Chapter Two #2
“I have little enough regard for the judgement of your daughter, sir, but the very highest for my son. I know not how much you have for yours. I will treat Maria with every modicum of respect and affection that she shows my son, who is made wretched at her obstinance. He has escaped the clutches of many a fortune hunter, and though not every worthy young lady has seen his merits, he and Maria were getting on famously together before this pesky Crawford upstart came into the county. Despite her head being turned, I am not without hope that it may all come right. James certainly believes it might. He wants her, and he shall have her. Crawford is gone out of the country, and we may proceed as if nothing ever passed between him and your daughter. As if Henry Dashwood was really John’s father. ”
Sir Thomas let out a heavy sigh before addressing her in his deep baritone. “You ask me to sacrifice the happiness, perhaps forever, of one of my children or the other?”
Prudence approached the desk and placed her empty glass there with a deliberate clink.
“I am merely warning you that I will do anything for the happiness of mine.” She turned and swept out of the room, and though she moved swiftly, she thought she perceived a muffled sob as she went down the corridor.
She made no compliments to the lady of the house as she showed herself out, thinking only of returning to Sotherton to attend her lovelorn son.
One way or another, Prudence would see her poor boy returned to good cheer.
Either the Bertram chit would be brought back to her senses, and her dowry brought to Sotherton, or Prudence would see Norland returned to her niece, enriching the Dashwood girls sufficiently that one of them might console James very well indeed.
29 October—Mansfield Park, Northamptonshire
Edmund Bertram found himself called into his father's study to once again act as counselor, though on this occasion he feared it was more grave than on the last. He knew his father had spoken with Maria after the gentlemen dined at Sotherton, for the improvement in Maria’s good cheer was telling enough.
What Edmund could not understand was the change in their father’s demeanor these two days; Sir Thomas was a grave man by nature, but his first week at home had seen him in fine humor until his abrupt shift in attitude.
Sir Thomas had been absent from dinner that evening, but had sent for his youngest son afterward.
He answered Edmund’s look of concern after gesturing for his son to take a seat across from him.
“Well, my dear boy, I am glad you are come. As you have been my confidant already in this Rushworth matter, I know not to whom else I might unburden myself.”
Edmund leaned back in the austere leather chair, taking in the physical changes wrought upon his father’s face. He had seen little of him these two days, and the drastic indications of worry about Sir Thomas’s brow struck him with a great and ominous force. “Are you well, Father?”
Sir Thomas met his son’s eye with a wild desperation about him.
“No, I am not.” He began to reach for his bottle of brandy, which was nearly empty, but halfway into the gesture his hand stopped, trembling, and came down on the desk with a dull thud.
The baronet let out a heavy sigh and shook his head.
“I have a great many cares—I always have done, but for the first time in my life I do not know what I am to do.”
Edmund regarded his father with feeling. “Whatever your burden, sir, I would halve it if I could.”
“I believe you would,” Sir Thomas said softly. “I only regret that I must ask it of you. I must seek some counsel, or I shall run mad.”
“What has happened, Father? You say it has to do with Rushworth?” His sister’s recently cast-off fiancé was not the best or brightest in company, and had never been a great favorite of Edmund’s, but he had expected the man to accept Maria’s rejection in his usual style, a total want of assertive opinions.
“In some sense, yes, though I fear it has more to do with me. What is it they say? The sins of the father….”
Shall be visited upon the sons. Edmund flinched. He and Fanny, and even Tom to an extent, had developed an abolitionist sympathy, despite living off of the profits of Sir Thomas’ dealings in the West Indies. Had something gone amiss in Antigua? “What sins?”
Sir Thomas’ gaze fell, his eyes shifting as if undecided where to begin.
After a lengthy period of consideration, he pulled open the drawer in his desk that was always kept locked, and withdrew a small object wrapped in a piece of patterned silk.
He pulled the cloth away and handed Edmund a miniature portrait.
It was a small thing, framed in gold and silver filigree, and it fit in the palm of his hand. Edmund studied it, for the young woman depicted had a familiar look about her. His mind searched for some distant memory to connect to the smiling blonde. “Do I know her?”
“You knew her as your Aunt Mary, more than twenty years ago. I knew her as Mary Sterling, before she married your mother’s brother and became the first Mrs. Dashwood.”
Edmund chewed his lip, still trying to place the pretty face among some vague recollection of a family Christmas when he was a child.
More confused than before, Edmund gave a slight shake of his head and returned the portrait to his father.
“Cousin John is some years older than Tom and I—were not she and Uncle Henry wed long before you and my mother?”
“Yes. I was a very young man—I suppose that is the material point.”
Edmund was not sure how a long-deceased relation could affect the Rushworth matter, but the look on his father’s face filled him with foreboding. “What have you to tell me, sir?”
“A circumstance I hoped never to speak of,” Sir Thomas replied. He leaned back in his chair and peered down at the portrait in his hand. “This woman is John’s mother—and I am his father.”
Edmund fairly reeled. “His father! How can that be?”
Sir Thomas’s eyes lingered on the miniature portrait a moment longer before he replaced it into the swath of silk and tucked it back into his desk.
Then he reached for the brandy. “I believe I can trust your discretion; if you will allow me, it would ease my mind to finally relay the affair in full, as I have never spoken of it to any living soul.”
“The affair?”
He took Edmund’s query as consent to proceed, after emptying the bottle into a single glass.
“Yes, my affair with Mary Sterling. I had thought I was the only person living who knew of it—well, I get ahead of myself. I met Mary while my elder brother still lived, and as a second son I was considered unsuitable—her father preferred Henry Dashwood, and the fine prospect of Norland Park. She and I had other ideas; we were so young, so damned foolish. She had no idea that she was already carrying my child when she married Henry, and she was not so far along as to prevent her from claiming the babe as his heir. Indeed, she hoped that producing a son so quickly might give her some respite from certain marital duties—poor woman!”
Edmund shifted uncomfortably in his seat; however much he wished to be of aid to his father, this was no easy thing to hear. Almost afraid of the answer, he asked, “Did this continue after she was wed? After you were wed?”
“Yes.”
Edmund averted his gaze and made some small sounds of agitation.
His father an adulterer—his poor wounded mother!
And Cousin John his illegitimate half-brother—it was unfathomable to him that a secret of such enormity had been buried all these long years.
He was suddenly irritated at the great burden of knowing the truth and being honor-bound to conceal it, complicit in the injury of his mother.
Edmund flicked his eyes back to his father and scowled.
“How could you do it? You loved this woman, and yet you married her husband’s sister, effectively binding us all together forever. ”
“Can you not see why? I waited five long years, Edmund, hoping some mischief might befall Henry Dashwood. It sours one’s very soul to be constantly wishing another’s demise.
I wanted children I could call my own, but in choosing your mother, I found a way to stay close to my son after inheriting the baronetcy.
To be called his uncle would be something, I thought, and if I did not father sons of my own, I might bequeath John some little money or property.
Of course, I had the most selfish reason of all in my mind—to be close to Mary. ”
“To facilitate your adultery,” Edmund spat.
There was no fight left in Sir Thomas; he acceded with a grim look. “Yes.”
“Why tell me such things, Father? Why force me to look my mother in the eyes with such knowledge that I must keep from her? Why sink yourself in my esteem?”
Sir Thomas looked stricken, his voice low and somber. “I have no other choice.”
“What can you mean, sir?”
“There is more, I fear. You may be too young to recall, but Henry Dashwood visited Mansfield after his mourning for Mary was up. Receiving him here was always difficult, though it gave me some joy to see John. On this occasion, Mrs. Rushworth—who was little in the country until recently—made a match between Henry and her niece, who is now Henry’s widow.
She has made some discoveries—John’s paternity could be called into question, his inheritance forfeit. ”
Edmund exhaled roughly. “That explains how this pertains to the Rushworth matter. Good God, are you being blackmailed?”
“Mrs. Rushworth has advised me to reconsider my support of Maria’s decision to end her engagement.”