by Lona Manning
In addition to leaving Thornton Lacey in Mr. Owen’s hands, Edmund was revolving a new enterprise in his mind, an undertaking which would keep both himself and his friend fully occupied. He was still arranging his thoughts, considering possibilities and probabilities; he was not yet prepared to confide in his friend Richard upon the occasion of their reunion. But it came about naturally, during his friend’s visit to welcome him home to Mansfield, when Richard enquired, “Will you be sending Thomas to school this year or next, Edmund?”
“In fact, I intend to educate Thomas privately, at least for the time being.”
“Do you mean you will send him away to a tutor, or keep him here?”
“I will keep him with me.”
As the conversation was now tending toward the very matter which Edmund had been meditating upon, he asked, “May I speak openly, Richard?”
“Of course!”
“Circumstanced as we are, I am convinced Thomas would be the object of constant insult at school, because of his mother. The rumours concerning her reached us in Belfast; they will certainly reach him at school. One day, Thomas and Cyrus must be informed about these… rumours. They must acquire the fortitude to endure it, but for now, I have resolved to keep him out of school.”
Richard nodded. He himself, while fortunate enough to be sent to good schools, had not forgotten the sneers directed at him for his poverty and undistinguished lineage, nor had he forgotten how his friend Edmund Bertram protected him from the worst abuses.
“And,” Richard added quickly, feeling acutely for his friend’s predicament, “you will want your son to form an attachment to Mansfield, to know its ways and its people. Now you are finally returned, it will not be wondered at if you are reluctant to send Thomas away again from a home to which he is still a stranger. On this ground alone, Edmund, I think it an excellent scheme. Will you tutor him yourself, or—” he paused, wondering if he had blundered from one uncomfortable topic to another—did his generous friend suspect him?
“I have an idea, Richard, which I have not yet discussed with anyone. I need your opinion, and if it is favourable, I will need more from you than your opinion.”
Edmund’s plan was no less than to convert Mansfield Park into a school for boys—to take on as many as twenty pupils. “Can you undertake to give me some of your time as an instructor, Richard? You were always better at Latin than I. We already have one schoolroom, we have more than enough bedrooms. We can convert the billiard room into a classroom, and so forth.”
Richard heard the proposal with dawning interest. “And what do you think your father will say to this notion?”
“I trust he will give his approval, for without the income from our old plantations in Antigua, maintaining Mansfield Park has become a burden. Our rents—especially if the poor harvests continue—cannot support such a style of living. In addition, a school will create employment for our local people—housemaids and gardeners and such. We shall need a matron, as well.”
“Er… will your Aunt Norris help you with the management of this enterprise?”
Edmund laughed. “I rely upon my aunt condemning the scheme altogether, as being beneath the dignity of the family. If she takes an interest in running my school, I should think the enterprise would be sunk before it begins. In only one respect will I take her advice. This table” —and he rapped his knuckles on the large dining table— “goes to the breakfast room.”
Richard looked at the table. “It is a very fine table. Are you prepared to have your pupils carve their initials into it?”
“Of course. That reminds me—we ought to offer penmanship as well. Your sister writes an excellent hand. And she could teach music and drawing.”
“There is a lot of work goes into starting a school, Edmund. You must get in some uncomfortable narrow beds, and take care to hire the worst cook in Northamptonshire,” Richard advised with mock-seriousness.
“Oh, depend upon it,” Edmund nodded, “the school will be run upon traditional lines. Everyone will get chilblains in the winter, and so forth. But come with me, let us go up to the great house together, and walk about the rooms, and consider how it is all to be done with the least expense.”
* * * * * * *
Edmund placed only one small advertisement “To Parents & Guardians” in the Northamptonshire papers. Diffidence held him back from explaining how he intended his school to serve those pupils whose friends, for various considerations, did not wish to send them to a public school. He was better able to explain his intentions by letter to his fellow clergymen. And so the news was carried through the district and beyond, and chiefly spread by those who were best placed to recommend Edmund Bertram’s character and intentions, and heard by those most in need of such an establishment.
The earliest applicant was a Mr. John Shepherd, a Somersetshire attorney, who delivered his two grandsons to Mansfield while Christopher Jackson and his son Dick were still installing plain board panelling to protect the wallpaper from the depredations of the expected tenants.
“My grandsons’ surname is Clay,” Mr. Shepherd told a rather astonished Edmund, “Their mother has left them on my hands, and she is now living under the protection of a gentleman in London. I venture to predict that at most schools, they would suffer exceedingly from the taunts of their school-mates. Henry and John are… somewhat rebellious little fellows, but I should not like to see them punished for the transgressions of their unworthy parent.”
Edmund promised Henry and John would be treated with every consideration; and he was reasonable (unreasonably reasonable, thought Mrs. Norris) as to the amount of the boarding fees. The next to be enrolled was a boy who was the natural son of a wealthy merchant, the next was the son of a disgraced vicar, and then came two poor orphaned boys whose step-mother had no use for them, and before a month had passed, young Thomas and Cyrus had eight new playfellows, and Anna Imogen had eight new brothers.
Edmund, Mr. Owen and his sister took it in turns to instruct them.
* * * * * * *
When he first exited the prison walls, Gibson was afraid that his time in confinement had damaged him, perhaps irreparably. The noise and frenzy of the streets of London had been overwhelming to his senses; his heart pounded in his throat, and he almost wanted to turn and bolt back into his quiet rose-bowered prison cell. For weeks afterward he was dizzy, he started at loud noises, and he could often not distinguish what people were saying.
His retreat to the wilds of Cumbria with his friend William Price had helped to soothe him, and fill him with a nostalgic pain concerning Fanny was which almost a pleasure.
Once away from England, William Gibson experienced that strange but not uncommon sentiment which assails an Englishman abroad—however censorious he might have been of his country and his government, he bristles at hearing derision from foreigners.
The French had turned the world upside down with their revolution, followed by Napoleon’s endless wars of conquest. Europe would still be under his thrall, but for the British navy and army. Thousands of men had died to put an end to his despotic rule. But wherever Mr. Gibson travelled--to the German states, or Spain, where English soldiers had dislodged the French--he heard nothing but abuse of the English. He heard Lord Castlereagh denounced for insisting that other nations give up the slave trade. His time in Europe, in addition to mollifying his hostility toward his own nation, helped to restore him to his usual peace of mind and gentle optimism.
One of the first calls Mr. Gibson made upon his return to London, was to the office of Mr. Orme, to discuss the Luddite Benjamin Walker, the man who had escaped the noose. Mr. Gibson had learnt from his friend William Price, who learnt of it from his wife Julia, who learnt of it from her sister Maria, who had been informed by her husband, Mr. Orme, of Gibson’s suspicions that Walker had been paid for his testimony at York. The intelligence which travelled from Mr. Orme to Maria to Julia to William Price to Mr. Gibson that Benjamin Walker in fact had not received government monies, was
worth further enquiry.
Accordingly, Mr. Orme asked Maria to tell Julia to tell her husband to tell Mr. Gibson that Mr. Orme would be honoured to meet Mr. Gibson, of whose works he was a great admirer.
Of the Prices, Mr. Orme knew almost nothing. When his wife Maria spoke of her “cousins” she invariably meant her Bertram cousins in Bedford Square. Mr. Orme had collected the impression from his wife’s occasional remarks, that the Prices were a very numerous tribe, of a much lower station in life than the Bertrams. He was therefore surprised to learn that his wife’s sister’s husband was a close friend of the eminent novelist.
Mr. Gibson sent word—directly to Mr. Orme, that is—that he would be pleased to call upon him at his chambers, an early date was arranged, and the two men were soon speaking easily with one another. Mr. Orme was gratified to discover that Mr. Gibson was unaffected and easy in his manners, not at all as he had pictured.
“You must allow me, sir, to first express my admiration for your writings. I believe I have never read any novel so stimulating, so thought-provoking, as Steam & Sagacity.”
“You honour me, sir. I see from your bookcases that you are an extensive reader—but I suppose your novels are kept in your study at home. Here, are your books relating to your profession.” Mr. Gibson, in the manner of all book-lovers, could hardly restrain himself from tilting his head sideways to examine the titles printed on the spines.
“Yes, my private library is at home, but I do not scruple to affirm that I read and enjoy novels. And I must take leave to say the characters who inhabit your works are entirely engrossing and unforgettable. My friends and I unite in agreeing you have captured them from life. Your heroine, Flora, is the finest creature who has ever appeared in print, I believe. Her quiet strength of character! The hardships she endured so nobly!”
Mr. Gibson nodded. “And on that account, some of my critics have said that Flora is too perfect an example of womanhood, and so my portrait cannot have been drawn from life. Sir,” he added, “you could not have chosen a more engrossing topic to me, personally, than praise of my writing—but in respect of the many demands of your profession, I shall come to the point of the matter. I would be most obliged if you could confirm the information I received from my friend Commander Price?”
With a clarity and precision which further raised his new acquaintance in Mr. Gibson’s estimation, Mr. Orme recounted his conversation on the street with the pathetic Walker, and then presented the correspondence he received from the Under-secretary to Lord Sidmouth. “It is evident Mr. Hobhouse was much exasperated and vexed by my enquiry.”
Sir, it read in part.
This is not the first application of its kind which has been addressed to the Secretary of State. Walker was one of the murderers of Mr. Horsfall, & deserved a Halter just as much as his Colleagues. But he had the good fortune to turn King’s Evidence, by which he saved his Neck. Thus the Promise held out to him by the Crown—that is a full pardon— has been fulfilled.
Gibson looked up. “So this fellow says the only reward promised was a pardon, and not two thousand pounds?”
“Promised by the government, that is,” said Mr. Orme, gesturing to the letter, and Mr. Gibson resumed his perusal of it:
The pecuniary Reward was promised not by Government, but by an Anti-Luddite Committee which then existed: and it is to them, & not the Secretary of State, that he must look for payment; But if I recollect rightly, Walker is not entitled to the Reward, because his Information was not given until after he & his fellow-murderers were apprehended upon other Evidence.
“No doubt Mr. Walker was tossed a sovereign or two, to help him escape the wrath of his former friends. When did you last see Walker, Mr. Orme?”
“Hmm, about a year ago, I think. He returned to my office, twice or three times, begging me to intervene for him, even after I told him the matter was closed. I finally gave him ten pounds on condition that he never call upon me again. There is nothing more to be done for the man. In that final interview, he told me, with some anger and despair, that he knew how to get money from the government, which was, by telling them what they wanted to hear.”
“That is, he intends to continue his career as an informer, and betray any of his fellows who think of opposing the government?”
“That is what I understood him to mean. However, he could not do so in his old haunts, for he is notorious there.”
“I am indebted to you, Mr. Orme, for sharing this information with me. This is not something I could have obtained whilst I was a resident of Southwark Prison—the authorities would not have deigned to answer me.”
“I should fancy not!” Mr. Orme laughed. “And of course, should any further intelligence of Walker arise, I shall be prompt in sending it to you.”
“I am obliged to you, sir, but my question is answered with this letter. My initial supposition was incorrect, as regards Walker,” said Gibson. “Walker was a turncoat, but not a spy—although it appears he now has aspirations to be one.”
The gentlemen parted with mutual expressions of esteem. Mr. Orme nearly, very nearly, invited Mr. Gibson to dinner, but thought it might be presumptuous in him to invite so distinguished a man on so slight an acquaintance. Perhaps a different occasion would be more appropriate. And Mr. Gibson nearly, very nearly, hinted he might do himself the honour of calling on Mrs. Orme, but he could not imagine himself accepting Mrs. Orme’s hospitality, without feeling like a spy himself. He wanted to meet her only to find fault. She had once been Maria Bertram, and he knew enough of Fanny’s childhood to know Maria had been careless and sometimes cruel in her treatment of her cousin.
* * * * * * *
Mr. Gibson, besides, had enough to occupy his time without paying social calls. He needed to find a new residence in London and meet with his publisher. Waiting for him were many boxes of correspondence—Gibson was astounded at the amount—business proposals, letters urging him to support various political causes, and not a few stories of distress, concluding with pleas for charity.
He tried to work through it all but was overwhelmed by the necessity of composing answers to everything. His publisher advised him to engage a clerk to protect him from losing valuable time which should be devoted to writing.
Although he prized his independence above all things, Gibson agreed to put the idea to a trial. He sent a note of enquiry to Fanny’s brother John Price, asking if any of his acquaintance were available to assist him for several mornings every week.
A reply swiftly came, not from John, but from Prudence, offering her services!
Mr. Gibson recalled a long-ago conversation with Mrs. Butters and Fanny, concerning the hardships imposed upon women who wished to earn a living. Most professions were closed to them, and those few for which they were eligible, such as seamstress, paid wages so low as to barely sustain existence. decided that he might make a trial of engaging a female to be a clerk. Why, after all, should the office be exclusively performed by men? Prudence wrote an excellent hand, he already had female servants at his house in the person of his housekeeper and cook, so there could be no impropriety in working together with a young woman in his study, for three mornings every week, so long as they were never alone in the house.
Accordingly the experiment was attempted. Prudence Imlay proved to be an intelligent and useful assistant. Her forthright manner was very congenial to Mr. Gibson, and he believed she would quickly become acquainted with the importunings he received, and would be zealous in protecting him from them.
“Here, sir, is a letter from a lady proposing marriage! Do you receive many of these?”
“I do, on occasion. Please refuse her, politely but firmly.”
“Why do not I just toss the letter in the fire, sir?”
“That would not be very civil.”
Prudence rose, crossed to the fireplace and disposed of the letter. “I think a refusal might mortify the lady more than your silence, or might even encourage her.”
“It was rather for
ward of her to propose marriage—I expect you are correct.”
Prudence took her seat again and gazed at him earnestly. “Do you believe that only men can propose marriage? That is,” she added hastily, “speaking only in general terms, not of anyone in particular.”
Gibson smiled. “I had never contemplated the question before now, but, as a general principle, I can think of no reason why a woman should not propose marriage, were she so inclined. But, perhaps it should only be attempted when the man is, shall we say, indifferent to the usual conventions of social intercourse.”
Prudence nodded. “Of course, most women would be too timid, wouldn’t they? I think it is silly, the way girls sit about and wait.”
“So we agree, then, that a young woman of good sense and firm resolution, knowing her own mind and her own best interests, could propose marriage—no, let me say, it were better, in such a circumstance as we are contemplating, it were better for the young woman to inform the man in question, ‘John, we are getting married.’ Supposing the man’s name was John, of course. It should be treated as an established fact, you know, rather than a question. A fait accompli.”
This advice was rewarded with laughter. Mr. Gibson could not resist asking, “When shall I wish you joy?”
Prudence shook her head. “We have not enough to be married on. I know how John feels about it. There is no good in marrying just to be poor together.” She recalled that she was speaking to her employer. “Oh! Mr. Gibson, I hope you do not think me ungrateful, or presuming!”
“Not at all, Miss Imlay. Your candour could never offend me.”
“The wage you pay me is a very generous one.”
“It is not generosity to pay you as much as I would have paid a man. It is simple justice.”
A grateful smile from Prudence, then she collected herself and briskly turned back to the remaining papers on the desk. “Here is an invitation to attend a new wine warehouse in Cheapside. I daresay they want to lure you in as a customer, so they may boast that Mr. Gibson patronises their store.”