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Story
IV - Reflections
(Author's Note:
In this Mansfield Park variation, Sir Thomas Bertram looks
back on his life.)
Mansfield Park,
October 1808
Sir Thomas Bertram
sat behind the ornate desk in his beloved study, listening to
his namesake and heir give his report on the family plantations
on Antigua. Tom Bertram's face bore the tanned skin common among
those who had been to the West Indies.
"So,"
the tall young man of twenty-five said, "the situation was
not as bad as we feared. Once I replaced the overseer and brought
in a new man, one who would actually feed the workers,
all problems seemed to be solved." He sat down, an unreadable
expression on his face.
Sir Thomas leaned
forward. "You've done well, Tom. I doubt if I could have
done better. No, you have done exactly what I would have done,
had I gone with you. I am proud of you." Tom waved off the
praise. "What ails you, Son?"
"Father,"
he hesitated and then looked hard at the older man, "must
we own slaves?"
The question surprised
Sir Thomas. "How else can we manage our plantations? Who
will harvest the sugar cane?"
"You were not
there. I must say it turned my stomach to see how the men were
treated. Whipped, starved-"
"Surely not
on our lands?"
"No, not after
I replaced the overseer. But our neighbors are not so humane.
The women - some were for the use of the owners. It…it troubles
me, Father. As honest Christians, can we not pay the workers?"
Sir Thomas bit back
his rejoinder, for he could see that this was a serious question.
"I have been to Antigua, and I will admit I do not like
it either. I do not like it at all. But, if we free our slaves
and pay them, our costs go up. Who will buy our sugar when the
others can undercut our price? How will the workers or their
families get food then? That is assuming, of course, the other
landowners will let us free our slaves. There is nothing we can
do. It is the way things are done there. We must treat our people
better than the others."
"Father, I
am sorry to disagree with you, but I am of the opinion that owning
other men is evil. No amount of money can justify it. If we cannot
change things there, should we be in Antigua at all?"
"You are saying
I should sell our plantations?"
Tom looked down.
"If it were up to me, yes, I would sell."
Sir Thomas could
see that his son's whole heart was in this. Tom has changed.
He is a man, now, and I must treat his advice as I would that
from any other man.
"You have given
me much to think about. What you ask for is no small thing. I
promise I will give it my full consideration."
"I know you
will, Father. I am sorry to trouble you about this."
"Say nothing
of that." He rose from his chair. "I raised you to
learn this business, to be prepared to be the master of Mansfield.
I will not begrudge you your honest opinions." He crossed
in front of the desk and embraced Tom. "I say again, I am
exceedingly proud of you."
Tom smiled, but
there was the ghost of pain in his eyes, pain Sir Thomas had
seen before. It haunts him still.
"Thank you,
Father. I should go to my mother, now. It is almost tea, and
Fanny can use the rest. Will you join us?"
Sir Thomas glanced
at his desk. "No, I have a few other letters to write. Make
my excuses, and I shall see you at dinner." Tom took his
leave and left the room, Sir Thomas' eyes following him out.
Tom had not always
been the hard-working, dependable man he was now. His university
years were ones of drinking and carousing. Debts from gambling,
especially at the horse track, had hurt the family finances terribly.
It reached a crescendo at about the time of his Uncle Norris's
death, and instead of having a friend hold the Mansfield living
until Edmund was ready for it, Sir Thomas was forced to make
a different arrangement, and Dr. Grant was now the rector.
"I blush for
you, Tom," Sir Thomas had berated him then, in his most
dignified manner. "You have robbed Edmund for ten, twenty,
thirty years, perhaps for life, of more than half the income
which ought to be his. It may hereafter be in my power, or in
yours-I hope it will-to procure him better preferment. But it
must not be forgotten that no benefit of that sort would have
been beyond his natural claims on us, and that nothing can, in
fact, be an equivalent for the certain advantage which he is
now obliged to forego through the urgency of your debts."
The effect of his
words had been immediate. The pain of guilt had driven Tom to
mend his ways and be useful to his family. Edmund had forgiven
him - Edmund would forgive anyone, thought Sir Thomas
- but Tom had not forgotten. Sir Thomas was happy and feared
for his eldest. Guilt can gnaw away at a man's soul just as
well as hard living.
"Father?"
Sir Thomas glanced up to see his eldest daughter, Maria, peeking
in the room. "Are you not joining us for tea?"
"No, my dear.
As you see, I still have much work to do."
"Oh,"
she said as she walked in, dark and lovely, in full bloom at
twenty-one. "Have you a moment?"
"Of course,
my dear." He indicated a chair and sat next to her. "What
is it?"
"I do not believe
I thanked you, as I should, for your assistance with the matter
over Mr. Rushworth."
Sir Thomas said
nothing, only nodded thoughtfully.
"You were right.
I do not believe we were well-suited. I…I did not feel for
him as I ought."
Sir Thomas watched
with kindly eyes. No, my dear. You, and your Aunt Norris,
only saw Sotherton Court and a house in Town and twelve thousand
a year. I am glad you see clearly now. I cannot say the same
for your aunt.
"I only hope
his disappointment is of short duration," she added.
"I pray that
be the case. To be fair, you offered him little encouragement."
Maria hung her head.
"I should have offered him none as Fanny advised."
Sir Thomas patted
her hand. "There, there. I shall tell you that my interview
with Mr. Rushworth, while uncomfortable, was not devastating.
Whatever pain he is feeling will be soon overcome with other
thoughts."
A small smile appeared
at Maria's lips. "Perhaps there will be new statuary at
Sotherton?"
Sir Thomas should
have scolded her for her impertinence, but said instead, "I
should not be surprised. Now, dear, surely this melancholy stems
from another source?"
Maria sighed and
turned her head to the windows. "Father, was it necessary
for Mr. Crawford to be sent away?"
Sir Thomas took
a deep breath, thankful again for Fanny's intelligence. "I
am afraid so, dear. Mr. Crawford is a very charming man with
much to recommend him. A good estate and a good income. Excellent
conversation. He can easily make any girl fall in love with him.
But to attempt to charm all three of my girls, all at the same
time? It shows a want of propriety, even a deficiency of morals.
It certainly is a danger to sisterly affection."
Maria blushed. Sir
Thomas saw it as a reminder of the rows she had had with Julia
and even Fanny. "It…it is just that he was the most
agreeable man I have ever met."
"I know. How
did the Bard put it? 'One may smile and smile, and be a villain.'"
"I do not believe
him as bad as that!"
"Perhaps. Perhaps
it is the fact that my girls are so lovely, he could not make
up his mind."
Maria blushed again,
this time pleased. He took her hand.
"Please try
not to let this matter trouble you. We shall go to Town for the
Season. There will be balls and parties and proper gentlemen
aplenty for all my girls!"
It served, and a
small smile graced Maria's pretty lips. She was a child born
for the hustle and bustle of London, Bath and the society of
the ton. "As long as they are agreeable!"
With mock seriousness
Sir Thomas said, "They will be, or your brothers will run
them off!" Maria laughed. "Now, dear, off you go to
tea, while I finish my correspondence before dinner."
Maria jumped to
her feet. "Oh, Father! How thoughtless of me to prattle
on when you have business to conduct."
"None of that!
Have I not told you my door is open to you at all times?"
He gave her a small hug. "Nothing is more important to me
than you and your sisters and your brothers."
"Thank you,"
she said as she gave him a peck on his cheek, and then she went
away.
Sir Thomas stood
in the middle of the room, thinking over the conversation and
recalling the twin disasters he had avoided. His thoughts came
back to the reason he had been able to protect his family.
Fanny.
He recalled the
conversation he had with Lady Bertram and Mrs. Norris eight years
ago in his wife's parlor. Lady Bertram had suggested bringing
her sister Price's eldest daughter to Mansfield to give relief
to the Price family, already with nine children.
He had hesitated,
for the responsibility was great, and to some sanctimonious words
from Mrs. Norris, he had said, "There will be some difficulty
in our way, Mrs. Norris, as to the distinction proper to be made
between the girls as they grow up. How to preserve in the minds
of my daughters the consciousness of what they are, without making
them think too lowly of their cousin. And how, without depressing
her spirits too far, to make her remember that she is not a Miss
Bertram. I should wish to see them very good friends, and would,
on no account, authorize in my girls the smallest degree of arrogance
towards their relation; but still they cannot be equals. Their
rank, fortune, rights, and expectations will always be different.
It is a point of great delicacy, and you must assist us in our
endeavors to choose exactly the right line of conduct."
Sir Thomas grimaced
in pain. How could he say such words about anyone, but especially
about his beloved Fanny?
But he was not the
man then that he was now. He had affection for
his wife, Maria, Lady Bertram, and he dearly loved his children,
Tom, Edmund, Maria, and Julia. He was also a man of great responsibilities,
a baronet and MP with land in Northampton and Antigua. His task
had been to care for their properties and interests, while it
fell to Lady Bertram to raise the children.
Unfortunately, Lady
Bertram proved to be a neglectful mother. In the years after
Julia's birth, she had become lethargic and withdrawn, interested
only in her comfort and her pug dogs. It was left to Miss Lee,
the governess, to raise the children with the guidance of Mrs.
Norris. When nine-year-old Fanny came to Mansfield in the summer
of 1801, Sir Thomas had little to do with her.
How all that changed
on Easter of 1803! Sir Thomas had always considered himself liberal
and generous, and when he learned that Fanny did not ride, he
provided her with a horse. To his surprise, she was very reluctant
to learn. At first, he thought it might be stubbornness or stupidity,
but after a word with Edmund, he approached the girl.
"Fanny,"
he had asked, "do you not wish to learn to ride?"
"Oh, yes, sir.
It is just that…that they are so big!"
"Are you frightened,
child?"
Fanny looked down,
obviously ashamed. "Yes, sir."
"Fanny, we
will stop this foolishness. The horse is very gentle, and you
will learn to ride. Do we understand each other?"
Her lip quivered.
"Yes, sir."
Sir Thomas would
never know what possessed him to say the next words. "And
I will teach you."
The girl looked
up in wonder and apprehension, and Sir Thomas' heart was struck.
Why, the girl is frightened of me! He smiled a kind smile
and said, "Come, my dear. Change into your habit, and we
will have our first lesson."
Dutifully, Fanny
showed up at the appointed place in full riding habit. Now aware
of the child's fears, Sir Thomas gently introduced her to the
horse. After spending no little time becoming acquainted, Sir
Thomas carefully lifted the girl onto the beast's back. In soothing
tones for both the horse's sensibilities as well as for hers,
he instructed Fanny about the basic skills of riding. Slowly,
both horse and rider relaxed, and as they moved about the paddock
at a leisurely pace, Sir Thomas saw Fanny's spirits rise. Lesson
over for the day, he reached up to bring the girl down from the
saddle. To his surprise, Fanny threw her arms about his neck
and hugged him tightly.
"Oh! Oh, Uncle!"
she cried. "Thank you, thank you so much!" He could
feel her tears of joy on his neck. Touched beyond belief, he
found himself hugging the child to his chest.
"Shall…shall
we…" Fanny's voice died out.
"What is it,
child?"
"Shall we do
it again tomorrow?"
Such a simple request!
How could he refuse? "Of course we shall, Fanny." He
impulsively kissed her cheek, which resulted in a renewal of
her loving hug.
Sir Thomas felt
a tear of remembrance run down his check. He could not know at
the time how his world had changed that day. Mrs. Norris had
learned of the riding lesson and, in her usual unpleasant manner,
congratulated Sir Thomas on his unnecessary condescension for
his unworthy niece. His response was to have Maria and Julia
ride along with him and Fanny on the morrow, for he had begun
to see the evil of treating Fanny differently from her cousins.
The next day, the
five of them set off - for Edmund had joined them - on a short
tour of the estate. Sir Thomas reveled in having the attention
of the children. How pleasant it was! When Maria complained of
the pace, Sir Thomas gently reprimanded her, pointing out that
Fanny was just beginning to learn. Maria started to make a comment
about Fanny's stupidity, and her father lost his temper.
"Maria! How
dare you speak so of your cousin! Do you think you were such
an accomplished rider when you first learned? I want to hear
your complete apology to Fanny - quick now!"
The young people
were shocked at the outburst. While they all respected - and
not a little feared - Sir Thomas, it was rare that he raised
his voice, and he had never before done so to his daughters.
Maria mumbled the required words to Fanny, and Sir Thomas had
to be satisfied with it. A worrisome thought had entered his
mind. My sister-in-law has surely spoiled my daughters. This
needs to be corrected as soon as may be, for Maria will be out
soon and hopeless of remedy.
"Maria, Julia,
Edmund, I wish to make something clear. Fanny is not only your
cousin, but she lives here. She has left her family to join ours.
As she is part of our family, I expect her to be treated as such.
There will no more such talk. I will not tolerate it."
From that moment,
Sir Thomas began to take an intense interest in the children.
When he discovered that Mrs. Norris had left instructions that
Fanny's little sitting room be left with no fire in the grate,
he made sure that the room was warm at all times. A talk to Miss
Lee ensured that Fanny would receive no less instruction than
the other girls would, and he made clear to his daughters that
he expected them to show greater kindness to their poor cousin.
Fanny was not the
only recipient of his attention. As Tom was already away at school,
Sir Thomas would ride and shoot with Edmund constantly. He took
great interest in his daughters' accomplishments, praised them
when deserved, and kindly encouraged their improvement if necessary.
More importantly,
he worked hard to gain the children's trust. He encouraged them
to come to him whenever they desired, to talk of things, to show
off their triumphs, or to have a kindly ear hear their troubles.
The last was the hardest to achieve, but by his constancy, he
won them over.
Many would wonder
if this did not take him away from his duties. If fact, Sir Thomas
briefly wondered if there were enough hours in the day to do
everything that needed to be done. Yet, he found that by entrusting
his steward with the day-to-day details of running the estate
and making fewer speeches on the floor of the House of Commons,
his world did not come crashing down around his ears, and his
days were, for the most part, far more enjoyable.
When Mrs. Norris
protested, seeing her territory being usurped, Sir Thomas had
been quick to put her in her place.
"Not see my
children? What nonsense is this? Who should be the children's
confidant if not their father?"
"Well, sir,
that is very kind of you - indeed, very liberal - but you have
many duties, besides, and there are others who have less demands
upon them. Surely, this burden can be lifted from your shoulders.
Ah, I see you agree with me! Leave everything to me, sir, and-"
"Mrs. Norris,
I beg to differ! I most certainly do NOT agree with you. These
are my children, I shall do as I wish, and I will thank you not
to interfere!"
She cowered. "Oh,
sir, I would not think of it! You misunderstand me, Sir Thomas.
I only wish for your peace of mind. I shall carry news of your
condescension to dear Edmund, Maria, and Julia - depend upon
it!"
"That will
not be necessary. The children already know of my wishes. Your
services are not required, for not only would they be repetitious,
they would be incomplete."
"Incomplete,
sir?"
"Indeed. Have
you forgotten Fanny?"
"Fanny! Certainly,
you do not mean Fanny! You cannot mean Fanny!"
"I most certainly
do, madam."
"But, she is
not your daughter!"
"You are correct.
But MY NIECE is under my protection. I remind you that you are
not my wife and can have no power here. Be good enough NEVER
to correct me again."
As the years flowed
by, Sir Thomas saw, to his intense pleasure, that his daughters
took pains to befriend and finally love their cousin. The benefits
to all were apparent. Maria and Julia grew less self-adsorbed
while Fanny became more lively. More often than not, Sir Thomas
would observe the three of them walking the grounds of Mansfield,
arms linked, thick as thieves, and laughing over secrets. Most
importantly, Fanny's innate strong moral foundation was not weakened
by the constant presence of her two cousins. No - rather, it
was they who were reminded to do good so as not to shame
themselves before their younger friend.
Sir Thomas could
not think when the sea change happened-when Fanny stopped being
his niece and the children's cousin and became daughter
and sister. It came about so slowly and consistently that
it was engrained in their minds before they realized it. Of course,
Mrs. Norris was outraged over the change, and in the aftermath
of her husband's death in 1806, tried to reassert herself. But
it was too late - the damage had been done. The girls would give
up Aunt Norris's spoiling in favor of Fanny's agreeable company.
With Miss Lee leaving
that same year, Sir Thomas resolved to spend even more time with
his children, especially with the return of the now-contrite
Tom. Tom threw himself into the study of estate management with
the same enthusiasm he had once shown for far more idle pastimes.
By the spring of '07, there was such an improvement in Tom that
it was decided, reluctantly on Sir Thomas's part, that Tom should
sail to the West Indies to inspect the family's properties and
report back to his father. At the time, the baronet had been
concerned, but as it turned out, it was a very good thing he
remained at Mansfield, for in the winter of 1808, Mr. Rushworth
came to court Maria, and in the spring the Crawfords arrived.
The Crawfords! Sir
Thomas still shuddered at the thought of those two. Relations
of the Grants, who had been established at Mansfield Parsonage,
the brother and sister had constant access to the estate. Edmund
was immediately smitten by the sister, Mary Crawford, and Sir
Thomas could not fault him for it. Beautiful, witty, clever,
talented, and with a good fortune, Miss Crawford was a good match
for Edmund. She befriended all the Bertram girls and Fanny too.
But - there was
a worldliness, an unconscious cruelty in her manner that occasionally
seemed to make itself apparent. Only a word or two, and then
she was extremely agreeable again. Edmund was mostly blind to
it, but Sir Thomas and Fanny saw it.
One other observation
troubled Sir Thomas. Edmund had been, by education and personality,
destined for the church. Thornton Lacey was his once he took
his vows. However, on more than one occasion, Miss Crawford spoke
of the church as being a waste of Edmund's talents. She seemed
bent on persuading him to forgo preaching and go into the law
or some other fashionable occupation. Sir Thomas did not interfere,
for he was determined that Edmund should live his own life.
At first appearance,
Henry Crawford was also a very agreeable guest. Sir Thomas could
see that Maria liked him better than Mr. Rushworth. This was
not a concern, for while the newcomer's fortune was less, it
was not lacking, and he made up for his relative want of money
with an overabundance of wit and charm, something Mr. Rushworth
was sorely lacking.
But as the weeks
went by, it was apparent that Crawford was flirting with Julia,
as well. When Fanny reported the same behavior towards herself,
Sir Thomas knew he had to act. It was at that moment that Mr.
Rushworth chose to declare himself. It was a busy day indeed
for the baronet, as he had to disappoint one suitor and banish
another.
It was a shame,
he thought. Crawford had some of the makings of a good man. He
might have been happy to part with any of his girls into his
hands, but his indiscriminate attentions to all three at once
showed there was something amiss with the man. No fortune was
enough for Sir Thomas to entrust the happiness of Maria, Julia,
or Fanny to such a rake.
Crawford's departure
led to another. Miss Crawford asked for forgiveness for her brother.
When that was refused, she begged and then insisted on pardon
for her wayward relation. An astonished Edmund was witness to
it, and his amazement doubled when the lady demanded that he
choose between her and his family. His refusal led to an irrevocable
breach. The Crawfords departed from Mansfield directly, leaving
in their wake mortified relations, two disappointed ladies, and
one broken-hearted gentleman.
Edmund had yet to
recover, Sir Thomas knew, although he rallied upon his brother's
return from Antigua. He spent most of his time otherwise preparing
to take orders and walking the grounds with Fanny. An afternoon
in her company seemed to improve his spirits, Sir Thomas
noticed.
A movement in the
gardens caught Sir Thomas's attention. Sure enough, there were
Edmund and Fanny walking about the roses, probably discussing
scripture. Sir Thomas smiled at the sight, a plan that had begun
to germinate a few weeks ago developing strong roots.
It had been some
time since Sir Thomas had considered Fanny as his youngest daughter.
Over the years he had toyed with the idea of making that position
official - of adopting the girl. It was done all the time. No
one would remark about it, save Mrs. Norris.
But now, Sir Thomas
was glad he had not acted on his thoughts. For a better way now
lay before him. Would not Fanny be even more delightful as a
daughter-in-law? He had suspected for some time that Edmund
was the girl's most particular friend and cousin. How deep did
that admiration go? Did she love him? Could she love him enough
to marry? In temperament and talents she was perfect for Edmund.
What were Edmund's
thoughts on the matter? Knowing his son, he had probably never
given it any passing consideration. Yet, it was Fanny's company
he sought. It was always Fanny's opinions he valued. It would
not take much to turn such naked respect and admiration into
something deeper, the baronet thought.
Time, Sir Thomas smiled. All it takes
is time. Let Edmund go take orders and return. Fanny will be
waiting for him. Then everything will run its natural course.
But a new pretty dress for dear Fanny would not be out of place
for Edmund's welcome home party, would it?
No, it would
not.
The End
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