by Lona Manning
A
CONTRARY
WIND
A variation on Mansfield Park
Book One of
the Mansfield Trilogy
By Lona Manning
© 2017 Lona Manning
www.lonamanning.ca
Cover design by Dissect Designs
www.dissectdesigns.com
Also by Lona Manning
The Mansfield Trilogy
A Contrary Wind
A Marriage of Attachment
A Different Kind of Woman
Quill Ink Press Anthologies
Edited by Christina Angel Boyd
“The Address of a Frenchwoman”
a short story about Mansfield Park’s Tom Bertram in the anthology
Dangerous to Know: Jane Austen's Rakes and Gentlemen Rogues
“The Art of Pleasing”
a short story about Persuasion’s Penelope Clay in the anthology
Rational Creatures
“By a Lady”
a short story about Pride & Prejudice’s Anne DeBourgh
in the anthology Yuletide
(Kindle and paperback proceeds to benefit Chawton Great House)
Quill Ink anthologies also available in audiobook
Praise for A Contrary Wind
Jane Austen Centre, Bath: …Excellent... it’s a novel which certainly deserves a place on the bookshelves of a Jane Austen fan.
Austenesque Reviews: Brava to Lona Manning for her thoughtful twists and skillful execution in this variation. This story was in no way predictable and it kept me guessing almost until the end!
JustJane1813 blog: Lona Manning has a very engaging writing style, while her writing also captures the essence of Austen’s style and the time period in which she wrote her stories. She artfully wove text from canon into her own prose… Her creative storylines were bold enough to make this story a real page-turner.
First Impressions podcast: Her writing is not Austen, of course, but it is so good that she manages to blend it seamlessly with actual passages from Mansfield Park. Her grasp of the vernacular of the Regency era is incredibly well-researched and accurate.
Lost Opinions.com: This is an excellent read. Rich storylines, authentic characters (old and new), and writing I found hard to discern from the original (truly that good).
BlueInk Reviews starred review: A Contrary Wind is an impressive feat. Manning… emulates Austen’s writing style so well… The author creates engrossing tension through the escalating misdeeds of the Crawfords, whose just punishments will meet with modern approval. Many try to emulate Austen; not all succeed. Here, Manning triumphs. She has retained Austen’s spirit, while providing a stronger Fanny who will surely win today’s readers.
“I shall think her a very obstinate, ungrateful, girl…..
considering who and what she is.”
Aunt Norris
“[I]f Mansfield Park had had the government of the winds just for a week or two, about the equinox, there would have been a difference. Not that we would have endangered his safety by any tremendous weather — but only by a steady contrary wind….”
Henry Crawford
Table of Contents
Synopsis of the first part of Mansfield Park
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Foreword or Afterword
Acknowledgements and References
Preview of A Marriage of Attachment
Synopsis of the first part of Mansfield Park
A Contrary Wind breaks off from Jane Austen’s original text in Chapter Fifteen, at the point when the young people are casting the parts in the play Lovers’ Vows. A very brief synopsis to that point is provided below for anyone who hasn’t read Mansfield Park. A Contrary Wind can be read without having read Mansfield Park, but I of course recommend that you read Austen’s subtle and beautifully written novel. This variation references scenes and dialogue in the original novel, so knowledge of the original will enhance the enjoyment of this variation.
Sir Thomas Bertram is a wealthy baronet with two beautiful daughters and two handsome sons. His estate, Mansfield Park, is in Northamptonshire, north of London. His wife was one of three sisters—she made a brilliant marriage when she snagged the baronet; her older sister, Mrs. Norris, married a clergyman. The third sister, Mrs. Price, married beneath her; she wed a lieutenant of marines and lives in squalor in Portsmouth with her husband, now disabled for active duty, and a large brood of children.
Mrs. Norris proposes to Sir Thomas that he take in one of the poor Price children to help that struggling family (this is so she may have the credit of being benevolent without any of the expense); he agrees, and awkward, timid little Fanny Price, aged ten, comes to live in the great mansion. She is overawed by everything and everyone, and only her cousin Edmund, the younger of the two Bertram boys, pays any attention to her or shows her kindness.
Lady Bertram is remarkable for her indolence and inactivity, so by default, the management of her household and the raising of her children has been taken up by Mrs. Norris, childless and widowed, who is a judgmental, self-important, miserly busybody. Fanny is particularly bullied by Aunt Norris. Fanny is shy, humble, and passive, but also very morally upright. Thanks to Edmund, she learns to love poetry and reading, and becomes an enthusiast for the sublimity of Nature. She grows up to be totally devoted to him and secretly loves him. (This was at a time when first cousins could marry each other).
Sir Thomas must leave Mansfield Park to attend to his “plantations” in Antigua (that is, he is a slave-owner with sugar plantations, a very considerable source of wealth for England at this time) and he is away for almost two years. During his absence, his oldest daughter, Maria, becomes engaged to the wealthy but dim-witted Mr. Rushworth, who owns a large estate known as Sotherton. Then two new characters appear—pretty, witty, and charming Mary Crawford, and her flirtatious brother Henry. They are the half-brother and half-sister of Mrs. Grant, wife to the local clergyman.
At first, Mary Crawford thinks that Tom Bertram, the heir to the Bertram estate, might make a suitable husband but finds herself unaccountably falling for the quieter and more serious Edmund. When she learns that Edmund plans to become a clergyman, she tries to forget about him, as she—an heiress who is used to the glamor of London society—has no interest in being a clergyman’s wife in some quiet country village. Meanwhile, Maria and Julia both fall under the spell of the captivating Henry Crawford. Fanny observes this dangerous situation, but worse, also has the heartache of watching Edmund fall in love with Mary.
Mr. Yates, a friend of Tom Bertram’s, comes for a visit and proposes that they all entertain themselves by putting on a play. This strikes Edmund and Fanny as disrespectful to Sir Thomas, especially considering that the play chosen, Lovers' Vows, (a real play whose text is available on the internet) is ab
out a woman who has an illegitimate child. Sir Thomas would not want his virginal daughters portraying such a woman, nor the part of Amelia, a bold flirt.
The others disregard Edmund’s warnings, and set about casting the parts of the play, which has two storylines—one melodramatic and one comic. Both Maria and Julia want to play the dramatic part of Agatha, but there can only be one; Maria is chosen—she will play scenes with Henry Crawford (who is playing the part of her son, not her lover) to Julia’s jealousy and chagrin. Mr. Yates will play the sadder but wiser Baron who regrets having seduced Agatha in his youth; plodding Mr. Rushworth is miscast as Count Cassel, an over-the-top Don Juan who boasts of his conquests. Tom Bertram will play the Butler, a comic relief character, and petite, sprightly Mary Crawford is well cast as the saucy Amelia in the comic storyline. Naturally she wants Edmund to take the part of her lover, but can she overcome his scruples?
As the variation begins, 18-year-old Fanny is being pressed to take one of the minor roles in the play. Leading up to this evening, Fanny has been tormented by watching Edmund fall in love with Mary Crawford, while Aunt Norris has been ordering her around and belittling her as usual.
Author’s Note
I have placed the foreword at the end of the book for the convenience of readers who wish to skip past it and get to the story.
As the story begins, I have interspersed some of Jane Austen’s writing and she is occasionally quoted throughout the book.
Chapter One
True courage is like a kite; a contrary wind raises it higher.
Jean Antoine Petit-Senn (1792-1870)
Mansfield Park, October 1808
“Fanny,” her cousin Tom called from the other side of the parlour, “we want your services.”
Fanny laid down her sewing and was up in a moment, expecting some errand.
“Oh! we do not want to disturb you now. We do not want your present services. We shall only want you in our play. You must be Cottager's Wife.”
“Me!” cried Fanny, stopping in mid-step. “Indeed you must excuse me. I could not act anything if you were to give me the world. No, indeed, I cannot act.”
“Indeed but you must,” her cousin returned with a smile, “for we cannot excuse you. It need not frighten you: it is a nothing of a part, a mere nothing, not above half-a-dozen speeches altogether.”
“It is not that I am afraid of learning by heart,” said Fanny, blushing to find herself at that moment the only speaker in the room, and to know that everyone—her cousins, their four guests and worst of all, her Aunt Norris—was looking at her, “but I really cannot act.”
“Phoo! Phoo! You'll do it very well. We do not expect perfection. You must get a brown gown, and a white apron, and a mob cap, and we must make you a few wrinkles, and a little of the crows-foot at the corner of your eyes, and you will be a very proper, little old woman.”
“Oh Fanny, pray don’t be so anxious about it,” added her cousin Maria. “Mr. Crawford and I portray the leading characters, you need only support us.”
“Yours is a very trifling part,” Maria’s fiancé Mr. Rushworth put in. “Whilst I must come in three times, you know, and have two-and-forty speeches. That's something, is not it? But I do not much like the idea of being so fine. I shall hardly know myself in a pink satin cloak.”
“And here, I suspect, is the true reason for Miss Price’s reluctance,” said Tom’s friend Mr. Yates. “I fancy that she doesn’t care to yield the honours of the pink satin to Mr. Rushworth, and be forced to grace the stage dressed in peasant rags and a mob cap. I can understand your feelings very well, Miss Price, and I will be your champion. I shan’t let anyone paint crow’s feet around those soft blue eyes. What say you to appearing as a little shepherdess or a milkmaid? You will look very fetching indeed, and who will object if Cottager’s wife is young enough to be his granddaughter?”
“We will do everything in our power to make you as comfortable as possible, Miss Price,” said their guest Henry Crawford, rising from his chair to make a half bow, accompanied by his most engaging smile. “Permit me to read your part aloud to you, by way of supplying you with a friendly hint as to how to perform it. All you need do is to imitate my—”
“That is a capital notion, Crawford,” exclaimed Mr. Yates. “Miss Price, I can exactly mimic the role, as it was performed by the governess at Ecclesford. Simply follow my example.”
“Here—here—Fanny,” cried Tom, pushing an open manuscript across the table toward her. “You need only enter and say: here's a piece of work indeed about nothing!”
“What a piece of work here is about nothing!” exclaimed her Aunt Norris, no longer able to contain herself. “I am quite ashamed of you, Fanny, to make such a difficulty of obliging your cousins in a trifle of this sort—so kind as they are to you! Take the part with a good grace, and let us hear no more of the matter, I entreat.”
Fanny looked to her cousin Edmund for help, and he laid aside his book and remonstrated with his aunt.
“Do not urge her, madam. It is not fair to urge her in this manner. You see she does not like to act. Let her choose for herself.”
“I am not going to urge her,” his aunt replied sharply, “but I shall think her a very obstinate, ungrateful girl, if she does not do what her aunt and cousins wish her—very ungrateful, indeed, considering who and what she is.”
Fanny turned crimson, then pale. Turning her back on the rest of the company, she hurried back to her seat and bent her head over her sewing.
The rest of the party were briefly silenced—Edmund was too angry to speak, Maria was chagrined that their guests were witness to this breach of decorum in their family circle and even Tom recognized that another word from him, either of comfort or censure, might destroy Fanny’s composure completely. For a moment, the only sound to be heard was the gentle snoring of Lady Bertram on her sofa, happily oblivious to the discord in the bosom of her family.
“I do not like my situation, this place is too hot for me,” Miss Crawford announced calmly, rising and moving her chair away from Mrs. Norris and settling down next to Fanny, saying to her, in a kind, low whisper, “Never mind, my dear Miss Price, this is a cross evening: everybody is cross and teasing, but do not let us mind them.”
For the next quarter of an hour Fanny received Miss Crawford’s warm praise of her needle-work, and mechanically answered her enquiries and remarks, until rising feelings of humiliation threatened to overpower her altogether. That it was Miss Crawford who, of all the company, was endeavouring to soothe and revive her, was a mixed blessing, as it obliged her to think better of her neighbour than she wished.
Fortunately, Miss Crawford’s attention was soon called away by the other young people. Fanny was too discomposed to attend to the conversation but heard enough to understand that the subject was again the play, Lovers' Vows, and the question of which of them was to undertake which part, and she dreaded a renewal of those urgings which had destroyed her peace. She wanted to escape and go to her bedchamber, but she could not trust herself to make her excuses in a tolerably complacent fashion. As for leaving the room directly, her aunt’s angry words—considering who and what she is—echoed in her ears again and again, humbling her too utterly to contemplate such a lack of ceremony.
Who was she, and what was she? A penniless relation, a dependent female, taken in as a child out of motives of charity. She had never resented her cousins for their superior beauty, dress, or accomplishments, and seldom did she bridle at always being at the command of her Bertram relatives. But to be accused of ingratitude, obstinacy, and willfulness—she, who might as well not even have a will of her own, so seldom had she been given an opportunity to exercise her own inclinations? At that moment, an unaccustomed sensation burnt in her breast, rising until she felt it must choke her. It was anger; it was resentment at being so misunderstood by those who should have known her best.
She had disapproved of the acting scheme, agreeing with Edmund that it was disrespectful for the young
er Bertrams to engage in play-acting when their father, her uncle, was engaged on a perilous ocean voyage. As the youngest person in the household and a dependent relation, she would never presume so far as to lay down the correct course of conduct to her cousins Maria and Julia, who appeared blind to the indelicacy of representing on stage females with whom their father would have barred all association. It was deference alone which prevented Fanny from raising those objections which could only be perceived as rebukes. She stood with Edmund in refusing to participate but had confided her feelings only to him. Unaware of her disapprobation and her forebodings of mischief, Tom laid her refusals to childish timidity, Mrs. Norris to a peevish disobliging nature.
And yet, Fanny reflected, bending lower over her work, was it not true that she would still shrink from participating in the theatricals, even if were there no such objections to be met with as had occurred to her and Edmund? Did she not wish to avoid being contrasted on the same stage with the pretty, sprightly, Miss Crawford or her handsome cousin Maria? Was it not for this same reason that, when a child, she had refused, absolutely refused, to study piano and drawing—for fear of comparisons to her more accomplished cousins? Could her seeming modesty and reticence be, in reality, a species of pride?
Feelings of self-pity, mingling with feelings of self-loathing, struggled inside of her. She had only one wish; to escape from herself. She observed Miss Crawford returning to sit next to her, she saw Miss Crawford’s lips move, something was “disagreeable” to her; Fanny nodded her head in seeming acquiescence, but she heard none of it. Although her disordered mind rendered all conversations into an unintelligible babble, she could yet observe—and she caught sight of Edmund’s admiring gaze fixed upon Miss Crawford. Another glance, full of meaning, he swiftly bestowed on Fanny, one which said, “Miss Crawford, and she alone, was kind enough to comfort you, and I honour her for it.”