Beginning, Section II
If Lady Bertram had been of a less indolent nature, she might have been astonished on waking to find her husband and sister conversing quite seriously on the other side of the room. As it was, she only yawned slightly, blinked her large blue eyes, and listened to what they were saying.
"My poor sister Price, I am sure, would be glad to be relieved of the burden of any of her children," said Mrs. Norris. "It does not really signify which one, though I daresay it should be one of the older ones. Perhaps the eldest boy or girl."
"It would be a serious undertaking, whichever child we should choose," said Sir Thomas somewhat dryly.
"Oh, I am in complete agreement," Mrs. Norris hurried to say. "But there would be advantages to one of the eldest. A boy or girl of nine or ten is more stable, and less likely to wake the house with crying, not to mention being at the exact age where they are most able to learn."
"There is some truth to what you say, " Sir Thomas reflected. "However, being able to learn is not the same as being willing to learn. And if I may judge by my own children, nine or ten is an age of restlessness and mischief."
"Yes," Lady Bertram interrupted mildly, stroking the dog who snored beside her. "I remember when Tom was that age. Or perhaps it was Edmund."
Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris looked at her in amazement, both for being conscious and for confusing her two sons with each other. Mrs. Norris recollected herself first, and seeing that she was on the verge of exposing herself to a disagreement with her brother-in-law, immediately changed her opinion.
"Perhaps, then, you would prefer to take charge of one of the younger children," she stated. "I can see the advantages of that, as well. And I have said before that my sister Price has children to spare, of all ages."
"Yes, but no matter which child we decide to sponsor," said Sir Thomas repressively, "we must not assume that Mrs. Price will simply send them away with no feeling or regret. It would be unnatural of her not to feel a sense of loss, whether the child be ten years old, or an infant."
"Of course, what parent would not? I'm sure I should be devastated if one of your children - for I have not been blessed with my own - was to go away to stay. But of course it will be a relief to her. Relief is not the same thing, you know, as gladness."
"Very true, I daresay," said Lady Bertram.
"Before we digress too far," said Sir Thomas, "I think I have had an idea."
Sir Thomas' idea was, in essence, that they should make a trip to Portsmouth, together, to choose one of their nieces or nephews for their benevolent scheme of semi-adoption. Mrs. Norris applauded this plan, of course, and Lady Bertram did not make an effort to disagree. The next day, Mrs. Norris sent a letter to the post, informing her sister of their imminent arrival.
William Price burst into his sisters' room one morning in a state of high agitation. He was extremely embarrassed to find Fanny in the middle of helping Susan into her clothes.
"William!" Susan shrieked, grabbing the nearest piece of clothing to cover herself.
"Sorry," he mumbled, and went back out, closing the door behind him. Seconds later there was a perfunctory knock and he reentered, one hand over his eyes. Both girls giggled and Susan threw her nightgown at him.
"You can look now, goose," she said.
"What has you so excited?" asked Fanny, observing her brother shift his weight several times from one leg to the other in a peculiar dance that their brothers, John and Richard, called "the William," as a result of his frequent repetition of the action.
"Mama had a letter from our aunts today," he said tragically. Fanny and Susan looked at each other in bewilderment.
"Is that all?" said Susan. "I thought you were going to say Uncle George was coming to visit."
"It's worse!" said William. "It's the Bertrams! They're coming, with Aunt Norris, to take one of us back with them when they leave!"
The bewilderment on the girls' faces changed to horror.
"Which of us will they take?" asked Fanny.
"It won't be me!" said William firmly. "If they take me, I'll be so bad they won't want me. I'll step on Sir Thomas' toes, and I'll bite off Aunt Norris's nose, and I'll...I'll...wrinkle Aunt Bertram's dress!"
"William!" Fanny admonished. "You will do no such thing! Besides, who's to say they'll take you? They'll probably take Mary, because she's so pretty."
Hearing her name mentioned, Mary pushed the covers off herself and blinked at her siblings. She really was a pretty child, with abundant blonde curls and dimples in her cheeks. However, at the age of two, she had already lost much of her baby fat, and was in a fair way to becoming as gaunt as her older siblings.
"Well, if pretty is all they want, they'll take Tommy," said William.
"No, they won't," said Fanny. "They already have a boy named Tom, remember? Two Tom's would be too confusing."
William had to concede her point. Mary began to cry.
"I wanna stay here!"
"I think they'll take you, William," said Susan while Fanny went to comfort their sister. "You're the oldest."
"I won't go!" he repeated, folding his arms across his chest resolutely.
"Well, there's nothing we can do right now," said Fanny reasonably. "Let's just hope they don't like any of us, and go home by themselves."
"Oh, they'll like me," said Susan, twirling around in the middle of the floor on her toes. She stopped suddenly and gazed ahead dreamily. "I wonder if they'd give me a pony." Fanny and William were hurt that their sister would leave them for a pony, but neither could blame her.
"I want a pony, too!" said Mary. "Can I have a pony, Fanny?"
"Not now, Mary," said Fanny. "Maybe someday. Papa says our ship is coming in soon."
"He always says that," said Susan. "What does that mean? Are we all going to go away on a ship?"
"No," said William, and he tried to explain what the phrase meant, but his sister was not listening.
"What if they take me with them, and then our ship comes in, and then they decide they don't like me, but when they send me back, you're not here anymore?"
"Oh, bosh," said William, suddenly cheerful again. "This is silly. Why would they want any of us? They have four kids already. I tell you what, we're getting excited over nothing. I mean, can you really imagine if one of us left and never came back? It'll never happen. They'll come, and they'll go, and everything will be the way it was before."
Fanny was doubtful, but Susan and Mary were much cheered, and after William left the room, they went on as they did every day. John, Richard and Sam had also heard the news, and though Sam was only a year younger than Susan and was entirely uninterested in the visit by his relatives, the other two were very worried, John in particular. He had no fear of being chosen, himself, as there was nothing truly remarkable about him, but he did not want to be separated from any of his siblings.
The Price children were quite close, especially when one considered that their parents had almost nothing to do with encouraging this trait in them. This is not to say they did not have their share of squabbles. What children do not? However, a natural closeness of age - the largest difference between ages thus far being the three years between Susan and Sam - and the general cheerfulness they all shared, would of course render them inseparable. Whether or not the Bertrams really meant to affect a separation remained to be seen.
Life went on as usual for the next few days, and the children nearly forgot that their relatives were coming. However, the thought did not completely stray from their minds, so when a carriage drove up outside the house one fine day, William and Fanny immediately gave up the game they had been playing and turned to stare respectfully at their aunt and uncle Bertram.
"I thought she'd be prettier," said Richard, coming up behind them. Fanny found it difficult to suppress a laugh, especially when she heard William chortle behind her.
They soon discovered, however, that Lady Bertram was not the woman who had accompanied their uncle, but Mrs. Norris. Richard soon revised his opinion of her.
"In that case," said he, "she is much prettier than I imagined her."
They also discovered that Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris had not come alone: their cousin, Mr. Tom Bertram, also accompanied them. At seventeen, this young man cut quite a figure before his young, inexperienced cousins. John and Richard were of the opinion that he seemed above his company, for all that he was a cousin, while William, Fanny and Susan were inclined to think him the most magnificent being they had ever beheld. With curly blond hair, a satirical smile, and careless movements, even John and Richard had to admit that he was by no means ill-favoured.
Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris approached the children, who were still standing rather stupidly in the yard.
"You must be the Price children," said Sir Thomas, not unkindly taking William's hand and giving it a solemn shake.
"Yes, sir," William said, and gulped.
"I am your uncle," he said superfluously. "Do you know why I have come?"
"Yes, sir," William said again, losing a bit of his awe and frowning portentously.
"We don't want to go!" John piped up. Richard quickly elbowed him in the stomach and smiled charmingly at his rich relations. John scowled and hit him back. Sir Thomas watched in amazement and Tom laughed as they watched a scuffle break out, with William cheering his brothers on and Fanny imploring them to behave.
Mrs. Norris remarked that those would certainly not do, and led the Bertrams into the house. She was stopped once more on the way, however, by Sam, who was running on bare feet from the back yard. He collided violently with Mrs. Norris and landed on his backside. For a three-year-old, he was remarkably pragmatic, and instead of crying, began immediately to look for what he had dropped: an enormous bull frog.
"Froggy!" he called, peeking under stones and generally keeping himself under his aunt's feet. Cousin Tom came to her aid by lifting the boy off the ground and asking him if he could be of service in finding what he had lost. Sam merely pointed at Mrs. Norris' head and said, "There it is!"
Tom looked and nearly burst out in laughter at the sight of the frog sitting quite comfortably on Mrs. Norris' bonnet. Mrs. Norris' eyes crossed as she looked up, and she uttered a shriek.
"Merciful heavens!" she cried, and flung her bonnet off her head and into the garden.
"You'll smother them!" John cried, breaking free from his brother's fists and running to free the flowers on which the bonnet had landed.
"Savages!" Mrs. Norris muttered under her breath. "Positively wild!"
"Delightful!" Tom countered, still laughing. As his father led his aunt into the house to speak with the Price parents, Tom continued in his mirth until he discovered William looking up at him soberly.
"What is the matter, cousin?" he asked, not knowing the boy's name. William dug his hands into his pockets and said frankly,
"I don't think my aunt likes us."
"Don't worry, cub," said Tom, grinning. "She don't like anybody except my father."
William smiled appreciatively then became sober again.
"Do they really mean to take one of us away?"
"Yes, I think they do."
"Why?"
Tom was surprised.
"Would you rather stay here?"
"Yes," said William. "Nothing against you, sir..."
"No need to call me sir. We are cousins, after all."
"Well, nothing against you, but I like it here. I like my brothers and sisters." He brightened. "Now, if they could come with me, then I wouldn't mind...."
"Don't worry," Tom chortled. "They might not like you best, after all. Remember, you were involved in a fight the minute we arrived."
William flushed.
"I was not," he muttered. "That was John and Dick."
Fanny, seeing how amiable her fine cousin was towards her favourite brother, decided to approach, and said shyly,
"Would you like to play with us, Cousin Tom?"
Tom agreed merrily.
Meanwhile, Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris were conferring with Mr. and Mrs. Price, amidst the hubbub of Susan and Mary, who were playing in the corner, and Tommy, who was loudly demanding his mother's attention. Sir Thomas attempted to form a connection with the infant, but when he was met only by screams, he soon relinquished the honour of holding him to his mother. Susan was quite impressed by her fine relations, and had decided by now that she should like to be the one who was chosen by them to go and live in their fine house with them. She tried to show herself to advantage by taking charge of Mary, but could not know that the loud voice she used to make her wisdom heard was actually working in her disfavour, as Mrs. Norris had an abhorrence of loud children. In the end, it was, as Fanny had predicted, Mary who was chosen. The prettiness of her countenance and manners combined proved too much for even Mrs. Norris to properly disapprove of her, and Tom was immediately smitten. As for Mrs. Norris, she only sniffed and said that at least this child was not a vulgar hoyden, and had no objection to make. Susan was disappointed, but soon consoled herself with the knowledge that, if she had gone, she would have missed the birthday party of the little girl down the street, Anna Clark, of whom she was a bosom friend.
Posted on Friday, August 25, 2000
Lady Bertram was supremely glad to have her husband back with her. When asked, she agreed that Mary was a charming child, and went so far as to add that she did not see the least bit of the "demon" in her, which was her way of saying she did not think the girl would tease the dog. The Miss Bertrams, Maria and Julia, delighted in Mary for nearly three hours before deciding betwixt themselves that "she should not touch their dolls. Mary was a dear, pretty baby, but she was still a baby, and babies always destroyed dolls."
"That may be true," Lady Bertram agreed. "I'm sure you and Julia destroyed enough dolls in your infancy to......" she yawned and could not remember what she had been saying. However, Maria flushed and turned to her aunt.
"Aunt Norris, did I ever destroy my dolls?"
"No, dear, you were the perfect angel when you were Mary's age. I hope that she has not learned too much wildness in her short life. You should have seen those children, sister! Such beasts!"
"I thought you said they were children, Aunt," said Edmund.
"I did."
"All right. I was getting confused. Go on."
Sir Thomas began to step forward to chastise his son for speaking thus to his aunt, when Tom spoke up.
"Edmund, come and look at her. She is the prettiest baby I ever saw. Much prettier than Maria and Julia, I daresay. Such devilish ugly sisters I had!"
"Tom!" Sir Thomas bellowed.
"Had, sir," Tom corrected himself meekly. "They are much prettier now. Thank God," he added in an undertone. Maria huffed and Julia preened. Mary said,
"I got my own doll. See?" She presented a rag-doll Richard had made for her.
"You have your own doll," said Edmund without thinking, at the same time his father did with thought. Maria and Julia rolled their eyes.
"Let me take that, Mary," said Mrs. Norris, reaching for the toy. Mary shrieked and, clutching "Queen Charlotte" to her chest, dove under her aunt's dress. Sir Thomas and Tom looked at each other in embarrassment, neither knowing what was to be done now. Mrs. Norris stood in quiet indignation, her hands clenching at her sides.
"Mary Price, come out here this instant!"
"Lift your skirts, sister," Lady Bertram offered. Mrs. Norris stared at her in horror.
"What?" she said in a strangled whisper. Mary was tugging at her petticoats, but under no circumstances was she going to say such a thing aloud. Julia rushed forward with the thought of putting herself into her aunt's--and father's--good graces, and reached under her aunt's skirts to tug at Mary's feet. Mary yelled and kicked, which caused Julia to scream at her and Mrs. Norris to fall backwards. Tom doubled over in laughter and Sir Thomas looked away to restore himself to decorum.
"Oh, my," said Lady Bertram. This sent Edmund into whoops.
Mrs. Norris got to her feet angrily, swatting away the hands that tried to help her.
"I think Miss Mary needs a nap," she said primly, and taking the girl by the arm, began to lead her out. Mary's lower lip began to tremble at the harshness of her aunt's grip, and she stubbornly sat down on the floor.
"I'm not a baby. I don't need a nap."
"Maria and I will take her upstairs, Aunt Norris," said Edmund. Maria looked daggers at him and opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a smile. He would not want to be alone with the little girl, in case something happened. Maria would be perfect. She smiled sweetly.
"Yes, I should like to show Mary her room."
Edmund knelt down to look Mary in the eye. She sniffed pitifully and squeezed out a tear, hoping he would feel sorry for her.
"Would you like to see your very own room?"
"Can I have a pony?"
Edmund was taken aback, and looked at his father.
"Certainly you may, if you are a good girl."
"I'm a good girl!"
"Then let's go see your room."
"I don't want a room, I want a pony!"
"You can't have a pony now, because it's raining, you see?" He pointed at the window. Mary looked and made a disappointed face.
"I want a pony," she said more quietly, and kicked at the floor.
"You can have a pony tomorrow, Mary," said Maria.
"I want a pony now!"
"There's a pony in your room," said Tom on a stroke of genius. "Come, I'll show you!" He took Mary from a startled Edmund and Maria.
"Tom, what do you think you're doing?" said Sir Thomas. "You cannot lie to an impressionable child."
"I'm not lying. Come, Edmund, I'll show you."
Edmund followed with Maria following closely behind him. Julia stayed to listen to what the adults would say about her cousin.
"Edmund," said Maria, trotting up behind him in an effort to keep up with his long strides. "I see no reason for you to make me act as a nanny to that brat. This is blackmail!"
"If she had an accident or burst into tears, I wouldn't know what to do. You would. You do it, yourself, often enough."
"I don't have accidents!" she huffed. "Are you going to tell Papa?"
"No." He smiled kindly.
"Thank you," she said coldly. "I don't even know what you were doing there. Perhaps you were there to meet a kitchen maid."
Edmund did not deem that accusation worthy of an answer.
"Don't meet any more stableboys in the barn, and you won't have to worry about me finding you anymore. I will tell Father next time."
Maria's eyes narrowed.
"I wasn't meeting a stableboy," she sniffed.
"Then perhaps I should inform Father that Charles was giving you unwanted attention in the hayloft."
"I can tell Father about you, too."
He smiled incredulously.
"Oh, you are so smug!" she cried and turned on her heel to follow Tom and Mary down the hall.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Norris's hopes for the future were not good.
"This is not a very good beginning. I assure you, she was the perfect angel at home!" she said. "I cannot think what made her do such a thing, and on her first day."
"She wanted a pony," said Julia helpfully.
"Do not put in your oar," her aunt snapped.
"She is a young child," said Sir Thomas thoughtfully. "With a little training, she will soon be very prettily-behaved."
"Well, I hope so, Sir Thomas," said Mrs. Norris doubtfully.
"It must be so. Not only has she been taken away from her bad connections, but she has been placed in an environment that can do nothing but good. She is to receive an education, and the benefit of ladies and gentleman as a guide to behaviour. At this moment, every thing is in her favour."
However, Mary's stay at Mansfield Park was to be of short duration. At first, everything seemed to be, indeed, in her favour. She was delighted with the toy horse Tom had shown her when they had reached her room, and she kept herself company for hours within those four walls. However, after everybody had gone to sleep and the house seemed to be tucked away into silence, there was suddenly an ear-piercing scream from the area of Maria's bedchamber. Suspecting that it was nothing more than discovering a frog in her bed, nobody came to her rescue. It was left until the next morning for Maria to proclaim in injured tones that Mary had crept into her bed in the middle of the night, sopping wet, and tried to cuddle with her.
"It would have been bad enough if it was water," said the older girl. "But it wasn't." She set her jaw firmly and looked meaningfully at her aunt. "I shall need two baths today," she added after a moment's pause.
"Two baths? You need no such thing. I am sure one will be quite enough, though I am shocked with Mary in all this."
"It is hardly her fault," said Edmund.
"Yes, it is. Four years old is too old for such childish behaviour."
"Which childish behaviour? Having an accident during her sleep, or seeking comfort with someone else?"
"Both!"
Edmund rolled his eyes and continued eating his breakfast.
"How can you eat at a time like this?" Maria wailed.
"I have quite lost my appetite," said Mrs. Norris, pushing her plate away.
"Has it occurred to either of you that she could be missing her family?"
"Well, of course she shall miss them! But she is only four years old; she cannot have such a long memory. She shall forget them."
"How sad."
"Take her back, then," said Maria. "I don't want her."
"This is only the second day," said Tom. "Give her a chance, Maria."
"I do not appreciate having my bedclothes and my person soiled," she said, turning her nose up in the air.
Thankfully, Sir Thomas did not agree with his eldest daughter. However, Maria set herself against Mary so fully in the next few days that even he could not be ignorant of the strife. Mary's disposition was not to simply bear it if someone attacked her, and Maria soon learned how to provoke the girl without seeming to, effectively shifting the appearance of blame onto the younger girl's shoulders. By the time Tom and Edmund had another holiday from school, it had been decided that Mary was to return to her family.
"I hate that our plan was not effective," said Mrs. Norris. "Perhaps we should try another child."
"Perhaps," said Sir Thomas wearily.
"Perhaps the youngest. You know, Sir Thomas, the little baby that was just born. He cannot have picked up any nasty traits yet."
"I think, madam, that if we try our hand with another of your nieces or nephews, that it will not be one that has any propensity to wet the bed."
Fanny and William stood next to the fence outside their house. The door to the gate never seemed to close all the way, and now William balanced himself on the bottom of it and allowed it to swing him back and forth. Fanny stood in silence, watching the road expectantly. She had found a ribbon that morning and had been pleased to tie her hair up with it. Though it had been tied quite neatly at first, it had now slipped down to the point where the hair was actually holding the ribbon up.
"I wonder if she's changed," said William suddenly. The gate swung shut violently, causing his voice to shake.
"I wonder if they taught her to read," said Fanny wistfully.
"You know how to read," William frowned.
"I know, but I wanted to teach Mary as you taught me." She looked down to the ground and, spotting a weed, dropped to her knees and began tugging at it.
"Fanny, get up!" their mother yelled from the window. "You'll soil your dress!"
"Mama, there's a weed in your flower bed!" William shouted back.
"Well, get it out! Lord knows I don't need Elizabeth pointing out the weeds to me!" She went back into the house, muttering to herself. Fanny had stood and begun dusting herself off. William went back to swinging on the gate until he heard a suspicious sniffle. The gate slammed again and he jumped off to attend to his sister.
"What's the matter, Fan?" he bent down to try to get a look at her down-turned face. "You're not upset because Mother is cross, are you?"
"M-Mama said that if Uncle Bertram doesn't like us, y-you w-won't--he w-won't help you. And now I'm dirty!" she wailed.
"Well, I'm sure I don't need his help!" said William, pretending to be offended. "I can be a sailor without crying to my relatives, I hope!"
"Of course you can," said Fanny. "But Mama said he could make it easier!"
"Well, if he doesn't like you because your dress has a little dirt on it, then he won't like me, anyway, so it's none of your fault."
But Fanny would not be consoled when she thought she was bringing harm to her favourite brother. It was fortunate for William that he heard, at that moment, the sound of a hand organ coming slowly down the street. Jumping up, he peered in the direction of the noise, and being assured of having seen a monkey, grabbed Fanny's hand and pulled her toward the dancing animal. Fanny's fears were forgotten for the moment as William did his best to imitate the monkey's movements. She laughed and clapped her hands, and finally allowed William to coax her into joining him. Several of the other children from the neighbourhood also came to see the fun and William took pleasure in spinning several of the girls to the music. As he was preparing to perform this duty for Susan's friend, Anna Clark, a heavy hand descended on his shoulder and turned him around to face its owner. William found himself staring up into the face of George Granger, a boy of about fourteen, much larger than himself.
"Hello, George," he said amiably.
"I can do that much better than you can, Price," George Granger boasted. "Anna's too heavy for you."
"You mean Miss Anna," William corrected, still smiling.
"Miss Anna," George Granger repeated mockingly. "Anna's good enough for me. An' you'd do well not to always be mimicking your betters." He tapped William's chest with two fingers. William instinctively took a step backwards. Fanny watched in dismay as she saw her brother's fists begin to clench.
"I want William to spin me," said Anna, tugging at William's arm. William's brow cleared, much to his sister's relief, and George Granger scowled.
"Don't you mean Mr. Price?" he asked.
"No, Mr. Price is old," said Anna, shaking her head vigorously. "I want William."
George Granger blinked in surprise. Before he could come up with something with which to provoke William further, Anna had pulled her choice back towards the monkey, which was still making its way down the street. As Fanny followed them, she threw a cautious glance back towards the older boy. He was glaring daggers at William's back, and Fanny realized with a start that her perfectly amiable brother had found an enemy.
As they were running after the organist, a carriage suddenly turned the corner and everybody--including the organist--stopped to stare. It stopped in front of the Price house, and after glancing quickly at each other, William and Fanny took off at a sprint. They arrived in time to join the family, who were congregated outside the gate to greet their rich relatives, but Fanny was fainting from exhaustion and John and William had to clasp hands behind her back to give her support.
This time, Sir Thomas had brought only his younger son with him to escort Mary home. Mrs. Norris had been objectionable to going back to "those savages," and although Tom had wanted to go, he had not been allowed due to several conflicts with his headmaster.
Sir Thomas shook hands with Mr. Price and went with him and his wife into the house. Fanny roused herself with an effort and embraced her younger sister.
"I missed you so much. Did you have fun?"
"No."
"Well..... did you get to ride a pony?"
"Yes!" Mary brightened considerably. "A pretty pony, with gold spots. And I was bigger than Edmund!" She giggled and grinned up at her cousin, who laughed.
"Where's Cousin Tom?" asked Richard, who had been looking forward as much to his cousin's funny manners and style of dress as to seeing Mary again. "Are all my cousins as nice as Tom?"
"No," said Mary. Fanny glanced at Edmund in embarrassment and tried to laugh it off.
"I'm sure Edmund is very nice, isn't he, Mary?"
"Oh, yes! But Maria and Julia were mean to me."
"I'm sure they were as nice as two girls can be expected to be, towards someone they consider to be inferior, for being younger than they," said Edmund. "But you will not make others think well of you by speaking so badly of others, Mary."
"But they were! Especially Maria." Mary wrinkled her nose. "She yelled at me and pinched my arms. And she broke my pony."
"She broke your pony?" Susan's eyes opened wider at the image of a horse falling apart.
"Her toy pony," Edmund explained.
"How big was your bed?" Richard asked. John poked him, scowling. There had been a fight between them earlier as to how much space John was allowed to take at night. Mary was about to answer when there was a voice from just outside the gate.
"Hey, Price! I just came back from the Clarks! And what do you think Anna told me?"
"When the boys came out to play, Georgie peorgie ran away!" Mary chanted mockingly, her hands on her hips. She wasn't sure what she was saying, but she knew it annoyed him when the other children in the neighbourhood said it. Granger turned red, then realized the Prices had visitors.
"What's this? One of your high-an'-mighty relatives?" He sauntered into the yard, smirking at all the terrified faces of the younger Prices. He faltered somewhat when he found he had to look up to see Edmund, but soon resumed his haughty stance and glared at William. "A little piece of friendly advice, Price. Leave Anna alone."
"I can't really stay away from her," William smiled. "She comes here often to play with Susan."
"Anna Clark?" said John, grimacing. "That brat?"
"She's not a brat!" said Susan.
"Keep out of this, brat." The bully shoved Susan into her brothers. Although she was far more inclined to stomp his toes than to cry, William took it upon himself to defend her, and immediately planted his fist in George Granger's face. John and Richard let out a shout of joy, and there would have been an out-and-out brawl, if Fanny and Edmund had not stepped in.
"If you must fight," said Edmund, "take up boxing and fight in the ring, with the other cocks. Meanwhile, use your brain and realize that you are vastly outnumbered here."
"I can beat all of you!" Granger announced boldly.
"I'd like to see you try!" said Richard, beginning to stomp like a bull.
"Richard, don't!" said Fanny, glancing at Edmund as though to gauge whether or not this would have a bad influence on the Bertrams' decision to take one of them.
"He's got no call to come in here and start pushing my sister around!" Richard spouted. Now William was trying to hold him back. Granger had by now realized that, though he was larger than each of them, he was not larger than all of them together. He took his leave quickly, still sneering and boasting of his own fighting prowess.
"Leave Anna alone, or I'll grind you into the street, Price! You can't hide from me forever!"
Edmund stared after him and turned to his cousins.
"What did you do that made him so angry?"
William shrugged helplessly.
"I don't know. I guess he's sweet on Anna. I mean, Miss Clark."
Fanny stared at her brother. She had not realized that he had already started thinking about girls romantically. The thought frightened her a little, for it reminded her that they would not all be children forever. As they all went into the house, Fanny watched her cousin Edmund and wondered what William would be like when he was that old.
Posted on Saturday, 2 September 2000,
The Price children burst into the house with an enthusiasm that astonished their cousin Edmund. Susan and Sam took Mary upstairs to show her everything that had changed during her absence. John and Richard were firing questions at Edmund so fast he hardly had time to answer. He was taken aback by the noise they all created, but at the same time could not help but admire the genuine affection they all held for each other.
Edmund had often wondered why he was not closer to his own siblings. True, he could often talk or laugh with Tom, but he could not think of a time either of them had shared what they were really thinking. He had tried to guide and mentor Maria and Julia, but doubted he had done much good. These experiences with his own family had left him feeling empty and confused about the potential of sibling affection.
But these children, his cousins, delighted him with their frankness and gratified him by openly seeking his counsel. It is always pleasant for a person accustomed to being considered second-best to suddenly find himself the object of adulation.
Mr. and Mrs. Price were talking with Sir Thomas in the parlour. Fanny and William had a desire to stay and listen to what they were saying, but when John and Richard became too noisy, Mrs. Price told Fanny to take the boys into the kitchen and entertain Edmund there. She did as she was told, though she did look despairingly at William as she went. He crossed his eyes and grinned at her, which caused her to beam and fairly skip into the kitchen.
After Fanny had washed some cups and made some tea, and they were all comfortable at the small table, John said,
"Who are you going to take with you this time?"
"I don't know yet. My father will choose somebody before we leave tomorrow. Would you like to go?"
"Maybe," John answered after thinking about it for a moment or two.
"Father said he'd introduce me to the captain of the Asp," said Richard. "He's been to fight the frogs."
"Mr. Phelps has been letting me help him with his work at the office," said John.
"Which office?"
"He's a clerk for an attorney," said Fanny. John nodded vigorously.
"And he said I'd make a first-rate attorney, and he said he's willing to train me, only...."
"Only what?" said Edmund.
"Well, it costs money to be an apprentice," said John morosely.
"I don't wanna be an apprentice!" said Richard. "I'm gonna be a sailor, like Father and William and John."
"I see," said Edmund. "What about you, Fanny? What would you like?"
Fanny was startled to be addressed thus. Apparently she had not given any thought to the matter. She stared at him in some bewilderment and he smiled encouragingly, hoping she wouldn't always allow her brothers to monopolize the conversation..
"I don't think there is anything to choose," she said quietly. "I hope to be married someday, I suppose."
"Would you rather marry a clerk or a sailor?" said Richard, poking John. "She'll say sailor, won't you, Fanny? I'm glad I'm not a girl, but if I was, I'd want to marry a sailor."
"That's because you want to be one," John protested. "Attorneys have wives, too."
"Fussy old maids who didn't have anything better to choose," Richard snorted. "I've seen Mrs. Phelps."
"Mrs. Phelps isn't older than her husband," said John. "In any case, Mr. Phelps isn't an attorney; he's a clerk. And I'm sure they were both young once."
"There's a point," said Edmund, grinning. "And one young people don't often realize. I only realized a few years ago that my own parents were my age at one time."
This stunned John and Richard into silence. They looked at each other in wonder, trying to imagine Sir Thomas as a young man of sixteen. It was during this silence that William walked in, looking dazed and nearly miserable. Fanny offered him some tea, and he took it, slumping into a chair next to her.
"Mother wants me to go to Mansfield," he said.
"Oh, no!" Fanny cried involuntarily, then glanced warily at Edmund as if afraid of offending him.
"But you were supposed to go with Captain Shelby when next he goes," said Richard.
"I suppose I'll have to give up my sailing career for bowing lessons. I'll probably have to take up the violin, or some such nonsense, and..... what are you laughing at?" He directed this at Edmund, who declined an answer, saying he was not laughing. William narrowed his eyes. "I don't see anything to laugh at," he pouted.
"I'm sure that, if you come to Mansfield, my father only means to further your career by whatever means possible," Edmund assured him.
"If I go!" William exclaimed. "If? It is very nearly settled. Sir Thomas wants only to be sure none of my brothers or sisters would rather go, themselves."
"I would," said John. "At least, I wouldn't hate going."
"I want to stay here," Fanny piped.
"What about Susan or Sam?" said Richard. "I don't want to go, m'self, but I think Susan would like a chance."
"I think Sam is a little young," said Edmund hesitantly. "I don't think he'd like it there."
"Aye, because your sisters would tease him, poor fellow," said Richard. "They probably wouldn't like Susan, either. She is too much like Mary."
"Then it's a lost cause," William sighed dramatically. "I must sacrifice myself for the family's sake."
"What about me?" said John.
Edmund frowned.
"Do you think, then, that my father would refuse to help your family if he doesn't take any of you home with us?"
"Well, isn't that the idea?" said Richard.
"I .. don't know. But I don't think that should be the case."
"We're not asking for charity," said William hastily. "It's not that we need help."
"Of course not," said Edmund, smiling at Fanny, who hid her smile in her cup.
"Mama is very happy that she is on good terms with our aunts again," said William. "It's a matter of .... family relations!"
"Of course it is. And what better way to keep the family close, even from a distance, than to house one of my cousins? If it were up to me, I'd take you all to Mansfield with me."
"Even me?" Richard asked mischievously.
"Of course. You could pull Maria's hair."
Richard barked in laughter.
"You don't pull Maria's hair, do you?" asked Fanny, touching her own hair self- consciously.
"Never. But that doesn't mean she's not in need of a hair-pulling."
"Don't you ever pull your sisters' hair?" asked Richard, goggling at the idea of someone so good.
"I may have, once upon a time, but it is not the sort of thing one likes to do at my age."
"Oh, I see." Richard smiled, once again comfortable with his hero. "Yes, you are entirely too old. Better to leave that sort of thing to me." He rubbed his hands together in glee. "Does Maria have a lot of hair?"
"It's longer than Fanny's."
"Really?" William's mouth dropped open. "How much longer?"
"It's down to here." Edmund held a hand to his own waist. The Price children sat staring in amazement. "But she will begin putting it up in a year or so, for she is almost old enough to come out."
"She must be terribly old," said Richard. "What about your other sister? Is her hair that long, too?"
"No, Julia was very sick last year and had to have all her hair cut off."
"Bald as a billiard ball, hm?" said William sympathetically. "That's too bad. Now what are you laughing at?"
Edmund covered his face with one hand and shook his head. His cousins were truly too much. He would have to speak to his father about his plans for William, and perhaps he could even suggest a family outing to Mansfield Park. In any case, he most definitely wanted to know these children better.
Posted on Sunday, 17 September 2000
True to his word, Edmund talked to his father about taking the entire Price family to Mansfield Park for a holiday. Sir Thomas was less than enthusiastic about the idea.
"Absolutely not! No! What made you think of such a ridiculous plan! Are you out of your senses?"
"Not entirely. Yet. But I thought, since they all appear to be so close to each other, and.... well, I like them, sir. I should like to know them better. I don't think you could conscientiously take only William--if he is the one you plan to choose, that is. All the other children look up to and depend on him."
"Are you saying my plan to be generous to your cousins is inhumane?" Sir Thomas lifted his eyebrows. Edmund smiled.
"I have every respect for this plan, Father. But I cannot see how you can do so much for one, and so little for the others."
"Little? I plan to finance them in whatever careers they choose."
"What about the girls, sir?"
"Do you wish me to give them each a dowry?" Sir Thomas was aghast. "Do you realize what that would cost?"
"It would be unfair to help the boys and leave the girls behind."
"I agree with you, Edmund. But short of giving them each a dowry, which, even if it was significantly smaller than Maria's and Julia's, would still be quite a high price, I can think of nothing else to do."
"Then bring them all to Mansfield, and let them learn with Maria and Julia the charms they will need to .... marry well."
Sir Thomas thought it over for a few minutes
"I don't think it is as dire as that. They are all well-looking enough, and I don't doubt their abilities. But if, as you say, they are really so attached to each other, perhaps it would be a cruelty to take any of them with us."
Edmund was quick to amend his statement by saying the only danger he saw was in the relationship between William and Fanny.
"Theirs is the true closeness. They all love each other, but they are inseparable."
"Then it is a shame she cannot follow him on his sailing career," Sir Thomas remarked.
"She is prepared to lose him to the sea. She did not count on saying good-bye to him before then."
Sir Thomas did not have time to listen to anything more on this subject, for they were called to dinner, but he did think about it for a long time that night. He watched his nephews and nieces as they ate--the Prices only had one table, so the children ate with the adults. He thought he could perceive the bond between the two eldest, which Edmund had mentioned.
An idea occurred to him while he ate, which he mentioned to Mr. and Mrs. Price after dinner. They were more than agreeable to it, and so it was that both William and Fanny left the next morning.
"They brought two of them!" Maria wailed from her perch at the window. "How will I stand it?"
Mrs. Norris, Tom and Julia came to look down with her.
"William!" said Tom. "Topflight!"
"She looks like a puny thing," said Julia. "And as if she will shake herself out of her boots."
"We must go downstairs to greet them," said Mrs. Norris, taking the girls by the hands. "You two must be certain to show every civility to them, for they are worse off than you, by far."
"Oh, Maria! I think the girl--what's her name, Tom?"
"Fanny, I think."
"I think Fanny would make a good Wicked Witch in our Hansel and Gretel play, what do you think?"
"She's not scary enough," Maria sniffed.
"I'm not certain your father will approve of Fanny taking part in your plays, my dears," said Mrs. Norris. "Remember, there is that line you must not cross. She may be your cousin, but she is not your equal."
"Maybe she can be the dog, instead," said Julia doubtfully.
"Yes, she will be a good dog," Maria said as they came out onto the front porch, where Sir Thomas and the children were just alighting.
William elbowed Fanny and nodded towards the girls. She smiled nervously at them and bobbed a little curtsy, then looked back at her brother, who grinned mischievously. They had spent the time in their corner of the carriage, speculating on what their cousins would be like, based on Mary's and Edmund's respective prejudices. William had thought Maria must somehow resemble the Ice Queen in their fairy tales. Fanny did not think he was far off, and it was with a little difficulty that they kept from giggling outright.
After the perfunctory introductions, the Price children were showed to their rooms, and they did not meet their cousins again until after dinner.
Posted on Sunday, 8 October 2000
After dinner, William and Fanny were allowed to go back to their rooms for a few minutes, to wait for Mrs. Norris to accompany them to the drawing room, where the Bertram family were assembled. William, however, grew impatient, and after only five minutes--which seemed an eternity--ventured out to find the drawing room by himself.
He had heard before this of houses that required a tour guide to get through them, but he had never truly believed in their existence until he found himself wandering hopelessly in the servants' quarters at Mansfield Park. He was immensely relieved to see a boy slightly older than himself come out of one of the rooms.
"Hullo!" he said. The boy started, then smiled.
"Hullo!" he returned. "Who are you?"
"I'm William Price, and I'm lost."
"Ho! Well, I'll help you find your way, then. I'm Archie Connor, by the bye. My father's the coachman, and I'm training to be a gardener. What are you?"
"I'm ... Lady Bertram is my aunt."
"Oh." Some of Archie's candor melted away, and he became more rigidly attentive. "Well, you really are lost."
"I was supposed to wait for my Aunt Norris, but I didn't really want to have to walk with her."
Archie laughed.
"No, I wouldn't, either. I've never met her, myself, but Mr. Hodgkins--that's the gardener--he said she's a pill. I mean..."
"She's not a pill--she's the stuff my mother gives me when I'm sick!" said William. Archie laughed again, relieved.
"Well, so long as you don't mind my talking so about her, I'll tell you that she made my sister cry once, and that's no mean feat, let me tell you! Susie never cries."
"I have a sister named Susie, too!" said William brightly.
"Do you, now? Well, that's something, to be sure!"
"Where is your sister?"
"She's in the kitchen; she's a scullery maid, and the best one ever seen, that's certain- sure."
"Oh."
"Indeed. Poor Susie. But Mrs. Podgley is teaching her to cook, so she's hopeful. What exactly are you doing here?"
"I'm to stay here and get educated for a few months, until my ship sails."
"Oh, you're a sailor? That's famous! I'd like to be a sailor, except then I'd have to leave my roses behind. I've been breeding my own. I've almost got one the color of blood; I plan to give it to my mother when she's out of her confinement."
"How many brothers and sisters do you have?"
"Just Susie, and another's coming."
"I'm eleven. How old are you?"
"Thirteen; and Susie's nine. How many do you have?"
"Eight. Fanny's here with me, but all the rest are in Portsmouth."
Archie was suitably impressed with this number, and the two kept talking of families, forgetting to walk towards the drawing room, until each had expressed the sincere desire to meet the other's family.
"Well, you already know my aunt and uncle!" said William ingenuously. "You live right here in their house!"
"Well, that doesn't mean I know them, exactly!" Archie laughed. "I'm just a coachman being turned into a gardener."
"Then you've never actually met them?"
"Only Lady Bertram once, and Miss Bertram, though I forget which one."
"Did she have light or dark hair?"
"Dark."
"That would be Julia." William nodded sagely, secure in the knowledge that the shorter of the two he had seen for an instant had been Julia, and not Maria.
"Say, do you like cards?"
"Of course I do! I used to play poker with my sisters for the candies Mrs. Admiral Maxwell would give us."
"Well, come with me; I'll show you the deck Mr. Hodgkins gave me. First-rate, it is. Only one of them is bent."
And with that, Archie led William back in the direction of the servants' quarters. There they began a game, with two of the gardener's children, of Speculation, and a great time was had by all.
Meanwhile, in the drawing room, Fanny was trying to think of a way to wedge herself into the conversation. She had no real desire to be noticed, but she had not done much in her room apart from thinking how she could best help William, and she had come to the unfortunate conclusion that she must put herself forward. She sat between her aunt and uncle Bertram, chewing on her lip and following the conversation with huge eyes. Occasionally, Lady Bertram would smile down on her, and Fanny would venture a hand out to pet Pug. But Pug would invariably growl lowly, and Fanny's hand would be snatched back in a rush not to be bitten.
"I cannot think where William could be," said Mrs. Norris, fretfully. "He is not usually so disagreeable."
"Perhaps he became impatient, and wandered off by himself. It is very easy to get lost, if you do not know your way," said Sir Thomas.
"When I was first married, I could not tell north from south here at Mansfield, and thought I should have to give up. I became accustomed to it, though, after time," said Lady Bertram.
"Perhaps I should go after him," said Edmund.
"Indeed, if he is not here in ten minutes, I shall go after him, myself," said Mrs. Norris.
"I will go after him," said Fanny.
"And how would you find your way back? Don't be so tiresome, Fanny."
"He won't get hurt, will he?"
"If he does, it will only show that he is stupider than I thought! Mansfield Park is a haven away from safety. People don't get hurt here."
Fanny felt both rebuked and consoled by this remark, and said no more.
"He was not in his room when I went to fetch him and Fanny. Indeed, I'm very sure of it, though I did not check under the bed."
"Why should he hide under the bed?" asked Julia.
"To check for dust-bunnies; he probably misses them," said Maria. They giggled. Fanny bristled. They had no right to talk about William that way.
"Maybe he had to use the necessities," she suggested. Maria and Julia burst into louder giggles and retreated away from their father's reproving glare, to the fire at the other end of the room. Mrs. Norris opened her mouth, meaning to scold her young niece for her breach, but Edmund said,
"I think I should look for him." And he half rose out of his chair, as if meaning to go immediately. Mrs. Norris quickly stopped him.
"No, no. I shall do it myself."
The way she scurried out of the room reminded Fanny of the rats she had seen when she and William had gone to the docks together. She tried to repress a smile, but her eyes were laughing as Edmund guided her towards the fire.
"You might want to refrain from remarking on the necessities, particularly in my aunt's presence." He smiled and pulled a chair over for her to sit down.
"I thought Aunt Norris should explode," said Maria. "I never heard anyone make such a stupid mistake in my life!"
"You have not met Mrs. Fuller, then," said Fanny seriously.
"Who?" Maria looked puzzled.
"Fanny," said Julia, moving closer to the younger girl, "do you think, perhaps, you could tell me stories of how you and your family lived in Portsmouth? Tom could talk of nothing else for days, and I think Edmund is equally smitten. Mary said amazing things."
"Yes, do tell us all about the pestilence and the dirt," said Maria derisively. "I'm sure nothing interesting could possibly happen in such a backward place. Julia! Perhaps Fanny would like to hear us play that piece Miss Lee taught us last week!"
"Perhaps Fanny would like to tell us about her home," said Edmund.
"Oh, pooh! I don't want to hear how they all have to share beds." Maria snorted. "Your sister, Mary, doesn't even know how to read!"
"She's only four," said Fanny.
"Well, let's play a duet, Julia," Maria stood and walked regally toward the pianoforte, Julia in her wake. Fanny stayed where she was while they played. When they were finished, they stood, curtsied prettily to the other Bertrams, who applauded politely, then looked expectantly at Fanny.
"It was very nice," she said, trying to smile convincingly. Their faces fell, and they looked at each other in astonishment.
"Nice?" Julia repeated.
"Yes, it was very nice, indeed. I do love a dance."
"A dance?" Maria and Julia looked at each other again and burst out laughing. "It was a sonata!"
"Are you sure?" Fanny frowned. "It sounded like a jig the organist plays for the monkey in Portsmouth."
"Well, of course I'm sure!" Maria huffed. "I wouldn't play a jig and call it a sonata."
"A sonata? That short thing?" Tom interrupted from across the room. "Come, Maria. It was a minuet, was not it?"
"No," said Maria testily, "it was a sonata."
The friendly discussion was interrupted by the return of Mrs. Norris, with William in tow.
"He was playing cards with the coachman's son," she huffed.
"Congratulations, Aunt!" said Tom, slapping her on the back heartily. "I never knew you could run so fast! How did you find him? William, you rascal, you!" he tousled the boy's hair.
Sir Thomas stared at the three of them, unsure what to make of it. He decided to start with the least formidable.
"William, what were you doing with the coachman's son?"
"I got lost, and he was going to show me the way, but we got distracted. He's a great gun, sir!"
Sir Thomas nodded slowly, then looked at his son.
"Tom, apologize to your aunt."
"Of course, so sorry." His look was anything but apologetic.
"Thank you, ma'am, for finding William. You did not need to hurry so. I hope you will not suffer for it."
"I'm sure I shall, but I never complain, Sir Thomas. Nothing could keep me at the White House with your beautiful children to tempt me from it."
Sir Thomas bowed, and hoping his part in the goings-on was finished, took his seat again. William trotted over to Fanny.
"Fan, you have to meet Archie! He said he'd be in the gardens tomorrow, so maybe I can take you then."
"Who's Archie?" asked Maria.
"A boy I met. He wants to be a sailor, and he has a sister named Susie, just like me! What do you say, Fanny? Will you let me introduce you tomorrow?"
"I-I think so. Yes, that would be nice." She put a hand to her forehead, confused by his prattle. Where could he have met a boy? A boy who wanted to be a sailor, at that!
"Are you all right?" William asked.
"She won't be if I let you introduce her to all the servants," said Maria, taking her hand. "Julia, you and I have to turn Fanny into a proper lady. It is our duty, as her cousin! Papa as much as said so."
"But I'm going home as soon as William joins his ship," said Fanny. "Aren't I? Cousin Edmund said I could go home." She looked at him hopefully.
"Of course you may, Fanny," he answered. "But you may grow to like it here."
Fanny didn't think that was likely, but refrained from saying so. It would not be wise to insult Maria just when she was feeling benevolent.
Posted on Thursday, 7 December 2000
Fanny did not grow to love Mansfield Park, as Edmund had hoped. Maria was amiable enough after the first night. Perhaps it pleased her to have a new pet that was so eager to please. However, it so happened that Fanny began making obvious her preference for William's company. This did not please Maria. She began to be jealous of Fanny's companionship. After all, she was far more interesting than that countrified boy. She realized the importance of William to Fanny, however, and refrained from scorning him in front of her. She even invited him to play cards with her and the other two girls one night, and William accepted dubiously. The night ended badly, though, when Maria could not resist taking William to task for any minor offense her eagle's eye spotted.
William did not seem to mind, cheerfully correcting himself with a "Thank you, Cousin." each time she mentioned something he had done wrong. Fanny, on the other hand, perceived every slight where he chose not to, and finally ended the game by "accidentally" knocking Maria's glass of cider over.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Maria. Was that a new dress? Well, I'm sure Lizzy will be able to get it out."
She was truly sorry. She had not meant to ruin Maria's dress. But she should not have teased William so.
Maria and Julia soon tired of the game of "making Fanny presentable." If Fanny was so uncooperative as to choose lavender where they would have chosen red, why should they bother? When it became clear that they wanted nothing to do with her until it became convenient for them, Fanny happily retreated back to the company of William. She was more comfortable with him and Archie Connor--for they had all become fast friends after a mere two weeks--than she could ever imagine being with Maria and Julia.
Of all the Bertrams, Fanny liked Edmund the best. He discovered her fondness for reading, and recommended the best books to her. It was he who taught William to ride a horse, and though Fanny was frightened at first, their two arguments together, Edmund's and William's, also convinced her to try her hand at it.
Tom was also tolerable. He was a little too prone to teasing, Fanny thought, and she could not always tell if he was serious or not. But she knew he meant well, and when he presented her with a pony of her own, she forgave him for every careless word.
However, he and Edmund had returned to school soon after Fanny and William's first night, and though Tom was promptly sent home again after a riotous night in the headmaster's chambers, Edmund was absent for most of the remainder of his cousins' visit. It is sad to say that, after the first week of his absence, he was hardly missed by his cousins, except as the mediator between them and the Bertram girls. Children as young as William and Fanny can be excused for preferring fun to anything else, and though Cousin Edmund had been kind and informative, not to mention a fine authority on what to do on a rainy day, his absence was rendered almost forgettable--except at dinner when Lady Bertram would say,
"I wish I could remember the number of Cousin Matlock's house in London. If Edmund was here, he would remember; he has a head for that sort of thing."
Whenever Edmund happened to be mentioned during the day, Fanny would feel unaccountably guilty for forgetting him. Surely one who had been so kind should not be forgotten so easily. Either William or Archie would notice her distress, and after they had ascertained what was wrong, they would all agree to go for a ride. More often than not, Archie would decline a ride, as he should not, as a servant, suppose to be allowed to ride on the house's horses. Occasionally, however, while Fanny sat rigidly on the pony Tom had given her, holding the reins exactly the way Edmund had taught her, only perhaps a little more tightly, William could convince Archie to have a go on his horse.
Fanny would grin at the light that would come on in Archie's eyes when the reins were handed to him. Here was a boy who loved life. Whatever he did, he did with all his heart, whether it was tending his roses or buffing the coach or feeding the dogs. When Maria or Julia was especially tiring, he would join William in trying to cheer Fanny. They always succeeded, for how could a girl keep her countenance in the face of such clowns? One day, Archie was able to introduce Fanny and William to his sister, Susie. They were surprised to find her very unlike their own sister, Susan.
Susie Connor was not quite eleven yet. Fanny thought it remarkable that she was even that old. Even William seemed taken aback by her appearance, and had to take a moment before he could say anything. Susie smiled listlessly at them while Archie chattered cheerfully for a few minutes, then said she had to check on the potatoes, and left in a hurry. William stared after her.
"She's eleven, you say?"
"Near to it, yes," said Archie.
"Is she ... Does she do well?"
"Yes, she's the best one in that kitchen."
"Oh." William and Fanny exchanged wondering glances.
"Well, she will be," said Archie loyally. "She can't always work every day. She'll go to sleep at night and there'll be no getting her up; sometimes she sleeps for days."
"Oh."
"Well, it isn't her fault she's sickly," said Archie. "If she would eat more, I'm sure she'd get better, but there are a lot of things she can't keep down."
"Of course it isn't her fault," said Fanny haltingly. William finally summoned a smile and said,
"She is very pretty."
The next day, while the children were having lessons with Miss Lee, Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris discussed their nephew and niece. Sir Thomas wished to know about their progress.
"William is doing very well, Sir Thomas. We have chosen well. Except he seems to have very little interest in Latin."
"I doubt the lack of Latin skills will affect him greatly in the Navy."
"Very true, sir; he cannot possibly do without it; I shall recommend to Miss Lee that she press him harder."
"What about Fanny? Is she equally bright?"
"Well, it has been difficult to find her for school hours. She is always running off to do whatever she likes, with no consideration for anybody. I could have used her today...."
"Does she study at all?"
"Well, yes, she studies any book she can possibly read. It is arithmetic and music and needlepoint, the truly important things that she neglects. I found her in her room yesterday, sniffling uselessly in her handkerchief. I hope she is not coming down with something, for I will surely catch it if she does."
"That is unfortunate. But does she do well with the things she does?"
"Yes, I suppose so."
"I was wondering if we should keep Fanny here when William goes away. After what she has learned here, after being so privileged and pampered, would it be right to send her back to Portsmouth?"
"Oh, certainly, Sir Thomas, I perfectly understand you! But no need to worry on that account. Dear Maria told me just yesterday that Fanny is as anxious to return home as she was the first day she came here."
"I hope that is not a reflection of our treatment of her," said Sir Thomas, alarmed.
"I'm afraid it is more a reflection of her ingratitude," Mrs. Norris sniffed. "William seems to truly like it here, and I'm sure he would stay forever if he could. But Fanny thinks of nothing but Portsmouth."
"Do you have all this from Maria?" asked Sir Thomas, bemused.
"No, I have observed this myself. I admit, I fancy myself something of an observer of people. I never intrude in their affairs; I merely enjoy watching them."
"No, you never meddle, Aunt," said Tom, who was sulking from an earlier lecture. He rose and stretched his arms over his head. "Father, do you know Archie Connor, the coachman's son?"
"I have heard John Coachman speak of him."
"What about his daughter?"
"Where is this going, Tom?"
"You have not formed an attachment with one of the servants, have you, Tom?" Mrs. Norris screeched. Tom rolled his eyes.
"No. But I was talking with William and Fanny this afternoon, and they told me that Susie Connor is poorly."
"I will take her some medicine in the morning," said Mrs. Norris, sniffing.
"I don't think that will be enough, ma'am, but if that is what you think best..." Tom did not feel like pressing anything with his aunt at the moment, so he shrugged his shoulders and left the room. Meanwhile, Sir Thomas was forming a plan.
"Mrs. Norris, are you absolutely certain that Fanny wants nothing more from us?"
"No, the ungrateful creature wants only to return to the squalor of Portsmouth." Mrs. Norris felt severely ill used. She had meant to have somebody they could adopt, to have always in the house. Now it seemed these children were going to take what was given them, and go away again without giving anything back. This was not good economy!
"Then perhaps I should help this Miss Connor Tom was speaking of, the way I would have helped Fanny, if she had been unable to go home after her experiences here."
"Why, Sir Thomas, the very idea!" Mrs. Norris was jubilant.
William sought Archie alone that afternoon, because Fanny had been detained by Maria. He was not surprised to find him whistling as he worked; Archie often kept himself amused that way. He was surprised when Archie looked up at him and suddenly jumped to his feet, shouting,
"You'll never guess! Norris herself came down this morning and asked my father if Susie could be trained to be Lady Bertram's companion!"
"Why does Aunt Bertram need a companion to sleep and pet Pug?" William wondered aloud. Archie laughed and shrugged.
"I dunno, but this means Susie doesn't have to cook anymore!"
"Will she be paid to keep my aunt company?" William could not quite understand the concept just yet.
"I assume she will," said Archie, beginning to frown.
"Well, that is very good! Tell her I said congratulations, will you? I'm going to tell Fanny. Good-bye. See you tomorrow!"
"But you're leaving tomorrow!"
"Oh, that's right. Well, then I'll see you when I come back!"
"Good luck, William. Oh, I wish I could be a sailor!"
"But then you'd have to leave your roses." William laughed and waved before disappearing once again. Archie shook his head, still laughing, and went back to his work.
The next day, Sir Thomas accompanied William and Fanny back to Portsmouth. Mr. and Mrs. Price greeted them quickly, then hustled William straight back out the door. He was due on his ship that evening. Fanny was excited for her brother, and for his sake tried to stay out from under her parents' feet during the commotion. When William finally left, she and her remaining siblings stood on the dock, waving after him.
For the following two years, the Prices received monthly monetary gifts from the Bertrams. When they stopped coming, Mr. and Mrs. Price grilled Fanny and William, who was back for a short time, waiting to be transferred to another ship after his first one sank, but neither of them knew why they would have stopped. A short time afterward, they received a prettily- written letter from Lady Bertram, begging forgiveness in case their pride had been injured by the gifts. After reading the letter, Mr. Price went out and did not come back until morning, quite drunk and by no means disposed to be kind.
"I hate the Bertrams," said Richard as he huddled in a corner of Fanny's room with John and Sam.
"There's no reason to hate them," said Fanny, now twelve. "It must be a misunderstanding. I'm sure it was done out of consideration, not spite. Sir Thomas is not an unkind man."
"He was not kind to me," Richard growled.
"He was not unkind, either," said Fanny. "He is a very good man."
"Then why won't he send us money anymore?" John asked, wincing as their father's angry voice drifted upstairs.
"I don't know," Fanny whispered. Mary sniffled and burst into tears, burying her head in Susan's shoulder.
"I want Papa to be nice!" she wailed.
"Mary, sit up. Your face is hot, and it's hurting my shoulder," Susan complained. Fanny jumped up and felt Mary's forehead. It was very warm, but she thought perhaps that was caused by the tears. She was wrong.
Mary's fever seemed to grow worse by the minute. Within an hour of Susan's discovery of her baby sister's illness, Mary had grown so ill, she could hardly speak to be heard. She had tried to go to her mother for comfort, but had fallen down the stairs. Now, though Mrs. Price was beside her, she was tormented either by her sickness, or by the pain caused by the leg she had injured in her fall.
Mrs. Price sat at her daughter's side, occasionally touching her head fondly or shouting to the servant girl to do something-or-other Mary required. Fanny sat on her other side, holding a large bowl of water in one arm and bathing Mary's fevered head with the other. A heaviness had settled on her when it became clear how ill Mary was, and now she could not shake the feeling that her sister was dying. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she would not allow them to fall, as they might cause her mother to be saddened. Her resolve almost shattered when she heard Mary whimper.
"Don't cry, dearest," she said, sniffling herself. "It will be all right."
"But I wanted to go with Mrs. Maxwell to see William off," Mary said in a whisper that was trying its best to be a whine. Fanny looked down to try to squelch the selfishness that would rather she was at the dock, waving good-bye to William.
"You will have to miss it this time, Mary," said Mrs. Price. "When you get better, you will see William."
Mary was too exhausted to protest.
"Fanny, aren't you going to wish William a safe journey?" Richard asked from the doorway.
"No."
Richard was confused, and insisted she should come. Their mother could do very well without her, and it was not as if Mary was going anywhere. It would only take a little while to see William off, then they could have as much every-day drudgery as they liked. In Richard's opinion, Mary was not so badly-off she had to have two nurses.
John was also anxious to leave, but he sympathized with Fanny. He, himself, was torn about whether or not to stay with his sister, but his father had informed him that a man was not meant to be in the sickroom, except as a patient, and his worries were put to rest.
In the end, Richard and John left by themselves. Susan and Sam stayed behind, Susan because she felt she should, if Fanny did, and Sam because his sister's illness frightened him. Mary had always protected him before, and had been the only one of his siblings to willingly play with him (he had not yet accepted Tommy or Charlie as playmates).
An hour went by with the only sounds in the house being Susan's quiet admonitions to Sam to be still, and Mary's heavy breathing. Slowly, Fanny watched her sister sink further away, until not even the noise Sam made by accidentally knocking over one of the chairs in the room, woke her. Fanny could not take it anymore, and quickly excused herself, just before the tears fell. She ran to the room she would now share only with Susan, locked the door behind her, and slumped to the ground with her back to the door, weeping.
She heard her mother calling her, but for once did not come the minute she was called.
"Fanny, I do not see why you must play now. Come back; I cannot do this myself."
Fanny shut her eyes and tried to tell herself she had not heard, therefore she was not disobeying. Through the tears that were fogging her senses, a sound permeated that was more welcome to her, as it carried no reminder of the terrible thing that was happening in the room just next to her. The cheerful, innocent voice of Anna Clark, one of the little girls in the neighborhood, drifted up through her window.
"William! Come out and play! William! Fanny!"
Fanny stood and wiped her eyes, then went to look down at the street from her window. Anna was overjoyed to see her.
"Fanny, can you tell William to come play with me?"
"William... He's at the dock," said Fanny. Anna's face filled with disappointment.
"He's leaving already? But...."
"I'll be right down, Anna," said Fanny quickly. "We'll go see him together."
She ran down the stairs, determined to let William know now that Mary was dying, rather than making him wait the long period between letters. They should grieve together, not separately.
She found William standing on the dock, talking in an animated fashion to another boy who had a pack slung over his shoulder. John and Richard were standing a few feet away with their father, who was shouting at one of the officers. William looked at her and said,
"Here's Fanny! Fanny, you'll never guess who I met today. Do you remember Archie Connor, from Mansfield Park?"
Fanny looked at the other boy again and her mouth dropped open. She ran forward, leaving Anna to trudge behind her as best she could.
"Archie? You've grown so tall!"
"You haven't changed a bit," he grinned, and shook her hand heartily. Fifteen now, he was as handsome as any young man she had ever seen.
"What are you doing here?"
Archie's smile faltered, and he looked down before answering.
"Well, ah, Sir Thomas had to let me go. The Bertrams just happened to be in London for the Season, so I hopped on the mail and came here. So I won't be a gardener, or a coachman. But I have joined the Navy!"
"Oh, are you on William's ship?" asked Anna.
"No," he said regretfully, clapping William on the back. "But maybe I will be someday. Your brother is destined for greatness, you know."
"Yes, I know," said Fanny, looking proudly at the blushing William, who was puzzled that Archie had mistook Anna for one of his sisters.
"How are all your brothers and sisters? Do you have any more than when I last saw you?"
Fanny's smile disappeared, and she looked at William sorrowfully.
"Yes, we have one more brother now--Charlie. But you have come at a very sad time. Our sister Mary is very sick. I--I think she's dying." Anna grew pale, and she stared at each of them in turn. An only child, with young parents, she had never witnessed death, except for when one of the sailors would go away and never come back.
"Oh, fiddle, Fanny," said William, alarmed. "She's just sick."
"Mary's sick? The pretty little blonde-haired girl?" said Archie. "Oh, that's terrible. I'm very sorry." He cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Why are you here, Fanny?" asked William.
"I wanted you to know, before you left. It could be a long time before you come back, and I thought you would rather know sooner than later."
"Maybe Mary will get better," Anna piped. "Did you give her any medicine?"
"We can't afford it," said William.
"I have a little money," Archie offered, then his eyes lit up. "Or you could ask the Bertrams. They are family, after all, and they are rich!"
"I don't think they would...," said William, a little resentfully.
"Well, you could ask. The worst they can do is refuse," said Archie reasonably.
"But they are in London. We wouldn't make it in time."
"If it's as desperate as you say, there's no time to lose. Come, we will go now."
"But my ship! I have to leave today!"
Archie screwed up his mouth thoughtfully.
"I will go with Fanny, and perhaps one of your other brothers would like to go, too."
"I'll ask them!" said Anna, and she scampered off to tell John and Richard what was happening, as far as she understood it. They both wanted to go with Archie and Fanny, and right away. Fanny, however, insisted on going home first, to tell their mother where they were going, and to pack a few things for the trip. Mrs. Price wept openly over each of them, saying she didn't know what was becoming of their family. For John and Richard she had a few loving things and words of caution to say before they left, and she kissed Fanny on the head, as well.
When all was settled at home, Fanny, John and Richard went back to where Archie was waiting, and they all left for London. They had the good fortune to find a man who was driving his prize horses to Reading, and he allowed them to ride with him. From Reading, however, they were on their own.