by Lona Manning
Dido's Lament is a beautiful aria from the English opera, Purcell's Dido and Aeneas. Look for the version sung by Janet Baker on YouTube.
The famous abolitionist William Wilberforce does not appear in this novel but he moves behind the scenes. He was also a social reformer, and he and his associates, known as the “Clapham Sect,” were devotedly religious and can be seen as the precursors of the Victorian age, an age that was much more concerned with good and evil, public morality, and the reform of public manners, than the Regency Age. The debates and movements that this small group of people set into motion are one of history’s hinges or great turning points, and so they have elbowed their way into this story.
Mr. Thomas Clarkson’s memoir appeared in 1809, in time for another of my new characters, William Gibson, to read aloud from it at Mrs. Butter’s dinner party. The slave “Mary” that the three abolitionists discuss in Bristol is inspired by the story of a slave named Mary Prince, whose autobiography was published in 1831. The abolitionist James Stephen really had two fiancées in his youth, as recounted to Fanny and Mrs. Butters.
St. James's Palace really did burn in January 1809 and there was a major explosion in Portsmouth on June 24th, 1809, which happened as described in Mrs. Price’s letter.
William Gibson recites to himself from “The Task,” by William Cowper, while in the hold of the Agincourt.
The HMS Solebay and the HMS Derwent were real ships, and were led by the real Captain Edward Columbine against the French colony in Senegal. The brief Times newspaper article that Mrs. Butters sent to Fanny is the actual newspaper article with the first news of the loss of the Solebay. But the real-life Derwent did not capture a slave ship during this, the first tour of duty for the West African Squadron. In subsequent years, ships of the West African Squadron did apprehend dozens of ships, despite a cripplingly high mortality rate from malaria and yellow fever.
Did you spot all the cameo appearances of characters from other Jane Austen novels? The Smallridges, Sucklings and Bragges are mentioned in Emma. The Smallridges were to have been Jane Fairfax’s employers until her engagement to Frank Churchill was revealed. William Elliot, the cad who meets Fanny in Oxford, is from Persuasion, and Miss Lee’s lost love is none other than Mr. Bennet from Pride and Prejudice.
Finally, may I ask, if you enjoyed this book, please take a few moments to leave a review at Amazon or Goodreads. Thank you very much.
Lona Manning
Zibo City, Shandong Province, China
Amazon author page:
www.amazon.com/Lona-Manning/
Preview of A Marriage of Attachment
The sequel to A Contrary Wind
Now available in ebook and paperback through Amazon
April 1811
Thornton Lacey, Northamptonshire
“I am not angry.”
“Forgive me if I dispute that assertion, my dear. After twenty-seven years of marriage, I recognize this frosty silence.”
“This is merely resignation, sir. The resignation of a much-tried woman whose husband believes what he is told by any random stranger while refusing to give credence to the same information offered by his wife.”
“I simply enquired of the man mending the hedge if this was the road to Thornton Lacey.”
“And I told you, not a moment ago, ‘this is the road to Thornton Lacey,’ and then you talked to the man mending the hedge, and asked him if this was the road to Thornton Lacey, then you graciously informed me, ‘this is the road to Thornton Lacey’—I, who took great pains to obtain—”
“And there, I think, is the parsonage.”
“A parsonage-house? Surely not. Not for a village of such limited extent as this. It must be the country home of some independent gentleman. Edmund Bertram would have to wring a guinea from every parishioner for marrying and burying to maintain so handsome an establishment.”
“I think you do him an injustice there, my dear. I think, left to his own devices, Mr. Bertram would not have attempted half so much. Mary and her brother commissioned a great many improvements, she told me so herself.”
“That accords more with the character of Mr. Bertram as I knew him in London,” Lady Delingpole acknowledged. “And in the end, Mary did leave him to his own devices. He deserves better! But, I can never scold Mary as she deserves, not when I remember her dear mother.”
“I believe I see our host stepping out to greet us, Imogen. So, now that you see his house, are you content to stay here for the night, in preference to an inn? I think we shall be tolerably comfortable, though it is a bachelor establishment.”
“Yes, Miss Bertram is in town, so we shall have no hostess tonight. But I believe we may do very well.”
The carriage pulled up to the handsome front portico of the dwelling of the right honourable Reverend Edmund Bertram, where every servant of his modest establishment was assembled.
Edmund swiftly glanced over his shoulder to see how his housekeeper, Mrs. Peckover, was bearing up. She had spent the last week in a quiet frenzy of preparation; the prospect of a visit from an Earl and his lady had alarmed her into near-insensibility. Thankfully, and unexpectedly, Baddeley had appeared that morning with a basket of apricot preserves and his usual imperturbable air. The old butler from his boyhood home ‘had learned from Mrs. Grant, that exalted guests were expected at Thornton Lacey and he ventured to presume he might be of some assistance.’
Mrs. Grant was not the only old friend to come to Edmund’s aid on this momentous occasion. His parishioners, viewing the noble visit as something that reflected upon the credit of the entire village, freely contributed the best their larders could afford—one family sent a brace of hare, another a fine large trout, another some early wisps of salad from their greenhouse, all to uphold the proud name of Thornton Lacey and to burnish this new and illustrious chapter in the annals of the town.
However, were it not for Baddeley’s timely arrival, Edmund suspected Mrs. Peckover might now be lying prostrate in the pantry instead of waiting on the stairs, wearing a fresh apron and cap. He could see the details of the evening to come chasing themselves across her forehead, even as he greeted his guests.
“Lady Delingpole, Lord Delingpole, you do me great honour. I trust your journey was pleasant.”
Firstcourse-calves’headsoup-mashedturnips-dressedsalad-pottedhare-troutwithonionsauce —
“Not at all, Bertram. What cursed weather we are having for April, hey? Where is that charming sister of yours?”
“Julia is visiting our cousins in Bedford Square, sir. She will greatly regret not being here to welcome you both.”
“A great pity. Imogen, my dear it seems Miss Julia will not be here to keep you company tonight. She is in London.”
Secondcourse-bakedcelerywithraisins-carrotswithhoney-roast beef with pepper sauce-creamed potato—
“Is she indeed? I had no idea. Mr. Bertram, thank you for inviting us to break our journey here. I never saw such a charming country parsonage—very elegant, indeed!”
Lastcourse-cheeseboard-applesinmadeira-apricottart-orangebrandy-ladyfingers
“Well, therein lies a tale. My home is yours, Lady Delingpole. Baddeley and I will look after your husband and Mrs. Peckover will escort you to your room.”
“This way, oh, this way, your ladyfingers—oh no! Your ladyship!”
In due course, Baddeley took his station by the sideboard, and Edmund’s housekeeper and several other able women from the village, all at the highest pitch of excitement and anxiety, toiled in the kitchen.
Edmund escorted Lady Delingpole to her seat, and surveyed with some complacency the elegant table Baddeley had laid out for his guests. Even in the absence of a wife to direct the proceedings, he thought his household had done tolerably well, consistent with his desire to demonstrate his respect and affection for the noble couple, but without that ostentatious show which would betray an overly-servile disposition, a too-eager wish to please. This was why he had not brought his aunt from Mansfield to s
erve as his hostess. Aunt Norris had met the Delingpoles in London and it would not be impertinent to invite her, but she would have destroyed whatever of tranquility his home offered in her zeal to demonstrate her deference and gratitude.
Instead, the host and his guests sat down together with every evidence of satisfaction, ease and enjoyment. They were all of superior understanding and information. The youngest of them, Edmund Bertram, was in fact the most subdued in manner, and tended to formality in his address. He was tall and handsome, and in his dark blue eyes there gleamed a subtle, understated wit.
His Lordship, spare of figure and angular of feature, was clearly accustomed to having the full attention of his audience. His countenance was mobile and alert, and his address forceful and decided. Lady Delingpole’s quickness of speech and sometimes of temper tended to disguise her essentially kind-hearted nature. She was fashionably and richly attired; but anyone who made the mistake of thinking her a mere London fashion plate, was soon set to rights. She was shrewd, well-informed and as deeply engaged in the public matters of the day as was her husband.
“You must be well pleased, your ladyship, to enjoy your husband’s company away from the unceasing demands of Parliament,” Edmund offered.
Lady Delingpole almost replied “evidently, you have not been married for very long, Mr. Bertram,” but just in time she recollected, and she only smiled and nodded.
“It is in fact politics which calls us to Northamptonshire. We make for Castle Ashby in the morning,” said her husband. “Do you know it, Bertram?”
“Not I, sir. My father attended there frequently when he was the member for Northampton. He often remarked on the elegant grounds.”
“I am looking for some little home-stall in this area myself, you know, since our family seat in Wales is so remote. I want some place where, while the House is in session, I can leave public affairs behind for a few days.”
“Leave public affairs behind! Life would be an arid desert for both of us, without politics. What my husband means, Mr. Bertram, is that he is excessively fond of fox hunting. He is determined to risk his neck, even at his age.”
“Well, and here I am, and my tailor hasn’t altered the waist to my breeches for these twenty years. Still as fit and hearty as I was in my youth, and how many can say the same?”
“If you are looking for something in this county sir, would your Lordship care to examine Mansfield Park? The house is well situated on rising ground and is not more than forty years old. I can personally attest to the excellence of the supply of game in my father’s woods, and we are but five miles from the kennels at Brixtol.”
His Lordship’s eyebrows shot up. “The Pytchley hunt? So, your family home is for let, sir?”
Lady Delingpole gave her host a compassionate look, to let him know she, at least, remembered that the Bertram family’s fortunes miscarried two years ago.
But Edmund said only, “Yes, my father and mother moved to Norfolk to live with my widowed sister Maria.”
“Ah yes of course, and how is dear Sir Thomas and—I do not recall ever having the pleasure of meeting your mother—but I trust she is well? And content, residing so far from her native home? I believe she was not inclined to travel so far as London before.”
“They are both tolerably well, I thank you ma’am, and tolerably content, especially since Maria gave them a grandson.”
“Yes-yes,” interjected his lordship. “And your estate stands empty, does it?”
“Yes, sir. Mansfield Park is nothing like the size of Castle Ashby, of course, but I fancy your Lordship is not looking for anything so grand by way of a hunting-lodge.”
“Are the roads at Mansfield any better than those hereabouts, Bertram?”
“Somewhat superior, sir, for the coaching inn is there. The neighbourhood is a pleasant one. The vicar is a learned man, he takes all the papers, and his very agreeable wife is half-sister to—to my wife.”
A number of questions swiftly followed—from his Lordship, concerning the land, the deputation, the stables and the kennels, and from her Ladyship, wanting a description of the offices, the drawing-rooms, and the surrounding society, and Edmund’s answers awakened in both husband and wife a strong inclination to examine Mansfield Park with a view to taking it for their country retreat.
The war against Napoleon, the public debt in consequence of that war, and the rumoured insanity of the King formed the balance of the dinner conversation until Lady Delingpole retired, leaving the gentlemen to themselves.
Baddeley was also given leave to depart, and that worthy man bore away the platters with a silent dignity which gave no hint of the ideas now teeming in his imagination—Mansfield Park alive and alight once again, quietly humming from garret to cellar with servants, the housemaids chasing away every speck of dust, the blindingly white table linens fluttering in the sun where the laundry maids toiled, the gardeners pouncing upon every weed, the kitchen filled with steam and good smells, and himself presiding over it all, serving an Earl and his lady.
* * * * * *
Same Day
Stoke Newington to Camden Town
Fanny Price could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she had been given the best seat in the carriage, facing forward, in the direction of travel. When she lived at Mansfield Park, she always sat with her back to the horses because her cousins took precedence, or, as her Aunt Norris would say, she was “the lowest and the last.”
Her cousin Edmund once said of her, that she was of all human creatures the one upon whom habit had most power and novelty least. She wondered if only being able to see what she had left behind—not what she was moving toward—had left its mark on her character.
She was feeling extremely anxious about her future on this particular day, but then, hadn’t that been true of all the important journeys of her life?
The first time she rode in a carriage was the day she left her family to go live with her wealthy cousins. Her father had picked her up like a rag doll and stuffed her into the crowded mail coach, calling: “well, goodbye then, Fan my girl, and be a good girl and obey your aunt and uncle, for if they send you back to us I shall give you a proper hiding! Do not move and do not make a sound—not a sound, mind you—and don’t get out ‘til you reach Northampton.” Years later, she learned that her uncle, Sir Thomas, had supplied sufficient funds for a companion to escort her, but her father had pocketed the difference and sent her on the journey by herself.
She had watched silently while Portsmouth and everything she knew disappeared from view. Her father’s warnings kept her frozen in her seat, but the trip was lengthy and her bladder was nearly bursting well before they reached Newbury. A kindly merchant’s wife, also making the journey, observed her distress, guessed its cause and came to her aid at the next stop of the coach.
The parents who sent her away, and the aunt who met her at the end of her journey, admonished Fanny to be always good, and always grateful. If she failed to show sufficient goodness and gratitude, she would be a very wicked girl indeed, and would be packed back home to Portsmouth in disgrace. These warnings, working on a sensitive, docile temperament, left so indelible an impression upon Fanny’s character, that she was still, at the age of one-and-twenty, afraid of disobliging anyone and anxious of giving offence.
And today she and Mrs. Butters’ lady’s maid were both in their usual places, travelling backwards as the carriage jolted and bumped along the muddy lane for the four mile journey from Stoke Newington to Camden Town. Another phase of her life was ending and she could not see, could not fully imagine, what awaited. For, after months of discussion, preparation and delay, the long-awaited sewing academy, the project so dear to Mrs. Butters’ heart, would finally open.
“Oh! Fanny! Did we remember to bring the application papers?”
“Indeed, ma’am, they are here in my portmanteau. And quills and ink bottles.”
“And the instructions for the parents? Not that half of them will be able to re
ad it.”
“Yes ma’am. We collected everything from the printer’s yesterday.”
Mrs. Butters leaned back and sighed. “Of course you did, my dear. How silly of me. It must come of spending so much time with Laetitia—she is such a worrier.”
Fanny smiled in response, but out of politeness, she refrained from heartily agreeing with the assessment of Laetitia Blodgett, Mrs. Butters’ sister-in-law. Laetitia Blodgett was of an age with Mrs. Butters, and both were outspoken, active, managing sorts of women, but there, Fanny reflected, the similarity ended. Mrs. Blodgett was indeed a worrier, who never put off until tomorrow what she could fret about today.
Before her marriage forty years ago, Mrs. Butters had been Miss Harriet Blodgett, of the prosperous and well-known family of linen-drapers in Bristol. The Blodgetts foresaw that outlawing the trade in African slaves would mean the wives of ship captains and the wives of merchants would curtail their spending on silk, satin, muslin and lace. And they were correct: the end of the slave trade idled the factories and the dockyards, and shopkeepers of Bristol waited in vain for customers.
The Blodgetts resolved to expand their business into London while at the same time establishing a school for instructing impoverished girls of good character in the needle trade. This was to be both a charitable and a merchant enterprise, the profits from the latter providing the funds for the former. The school was under the supervision of a committee of lady patrons, all members of that reputable organization, the Society for Bettering the Condition and Increasing the Comforts of the Poor. Mrs. Butters attended many lengthy meetings of the ladies’ committee, and Fanny acted as their secretary, taking excellent notes in her neat handwriting, while the charitable ladies debated and discussed every detail of the enterprise. They examined and rejected possible locations, eventually selecting a spacious brick warehouse in Camden Town, but it was found to need many more alterations and fittings-up than first anticipated, and all in all, it was such a complex and drawn-out business, requiring so much in the way of talkings-over, second and third thoughts, and polite disagreement and irritated feelings, that Fanny could only wonder how other, truly ambitious operations were ever successfully conducted. How did ordinary mortals put aside their petty vanities and uneven tempers to construct canals, or build cathedrals or invade countries?
