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Part 21B
At the parsonage, Henry was silent for most of the time, but entered into Melissa's room as soon as the house was quiet. He found her at her mirror, and with a smile, he took a seat on her bed.
"So it did not go as badly as you had planned?" he asked her. "You were worried for nothing?"
Melissa put down her brush and looked at him through her mirror. "How do you know I was worried?"
"I guess I know these things," replied Henry with a grin. "And the older Bertram seemed perfectly fine when I talked to him about you and the Boy. I confess that I drilled him a little to discover his feelings about the whole engagement."
Melissa nodded and resumed brushing her hair. "How bold of you, Henry!"
"But it was all for your good," he answered softly.
"Well, if that is the case, I suppose I must thank you. Now what have you to say?--why did you come in here? Did you want to talk of your part in Lovers' Vows?"
"No," answered Henry, "I have not a thought of that play. I came to talk about your Miss Price; I really do not know what to make of her.
Melissa laughed. "Do you ever know what to make of Miss Price?"
Henry laughed. "I know so little of Miss Price, that it is hard what to make of her. I never thought she could speak, but her speeches to me! She does not like me; that is clear."
Melissa smiled. "And what do you make of this?"
"I am quite intrigued. Very intrigued. As I told the girl, people can be two different things without being duplicitous, and she certainly appears to be two different things! So quiet, so shy, and then to say her opinion so decisively, so boldly!--It is not what I thought of her."
"Whether you believe it or not, being quiet does not make her opinions weak. Miss Price thinks deeply on all subjects, and knows her own mind well, and when she thinks it is important, she is easily able to express her opinion and to stick by it."
Henry seemed to lose himself in musing for a moment. "Indeed . . . but we shall see if she will stick by this opinion." He looked up, a decisive smile on his face. "My earlier intention is hardened: I will make this girl fall in love with me!"
Melissa shook her head with a smile. "I wish you luck, Henry, but I fear your attempts to storm the solid Citadel will fail."
"And as I said earlier to such an opinion, we shall see."
Melissa nodded, and then asked demurely about the play. "Will you be practicing tomorrow at Mansfield with the rest of us?"
"I believe so . . ." said Henry vaguely.
"And will you practice your scenes with Miss Julia?" asked Melissa, even more demure.
Henry smiled at her ruefully. "I suppose so, but you and Yates have nothing to fear for me--Miss Julia is not half so intriguing as the interesting Miss Price."
"Perhaps I should not, but I do have a fear for you--the fear that you might be bored."
Henry laughed loudly. "I believe your fears might be justified, but I fear you cannot protect me from that. However, my dear, I thank you for your kind thoughts."
Melissa nodded grandly in return, acknowledging his answer. "In any case, it is possible that the girl will little trouble you. She has Mr. Yates as a companion, and surely he is enough to thoroughly entertain a girl for the rest of her days."
Henry laughed again. "But who is the superior amuser, my sister dear? Yates is amusing in his little way, I grant you, but how can his absurdities compare with me?"
"Ah! Vanity, vanity, my dear brother! Yates might be a fop, but he is not nearly as vain as you . . . or, should I say, as vain as your would be, if you had the vanity that you do not possess?"
"Ouch! Touché, my favorite baggage, touché."
Melissa almost fell off the stool with laughter. "'I won't be called a baggage! Oh, you've no feeling heart in you: you don't care for nothing but yourself!'"
"Very well, then," said Henry, pretending to be humbled, "I will allow that Yates is more amusing than me."
Melissa went over to him and patted him upon the back. "Wonderfully executed, brother," she said with a smile. "That is the first time I ever heard you admit your insuperiority. It takes a real gentleman to do that."
"Gentleman? If I am becoming that, I had better leave Mansfield Park soon. Mrs. Grant is trying to transform me into an Edmund Bertram!"
"No," laughed Melissa, "you shall never be like Mr. Edmund."
"And why not?" Henry inquired with a smile. "Is he too original or am I too far-gone?"
"I think you should put an emphasis on the latter."
Henry got up and shook his head. "There is not hope with you, Mary; you are too hard upon me! I suppose you shall spend tonight trying to think of something spiteful to say to me in the morning?"
"What else do I do? No, I think I shall only think about your plan. I hate to tell you this, Henry, but I really have doubts that you will be able to pull that one off. Miss Price is a difficult one to persuade."
"And I am a difficult one to accept a loss, my darling," said Henry, smiling as he shut the door. Now Melissa did not try to contain her smiles; for the first time things were going as planned! Of course she had no part in it, but she could still be happy about it. With the engagement and her problems, happiness was hard enough to find these days.
But the first thing that came to her mind as she woke up was Henry's determination, and she could not help but be glad to be able to witness it. As she had thought, Henry was subtle at first, only going up to Fanny and talking to her about the weather and the play as soon as he and Melissa arrived.
"And how are you, Miss Price?" he asked, taking her hand. His eyes sunk. "I hope you are not still angry with me?"
"No," replied Fanny, shaking off the idea. "I was never angry with you; I only disagreed."
"And for good reason, for after staying awake thinking about what I said, I realized that I was wrong. I misjudged you, and I will not blame you if you are never able to forgive me. Though," he added, "I would be very saddened if you cannot."
"I always forgive," said Fanny modestly, though not without a little annoyance at his words. Her nerves were relieved when Yates called all the actors together.
His clothing today was, Melissa felt, quite noteworthy among his bizarre wardrobe. This day was an attempt at a Chinese sort of theme, mixed with what she didn't know what--his waistcoat was a soft buff color, made of silk, with a pattern of bamboo trees with bluebirds sewn onto it. His trousers were flaming red, and his coat was a light yellow. The interesting part of the outfit was that his shirt had lace on it--his hands were nearly covered by delicately woven lace, and lace was at his throat rather than a common cravat. This piece of old-fashionedness made Melissa want to laugh more than anything else did, considering that she was beginning to become used to his odd fashions.
He straightened himself, and cried in a loud voice, "Attention! Everyone, please, attention here!"
Once attention was drawn to him, Yates proceeded to speak a few degrees softer, but he lost none of his grandeur in his modifications. "Everyone, we have gathered together here today for a special reason: namely, to act the play Lovers' Vows . . ."
As Yates spoke, Henry leaned over and whispered softly enough so that none but Melissa and Fanny could hear him, "Are we in the wrong area? It appears that Yates is conducting a wedding or something equally momentous."
"The question today is," continued Yates, oblivious to the soft snickers, "whether we should rehearse as a group, or as individuals."
"I believe we should rehearse in small groups," said Edmund quickly, self-interest prompting his words.
"I agree," said Tim, his own motives in mind.
"I third the motion," said Henry casually.
Yates nodded grandly. "Then it shall be as all wish."
As people began to sort themselves into groups, Melissa felt a hand lightly touch her arm, and she turned to see Tim.
"I was hoping, Miss Crawford, that you would rehearse Amelia with me. I have worked on a few scenes and this Anhalt needs a little practice," he said, a boyish smile small on his face.
"Shall we practice together?" said Edmund, coming to her.
Melissa looked from Edmund to Tim, and quickly swallowed. "I should like to later, Mr. Bertram, but I am afraid your brother asked first and I am obliged to join him."
Edmund hid his disappointment well. "I shall look forward to it with great anticipation," he said gallantly, and smiled at her. Tim's arm was offered to her, and with a gentle farewell to her fiancé, she and Tim left the room to the garden.
"What speeches have you worked on, Tim?" she asked.
He raised an eyebrow. "You shall see."
When Melissa sat down on the bench and took out her book, Tim then said, "Act III, Scene ii," in explanation, and she turned the pages obligingly. He leaned over her shoulder and pointed at a place. "We shall start here; if you like of it?"
She responded obligingly, and Tim took the seat next to her, and the scene began.
"'He wishes that I should ascertain whether you have an inclination--'" Tim began.
"'For the Count, or for matrimony do you mean?'"
"'For matrimony.'"
"'All things that I don't know, and don't understand, are quite indifferent to me.'"
"'For that reason I am sent to you to explain the good and the bad of which matrimony is composed.'"
"'Then I beg first to be acquainted with the good,'" said Melissa hesitantly, seeing the brightness in Tim's eyes and suspecting some meaning to be attached to the following words.
"'When two sympathetic hearts meet in the marriage state, matrimony may be called a happy life. When such a wedded pair find thorns in their path, each will be eager, for the sake of the other, to tear them from the root. Where they have to mount hills, or wind a labyrinth, the most experienced will lead the way, and be a guide to his companion. Patience and love will accompany them in their journey, while melancholy and discord they leave far behind.--Hand in hand they pass on from morning till evening, though their summer's day, till the night of age draws on, and the sleep of death overtakes the one. The other, weeping and mourning, yet looks forward to the bright region where he shall meet his still surviving partner among trees and flowers which themselves have planted, in fields of eternal verdue,'" said Tim coolly.
"'You may tell my father--I'll marry.'"
Tim quickly jumped up from his seat, and looked down at her, his eyes fixed. "'This picture is pleasing; but I must beg you not to forget that there is another on the same subject.--When convenience, and fair appearance joined to folly and ill-humour, forge the fetters of matrimony, they gall with their weight the married pair. Discontented with each other--at variance in opinions--their mutual aversion increases with the years they live together,'" said Tim, his voice with a deep intensity. "'They contend most, where they should most unite; torment, where they should most soothe. In this rugged way, choked with the weeds of suspicion, jealous, anger, and hatred, they take their daily journey, till one of these also sleep in death. The other then lifts up his dejected head, and calls out in acclamations of joy--Oh, liberty! dear liberty!'"
Melissa looked down at the book, flustered, to read the line. She believed that she knew the meaning Tim meant to convey to her through this speech in particular, and she found that she could not say the line--"I will not marry." But what should she say?
She did not know how long she had sat thinking until Tim asked her if she was ill.
She glanced up at him. "No, I'm not ill--I really don't know what is the matter," she replied.
"Did I offend you?" Not used to coming up with spiteful plans, Tim began to feel a little guilty as he witnessed Melissa's discomposure. The blush upon her cheek hurt him for some reason, and when she put her hand to her forehead, Tim could feel his own head ache.
"No," Melissa said, "no, you did nothing wrong--all you did was read the play."
"But it is silly," said Tim with a smile. "Sometimes too many silly speeches can get into your head. They can put ideas into your brain when there is really nothing there at all--in the play, I mean."
Melissa smiled in agreement. "Indeed, it is silly, but I don't think it's that. Why should a play get to me? It is harmless, and so is everything else."
"Yes," Tim said, "except, perhaps, for these roses." He took a brilliant red flower by the stem and lightly ran his fingers along it until they reached the bloom. "I think that it is a Bertram tradition to grow everything with extra thorns. You have realized that by now?"
"You are awful! Like Maria and Julia?"
"Yes, certainly like them," Tim said, "but others too--but you can be misled at first like with this rose. The first thing you do is see the flower, and you reach down to pick it only to find that you have entered into the wrong thing. It's very common, but you cannot go back--your fingers have already been pricked."
Melissa sighed and stood up. "Very pretty, Mr. Brookston, but where is the point?"
"The point is, Miss Carrington," he said, taking her hands in an effort to keep her there, "the point--" He paused. "Well, I am not sure that there is a point, but I can tell you the object--simply that I do not want you to prick your fingers by staying on this bench, in this garden. How would you like to take a walk?"
Melissa eyed him a moment before finally breaking into a smile. "You could have asked me in fewer words!"
"I apologize, but I did not know if you still wanted to rehearse."
Melissa held up her book. "You mean this? I'd rather walk," she said, throwing it under the bench. She accordingly took his proffered hand, and they walked along the path.
Chapter 21C
Melissa smiled at him and said, "Tim, have you noticed what has been happening?"
"What?" asked Tim, slightly confused.
"You haven't noticed?--and right under your nose? It's coming early!"
"What's coming early? The apocalypse?"
Melissa laughed. "How can you be so tiresome? You know what I mean!"
"No, I have not that pleasure. What can you be referring to? Is it Yates?--I haven't paid attention to that," said Tim thoughtfully. "Looking at all that brilliance makes my eyes water."
Melissa laughed again. "No, Fanny and Henry!"
"Oh! Fanny and Henry!--why? Have you noticed something?"
"Perhaps not, if you have noticed nothing. But you must acknowledge that he has quite given up Maria and is paying much more attention to Miss Price than he did in the book at this point. He has declared to me that he means to make Fanny Price in love with him, so he has stopped short of committing several compromising Maria-related follies. Well, I must say that I consider that promising--what do you think?"
"I don't know . . . now that you mention it, I can see how Henry has been quite attentive to Fanny of late, but I have detected nothing on her part."
"Of course--Fanny hides her emotions, but I think she is able to fall in love with Henry, if he can change his ways, which I am prepared to believe possible. Well, when the match comes off, I hope you and I can drink a toast to my own cleverness."
Tim laughed in spite of himself. "On that occasion, Melissa, I should be quite happy to join you. You certainly are confident of yourself."
"Of course! Why should I not be confident? The match is meant to be, and has been so ever since Jane Austen wrote the book. He's charming, she's available. I don't doubt but that it will take a while, but both Henry and I will be willing to persevere. After all, he likes a challenge."
"Perhaps when you are married, you will be able to invite both Henry and Fanny to stay with you, and will give Henry a better chance," Tim commented carelessly.
Melissa froze momentarily, having forgotten for the moment that she had a fiancé. "That sounds like a good idea," she commented quietly, and they walked on for a few moments in silence. Melissa, hurt, walked ahead of him; she was confused, and she did not want to see his face. Tim had always been the last person she felt uncomfortable around--except for their beginnings, of course--but she did not know how to act around him anymore. They could not joke freely without some reminder coming up about her new state. Then their smiles would leave their faces and they would become as nervous as two young lovers--but for different reasons.
The silence affected Tim also. He caught up with Melissa and ventured to take her hand; she reluctantly gave it to him, still avoiding his gaze.
"Melissa, I apologize. You are upset because of what I said."
She took her hand away. "What makes you think that?"
"I've seen enough to know," replied Tim. "No, I don't try to flatter myself--it very well may be because I am being a beast."
Melissa glanced at him now, and could not stifle a laugh. "A beast, Tim? Is it possible for you to be one? Don't try to take the blame--it is only myself, what I told you before. Engagements are stressful."
"I agree with you there."
Melissa looked up, smiling. "What, have you been engaged?"
"Yes, just once," Tim answered innocently.
Melissa nodded knowingly. "Henry was right! So that is what men do in Weymouth."
"No, I'm not joking. I was engaged in London--not too long before I found myself here."
"Oh." Surprised, Melissa stopped walking. She observed him for a moment before continuing to walk. "Why did you never mention it before?"
"I don't know," Tim said with a shrug. "I suppose I thought that it would not matter."
"No, I guess not, but you know how women are about these things. You said you were engaged?"
"Yes; we agreed to wait until making the engagement final, or rather I did."
Melissa lifted her head. "Oh? Why was that? Was she not pretty enough for you?"
"Yes, Anna is very pretty. Actually it was because I did not know if I loved her enough. A very silly reason, you will think?"
"Why would I find that silly?"
"I don't know," said Tim again. "I suppose that an engaged woman must know more about love than I do."
Melissa felt the sting, but attempted to hide her feelings. "I am sorry that it did not work out for you," she remarked quietly.
"I am sorry too, but I suppose that it was not meant to be."
Melissa looked over at him, surprised at his tone. He sounded sorry; genuinely regretful. She was curious, and decided to dig for details.
"What was this Anna like? What were her interests? What did she look like? How did you meet?"
Tim laughed. "I did not think you would be so curious."
"I merely wonder what kind of girl could enchant you--after all, you are not the Great Flirt of London, so you say at least, so I merely wondered . . . I am sorry; I am a very nosy person."
He laughed again. "I perceived that long ago, but I have no problem saying anything about her--it's not a painful memory. She would remind you of Fanny--quiet and shy. She loved children; was in college to teach at nursery-schools. She was a calm, peaceful sort of person--someone who you could go to and just feel better sitting in their presence. She had light brown hair, gray eyes, and was small and slight. She had a fragile sort of air; was someone that always made you feel a little more capable than you really were, and the kind of person you feel like sheltering from a storm because you know they need the help . . ." He sighed, obviously deep in thought about Anna. He then smiled with effort, and looked at her. "I hope this satisfies your curiosity."
"Oh! yes, of course," replied Melissa automatically, picturing this sort of girl in her mind. To her, Anna sounded like an awful bore; someone who she felt she should like, but would never be able to stand being around for long periods of time--someone devoid of a sense of humor.
Tim was apparently watching her face as she thought. "Are you surprised?"
"About what?"
"About the kind of girl I would choose to become engaged to."
Melissa shrugged eloquently. "I should not have supposed it originally, but as I think of it, I can easily imagine the circumstance." As they then walked in silence for a few moments, she began to think again about this Anna. In truth, she could well imagine the girl, a type of good angel with always a kind word for all, but Melissa could not picture Tim with her, opening doors for her, expressing his love for her, taking her hand. She is not right for him, Melissa thought: He would be bored with a girl so calm, so . . . nice.
Melissa thought she knew Tim, but she was always ending up being surprised by him. His admiration for Fanny Price, for instance; did he not tell Melissa that the only reason he was going to help her with her plan was that he had always favored Fanny Price? And yet this Anna sounded just like Fanny--so perhaps that really was Tim's taste. Maybe he really did prefer the timid, quiet girls; girls who only expressed their thoughts through shy glances with their eyes; girls who completely depended on others to make their decisions; girls who were everything Melissa was not.
Now she looked at Tim. He seemed to prefer the peacefulness of the walk to any conversation. It is because I am not bothering him with my talking, Melissa thought, somewhat bitterly. It struck her that perhaps instead of impressing Tim with her boldness and planning, she could be earning his dislike. Melissa did not like to think that Tim might hold her in disgust, but she knew that it might be true. She concluded that a man who could fall in love with girls such as Fanny Price and this unknown Anna could never care much for one like herself. He must only put up with me.
"You are surprised?" Tim asked again.
Melissa glanced up. She had not realized that Tim was looking at her, and her cheeks grew a little pink. "Yes, I must admit I am, rather. You never mentioned that you were engaged."
"Because you never asked," Tim murmured. "But I don't even know if we are still engaged; it was not settled then, and now with my being gone . . ." His voice trailed off and his eyes acquired a faraway look. "I am not sure, but I will consider myself engaged."
Melissa silently nodded. She felt an uncomfortable pressure at her face that bewildered her, and she struggled to look cheerful. "Well," she said, "then if you are engaged, you at least will be able to help another engaged person now."
"My help is always available," Tim offered, dryly.
As soon as they walked back inside, Edmund went over to Melissa. He frowned when he saw Tim with her, but observing that they did not look particularly happy, he decided to ignore the situation. Perhaps later, when his family would see fit to leave the engaged couple alone, he could tell her that it displeased him to see her alone with other men, thus risking her reputation.
They were all favored with a performance of the Baron's moment of truth by Yates, who, though having to smooth down his hair when playing an older man, still wore his flamboyant outfit. By the time he read his last line, he was out of breath, but he still managed to pick out Tim and Melissa from his audience.
"There they are!" he cried. "'Tis the practicers--our Anhalt and Amelia." He jumped off the stage and rushed over to them, dramatically bringing his hands to his hips. "You both have been rehearsing for quite some time; you must be able to perform masterfully by now."
"Why, thank you indeed, Mr. Yates," Melissa said as she offered him her hand. "Mr. Bertram and I have been practicing for awhile, but though he has considerable talents, I cannot say that we are quite masters yet."
"But my dear Mary," put in Edmund, "why do you not show us how you both are getting on? I believe Yates must be right."
The plan did not suit Melissa, and she looked to Tim for help. "Oh, we are not so very good yet. Don't you agree, Mr. Bertram?"
"Not wonderful," Tim replied, "but as I think about it, I believe that perhaps we should read our lines in front of them. An audience will be able to point out our faults."
Melissa could do nothing but agree, and she announced that she had to go get her book. However, Edmund surprised her by taking it out of his coat pocket.
"I found this in the garden," he said, "under the bench. I could not find either of you."
Again, Melissa looked to Tim, but she could procure no help. "My book--I thank you. Mr. Bertram and I were practicing memorizing as we walked--that is all." As she witnessed the disappointment upon Edmund's face, she decided that it would be better to say less.
Tim took her hand, leading her to the stage. Edmund frowned at this, disliking to see his fiancée touched by anyone, including his brother. When Tim leaned over to ask her where to begin, Edmund found himself shifting uncomfortably. After a quick conference, Tim left and Mary sat down; the scene then began.
However, it quickly paused for a moment, when Mary jumped up and ran over to him. "Could you hold this, Edmund? I think I have everything memorized, but you can never be sure," she said, handing the book to him with a smile.
He smiled in return, and took the book with a nod. She quickly jumped back up on stage, sat down, and began speaking.
"'Why am I so uneasy; so peevish; who has offended me? I did not mean to come into this room. In the garden I intended to go.'" She rose from her seat, as if to leave, but turned back around. "'No, I will not--yes, I will--just go, and look if my auriculas are still in blossom; and if the apple tree is grown which Mr. Anhalt planted.'" She paused, and pressed her hands to her cheeks distractedly. "'I feel very low-spirited--something must be the matter.--Why do I cry?--Am I not well?'" Then, Tim entered, and Mary whirled around to look at him. She smiled. "'Ah! good morning, my dear Sir--Mr. Anhalt, I meant to say--I beg pardon.'"
"'Never mind, Miss Wildenhaim--I don't dislike to hear you call me as you did.'"
"'In earnest?'"
"'Really. You have been crying,'" he said, moving closer to her, with concern in his voice. "'May I know the reason? The loss of your mother, still?--'"
"'No--I have left off crying for her.'"
"'I beg pardon if I have come at an improper hour; but I wait upon you by the commands of your father.'"
"'You are welcome at all hours. My father has more than once told me that he who forms my mind I should consider as my greatest benefactor. And my heart tells me the same,'" she said, looking away with a blush.
"'I think myself amply rewarded by the good opinion you have of me,'" he replied so earnestly that it made Edmund shift in his seat uncomfortably.
"'When I remember what trouble I have sometimes given you, I cannot be too grateful.'"
"'Oh! Heavens!'" he exclaimed, with his back to her, his voice light but his face revealing torment. Edmund shifted uncomfortably again. "'I--I come from your father with a commission.--If you please, we will sit down.'" He replied, sitting down, whereupon she took the seat next to him. "'Count Cassel is arrived.'"
"'Yes, I know.'"
"'And do you know for what reason?'"
"'He wishes to marry me.'"
"'Does he?'" asked he, surprised. "'But believe me, the Baron will not persuade you.--No, I am sure he will not.'"
"'I know that.'"
"'He wishes that I should ascertain whether you have an inclination--'" he started, then stopped. Obviously his voice appeared to be constricted by emotions temporarily. Edmund shifted again.
"'For the Count, or for matrimony do you mean?'" she replied.
The scene continued, with many looks exchanged between the two on stage. Edmund watched with eyes shifting; while he had a slight tense at the beginning, he began to feel really anxious after Anhalt had given his two speeches on matrimony. Then, Amelia declared passionately, "'I will not marry.'"
"'You mean to say, you will not fall in love.'"
"'Oh no!'" she cried. "'I am in love.'"
"'Are in love!'" he cried, startled. "'And with the Count?'"
"'I wish I was.'"
"'Why so?'"
"'Because he would, perhaps, love me again.'"
"'Who is there that would not?'" cried he passionately.
"'Would you?'" she asked, rising from her seat and looking at him hopefully.
"'I--I--me--I--I am out of the question.'"
"'No; you are the very person to whom I have put the question.'"
For a while this continued, Edmund's stomach twisting into more uncomfortable knots with each fresh line. However, it was still a little bit longer before Edmund's uneasiness became so painful that he had to jump up and stop the rehearsal.
"'This is nothing to the subject,'" Anhalt declared.
"'What is the subject?'"
"'--Love.'"
"'Come, then, teach it me--'" Amelia cried, walking over to him with her arms outstretched, pleading. "'Teach it me as you taught me geography, languages, and other important things.'"
"'Pshaw!'"
"'Ah! you won't--You know you have already taught me that, and you won't begin again.'"
"'You misconstrue--you misconceive every thing I say or do. The subject I came to you upon was matrimony.'"
"'A very proper subject from the man who has taught me love, and I accept the proposal,'" she said pertly with a curtsey.
"'Again you misconceive and confound me.'"
"'Ay, I see how it is--'" she cried passionately, turning away from him with misery writ large on her face. "'You have no inclination to experience with me "the good part of matrimony:" I am not the female with whom you would like to go "hand in hand up hills, and through labyrinths"--with whom you would like to "root up thorns; and with whom you would delight to plant lilies and roses." No, you had rather call out, "O liberty, dear liberty!"'"
"'Why do you force from me, what it is villainous to own?'" he cried, turning her about and holding her hands in front of him. "'I love you more than life--'"
At this point, Edmund rose and began to clap. "Well acted!" he cried, breaking the spell quickly and thoroughly. "My, my," he said, his voice quavering awkwardly, "I had no idea that you both could act so well. For a moment I quite believed that you really were Anhalt and Amelia."
Part 21D Posted on Saturday, 4 December 1999
Though they had stopped reciting their parts, Tim and Melissa still held their hands close to each other, looking very much in character. Melissa had forgotten that they were being watched until she was reminded by the voice of her fiancé. Then she attempted to loose her hand from Tim's grasp, and she tried to avert her eyes from Tim's, but it was difficult: Tim's gaze was so strong.
Eventually she managed to turn from him to Edmund. "Thank you, Mr. Edmund," she said, smiling. Still dazed, she glanced back at Tim for a moment, then at the crowd. "Indeed, I felt I was Amelia too, which is most strange. I am generally not good at acting." Edmund's acquired smile fled his face again. Melissa observed it and shook her head to clear up the misunderstanding, saying, "But I mean that I must have been acting now. Either that, or I was perhaps remembering my own engagement." Although Edmund's reaction was as satisfied as she had wished it to be, Melissa still felt pain after she had said her consoling words. From the corners of her eyes, she could see Tim walk off the stage and into the audience, where he took an empty seat by Fanny.
Melissa quickly took her eyes off him and sat down by Edmund in the chair he had saved for her. Her head she held down, for she wished to hide her face from Edmund unless he become suspicious again. She could feel the blush upon her face, and she knew she could not trust her eyes--surely they would betray the confusion she felt in her situation, her embarrassment felt after such a brief moment of happiness, for she really was joyful during their performance. She knew that Tim only followed the lines as they were written, but somehow, his reading of "I love you more than life" struck her heart more than any of Edmund's real declarations of love ever had during their engagement.
But Tim was going to be married--there was no hope. Surely engagements could be broken, but was not Tim in love with this Anna? Did he not go to Fanny's side just now, probably only so he could be reminded of his fiancée in his own life?
"Are you all right?" she heard Edmund ask, interrupting her thoughts.
Melissa smiled. "Oh, yes. I think I am only recovering from nerves. You see, I like your brother, Mr. Edmund, but Mr. Bertram is very difficult to act with." Edmund seemed pleased by the confession, but Melissa did not notice. Her mind was still in the state as though she had been reading Shakespeare instead of Lovers' Vows. Reciting it with Tim had given the words more meaning, even if they were truly felt on one side alone. Despite that Tim was engaged, seemed to love another girl, and that she herself was going to marry Edmund, Melissa knew by now that she had fallen for Tim's charms. I shall have to try to forget him, she thought in an effort to remain in control of herself. I can get myself out of this--I must. There is no reason why I should be in love with someone who I am sure does not think of me.
Thought interruption came, however, in the form of Henry. While Melissa hadn't been paying attention, Henry and Julia were called up to do their scene, which made Maria haughtily leave the room. Julia looked glad, and could not hide the smile upon her face.
"I am quite mortified," she said when on stage, attempting coyness. "But I am sure Mr. Crawford will respect my feelings."
"You need not worry, Miss Bertram," Henry said, then glancing at Melissa to roll his eyes. She laughed at this, and laughed at his reactions throughout the scene. Julia, it appeared, wished to appear as motherly as possible, for she embraced Henry heartily during her speeches, even ad-libbing by throwing in affectionate pats on his cheeks. His replies, though, were not so affectionate, and he had a difficult time not laughing at her obvious attempts at flirtation. Henry allowed it, but he did not contribute to the mother-son reunion; he remained calm and aware of his audience, and his smirks gave one the impression that his behaviour would be exactly the same were he practicing alone with the girl.
Turning around, Melissa saw Fanny smiling to herself when watching Henry. She would shake her head at any obvious action of Julia's, even seeming ashamed of her cousin. It was a reassuring sight for Melissa, but she quickly turned back to the stage when her eyes met with Tim's.
After the performance, Henry came up to Melissa's chair, visibly amused. "Well, that is about all a rake can handle. May I take you home now?"
"Of course," Melissa smiled. She offered her hand graciously to Edmund, who kissed it, in farewell, and she sketched a very brief curtsey to Tim, her head bowed low as she resisted all eye-contact with him.
As they walked along the path, she took the opportunity to tease Henry about Julia. "You know, Henry, I hate to broach this subject with you, but must you allow girls to be so free with you and your person? It's quite scandalous!"
Henry snorted. "I allow? I allowed nothing on that stage! I dare say a flock of wild geese could not have stopped Julia Bertram from 'making free with myself and my person,' as you call it. Besides, do you think I actually enjoyed that? The only enjoyable part was thinking how silly that girl was, and how much you must have been laughing inwardly."
Melissa laughed. "If that sensation, of my laughing at you inwardly, gives you such great pleasure, you can be assured that I do it quite often enough without you having to encourage girls to provide me entertainment."
"Then I will refrain from ever doing so again. Obviously, you do not appreciate the sacrifice made on my part for you," said he loftily, and raised his little nose in the air.
"Oh, Henry, I assure you, I derived more entertainment from looking back at Miss Price."
Henry's eyebrow raised slightly at these words, but otherwise his face made no indication of having heard them. "Well, I suppose I really must try and get a flirtation with that girl; not that it will be hard, since if you can derive entertainment from looking at her--"
"Oh, Henry, you and the vanity that you do not possess!" cried Melissa playfully, an arch look on her face. "Do not think I was happily employed, precisely; merely entertained when I thought of your many lofty speeches about how easily you would win her favor; I assure you, her looks were of the most disapproving today."
"Disapproving of Julia, you mean, sister dear," said Henry. "When I happened to cast a few glances in her direction during some of those very boring speeches of mine, she looked quite pleased."
"Well, Henry, I will not attempt to deny the fact that you are a very good actor, but I will deny your little notion that because Miss Price enjoys your acting, she approves of you. On principle, she has been against the acting from the start, so I say, and the only delight you gave her today was quite innocent, for she is sensitive to talent, and you are talented in that area."
"As you are so ready to acknowledge my talents in one field, I will not scruple to note my talents in other areas. I believe I have not a little charm, and if Miss Price is so receptive to talent, she must surely be receptive of that talent I have for winning affection."
Melissa shook her head with a knowing smile. "Miss Price has the good taste to appreciate your acting abilities, but she has the better taste to disapprove of your idle flirtations. She quite sees through your tricks and charms, dear brother, and I feel she is quite safe from you."
"Well, that is noble of you, Mary, to keep her safe from the rake. You never know but that I might play the Lovelace with her--you even pointed out my similarities to that admirable character before."
"Phoo, Henry," answered Melissa with a laugh. "So I did, but only you could manage to call him admirable. I can assure you that Lovelace is the last man Miss Price could ever fall for. You would be better off emulating a better man."
"Like who? Perhaps the Boy?"
"Yes, that would be a start. You know how Miss Price dotes upon him."
"Do not we all know? Enough to make you jealous, I am sure." Melissa denied the statement, but Henry still went on. "No, I am sure it does, but no matter--soon Miss Price's heart will be so occupied that it will not have any room for Mr. Edmund Bertram, and you shall be glad."
"Glad of what, you vain boy?"
Henry smiled and folded his arms. "Why, glad that Miss Price will not be in love with your fiancé, and will be smitten with me instead."
"Well," replied Melissa, "I can honestly tell you that it does not concern me who Miss Price has affection for, and therefore, you cannot expect me to assist you in your quest."
"That is good to hear. You know that help would only defeat my purpose, dear Mary. Where would be the pleasure if I knew that I did not win her heart alone? No; I mean to have the greatest challenge possible."
Melissa smiled. "I think it will be more of a challenge than you expect, Henry."
"I am happy to hear that!"
The next time they were at Mansfield, however, Henry did not have a chance to win Fanny's love by his acting, for the stage was heavily undergoing rebuilding. "It is not half professional enough," Yates had announced earlier. "It shall not cost so very much more to add a few more coats of paint. Our mountains are so very disgraceful; they want brightness."
So accordingly, the stage was put out of use for a day. Though a time of rest did not sound bad to the actors, Mrs. Norris had other ideas in her mind, including getting the plans for the costumes ready. It vexed her that they had all waited so long to tell her what they wanted to wear, because she had to sew all the costumes by herself with only the help of Fanny, and she did not expect to receive much help from her.
"But you can assist me now, if it is not too much strain for you," she coldly told Fanny, "by getting the measurements and putting them down on paper. It is an easy task enough. I shall have the harder job of listening to what kind of costume they want to wear, and then trying to persuade them into choosing something less fine."
The actors all filed into lines at the old lady's request, all rather amused by Mrs. Norris' determination.
"Your aunt is a very good leader," Melissa told Edmund, who stood behind her in the line to get measured.
"Yes, that is one of her faults. However, she was not so much like that when her husband was alive--a woman should not make the orders when her husband is a man of God."
"Well," laughed Melissa, "my sister must not subscribe to your opinions, for she is constantly telling poor Dr. Grant what to do and what not to do."
"I am sorry to hear it," said Edmund. Melissa only nodded in reply, a little angry, but not willing to argue here, especially with Henry standing right in front of her. Her brother, though, did not seem to be listening to her as he watched Fanny rather nervously taking the measurements down. She blushed when Henry stepped in front of her.
"Miss Price, how glad I am to see you again," Melissa heard Henry say. "And how are you today?"
"I am well, thank you," Fanny murmured, trying to avoid his eyes as she put the measuring tape around him. But Henry would not let her forget that it was he who she was measuring.
"Have you been enjoying the acting?" he asked, attempting to catch her eye. When he succeeded, he smiled and let her go to her work. "I hope you found nothing to disapprove of yesterday?"
"No," she replied, then paused when her shaking fingers dropped the tape. She picked it up and resumed with an embarrassed smile--"I thought it was proper--well, you were."
"Oh, thank you. You don't know how often I get complimented on my propriety." Melissa giggled from behind him, and he noticed a grin come to Fanny's mouth, but Henry went on, regardless. "I try, at least, to be proper. Honestly, I can change quite easily when a tempting reward persuades me to."
Fanny lifted up her head after making the last measurement. "For the better, I hope?"
"Certainly for the better. Right now, reforming seems very rewarding to me."
Fanny did not reply, but only glanced at him with a little suspicion. Soon her aunt told her not to work so slowly and to start measuring the next in line; Fanny looked relieved.
Melissa, being next, stepped forward and smiled kindly at Fanny. As Fanny measured her, she refrained from saying anything, allowing the girl to gather herself together. Fanny quickly finished her to begin measuring the others, but the girl gave her a sweet smile at the end of procedure.
Melissa then retired to a nearby couch, where sat her brother, still watching Miss Price.
"Henry! I am surprised by you, yet again," she said softly to him.
"Why should you be?" he replied, his eyes still fixed on Fanny as she put her measuring tape around Julia's waist.
"I never imagined you could be so mistaken."
"Mistaken?" he asked.
"Your tactics are not going to make the girl admire you. I should suppose that Miss Price is quite annoyed at you at the moment, embarrassing her like that. But then, she is often annoyed at you, I should imagine."
He turned to look at her, that amused expression on his face. "My dearest Mary, whatever happens, you should assume that I know the female sex better than you do, and that everything I do has a purpose."
She shook her head, an indulgent smile on her face. "Perhaps you know more about manipulating the female sex than I, but I think you are misreading Miss Price." She then sighed. "I can never convince you, however--time will prove me correct, though."
He nodded. "No, you can never convince me, but I feel confident time will prove me correct."
She merely smiled at him in response, and closed her eyes for a moment. Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and opened her eyes to see Edmund's face looming large above her.
"My dear, I was hoping I could speak to you for a moment," he said quietly, looking cautiously over at Henry.
"Of course, Mr. Bertram," she replied, rising from her seat. She walked with him out of the room, unnoticed except by Tim, who watched her leaving with misgivings.
The couple absconded into the library, and once the door was shut behind them, Edmund gave her a grave look. "Please, be seated," was all he said. Melissa sat down, guessing at what Edmund could be at.
"Mary--" he started, sounding a bit uncomfortable. "My dear, I have tried to be patient and understanding--I know it is not your fault; that you have probably seen such behavior many times before, and that your childhood in trust to such people as they were, you could not know better--my dear, what I am trying to say is that I find a want of feminine modesty about you."
"Feminine modesty?" repeated Melissa, surprised.
"Well--yes," he said, nodding emphatically. "Of late, you have spent overmuch time in the company of other males; often you have been alone with my brother, and I feel obliged to say that I cannot approve. I worry that if you continued this behavior, you might risk damaging your reputation."
"I risk damaging my reputation?" repeated Melissa, not knowing whether to be offended beyond measure or whether to laugh in his face. Whatever the case, her eyes were widened as she looked at Edmund for an explanation.
"It is that I am concerned," he said, crossing over to the windows, running his hand nervously across the sill, and sighing. "I do not wish to offend you, but when a woman is engaged, she must maintain her virtue. If she does anything questionable, people will wonder."
"They may not think me suitable to be your wife," finished Melissa. She grew rather angry at Edmund, at his lectures that so loftily directed her. "But do you worry about my virtue?" she asked him.
"No, not at all. I know that you think nothing of my brother, but your talking with him might make others question." He paused, looking at her from the corners of his eyes, a little timid. "My father, you realize, is to be home soon."
Melissa nodded. She saw what bothered Edmund, that though his mother and aunt would never notice anything amiss in the attentions of his fiancée, Sir Thomas would.
"I will make a point of watching my behavior," she said, "but you know that some instances cannot be controlled. It is necessary for me to rehearse with your brother."
"I am aware of that," replied Edmund, his voice strained. He managed to calmly walk over to the couch, taking her hand. "I do not mind so much--I would not mind so much if that was all you did, but finding your book and an empty bench only led me to wonder, and you cannot blame me for my curiosity."
"I cannot. But I can tell you that there is nothing to worry you. We were, in truth, not rehearsing, but your brother needed someone to talk to about a . . . difficult position he is in. I was merely advising him; you cannot find anything wrong in that."
Edmund let go of her hand, now unmindful of showing the concern that marked itself upon his brow.
"Mary, may I ask what kind of difficult position?"
Melissa looked at him, then down at her fingers. She did not know what to tell Edmund; naturally, getting Tim into trouble was not her object, but she did not wish to make Edmund think that the problem concerned herself.
"It is only a little trouble he got himself into when at Weymouth--concerning a lady. She is no one that we are acquainted with, but I promised not to tell anyone the details of Mr. Bertram's situation. You do understand?"
"Yes, my dear," replied Edmund, looking relieved, though still curious. "That is very kind of you. However, perhaps the next time he has difficulties, you can refer him to another person. Fanny, perhaps. I know you mean no harm, but I really would wish that you would not be alone with him from now on."
"Then I will make sure that I am not." Melissa allowed him to kiss her hand before she got up, curtsied, and left the library.
Of course, with universal justice in order, the first person Melissa saw immediately after leaving the library was Tim.
"Well?" he said quietly to her, taking her arm and escorting her outside. "What did he have to say?"
Melissa tugged his arm, preventing him from going right, and pulled him left. "Not that way! He'll see!" Once they were walking away from the library and Edmund, she sighed. "It was nothing--merely, Edmund feels I lack feminine modesty."
"What?" cried Tim, shocked. "Feminine modesty?"
"Yes--apparently I do not act with the propriety due to my rank as the fiancée of Edmund Bertram. Well, that might be true enough, but then why should he want to marry me, I cannot imagine."
"Perhaps he imagined that he could find in you a wife he could mold into something more suitable, for you do have many other lovely characteristics that I am sure he would not want to change."
Melissa looked cautiously at him; his words seemed to suggest that these characteristics went unappreciated by him. "Perhaps, but your brother should have guessed that I would be most disinclined to change myself for any man."
Tim smiled. "At this point, I should say that my brother is a most imperceptive person."
Melissa laughed. "I will not attempt to deny the charge, but in this case, I believe it would be wiser to yield a little to his commands, and as such, I must leave you!"
"As such?" asked Tim, confused and somewhat taken aback.
"Yes--did you not realize? Your brother felt that I had made myself most conspicuous in being alone with you so often."
Tim laughed carelessly, something in his voice that Melissa could not name, but guessed to be incredulity. "But are we so often alone together? I had not noticed."
"Nor I, but I believe Edmund fears Sir Thomas would think so."
Tim nodded understandingly. "Ah. I see." He then rose, and bowed to her. "As always, a pleasure," and then walked away, leaving Melissa confused and uneasy. She did not know why Tim was so ready to leave her, nor why he did not need much persuasion to do so. For now, she only wished to think nothing of love. Melissa was tired of hearing of engagements, and so she sought the presence of other, more unattached individuals.
Part 22
However, as soon as she walked in, the first thing Melissa saw was a couple alone. Henry sat next to Fanny on a couch, talking to her while she copied out the costume descriptions onto paper. Though their behavior was completely proper, Melissa still was struck with surprise to see them together.
Henry did not seem at all shocked when he caught glimpse of his sister.
"Mary," he said happily, "I was telling Miss Price about London; she takes great interest in it. Maybe you can tell her more."
Melissa raised her eyebrows, smiling at Fanny with mirth. "Oh? My friend Miss Price is interested in London?" she gently teased. "Did she inquire about London balls and the Admiral's lodgings?"
"No," answered Fanny, her eyes sparkling with innocent curiosity. "Mr. Crawford has been telling me about Westminster Abbey--you both have been there? And he described the Tower to me. He as seen the crown jewels many times." She looked as if she could speak for minutes on the beauties of London that she had never seen. "Portsmouth is the biggest city I have ever been to," she explained.
"Then I am at your service to describe to you any city that you wish to know about and I have been to," offered Henry. "Have you visited Bath or Lyme?"
"I think I would only like to see them once--just to see them. They do not interest me so much as London."
"That is understandable," Henry replied. "London would suit you better, I am sure--it is a nobler city." He smiled his agreeable smile, but stared into Fanny's eyes longer than he was accustomed to. Suddenly, he seemed to remember himself, and stood up and excused himself to go see how the stage was coming along.
"My dear Miss Price," said Melissa once Henry had gone, "I hope my brother has not been too bothersome?"
"No," smiled Fanny. Her grin was rather unlike her usually shy expression, causing Melissa to wonder. "I hope I have not bothered him," the girl continued, her eyes focused in the direction of the door. "You do not know how many questions I asked him."
"I dare say he will not be too vexed," Melissa said, taking Fanny's hand with a smile. "He will fall in love with you if anything, my dear."
Fanny blushed. "I do not--I think it is not possible." She took her eyes off the door and smiled at Melissa as though she had been caught. "Your brother has been to many cities."
"True; he has been to Weymouth! But if I may keep you in my confidence, I must tell you that Henry grows quite . . . bored in too much society. I believe that if the naughty boy ever marries, he will disappoint my sister by marrying into a family as far from London society as possible."
Fanny lifted her eyes. "You all would be disappointed?"
"Oh! I would not. My only wish is that Henry will marry a woman that he loves. And if it is not too much to ask, I should like him to marry some one that will be a good sister for me."
Fanny kindly smiled; she looked content at the answer and content to meditate upon it, but Melissa still grasped at the chance to talk with the girl.
"I mentioned Weymouth earlier," she said, acquiring a half-serious expression. "I know that your cousin Tom has been there, and I merely wondered if he ever mentioned any thing about it to you. Does he talk to you about any female friends?" She did not know why, but she wished to know more about Tim and Anna. She tried to look as nonchalant as possible, even though she knew that her question would be sure to make Fanny at least a little suspicious.
Fanny nodded carefully, a crease in her eyebrows. "Yes, he has--then, has he talked to you about Miss Sinclair?"
"Yes, he has--yesterday. He said he looked on me as quite one of the family; we have become good friends, you know," replied Melissa, while she silently memorized the name. Sinclair . . . Anna Sinclair . . . It certainly sounds inbred.
"I must say, I am surprised by the whole business," said Fanny with a small shake of her head.
"Indeed," replied Melissa, trying to figure out what Tim could have said to Fanny. "But what did he say to you? He told me but a little."
Fanny sighed. "He probably told me what he told you--that he made the acquaintance of this girl while away, and she was most amiable and that he planned to propose but that her family left and he did not know where to find her, and that he would wish to see her again, that is all."
"As you said, he told you what he said to me. I find it a sad business," said Melissa while thinking other thoughts. He wishes to see her again?
"I should not have thought that Tom would have fallen in love with a girl. He has always been somewhat unsteady, but then, in the last few months he has become decidedly less so. It appears that this girl has had a positive influence upon him."
Melissa inwardly groaned, but did not express the emotion aloud. "Perhaps so," she merely replied with a sigh.
"And if Tom did become engaged, I am sure that would please Sir Thomas."
"Sir Thomas!" cried Melissa, suddenly happy to change a subject she had initiated. "What of Sir Thomas? I have heard about him, and almost fear to meet him. What say you of Sir Thomas?"
Fanny looked confused for a moment, and Melissa smiled a little to think of how Henry would react if he saw her in this state. "Sir Thomas is a fair-minded person, but Maria and Julia find him somewhat strict."
"But what of you?" she asked, her smile widening.
"I . . . I think he is a good man, for he has been very kind to me, but his presence can be somewhat oppressing."
"Oh, dear! I do not know what to say. Any person who is kind to you must be deemed not altogether abandoned, but you say his presence is somewhat oppressing--I must harbor a worry on that account."
Fanny smiled shyly. "I doubt whether you will find his presence oppressing, Miss Crawford. You seem so very spirited that I am sure you will be able to talk quite easily in his presence."
"A pretty compliment, indeed! or at least, I shall take it as such. Thank you, my dear Fanny; I believe I will be able to face this upcoming trial with more fortitude now that I know you have confidence in me." Melissa smiled widely, and patted the girl's hand gently. She truly liked Fanny, but was unsure as to the girl's emotions. She hoped that her presence was not resented, but she would not be surprised to learn that that were true.
"I cannot imagine that you were ever really afraid to meet Sir Thomas, so the little weight that my words can have had is nothing."
She laughed. "You are right--I am not dreadfully afraid of meeting Sir Thomas, but you must allow that I am in possession of a normal anxiety upon the occasion. However, I am sure I will manage tolerably well--as you observed, I am a spirited person, as is Henry."
Soon, Melissa had to seek out new company, for Mrs. Norris walked into the room in a huff, desiring that Fanny help her cut patterns. The girl reluctantly followed, apologizing to her visitor was a timid shrug. Melissa did not know who to talk to now; she was on the verge of going home before she remembered Yates. Surely he would be diverting at a time when she most needed to be diverted.
After searching in Sir Thomas' room, she discovered that Yates was outside.
"He is mixing different paints," Christopher Jackson told her with a weary sigh. "I have painted the scene twice already, and nothing I do seems to be to his taste. The colors need to be perfect for him."
Indeed, when Melissa finally found Yates out in the yard, he was busily trying to match the shades with a brightly painted snuff box he owned. Unwilling to dirty his marvelous outfit, he wore a white flowered robe over his clothes. Melissa could not help but notice spots of paint over the coat's full, kimono-like sleeves.
"Oh, Mr. Yates," she said, "I hope you do not mind that you are ruining your coat. It looks quite expensive."
Yates smiled and waved his hand. "It does not signify, my dear Miss Crawford; I have a purple one that I like ever so much better. You see," he said, pointing to the box, "I am trying to match the paint to this. I had it imported from Germany. As you may have observed, I believe that the set of Lovers' Vows needs a more German air; surely you agree?"
"Why, of course. The play is German, so anyone with a mind would have to agree with you."
"Exactly." Yates looked happy to have a confidante, and even put his work down to talk with her. "Our play will be a failure if we do not make sure that everything is in perfect order, with attention to every single detail. That is why I became so very vexed with the servants here. The way Jackson decorated the scene would make one think that he was designing a background for a plain English pasture suited for a Warwickshire manor. The sets must be German--wild, with bright flowers such as those on the snuff box."
Melissa could barely hold back a laugh, and finally explained to him that perhaps Christopher Jackson had not visited Germany.
"But I have not either!" Yates replied, irritated. "To paint a German scene does not require experience--only imagination."
"Well, I doubt that Mr. Jackson has half the imaginative powers that you possess."
Yates looked pleased, resuming to mix the colors. After pouring in various shades only to be disappointed, he stopped his work and looked back at Melissa. He observed her face for some time.
"Are you well?" he asked her.
Melissa was rather shocked to hear him talk about anyone other than himself. "What do you mean, Mr. Yates?"
"I hate to presume, but you look like you are in love," he answered, smiling.
Melissa blushed, was about to deny the statement, then stopped herself. "I should be in love--I am engaged to Mr. Bertram."
"That does not mean anything." Yates' face now took on a frown. "The young Bertram does not seem to have the passion for love--I mean, complete love."
"Love?" Melissa could not suppress a grin. She had never thought Yates capable of talking about the subject, unless it was for his own acting.
"Yes, love. Passionate, painful love. I do not know if he gives you the love you deserve, though I am positive that he admires you."
Melissa bit her lip and tried to smile away the subject. "And have you felt that kind of love before, Mr. Yates?"
Now he acquired a sullenness, taking his eyes off her and staring towards the house. "Yes, quite often, but now . . . now it is something I have never felt before." He paused and began to speak in a murmur. "I had not planned to reveal my secret, Miss Crawford, but I believe it will be safe with you. I--I am in love with a young lady in this house."
"Julia?" she asked, remembering the elopement.
"Yes! how did you know? Is my preference that evident? or perhaps it is because she is so beautiful. Her graces are so powerful!"
"You see," he went on, pressed by Melissa's smiling silence, "I fell in love with her when I first came here. She is so different than other young ladies--she is almost like a play."
"How so?" Melissa could not refrain from asking.
"She is bold," answered Yates, now raising his voice, and instilling into it all the usual dramatics. "I fell in love with her beauty from the start, but she seems to have a great deal of passion. I was impressed by her acting the other day--she played Agatha so affectionately, so lovingly, so motherly!"
"I quite agree," Melissa replied with a laugh.
"It is not everyone who can act with such passion and verve. I could easily play Othello to her Desdemona, and certainly this Macbeth you see before you could probably not find a better Lady Macbeth to aid him."
"Indeed! As your yourself have observed, not everyone can act with such passion and verve, and she is probably the only woman whose acting could possibly compare with yours. The match seems to have much in favor of it," she replied.
Yates smiled at her. "Indeed, Miss Crawford, I knew you would feel so." Then, his smile faded. "However, I am not so sure if she returns my affections--though my heart wishes it so, I cannot say with full confidence that it must be so." He looked earnestly at Melissa. "What should I do? Should I corner her one night and take her in my arms? Should I go to her window at night and sing to her? or should I write a sonnet to her and slide it under her door? or should I wait for a sign of her affections?" he asked, his voice showing that he thought the last action very tame indeed. Melissa knew that, therefore, she could not advise the sensible course without disappointing the poor man: her only problem was in deciding which choice would produce the most humorous results.
"Well, Mr. Yates, I believe the choice is obvious," she began after much thought. "Certainly the last choice will not do--action must be taken to impress her with your ardour."
"Yes!" agreed Yates, an approving smile on his face.
"However, the first opinion, although romantic, would not do either. She is a very sensitive girl, and feels deeply. Your ardour as such might terrify the girl, and would at least make her faint, if it might not give her a disgust of you."
"Indeed--while bold, yet she is very timid and I should not like to harm her for all the world," said Yates thoughtfully.
"Yes--and the third option is very nice and romantic, yet I have to say I like the second better. Surely a beautiful song, sung under a lady's window in her honour, is the most touching picture in the world," Melissa replied, putting feeling into her voice to convince him.
Yates thought for a moment, then smiled happily. "Indeed, Miss Crawford, I believe you are right. I could be as a Romeo to her most radiant Juliet . . ."
"Quite so! If I were Miss Julia, I am sure I should like it above all things."
"And so would I, if I may say so," Yates said excitedly. "Although my singing does not nearly equal my acting in grandeur, I have been asked to play the singing fool in many a Shakespearean play, and the audiences have always applauded my songs most convincingly."
"Oh, I have always thought that you would have a remarkable singing voice. I am positive that Miss Julia will fall in love with you there, if she is not in love with you already . . ."
Yates nodded, wrinkling his brow in thought. "The only problem that I can foresee is the question of an instrument. I am not able to play a guitar or mandolin."
"I see," Melissa replied. She was sorry that he could not play, for she had already begun to imagine Yates in red Spanish costume, rolling his R's in a dramatically feigned accent. "It truly is a pity that I am not able to move the pianoforte outdoors to accompany you upon."
In thought, Yates took out his snuff box and viciously started to mix colors to resemble an orange bloom. He soon stopped, turning to Melissa.
"You know," he said, wide-eyed, "I am quite accomplished at the flute. I dare say that Miss Julia would enjoy that, but I cannot play and sing at the same time."
"You can play the flute?" Melissa now envisioned a bright Yates dancing around, playing airy melodies. "That is perfect! Surely there can be no more romantic instrument than the flute. You can sing, then play interludes upon the flute!"
"I dare say that Miss Julia would enjoy that," repeated Yates, thinking aloud. "Yes!" he finally announced, "I believe I will!"
Melissa smiled. "Then you must allow me to come with you," she replied. "I do not care how late the time is or how inclement the weather; I must be there to watch Miss Julia's expression."
"You can hide behind the bushes, perhaps," Yates suggested. "You are very kind, Miss Crawford."
"Of course! but Mr. Yates, what tune will you play?"
Yates paused for a moment. "I do not know! Miss Crawford, what song should I sing?" he asked. Melissa then began to think as Yates looked at his snuffbox and proceeded to mix a vibrant violet color.
Melissa then suddenly looked up, and smiled. "I happen to know a tuneful ditty that might serve the purpose," she said, rising from her seat. "If you should like, I would be more than happy to teach it to you."
"Oh, thank you, Miss Crawford!" cried Yates, and they quickly headed to the music room of Mansfield where Melissa quickly taught the young man the melody of the song. As he had said, he was accomplished on the instrument and quickly he picked the tune up and could play it quite creditably within a half-hour's time. Once Yates had left the room to practice with his flute alone, Melissa allowed herself the freedom to laugh as she happily anticipated the future event. What will Miss Julia's reaction be? she wondered to herself. Will she marry him? and what would Tim say to that, I wonder? She lost herself in laughter.
Later that night, just as the Parsonage was about to retire, there was a knock on the door, and as Melissa was about to undress for bed, a servant knocked at her door.
"Yes?" Melissa asked.
"This was sent to you from the House, ma'am," the girl replied, proffering a note.
"Thank you," Melissa said, and took the note. It said,
"Miss Crawford--Quickly, she dismissed her maid, and lay in bed to wait. Several hours later, she rose, put on a dark-colored dress and taking a black cape, left for Mansfield.
Meet me tonight at the front of the house at 2:00. Do not fail!
Your devoted servant,
J. Yates."
When she arrived, she saw Mr. Yates tensely holding his flute, dressed all in crème and lavender, with a few touches of a pastel blue and quite a bit of thick creamy-colored lace. He also held some red roses, and smiled upon detecting her.
"Good, Miss Crawford! You are a trifle early, but it does not signify."
"Are you ready, Mr. Yates?"
He nodded nervously, and they began to creep along the side of the house. Finally, the came to a wall with ivy climbing up the side of the house, and Yates stopped.
"Here is her window," he whispered, and Melissa quickly retired behind a nearby tree, sure to wrap herself up in the cape so that her presence would go undetected.
Once she was hidden, Yates positioned himself in the view of the window, tried a few scales to warm up, then broke into a loud rendition of "Some Enchanted Evening". Melissa quickly took her underlip firmly between her teeth, attempting not to laugh. It was not that Mr. Yates had a bad voice, for he was possessed of a fine baritone, but that his gestures, his emphasis, his acting was so overdone and comical that she could hardly control herself. Just as he was breaking into the third verse, the window opened. Yates gasped-his arms were stretched out towards the window, and he opened his mouth to cry out to his ladylove. It was a touching tableau. However, the effect was ruined when the room's occupant stuck its head out the window--it was not the beloved Julia, but Tim!
"Mr. Yates, what on earth are you doing?" he asked, his voice groggy and grumpy.
Yates' mouth opened, agog and aghast in horror; his hands quickly went over his heart, and Melissa covered her mouth to prevent her mirth from coming out.
"Mr. Bertram!" cried the shocked singer.
"I suppose you were expecting to find my sister Julia," Tim dryly observed, "but you have come under the wrong window for that."
"I--" started Yates, but Tim coolly and quickly interrupted him.
"Mr. Yates, I have had trouble sleeping for the last few weeks. I was just about to go to sleep when you began to noisily serenade me--needless to say, I am very tired and this conversation is not making me any happier. Please, do yourself a favor, and retire back to your room. If you wish to marry my sister, this is not the way to begin. Please, next time you attempt to win her favor, do something more prudent and less foolish!" he said, speaking like a man tried beyond all patience.
Yates nodded, and dejectedly began to walk off. The window was shut with a snap, and Melissa slowly made her way out of the window's view, and ran after the depressed Yates.
"Oh, poor Mr. Yates!" she cried, gently patting the downtrodden youth on the back. "All is not lost, however!" she said consolingly.
"If only--!" Yates sighed movingly.
"Do not worry, Mr. Yates. I am sure Mr. Bertram will forgive you, and you can write a poem to Miss Julia still, which I am sure will move her beyond expression, for you do have a natural gift with words and always express yourself well," she said cheerfully; Yates seemed to gather himself up, and smiled at her.
"Indeed, Miss Crawford--you are too good. Allow me to wish you good night," he said grandly, and kissed her hand. He then entered the house with a slow step, and Melissa returned to the parsonage without attracting any notice, feeling not a little sorry for the poor fop. Still, she could not help but laugh as she remembered the scene, as she thought of the way Yates' hair blew in the wind when he sang out the modern song. And Tim--she wished that she could have caught a glimpse of him in his surprise. Of course, she knew that if he saw her, he would be angry with her too; perhaps the little concert had interrupted one of his dreams of Anna.