Miss Price’s Decision
A Mansfield Park, Northanger Abbey and Pride and Prejudice Variation
Eliza Shearer
Copyright © 2019 by Eliza Shearer
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For the William Price in my life
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter 1
There can be no greater pleasure than deciding for oneself, but such command over one’s life is only enjoyed by a few. My brothers chose their fate: William, by going to sea at His Majesty’s service; John, by becoming a clerk in a public office; and unfortunate Richard, by enrolling as a midshipman on board an Indiaman. However, as a young woman, I was expected to let others decide for me. The sole exception was the power of rejection upon receiving a marriage proposal. Fanny had used it once; she never spoke of it, but the sheer number of servants in a house as grand as Mansfield Park ensured there were plenty of opportunities to overhear conversations on the most sensitive of topics. Alas, I did not have a reason to think I might have to do the same as my sister. The life I led provided me with little opportunity to mingle with others, let alone potential suitors.
I sighed and looked through the large windows. Spring had well and truly arrived and I was itching to go outside, but my duty was to stay with Lady Bertram. It was only eleven, but my aunt was gently snoring again, her thickest shawl draped around her shoulders. Putting aside the book I had been trying to read all morning, I got up from my seat. I needed to stretch my legs, even if it was to pace up and down the drawing room. Like the rest of the house, it was elegantly furnished, with a thick woven Persian carpet that muffled the sounds of my satin slippers and lustrous mahogany pieces that smelt of beeswax and wealth.
I approached a glass-fronted cabinet on the far side of the room, which displayed Sir Thomas’ extensive collection of snuff boxes and chess sets. I didn’t much care for the former, too heavily ornate for my taste, but I was intrigued by the latter. My uncle owned chess sets made out of ivory, ebony and other precious woods, but my favourite piece was a travel set, well-used and less fine than its sisters. Closed, it looked like a simple wooden box with a lid covered by small, even holes. Open, it transformed into a chess set designed to withstand the mightiest of typhoons thanks to the ingenuity of the maker, who had given the pieces long and thin feet that held them in place. It was the sort of thing sailors would use to play at sea, during their moments of recreation. Perhaps William owned one. Or Jamie.
I blushed. Not a day had gone by since my arrival at Mansfield Park five years before, first as a guest of the Bertram family and later as companion to Lady Bertram, that I did not think of him.
There was a sharp knock on the drawing room door that startled me as if I had been a Portsmouth urchin caught stealing sweets from Mr Dunn’s shop on Middle Street. Murphy’s round face appeared on the door frame.
“A visitor, miss,” announced the burly girl. “Mr Munro for Lady Bertram.”
Who else, I wanted to scream. With the notable exception of Sir Thomas’ trip to Antigua, which had taken place before my arrival, the Bertrams had always kept themselves to themselves. If anything, the dismal developments that followed soon after Sir Thomas’ return from the West Indies had magnified his retiring disposition, and only a handful of visitors were welcome at the Park these days. Mr Munro, the local apothecary, was one of them.
“Let him in.”
I went towards the sofa and gently patted my aunt on the arm. She did not respond. I nudged her again, to no avail. My eyes fell on the rosemary oil bottle that sat on the window ledge. I poured some in a handkerchief and placed the cloth under my aunt’s nose. The potent smell made her sneeze, and she slowly opened her eyes.
“What is it?”
“Mr Munro, Aunt. He has arrived.”
My aunt stared at me with vacant eyes. I thought she had not heard me and was going to repeat my words when she nodded. Her little pet dog, a fawn pug with a dark nose, curly tail and round tummy, was sleeping in the folds of her skirt and stirred in its sleep.
There was another knock on the door, and Mr Munro bounced in, his disposition as cheerful as usual.
“Good morning, Lady Bertram. I hope I am not intruding,” said he, in his booming voice. “May I ask you if the ointment that I brought you last time has helped soften your complexion?”
I could tell that my aunt was still fighting slumber, so I felt compelled to speak.
“I am afraid that Lady Bertram’s dry skin is showing no signs of improvement. She is also fatigued in the extreme, and her hands are perennially cold.”
Lady Bertram gave a faint nod.
“I see,” said Mr Munro, taking my aunt’s wrist to check her pulse.
Silence followed. The apothecary’s brow creased, and his eyes narrowed. He went towards the chair where he had placed his bag upon arrival and extracted a wooden spatula.
“Miss Price, can you please assist Lady Bertram so that I may examine her? I need her to sit upright and remain as still as possible.”
I nodded. Holding my aunt’s arms, I gently helped her adjust her posture, giving her what I hoped would look like a reassuring smile.
Mr Munro proceeded to apply the instrument underneath my aunt’s eyes. He was close enough for me to smell his tobacco breath and the faint scent of beard oil. The apothecary made Lady Bertram look to the right, then to the left, then placed the palm of his hand on my aunt’s neck. Mr Munro’s features darkened but his voice remained as jolly as usual when he spoke next.
“May I enquire if Sir Thomas is in the house?”
My aunt appeared unaware of the question, her soft eyes not quite following the apothecary.
“He is,” I replied. “I believe my uncle is in his study.”
“In that case, I would be keen to speak to him this instant.”
I nodded, feeling an invisible grip tighten around my throat, and rang the bell. As we waited, I glanced in my aunt’s direction. Lady Bertram was stroking the old pug’s velvety fur as if she had not a care in the world. The footman appeared, and Mr Munro left the room shortly afterwards. The apothecary was smiling as he did, but his good humour did not appease my concerns.
Lady Bertram was silent for a few minutes.
“I do hope that Mr Munro tells Sir Thomas that I am much improved, although I really cannot say that I am.”
“Sir Thomas has great faith in Mr Munro’s knowledge and experience.”
“Yes, yes, you are right. Sir Thomas trusts him very much.”
Lady Bertram closed her eyes again and I clasped my hands tightly, bracing myself for bad news.
About half an hour later, Murphy came into the drawing room announcing that Sir Thomas was calling for me. Lady Bertram had fallen asleep again, so after checking that her shawl was firmly in its place, I went to meet him with an empty feeling at the pit of my stomach. I could only think of Mr Munro’s look of uneasiness and how my uncle’s summons must surely be connec
ted to it. When I opened the door to the study, Sir Thomas was waiting for me.
“Susan, please come in and take a seat,” he said, rising from behind the magnificent rosewood desk. ”I must speak to you about Lady Bertram.”
My uncle’s voice was stern. I could barely contain my anguish.
“Is it serious, sir? Is Lady Bertram going to recover?” I blurted out.
“I am not going to lie to you, Susan. Mr Munro is seriously concerned about your aunt. He says that he has recorded a steady deterioration of her health over the last few months.”
In my Portsmouth days, I would have heartily assented, but after five years at Mansfield Park, I knew better. I bit my lip and waited for my uncle to continue.
“I must confess that I do not find Lady Bertram much altered. Mr Munro speaks of general debility, lapsed memory and a transformed complexion, but I cannot say that I have noticed. Therefore, I would like to hear your frank opinion. Tell me, Susan, have you observed a difference in her ladyship?”
I took a deep breath, carefully considering my answer.
“As you know, sir, my aunt has a placid disposition that is not conducive to strenuous activity. However, I have perceived a few small changes in the last few months, perhaps not wholly unconnected with the matter at hand.”
Hesitatingly, I looked up at Sir Thomas, who gave me an encouraging nod.
“Lady Bertram is perennially fatigued, more so than she used to be. I can tell she has difficulty in even leaving her sofa. She is always cold, and although the weather has turned and there is always a fire in her rooms, no amount of shawls and furs seem enough to be enough to keep her warm. Even when she has been awake for some time, she often says that her thoughts are somewhat foggy. There is also the matter of her complexion. I know from my sister that Lady Bertram’s complexion has always been much admired, but her skin is now flakey and dry, and Mr Munro’s oils and concoctions do little to soothe it.”
My uncle’s eyes were glazing over.
“And you surely must have noticed the growth on her neck,” I mumbled.
Sir Thomas gave me an admonishing look. I clenched my fists.
“It is permanently swollen and getting larger every day. There are at least two chokers and three necklaces that Lady Bertram can no longer wear on account of the size of her neck. I fear that her physical changes may be at the heart of her illness.”
Sir Thomas stood up and walked towards the window, deep in reflection. I took the opportunity to observe the magnificent map of the West Indies that hung behind his desk. It was extremely detailed, with intricate pictures of palm trees and parrots, tiny print buzzing over the many capes, bays and islands and an exquisite border of tropical fruits and leaves framing the central motif.
My uncle’s voice brought me back to reality.
“Mr Munro has recommended that Lady Bertram be seen by a famous Harley Street specialist.”
“A London doctor, sir?”
Sir Thomas nodded.
“Given the circumstances, I am inclined to follow his advice and arrange for her to visit this physician in town as soon as possible.”
The thought of Lady Bertram travelling to London without any resistance on her part was preposterous. My aunt was so attached to the comforts of her home that she routinely avoided even the most pressing of social engagements. She seemed to care little for company, other than the one provided by her small Mansfield Park circle; that is, my uncle and myself in the main house and my sister Fanny, her husband Edmund and little William in the neighbouring parsonage, which was a short walk away. Edmund was Sir Thomas’ and Lady Bertram’s second son, and Fanny was my aunt’s companion for years before I replaced her, so they were hardly strangers.
Sir Thomas looked at me with tired eyes. The midday light pouring from the window made him look older and frailer than I had ever seen him. I knew at once that he had already considered all my anticipated objections to the upcoming trip. I sighed and nodded.
“I believe Lady Bertram may be persuaded.”
Sir Thomas appeared relieved at once.
“I agree. I will ask Mr Munro to secure an appointment for Lady Bertram with the London doctor he mentioned.” Sighing, he added, “We will have to break the news to her gently. Perhaps we can broach the issue when Edmund and Fanny are here.”
I did not think that the company would make much of a difference to Lady Bertram’s receptiveness of the idea, but I very much hoped that I was wrong.
I stayed with Lady Bertram all afternoon, and again, she slept most of the time. It really felt as if all spirit had been taken out of her. I discarded my embroidery loop like an old bonnet, too battered to be fixed with ribbons and paper flowers, and chose a large book from my uncle’s library. I was never a great reader, in spite of Fanny and Edmund’s best efforts, but this particular volume contained numerous pictures of the kind of vegetation encountered in the Far East. I became engrossed in the exquisite drawings of magnificent flowers I would never see in shades I could barely imagine. Oh, but to travel far and see such beauty with one’s own eyes!
As was their habit on Tuesdays, Edmund and Fanny joined us for dinner at Mansfield Park. My sister appeared her usual placid self, but from Edmund’s particular solicitousness towards Lady Bertram and the way he was repeatedly arranging his cuffs, I could tell that my cousin had spoken to Sir Thomas about the proposed London trip. I had expected the matter to be discussed during the meal, but nothing was mentioned until Lady Bertram, Fanny and I removed ourselves to the second drawing room. My aunt had just sat down on her beloved sofa when Fanny spoke to her.
“I was thinking, Aunt Bertram, the lavender shade of the gown you are wearing is beautiful.”
“Oh, yes. It is a pretty colour, is it not? It is one of my favourites.”
“Have you had it long?”
“Let me see,” replied Lady Bertram, tilting her head slightly. “Oh, dear. I must have had it made ten years ago at the least. Is it looking a bit tired?”
Fanny nodded faintly in my direction. I suddenly realised what she was trying to do.
“You could have a similar one made in a more modern style, with a fuller sleeve perhaps,” I said, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. “But you must find a fabric of the exact same weight, shine and shade. If only there was more choice available in Northamptonshire. I wonder if it might be worth going to town for.”
Lady Bertram looked horrified.
“London? Good heavens!”
A tense silence followed until Fanny made an observation to Lady Bertram about little William’s latest exploits. The toddler was the apple of his grandmother’s eye, and my aunt gladly followed the change of subject.
The gentlemen joined us soon afterwards. Sir Thomas was looking sombre, but Edmund appeared somewhat more composed than during dinner. He was the first to speak.
“So mother, have you heard from my dear sister of late?”
Lady Bertram was startled for an instant.
“Julia? No, she seldom writes these days. She is very busy.”
“It is a pity that Mr Yates’ responsibilities prevent him and my cousin from visiting Mansfield Park more often,” said Fanny in a thin voice. “You must miss her very much.”
My cousin Julia, in spite of having started her marriage with a rather unseemly elopement, was now the very picture of genteel respectability, married as she was to the son of a peer. I had met Mr and Mrs Yates only once before, and they had appeared to me a very fashion-conscious couple.
“I do, Fanny. I miss her very much”
“Did Mr and Mrs Yates not move to a new home a few months ago?” I asked with caution.
Edmund, who was standing by the coffee things and was watching us with raised eyebrows, finally intervened.
“You are right, Susan. Mr and Mrs Yates now live on Berkeley Square, one of the most desirable areas in town. Is that not so, sir? You know London well, on account of your time in Parliament.”
“I do, yes,” repl
ied Sir Thomas, with a glint in his eye. “It is pleasant in the extreme, and it is within a ten-minute walk from some of the best shops and entertainment on offer in town.”
Lady Bertram’s expression changed somewhat, but nothing else was spoken on the matter, and we quickly made up a card-table. Speculation was one of my aunt’s favourite games, and Edmund proceeded to deal the cards. When it was Lady Bertram’s turn, she remained immobile, staring at her hand. At last she spoke.
“Sir Thomas, I have just had the silliest of ideas. You must talk me out of it. I was thinking that it might be pleasant to visit Julia. A short visit, of course, just to spend some time with her. Do talk me out of it. It is a preposterous thought, is it not?”
Sir Thomas looked at her, his mouth agape, but quickly recovered himself.
“Why do you say so, dearest? We have not seen Julia for a while.”
“But you know how little I relish the thought of travelling, and of company in general.”
Fanny gave me the tiniest of nods.
“What a wonderful idea!” I exclaimed. “You will be able to see my cousin and visit her new lodgings, and do some shopping. You need new gowns; you were saying so earlier.”
Sir Thomas left his cards on the table and squeezed his wife’s hand.
“I do not see any inconvenience in going to town if you so desire. In fact,” added he, “it may be a good occasion to visit a medical specialist that Mr Munro has recommended. Just as a precaution, of course.”
Lady Bertram’s eyes widened, so Fanny quickly took her other hand.
“You must rejoice at the thought of seeing my cousin Julia. I also suspect that Susan will enjoy the sights of the big city very much. She has seen little outside of Portsmouth and Mansfield Park.”
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