Mansfield Park | Page 8

Her feelings were
very acute, and too little understood to be properly attended to. Nobody
meant to be unkind, but nobody put themselves out of their way to
secure her comfort.
The holiday allowed to the Miss Bertrams the next day, on purpose to
afford leisure for getting acquainted with, and entertaining their young
cousin, produced little union. They could not but hold her cheap on
finding that she had but two sashes, and had never learned French; and
when they perceived her to be little struck with the duet they were so
good as to play, they could do no more than make her a generous
present of some of their least valued toys, and leave her to herself,
while they adjourned to whatever might be the favourite holiday sport
of the moment, making artificial flowers or wasting gold paper.
Fanny, whether near or from her cousins, whether in the schoolroom,
the drawing-room, or the shrubbery, was equally forlorn, finding
something to fear in every person and place. She was disheartened by
Lady Bertram's silence, awed by Sir Thomas's grave looks, and quite
overcome by Mrs. Norris's admonitions. Her elder cousins mortified
her by reflections on her size, and abashed her by noticing her shyness:
Miss Lee wondered at her ignorance, and the maid-servants sneered at
her clothes; and when to these sorrows was added the idea of the
brothers and sisters among whom she had always been important as
playfellow, instructress, and nurse, the despondence that sunk her little
heart was severe.
The grandeur of the house astonished, but could not console her. The
rooms were too large for her to move in with ease: whatever she
touched she expected to injure, and she crept about in constant terror of
something or other; often retreating towards her own chamber to cry;

and the little girl who was spoken of in the drawing-room when she left
it at night as seeming so desirably sensible of her peculiar good fortune,
ended every day's sorrows by sobbing herself to sleep. A week had
passed in this way, and no suspicion of it conveyed by her quiet passive
manner, when she was found one morning by her cousin Edmund, the
youngest of the sons, sitting crying on the attic stairs.
"My dear little cousin," said he, with all the gentleness of an excellent
nature, "what can be the matter?" And sitting down by her, he was at
great pains to overcome her shame in being so surprised, and persuade
her to speak openly. Was she ill? or was anybody angry with her? or
had she quarrelled with Maria and Julia? or was she puzzled about
anything in her lesson that he could explain? Did she, in short, want
anything he could possibly get her, or do for her? For a long while no
answer could be obtained beyond a "no, no--not at all--no, thank you";
but he still persevered; and no sooner had he begun to revert to her own
home, than her increased sobs explained to him where the grievance lay.
He tried to console her.
"You are sorry to leave Mama, my dear little Fanny," said he, "which
shows you to be a very good girl; but you must remember that you are
with relations and friends, who all love you, and wish to make you
happy. Let us walk out in the park, and you shall tell me all about your
brothers and sisters."
On pursuing the subject, he found that, dear as all these brothers and
sisters generally were, there was one among them who ran more in her
thoughts than the rest. It was William whom she talked of most, and
wanted most to see. William, the eldest, a year older than herself, her
constant companion and friend; her advocate with her mother (of whom
he was the darling) in every distress. "William did not like she should
come away; he had told her he should miss her very much indeed."
"But William will write to you, I dare say." "Yes, he had promised he
would, but he had told her to write first." "And when shall you do it?"
She hung her head and answered hesitatingly, "she did not know; she
had not any paper."
"If that be all your difficulty, I will furnish you with paper and every

other material, and you may write your letter whenever you choose.
Would it make you happy to write to William?"
"Yes, very."
"Then let it be done now. Come with me into the breakfast-room, we
shall find everything there, and be sure of having the room to
ourselves."
"But, cousin, will it go to the post?"
"Yes, depend upon me it shall: it shall go with the other letters; and, as
your uncle will frank it, it will cost