This is the story I wrote a few years ago for the Jane Austen Made Me Do It Short Story Contest, slightly expanded (word of advice: never enter a Mansfield Park story in any kind of competition). I decided to include it in And Who Can Be In Doubt Of What Followed: The Novels of Jane Austen Expanded because I was never able to write a satisfactory Janeicillin story for Mansfield, largely because I couldn't just beat Edmund over the head until he realized his feelings for Fanny (I find Mr. Bertram Austen's most problematic hero). This story is not nearly as happy and cheery as the others in the collection, but I think it fits, nonetheless. I'd love to hear your thoughts.
Please follow these links to read Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Northanger Abbey, Emma, and Persuasion. The entire collection will be available, I believe, tomorrow on Kindle and Nook.
“Come
along, Maria. It's rather brisk out here, you know, and I should not wish to
catch cold.”
Maria
Rushworth barely heard her husband, lost in contemplation of the townhouse
before which her luxurious carriage stood. She had never been one to swoon,
having always enjoyed excellent health, but the prospect of entering the
edifice made her knees weaken and quake. Tonight she would see him, the man she
had loved, for the first time since her unfortunate marriage to the oafish
fellow waiting to hand her down, tottering from one foot to another in an
attempt to emphasize his need for warmth – an action, like all of his, which
filled her dejected heart with the utmost disdain. Chiding herself for lack of
courage, she reluctantly grasped the plump hand extended to her and set forth
to confront her fate.
The
Rushworths, upon entering the house of Mr. and Mrs. Fraser, garnered no small
amount of attention. Though Mary Crawford had only confided to her dear
friends, Mrs. Fraser and Lady Stornaway, the events that had occurred the
previous fall at Mansfield Park, it is understandable how the tale spread from
these ladies to their many acquaintances. Miss Crawford had only imparted the
story of Maria Bertram's flirtation with Mr. Crawford as a means of soothing
the ruffled sensibilities of her old friends, understandably disturbed upon
learning that Henry's long-sought heart had been taken, and by a lady with few
worldly prospects. It was natural that Mrs. Fraser should tell the tale to Miss
Fraser, as it was with this young woman that her expectations for Mr. Crawford
had rested, and that a young girl of dashed hopes would keep such a tantalizing
bit of gossip to herself is almost inconceivable. The new Mrs. Rushworth was
quite the sensation of the season, and if that elegant lady, with her striking
good looks and respectable fortune, had failed to entrance Mr. Crawford, what
chance had a Margaret Fraser? And to be the cousin of the mythical Fanny Price,
the lady who had succeeded where so many others had tried and failed – how much
more deeply must the blow have been felt by Mrs. Rushworth, knowing that her
father had harbored such a viper under her own roof, and at her own family's
expense? Miss Fraser, thanks to Miss Crawford, knew that tonight would be the
first time the two had met since the lady's marriage, and she and her
companions were agog with curiosity to see how events would transpire.
Miss
Fraser was certainly correct in assessing Maria's sentiments towards her
cousin. That Fanny, of all people, should have proved a rival to Miss Bertram
was excruciating. Never mind that when Mr. Crawford had fallen in love with
Miss Price, Miss Bertram had already become Mrs. Rushworth – such reflections
could not ease the pain of knowing that her frumpy, wallflower of a relation
had succeeded where she had failed. And then to have rejected Mr. Crawford's
proposals! This notion was even more shattering to Maria's pride. While she was
relieved that she would not be meeting a Mrs. Crawford, her outrage in knowing
that Fanny had thought slightingly of what she most coveted tore at her vanity,
never previously tried until Henry had entered her life.
Maria
felt the eyes of the room upon her as she entered, finding strength in the knowledge
that her husband's wealth, if not providing happiness, had at least purchased
the exquisite gown so carefully chosen for the occasion, determined as she was
that both Mr. Crawford and the world would see her to the utmost advantage. Yet
gratitude for becoming armor was insufficient in overcoming her disgust for Mr.
Rushworth. No amount of money thrown away at the best tailors London had to
offer could disguise the inelegance of his figure, and no amount of worldly
worth could overcome the disdain that, she was certain, all thinking people
would instinctively feel for him as soon as the sorry man opened his mouth to
utter a word. For Maria, forced to further suffer the clumsiness of his
conjugal attentions, he was abhorrent. In her innocence she had believed that
familiarity and a handsome income would overcome her revulsion, but never had
she been more wrong. Each day only increased her misery.
Surreptitiously,
she glanced around the room, searching for the man with whom all her hopes had
once lain, but she did not see him. For a moment she felt a burst of hope that
he would not, after all, be present, but the sensation was fleeting, replaced
by an unaccountable wave of disappointment. She would rather meet him when
secure in the glory of her best looks than accidentally be taken by surprise
one day. Besides, she had rehearsed her greeting, carefully calculated in its
indifference, and it would be, she rationalized, a shame to waste the
preparation.
“There
is your brother Edmund, my dear, over by Miss Crawford. Shall we pay our
respects?” He offered her his arm, which she took with the lightest touch she
could contrive, all contact with him filling her with repugnance. They moved
across the room, smiling at acquaintances, with all the appearance of a happy
couple, or at least Maria hoped. If the more discerning members of the
gathering, such as the two whom they now approached, could see through her
facade, she trusted her husband remained in complete ignorance.
“Maria!
Rushworth! How do you do this evening?” greeted Edmund. Maria smiled at him,
assuring him of her well-being, and he responded in kind. Though the siblings
were not close, they could not have lived all their lives in the same house
without detecting the uneasiness that lay behind both their happy pretensions.
Edmund felt some innate sympathy for his sister's plight in such a husband, but
she had made her choice and must abide by it. Maria, in turn, felt all the
damage the Crawfords had inflicted, and took some malicious comfort in the knowledge
that her brother, too, suffered at their hands.
Mr.
Rushworth took himself off to the card room, where he would surely lose to the
many professed friends who found him lucrative bait, but Maria remained in her
brother's company. Pleased to be relieved, for the moment, of her husband's
unwanted companionship, she tried to forget her anxiety for the approaching
encounter and had almost succeeded, diverted by Miss Crawford's always amusing
banter, when suddenly he was there, just inside the room, greeting the Frasers
warmly. It took all of Maria's self control to not walk towards him, as her
body and her heart instinctively told her to. He looked just as always: that
striking, dark countenance which had once seemed so undeniably plain in her
eyes was now undoubtedly the most handsome she could imagine. He was smiling,
that irresistible smile, all ease, the epitome of what Mr. Rushworth lacked. He
must have known that she would be there, but he made no effort to seek her in
the crowd. His indifference steeled her nerves. Mustering herself, she managed
to turn away and focus her attention back on the conversation at hand. She
stood by his sister; he would come to her.
Mr.
Crawford was not as indifferent to the new Mrs. Rushworth's presence as he
feigned, having immediately noticed her upon entry into the Fraser's house. It
was hard not to, so resplendent was she in her dashing gown and jewels. He
thought of Fanny, just briefly, and how uncomfortable she would be in such
finery, and a sense of self-congratulation filled his being. He was not one to
be blinded to the diamond in the rough when presented with a jewel that
sparkled more, though it was of lesser value. Knowledge of his own perception
could only bring pleasure. The fact that Fanny had not yet consented to be his
wife did not trouble him. Her reluctance only increased her worth, especially
when compared with Maria, who had proved such an easy conquest. He completed
his civilities to his hosts – was that a hint of resentment he detected in Miss
Fraser's eyes? – and made his way towards his sister.
“My
dear Mary! How do I find you this evening?”
“Perfectly
well as always, brother, so long as I confine myself to the very best company
the room affords. How incongruous that it should include a clergyman!”
”Hello
Bertram. It is always a pleasure. I trust all at Mansfield are well?”
“Very
much so, Crawford. Thank you. I believe you have the most recent information
regarding my cousin in Portsmouth, whom I trust you found in health.”
Henry
frowned. “Not as well as I would have liked. I'm afraid that close quarters
have robbed her of her bloom. I do not think Sir Thomas would have sent her
there had he been fully aware of the conditions in which the Price family
live.”
“Indeed?
I would not doubt my father's knowledge of their situation, as it was precisely
that which motivated him to suggest the visit. But here you see my sister, Mrs.
Rushworth, to whom city life has caused no ill-effects.”
He
finally turned to look at her and was shocked by what he saw, though Edmund was
correct: it in no way smacked of ill-health, only imperiousness. Henry knew he
had made some impact on Maria Bertram's heart, but he was unprepared to be
greeted by such a profound degree of resentment. Edmund, too, was surprised by
her haughtiness, quite unlike the usual manners of his thoroughly well-bred
sister, and the recollection of Fanny's words regarding Mr. Crawford's former
attentions to Maria rose unbidden in his mind.
Collecting
himself, Henry bowed and said, “My dear Mrs. Rushworth. Marriage suits you
indeed.”
Maria
dropped the slightest of curtseys, saying only, “Mr. Crawford,” in
acknowledgment.
But
Henry was not one to be so easily put off. “And where is Miss Bertram this
evening? I thought to see her here.”
“She
is dining with cousins of ours.”
“I
see. Please convey my best wishes to her, and my hopes to meet her while she
remains in town.”
Maria
nodded in response.
Stepping
into this most awkward conversation, Edmund thought to return to the subject he
perceived to be not only the safest, but also the most pleasing to himself, by
inquiring again after Fanny's well-being.
“I
really am quite concerned, Bertram,” replied Henry, with an affecting degree of
worry etched upon his face. He was not sorry to see Maria's chin jut even
farther into the hemisphere. Clearly her pique had more to do with his choice
of bride than her own disappointment. This he could not only bear, but thought
quite proper, as it fulfilled his intention of proving to the lady what sort of
woman it was that could attach a man of sense. “I offered to convey her home at
any time. All she need do is send a line to my sister, but I fear she will not
be budged.”
“No.
Fanny would never dream of leaving Portsmouth until my father called for her. I
do hope your worry is unfounded. My cousin has never been of robust
constitution, and the lack of exercise to be had in her family home must
account for her current disorder. But do not fear. Once she is returned to
Mansfield, she will be as she was, and, if my father is correct, far better for
having gained an appreciation for the luxuries she has come to take for
granted.”
“I
cannot think that Miss Price has ever taken anything for granted in her life,”
Miss Crawford said, having been watching Mrs. Rushworth with a great deal of
scrutiny, and finding herself unable to resist the urge to praise the often
overlooked Fanny. “You do her a disservice, Mr. Bertram. Never have I known a
more appreciative creature.”
“My
dear Miss Crawford, if anyone understands Fanny's finer qualities, I think it
must be I, having always been her best friend. No, indeed, I think my father is
quite correct in his approach. Fanny has been sheltered at Mansfield, and a
taste of life's realities can only do her good.”
“I
hope you are right, Bertram. While I appreciate Sir Thomas' efforts,
recognizing them to have been made on my behalf, I do hope the treatment may
soon be considered complete.”
“Excuse
me,” said Maria, unable to endure any more, “but I believe my husband beckons
me. Edmund, Miss Crawford, Mr. Crawford.” She pronounced the last name with
significant disdain.
Later
that evening, when Henry and Mary were able to converse more privately, she
teased him on Mrs. Rushworth's account. “Never have I seen the lady so put out,
Henry. Clearly, your proposal to Fanny has been perceived as a personal
slight.”
“If
Mrs. Rushworth learns from this experience what qualities are truly pleasing to
a man of discernment, she will be better for it in the long run. I trust I have
done her a service.”
“I
do not think she regards it in that light.”
“No.
She clearly does not. I suppose I should have expected it, but I must say that
it chagrins me to see her so cold when I am used to her inviting smiles. I
wonder if I cannot sooth her resentment? It will not do for us to always meet
so when we are cousins.”
“No
indeed. Only be careful, Henry. You do not wish to trifle with her, not when
Fanny is your goal. I think she cannot have as much satisfaction in her
marriage as she would wish the world to suppose, and in such a situation, a
proud lady can prove volatile.”
“Do
not worry for me, Mary. I know where my heart lies, as does Mrs. Rushworth. Did
you note her face when I said I'd like to collect Fanny from Portsmouth?”
“Jealously
does not become her.”
“Certainly
not. I must see if something cannot be done about it.”
Several
weeks passed in which Henry was able to enact his plans. He had thought of
leaving town for Everingham, as he told Fanny he would, and while a small pang
was experienced in knowing she would disapprove of his procrastination, the
lure of melting Mrs. Rushworth's hostility overrode any attending discomfort.
His progress, over just the few formal meetings that had occurred between the
two since the Fraser's party, had been considerable. Mrs. Rushworth was easier
in her acknowledgment of him, and his very judicial attempts to not mention
Fanny in her presence, an act made easier by Edmund's return to Mansfield, had
their effect. Furthermore, when news of Tom Bertram's illness spread quickly
through the town, as any misfortune befalling the heir of a very pretty
property will, Henry was quick to perceive how such ill-tidings could be turned
to his purpose. As knowledgeable as he was in the workings of the female heart,
he knew just how to approach Maria in the very manner that must engage her
sentiments, and if the thought crossed his mind that she seemed relatively
unaffected by her brother's waning health, despite her protestations otherwise,
he did not for long dwell upon the suspicion. After all, she was not the lady
he wished to marry, so if he found that she lacked a tender heart it was of no
concern to him. On the contrary, it rather made his current activities all the
more innocuous. For Henry Crawford was a man who liked occupation, and while
Fanny remained in Portsmouth, he thought the diminishment of Maria Rushworth's
animosity towards him a very worthwhile manner in which to ward off idleness.
If such a course aroused any lingering affection she might still harbor for him,
he trusted that it would cause her no enduring degree of suffering.
As
for Mrs. Rushworth, seeing Henry again only served to increase her already
notable intolerance for her husband, a trend intensified by Julia's relocation
to their cousin's home in Bedford Square. Maria suspected the move had
something to do with increasing her younger sister's access to Mr. Yates, who,
having recently arrived in town, had been paying her notable attention, but she
cared little for that, only feeling put out that she now faced increased
solitude with her husband. His inescapable presence was agonizing, and she had
taken to feigning evening headaches in order to escape his affections. This
malady, however, did not prevent her from enjoying the social delights of
London, where she often found herself in Mr. Crawford's company. Seeing him in
proximity to her husband was insupportable: one possessing all the grace, while
the other so notably lacked that essential refinement. Inevitably, her heart
having long ago succumbed to the former's charms, she felt her dismissive
stance towards him fade. Although she tried to maintain her rancor, she was
unable to, especially when he began to pay her such specific notice. No mention
of Fanny was made between them, and Maria flattered herself that her superior
charms were having their inevitable effect, erasing the sad image of her dowdy
cousin from his mind. Yet her triumph was uncertain as long as she could so
vividly recall that it was Fanny who had secured an offer of marriage from Henry,
not her eminently more eligible self. The notion that she should test the
extent of his attachment occurred to her uneasy mind and, regardless of her
better judgment, would not be erased.
It
was when she was in this precarious mood that Mr. Rushworth received news of
his mother's intentions to join her son and daughter-in-law in Wimpole Street
for the remainder of the season. The newlyweds had been invited to spend time
in Twikenham by Maria's new friends the Aylmers, a couple in whose society she often
found the Crawfords, with whom they seemed to be on very good terms. She had
thought to decline the invitation, having no wish to confine herself to a small
party in which her husband's company would be inescapable, but now she saw an
opportunity to rid herself of his burdensome presence. Suggesting that he
should accompany his mother on her journey from Bath, as, indeed, he was
accustomed to doing prior to his marriage, she easily convinced him to repair
to the spa town rather than attending her to the Alymers. Her hint that time
out of the city, and in relative solitude, would be just the thing to repair
her health played no small part in his ready compliance.
To
do Maria justice, she had no notion that Henry would find himself likewise in
the neighborhood of Richmond, though the thought did flit through her tortured
mind that when he learned of her intended visit, as he inevitably would, a
decision to retreat from the city would be a testament to his renewed devotion.
So when he called at the Alymers, not long after her arrival, her spirits
soared at the sight of him. This was how it should be, Maria and Henry
together, with no odious Mr. Rushworth to hinder their interaction. Her friend,
Mrs. Alymer, showed no disapprobation for what quickly revealed itself to be a
determined flirtation. Indeed, that kind lady dropped several hints in Maria's
ear regarding the best means of maintaining discretion and avoiding censure
when engaged in such activities. And so they met everyday, and for the first
time since her marriage, Maria found herself not only happy, but blissful. All
the high spirits that belonged to Miss Bertram resurged in Mrs. Rushworth. Only
two things hindered her elation: the constant reminder her name provided that
she was, no longer, a Miss Bertram after all, and the ever present, unnamed
shadow of Fanny. The latter, at least, she could address.
Her
time at Twickenham was rapidly drawing to a close. She had received word from
her husband regarding his return to London, and Maria knew that she must be
there to welcome both him and the Dowager. To shirk such responsibility was
precisely the kind of faux pas that Mrs. Alymer had warned her against. Her
time was running out, and though she feared the response, her heart dictated
that she must know what was Henry's present stance towards her cousin. Had
Fanny indeed been plunged from his memory? Or was he once again only trifling
with her affections, building her up for yet another shattering disappointment,
like the one she had suffered when he retreated from Mansfield upon Sir Thomas'
return from Antigua? She was determined to learn the truth.
It
was on her final evening with the Alymers that she broached the subject. Henry
had been invited to dine and, being a small party, and one hosted by those who
wished to throw no rubs in the way of their guests' amusements, it was an easy
matter to garner privacy once the gentlemen rejoined the ladies after the meal.
In a quiet corner of the drawing room, Henry and Maria made themselves
comfortable, engaged in the kind of nonsensical, slightly risque conversation
that had come to define their interactions. When he spontaneously took her hand
– an impulse arising from the moment and atmosphere – the lady felt emboldened
to speak.
“Do
you return to London, or is it still your intention to retreat to Everingham,
thereby depriving us of your company?”
“I
do have business to attend to, and it has been put off rather longer than it
should be, but I feel no remorse, though I know I should, for having succumbed
to the pleasures of the moment, rather than applying myself to the rigors of
duty.”
“Does
your duty still include rescuing my cousin from the hardships of Portsmouth?”
Henry’s
start was noticeable, having been totally taken aback by Maria's reference to
Fanny. They had seemed to have an unspoken arrangement not to mention his hopes
in that area, and it was this assumption that had allowed him to proceed in the
current, diverting flirtation. Fanny need never know of it, as she would
undoubtedly disapprove, and he had thought that Maria’s silence on the subject
indicated her tacit agreement to not confuse simple diversion with either
party's lasting romantic interests. Quickly recovering from his surprise, he
replied in a manner befitting their casual dalliance:
“My
offer does indeed still stand to return her to Mansfield, though I am glad that
I have had the opportunity to enjoy the amusements of Richmond instead.”
This
did not quite satisfy Maria. “But you will hasten to my cousin's call, should
she request you to? Even if it meant forsaking your present pursuits?”
“As
a gentleman, I am honor bound to. I have given her my word.”
“I
had not thought your honor so dear, nor your word so unbreakable.”
Now
Henry was truly alarmed. While he had often engaged a lady's affections and
then abandoned her, he had never allowed himself to be placed in a situation
where he would be called upon to defend his actions. It was not in his nature
to verbally dash a lady's hope, and his withdrawal had always proven a sufficient
end to all affairs grown tiresome. Not knowing what to say in response to such
a direct attack, he fell back upon custom and evaded the question. Smiling, as
if amused, he raised his voice to address the room: “Say Alymer, we cannot
possibly allow Mrs. Rushworth to spend her last evening in such a mundane
manner. What say you to a game of cards? That should keep us all highly
entertained.”
The
suggestion was eagerly agreed to, Mr. Alymer being a great gamester, and
decorum necessitated that Maria relinquish her stance and comply with the will
of the company. She recognized that her thrust had been thwarted, and, having
never been accustomed to failure, Henry's parry only strengthened her resolve
to press the point upon their next meeting. That it would surely take place in
London, under her husband and mother-in-law's eyes, was of no account. Her
pride would not allow her to retreat when her heart had already strayed so far.
Henry,
on the other hand, gratefully withdrew to town, and upon arrival immediately
sought out his sister's sage counsel. To his dismay, Mary had heard rumors
about his activities in Richmond.
“I
am afraid the town is rather alive with it. Society already had its eye on you
both, you know, her cold reception of you at the Fraser's party having been
very well observed. Such a reversal in her sentiments was bound to attract
notice.”
“But
I care naught for the woman, and why should mere flirtation put everything I
hold most dear at risk? Nearly Fanny's very last words to me were, 'We have all
a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person
can be.' If I had heeded her advice, I certainly would not now be in this
predicament.”
“She
will be the making of you, Henry, if your foolishness has not destroyed your
chances with her. At least you could have amused yourself with someone other
than her own cousin, then perhaps the likelihood of her learning of the affair,
retired as she lives, would have been very slim.”
“What
had I best do now that the damage, by your estimation, has already been done?”
“I
will write to her at once, asking her again to allow us to convey her to
Mansfield in the strongest terms. If I mention your having seen Mrs. Rushworth
at Twickenham, casually of course, it should assure her of the innocence of
your dealings.”
“Thank
you, Mary. And if she should still refuse, I will depart for Everingham instantly,
thereby sparing myself further encounters with Mrs. Rushworth.”
“You
had best leave now. Why linger, when it will only give her further opportunity
to embroil you in unwanted gossip?”
“When
she is under the gaze of that vulture of a mother-in-law? I think I have little
to fear in the immediate future. Besides, if I am at Everingham, how am I to be
on hand to hear Miss Price's response when it arrives?”
But
Henry had put too much stock into Maria's discretion, as we are all unfortunate
enough to already know, and rejoice or deplore the miscalculation as each sees
fit. Her reunion with Mr. Rushworth – whose presence was more inescapable than
ever now that his mother was on hand to ensure the newlyweds behaved as such –
was precisely the catalyst she required to throw all caution to the wind.
Within the week, when the Rushworths spotted Mr. Crawford at the theater, Maria
beckoned to him to join their box in such a particular manner that he had
little choice, not being willing to publicly snub her, other than to comply.
Under the very perceptive nose of her Mrs. Rushworth, Maria proceeded to engage
Henry in the exact same kind of banter that had become their habit while in
Richmond, and there was little he found himself capable of doing to stop her.
Mr. Rushworth, formerly so oblivious to anything that might be considered
clandestine, was put on his guard by his mother, and expressed his wrath not
only openly, but vulgarly, catching the attention of all in attendance. Henry
retreated as gracefully as he could, but his mortification was necessarily
severe. He decided to instantly repair to Everingham, a far more safe location
to await word from Fanny, but the damage was already done.
Amongst
the many witnesses to Mr. Rushworth’s expressions of indignation was one Mr.
Harding, a dear friend of Sir Thomas'. Possessing a very clear notion of how
his friend would react to such a display as that in the theater, he not only
sent word of warning to Mansfield, but also took it upon himself to call in
Wimpole Street the very next day. Anxious to thwart any larger scandal than that
already incurred, and finding a Mr. Rushworth very happy to receive his guidance
and forgive his dear Maria, he began to have good reason for thinking his
efforts not in vain. The two Mrs. Rushworths, however, who proved far less manageable,
shattered this illusion, the younger resenting his interference, and the elder
resenting her. Insistent that her daughter was not to be trusted, Maria – proud
and disdainful, but not above panic – revolted against such censure, and
hastily packing a few necessities, she fled Wimpole Street for the house of
Admiral Crawford, where Henry currently resided.
The
very proper man who opened the door with a disapproving eye at first strove to
bar the distraught Mrs. Rushworth from entering the residence, her lone bandbox
an alarming accouterment to his knowledgeable eye, but Maria resisted such
treatment. She would be admitted.
Henry
was from home, but the Admiral, overhearing the beginnings of a highly
promising scuffle, ventured forth from his study to investigate. Mrs. Rushworth
was not backwards in making her object known, and the Admiral, always
matrimony’s sworn enemy, saw her made confortable while awaiting his nephew’s
return.
The
sight of Maria ensconced in the Admiral’s drawing room and taking her tea with
his mistress was no welcome one to Henry’s eyes. Seeking the Admiral, it was in
faltering tones that he demanded what had possessed him to admit the lady,
questioning if he knew what consequences were likely to result from his
hospitality.
“Oh,
yes, my dear boy,” came the blithe reply. “I know precisely what Mrs.
Rushworth’s presence in my house portends, and it is my fervent hope that these
circumstances may do you some good.”
Henry
was all astonishment. “How can such scandal possibly prove beneficial, sir? I
cannot see how these circumstances might result in anything less than
disaster.”
“Yes,
a disaster of epic proportions is no doubt in store for your precipitate plans
to shackle yourself in unadvantageous marriage, but little else of significance
will result. You may find your amusement in Mrs. Rushworth until she grows
tiresome, and that will be the end of it.”
“Sir!”
Henry protested.
“You
did not think I knew of your intentions towards Miss Price? Come, my boy! You
bring her brother forward, take sudden excursions to Portsmouth, of all places,
and waste your energy in unnecessary improvements at Everingham. Do believe in
my ability to put two and two together.”
Henry’s
dark complexion had turned stark white at this recital. “Miss Price is exactly
the woman to do away every prejudice you have against matrimony. I am sure it
is she you yourself would describe … “
“There
is no need for all this,” the Admiral interrupted his nephew. “Certainly the
sun seems to rise and set in her eyes, but as I believe the lady to be cousin
to Mrs. Rushworth, you had best resign the memory of her orbs, astronomically
astounding as they may be, to your past.”
“I
must convince Maria to return to Rushworth,” he desperately replied.
“Try
you may,” the Admiral replied, “but I think you’ll find the lady most
determined to abandon respectability, and I must say I like her all the more
for it.”
Even
had Henry succeeded with Maria, which he did not, his fate was already sealed.
Had Mrs. Rushworth sought shelter anywhere else – with her cousins, with whom
Julia stayed, or even Miss Crawford – the damage done by her removal might not
have been so irreparable, but the elder Mrs. Rushworth had sent a maidservant
after the refugee, who instantly reported back to her mistress whither Maria
had gone. The two ladies, even in the short time they had been together, had
disagreed; and the bitterness of the elder against her daughter-in-law might
perhaps arise almost as much from the personal disrespect with which she had
herself been treated, as from sensibility for her son. By the time Henry
arrived home, a few lines of tantalizing exposure were already being conveyed
to a well-known gossipmonger, functioning under the self-titled moniker
“journalist”, a claim bolstered by the column bearing his name in a leading
London paper.
Seeking
his sister’s comfort the next day, Henry was instead confronted with the
following lines from the morning paper:
It was with
infinite concern the newspaper had to announce to the world a matrimonial fracas in the family of Mr. R. of Wimpole
Street; the beautiful Mrs. R., whose name had not long been enrolled in the
lists of Hymen, and who had promised to become so brilliant a leader in the
fashionable world, having quitted her husband's roof in company with the
well-known and captivating Mr. C., the intimate friend and associate of Mr. R.,
and it was not known even to the editor of the newspaper whither they were
gone.
“Oh,
Henry!” she cried, agony acute in her voice, when she finished reciting the
nearly memorized passage. “How could you?”
“I
was from home when Mrs. Rushworth arrived. My uncle admitted her,” he bitterly
replied.
“Why
should he do such a thing?” she demanded.
“He
found out about Fanny and saw Maria as the best means to crush my hopes.”
‘Oh!”
Mary’s face flushed with anger. “I had thought my mortifications at the hands
of that man was done. If it were some other lady, any other lady, there might
be hope for you yet, but Fanny will never forgive such public exposure of
weakness, let alone with her cousin!”
“I
have lost her forever,” he said mournfully. “She once accused me of being unsteady.
Now she has her proof!”
“I
am sorry it is so, , Henry, but now we shall have to see what can be made of
Mrs. Rushworth.”
“The
Admiral suggests I take her into the country: somewhere discreet. We shall have
to wait and see what Mr. Rushworth will do. Perhaps he might still take her
back?”
Mary
pondered a moment before replying, “If any man might be persuaded to such
indignity, I would believe it of Mr. Rushworth, but would she even go with
him?”
“No,”
he sighed, “but perhaps, after tempers have cooled, he might see to providing
her some settlement or another. I have no wish to be strapped to her for life.”
She
shook her head. “He will divorce her, Henry, and you must do what you can to
restore her honor by giving her your name.”
“My
dear Mary, I have no desire to be married to the lady! If she had not been so
foolish, I might still have hope of winning Fanny! I shan’t abandon her – that
would never do – but I’d be happy to make her someone else’s responsibility.”
“Henry!”
she reprimanded. “Have you not thought what this means for me?”
“You
speak of Edmund,” he replied softly, true affection for his sister illuminating
the far-reaching consequences of Mrs. Rushworth’s actions. “I’m not sure you
will find him any more understanding than Miss Price.”
“Why
should he and I suffer for your folly!” she cried, pleading tears in her eyes.
“You
should not. If anyone might make him relent, it is you, dear sister. Work upon
him the best you can, and I will endeavor to forge something worth sustaining
with Mrs. Rushworth. The lady does not deserve the consideration, having caused
such trouble, but for your sake I will forbear.”
So the siblings parted, clinging to their last, dwindling
hopes of permanent connection to Mansfield and the attendant domestic happiness
both had there learned to estimate. But if Henry thought himself cornered,
Maria was certainly doomed, her condition now far more akin to that mournful
starling’s than when she had coquettishly invoked it, though she had yet to
recognize the bars of her own cage. The gentleman escaped with his unwanted
mistress into the countryside, there to spend many increasingly unsatisfying
months in her company. It was not long before both detested the other so
completely that a rupture was inevitable. He blamed her for the loss of Fanny,
while she mocked him for his infatuation with the cousin she had never valued.
If either party knew how little the subject of their dispute cared for either's
actions – indeed, how she could almost be thankful for their foolishness, as it
so cleanly cleared the path to her own happiness – their chagrin would have
been perfectly complete.
