Not A Better Girl

A Mansfield Park fanfiction

One-shot

Mrs. Grant contrived, upon seeing their names in the paper, her sister should not learn of it.

Speedy decisiveness and a good pair of scissors quickly cut away the short passage which would have cruelly opened up a scar not yet – to Mrs. Grant's mind – old enough to cease being called a wound.

The pen of another lady – a far more sensible, though equally sensitive, one than poor, biased Mrs. Grant – would have said this occurrence took place exactly when it was quite natural, not a week sooner.

Though, she, too, knowing not everybody would see it in that light (there are rather too many Mary Crawfords, despite plenty of good, often deliberately misunderstood, narratives cautioning against becoming one of that crew, and still more foolish and blinded Mrs. Grants, in the world for there not to be need of a small amendment) would have purposefully abstained from dates.

But the truth is, Mrs. Grant should never have thought it natural Edmund should cease to care about her beloved sister and marry Fanny Price of all persons!

If Edmund Bertram, the spoiler of Mary Crawford's happiness forever, dared enter the married state at all, and she did not think he ought, he being the one person who should be barred from martial felicity, justice dictated it should – it must – be to a woman inferior to Mary, some Miss Owen or Miss Maddox (that would be a scandal worthy of punishing him; there was something going on in that family, for sure) not his indigent, simple cousin with all her quiet merits, the only woman she'd heard of who had ever tempted Henry to want a wife.

Dr. Grant, she convinced – with some difficulty – to say nothing to Mary, and then – just when she thought it was safe – Henry was announced, and she knew, absolutely knew, almost by means supernatural, he would have the paper in his hands and eyes undeniably as red as Mary's would soon be; she had to intervene all over again.

Waiting for Mary to come downstairs, Mrs. Grant having taken his paper away and vowed – despite her undying love for him – she should have him turned away if he uttered the name of Bertram or of Price, so white and stricken herself he could not be cross at her manner to him, Henry whispered, "But it cannot be kept from her forever – she is soon to hear of this sad business from some quarter. Some friend – Mrs. Fraser, perhaps – will say, 'I saw the name of Edmund Bertram in the paper – this is not your Edmund Bertram, is it, the one who dined with us?' and then it will all come out."

"Not yet," was all Mrs. Grant could reply to this. "Please – oh, please – have mercy. Henry, I beg you, spare her the shock you were not spared – not yet."

Not yet it was.

Mary noted how the paper seemed to be missing some lines, and she made many teasing remarks about it in her way, quite setting the blame upon Dr. Grant, who she was the most likely to find fault with in the household, for even as her sister's husband she still could not like him, but she did not – even confronted with uncharacteristically low spirits from Henry, whose dour face suggested someone had taken away his most beloved toy and would never give it back any more – suspect the truth.

Mrs. Grant meant to give her sister a few days at most, though she hardly knew what she meant, only, by pure chance, her ignorance of the marriage between Edmund and Fanny was left in place far longer.

If it had been Tom, the eldest, the heir, some gossip would have reached her ears.

The wife of a will-be baronet holds importance, but the wife of a younger brother – one whose name Mrs. Fraser had, in actuality, quite forgotten – does not.

Edmund and Fanny didn't run in high society – a clergyman was nothing, his wife even less.

If her name had been remembered alongside Henry Crawford's – if it had been more widely recognised she was that Fanny Price – the news of her marrying another, poorer man – hardly as genteel as a real gentleman, even if he was a son of Sir Thomas – should have been on many lips – it should have been the talk of the ton; but, chance was kind or cruel, depending on whose eyes you look at it through, and no one said anything, for no one cared anything.


It was in a theatre – a theatre in Bath – of all places, where Mary saw Edmund Bertram again for the first time since their ill-fated final conversation, the one which she had tried so desperately to prolong – to smooth over – with her saucy, playful smile.

She could scarcely believe her eyes – and, to her credit, they did so sparkle with delight – when she recognised him in the box across from herself.

She fixed her eyes upon his gorgeous person – quite forgetting the performance below – and was so caught up in gazing, wondering when he should realise she was here, looking at him, and no doubt think on how beautiful she looked, mulling over how he was still the best man she had met – no heir-apparent she'd encountered as of yet could equal him and be worthy of her esteem – she did not at first see who it was seated beside him.

None other than Fanny Price!

Emotions flooded her in a great hurry. A dam inside her was breaking at an alarming pace.

Fanny was a simple girl – she would never forgive her for not accepting Henry when she might have saved them all and secured them every happiness for life!

Nay, that was unfair, there was not a better girl than Fanny alive – she never had such a friend she could really confide in as she did Fanny.

She observed Edmund taking Fanny's tiny, gloved hand and squeezing it tenderly, inclining his head to whisper to her (he must be explaining the play), and the display of affection between the cousins touched her heart – oh, how dear they still both must be to her!

Fanny looked very fine, too. Her curls might have been better set, but otherwise she was quite pretty.

Throughout the rest of the play, Mary could think of only two things – one, how extremely odd (and vexing) it was Edmund never once seemed to see her, no matter how long she stared and shifted and hoped to be setting herself off to her best advantage, far too busy whispering to his cousin and having eyes for nothing but his box-companion and the play below, and two, how Fanny had been such wonderful help, so long ago, in dispelling her jealousy towards the Miss Owens, when she'd feared Edmund might make an offer to one of them.

Perhaps Fanny would do it again – it was Henry, not herself, who'd wronged the family by being fool enough to be caught with Maria – his indiscretion, not hers – so Fanny must still love her and be willing, if she asked now a reasonable time had gone by, to put a good word in with Edmund.

Was it possible she could win him back?

She scarcely dared to hope, yet when she saw how sweet little Fanny Price's face was beside Edmund's, she could not help but hope – this was a face not made to hold a grudge.

The curtain could not fall soon enough for her liking, and when it did – at last, at last! – Mary was rushing, walking as speedily as could be considered lady-like, through the passageways of the theatre until she reached the curtain separating the hallway from what she gauged to be Edmund and Fanny's box.

She waited behind her fluttering fan for Edmund to leave – perhaps he was fetching Fanny's shawl – then, taking a deep breath, admitted herself.

Fanny's light eyes widened when she saw her; her rosebud mouth parted in genuine surprise, for she had not seen her sitting across from them, no more than Edmund had. "Why, Miss Crawford!"

"Oh, gentle Fanny!" she cried, holding out her hands. "Forgive my intruding upon you, but I saw you from my seat and could bear the separation not a moment longer. I hope you will not be offended by the merry greetings of an old friend who has missed you and loved you despite all which has transpired – such a sad business it was."

"Oh, yes, indeed." Fanny was uncomfortable, but she tried to smile – she did not know what she ought to do. She wished Edmund had not left her alone – she wished he should not come back too soon – she did not know what she wished.

With a swish of her dress, a sweeping of her elegant skirts, which Fanny managed to compliment, Mary sat in the chair Edmund had occupied but a few moments since. She held back a little and asked politely after everybody at Mansfield Park.

Blushing, Fanny confessed – while her sister Susan, Lady Bertram's stationary niece at Mansfield, assured her they were all well – she lived there no longer.

Now, she thought, Miss Crawford must understand – now she should see the ringthe ring Fanny couldn't, not from any malice but only out of tender, anxious habit, avoid stroking a little too pointedly.

The little gold ring which was the only ornament Fanny treasured more than her amber cross and simple chain.

Mary did not understand; she imagined Fanny was married to some other man, though it was impossible to guess who this other man could be. Some menial, no doubt. Poor girl – she would never receive an offer like Henry's again; she had squandered it forever. Mary was wounded for Henry, of course, but he had made his own bed, and Fanny was lost to him already the moment he was caught with Maria – that did not change how Fanny might be in a position to bring herself and Edmund together again.

Contemplating how long this chance to win Fanny to her and perhaps gain Edmund back into the bargain might really last – a shawl could not take forever to fetch – Mary decided to wager all on one stroke.

If she did not win her lover, it would not be for lack of striving to get him.

"Fanny, sweetest confidant, I must tell you – for it has been weighing so upon my heart, and I know only your kind offices can ever set it right again – your cousin is the only man I ever did like – nay, the word is weak, too weak, and I cannot fool one such as you – I shall say love – I am not ashamed of the word – the only man I ever could love and I have–"

Fanny blanched. "Oh, Miss Crawford, pray say no more – do not say what you may hereafter be sorry for – oh, you do not know–"

At that moment, chance again shone like a bright shaft of sunlight upon the happy Bertram couple and rained upon Mary, for Edmund returned and did not see Miss Crawford.

With the curtains drawn and no one looking, what he did, beholding lovely Fanny – his sweet wife – looking pale and wistful, could not be considered a public kiss, could not be improper.

His hand was upon her shoulder to steady her trembling, as it always was when she might have an attack of nerves which often comes before a bad headache, and her face turned up to him so imploringly, he must bend and kiss her upon the mouth, once, even twice, most tenderly, most ardently – nothing else would do for him.

Unhappy Mary! She was made to understand by this – she was much too clever to miss the significance of such a kiss.

Fanny pulled away very quickly – she did not mean to flaunt her victory; for a great victory it was, though her grave look suggested she felt only pain and pity for her fallen rival.

Edmund saw their company at last, appeared stunned and a little uncomfortable, but there was no regret in his eyes; he knew he had gained the best portion.

Rising, Mary blurted, very warmly and very fast, "Oh, well, I must be going – I only wished to say hello – and, Mrs. Bertram, I hope you will not have taken my little joke I played upon you a moment ago as my being serious – I never am serious, you know. And a good evening to you, as well, Mr. Bertram."

But after she had gone, Fanny whispered, "She is still in love with you."

"I hope you aren't imagining I–" he began, defensive.

"Oh, no – I know you do not still–"

"Still? Fanny, I never – the woman I thought I loved, before I knew my happiness with you, was never her – I made her up in my head."

Fanny held his hand. "I am sorry for her, all the same."

"I am, too, in my way – I was a blockhead to not perceive her sitting with you; I should have been kinder if I had.

"Alas, it's plain she shall have a long way to go before she is grown out of the worst of her faults, if ever she succeeds in repairing the taint of a spoiled mind."

"Her first education was not as it ought to have been," said Fanny.

"Well, I can no longer place the blame upon her aunt and uncle, as you know I used to. She is not an infant – why has she, even now, after all that's happened, never considered important subjects for herself?"

A/N: Reviews welcome, reply could be delayed.