Julia did suffer, however, though it escaped the notice of many. She had loved, she did love still, and she had all the suffering which a warm temper and a high spirit were likely to endure. Her heart was sore and angry. The sister with whom she was used to be on easy terms was now become her greatest enemy. Julia hoped for some punishment to Maria for conduct so shameful towards herself as well as towards Mr. Rushworth. While triumphant Maria pursued her purpose, Julia could never see Maria distinguished by Henry Crawford without trusting that it would create jealousy, and bring a public disturbance.

Fanny saw and pitied much of this in Julia; but there was no outward fellowship between them. Julia made no communication, and Fanny took no liberties. They were two solitary sufferers, or connected only by Fanny’s consciousness. And now that Fanny had had her ghastly dreadful violent encounter with the undead in the corridor, there were far greater concerns to weigh her down than mere family decorum.

Something was seriously and metaphysically wrong at Mansfield Park—more so than usual.

Chapter XVIII

Everything was now in a regular train: theatre, actors, actresses, and dresses, were all getting forward. But though no other great impediments arose, Fanny found everyone’s initial delight transform into vexations.

Edmund had many. Entirely against his judgment, a scene-painter arrived from town, and went to work. Tom began to fret over the scene-painter’s slow progress. He had learned his part—all his parts—for he took every trifling one that could be united with the Butler, and was impatient to be acting. Every day increased his sense of the insignificance of all his parts together, and regret that some other play had not been chosen—with more parts for him.

Fanny, being always a very courteous listener, and often the only listener at hand, came in to hear their complaints and distresses. She knew that Mr. Yates was thought to rant dreadfully; that Mr. Yates was disappointed in Henry Crawford; that Tom Bertram spoke so quick he would be unintelligible; that Mrs. Grant spoiled everything by laughing; that Edmund was behindhand with his part, and that it was misery to have anything to do with Mr. Rushworth, who needed a prompter for every speech, stopped to growl during breath pauses, and could seldom get anybody to rehearse with him due to much firing of projectile spittle.

Moreover, her cousin Maria decidedly avoided him, and quite needlessly often rehearsed the first scene between her and Mr. Crawford. . . .