found as when a man and a woman are so close to each other." And yet...there was the strange way she felt drawn to Mary, perhaps rather like the attraction between a man and a woman in its nature.
She would dance the waltz with Mary. That would prove that there was nothing other than friendship between them, surely? If there was hesitation, there would be a reason for hesitation, an acknowledgement that it was possible for that sort of feeling to exist between two women.
Or perhaps that was just a poor excuse, a reason to do something she longed for.
Oh, it was all so confusing!
Mary still gazed at her expectantly.
"I will..." Fanny said hesitantly, "that is...will you...will you teach it to me?"
She looked overjoyed, and Fanny's heart felt full with...no, not love, unless it was the type of love that many women had for one another, the love of a friend.
Mary stepped forwards. "I shall be the man," she declared. "Now, take my left hand."
Fanny took it obediently. She stiffened slightly when Mary put her other hand under her shoulder.
"Now put your hand on my shoulder," Mary told her.
Fanny did so. She hadn't realised quite how close the dance brought its two partners.
"The next part is very simple," Mary continued. "Step backwards and to your right once, then to your left twice. We shall go around the entire room doing something similar."
It took them a few tries to get it right; Fanny was so nervous about Mary's closeness that she struggled to control her feet properly. But at last they were waltzing together. Both were so focused on the dance that they didn't even notice the lack of music, or how they were gradually drawing closer together. Fanny was tired from the unusually large amount of dancing she had done that night, and when she leant her head on Mary's shoulder it seemed quite natural.
"It is hard to waltz when you are leaning on me, Miss Price," Mary said laughingly.
Fanny couldn't find it in herself to care.
The dance slowed down. When they finally noticed the time, the two of them were barely moving, just swaying in one spot, pressed against each other.
It was Mary who realised first. "Why," she exclaimed, "we have been here for so long that no doubt the dancing will have finished!"
Her cry seemed to bring Fanny back to reality. She sprang away from Mary and an expression of panic crossed her face. If they had not been missed during the dancing, they surely would be now.
Mary looked firm. She grabbed Fanny's hand and began leading her back the way they'd come.
"I shall take the entirety of the blame," she told her as they walked. "I shall not allow anyone to unnecessarily chastise you."
"Miss Crawford," Fanny said, "I truly am grateful for your willingness to defend me, but I fear that in this case I am partially to blame."
Mary said nothing. Instead she quickened her pace, and before long they were back in the room that had been used for dancing. As Mary had predicted, the dancing was finished; the room was empty, the guests having gone away to talk or play cards, whichever took their fancy.
Empty apart from Sir Thomas, who stood in the middle of the room, waiting. He looked thunderous.
"I really must apologise, sir," Mary began in the same flippant tone of voice that she had once used for Mrs Norris, but before she could continue, he cut her off.
"This ball was in your honour, Fanny," he said, barely keeping his anger in check, "yet you have the gall to sneak away from these people who would no doubt wish to see you here! The gall to be so disrespectful towards my wishes for you! I would never have thought that you, of all people, could be so ungrateful!"
His voice had been rising all throughout his speech, and by the end he was almost screaming the words. Fanny was near tears.
"With all due respect, sir," Mary began coldly, all of her earlier light-heartedness gone, "if you had chosen to speak to Miss Price about what she would want, you would be aware that she is not the kind of person to enjoy large gatherings, and would likely have much preferred a smaller, more intimate group for her first ball." She stared at him in barely disguised hatred.
Sir Thomas sneered at her. "I should have expected such a lack of regard for common politeness from your kind, but I - foolishly, it seems - believed that a life in England would have driven it out of you."
Mary stiffened. Fanny saw an expression in her eyes that scared her, and for a moment she was worried that Mary would do something reckless.
She didn't; instead, she spun on her heel and stalked out of the room, out into the open air. Fanny began to follow her, almost without thinking, until Sir Thomas called her back. She turned back to him, and there seemed something ugly in him that she had never noticed - or perhaps had only chosen to ignore - before.
"If you follow her," he said, "you shall be severely punished."
She hesitated only for a moment. Then, with a barely audible apology, she was rushing out after Mary, leaving Sir Thomas in his anger.
Mary was sitting on the steps leading up to the house, staring out at the grounds of Mansfield Park, when Fanny came out.
"Miss Crawford?" she said quietly.
Mary turned around, and for a moment her discontented expression changed to one of happiness. "Fanny!" Just as quickly it settled back. "Did you leave your uncle to see me? You will get in trouble - worse trouble than that I tried to defend you from."
"I-I know," Fanny said hesitantly. "My uncle was very clear on that fact, but I...I was worried about you. I had to come to you. I am sorry."
Mary tried another smile. "You are far too good to me, Miss Price. But I think I would much rather that than someone who treats me exactly as I deserve. Now," she patted the place next to her on the steps, "I suppose that you have come to hear the exact reasons for why I left so rudely?"
Fanny blushed. "No; I am perfectly aware of what your reasons were. What my uncle said was cruel...very cruel; for a short time I was afraid that you would do much worse. I came only to keep you company out here." She sat down next to Mary, carefully making sure that there was space between them. Mary moved closer, so that their legs brushed.
"Perhaps you can keep me warm as well," she murmured. "It is far colder out here than I was expecting." She shivered.
Fanny suddenly found that she didn't altogether mind Miss Crawford's closeness to her. Mary's name on her wrist seemed almost inconsequential here, in the near dark. "The cold will be worth it," she said quietly, "when the stars come out. Oh! Miss Crawford! They are so beautiful here in the countryside." Her eyes sparkled with life as she watched dusk settle on their surroundings.
"I am sure that they are," Mary said, looking at Fanny. "There are many beautiful things in the countryside." She smiled, and in that moment she was the bright and laughing Miss Crawford, who never let anything phase her. She leaned over and kissed the side of Fanny's forehead. "You are very dear to me, Miss Price," she murmured. "Please, do me a service, and never forget the love that I hold for you."
Fanny turned so that their noses were almost touching. It occurred to her how easy it would be in that moment, as the sky darkened, to kiss Mary. The thought scared her, and she recoiled from it. Instead, she moved to rest her head on Mary's shoulder, and sighed contentedly.
"Perhaps we should move, before we become too comfortable here," Mary suggested. "Although perhaps comfortable is the wrong word. Guests will doubtless be leaving soon."
They relocated to a window ledge, which left them very little space; they were forced closer together than they had been before.
They sat there for so long, pressed together, that Fanny almost forgot why they had come out there in the first place. It was only when Miss Crawford spoke that she remembered.
"Sir Thomas is a slave owner," Mary said, in a way that was altogether too detached to be natural.
"Yes."
"And my brother and I...we are black. That is not something that can be ignored after your uncle's comments tonight. It was not something that could be entirely ignored before, but this has brought it painfully to the forefront."
"Yes. But," Fanny sat up suddenly, almost overbalancing as she did so, "he cannot see you in the same way. Tonight was only because he was frustrated, surely -" Mary cut her off with a bitter laugh, so unlike her usual mood that Fanny stopped speaking out of pure shock.
"Do you really think that matters, Miss Price? Do you truly believe in such an important distinction between what a man will say in anger and what he will say when he is calm and rational?"
"No," Fanny avoided looking at her. "But I am not you, Miss Crawford. I cannot so easily stand against my own uncle. Tonight, perhaps, but I do not believe that I could do it again."
"Even in a matter such as this? Even when human lives are at stake?"
"I love this house," Fanny said nervously. "And I have nowhere else to go. It does not matter if I know slavery is wrong. I cannot disagree openly."
"You could live with me," Mary said, so quietly that it was barely audible. Fanny said nothing that would indicate that she had heard, but her hand found Mary's and held it hesitantly. It was silent again, for a moment. Then Mary began to speak again.
"I suppose we are nothing really like them, Henry and I. We are educated, rich, English! They are not our people. And yet," she took a deep breath, "I suppose that does not really matter. If we were born into a different situation...and even as we are, we have had to fight for our place in this world." She laughed suddenly. "Ah, but I have never been much good at being serious. It does not suit me. And look," she pointed at the now completely darkened sky, "you were right about the stars."
White specks dotted the blue-black sky above their head, sparkling brightly.
"It is as if they are watching over us," Fanny whispered. "Oh, I do not want this night to end! Watching the stars with someone I...with a friend!" She yawned, and curled up next to Mary, who put her arms around her companion.
It was not until a fair time later that Henry stepped out. By that point, Mary had almost forgotten the cold. He looked around, searching for his sister, and at last spotted her on the window ledge, but said nothing, only indicating by a gesture that it was time they made their way back to the parsonage. Mary made to move, but a murmur of objection came from Fanny, now half-asleep.
Mary smiled. "I shall carry you back inside," she told her firmly, and with that, she lifted Fanny up and into her arms.
Henry raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure that you can take her all the way back to her room? I am certain that I could -"
"No, Henry," Mary said firmly. "I can manage quite well on my own. Miss Price is very light, perhaps worryingly so."
The Bertram household was quieting when Mary re-entered with Fanny; all the guests, apart from the Crawfords, had left long ago. Even the Grants had been persuaded to head back earlier, leaving their relations to make their own way to the parsonage. Only Edmund remained downstairs; when he saw Mary, he smiled in that gentle way of his.
"Do you know where her room is?" he asked.
"Yes, thank you, Mr Bertram; I have been there several times in the past, when I have been unable to find Fanny in the East Room." She almost visibly winced at how rude she sounded, and quickly changed the subject. "I suppose that you are going to bed now as well?"
"That is correct," he said. "Good night," he hesitated, "Mary."
She smiled. "Good night, Edmund."
Without another word, she took Fanny upstairs to her room, at the top of the house. As she lay her down on the bed, Fanny drifted into full consciousness for a moment, and a faint, loving smile lit up her face. "Mary," she said tenderly.
Mary returned her smile. "Fanny," she said, and bent down to kiss her on the forehead.
By the time she descended, Edmund had gone to bed. Only Henry waited.
"Are you ready to return home?" he asked.
For a moment, Mary was confused. Then she realised that he must have meant the parsonage. "Yes," she said. "I rather think that I am."