Beginning, Section II
Jump to new as of January 26, 2001
Jump to new as of February 28, 2001
Jump to new as of March 24, 2001
"You'll miss your ship," said Fanny suddenly as they bounced towards London. Archie looked at her and smiled.
"No, I won't; it doesn't leave for three days."
"Oh. Well, I'm still very thankful for this."
"Don't mention it," he said, embarrassed. Fanny smiled shyly.
"You always were generous," she murmured, and looked away to stare out at the countryside.
"I hope they don't turn us away," said John suddenly.
"I don't think they will," said Archie quietly.
"They won't. And if they do, I'll pound 'em!" said Richard. Fanny gave him a look, turning him penitent at once. He pouted. "Well, they could have done more to help. I'm sure Aunt Norris knows Mary's sick."
Fanny had to admit this point, and they continued in gloomy silence. When at last they arrived at the Bertrams's house in London, it was with trepidation that they climbed the stairs to the grand door, and Richard was the only one bold enough to finally lift the huge knocker. The door was opened by a dignified butler, who stared down at them all in disdain until his eyes fell on Archie and he exclaimed,
"What are you doing here?" He cleared his throat at once, embarrassed by his loss of composure, and stepped aside to let them in. It was always best not to make a scene on the doorstep. Once inside, he said stiffly, "I do not think Sir Thomas is at home. I will go check. Don't touch anything."
After he had gone, Fanny said,
"I suppose I should have mended your trousers before we left, John."
"My trousers! Look at Richard's face!"
"I washed it!"
Archie laughed.
"You all look tremendously respectable. But I don't think your uncle will appreciate bickering."
The younger boys looked at their feet. Both of them wished for the good opinion of this friend of William's. They immediately looked up again, however, when loud footsteps sounded on the floor. It was not Sir Thomas, however, but one of their cousins. Archie quickly stepped out of sight in order to let the Prices do the talking.
"Who are you?" Miss Bertram asked.
"Fanny, is she Maria or Julia?" John whispered. Fanny ignored him and dropped a curtsy.
"Hello, Julia. We would like to see Sir Thomas, if he is at home."
"Fanny?" Julia asked, astonished. She came forward to have a closer look, startled by the haggard appearance of her cousin. She reached out a hand to touch her hair. "Are you well?" she finally asked. "Do you need something?"
"I am fine, but...."
"Well, you don't look fine," said Julia bluntly. Fanny blushed.
"You look very well, Cousin."
"Fanny is very pretty!" John defended his sister. Julia looked her other two cousins up and down then turned to Fanny again.
"These are your brothers?"
"Yes. This is John, and that is Richard."
"Is William come?" She looked around for that boy and started when she saw Archie instead. "Hello, Archie," she said softly. He nodded curtly.
"Miss Bertram."
Fanny was stung by her cousin's rudeness to Archie.
"Mr. Connor was kind enough to see us here when he discovered how dire our situation is. Can we please see Sir Thomas?"
"He is not home right now. He is at Parliament," said Julia loftily.
"Well, then," Fanny gulped, "Aunt Norris?"
"She is paying visits with my mother."
"Then why are you here?" Richard demanded.
"You could leave your card, if you like, and perhaps my father will visit you tomorrow." Julia smirked, knowing they would not have cards. Archie stepped forward now at Fanny's pleading look.
"Their sister is gravely ill. They need to speak to someone immediately. Who is here?"
"Well, I am," Julia stammered. "And Edmund. Yes. Edmund is here. I-I will go fetch him." She would have run out of the room, had she thought it was ladylike.
Fanny sighed, relieved that that, at least, was over. She looked at Archie and was surprised to see he had turned pale.
"I don't like her," Richard announced. John shushed him as raised voices came towards them. In a few seconds, their cousin Edmund was hastening towards them with Julia at his heels. He shook all their hands--except Archie's, who had sunk back into the shadows--and asked them how they were, and immediately called for refreshments to be served and for baths to be prepared for Lady Bertram's nephews and niece.
"Come, Fanny, sit down at once," he said. "You look fagged to death. Julia, how could you keep them waiting?"
"I-I didn't mean to," said Julia. Fanny couldn't tell why she was so disconcerted. She had certainly never been in awe of her elder brother; never minded if he was upset with her.
"Well, what brings you to London? Aunt Norris said that William's ship was sailing yesterday. Didn't you see him off?"
"No, we were unable to," said Fanny, fighting back tears. "It was of very important that we come here immediately."
"Archie said their sister was ill," said Julia.
"Archie? Connor?" Edmund was vastly surprised, but kept himself from getting distracted. "Which sister?"
"Mary," said Richard.
"She's dying," said Fanny. She bit her lip, wondering about the delicacy of such a petition, but being unused to such things, blurted the entire thing out. "Mama and Papa can't afford medicines."
"I see." Edmund frowned and looked at Julia, who shrugged. "What about the money my father sends you? Didn't you ask him?"
"What money?" said Fanny. "We came here on purpose to ask him, but he is not here."
"I know, but... Has not my father been sending your parents money regularly?"
"He was, but he stopped soon after William and I left Mansfield Park."
"Hm." Edmund did not understand this. "Well, I will speak to my father about it, if that is your wish. I don't have money of my own," He smiled sheepishly. "Or I'd give that to you."
"Is Tom in trouble again?" asked Fanny. Edmund nodded.
"In a manner of speaking. Well, here is Mrs. Sims. She will take care of you until dinner."
"Oh, we did not mean to impose....!" Fanny started. Edmund stood and looked down at her, offering his hand to help her stand.
"Then you have somewhere else to stay in London? I think not. Unless, of course, Archie...."
"Mr. Connor," said Fanny, irritated by the careless way her cousins spoke that boy's name. "He is not your servant anymore."
"You're right, of course," Edmund grinned. "But you will stay here, until we send you back to Portsmouth."
"Will Sir Thomas help Mary?"
"I would not doubt it," said Edmund, then looked down, frowning. "I can't think why he has not helped you so far. But we shall see what we shall see, and in the meantime, I see no reason why you and your brothers should not be treated as cousins of the Bertrams."
He pushed her gently towards Mrs. Sims, who had already taken the boys in hand, and she smiled gratefully at him before she left the room with that lady.
Mrs. Sims showed Fanny to one of the guestrooms, and left her there. Fanny stood in the middle of the room for a few minutes, unsure of what she was supposed to do. A large bed stood centered along one wall, and she walked over and cautiously sat on it. Was she really meant to sleep here? She had thought they would hurry back to Portsmouth immediately. Surely she didn't need such luxurious accommodations for such a brief stay.
But it was so comfortable.
The door opened just as Fanny was starting to drift to sleep and she jumped up, dismayed at being caught idling. Julia entered almost shyly, carrying something in her arms.
"I thought you'd be in the bath by now," she said. "Where is Mrs. Sims?"
"I don't know."
"Well, I brought you these. I thought you'd need something nice to wear to dinner, and ... well, I could see you didn't bring anything with you." She did not offer the clothes to Fanny, but looked down at them, fingering the lace wistfully with one hand. She sighed and laid them on the bed. "I have outgrown them, myself. They're not exactly fashionable anymore, but they will do."
"They are lovely," said Fanny, wondering at Julia's uncharacteristically generous behaviour. "Thank you."
Julia shrugged.
"My aunt would have told me to give something to you, anyway. She would have given you something even older, as well. I thought my cousin should look as nice as possible." She looked at Fanny now and grinned mischievously. "If she finds I can act on my own, she will have a conniption."
Fanny did not know what to make of this. She looked down at the dresses, searching for something to say.
Julia was equally lost for words for the next few minutes, until she suddenly said, "Fanny, do you think I'm proud?"
Fanny looked at her, startled.
"I-I couldn't say. I barely know you."
"Was I ever unkind to you?"
Fanny bit her lip and would not answer. She knew she could not answer satisfactorily. But it seemed as though Julia deflated somewhat when she realized what the answer would have been.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly and fled the room.
Lady Bertram, Mrs. Norris and Maria returned within the hour in tolerable spirits. Maria was in a good humor, owing to the attentions paid her by Miss Elliot. Her mother was not as excited for her as she would have liked, however, and she was forced to share her happiness with Susie Connor, who accompanied Lady Bertram wherever she went, and knew better than to point out that Miss Elliot's attentions had hardly been of the flattering variety.
Susie Connor had blossomed. The pale and listless girl that had so worried Fanny and William two years before was now alert and healthy. She eyed Maria with some amusement and carefully agreed with her. Finally Maria reached the end of her gushings, and walked into the drawing room, her chin comfortably high with the feeling of superiority. She was taken aback when Edmund seemed disappointed to see them!
"Well, you needn't be glad to welcome your sister home, I'm sure!" she sniffed. "Whom were you expecting?"
"I was hoping Father was home, actually," he replied calmly.
"Well, you know he won't return until later--very likely he will not join us for dinner."
"I do hope there is not too much trouble with the carving," said Lady Bertram. "It is so important to have the meat carved just so, and I'm sure your father is the only one who can do it correctly."
"He is a very good carver," Susie agreed when Maria elbowed her. Edmund smiled and went on reading.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Norris came down the stairs, very nearly running, and burst into the drawing room.
"There are three horrid children upstairs! And I do think I saw that Archie Connor! He has brought them here as revenge!"
Edmund looked, miffed, at his aunt while Susie jumped up and went to find her brother.
"Those horrid children are my cousins, Aunt Norris."
"Nonsense! All your cousins are grown! Your cousin the colonel was here just yesterday..."
"Not the Fitzwilliams, Aunt. The Prices."
"What?" Maria and Aunt Norris said together, each as horrified as the other. "What are they doing here?" Maria asked.
"They have come to ask our help with something. That is why I hoped Father would be home soon. I'm sure they are in a great hurry."
"The impertinence!" Mrs. Norris sputtered. "How dare they come here and ask for favours, with all your dear father has done for them already! If I were you, I would have thrown them out!"
"Then I am very glad you were not here, madam," said Edmund angrily. "I should hope they would be able to look to us--who are blood relations, after all--when their sister is dying."
Mrs. Norris looked abashed, but was fuming inside. Maria looked from one to the other, then said,
"Aunt, I'm sure nobody is so grateful to us as you. Tell me, when will it be time for us to throw you out?" Mrs. Norris's mouth opened and closed several times, making her look very much like a fish. She stared at Maria, wounded that the girl would have taken sides against her.
Maria sat up straighter in her chair and looked defiantly at Edmund, expecting to be chastised for disrespecting her aunt. She was quite put out when he smiled at her, happy that she had stood up for their cousins.
Unexpectedly, Sir Thomas did arrive in time for dinner, and Edmund was able to talk to him privately before the family sat down. Sir Thomas was appropriately horrified at the situation presented to the poor Prices, and expressed his desire to do something for them. He was forced to tell Edmund, however, that, due to increasingly bad luck with his estate in the West Indies, coupled with Tom's extravagance, there was little he could do for them at present.
Edmund was, of course, angered by this response.
"If the girl's life comes down to a question of expense, sir, by all means, take it out of my allowance. I cannot believe there is any way to justify simply sitting by and allowing this to happen."
"It is not my desire, either, but there is nothing I can do without robbing my own children. Tom is doing enough of that, I think," he added dryly.
"If it is going to happen, anyway, then you might as well use it for something worthwhile."
Sir Thomas found it difficult to remain steadfast in the face of his son's righteous indignation, but he was ultimately unmovable and they both went into dinner with something less than high spirits.
Edmund had invited Archie to join them for dinner, remembering Fanny's statement that he was not one of the servants anymore, and also that he might like to spend as much time as possible with his sister. Susie and Archie talked in low voices in their corner of the table, and Julia alternated between watching them enviously and staring at her plate.
Fanny was very proud of Archie. He did not show any sign of awe at being moved to the family's table, or of being seated next to Sir Thomas, though that gentleman himself stiffened at the sight of the boy. He answered all questions put to him cheerfully and without hesitation. Of all the people there, he seemed to be the most comfortable--excluding Lady Bertram, who would never put herself to the trouble of being disconcerted. Even Maria was fidgeting in her seat. Julia stared at her plate most of the evening, Mrs. Norris glared at each of the intruders, as well as Susie, and Edmund was too upset by his father's decision to be good company. As for the Prices, the boys were too intimidated by their fine surroundings, and Fanny was too busy trying to plan a way to ask Sir Thomas for help. She knew John and Richard would not remember what they had come for; the task would most certainly fall to her.
Despite nervous trembling and queasiness, she finally worked herself up to broach the subject after dinner. After such an effort, it is little wonder the girl burst into tears as the news that no help was forthcoming was broken to her.
Edmund took her gently by the shoulder and led her away from the others until she could calm herself. He spoke comfortingly to her and gave her water to take away the hiccups that inevitably followed. She did not have time to register his kindness, however; her mind was working too quickly, trying to think of another way to help Mary. She suddenly remembered where she was and, blushing furiously, quickly excused herself from the room.
It was not difficult for Sir Thomas to see that his children--at least Edmund and Julia-- were ashamed of him. John and Richard, who had watched the scene with wide eyes, now glared at him mercilessly. As Mrs. Norris expounded on the shockingly bad manners of little Miss Fanny, his conscience pricked him until finally he could bear it no longer. Standing up abruptly, he left Mrs. Norris in mid-sentence and strode out of the room. Richard giggled at the look on Mrs. Norris's face and ran after his uncle. John soon followed, as well.
Fanny knew there was no point in staying any longer. She packed her few things hurriedly, discarding the dresses Julia had given her for her own frock. When she was finished, she went downstairs again to find Archie and tell him they must leave. He could not argue with her, since his ship was leaving in a couple days. Having packed little, they were all ready to go in a very short time. Just before they left, however, they heard footsteps hurrying towards them, and Fanny turned at the sound of her own name. It was Sir Thomas. Fanny looked at her brothers in confusion, then back at her uncle. What could he want with her?
He cleared his throat and looked at the floor before beginning.
"I thought I'd make you a little present before you left." He handed her a little bag and continued. "I hope it helps your sister. Be sure to give your mother and father my best wishes."
Fanny was so touched by this awkward speech, she felt in danger of crying again. Instead, she threw her arms around his waist and thanked him profusely. He was extremely embarrassed by this, as were Richard and John, who did not quite understand how anybody could weep when they were happy.
"Come on, Fanny," said John. "I thank you, sir, too, but really! Fanny, we must hurry!" With Richard's help, he pulled Fanny away, and they were gone.
"Mama!" Fanny ran up the stairs to the sickroom. "Mama, we did it! My uncle gave us the money, and much more! Mama?" Mrs. Price looked at her blankly. Because of the shadows in the room, Fanny could not see that her face was stained with tears, but she did notice the look of sadness on her face.
"What did you say, Fanny?" Mrs. Price asked. Fanny did not answer. She had noticed the tiny form in the bed. She was too late. Mary was dead.
The money that was to have saved Mary's life ended up paying for her funeral. It was a small affair, attended only by the girl's family and a few close friends. It was just as well. Fanny had not expected more people to come, and she did not want them. The task of playing hostess would have fallen to her, as her mother was too busy being grief-stricken to do anything, and she did not think she could bear it. The only person she was sorry not to see was William. It was not fair that he had to be at sea now, when she needed him.
Aside from the Price family, Mary's godparents, Mr. Price's brother, and one of his friends who came looking forward to the binge that would follow, the only other people there were Sir Thomas, Mrs. Norris, and Edmund. Excuses were made for the other Bertrams, but Fanny could not help thinking that those absent had only been able to do what the others would have done if they could. Most people would wish to avoid the funeral of a six-year-old girl.
Fanny knew that, at most, Mary would be mourned for a week. Was this right? Why did nobody see what a hole her death would make in their lives? The younger children would likely not even remember her. It would be months before William even heard of it, and with him absent, who would comfort Fanny?
As the funeral party dispersed, she was left alone by the tiny grave. Her head down and her eyes tightly shut, she did not hear anybody come up behind her.
"How do you get on, Fanny?" She was surprised to hear Edmund's voice, but she did not look up. How could she answer that? Should she tell him how she actually felt, or should she simply give the polite "I am well, thank you"? He seemed to understand her silence.
"I'm sorry. That was a stupid question. I should have said, 'How will you get on?' Isn't that right?"
"I suppose so."
"Yes," he sighed, and sat down on the ground beside her. "Nobody can expect you to be perfectly well after ... this."
"I miss her," said Fanny softly.
"Of course you do. I miss her, myself, and I barely knew her. She was ... she made people around her happy." Except Maria, but Edmund decided now was not the time to get into that. He looked up at her and suddenly realized her quiet tears had turned into full-fledged sobs. He quickly stood and guided her to a nearby bench.
"I should have stayed," she sobbed. "I shouldn't have left her. She needed me. But I thought I could help, if only we could... But it was all useless. If only I had been there..."
"I'm sure there was nothing to be done here," said Edmund, alarmed for his cousin. "She had been sick for a long time already..."
"Then I should have gone earlier!" she wailed.
"No, Fanny, you did your best, and nobody can do more than that. Do you think Mary blames you?"
She shook her head slowly.
"Then it makes no sense for you to blame yourself, does it?"
She shook her head again, and slowly, with more of the same coaxing, her tears faded.
William took his hat off and rubbed a hand over his head, slinging rainwater on the person behind him. He turned around at the indignant sputter to find himself facing the captain.
"S-sorry, sir, I mean, Captain, I..."
"Never mind, boy. Quite a storm, eh?" William nodded. Captain Marshall continued. "Well, it's nothing we can't handle. You've seen worse."
"Yes, I mean, aye, aye, Captain." William flushed and nervously slung the water out of his hair again. He did not want to remind his captain of how fast a shower could turn into a squall. In any case, he should not have to. For this reason he was glad to see the same fear in Captain Marshall's eyes. His captain knew what he was doing. He did not need to be told by a boy who couldn't even remember to say "aye, aye" after being in the Navy two years.
Within fifteen minutes, William's fears of a squall had been turned to reality. The ship was tossed here, there and everywhere as the winds grew to hurricane force.
As he worked to keep the deck from filling with water, William heard one of the masts break. Looking up, he saw a sailor fall into the water, and the beam heading straight for his own head. He dove out of the way, hitting the floor just in time to float away with the giant wave that chose that moment to sweep the deck.
William thrashed in the water, trying to remember which way was up, until his hands grasped the shirt of another man in the water. This jolted him back to his senses, and as the man grabbed hold of William's middle, they were both able to make it back to the ship.
The storm ended as quickly as it had begun, while William gasped for breath. He looked over to where the other man was also gasping. William coughed once more then rasped out,
"Thank you ... for saving me."
"I should thank you," the man returned. William suddenly wondered why he'd never seen this man before. He thought he k new all the sailors by name. The man answered his question before William could ask it. "I'm David Brooks, by the bye."
"William Price."
"A real pleasure." Well, at least he was friendly. "I thought I was dead for sure when I fell. I would have drowned...."
"Let's call it even, then," William laughed. "A life for a life."
Brooks smiled and shook William's hand. Each claimed the other was the saviour, and though they soon discovered that David was twenty to William's thirteen, they became very close.
David had just come on board the Antwerp two days ago when they had been in Spain. The reason William had not seen him before today was because he had been recovering from a rather long stay in a Spanish prison. Even now he did not look terribly healthy, but every hand had been needed to battle the storm. With William's consistent help in the next few days, however, the thin shoulders began to fill out and the smile to appear more frequently.
Some nights, when he was having trouble going to sleep, William would lie awake and wonder what he would do if he were ever captured. Though David never talked about it, William was perceptive enough to notice the gradual changes in him, and was convinced that it was not his own pleasant company that had worked on Brooks---he must have been quite a different man before his imprisonment. These troubling thoughts often kept William awake. The thought of rotting in prison while his family wondered what had happened to him was too much for him. Only the infrequent stops in exciting places could distract him.
David Brooks seemed to notice the effect his stories had on the boy. He was sorry for it, but it was not in his nature to speak in-depth about his own troubles, and he could not begin to communicate the small things that calmed and comforted him now. All he could do to help was to provide as much distraction as possible, and in the next six years they were at sea together, he took it upon himself to be William Price's tour guide. It did not occur to him that the boy might adopt him as his hero.
Edmund Bertram came into the dining room just as Sir Thomas was beginning the prayer. He smiled half-apologetically at his Aunt Norris and unobtrusively took his seat next to Maria and opposite Tom, who strangely averted his gaze from his brother. Edmund was puzzled by this, but soon forgot about it when Susie Connor began hiccoughing violently and had to leave the table. As soon as she had gone, Mrs. Norris began abusing her.
"I declare, that girl has not an ounce of decorum. How unfortunate that we should have been forced to take her, rather than one of my nieces."
"If I remember correctly, ma'am," said Maria, who was peeved at the results of last night's ball, "you were equally unsatisfied with my cousins."
"Yes, but for all their faults, at least they were your cousins. There must have been something in them."
"If Mary had not been sent away," Julia ventured, "perhaps her life would have been spared."
"I'm sure the tenement they live in is hardly conducive to living," Maria agreed with a shudder.
"It was hardly a tenement," said Edmund quietly as his mind drifted back to that one day he had spent with his cousins. Had that really been eight years ago?
"Even so," said Maria, "I'm sure it was dreadful."
"Well, I'm sure it's better now, with our father's help," Edmund said with only a hint of the relief he felt. At least his family had done something to help, though it had not been enough for Mary.
"It likely would have been, if they had accepted our help," said Lady Bertram.
"I still think they were dreadfully ungrateful to refuse it!" cried Mrs. Norris. "To think, a Price shirking the help of the Bertrams! Pride is all well and good, I suppose, but when it's to the detriment of the children, your nieces and nephews, my dear Sir Thomas, I believe nothing should be spared."
Edmund was confused. He looked from his father to his aunt and back again.
"What is this? Do you mean that since the last time we saw them, they have received nothing from us?"
"Since before then, I believe," said Lady Bertram. "Was it not when William and Fanny left us that we were told they could not accept charity?"
"Nonsense!" Edmund exclaimed, then laughed. "That was a cruel joke, Aunt, and I'll thank you to leave off."
"Leave off what, Edmund? It is certainly not my fault!" Mrs. Norris said, turning purple.
"But it is impossible! Nobody could be that proud!"
"That is the message we were given, Edmund," said Sir Thomas. "What is the use in sending anything if it will not be used?"
"But did you not even think about the likelihood of it, sir? Where did you get the message?"
"To be sure," said Mrs. Norris, "I gave it to him. But I had it from William himself, Edmund. Are you implying that the child lied?"
Edmund was reluctant to say such a thing of his cousin, but he did believe the boy had more pride than was good for him. He waited a moment before speaking, the better to gather his thoughts.
"I find it hard to believe that a woman who, just a few months before, wrote such a pleading letter for financial help, would suddenly decide that they were too good for charity. I don't say William did not have good intentions--perhaps he thought he could support his family by himself, or maybe he has read too many novels and was enamoured of the thought of nobly refusing funds. But I doubt very much that his words were the words of my aunt and uncle."
Maria and Julia stared at him--they had never thought of the Prices as their aunt and uncle before. Such titles certainly implied more than they had been accustomed to credit them with. Edmund did not notice them, however, but gazed steadily at his father. Sir Thomas sighed and laid his knife and fork down.
"I believe you are right, Edmund. I'm ashamed to say that I did not think of that." He frowned. "My affairs were in such a bad state then, I was probably too relieved at the news of having the care of ten children lifted from my shoulders, to look into it too much."
Edmund's gaze turned into an angry glare. His father had taken the word of an eleven- year-old boy with not so much as a simple investigation? It was unthinkable. Sir Thomas looked at his eldest son, who had slunk even further into his seat and was now staring fixedly at his own hands.
"And I'm afraid my affairs as they were then would be a welcome relief to me now. Certain circumstances have strained my finances almost to the last, and it seems all our hopes lie in Antigua." He drew a deep breath before dropping the bomb. "In fact, I will have to take a small business trip there very soon, and try to put things in order." He glanced one more time at Tom, who looked downright miserable. "And I think Tom should come with me. Perhaps he will learn something from the experience."