Mansfield Park the Crawfords' Redemption

by Kirsten Bij't Vuur

  She could not resist his gesture, and stroked his dark locks, running her hand through them as she had wanted to before. He closed his eyes and savoured the gentle touch, feeling his heart swell at his good fortune.

  After a few moments he looked up at her and broke the silence with a feeling voice: 'Fanny, will you allow me to have a few really beautiful dresses made for you, so I can show you off in London?' She replied: 'Had you asked me at the time when my uncle gave the ball for William and me I would have been aghast by the very idea. But I am no longer afraid to be seen or judged, and I have great confidence in your taste, since seeing your house and grounds, and seeing you on that lovely black cob when you couldn't ride your hunter. So, yes, you may gild me as you like, and you may be as gallant as you will to me.'

  The next morning brought a very welcome surprise to Fanny, for instead of having to share Edmund's mare with Mary, Henry had asked Sir Thomas for permission to send for Fanny's grey gelding and his own tall hunter, and both

  horses had arrived the day before and been stabled without Fanny ever noticing. They could now ride out in a group, and Fanny finally experienced the true meaning of being young and healthy: they had a magnificent ride, all four of them in high spirits, chatting away whilst striding, then concentrating on their riding as they trotted across lanes and fields.

  Edmund was stunned with Fanny's progress in riding, her fearlessness in galloping on her spirited grey gelding, the obstacles she jumped without raising a hair, he was actually touched by this further evidence of what Henry had done for her, and decided to allow Mary's gayness to influence him more, to find some of her zest in his own life.

  Fanny was happy to see Edmund trying to be more intimate with Mary, and when Mary had received the first efforts with welcoming pleasure, he soon lost his shyness towards her and behaved as any other ardent lover, finding excuses to stand close to her and touching her hair, taking her hand. Satisfied that they would soon be kissing secretly, she planned to ask Mary soon how the new situation felt to her.

  It was a glorious day, with a lot of friendship and love between them, and they were anticipating the month before their respective marriages with excitement, they would be able to have rides like this often, and they agreed on riding to Thornton Lacey the very next day, so Mary and Fanny could finally get to see it.

  But that trip was not to be, for in the evening an express came, with the disturbing news that Tom had fallen seriously ill at a friend's house in Newmarket. Having expected something of the sort to happen, but unable to do anything to prevent it, Edmund resolved to travel to his brother's aid immediately, expecting to be able to fetch him home to Mansfield Park within a week or so. Mary decided to stay with her sister instead of traveling to London on her own, and so their riding party was now increased by one instead of two.

  Since Henry cared as little for Tom as Fanny did herself, Edmund's gloomy accounts of his brother's health didn't bother him much. He was happily spending time with his loved one, and he had his sister around to talk to and give her opinion on the fabrics he was going to order for Fanny's showy dresses.

  Mary of course missed her intended very much, they had just discovered how to be physically intimate and were progressing towards a secret kiss quite

  steadily, and suddenly Edmund was gone away. Fortunately she had Henry around to keep her spirits up, and Fanny to confide her disappointment in, which was much better than having to pretend nothing was wrong to her friend Mrs Fraser.

  Being active also helped, and with daily rides she was soon able to keep up with her brother and Fanny, though it was a bit of work to get the placid mare to match their general pace. With her fearless character Mary loved to gallop almost immediately, and eventually Edmund's mare got used to having to work harder, and they could even try jumping some obstacles together.

  One evening, having brought over her harp from the parsonage, she entertained the whole family with some music, and her recital was enjoyed very much by everyone, for no-one else was present anymore who had learned to play, though secretly Fanny was forming the resolution to take piano lessons once she was married and removed to Everingham, where no-one would be able to hear her first attempts.

  In her music, Miss Crawford found comfort, and when she was playing with great concentration, trying to forget how she missed Edmund, her beautiful features lost their liveliness and gained a certain exaltation and peace which recommended her very much to Fanny.

  Tom's return could not be managed within a week, he was just not well enough to travel, so Edmund was forced to extend his stay in Newmarket.

  Mary was easily convinced to stay with her sister for another week. Henry didn't know whether she was hoping for Tom to survive or not, and frankly, he didn't want to know. He knew Edmund had sincere affection for his worthless sibling, but he sometimes did wonder how his friend managed to keep that love intact in the face of Tom's selfish nature. He supposed personally he'd want him better sooner rather than later, for they could not marry with a family member dead or dying, and Henry was now counting the days until he could hold the woman of his dreams in his arms legitimately, feel her touch on his bare skin and have the right to touch her himself.

  He had every expectation of finding her an ardent lover, she had already told him several times, subtly as well as quite frankly, that she couldn't wait to become physical with him. Contrary to her gentle, obliging manners, he knew she had a very strong will, having hid her passionate love for Edmund for almost ten years, through heart-rending situations, a marvel of self-control that he would not have been able to emulate. And the way she had taken to riding once her innate fears had been conquered, her strong will again. No,

  better let Tom get well quickly, and let their first night together begin, and all the others after that.

  After two weeks, Edmund managed to return with his brother, who was still in a bad shape, but well enough to travel. Henry thought he looked like death warmed over, gaunt, pale, broken, but he walked into the house by himself and his eyes were clear and his voice steady. It was still hard for Henry to feel sympathy for the big lout, he had willingly drank himself nearly to death, and as an avid sportsman Henry could not understand anyone letting his body go to the dogs that way.

  After a setback of a week due to the fatigue of the journey, Tom was able to sit up in bed, and Edmund and Fanny took turns reading to him, to keep him occupied.

  Having seen the state of him, Fanny felt a little sorry for her eldest cousin, but he had never made a good impression on her, always thinking of himself first, nearly ruining his family with his expensive habits, the vulgar way in which he had spent his time in London. Fanny agreed to read to him to do Edmund a favor, to give him some time to spend with his Mary, but she didn't find any pleasure in it, not even the pleasure of helping an invalid, for Tom was still an unmannered lout, even though his voice was broken and his once handsome figure had wasted away.

  One morning as she was reading a novel to Tom, he seemed somewhat better, and he was clearly bored by the book. He said: 'Come on, Fanny, quit that boring nonsense, I'm no longer dying, I don't have to put up with it anymore.'

  This only confirmed her opinion of him, he was a lout and apparently even almost dying couldn't cure him of it. She hid her disgust though, and put the book away. Her natural gentleness hid the iron core within her quite adequately, more so than she realized, for her cousin still saw her as the little shy grey mouse he had seen when last at Mansfield Park, the girl begging humbly to be excused from acting.

  Really looking at her for the first time since his arrival last week, he was amazed by the change in her looks, she was positively pretty now. He said:

  'You have turned out mighty pretty, little cousin, who would have thought that. Can you help me sit up?' Fanny moved to the bed and supported him as he tried to righten his unwilling body into a sitting position. Though she thought it was a bit much to ask for such intimate help, he had asked nicely, and she was inclined to oblige
him, he had been very ill after all.

  But when the task was done, he refused to let her arm go, and he said: 'Since you're here, you may as well give me a kiss or two, a pretty face like yours makes a fellow feel much better.' And he tried to pull her towards him.

  The old Fanny would have been ready to faint by now, and weak from ill health, but the new Fanny most certainly wasn't either. The easy prey, dependent on his father for her every need, had developed teeth, and she solidly smacked him over the head and snatched her arm back.

  She watched him cringe in pain, and still standing by the bed said: 'You have not heard the last of this, Tom Bertram, I'm afraid you will rue this more than your usual boorish behavior.'

  Chapter 15

  The awareness of having escaped a forceful attempt on her honor gave her strength to reach the drawing-room, where Henry and Edward were each reading a part of the newspaper and commenting on the news. They looked up as she came in, and seeing her drawn face Henry immediately came to her support, and Edmund asked: 'What has happened, Fanny, is something the matter with my brother? You were with Tom, weren't you?'

  Seeing that she was really distressed, Henry clutched her to his chest and asked: 'Wat is wrong, my dear?'

  By now she had found her voice again and gasped: 'Tom asked me to help him sit up and then he didn't want to let go of my arm before I kissed him. I smacked him, he let go, and I told him he was in for trouble.'

  Before she knew it, she had been handed to Edmund, and Henry had left the room and audibly legged it up the stairs. Edmund told Fanny to stay with Mary, who had been reading a book on the sofa, and who now held out her arms to her future sister, and Edmund ran towards Tom's room upstairs, hoping to catch up with his friend before Henry murdered his boorish brother.

  For there was no doubt in his mind that Tom had really intended to abuse Fanny's dependence on his family, his life-style and the stamp of people he consorted with in London had affected his sense as well as his health.

  But he needn't have been afraid, Henry wouldn't deign to touch a wasted invalid in anger, and anyway, Edmund caught up with Henry just as the smaller man entered Tom's sick-chamber.

  Henry stood firm in full sight of Tom, who cringed, expecting to be hit again, knowing he deserved it. In a scathing tone, Henry said: 'Don't be scared, I don't beat up on sick people. Tom Bertram, you are a drunkard and a lout.

  You have insulted the honor of the woman I love, and I demand satisfaction.

  As soon as you are totally recovered I expect you to defend yourself against me in a duel. I suggest bare fists, to first blood. You are a disgrace to your family, and not fit to polish Edmund's boots.' He did not await an answer, but turned on his heels, went back down and sat down next to Fanny, who was

  detailing what had happened to Mary, and took her in his arms.

  He did not expect Tom to dare fight him, Henry was small, but in prime condition and very strong, and his passionate nature lighted him from the inside, whereas Tom had a lot of his mother's indolence, even less becoming in a man, especially an heir to a baronetcy.

  Fanny asked him, with some fear in her voice: 'What did you do, did you beat him up?' Mary exclaimed: 'You couldn't have, not that quickly. And anyway, he's very ill.'

  Showing his icy disdain Henry said: 'Don't worry, I won't touch him until he is well again. I challenged him. He has done this before with dependent women, I'll make sure he won't do it again. He messed with the wrong girl this time.' And he kissed Fanny on that very spot that he had kissed that first time, the very sensitive part of her neck just below her ear. She could feel his breath in her ear as he slowly lost his tension sitting against her.

  When he was totally calmed down once more he said: 'Dear Fanny, I have to talk to your uncle immediately, he may want me out of his house for challenging his son under his roof, in his sick bed. I hope you will consent to come with me to Everingham in that case, I wouldn't feel safe to leave you here with a rapist. You're probably safe, Mary, but to be certain, don't be alone with him.'

  And with this, he was off to Sir Thomas' study, again, this time in an entirely different mood. But Sir Thomas was no longer there, for Edmund had fetched him immediately, his brother having crossed the final boundary, assaulting a young woman under his father's protection, a member of their family loved by both Edmund and Sir Thomas.

  And Tom had indeed made a crucial mistake, his mind affected by the fever and especially by his abuse of spirits and who knows what other substances.

  For even if Henry had not been in the picture, how could his brother and even his father have overlooked such an offense against decency and humanity?

  Sir Thomas was sitting by his son's bed, Tom was in a bad way from Fanny's blow and fear of Henry's retaliation. Tom had a healthy respect for the smaller man's fervor, and he rued his impulsive act immensely. But he rued it for fear of the consequences to himself, not because it was fundamentally wrong.

  Both father and younger brother realized this with a pang, neither of them had suspected before that their heir and elder brother had been lacking in principle to such an extent. Sure, he had shown no family-values whatsoever,

  nor respect of his brother's needs as second son without fortune, but they had thought it youthful folly, though Tom had by now the age where he should have been a bit wiser.

  Sir Thomas severely reprimanded his eldest child on his unpardonable behavior towards his cousin, but Tom was not responsive. He mumbled: 'It was just a little kiss, what harm can it do,' and pulled his blanket over his face.

  They left him in his chamber alone, and in the hall they met Henry, who was waiting outside the door. He immediately said: 'I'm very sorry Sir Thomas, if you want me to leave I'll be out of the house within the hour.'

  Sir Thomas gathered whatever dignity he could muster after the humiliation his heir had dealt him, and observed: 'I'll not lose my niece over my son's stupidity and dishonor. You are in no way to blame, Henry, my eldest has shown himself an unprincipled lout, and though I am extremely sorry to have to realize the truth about him, I'm happy that Fanny was strong enough to defend herself, and I'm glad to know now what has to be done. I shall advice him strenuously to apologize to both Fanny and yourself, but if he will not, you are welcome to beat him to a pulp once he has recovered.

  Tomorrow I will call on my lawyer and alter my will, for he will not disgrace my name and my baronetcy any longer. I suggest the four of you leave him to himself, my staff, my male staff, can take further care of him whilst you, Henry, fulfill your promise to my niece, to show her London before you get married. Use our house, enjoy yourselves with better quality entertainment than Tom did, and feel free to indulge in exchanging some tokens of your love for each other, but only in the privacy of the house.

  Henry could hardly believe his ears, did Sir Thomas just give them permission to be intimate, as long as it was done within doors? He looked at Edmund and saw his own surprise mirrored there. Sir Thomas saw it too, and said: 'You young men have conducted yourselves admirably and I have every faith in your self-control until your marriage next week.'

  It was a subdued group of young people that drove off to London in Henry's carriage the next morning. Henry was on the box with Fanny next to him, having left his driver at Everingham to help with the foaling, but traveling was no hardship for Henry, and with Fanny now his for life, he felt he could handle anything.

  Edmund was sad that his brother had proven to be beyond hope, but he had

  done everything in his power to check his behavior, he had shown Tom all the affection he felt for him, and still Tom thought of nothing but himself.

  When he thought of what Tom might have done to Fanny his sadness turned to anger however, and remembered Henry's scathing words with great satisfaction. It was a great comfort to Edmund to have his beloved cousin in such capable hands, though she had done well herself, smacking Tom to get free.

  As for his father's remark about changing his will, Edmund decided to ignore
that for the moment. He had for some time thought he would be a better baronet than his brother, but he had also resigned himself to his subordinate position years ago, he was not going to give up that comfortable feeling now because his father had a moment of doubt about his heir. Time would tell what he really did. Realizing that Mary might form expectations if she heard this, he asked Henry, who had witnessed Sir Thomas saying it, to keep it to himself for now, his father might still forgive his eldest as he had always done before.

  Henry still didn't care, he thought the arrogant bastard would be the worst baronet ever and some part of him still wanted to smack his face in, but he was as glad to leave him to his own devices. Fanny and Mary were safe, and he had good hopes that Sir Thomas would protect his staff against the repulsive lout as well. Time to show his bride London, and show London how pretty and genteel she was. The dresses were finished, he was going to fulfill his promise to Fanny, and three days after that they would be married.

  Mary of course couldn't help thinking of the consequences Tom's mistake might have for Edmund and herself. She had always though Edmund the more deserving son, but she knew Sir Thomas had already forgiven his eldest a lot of transgressions, hoping he would turn out all right in the end. She would welcome the status and income of a baronetcy, but she realized there were duties attached to it as well, duties Edmund would fulfill to the best of his abilities, which would take him away from her side more often than she might wish for.

  Besides, she had accepted Edmund knowing they would have a substantially smaller income than she had ever imagined to live on, and she was resigned to it by her intense love of her upright and beautiful intended. She was not going to conjecture, instead she was going to enjoy the entertainment Henry had in mind for their group in the coming days, no stupid evening parties, but art in every shape and form. And yes, she hoped Edmund would also feel free