Chapter Seven #2
John finally ceased his wild pacing and turned to face Sir Thomas.
The calculation was evident in his countenance, and by all appearances he was struggling to find some argument against what he could not accept.
“But my father loved my mother dearly—he was so forlorn when she passed. He did not marry again for ten years!”
“I have come to believe that perhaps he did have some real affection for her,” Sir Thomas admitted. “But it was never fully returned.”
“And you are quite certain? Surely, whatever passed between you and my mother, there must be some chance I am truly a Dashwood.”
“Have you never wondered at your parents' marrying in April, and your being born in December of the same year?”
“Sometimes a babe may come a month early….”
“John, I had confirmation of it from your mother’s own lips.
” Sir Thomas had come prepared for some degree of disbelief; he reached into his pocket for a small miniature, and crossed the room to hand it to John.
“This was taken of me when I was near your age, and Tom about six years old. But has it not the very look of you and your Harry?”
John took the portrait and looked closely at it.
Sir Thomas could perceive the very moment that full comprehension alighted upon his son, for John gave a great shudder and looked up in horror.
“It is true.” Sir Thomas nodded, taking the miniature back.
His other hand went instinctively to the place where the miniature of Mary Sterling Dashwood was secreted on his person, but he could not bring himself to show his son this sacred token; John was far too excited.
“But why tell me now? Why speak of it at all?”
“I would have preferred to let the matter rest in the past, where it belongs, but unfortunately my hand has been forced. The secret is no longer my own, and it is being used against me.”
“Good God,” John thundered again. He sat down heavily behind his desk, hanging his head in his hands. “Blackmail? Extortion?”
“Something like that,” Sir Thomas said gravely, his face flushed with shame.
“Tell me,” John said, suddenly pounding his fist on the desk. “Tell me who would do such a thing. What could possibly be gained by bringing such things to light? Oh, no—surely not—Margaret Dashwood?”
“I do not know the extent of her involvement,” Sir Thomas admitted. “It is her aunt, Mrs. Rushworth, who is the author of this new scheme against us.”
“And while a guest in my home! What can she be about? Does she mean to take Norland from me?”
“I believe she is capable of attempting it. She has informed me she has set her solicitors on the matter, and that she will make every effort to publicly expose the truth and see Norland restored to Henry Dashwood’s true firstborn, if I am not compliant with her demands.”
“Her demands! Pray, what can she possibly want? What is the price of her silence? I should be happy to pay anything, before I lose everything!”
“It is not money she wants,” Sir Thomas replied.
“It is my daughter. She is angry that Maria broke off the engagement with her son, and claims he is in such great distress over the matter, that she would expose the secret of your parentage as retribution, if I do not force my daughter’s hand.
” Sir Thomas again reached toward Mary’s picture.
He felt a rising bitterness in his chest, and saw it mirrored on his son’s countenance.
“All this, for a broken engagement? You cannot be serious!”
“I am afraid so, John. I am punished for my transgression, so long ago, and now I must choose between one child or another, and inflict a disappointment of the acutest kind.”
“Disappointment? Sir, it is my entire life! My very name! Norland, everything. I could lose everything.”
“Damn it, I know that, John,” Sir Thomas snapped.
The anguish written on his son’s face was a torment for him; he had never imagined it possible to make their true relationship known to John, but speaking of it now, in such terms as they must, was a hell he had not imagined possible.
John’s resistance—his apparent weakness—had diminished every sentiment in what could never have been a happy moment. What an old fool he was.
“I have always, in some small way, feared this very thing, John. I have fretted away many nights these last five-and-thirty years hoping your position would remain secure. But just as many nights have I lain awake in concern over my other children. My daughters in particular. Maria has already begged me to release her from the engagement to Rushworth. She makes no secret of where her affections lie, and for my part I wish her happiness were a simple matter. In better circumstances I should deny her nothing, and allow her a chance at real love and happiness, just what was denied to your mother when she and I were separated. I have never forgiven her father, and the thought of acting in such a way to my own daughter, of consigning her to a lifetime of tedium with that mincing dullard—it does not sit well with me.”
John leaned back in his chair, his eyes wide and his jaw agape. “I cannot believe this,” he said at last. “Surely you must accede to Mrs. Rushworth’s demands. It is the only way.” Sir Thomas remained silent. How could he expect John to understand his consideration for Maria, after so great a shock?
John pounded the desk once more and launched out of his chair. “They must be removed from Norland at once—the Rushworths must go, if they would plot against us.”
“No, I do not think that is the right course—surely it would only push the old dragon into some further action. Better to keep one’s enemies close, in this case.”
“And what is to be done? If you will not give them Maria, how might the worst be prevented?” John’s breathing became ragged, and after a few moments of pacing he dropped to his knees and fell at Sir Thomas’s feet.
“Please, Father. I cannot lose everything. I have a wife and child to think of! Please, I beg you!”
Sir Thomas was not unmoved by such a spectacle—far from it.
He was not prone to such high emotion, and scarcely knew how to act.
“John, my son, my dear boy,” he cried, urging John to get to his feet again.
“Do not make yourself so uneasy. So far the secret is contained, and Mrs. Rushworth has taken no action against us. Now that I have brought you into my confidence, we may formulate a plan of our own. I wish for my own sake as well as yours that the truth remains a secret from all the world.”
“What can be done?”
“Well, it is my hope that Maria might be persuaded to reconsider Rushworth, in such a way as it is all her own choosing. She is infatuated, but surely she must see that Rushworth can give her far more than Crawford, and she did agree once to such things. Perhaps, if we are fortunate, the affection between them is not so very great. I have no wish for her to endure the heartbreak that I have, in my younger years, but it may not prove so serious an attachment.”
John grimaced. “That is all you have to say? My life hangs upon the balance—upon the whims of a young girl’s inclinations? No, sir, this cannot be borne! My wife, my son….”
“They will be provided for. If Norland is lost, I could give you a share of my holdings in Antigua, enough to set you up comfortably.”
“Comfortable in Antigua? Leave England, so that my cousin—my half-sister—might throw over a wealthy man for a no-account seducer?”
Sir Thomas was disappointed in his son, though he had little reason to expect any better.
It was in every way terrible. “I am only speaking of it as an option when no others remain. It may not come to that, if Maria can be swayed. But I will not consign her to a life of misery, and such is the future she declares a union with Rushworth would be. In truth, I quite agree, much as I wish to see her reconsider it. Your degree of comfort in life would scarcely be reduced in Antigua—you should be the highest echelon of society there—not nearly so stark a contrast as that between a happy marriage and an unhappy one. Think of your poor mother!”
“I can think only of my own feelings, sir,” John spat. “To be sure, I wish Maria well, but that wish carries me only so far when I am on the precipice of such catastrophe. Have you no mercy?”
“Mercy!” Despite his genuine grief at seeing his son so dejected, almost frantic in his panic, Sir Thomas grew impatient with John’s recalcitrance.
He might feel like a fool, but he would not act like one; he wished to set a better example for John than Henry Dashwood must have done, to breed such selfishness.
“Mercy! It is just such a sentiment that drives me to think of others besides myself at such a time. I have more reasons than you to keep this all hushed up. What pain it would give my wife! Her sister Mrs. Norris might very well murder me, or require installation in Bedlam. And the scandal would do no favors for my other children. Edmund and Julia’s prospects would be damaged by this coming to light, and poor Fanny Price, after all the advantages of being brought among our family, would suffer from it in the end.
You would certainly be the most ill-used in the matter, and yet I must weigh all this against Maria, my darling girl.
Every look of affection she bears Henry Crawford is a dagger to my heart, knowing I am pressed to deny her heart's fondest wish. You must pull yourself together, John, and help your father find a middle path. There must be a way forward.”
Maria abruptly withdrew her ear from the keyhole and fled down the corridor, repenting that she had ever thought to spy on her father. Her heart racing, she took refuge in the library, which was blessedly unoccupied, and instantly began to weep in utter confusion.