A Contrary Wind: a variation on Mansfield Park (Mansfield Trilogy Book 1)

by Lona Manning

  Thus this blackest of all black clouds proved to have a silver lining.

  * * * * * *

  William Gibson dropped a heavy armful of wet branches and roots wrestled from the mangrove swamps into the cutter and straightened his aching back, while sucking in a lungful of the muggy, heavy air. Rivers of sweat streamed into his eyes. Shore duty was one of the few manual tasks he could perform without getting tangled up in ropes, or striking his head on a low beam; in other words, without dangerously injuring himself or others. He had not shown himself unwilling to work, but the combination of his height, poor eyesight, and inability to adapt to the heat had held him back from acquiring the requisite skills of an able seaman. Nevertheless, his fellow sailors had grown fond of him, working together to protect him from the worst errors, and laughing at him for the rest. He gave himself no airs, he asked for no special treatment.

  Captain Columbine swiftly sized up the earnest young scribbler and appointed him as the ship’s schoolmaster, in charge of teaching geometry and geography to the midshipman and cabin boys, for the previous schoolmaster had been a worthless drunk who had died of putrid fever. Captain Columbine also called on Gibson’s talents as a clerk, and soon Gibson had enough honest work wielding a pen or drumming the rudiments of antipodal points into young minds to excuse him from most other duties.

  No one escaped shore party duty, however, and as Gibson and his mess mates rowed back to the Solebay with fuel and full water barrels, he tried to take what pleasure he could in the blueness of the sky and the green glimmer of the waves. They were leaving behind the sandy beaches that were so white they hurt his eyes, and the innumerable hordes of tiny biting insects which descended in a cloud on the mariners as they collected fresh water at the riverbank. Away from the shore, one could almost persuade oneself that the sea breezes brought some infinitesimal relief from the smothering heat. Gibson’s habit was to think back to his days as a young child, in his old bedroom at his uncle’s rectory on a January morning, performing his ablutions with ice water, his feet and hands numb, his teeth chattering aloud– and he would gladly have exchanged places with himself, if only for a few moments.

  The Solebay was still anchored at the Isle of Gorée whilst Captain Columbine was in conference with Major Maxwell, commander of the British garrison. The topic of the meeting was the cause of much muttered speculation among the crew. The sailors who were already on board the Solebay before Lieutenant Price and William Gibson had joined them were bitter over the failure of the expedition to find any slave ships to intercept in the vast expanse they patrolled, for only by doing so would they win prize money. Gibson was disappointed as well, for without seeing a slave ship with his own eyes, the narrative of his life as a sailor would be to very little purpose for the abolitionist cause.

  Regaining the ship, he joined some of the men bathing in the sea, protected from drowning by a large net draped over the sides. The plunge into the ocean brought a few moment’s relief from the heat, that is, until he exerted himself to climb back aboard ship again. There he spotted Second Lieutenant Price looking excited, obviously the recipient of important news, and had to remind himself to say nothing until spoken to, until he and Price were off duty.

  Gibson was not to be in suspense for long; he was summoned to Captain Columbine’s cabin to write out orders for the rest of the naval ships anchored at the garrison: the fleet was to join forces with the garrison soldiers, travel up the Gambia River and attack and wipe out the French settlement of St. Louis, one hundred miles upstream.

  Soon, the ship’s cannons would be fired in earnest, and they would be fired upon, in their turn.

  That night, Gibson wrote: every schoolboy of my acquaintance, not excluding myself, thrilled to tales of battles, of heroism and glory. As the good doctor said, ‘Every man thinks meanly of himself for not having been a soldier, or not having been at sea.’ But faced with the reality, would I rather think meanly of myself, or instead, face cannon, grapeshot, bayonets and cutlasses, before this week is out? Do my fellow ship mates feel the alarms, the regrets, the anxieties that I cannot reason myself out of? They, poor souls, are an exceedingly superstitious tribe, seeing omens in the clouds, or if a bird lights on the rigging, or even if someone absent-mindedly whistles while on board. They attribute their misfortunes, after the fact, to the indubitable sign that appeared prior to the catastrophe. While in my mechanical universe, it is largely a matter of chance whether or not I am mowed down by grapeshot or stop a musket ball or a bayonet blade. How fortunate for me that I have no choice in the matter, so I will never know what I might do to escape this trial!

  I am also paying the penalty for the independence of my habits, and my neglect and indifference of family ties, for I find myself wondering—if I do fall, who would be there to mourn for and remember me? Oh indeed, I can count many people as friends and comrades, but is there anyone on this vast sphere for whom my death would occasion more than passing regret?

  * * * * * *

  June 25, 1809

  To Lady Bertram:

  Dear Maria:

  One day I may find it in me to forgive Sir Thomas for sending our Sister to live among us, but that day is still a distant one! She is being her intolerable Self, that I remember from our Girlhood days. It tries my Nerves to the greatest degree that Elizabeth will always remark unkindly upon the most trifling matters, and must have Everything done to her satisfaction! Rebekah has given her Notice rather than bear with it and will leave us at Michaelmas—I was planning to Dismiss her myself at any rate, but it is still most Provoking to find oneself no longer Mistress of one’s own Household! ! My Husband goes abroad even more than usual, to seek some respite from our sister's carping Tongue.

  She has not offered us so much as a farthing, by the way, but nonetheless finds fault with every meal laid before her. I told her plainly that if she wants better Beef and more Sugar, she must reach into her own Purse to procure it.

  As disordered and harassed as I am, I must take some Pains to relate a most extraordinary Incident which occurred yesterday. Sir Thomas will, no doubt, read of it in the News Papers, and will be anxious on our behalf, so I assure you that we are all Alive and Well—that is, we still have our heads and limbs attached to our bodies, which is more than—

  —but I am getting ahead of my Tale. Elizabeth and I, and my Boys, were walking along the foreshore on Point Beach yesterday morning, for she wished to go to the Post Office—but we first turned down to the beach because Tom and Charles clamoured to see the 8th Regiment, who were embarking for the Isle of Jersey.

  The soldiers and their followers were all camped along the shore, in the greatest Disarray and Confusion. We were in the midst of this Throng, and I was determining that we had best come away, owing to the disreputable appearance of many of the Wives, Laundresses and what-have-yous following the Regiment, when our Sister spied a young Woman, great with child, with an older infant hanging in a sling on her back and leading yet two more young children by the hand (such a picture as I myself presented in the early days of my Marriage, alas! I feel immensely weary just recalling it!)

  “What, Sarah! What brings you here!” Our Sister accosted her.

  And the saucy wench answered her most Disrespectfully, saying that she herself, our Sister, was the Reason she found herself there. It appears that through some Indiscretion she had lost her Position with you and Sir Thomas, and she subsequently had fled to her Brother, a Corporal in the 8th, having No-where else to go, and through his Good Offices she had recently been taken under the Protection of one of his comrades, a newly-widowed Sergeant with three young Children.

  Our Sister fell to haranguing the girl and abusing her for smoking Tobacco—for she had a clay Pipe clenched in her teeth—until I grew weary of listening and interposed:

  “Pray, Sister, do not trouble yourself about the ways of Soldiers’ wives. Tobacco has many medicinal qualities and it will carry away hunger when there is no meal to be had. This young person is off your
hands—are we, your own Family, not enough for you to scold, without tormenting those who have Nothing to do with you?”

  At which, this Sarah laughed and said that interfering in other people’s business was all that Mrs. Norris ever had done and that she, our Sister, was a crotchety old b—tch (and some other terms too vulgar to relate). And with that she sauntered away, still Laughing. This Impertinence disconcerted our Sister not a little, especially as my own boys were also laughing heartily, and I could not find it in my Heart to rebuke them.

  We repaired to the Post Office, where our Sister mailed a letter to you, I believe—no doubt full of remarks about my Management of my own Household—and we were just regaining the sidewalk when a Tremendous Noise, followed by a great blast of Wind, nearly deafened us and knocked us off our feet. The Windows of every building in the street were Shattered—fortunately our hats and capes sheltered us from any Injury from the falling glass—but then the most frightful, unlooked-for thing occurred—a human Leg, a severed Leg, fell from the sky and dropped on the pavement right in front of our Sister, splattering her with Gore!

  Her Constitution is such that she did not Faint—and neither did I—but she was robbed of the Power of Speech and movement for some Time. We led her Home and she has been a-bed ever since, and I have urged her to Remain there, as you may well suppose, and would gladly bribe an Apothecary to advise her not to stir for a Fortnight, had I the means to do so.

  To return to the Incident, we at first feared an Invasion by the French, as you may imagine, and were in the greatest Perturbation for some time, but my husband, seeking out his informants in the Dockyard, returned with the Intelligence that the infernal noise was caused by the accidental alighting of a vast quantity of Gunpowder among the stores of the 8th Regiment. It is said that the spark came from a pipe of one of the Soldiers’ wives, who knocked her pipe out against the stones on the shale because it would not draw. Some of the lit Tobacco fell out and chanced to ignite some loose cartridges, which Exploded and in turn ignited a quantity of barrelsful of Powder, with the deadly result—more than a Score of persons killed, and Scores more injured!

  I do not know of the Fate of your former Servant as I am too much occupied with care and concern for my own household to seek further particulars about her. Had we not come away when we had, we might well have been blown to Oblivion, and as heartily as I thank Providence for our Preservation, my nerves are too disordered for me to dress and attend Divine Services this morning. Thank Heavens I left my little Betsey at home yesterday to watch our Servants and she was spared the ghastly sight! Whenever I close my eyes I can see that severed limb on the pavements in front of me, and I pray the Shocking spectacle will cause no lasting damage to the Constitutions of my poor darling boys. They are running up and down the Stairs as I speak, causing me to have a most frightful Headache, and in consequence, I shall conclude and sign myself,

  Your Martyred Sister,

  Frances Price

  * * * * * *

  As the summer advanced, so Edmund Bertram advanced in confidence in his new role as clergyman. He had feared that he was too young to give advice to the aged, too sedate to captivate his youngest parishioners, and too diffident to command attention from the pews, but as the weeks went by he began to wear his new responsibilities naturally and lightly. His wife, alas, with her rapidity of understanding and impatience of boredom, began to feel, and to show, that she was already growing tired of the confines of the parish and the unvarying routine of country life. She felt, too, with some resentment, that every eye in the village was upon her, and making note if she arose late, or did nothing all day but read novels and play the harp.

  Owing to the alterations to the landscape and the principal rooms as proposed by her brother, there was, as yet, no garden for her to enjoy—she was surrounded by an acre of mud and disorder without, and sawdust and noise and loose planks within. Unexpected expenses arose as well, for the removal of the farm-yard necessitated the digging of a new well, and the projected costs for the improvements proved to be easily twice what Henry had calculated.

  Mary’s temper suffered as a result, and she was not infrequently disposed to quarrel over trifles. Edmund winced when he heard her scolding the servants and arguing with the tradesmen over their bills. Nor was he spared the sharp edge of her tongue. Sadly, she and her husband had very different modes of disputation—she could speak cuttingly one moment, in a brief flight of anger, then, having relieved her feelings, resume her wonted cheerfulness, as though nothing had occurred. But Edmund was of a different stamp—he was his father’s son—he loathed quarrelling, and he would leave a room rather than betray any loss of composure, and after the storm clouds had passed, he felt no small difficulty in laying aside the remembrance of his wife’s unkind language. He reflected, with some regret, that their dispositions were very different in this respect, and here were two temperaments that, although opposed, were not always conjoined in mutual sympathy.

  Barely six weeks after entering into Thornton Lacey, Mary proposed that she pay a trip to London to choose wallpapers and draperies for their home, and because the lease on the house on Wimpole Street had not yet expired, Sir Thomas was happy to indulge his new daughter-in-law by placing it at her disposal.

  * * * * * *

  Mansfield Park, July 29

  My dear sister Norris,

  Do not be alarmed at the receipt of this letter, even though it is not a fortnight since I last wrote you. But I have some news to impart, which I make no doubt, will surprise you. Edmund has informed us that Mary has extended the lease on the townhouse in Wimpole Street, and intends to live in the city, at least until the alterations are finished at Thornton Lacey. Mary has assured me their home is quite intolerable because of the alterations now in hand, so I will defer my visit to Edmund’s new parish until all of that is done with.

  Edmund has given his consent for Mary to do as she wishes, and he will divide his time between city and country, travelling up to London at least twice a month. I am not a little astonished at this—what think you, Sister? I own that I cannot help reflecting, I would never have thought to go abroad without Sir Thomas by my side.

  It is almost a full three months since you have been living in Portsmouth with our sister Price and her family. I am sure you are very often thought of here at Mansfield—yesterday I overheard Baddeley remark to one of our footman, who had chanced to drop a plate, that he was sure you heard the sound of the plate shattering on the floor, all the way in Portsmouth! Although your hearing is remarkably acute, especially for your age, I fancy he was speaking in jest.

  In the absence of yourself, Fanny, and my oldest daughter, I remain quite desolate for want of company. Speaking of hardships, I trust that you are completely recovered from the dreadful calamity that befell you last month, which I shudder to recall.

  The weather continues remarkably fine, and Pug and I have sat outdoors more than once this month to enjoy it, when it is not too hot. However, I greatly fear that you cannot say the same, living as you are close by the docks with all of their dreadful odours. I remember how I used to dread the summer months in Huntingdon! Heat disagrees with me terribly.

  Please give my love to my sister Price and her family. How many of them are still at home?

  Yours affectionately,

  M. Bertram

  Mrs. Norris had not allowed the ill-temper of her sister Price to dissuade her from directing and managing the children and servants of the Price household—mere peevishness from her hostess would not prevent that worthy lady from carrying out what was most evidently any Christian woman’s duty—but after three months among them, Mrs. Norris felt that she had done all that one woman could do. To the unfeigned relief of the Prices, Mrs. Norris took the unprecedented step of travelling from Portsmouth to London at her own expense, in anticipation of returning to Northamptonshire in her nephew’s carriage—after a pleasant sojourn with Mary Bertram in London. The new bride could undoubtedly benefit from the ad
vice of an older and wiser head. She arrived at Wimpole Street in early August with all her luggage, in good time to dress and then join her nephew and his wife for dinner.

  Very pleased at being back in the fashionable world, Mrs. Norris was merrier than usual over her wine, and spoke confidingly to Mary, as though the two of them shared a private joke.

  “Mary, I believe it is only a year ago last month that you and your brother first came to Mansfield Park, is it not? And how long was it after that, when Edmund made you a proposal?”

  Mary smiled at Edmund, who replied, “I asked Mary to become my wife only last March, Aunt Norris. Mary and I are not advocates of long engagements!”

  “But you two had an understanding long before that, did you not?” And she nodded meaningfully at Mary. “Last autumn?”

  “I am fortunate that not everyone has your penetration, ma’am,” Mary exclaimed. “I had thought, last autumn, that the depth of my regard for your nephew was known only to myself.”

  “And I ardently wished for Mary to be my wife from that time,” added Edmund, “but lacked the courage to declare myself.”

  “Oh, no need to be so coy,” said Mrs. Norris. “Many persons form an understanding upon a few weeks’ acquaintance. It was not, of course, the case with Mr. Norris and myself. I had known him for many years before determining upon marriage with him. But, truly, I have a romantic nature at heart, and so, when I discovered your letter to Fanny—”

  “My letter, ma’am?” asked Mary, her smiles vanishing.