Miss Price's Decision

by Eliza Shearer

  It is a wet summer here in Northumberland, and the landscape, although very different from Mansfield Park, is breathtaking, even in the rain. Our neighbour, Mr Charlton, has lent me his mare and I have been on a few rides round the neighbourhood in the company of our only maid. Aunt Norris is not too keen to see me ride on my own, nor to have her only servant out of the house for an hour at a time, but I must, or I shall go mad.

  Mr Charlton is one of the few visitors that Aunt Norris tolerates, on account of his being the sole descendant from a very ancient family. He lives on his own in Alnham Hall, a noble Elizabethan mansion that sits atop a majestic hill and, although run-down, still holds on to remains of its past glory. Mr Charlton is a good sort of man, a widower in his forties with no children, and appears to lead a quiet and very respectable life. He has been very considerate to us since we arrived in the neighbourhood, and he has never asked any painful questions.

  You will be pleased to hear that we are blessed with a bountiful orchard, and that the fruit harvest has been particularly generous this year. Aunt Norris has spent three full days chopping strawberries and raspberries and stirring the large, heavy pots that we borrowed from Mr Charlton, and was not satisfied until she had made enough to feed an army. The resulting preserve is rich and sweet, but not as good as the Mansfield Park one. I do wish I could taste it one more time.

  As well as riding, I pass my time praying, sewing clothes for the local poor and reading. Our library at the cottage is very limited, for Aunt Norris does not believe in reading anything other than sermons, but happily there is a very well-stocked library at Alnham Hall which I am welcome to take advantage of at any time. So you can see, Mamma, that we have few friends, but they are very kind to us.

  I hope you, too, are in good company. Julia tells me that Fanny’s sister is still your companion. I hope she is as good to you as Fanny ever was, and continues to be. I have meditated much on the past, and have concluded that life might have been very different if I had at times behaved more like my little cousin. I also hear that your health was poor for a while, but that you are slowly recovering, and that makes me very happy. I was very concerned, as you looked very ill, and here, allow me to make a confession.

  I was in Bath last March. Aunt Norris’ rheumatism, which has suffered a steady decline in recent times, was troubling her a great deal, and I convinced her that taking the Bath waters would help. The truth is that I longed to see people after so many months of loneliness. We were there for just a couple of weeks, and only dared to go because we were convinced that you were in London visiting Julia, as she herself communicated to me. We stayed in a little apartment in Westgate Buildings, where we spent most of the time. Aunt Norris only allowed me to pop across the road to the baths as they were opening, before the crowds arrived, and always wearing a veil and plain clothes, and as you might imagine, we never wrote our names in the Visitors’ Book. On my last day in Bath I saw you, Mamma. You were standing outside the Pump Room, all alone, and I believe our eyes met. Not running towards you to give you an embrace was the most difficult thing I have done in my life.

  I feel lighter after my confession, for it was an image that has haunted me for weeks. And I am overjoyed to know that you will read my words directly, as it ought to be between mother and daughter. Of the many things I miss in my current situation, your dear, constant presence in my life is the one I most long for. How I wish I had spent more time reading to you, speaking to you, walking with you in the shrubbery! Alas, I must now live with the deal life has thrown at me. However, please remain secure of my love and affection for you and my dear father, whose generous love I squandered so foolishly.

  Your most affectionate daughter,

  Maria

  PS: Mr Charlton’s favourite pointer is due to have a litter of puppies, and perhaps I shall take the runt if it is small, weak and good-natured enough. I desire to have a companion like you had in your faithful pug.

  I handed the letter to my aunt.

  “It is a beautiful letter. I believe you should read it.”

  Lady Bertram, with trembling fingers, began to read it. By the time she finished it she was crying quietly, with her gaze set in the distance.

  “Are you well, dear Aunt? Do you need anything?”

  “It is so sad that my beloved pug should die.”

  As if on cue, puppy lifted his silky little head from its paws and licked Lady Bertram’s hand.

  “Think of the lovely life he had,” I managed to say.

  “Yes, I suppose you are right,” replied Lady Bertram, but her spirits appeared to be sinking once more, like a frigate that has just been hit by the enemy.

  “I have an idea! Let me draw you a portrait of pug.”

  “Yes, yes,” said she, growing animated, and she started to talk about where the drawing should go, and the kind of frame she wanted around it. My aunt soon seemed to forget Maria’s poignant letter, and I preferred it that way. As Lady Bertram was regaining her health and strength, I did not wish to overexcite her nerves. Maria’s missive was never seen again, nor spoken about. I suspected it must be kept in one of Lady Bertram’s many trinket boxes, but I never dared to ask.

  A few days later, more news from London reached Camden Place. First came a long, bitter letter from Julia. Mr Yates’ fall had confined him to his home, but the severity of his injuries had not been enough to prevent him from spending most of his time in the drawing room, speaking to a great deal many visitors who came and went all of the time, drinking, eating, smoking and ruining the splendid Turkish rug that covered the floorboards. According to Julia, every day was a social occasion at Berkeley Square, and the house had become a gentlemen’s club of sorts, with cravat-clad fellows talking politics and important deals being agreed in-between games of cribbage. Julia could not be more bored, but most of her lady friends, like the best London society, were out of town during the summer, and the weather was too hot to spend much time outside. As a result, my cousin was restricted to the confines of her parlour, where she had already read three novels, completed over half of a very pretty piece of needlework intended for a pole screen and even tried to play the pianoforte, in spite of the many years it had been since she last performed in public.

  Would Lady Bertram not consider coming to London for a few weeks? She surely had to visit her French doctor again. After all, she had last seen him in the spring, and regardless of how good Doctor Miller was, Monsieur Levain probably had to have a say about the matter. Julia had taken the liberty to make some enquiries, and discovered that Monsieur was in town, for he always took time off in September to go to his native Rennes, but not before.

  Sir Thomas, who was sitting in his favourite armchair reading the newspaper, lowered the pages he was holding and looked at his wife with interest.

  “Julia is right,” he said. “We should arrange to see Monsieur Levain again. Now is as good a time as any. I dare say that he will declare you to be in much better health, but it should be him, not I, who makes such an assertion.”

  “London will be very hot. Julia says it is unbearable.”

  “Bath isn’t much better in this weather,” said I.

  “Susan is right. We would be much more comfortable back in Mansfield Park,” sighed Lady Bertram.

  “In that case, I believe that the best course of action is to pack our belongings, make a brief visit to London and return home. We have been away too long.”

  “Oh yes, Sir Thomas! What a wonderful idea. We will see Julia in London, and then Tom in Mansfield Park. Susan, please write to Berkeley Square to tell my daughter we gladly accept her invitation.”

  There was a second letter from London. I recognised the handwriting at once: it was from Harriet. I weighed it; it was not as heavy as usual. It must carry important news, for Harriet liked her letters long and detailed. Something pulled deep inside of me. In her last missive, she said she had encountered Jamie on a number of occasions, and had declared herself to be quite in love with him. I prepared
myself for the worst.

  Dearest Susan,

  I must write to you or I shall surely die: I am sure that Mr Gartner will ask me to marry him very soon! I have seen him on several occasions since I arrived, for London is little more than a ghost town this time of year, and the few of us still in the city keep running into each other. I am mostly keeping my sister-in-law company, of course, but I have managed some outings with some friends of my brother James.

  On the last one, on Tuesday night, I saw Mr Gartner at a ball in the company of his benefactress, Mrs Robinson. She is old, around thirty or thereabouts, and tolerably handsome, and he danced first with her, but then with me, twice! I also danced with Mr Gill, whom you may remember as a lawyer who works with my brother James. Mr Gill was not as bad a dancer as I feared, however, and when he asked me again I could not say no.

  Of course, poor Mr Gill pales in comparison to his rival for my affections. Mr Gartner is quite the handsomest man I have ever met. He is well bred, too, for he asks after you on every occasion. I told him you are still in Bath, and did not know whether you were planning to return to London anytime soon. He declared that that he hopes to see you before leaving for the East Indies in October, just as he must with regards to all of his acquaintances. After all, it is a very long journey, and he may well not return for a good number of years.

  Anyway, I very much hope Mr Gartner comes forward with his proposal sooner rather than later, for if we marry before his due departure, and I do not see why that would not be the case, I will have much to prepare beforehand. The East Indies is an awfully faraway place, and I am told that one must purchase plenty of calico, muslin, cambric, thread, buttons and ribbons in prevision of the local wares being rather basic.

  I see that the footman is about to post one of Mr Allen’s business letters just now, so I shall finish here. I hope to have venturous news to share with you very soon!

  Yours sincerely etc,

  H.M.

  PS: You will never guess whom I saw crossing the street in Cheapside yesterday: Mr Darcy, Mr Bingley’s friend! I always thought that men of consequence retired to their country homes in the summer months. Perhaps he is not as fashionable as I thought him. Anyway, he was looking very preoccupied yet at the same time determined, as if he had been tasked with a capitally important task. If I did not know of Mr Darcy’s natural severity, I would think his visit to East London highly suspicious.

  The vague sense of excitement I had felt after Julia’s letter evaporated. The contents of my friend’s missive, with her professions of love for Jamie, were a far from pleasant read. I chose to think instead of her curious sighting of Mr Darcy in London. I thought him in Pemberley, with Mr Bingley, Miss Bingley and Miss Darcy. It was very strange that he should be in town in August.

  Chapter 16

  Once our removal was settled, the whole staff set in motion the wheels to vacate the house. As the visit to London was expected to be brief, the bulk of our belongings were sent directly to Mansfield Park, while the smaller trunks would follow us to town. I walked from room to room, removing the objects with which my aunt had decorated the house to make it to her liking, and replacing them with the many busts of Roman emperors, military paraphernalia and war prints which appealed so much to the taste of the owner.

  In the drawing room, I looked at my framed drawings one last time. I had only received eight lessons from Herr Schäffer, but I could already see their faults where previously I had seen none, and was tempted to rip the paper out of the frames to sharpen their details, such as the different shades and colour gradients. I sighed. Herr Schäffer had been a good master. I just hoped I had learnt enough with him to continue to improve.

  On our last morning in Bath, a long letter from Mrs Allen was delivered to the Camden Place house to the attention of Lady Bertram. It was a rather unusual development, for the two ladies had only exchanged brief missives before, but the reasons behind it turned out to be equally exceptional. I read it out loud for my aunt, who gasped a few times when the situation so required.

  My dear Lady Bertram,

  I have the most wonderful news for you. Miss Morland is engaged! She is ever so delighted with her beau, and Mr Allen and I could not be more satisfied with her choice. Like her older sisters, she has found herself a young man with excellent prospects, very good looks and a host of desirable connections, and I dare say I had no little role to play in their enamoredness. They are to be married as soon as it is practicable, so Miss Morland is on her way to Fullerton, where her mother will help her put her trousseau together.

  I looked away for an instant to steady my heartbeat.

  “So Miss Morland is to marry that old friend of yours, Susan. What was his name again?”

  “Mr Gartner,” I whispered. I felt as if I was not really in the room with my aunt but very far away, where Harriet’s happiness could not hurt me.

  “Yes, that was the name. Was he not to remove himself to the East Indies after the summer?”

  “I believe so, Aunt.”

  “I dare say Miss Morland is very fortunate. Mr Gartner appeared very agreeable and gentlemanlike, and in those countries, even if he is waged, he will have an income enough to keep a large house with at least a dozen servants. I am told the locals make exceptional cooks, although I cannot say I would enjoy the sorts of food they have over there. But go on.”

  I nodded and, with trembling hands, continued to read Mrs Allen’s letter.

  In her haste, Miss Morland has been unable to communicate the news of her engagement to your niece, so she has kindly asked me to inform you of this very exciting development, so that you may tell her. The girl is well and truly over the moon, and, having seen the gentleman only last night, I can confirm that Mr Gill and my Harriet make a lovely couple.

  I gasped with relief and something resembling joy, while my lungs felt as if they might explode. Lady Bertram looked utterly confused.

  “Mr Gill? Who is Mr Gill? I thought he was to marry Mr Gartner.”

  “Mr Gill is a London lawyer,” I explained, trying to regain my composure. “He works with Miss Morland’s brother.”

  “Oh. How disappointing. I do not think a lawyer’s wife will have more than a cook, a man and a maid at most.”

  I continued to read the letter out loud to my aunt, struggling to contain my delight at the news. Harriet was not marrying Jamie, after all. She had declared herself to be much in love with him, but had chosen another. It took a few moments of reflection to realise that her behaviour was what it had always been. It was in Harriet’s nature to quickly relinquish her affections when they were not reciprocated, and to transfer them equally swiftly when one least expected it.

  The rest of Mrs Allen’s missive contained several tidbits of information that I found very interesting.

  Could you also please tell Miss Price that only yesterday I came across her old acquaintance, Mr Gartner. I always thought that he might propose to Miss Morland, so I pointedly mentioned her engagement to him. To my surprise, he appeared thrilled with the news, and he very warmly asked me to transmit his most enthusiastic congratulations to the happy couple. Upon hearing that I was to write to you, he also asked for a short message to be conveyed to Miss Price, and a strange one at that, so you may read it out loud to her as he told it to me: that he still intends to purchase that Chinese cabinet. Do you not think his words rather odd?

  I smiled. I knew exactly what Jamie meant with those words. A lacquered Chinese cabinet, like Mrs Maxwell’s, was precisely what he had promised me on that cold January afternoon in the shadow of the thick walls of Square Tower. He had also vowed to marry me one day. I blushed, as the memories of that day and the flame of hope and longing for Jamie I had been carrying for so long were revived once more inside my heart.

  Another two letters from Mansfield Park arrived that morning. I recognised Edmund’s handwriting on the first one, which was speedily dispatched to my uncle’s study. The second one was from Julia and contained little news, oth
er than expressing her eagerness at Lady Bertram’s visit and annoyance at Mr Yates’ constant complaints. The high temperatures had succeeded in disbanding the gentlemen’s club at Berkeley Square, for most of its impromptu members had retreated to the seaside or their country estates, so Mr Yates was now forced to be in the company of his wife. Moreover, his leg felt very itchy, a fact that he felt compelled to inform his wife about on a half-hourly basis. There was a paragraph at the end of Julia’s letter that particularly caught my eye.

  I am so looking forward to having some female company! I am very fortunate to have you visit in just a few days, and of course only yesterday I saw Miss Bingley, who is back in town due to some rather unusual circumstances. As you may recall, she was to spend a few weeks at Mr Darcy’s family home in Derbyshire, and I was to go with her until Mr Yates had his ill-timed accident. In any case, something rather extraordinary happened in Pemberley. Within a day or two of their arrival, Mr Darcy left very abruptly with no explanation. With the host absent, and no news as to when he can be expected back, Mr and Miss Bingley have decided to return to London.

  I quizzed Caroline about Mr Darcy’s odd behaviour, for what gentleman abandons his guests without exposing his reasons? He is such a strange man! Caroline initially pretended she could not fathom what had happened, but after some probing, she confessed that she believes that the matter is somehow connected to the presence in Derbyshire of a common acquaintance of theirs.