Edmund Bertram's Diary by Amanda Grange

not seem like roaming about the country to me, but my aunt knows far more about women than I do, and no doubt she is right. Even so, I wish Papa might come home soon, for I am sure he wil be better at looking after his daughters than I can ever be.
    Besides, I feel in need of some advice myself. I can think of nothing but Miss Crawford — but it seems Miss Crawford can think of nothing but Tom.
    Friday 15 July
    The Crawfords cal ed again today. Crawford had been intending to bring his sister to stay with the Grants and then leave the neighborhood, but he seems to find it agreeable here, for he said it was now his intention to stay awhile.
    The day was fine and we were soon walking together.
    ‘You have an excel ent property here, Mr. Bertram,’ Miss Crawford said as she strol ed along next to Tom. ‘It has a real park, some five miles round, my sister tel s me?’
    ‘That is so, five miles exactly,’ said Tom.
    ‘I must congratulate you on it. There are not many so fine. Why, a mile or two seems to be enough for some people to proclaim they have a park, when real y it is nothing of the kind. The house, too, is remarkable. It is very spacious, and I like a house that is modern built, with none of the smal windows that make older houses so dark. The ceilings are so high, and the rooms so large, that it is a pleasure to sit in them.’
    ‘Then we must hope you wil grace it with your presence for a long time to come!’ said Tom courteously.
    She inclined her head and smiled bewitchingly, and made me long to offer her my arm, which, however, I could not do, as she was clearly not at al fatigued and was instead very lively. She moved her hands expressively when she talked, and everything about her spoke of health and life.
    ‘You should have an engraving made of the house,’ she said. ‘I always say that a wel -built house should be honored with an engraving. I am sure I have seen many smal er houses treated in this way, and Mansfield Park would grace any col ection in which it was included.’
    ‘I have always thought it a very fine house,’ said Mama. ‘Sir Thomas is very proud of it.’
    ‘And with good reason. It is one of the finest baronet’s seats in the land,’ said my aunt.
    ‘My brother tel s me you have a horse running in a race soon?’ Miss Crawford asked Tom. My aunt smiled at this, and exchanged a glance with Mama, who, however, did not appear to notice. But the meaning of my aunt’s smile was clear: Miss Crawford’s interest was not in a horse race, but in my brother.
    ‘Indeed I do! It is running at Brighton, a very fine animal and sure to win. Have you ever been to the Brighton races?’
    ‘No, I must confess I have not.’
    ‘Then we must correct that.’
    ‘Are they not a little wild?’ she asked.
    ‘Nonsense. Al the best people go. Why, the Prince of Wales himself goes. I saw him there myself, the first time I attended. It was when I was with my friend Frobisher. Do you know Frobisher?’
    ‘I do not believe I have had the pleasure.’
    ‘You would like him. He makes us roar with laughter. When we were in Brighton last we decided to go sea bathing and Frobisher swam off by himself. Then he gave a strangled cry, to make us al look at him, flailed his arms wildly and disappeared under the waves. We al swam over there and searched for him frantical y. Then up he popped behind us, laughing fit to burst at the expressions on our faces! You real y must come. I cannot promise you Frobisher, for his father has sent him out of the country, but I can show you the sights and take you to the races. You would enjoy it, I have no doubt. We could make a party of it. We could al go. What do you say to that, Mama? Would you like to go to Brighton?’
    ‘It is a very long way,’ said Mama.
    ‘Nonsense!’
    The subject was discussed back and forth, but nothing was decided on by the end of the visit, and Miss Crawford promised to think of it more overnight so that we could resume the discussion