Edmund Bertram's Diary Read Free Page B

awhile,’ I said. ‘It is cool under the trees. You may catch your breath, and then we wil return to the house together.’
    I spread out my coat for her, and bade her sit down. I was about to ask her about Wil iam when she surprised me by reciting:
    The poplars are fel ed, farewel to the shade
    And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade.
    ‘You have read the Cowper I gave you,’ I said, much struck, for, although I had defended her at the time, I had been guilty of believing my sisters when they said that she was stupid.
    ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I read it every night.’
    ‘You seem to be a very devoted student, little Fanny,’ I said with a smile. She gave a tentative smile, too, but this time it was with pleasure. I talked to her about the things she had read, and found an intel igent mind beneath her timidity. When she was ready to go on I walked slowly beside her, and took her into the library.
    ‘Aunt Norris . . .’ she said.
    ‘A few minutes more wil not make any difference.’
    I talked to her about what she liked to read and helped her to choose some books, then I accompanied her into the drawing-room, so that I could turn aside the worst of my aunt’s il humor. I appealed to my mother, who said that Fanny must not be sent out without a hat in such heat again, and received a look of grateful thanks from my little friend. Tom was lounging on the sofa, and he suggested we go and see Damson’s new puppies.
    ‘Though you do not need one,’ he remarked, as we left the drawing-room, ‘for I am sure it wil not fol ow you around as adoringly as Fanny, nor come so readily when you cal .’
    I smiled, and he teased me some more, and told me that if I decided against being a clergyman or a poet, I would make a very good governess.
    Friday 29 August
    The candles were brought in earlier today, and it made me realize that summer is drawing to its end. Soon it wil be time to go back to school. I would rather stay here at Mansfield Park. I confided my feelings to Fanny when we walked together in the grounds, as has become our custom after breakfast, and then I was surprised I had done so. But there is something comfortable about the patter of her little feet next to mine, and something indefinably sweet about her nature that seems to invite confidences. She told me that she would rather I remained at home as wel , then looked surprised at her own courage in speaking. I could not help but smile.
    ‘I wil miss my shadow when I have gone,’ I said.
    I asked her about her reading and found that she had read the books I recommended, and that she had committed a surprising amount of verse to heart. She is an apt pupil, and I think it wil not be long before she ceases to draw down my sisters’ contempt for her lack of learning. I spoke to both Maria and Julia today, tel ing them they must be kind to her when I am away, and I have wrung a promise from them that they wil protect her from the worst of Aunt Norris’s attention. My aunt is very good, but I believe she does not realize how young Fanny is, or how easily wounded. A harsh word, to Fanny, is a terrible thing. And then she is so delicate. She tires quickly and is prone to coughs and colds. I hope the shawl Tom bought her wil be enough to protect against winter’s draughts.
    Tom was morose when I mentioned that we would soon be back at school, but then he brightened.
    ‘Only one more year, Edmund,’ he said. ‘Only one more, and then I wil be up at Oxford. And in two years we wil be there together.’

    1802

NOVEMBER

    Tuesday 9 November
    I wondered what Oxford would be like, and whether I would take to it, but now that I am here I find I am enjoying myself. Tom came to my rooms when I had scarcely arrived and told me he would take care of me. He hosted a dinner for me tonight and it was a convivial evening, though I was surprised to see how much he drank. At home, he takes wine in moderation, but tonight he seemed to know no limit. I held his hand back