by Lona Manning
She attempted to soothe herself with the novelty of managing her own household, overseeing the alterations to the house and the yard, and spending whatever time with her husband that he could spare from his duties. Together, they become acquainted with their parish through walks and horseback rides, until they could count every cottage and name every family that dwelt therein.
Mary’s chief source of happiness derived from the knowledge that her husband adored her, was proud of her, and delighted in her company. To commence married life in the country in the springtime, was surely a recipe for contentment.
* * * * * *
Although she was unable to make anyone her true confidante, Fanny nonetheless yearned for a companion, and she formed the wish of inviting her sister Susan to come and stay with her. The letter was dispatched—the offer joyfully accepted—monies were provided—and Fanny’s father, finding it no hardship to leave his fireside when his married daughter was paying the fare, brought Susan to Everingham within three weeks of Mr. Crawford’s quitting it. Her father stayed long enough to admire the home, sample its wine cellar, observe that the servants were a pack of idle, shiftless thieves, and then returned to his familiar haunts, there to boast of his well-married daughter.
The arrival of Susan, with her energetic disposition, gave Fanny many funds of gratification. She could think of someone other than herself, by seeing to Susan’s comfort and pleasure. At first it was enough to watch as Susan reveled in the beauty, the air, the light and freedom of the country in the springtime, and to laugh as her sister ate her fill of whatever the cook put in front of them (and it was no surprise that she rated the cook much higher than did Fanny.)
Fanny soon realized, to her surprise, that Susan looked up to her, and wanted to acquire her elder sister’s quiet ladylike manner, and no tutor could be kinder and more patient than Fanny in smoothing away Susan’s little rusticities while teaching, chiefly by illustration, the arts of courtesy and feminine deportment. Nor could any young girl fail to be delighted by being provided for with a new wardrobe, shoes and bonnets. Fanny of course derived far greater pleasure in giving these things to Susan than she had felt when Mr. Crawford purchased her wedding clothes.
Susan was amused and delighted by Fanny’s cropped hair, and offered to trim it herself, as she had, for several years, served as the family barber for her younger brothers. She then resolved to cut her own hair off likewise, releasing the soft curls with which both sisters were favoured. “You said you don’t want a lady’s maid, so you have no one to dress your hair at any rate,” Susan reasoned. “You can keep it cropped, as we shall always wear our bonnets in church and in company, and you can wear your married lady’s caps while at home.” Fanny had grown accustomed to her shorn hair style and even suspected that it flattered her.
Because Susan’s eyes were upon her, Fanny was forced to exert herself. Susan was direct, impatient and curious—when Fanny lamented the over-rich fare and wished she could have something simpler, her sister asked her, then why don’t you say so? Susan forced Fanny to confront her own foolish timidity and her fear of giving offence to anyone, even her own servants.
Fanny was candid enough to acknowledge that her younger sister had qualities that she lacked—amongst them a good head for figures—and together they began to establish, in fits and starts, a new regime at Everingham. It was a joint project they undertook, at first out of motives of imposing better order and thrift, then out of increasing sensations of pride and accomplishment. They pored over the account books for the estate, marveling at how much in the way of butter and eggs, wine and meat, candles and fuel had been consumed while the master was not in residence. It was Susan who discovered that many of the servants were relations of the steward, Mr. Maddison—in fact, most of the servitors at Everingham were his nieces and nephews and cousins, and many of them, in the frequent absence of Mr. Crawford, were obliged to work for the steward in his residence, although of course their wages were paid by Everingham. Then came the day when one upper housemaid guilelessly revealed to Susan that she had to turn over a portion of her wage to her uncle Maddison to thank him for having found her employment!
Fanny resolved to speak seriously to Mr. Crawford, when she next saw him, about some needed reforms that she believed should only be undertaken by him, but in the meantime, she and Susan took the greatest pleasure in observing the gradual amendment in the manners and activity of the servants, the improvement in the comforts of their home and the small economies made on behalf of their absent host.
Susan attributed Fanny’s occasional fits of mental abstraction to the continued absence of her husband Mr. Crawford, and kindly refrained from mentioning him, as Fanny appeared to derive no comfort from the subject.
* * * * * *
May, Isle of Gorée
To Sir Thomas Bertram,
Dear Sir,
I trust this letter finds you and all of your family well. My sister Fanny often wrote to me of her anxieties for your health, during that period of time when you were resident in Antigua. I myself served briefly in the West Indies, and now that I and my fellow shipmates are arrived at the African coast, I fully apprehend her concerns about the insalubrious climate, and the enervating heat of the Tropicks, which has a most enervating effect upon the crew. May your nephew prove to have as strong a constitution as his uncle, and return to England the better and wiser for this experience and may the words of Horace, Caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt, not apply to him!
I am finally aboard my ship, the Solebay, and very content to be under so good a commander as Captain Columbine. He is a man of science as well as a mariner, being a hydrographer who surveyed the island of Trinidad. We are currently anchored at the Isle of Gorée, undertaking some repairs to the ship, as best as can be contrived so far from home. We are then to proceed to Sierra Leone, where Captain Columbine will assume the office of governor there.
Our officers dined with the commander of the British garrison here, and he informed us that the French have an outpost nearby in the Gambia River from whence they send privateers to harass our shipping….
….. to close with my most sincere thanks, sir, for everything you have done for me, my sister Fanny and my family. Will you please give my respects to Lady Bertram and the Misses Bertram. I hope to have the honour, sir, of calling upon you and your family upon my return to England.
Your nephew and devoted servant,
Lt. William Price
“Pretty good, Mr. Price,” said William Gibson. “You have used ‘enervating’ twice, but taken as a whole, a fine letter.”
The two Williams were enjoying a rare moment of peace, sheltering from the sun under a small tarpaulin, in a little corner of the deck which was designated the schoolroom aboard the HMS Solebay. Their table was an empty crate and their seats were cut down barrels, and the schoolroom walls consisted of wire cages stuffed with chickens destined for the officers' table. Their rustling and clucking provided a running commentary on the efforts of Lt. Price. He didn’t complain about the distraction because after all, he would have the last word—or rather, the last bite.
“Here is another one for you, Price: causa latet, vis est notissima— ‘the cause is hidden, but the result is well known’. You are learning Latin, you told me, to converse with your brother officers, but perhaps there is another reason—perhaps, you wish to impress a certain uncle, who is father to a certain young lady…..”
William Price grinned. “It’s like that fellow you told me about—that fellow who wrote War in Disguise. He knew that people can have more than one motive for doing a thing.”
“Mr. Stephen. Yes. Clever fox—he saw that Parliament could not be persuaded to outlaw the trade in slaves for moral reasons. So, he made the French slave trade a casus belli, if you will—
“A casus bell-eye?”
“Look it up in your grammar, Mr. Price. First, Parliament made it illegal for we English to have anything to do with the French slave trade—to hur
t Napoleon. From there, the Abolitionists in Parliament were able to outlaw the English trade as well. Why does Parliament vote the funds for the West African Squadron to patrol the coastline here, when you might suppose that no ships could be spared from the war with the French? Perhaps the actions of His Britannic Majesty’s government are entirely benevolent. Or perhaps, there is this advantage to be gained by driving the French and their slave ships from the coast of Africa. England’s navy will control this entire coastline, which means that our ships will have a monopoly on palm oil and ground nuts and other trade items which are becoming more valuable.”
“Such as ivory,” added William Price. “And perhaps even some of their curious manufactures. I have a small statue I bought in Gibraltar off of a chap who had rounded the Horn, I must show it to you.”
“I should be more grateful if you had anything at all to read, lieutenant. Anything besides your Latin grammar and the Young Midshipman’s Instructor, that is.”
“Sorry, Gibson. I have owned some books coming and going, but the only thing I keep with me is my sister’s letters. As a matter of fact, I have the letter she wrote which describes her first meeting with you in Bristol.”
“Oh, indeed?”
* * * * * *
The calendar proclaimed that summer reigned, but the London skies were overcast and gloomy. Sir Thomas had returned to his study on Wimpole Street, and was reviewing the terms of his sale of the majority of his Antigua properties, when a timid rap at the door was followed by the entrance of his daughter Maria, whose countenance caused him to set down his papers and focus his attention on her with the alarm of a truly fond and affectionate parent. She had not been in good looks or temper since that day when she read of Crawford’s marriage to Fanny; but he had hoped to see, by this time, some improvement in her health and spirits.
“Father...” Maria began, with a voice and manner so truly agitated, so expressive of despair, that Sir Thomas could not keep his seat, and came forward to take her hand, press it affectionately, and offer her a chair. These small tokens of kindness undid her completely, and she began to weep. To his amazement, she sank to the floor at his feet, crying, “Forgive me! Oh father, do not abandon me now!”
Sir Thomas could not bring himself to utter the awful presentiment that occurred to his mind. It was too terrible a thing to pronounce, and he shrank from asking, in the forlorn hope that it was some other distress which thus brought his daughter, penitent, to her knees before him.
“Maria, what is it? What is the matter?” Was all he could bring himself to say. But his hopes, and very nearly his reason itself, were to be shattered, as his daughter, unable to look at him, uttered through her sobs…
“Oh, father! Oh, father! I am carrying Henry Crawford’s child!”
A long silence followed as Sir Thomas struggled to regain his composure. A black tide of misery swept over father and daughter alike, she awash with shame and fear, he with anger and sorrow. If Sir Thomas had been applied to the day before and asked, what was to be done if a daughter of good family had sacrificed her virtue, he would have answered unhesitatingly that death was to be preferred to a dishonour so complete, comprehending as it did the reputation of a family, the happiness of its members, the respectability of all of its daughters, and the defiance of a morality whose strictures he had endeavoured to live by and imbibe in his children.
But as Maria had not spontaneously expired under the disgrace of her condition, as she lived, and would live, and so in time, might bring forth a living child, Sir Thomas’s thoughts rapidly turned to where he might send her to reside until she was safely delivered, and to consider what might be done thereafter.
“Maria, I trust you understand it is impossible for you to stay under the same roof as your sister,” he began, and Maria nodded, remaining where she was, eyes downcast, at his feet. “We will spare no exertion and there will be no loss of time in making those arrangements which are necessary. You will be provided with a secluded but comfortable lodging in some neighbourhood where the name of ‘Bertram’ is unknown. You could represent yourself as being the wife of a ship’s officer—should you be forced to converse with anyone, which, under any circumstances, I advise strongly against. But the servants I shall engage for you will be so informed. Heaven help you to uphold this necessary deception! You will be provided with sufficient funds, of course, as would be consistent with your pretended station in life. But….”
Maria shuddered, and waited, head bowed, for the lacerating tongue of her father to outline, in his formal and measured way, why she was a disgrace to the name of Bertram, how he wished she had never been born, and how she was never to address him as ‘father’ again, when an unusual sound caught her ear. She looked up and beheld to her astonishment that her father was weeping! He gathered her up in his arms and said, “You asked me to consent to your marriage to Mr. Crawford, more than once you beseeched me—I refused, repeatedly. Had I acquiesced, you would now be honourably married, albeit to a man I must forever regard with detestation. I knew he was an unprincipled cad—but never did I suspect the depths of his depravity! Your happiness and credit were my only consideration, my Maria!”
Father and daughter wept together, then, after looking in the hallway to see that no servants were about, Sir Thomas led Maria back to her bedchamber, where with his own hands he helped her to pack her travelling trunks.
To completely conceal the truth of what was happening would most likely be impossible. The servants who had waited on Maria these past few months might be in the secret of it, perhaps Julia also. But everything that speed and discretion could do, would be done. He and Maria left London together, by post, and he arrived at Mansfield Park eight days later, alone. The story was given out that she was staying with friends at the seaside to recover her health and spirits after the failure of her second engagement within the span of six months. The necessity for dissimulation to his household, to friends and neighbours, to his own wife and his own family, sickened Sir Thomas until he wondered whether his constitution could withstand the shock and horror of it.
Tom Bertram was dispatched to bring Julia home, as Sir Thomas was disposed to gather what remained of his family around him. It was a more sober and generous Julia who returned home after her season in London. Henry Crawford had wounded her, but she had pride and spirit enough to recover, and though the experience was dearly bought, she felt the wiser for it. She came away with vows of eternal friendship and promises of faithful correspondence from some of the other young ladies she had met during the Season. Home now wore a more attractive aspect; her mother greeted her with something approaching animation and pleasure, and Julia was ready, after the late hours and bustle of London, for country air, horse-riding, and long walks.
In the ensuing days, the household servants understood it was best to avoid Sir Thomas, to exit through one door if he entered at another, to keep their eyes to the floor if passing him in the hallway, and to move about their tasks in utter silence. Some suspected the reason for his severity—and some remembered the housemaid, Sarah, who had been dismissed from service and publicly disgraced by this same Sir Thomas a few months before. Did the master of the house ever spare a thought for her?
Sir Thomas reflected that Maria had kept her dread secret to herself, until after the wedding of Edmund and Mary, so as not to alloy the happiness of that occasion. Sir Thomas’ anger at Henry Crawford in no way comprehended his new daughter-in-law Mary. She was sweet, virtuous, and loving and not to be compared with Crawford, who no doubt was making his niece Fanny’s life miserable. Crawford of course, was not to be found—he was thought to be at Brighton, then at the races at Newmarket. Accusation or reparation was futile now that he was a married man and public disgrace would fall only upon Maria should her secret become known.
Sir Thomas’ implacable anger, without that immediate object before him, was diffused and general; it comprehended Henry Crawford, Maria, himself—for his failings as a father— and, after a few da
ys of consideration, Mrs. Norris as well. She had been supposed to be Maria’s particular chaperone when in London—how imperfectly had she discharged her duties! Yet he could not relieve his feelings by questioning her minutely about Maria’s comings and goings, nor by condemning his sister-in-law to her face, for he wished to keep Maria’s disgrace a secret even from Mrs. Norris, if not particularly from Mrs. Norris, for the woman could not guard her tongue at any time.
Sir Thomas had a sudden inspiration; to offer, in such terms as left his sister-in-law without the power of refusal, to send her for that long-desired visit to see her ‘dear sister Price’ in Portsmouth. An industrious, managing woman such as herself might be a positive benefit to the Prices, but even if it were not so, even if she proved to be as great a plague to the Prices as she had been to the Bertrams, he cared not. He heartily wished her gone, and so she was gone, very soon after he had formed the idea, sent by post chaise to take up her abode with her sister and family. He ensured that her stay would be a long one by informing her that, to his very great regret, he must begin charging rent for the White house, but should she find a respectable tenant, she could keep half the proceeds for so long as she lived elsewhere! The speed and alacrity with which Mrs. Norris found and installed her tenant and packed her trunks for Portsmouth proved an object lesson in how swiftly persons will act, when a way to appeal to their self-interest may be found.
Sir Thomas thereby obtained a not inconsiderable benefit to himself and his household, and if he had known of the degree of rejoicing in the servants’ hall when the news reached their ears, he would have been enlightened as to how cordially the woman had been detested by his faithful servitors. Christopher Jackson laughed and offered to build a bonfire in the lower meadow, and the housekeeper looked the other way when a ration of wine was poured out for both the upper and lower tables and “May God keep Mrs. Norris” was proposed, and no one needed to add the old tag, “far away from us,” for everyone understood.