by Jayne Bamber
Mary Crawford shifted uncomfortably, attempting to look gracious. “A family misunderstanding, I am afraid. Please do not trouble yourself about it. It has been so long since I have visited you here, dear Caroline, perhaps we might take a turn about the garden together?”
“But of course,” Caroline replied. As they moved past Miss Bennet and Mrs. Fitzwilliam, who had been whispering together at some remove, Caroline addressed Miss Bennet, “Do remember what I said before, my dear. Miss Lydia’s music lessons are on Thursdays and Fridays at four in the afternoon, and you are welcome to join us, to play and sing, whenever you like, and we shall certainly keep you for dinner afterwards. Do consider it.”
Miss Bennet gave a bashful nod as Caroline moved away with her schoolmate and longtime friend. Hoping for some explanation for Mrs. Yates and Mrs. Crawford’s incivility, she led Mary down a more secluded path at the back of the garden. “I should never demand it of you, but if it relieves you to confide in me, I shall be happy to listen,” Caroline prompted her friend. “Perhaps I might be able to help smooth things over between you and Mrs. Yates and Mrs. Crawford, though they are rather new acquaintances for me.”
Mary smiled. “Perhaps you could. I have been seeking some opportunity to speak with them these nine or ten months, ever since the fire.”
“The fire?”
Mary sighed. “It is rather a long story.”
And a juicy one, I daresay – just what I like. Aloud, Caroline said, “You are one of my oldest friends, Mary. I believe my sister is perfectly capable of assuming any hostessing duties for the time being. I should be most happy to listen to you. Truly, you look quite desperate to unburden yourself.”
“Indeed I am. I have wanted to tell you, since I came back to London, but it is rather embarrassing. It all started above a year ago, when my brother Henry and I were in Northamptonshire. As you may recall, we traveled into the country to visit our half-sister, Mrs. Grant. We met a neighboring family, whom I am sure I must have mentioned in my letters, the Bertrams.”
“Yes, I know of them,” Caroline replied, thinking of what she had heard about the scandalous Mrs. Maria Bertram.
“Well, they were all very civil and welcoming to us. There are two sons and two daughters in the family, and Mrs. Crawford was at the time Miss Price, the impoverished cousin who resided with them. We spent a great many months in one another’s company, and I began to grow rather attached to the younger son of the house, Edmund. Pray forgive me; I must be repeating what I have already written to you of, a year ago. Anyhow, Henry developed an infatuation with Miss Price, and though she was reluctant at first, she eventually agreed to marry him. We were rather friendly, once, and I was delighted to welcome her as a sister, particularly as I hoped that one union between our families might lead to another.”
“Of course,” Caroline replied. With that line of thinking, she was well acquainted indeed.
Mary took a seat on a little bench at the back of the garden, looking around to be sure they would not be overheard. “The trouble began the night before Henry was to wed Fanny. The gentlemen all decided to throw Henry something of a stag party at the old hunting lodge at the back of the estate, and so Fanny’s Aunt Bertram decided we ladies might have a similar entertainment at the manor. Fanny’s cousin, Maria – surely you have heard about the unfortunate Mrs. Rushworth….”
“Oh, yes,” Caroline smirked.
“Well, Mrs. Rushworth was present at the house, as her husband was to be one of the stag party. She had something of a tendre for my brother, though unrequited, and in truth it was quite her own doing, for she was not yet wed when she met Henry, and went through with her betrothal despite her other feelings. She was never well disposed to Fanny, and did not like the idea of her marrying Henry. After we had all retired upstairs for the evening, I happened upon her passing a note for a servant to deliver to the hunting lodge, and I grew rather suspicious. I did not think her the type to think of her husband at all, when she could possibly avoid it, and concluded that her note could only be for Henry, and therefore must portend the worst sort of mischief. I attempted to intercept the note, but the maid would not give it over to me. I had only one other option, and making a rather educated guess, I watched from my bedroom window; sure enough not half an hour later Mrs. Rushworth was scampering out into the night, in the direction of the stables. By the time I got down there, Mrs. Rushworth was gone. The stable boy told me she had headed south on horseback. The hunting lodge is to the north of the property. What was in the southerly direction, I asked myself, and at once I knew her plan.”
Caroline leaned in, fascinated by Mary’s tale of intrigue. “Of course, you are so very clever! But what was the plan?”
“Her brother had the living of Thornton Lacey, a parish about eight miles distant, though of course as he was attending Henry’s stag party, his parsonage would be empty that evening. The perfect place for an assignation.”
“Just what she would do, from what I hear of her.”
Mary sighed. “Yes, I suppose it was only a matter of time before she strayed from Mr. Rushworth. He is rather dull, but no one forced her to marry him! At any rate, I knew she was not over Henry, and must wish to seize this last chance to have him, and to make Fanny as wretched as herself. I resolved that I could not allow that to happen, so I saddled up my horse and galloped into the night after her.”
“But how dangerous! You might have been set upon by bandits, or worse!”
“Worse indeed, I am afraid. Would that I had minded my own business, and trusted that Henry would never betray his dear Fanny by attending the assignation in the first place, but I was afraid he was still weak enough to be swayed by Maria Rushworth, as she had been his first preference, before he came to know Fanny better. And so it was my own doubt of my brother’s character that led me to such folly. I discovered Maria at the parsonage, preparing to receive my brother, fully confident that he would sneak away from his own stag party and attend her there. She had absconded from the manor with several bottles of wine, and donned a rather revealing ensemble. She was in the process of lighting candles in the guestroom of the parsonage, preparing for a bit of romance, when I entered the house. I attempted to reason with her, and dissuade her from this folly, but she would not hear reason, and in my attempt to forcibly remove her from the parsonage, we got into a bit of a physical altercation. She struck me first, but I fought back, Caroline. Fool that I was, I fought her with every inch of strength I possessed, and in the midst of our scuffle, one of the candles was overturned, and the drapes caught fire instantly. Maria thought only of herself, and fled the house to return to the manor before her absence was noticed, leaving me to attempt to put out the fire. I did try, but my efforts were in vain, and before long the fire spread and the smoke became unbearable. I barely made it out of the house, coughing and wheezing from the fumes. I collapsed just outside the front garden, and called out to Maria as she mounted her horse. She came back, and for an instant I thought she would help me, but instead she merely kicked me down a slope, toward a small ravine beside the parsonage, and abandoned me there.”
“Good Lord!” Caroline exclaimed. “How could anybody do such a thing?”
“It was not until the next day that I truly felt the pain of her betrayal. That night, all I could think of was that I was going to die in that ravine, that they would be so distracted by the fire at Edmund’s parsonage that they may not find me in time. Fortunately they did find me in time, although the discovery did not bode well for me. The parsonage was a smoldering ruin when Edmund returned the next morning, and the remains of my poor horse were found, leading them to search the area for me, for the Bertrams had noticed I was missing at breakfast. Tom Bertram found me and carried me out of the ravine. They brought me back to my sister’s house, the parsonage nearest Mansfield Park, and my sister attended to my recovery. My ribs were bruised from where Maria had kicked me, my lungs were badly weakened from breathing in so much smoke, and my arm was broken from t
he tumble into the ravine. They feared that the dampness of the ravine might even give me pleurisy. I could not speak, could barely remain conscious, and yet my thoughts were only for Edmund and Henry. The wedding had been postponed due to everyone searching for me, and my discovery at the scene of the fire made everyone assume that I was responsible for it.”
“Surely not! How could they think that you would do such a thing to the man you loved?”
“That would have been the argument I had made, had I been able to speak for myself. But even then, circumstances conspired against me. Edmund and I had quarreled just a few days before the fire, you see. You may recall I had difficulty at the time reconciling myself to the idea of marrying a clergyman. I was in and out of consciousness and very ill for the next week. By the time I was sensible again, it was too late. Edmund presumed I had burnt down the parsonage in an attempt to dissuade him from his chosen profession, and Mrs. Rushworth eagerly told a tale of seeing me riding my horse away that night, in an effort to preserve her own innocence, and of course the stable hand seemed to recall only my presence in the stables that night, and not Maria’s. Everyone assumed the worst of me, and even Henry and Fanny would not see me after that. Only my sister Mrs. Grant believed me, for only she had seen the bruising from where Maria had kicked me, and known there was more to the story, but with her husband being under the patronage of the Bertram family, she did not dare contradict what they chose to believe, nor would I have put her in such position. I stayed but a fortnight to recover with my sister before I was obliged to make my own way. I have been staying these nine months with our good friend Mrs. Fraser, though I believe my presence in her household is beginning to annoy her husband.”
“Oh, Mary, my poor friend,” Caroline sighed. Her heart was touched by Mary’s woeful tale, and she felt all the indignation of one whose intimate friend has been very ill used by strangers. “I suppose it is of little consolation that Mrs. Rushworth is ruined now, anyhow. But surely her fall from respectability must discredit her testimony against you?”
“If it was the only mark against me, perhaps, but the strength of Edmund’s conviction that I meant to sabotage his career is well-founded, for I had many times attempted to dissuade him from taking orders. How bitterly I regret my actions now, for in all these months since I have seen him I believe I love him still, and would gladly marry him, parson or no. What a dreadful way to learn such a lesson!” Mary drew a handkerchief out of her reticule and dabbed at her teary eyes.
Caroline gave another sigh, wishing desperately she might be of some assistance to her friend, when it struck her that it might actually be quite possible. “I beg your pardon, Mary, but do you happen to know what became of Edmund Bertram, after his parsonage was burnt? Is it possible he may have taken a living elsewhere?”
“I suppose. It would have been many months before the parsonage at Thornton Lacey could have been rebuilt, though he might have chosen to live with his family, as they reside so near his own parish. In truth, I do not know, as I have had no communication with anyone in his family, nor my brother and sister-in-law, since I came to London in May.”
“It is the strangest thing, but I believe I may have some useful information. Night before last, I dined with my husband’s extended family, amongst them my new mother-in-law, Lady Catherine, who was lamenting the resignation of her parson in Kent. I believe she called the gentleman Mr. Bertram, and was quite put out with him for giving his notice in order to return to his home in the north of England. I wonder if it is the same Mr. Bertram.”
Mary’s eyes lit with a desperate hope. “It could very well be. Oh, Caroline, if it is him, I must see him. I must have a chance to tell him the truth, for it is what I have longed for all these months in London. How I had hoped for a glimpse of him, or some news of him at all. I have always been watching the society pages for fear that I would hear of his engagement to some other lady.”
Caroline considered. “Mrs. Yates mentioned earlier that her elder brother has fallen ill again, and I recall you writing that he had taken sick last year when you were visiting there. That must account for why Mr. Bertram is to return home.”
“Oh, no,” Mary said. “It was very wicked of me, when Mr. Bertram fell ill last year, but I began to think that perhaps it would be a good thing if he passed the estate to his younger brother, and Edmund was very angry at me for thinking such a wicked thing. I regret it very much, for it was Tom who carried me out of the ravine – he saved my life. If he were to die now, certainly Edmund would think that I only wanted him back because of his elevation. Oh, what am I to do? Even if I went to Kent before he left the place, he would never believe my motives were not mercenary.”
“What if it was a chance encounter,” Caroline mused. “Surely if he means to travel to Northamptonshire from Kent, he must visit his sister and cousin here in London on the way. I shall call on Mrs. Crawford, whom I think may be the more sympathetic of the two women, and learn more about the matter. Perhaps I might, as a neutral party, host a dinner, timed with Mr. Bertram’s passing through London, and he might accompany his cousin here for an evening of company before continuing his journey north… and if you were to be another of the guests....”
“Yes, that might work,” Mary said with a wide smile. “You would do that for me, dearest Caroline?”
“That and more, I am sure! It shall be very little trouble on my part, for I have been meaning to host a dinner party for my new relations anyhow, and if it shall bring about a reconciliation between you and your parson, so much the better!”
Mary seized Caroline’s hands and squeezed them tightly. “Caro, you are the dearest friend in the world! I cannot begin to imagine how I shall ever repay you!”
By singing my praises to all who will listen. The reply died on Caroline’s tongue, for she could not bring herself to seek any personal gain from such an endeavor. “Truly, my dear friend,” said she, “sometimes doing good must be reward enough itself.”
***
As Mrs. Sutton seemed to have vanished from her own party, her sister took over the duties of hostessing for a time. A glass harmonica had been set up on one side of the garden, and Mrs. Hurst was giving a performance on the unusual instrument for the amusement of those guests nearby. Georgiana watched Mary hover nearby, apparently quite fascinated, and at length Mrs. Hurst began to speak to her as she played, offering some instruction and advice on its mechanism. Georgiana smiled to herself to see Mary so agreeably engaged in what might yet become another pursuit of self-improvement, but she found the ethereal sound of the glass harmonica not at all to her taste, and so she and Harriet moved away a little bit, settling themselves on a large divan away from where the other ladies had gathered.
Sensing that Harriet was less comfortable among strangers than she had been within the comfort of their family party two evenings earlier, Georgiana, who could well understand the sensation herself, was determined that the two ought to stick together. Georgiana felt a rather protective impulse toward Harriet, whose very notorious emergence in society had been the price for Georgiana’s reputation being salvaged.
She had grown genuinely fond of her new cousin, and delighted to have another young lady of a similar age in the family. Though Harriet was not so clever, nor so well-informed as Elizabeth and Rebecca, she was lively and amusing, with a gentle temper and an endearing sense of wonder at everything around her.
Once Georgiana had fought against her own shy nature to draw Harriet out, the two of them had become fast friends and conversed easily on a great many subjects. Georgiana listened contentedly as Harriet praised Lady Catherine, her new wardrobe, her new home, and all of the experiences she’d had during her first week in London, as well as her many fond remembrances of her former companions in Highbury. She spoke optimistically about the lessons in music, drawing, dancing, and languages that Lady Catherine had arranged for her, though here she tended toward self-deprecation somewhat, and Georgiana was obliged to remind Harriet that she should do
very well indeed at anything she applied herself to.
“It has only been a week, Cousin Harriet; you must be patient. You will adjust in time, and before you know it, you will look back on these earliest weeks in London and laugh at how new everything felt, for soon you shall be very accomplished, and fully capable of accepting your mother’s praise with equanimity,” Georgiana assured her.
“I hope so. That is, I would wish to show my mother how grateful I am for everything.”
“I am sure she is aware of it.”
“She is so very generous,” Harriet said. “Even now, she has abstained from attending my sister Caroline’s lovely party, so that she might meet with Lady Margaret and go over the details for my ball next week. How grand my mother is, for even the Countess requires her assistance! Only think of it, a ball just for me, given by an Earl. How much I shall have to write of to my friends in Highbury!” A frown crossed Harriet’s face for a moment. “Oh, but poor Miss Woodhouse, she is so very sad and all alone, perhaps I would do better not to tell her what great fun I am having here, when she is still in mourning. How unfair, that I, who was perfectly content in Highbury, should be brought here to London and given everything I ever dreamt of, while my dear friend, who has been so unhappy, should be left all alone.”
“Your friend must be very happy for you, no matter what trials and tribulations she is experiencing. Perhaps it would give her cheer to hear of happier things,” Georgiana suggested, touched by Harriet’s compassion for the friends she had left behind.
“Oh yes, you are right. Of course. You are very clever, Cousin Georgiana.”
