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Story
V - Lovers' Vows
(Author's Note:
Fans of MP endlessly debate whether country-loving cousins, Edmund
and Fanny, made the right decisions when they both rejected the
worldly Crawfords, Mary and Henry. Be careful what you ask for.
In this Mansfield Park variation, Edmund Bertram pays
a call on Fanny Crawford.)
The butler walked
down the hall of Everingham Manor in Norfolk and knocked on the
door of the sitting room.
"Beg your pardon,
ma'am," he said to the Mistress, Mrs. Crawford, "Sir
Thomas Bertram, Mr. Bertram, and Mr. Edmund Bertram here to see
you."
There was a flash
of relief on Fanny's face, as her relations had been expected
for the last hour. "Be so good to show them in, please."
The butler barely
nodded and left to do so. Fanny waited anxiously, twisting a
lace handkerchief in her hands. It seemed to take forever before
the heavy footsteps of the gentlemen could be heard. Finally,
the door opened, and there were her uncle and cousins.
"Fanny, my
dear," said Sir Thomas as he crossed the floor and took
her into his arms. "We came as soon as we could."
"Indeed, Fanny,"
said Tom, who had placed a hand on her shoulder. "All is
in readiness, as you will see."
Fanny's eyes flew
to Edmund, who stood a little to the side, his look dark and
troubled, and then to the butler, still at the door. "Roberts,
please have Nanny Betty bring the children down. And have the
trunks in my apartment brought down."
The butler paused
as he turned. "Of course, ma'am. I take it you are leaving?"
Fanny's gaze was
firmly on her shoes. "The children and I are to visit Mansfield.
We leave this morning." The men were not so affected; their
features were hard and determined.
This intelligence
troubled the butler, but he left to do his mistress' bidding.
Fanny and her relations sat and engaged in some small conversation
about the Bertrams' travels until the sound children's voices
brought their attention back to the door. A young man of about
three years, followed by a heavy-set middle-aged woman carrying
a babe burst into the room. The boy leapt into his mother's waiting
arms and clutched her close, his wide eyes staring at the visitors..
"Now, now Tom,"
said Fanny tenderly, "do you not remember your uncle? This
is Sir Thomas, your godfather, and these are your cousins. You
should remember your manners and greet them."
Sir Thomas smiled
kindly at his namesake. He knew Crawford had named his heir after
him to gain the baronet's favor. An unnecessary honor, Sir Thomas
could not but love any child of Fanny's. "Hey ho, Tom. What
a big boy you are! Have you been good for your momma?"
"Yes, sir,"
the boy said. "I remember you. Your name is Tom, too. You
gave me sweets."
Sir Thomas laughed.
"So I did! And I might have something about me now, if you
would help me search my pockets." The child smiled and climbed
into his uncle's lap. Within moments, a piece of licorice was
procured from Sir Thomas' waistcoat.
Meanwhile, Fanny
retrieved the one-year-old William from Nanny Betty's arms. Receiving
assurance that the children's trunks were packed, Fanny said
to the nanny, "The children and I are leaving today to visit
Mansfield Park. Our stay there may be of some duration. Do you
come with us?"
The woman was confused,
and Sir Thomas spoke up. "We will not beat about the bush.
Because of certain events in Town, Mrs. Crawford is removing
to Mansfield. My niece and her children will be under my protection.
If you choose to accompany us, it is certain that Mr. Crawford
will discharge you. As for myself, I cannot guarantee employment,
but I will take you on for a probationary period. If you do well,
I will keep you on."
The nanny grimaced.
"Begging your pardon, Sir Thomas, but it is well known below
stairs what event you refer to. I cannot fault Mrs. Crawford
for leaving, but I was brought on to care for the boys, and my
place is with them. Besides," she added with a half-hearted
grin, "with them gone, there's no reason for the Master
to keep me on, is there? I'll take my chances with you, if it's
all the same."
Fanny blushed. "Thank
you, Betty. You may pack your things."
"Already packed,
ma'am."
Sir Thomas got up
from the chair, Tom still in his arms. "Excellent. We leave
within the half-hour."
As good as his word,
the two carriages and a wagon, which were brought along for the
purpose of transporting Mrs. Crawford, her children, and her
belongings, were ready in thirty minutes. Sir Thomas insisted
on having the boys with the nurse in his coach, and Mr. Bertram
rode, so it was left for Fanny and her maid, who had earlier
agreed to depart with her mistress, to travel in Edmund's carriage.
The departing Mistress
of Everingham took her leave of each and every servant, not a
few without tears. Such was the general affection and respect
that was held for her among the staff. Even Roberts sniffed a
bit as Mrs. Crawford took his hand for perhaps the last time.
Edmund helped his cousin into the carriage, gave a word to the
driver as he closed the door, and the party was off.
Edmund looked out
the window was they passed the gates of Everingham. "We
are right on schedule. The weather is fine, so we should reach
Mansfield before dark, I should think. Are you comfortable, Fan?"
Assured that she
was, the three passengers sat in silence for an hour. Finally,
exhausted by spending the majority of the night packing for her
mistress and herself, the maid slipped off into a snoring sleep.
Fanny flashed an apologetic smile to Edmund.
"'Tis all right,
Fan," he said in a low voice. "It is well she sleeps,
for I wish to talk to you. Are you well?"
Fanny nodded. "I
am. Thank you for taking all of this trouble on my behalf."
"Say nothing
of that. We are happy to help. We only wish that things could
be happier. I am so sorry, Fan."
"It is not
your fault."
"No. It is
his, damn him. I am sorry to lose my temper, but you have
been ill-used."
Fanny said nothing
to this and only looked out the window at the passing fields.
Finally, she said, "I tried, Edmund."
"Tried what,
Fan?"
Fanny would not
look at him. "I tried to be a good wife to him, but…"
She broke off. "Perhaps if I have been more forgiving-"
"Fanny!"
he said in a strong whisper. "Forgiving of vice? Crawford
has set up a house for his actress mistress in London. He has
betrayed you and God. The shame he has brought upon you. No!
You owe him nothing."
Fanny shook her
head. "You know not the whole story, Edmund. I am not blameless."
"Then tell
me, my dear."
She glanced at the
sleeping maid. "Not here."
Edmund saw that
his cousin was correct. It would not do to have such a conversation
in a small carriage where a dozing servant may awaken and overhear,
so he changed the subject and spoke at length of his father's
plans.
He had set aside
an entire wing of Mansfield Park for Fanny's excusive use. A
schoolroom and nursery were being prepared even now, for it was
their intention that Fanny and her sons make their home in Northamptonshire.
"It sounds
wonderful," Fanny said with tears in her eyes, "but
what if my husband comes and demands that I return to Norfolk?"
"He will not
be allowed to set foot in Mansfield, Fan. You have sought sanctuary
in your family's house. The law will be on our side."
"But…but
the children! Can he not take them away?"
"In the very
unlikely event that Mr. Crawford develops any paternal instincts,
he will discover that that his moral choices will make things
inconvenient for him. Do not forget that my father is not only
a baronet, but a Member of Parliament with many friends in high
places-men of influence and power. Sir Thomas will not hesitate
in calling on his friends, should the need arise."
"The scandal!
How can you bear it?"
Edmund looked out
the window. "The damage has been done-I can be hurt no more."
"What do you
mean? Your work, your practice…" she paused, and softly
added, "your marriage?"
Edmund dropped his
head to his breast. "All three, I am afraid." Fanny
tried to console him, but he would have none of it. "No,
Fan, my troubles have been of my own making. I never should have
gone into the law. It suits me ill. Oh, I make a good living,
have a fine house and carriage," he gestured, "but
there is no joy to be had in preparing a writ or contract, knowing
that some other clever fellows-some acquaintances of mine-are
always ready and eager to attack my work as that of a simpleton
just to earn his fees. It is a profession of scoundrels."
"You always
wanted to go into the church."
"Yes, and I
was too weak to follow my inclination and instead allowed myself
to be persuaded to follow another path."
Fanny reached across
the carriage and took his hand. "Mrs. Bertram is very convincing."
Edmund's eyes flashed,
and for an instant Fanny, could see the power Mary Bertram could
weld-power Fanny had never used on her husband. A moment later
the look was gone, replaced by self-loathing. "Nay, Fanny.
Even a woman with a silver tongue needs a willing ear. Let the
blame fall in its proper place."
"Then, am I
not equally to blame?"
Edmund darkened.
"'Forsaking all others'-is that not what he promised? The
man lied before God. You have held true. You are blameless."
Again, Fanny looked
to disagree, but a jostle awoke the maid. The three rode on,
discussing the passing landscape until it was time to stop at
a village, change horses, and eat. The publican was happy for
the trade, and while the food was only adequate, it was hot and
plentiful. Young Tom spent most of his time playing with his
uncle and granduncle, while young William sought his mother's
arms. When the travelers prepared to depart, Edmund suggested
to Fanny's maid that the views of Northamptonshire, which they
were soon to enter, could best be appreciated from the driver's
box. Thus persuaded, Edmund and Fanny found themselves alone
in the carriage.
"Are you certain
you do not have a future in politics?" Fanny teased her
cousin.
"Quite sure,"
Edmund laughed, "but being convincing has served me well
at the bar from time to time!"
The carriage rolled
on, and the smile on Fanny's face faded as she gathered her courage.
Edmund needed to know the truth.
"Edmund, I
must tell you the story of my marriage."
"No, it is
not necessary-"
"But it is.
You must know the truth. Will you hear?" Edmund nodded and
she continued. "In the beginning, Henry was as attentive
a husband as any wife could dream of. Whatever was needed for
my comfort was done in an instant. And Everingham Manor, while
no Mansfield Park, was delightful. I was happy, Edmund.
"The only mar
on our joy was that Henry was always restless at Everingham."
She sighed. "He is not like us, Edmund, with our joy of
the countryside. He longed to be anywhere but Everingham, and
his favorite place was London. The balls, the parties, the theater…"
her voice broke a bit, "Henry loved to walk into Almacks,
with me on his arm. He was showing me off. Oh, there was always
affection, but he was proud of me as well. And I-I tried and
tried, but I could never lose my nervousness over being on display.
How I longed to return to Norfolk, and my garden and my mare!"
Edmund sat, nodding,
thinking how his cousin's story so matched his. He had married
the captivating and vivacious Mary Crawford only a month before
Fanny wed Henry, and from the beginning, Mary cajoled him, molded
him, into a new man. Rather than an obscure country parish vicar,
he was a barrister in Town who traveled in a very up-and-coming
society. No party was complete without the attendance of Mr.
and Mrs. Bertram. The ton awaited the moment he would
stand for Parliament. He tried hard to please Mary, but he hated
London and its hypocrisy. In the depths of his soul, he was miserable.
Fanny continued.
"When I learned I was with child, I…I put my foot down.
I insisted that my confinement should be at Everingham. Henry
relented, and we went home. Henry was attentive as ever, but
as the weeks drew on, he would leave me for a time. At first,
it was for an afternoon's sport-riding or shooting-and then for
a day or two. Finally, he would leave to visit with friends-
I was never sure who-for a week at a time. I was so afraid that
he would be away when the time came, but Henry was waiting in
his study when Tom came into the world."
"Yes, Mary
and I were there."
Fanny acknowledged
that. "But after you left, Henry would ask me, with increasing
regularity, when we could return to Town, and…and when we
could resume…our more private-" Fanny blushed furiously.
"Say no more,
Fan, I understand."
What Edmund could
not understand was Crawford's unfeeling selfishness. True, he
and Mary had never been blessed with a child, but he knew he
would behave better than his brother-in-law.
"I left my
baby sooner than I wished. Henry assured me Tom was safe with
Nanny Betty, but I missed him so! But I was determined to be
the wife Henry wanted." She glanced at Edmund. "Cousin,
I must tell you that Henry was not best pleased when I fell with
child again."
"I am sorry,
Fan."
"He put up
no argument when I desired a return to Norfolk, but as soon as
I was settled, business called him away to London."
Edmund suspected
the nature of Crawford's 'business.'
"I didn't know,
at first. Truly, I had no idea, until the day the first letter
came. It was addressed from a 'friend,' and gave few details,
but I was not so simple as to not know the letter's meaning.
Henry was in the company of other women while I was in Norfolk."
She closed her eyes. "I did not believe it-I did not want
to believe it-but then the next letter came. And this time, it
contained a pair of cufflinks. Henry's cufflinks."
"Oh, Fanny!"
"I was in agony.
I knew what was implied, but I tried to come up with a reasonable
explanation. Perhaps, Henry was overheated one night while playing
cards and desired to roll up his sleeves and misplaced his cufflinks.
Or perhaps he had to help someone in distress, ruining his shirt,
and while changing, put on the wrong cufflinks.
"But, when
he returned to Everingham and beheld the cufflinks on my bedstead,
he said, 'Oh, good, we got them back.' Edmund, he was so unconcerned
about it! I told him how I had received them, and he said nothing-he
only looked at me as if I was a simpleton. 'My dear,' he said,
'surely you know by now that men have needs. Would you have me
bother you at this time in your condition? I think you should
be thanking me.'"
Edmund, for the
first time in years, cursed.
"We had a terrible
argument. At the end of it, he returned to his rooms, packed,
and left for Town." Fanny paused. "He has not been
in my bed since." Embarrassed, she dropped her face into
her hands. "Do you see? I forced him away. I…I know
I am his wife, and I have tried to forgive him, but…but
I can not rid myself of the thought of him with another woman.
I cannot get it out of my mind. Is that not unchristian of me?"
Edmund tried to
console her. "Fanny, we are all poor sinners-that is true.
But I must say your sins are nothing next to his! Has he never
apologized?" Fanny was able to shake her head. "There,
you see? The man should be on his knees before you."
"But…but
if I had forgiven him, would he have taken that actress as his
mistress?"
"Fanny, believe
me, denial of favors does not lead a man to sin!" I should
know. "Besides, you had your own concerns. Forgive me,
but do you know of the French disease? He is risking his life-and
yours too!"
"And is there
nothing we can do?"
"You are doing
something. You are protecting your sons. Contact with such a
father would ruin them."
Fanny hung her head.
"I feared it." She sighed. "You know, he left
the choice of William's name to me. He could not be bothered."
Edmund's insides
roiled, but he forced himself to speak calmly. "You and
the boys are in better company now. All at Mansfield await your
arrival with joy and expectation. You all will be loved and cherished,
as you deserve."
Edmund did not exaggerate.
His reformed brother, Tom, had married a good woman, a lady kind
as she was pretty, and she had pledged to love Fanny as a sister.
Susan Price, now the vicar's wife, was nearby at Thornton Lacey.
And Julia and her husband had promised to visit. Thankfully,
Aunt. Norris is removed to Sotherton Court, to live with my sister,
Mrs. Rushworth, and bedevil Mr. Rushworth's mother.
Fanny looked up,
a strange expression on her face. "Loved and cherished as
I deserve? Thank you; I shall be content." With that, she
sat back to gaze out the window again.
Edmund's thoughts
remained unsettled, for he was afraid that he had given himself
away. He sat back, reviewing the fate of all his siblings. Maria,
desirous of a fashionable life, was now united for life with
a man she could never like or respect. Julia, seeing the unhappiness
in Maria's choice, was able to extract herself from that idiot,
Yates, and marry a decent, jolly fellow, a man who would shower
her with the attention she desired without overly spoiling her.
And the future Lady Bertram was an excellent woman.
And myself? Does
anyone know the mistake I made? Blinded by beauty, grace, and
wit, I allowed myself to become what I despise-an impostor. To
all the world, I am a successful barrister with a brilliant wife
on my arm. Do they know how I hate it? How empty my life is?
How I loathe society and London? How I long for the peace of
the country, with a house filled with children-something I will
never have?
He glanced at his
cousin. Yes, Fanny, believe me. I know denial of favors does
not necessarily lead a man to sin. I know that all too well.
Mary and I have not been husband and wife for over a year now,
ever since she demanded that I stand by Henry over you. I wonder
where she is now? In my parlor, or in the sitting room of that
harlot, entertaining Henry? What a waste my life has become!
Mary will do nothing to cause grounds for a divorce, so I am
trapped in a loveless marriage, as long as I remain Edmund Bertram
and do not become completely whatever creature Mary wants me
to be.
He looked at Fanny
again. I wonder if things had been different, if I had not
been so blind, would you…NO! Do not think it! Do not think
of things that will never be!
"Edmund?"
He was startled
to be shaken from his thoughts by the very woman of whom he had
been thinking. Forcing himself to calm, he said with tolerable
composure, "Yes, Fan?"
"Are you certain
all will be well?" Again, she looked at him with an unreadable
expression.
Obeying an urge
he could no longer avoid, he reached over to take her hands in
his. "Fanny, you will be happy again. I promise you."
A small smile appeared
on her lips, and she squeezed his hands in return. "Thank
you, Edmund." Her voice was a soft as a caress.
A cry from the driver
caught Edmund's attention. "Look, my dear! We're home!"
Together, hand-in-hand,
the unacknowledged lovers watched as dear Mansfield Park drew
into view.
The End
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