That topic finished, Edmund and Fanny excused themselves to go upstairs; the ladies left the dinner table for the drawing-room, and the other gentlemen remained to drink some of Sir Thomas’s finest on this great occasion. Lady Bertram took her place on her sofa and pulled her pug beside her, and spent the time telling her sister and daughters about the most recent litter, and which of her friends had been so fortunate as to receive a pup. “I also gave one to Fanny,” said Lady Bertram, “as a present on her marriage.”
Maria feigned interest in the pug, offering to brush her. Mrs. Norris sniffed, and Julia looked as if she wanted to take a nap on a sofa of her own. Susan, of course, was already informed about the distribution of the litter, and was able to prompt Lady Bertram when her ladyship could not recall exactly which pup she had given to Mrs. Oliver. Then the gentlemen appeared, putting an end to this topic. Mr. Yates sat beside his wife, and Sir Thomas sat in the chair by Lady Bertram and repeated how happy he was with the events of the day.
After a few congratulations from others, Mrs. Norris said, “Sir Thomas, I hope you are not planning a similar alliance for Tom.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Lady Bertram. “Susan, what does she mean?”
Susan, horrified, was unequal to giving an explanation, but everyone else in the room was quicker in understanding than Lady Bertram, and Maria Rushworth spoke. “My aunt Norris hopes that although Edmund has lowered himself to marry Fanny, Tom will not make a similar match with Susan.”
Susan, aghast, stared at the floor, so she could not see the expressions on her relatives’ faces, but she could not turn her ears away and so she heard their reactions.
“Tom and Susan! Impossible,” said Lady Bertram, bewildered and dismissive. “Dear Susan is only seventeen.”
“Mother, I was only explaining my aunt’s meaning,” said Maria.
“Please, Aunt Norris, no matchmaking,” Tom called from across the room.
“I think it is too soon to be planning other matches in the family,” said Sir Thomas.
Mrs. Norris agreed, and said, in a less insulting manner, that all she had done was express her hope that no match was being planned. Sir Thomas urged another change of subject; Julia touched her husband’s arm and Mr. Yates cleared his throat. “Sir Thomas, I do have something to ask you.”
Mr. John Yates had received a letter from his elder brother, the Honorable George Yates, just that morning. Mr. George Yates would be traveling near them, and wished to stop and to visit Mansfield Park for a few days. Mr. John Yates had not mentioned it earlier because he did not wish to disturb anyone before the wedding, but he was obliged to do so now because he realized his brother could arrive as early as the morrow.
The new subject gave Susan the courage to look up and to study the expressions of those in the room. Several seemed troubled by the previous topic. On the faces of Maria and Mrs. Norris, she saw irritation; on the face of her cousin Tom, Susan detected frowning embarrassment. Sir Thomas seemed grave, but he was often grave, while the lovely Lady Bertram appeared as placid as ever. Mr. and Mrs. Yates, naturally, were more interested in the matter they had introduced.
“Surely that will be no trouble, will it, Sir Thomas?” asked Lady Bertram. Very little troubled Lady Bertram; first, because her disposition was so serene, and second, because her family and her friends conspired to keep all difficulties from her.
Sir Thomas glanced around the room. “I do not think so. And an additional guest will distract us from the departure of Edmund and Fanny.”
Susan knew her uncle would prefer to have just his own family near him, and he certainly would have preferred more warning than had been given, but Mr. John Yates’s brother had a claim, even if Sir Thomas had never met the man.
“Is he planning to stay long?” inquired Sir Thomas.
Mr. John Yates assured his father-in-law that his brother would not stay long, that his brother never stayed anywhere long. “Three or four days at most, depending on his horse and on the weather.”
Lady Bertram asked languidly if she had ever met this Mr. George Yates and her family assured her that she had not. Through her aunt’s questions Susan discovered that Mr. George Yates would someday be Lord Dexthorpe, that he was a little more than thirty, and that he was still unmarried.
“He sounds like a fine catch for some young lady,” remarked Lady Bertram.
“I think, Mama, we agreed not to engage in further matchmaking,” said Julia. Susan, the only eligible young lady in the room – for the divorced, disgraced Mrs. Rushworth would not be accepted by most families – wondered if Julia were ashamed of her poor relation.
“You are right, we did,” agreed Lady Bertram. “Besides, weddings are so exhausting.” Then she announced that, regarding the arrival of Mr. George Yates, Susan would take care of the details.
Susan felt the glare of Mrs. Norris, who expressed her doubt in her young niece being equal to such responsibility, and the suspicious gaze of Mrs. Rushworth, who observed that Susan seemed to be kept very busy.
Susan could not read her Cousin Maria’s attitude. Was Maria jealous, because she thought Susan had too much influence at Mansfield Park? Or did Maria look down on Susan, who performed duties that might be better left to the housekeeper? “I try to help,” said Susan quietly. And she then spoke with Mr. John Yates and Julia to determine when Mr. Yates was most likely to arrive, how he was traveling, and what his preferences were, in order to recommend the best room for him and a menu for the following day. Mr. John Yates assured her that his brother, although he liked the best, would certainly be pleased with everything he encountered at Mansfield Park.
“I should think so!” exclaimed Mrs. Norris. “Few places are more perfect than Mansfield Park.”
“It is lovely here,” said Julia, who then excused herself. Her husband escorted her upstairs.
“Mrs. Rushworth, are you at all acquainted with Mr. Yates?” Susan asked Maria.
Maria appeared not to hear, then, when Susan repeated her question, Maria deigned to respond. “Only a little,” she said.
“How could Mrs. Rushworth or I be well acquainted with anyone, banished as we are?” said Mrs. Norris.
Maria added: “Tom knows Mr. Yates better than I do.”
Tom, hearing his name, said that he did know Mr. John Yates’s elder brother, but that they were not close. As Tom Bertram formed friendships easily, his denial of being intimate with anyone was unusual.
“Tom, didn’t you and this Mr. Yates?” – Sir Thomas began, then stopped, in what for him was a rare instance of delicacy.
“Yes, sir, but that was a long time ago.”
“Remember your promise, Tom,” said Sir Thomas.
Even though the subject of Tom’s promise was not mentioned, Susan was certain she understood the meaning. Mr. Bertram had, several years ago, lost a great deal of money gambling; it sounded as if this Mr. Yates had been involved.
Deciding that they had had enough of uncomfortable topics and doubting that the conversation would improve, Susan asked Mrs. Rushworth, whom she knew was musical, if she would be so kind as to play the pianoforte. Maria obliged; during her performance, Susan slipped away to warn Baddeley and the housekeeper about the probable arrival of Mr. George Yates. The servants received the information calmly; with the house so full, one more would make little difference. Mrs. Rushworth was still at the instrument when Susan returned to the drawing-room.
“How nice it is to hear that again,” said Lady Bertram, for Maria had performed one of her mother’s favorite songs.
“Maria is looking forward to performing some duets with Julia. A pity that Julia has already retired!” said Mrs. Norris, as Mrs. Rushworth left the pianoforte.
“Perhaps Susan will play something,” said Lady Bertram.
Susan rose and obligingly went to the instrument; she perceived the astonishment on the faces of
Mrs. Rushworth and Mrs. Norris. “That girl plays the pianoforte?” remarked Mrs. Norris.
Susan, feeling all eyes and ears, some very critical, directed her way, chose a piece that was not too taxing. That finished, after the polite applause, she heard Maria say: “Fanny never even wanted to learn.”
“Susan is not Fanny,” remarked Sir Thomas.
“But they are both dear nieces,” said Lady Bertram.
CHAPTER THREE
Susan was not Fanny. She adored music; she always had; its beauty had provided a respite from her family’s dingy surroundings in Portsmouth. When she was little, a neighbor with an instrument had taught her the rudiments. The Prices had moved, but Susan still occasionally found the opportunity to practice. When she arrived at Mansfield Park with Fanny, the family was completely discomposed, what with the elopement of Julia, the illness of Tom, the adultery of Mrs. Rushworth and the apparent destruction of all romantic hopes for Edmund. Susan had assisted where and how she could, sitting with Lady Bertram when Fanny could not and running errands for everyone – but during those first few weeks, she had had many hours to herself. Susan discovered an instrument in the servants’ quarters and asked if anyone could assist her; one of the servants, a young maid named Ann Jones, obliged, and in these better circumstances Susan made rapid progress. Her secret did not remain secret long; Chapman, Lady Bertram’s maid, reported the information to her ladyship, and her ladyship asked Susan to play. Sir Thomas, discovering his niece had talent and inclination and was willing to make the effort to improve herself, arranged for instruction, and was rewarded for his generosity by having a niece who could entertain them on rainy evenings.
Susan was not Fanny. She had similar features, rather like Lady Bertram’s, but she was taller, stronger, and not nearly as fearful. Still, the following day, even brave Susan was apprehensive at the departure of the sister who had done so much for her. “I will miss you,” she said, as Fanny and Edmund prepared to step into the carriage that would take them to Thornton Lacey.
“And I you. I will miss all of you,” said Fanny, with tears in her eyes as she went to each of her relatives in turn, her embraces somewhat hindered by the basket she carried, a basket containing a son of Lady Bertram’s darling pug.
Susan wished she could take her sister aside to ask Fanny’s advice about the accusation made by Mrs. Norris, of Susan scheming to marry Tom Bertram. Although Susan had been able to affect her normal composure shortly after Mrs. Norris’s angry words, the memory of them had returned to haunt her during the night, depriving her of several hours of sleep. Fanny had been suspected of wishing to marry Edmund – a suspicion that proved true – and so might be able to provide useful counsel, but this was not the moment. They were surrounded by others. Besides, Fanny was busy, her heart full, her head concerned with her new life and new duties, and Susan did not wish to trouble her.
“I will write, Aunt,” Fanny promised, embracing Lady Bertram; the latter was much affected.
They all watched as Mr. and Mrs. Edmund Bertram climbed into the carriage.
“Susan, you must take care of me now,” said Lady Bertram.
“Of course, Aunt,” said Susan, and although the others did not hear the quiet exchange, they all observed how Lady Bertram leaned on her niece’s arm as they ascended the stairs. Tom and Maria then went for a stroll on the grounds; Sir Thomas retired to his study, and Mr. and Mrs. Yates went up to their rooms. Mrs. Norris, jealous of her sister’s reliance on Susan, followed Lady Bertram and Susan to the drawing-room. After Lady Bertram had been helped back to her sofa, had exchanged one shawl for another and had retrieved her pug, Mrs. Norris insinuated herself.
Susan, seeing that her favorite aunt was cared for, and not wanting to spend any time with Mrs. Norris if she could help it, offered to pick some roses. In truth she longed to go back outside, for the weather was fine, and the fresh air revived her when she was fatigued from lack of sleep.
Lady Bertram said that would be lovely, and Mrs. Norris, eager to have her sister to herself, encouraged Susan to depart as well, only hoping that Susan would not do any harm to the precious rosebushes.
Susan quickly fetched her supplies: a bonnet to protect her face, gloves for her hands, and a basket for the flowers. Cutting flowers was a luxury she had never known in Portsmouth, and she rejoiced in the gardens of Mansfield Park. When she had picked a dozen, she decided to linger a few more minutes outside and sat down on a bench in the shade, recessed among the shrubbery. She was still distressed by the memory of Mrs. Norris’s unpleasant hints. She tried to convince herself that Mrs. Norris was just being Mrs. Norris: an unhappy woman wishing unhappiness on others. Surely her ideas held no weight with her uncle and her aunt or her cousin Tom. But the words still vexed Susan, and she preferred to stay where she was, instead of joining Lady Bertram and Mrs. Norris in the drawing-room.
However, Susan was not the only one taking advantage of the fine weather; the sound of footsteps informed her that others were drawing nigh. Before Susan could make known her presence, Maria’s voice reached her: “So, Tom, is Susan in love with you? Are you planning to make another Miss Price a permanent fixture in our family?”
Susan, her heart trembling, became very still. This was certainly a conversation not meant for her ears, and the delicate thing to do would be to slip away. But she could not escape; the shrubbery grew so thick around her so as to present impenetrable walls on three sides; the only passage would put her just before the speakers. She held her breath, and could not help listening, for she was extremely curious as to how the conversation would continue.
“I have no plans for matrimony at present, Maria.”
A sound on the gravel indicated that Maria had stopped walking; she said, all too loudly: “That is your problem, Tom. You have no plans. And because of that, you will find yourself marrying Susan from convenience – or to please Mother.”
“I assure you, Maria, that when and if I choose a wife, I will choose carefully. I am aware how important the decision is, and I assure you, I will not act in haste. I have a large acquaintance, so my choice is not restricted to a poor cousin.”
Tom’s speech was aimed at reminding his sister that her matrimonial selection had been particularly unfortunate, but the words that stung Susan, which pierced her heart, were those dismissing her as a poor cousin. And they were uttered, not by Mrs. Norris, who was unkind to everyone, or by Maria, who was bitter from her own experiences and who did not really know her – but by Tom, with whom she had shared many laughs. Was this the sort of humiliation that Fanny had experienced during her earlier years at Mansfield Park? Fanny had always been reserved about those days, only giving Susan advice as to each inmate’s temper, and hinting at past events, but not describing particulars.
Susan’s cousins continued along the path and had the decency to blush upon seeing her and realizing that their conversation must have been overheard, as Susan herself appeared aghast. Maria struggled briefly with various emotions – superiority versus sympathy – and then hastily departed, explaining she could find her way to the house by herself. Tom, although he appeared uncomfortable, paused to speak with his young cousin.
“You heard that, did you not? I am sorry.”
“Why should you apologize? What you said is true; I am a poor cousin.” Susan did not wish to spend time alone with him; she was too mortified. Picking up the basket, she abandoned the bench and started towards the house. “I should take these roses inside to my aunt.”
He stepped beside her, and his longer stride made it impossible for her to get away. “But you are an invited guest, welcomed by my parents, while Maria has been banished by them. That makes her cross. That and the fact that we just saw the Grants and Miss Crawford arriving at the Parsonage – they are painful reminders to Maria.”
“Did you speak with them?”
“No, we only saw them from a distance. I might have gone down the
path to say hello, but I could not with Maria; understandably she was unwilling. Sue, there is something else I wish to mention. The words of Aunt Norris and even Maria – you should ignore them. You are too young to marry anyone, let alone someone like me.”
Unable to keep silent on the matter for the moment – she would have to be silent on it when inside – Susan voiced her frustration. “Why is anyone discussing this? My sister married your brother. That has nothing to do with either of us, except that I will miss Fanny.”
Tom hesitated, and then said, “You are right, that has nothing to do with us. Let us enter the house; your roses need water.”
The easy way he spoke almost disappointed Susan, then she chided herself for being so unreasonable. Tom was only repeating her own words! She searched for another subject, and remembered her brother William’s letter from the day before. “You were with Sir Thomas in Antigua, were you not?”
“Yes.”
“What was it like?”
Tom stared into the distance, in the approximate direction of that island. “Warm.”
“You left several months before my uncle did, is that correct?”
“Yes,” he answered, with uncustomary shortness.
He clearly did not want to talk about Antigua, thought Susan, although she could not fathom why. They were nearing the door; in a few minutes she would probably be the target of Mrs. Norris’s unkind remarks again – and possibly her cousin Maria’s as well. Even if they held their tongues, she would expect them to speak cuttingly to her, and the anticipation would be almost as bad as anything they could say.
But Tom did not turn towards the entrance; instead he stopped and gestured towards the long drive. “Yates – George Yates!”
“Oh!” said Susan. A man, presumably the Honorable George Yates, was arriving on horseback. And then she thought that Tom’s concise responses might have had nothing to do with Antigua – or with her – but the fact that someone was coming. She turned towards the entrance. “I should let the others know.”
The Mansfield Park Murders Page 3
