Chapter Nineteen #2
“I know,” she cried. “But I never have before, and I never imagined it would hurt so much to do it.”
“I know just what you mean.” He held her a moment longer before pulling away—they were in a public street, after all.
Fanny grew tremendously embarrassed, and more so when she saw the tear stains on his shirt. “Oh dear, I am so sorry. I hope I do not make you feel silly.”
Mr. Rushworth grew very serious. “Many people have made me feel silly, but you have never been one of them, Fanny. That is why I will always come to your aid, if I can. I am on your side.”
Fanny hardly knew what to say to such a declaration, but she smiled up at him in silent understanding. “Shall we walk on, then?”
Margaret Dashwood waited until the sound of Fanny’s weeping in the hallway ceased, before she spoke again; she glanced nervously at Lady Bertram before addressing Mrs. Price. “Henry tried to bribe you?”
Mrs. Price poured then all a drink and sat down at a side table. “He did.”
“I never knew.” Margaret looked back to Lady Bertram. “Did you?”
“No, I did not. But I can guess why.”
Mrs. Price studied Lady Bertram. “How long have you known?”
“For certain? This moment, Frances. But I have suspected it since Tom was a boy. You see, Margaret, Tom has always been very like his father, but also very like John.”
Margaret nodded slowly, and looked back at Mrs. Price. “And the bribe?”
Mrs. Price took a long draught of her drink.
“Maybe I ought to have taken it. I would not have told anyone, anyhow. Only it bothered me that he would try to buy me off, to make it about money and not the love of a brother and sister. And he caved to the bitch’s father, Lord Sterling, and cast me off when I… sunk myself.”
“I do not understand,” Margaret said.
“I knew. I knew it since I was a girl. It happened under Henry’s roof, you know, just after we came to live there.
A house party, like the one you fine people are having now.
And Sir Thomas—Captain Bertram then, skulking about Mary Sterling—I was young enough to be invisible and old enough to figure it out. ”
“And you told him?”
“I tried to. For years and years.”
“And you objected to my marrying Sir Thomas,” Lady Bertram breathed. “That was why. I always thought—I am so sorry. I thought you envied me.”
“I feared for you,” Mrs. Price said, tears beginning to mist her eyes. “I thought he only wanted you for some link to the family, some way to stay in his bastard’s life, and make a fool of Henry.”
“Which he did,” Lady Bertram sighed.
Mrs. Price shook her head. “Henry allowed it. He needed Mary Sterling’s money to shore up our uncle’s debts and save Norland, and he was willing to let her son have the place because he loved her, even if she never loved him.”
Margaret had joined Mrs. Price in her gentle weeping; it was awful in every way. “You both knew of it, all these years?”
Lady Bertram nodded. “Why do you think I must medicate myself so heavily? I am bound to a man who only married me because he wanted to prop up his bastard son, a man who cuckolded my brother, who has robbed your daughters, Margaret.”
Mrs. Price looked up at Margaret. “When did you find out?”
“Henry told me on his deathbed.”
“He did love you,” Lady Bertram said. “I know he did.”
“Aye,” Mrs. Price said. But he kept it from her because he loved John more. He wanted John to have everything, despite his origins.”
“That is not completely true,” Margaret replied, dabbing at her tears.
“I know he struggled to accept the truth for many years—that is what he told me the day before he died. In the end he simply grew too attached to John. It was fifteen years before he had any other children, and by then, it was too late. I know he struggled with his faith in John—I am sorry to say it, but John is neither a clever man nor a kind one. Henry knew it was likely that John would do little for the girls. The day before he died, he gave me a letter—he told me it was a form of insurance. That if John was not generous to us after he passed, we might make some claim on what was ours by right. He wanted us to be protected, but he held out hope, all the way to the end, that John would be a good man.”
“Has he?” Mrs. Price huffed with contempt.
“No,” Margaret said, beginning to tremble once more. “No he has not.”
Lady Bertram laughed bitterly. “At the expense of—well, my entire family, I suppose—I really must say, Margaret, you ought to honor Henry’s wishes. Damn the scandal.”
Edward Ferrars was utterly miserable at dinner that night. He had not gotten any opportunity to spend any real time with Elinor since coming to Norland—Edmund Bertram had given him no opportunity, for he was determined to claim all her time and attention, and Edward knew very well why.
He silently fumed as the meal dragged on.
At one end of the table, the Dashwood ladies, were engrossed in conversation with Lady Bertram and her son, who seemed to be having a competition for who could delight them the most. The other end of the table was grim and dull, for his sister had arranged the seating to suit no one but herself.
Because of this, a great many ill-matched companions were silent and stupid, and Fanny Dashwood presided over them in manic desperation.
Poor Fanny! She cast such a shadow over them all. He pitied her what she suffered, her fear of losing everything, but she was past any ability to control her own comportment, and everyone around her seemed to feel it.
Only Julia Bertram was kind to him, or willing to speak as if everything was perfectly normal.
He appreciated her efforts, for she was the only one of the exceedingly large party who seemed at all willing to behave as one ought to do at a house party, in being agreeable to one’s companions.
Were his brother Robert a man of greater sense and character, Edward might have been wary of a young lady who would throw over the second son when the heir appeared, but he could not imagine his brother to be innocent in the matter.
Even now Robert was chatting happily with Mrs. Jennings, his point about an heiress of fifty thousand pounds that was coming to Norland for the ball.
Poor Miss Julia, and poor Edward too, he thought ruefully.
He had been summoned thither by Mrs. Margaret Dashwood, under what he began to consider false pretenses, for Elinor had no wish to see him.
He, who had pined for her and suffered all of Lucy’s painful efforts to keep his heart in her own keeping—he had come all this way for nothing.
The men did not take brandy and cigars after dinner, for John and Sir Thomas claimed they had some business to attend in his study, and bid Edmund Bertram to join them.
Mr. Bertram made some show of recalcitrance, but Edward was sure it was all an act—he could well guess what they meant to scheme about, but at least he might have some chance of speaking with Elinor, and Edward made haste to join the ladies.
Elinor was seated alone, and Edward was eager to seize the opportunity to recommend himself to her, but Marianne spied him moving that way, and she was faster.
He stopped in his tracks as Marianne cut him off and approached Elinor—they shared a whispered exchange and then moved into the music room, entreating Miss Crawford to plan a tune suitable for dancing.
Miss Crawford obliged at once, and as she took up her seat at the instrument, Elinor and Marianne moved to the back of the music room and sat down on a sofa together.
Edward glanced over at his mother and sister, perceiving their eyes fixed on him—Fanny motioned with his head toward the pianoforte, and Edward approached Miss Crawford, offering to turn the pages for her. He was refused at once.
“It is kind of you to offer,” said she. “I know this piece by heart, you see, and your leaning over the instrument would only distract me. You had much better go and dance.” Edward began to move toward Elinor, but Miss Crawford caught him by the sleeve.
“Mrs. Margaret Dashwood has been singing your praises since she came here—I am sure she would dance if you asked her.”
Edward looked over at Elinor, who smiled shyly before looking back to her sister, leaning in to Marianne’s whispered communications. Marianne looked up as well, and then abruptly turned away and fell silent, her shoulders tensing. “Very well,” Edward muttered, retreating in frustration.
He saw Julia lingering at the edge of the room, looking very much like she wished to join the other two couples dancing, but Edward was accosted by his sister. “Edward,” she hissed, latching onto his arm.
“Fanny, perhaps you ought to retire early tonight. You do not look well.”
She led him to the other end of the room, and then quietly replied, “How can you expect me to look in the face of such peril? I am quite undone, Edward, and you seem far too interested in poaching from your brother, rather than doing what you must for this family.”
“I am not poaching from Robert,” Edward insisted.
“Well, I suppose not, not really,” Fanny said with a frown.
“I heard Mrs. Jennings say that Mrs. Rushworth has invited a Miss Sterne to the ball—an heiress worth fifty thousand pounds. Oh, I know the old witch means to have her for her stupid son, for I am sure Maria had thrown him over once and for all, by the looks of it. That is it, then, all is lost. But she shall not get the heiress, I cannot allow her victory to be so complete,” Fanny said wildly.
“This Miss Sterne must be for Robert. He is the handsomest of anybody here, to be sure, and far superior to James Rushworth in every way! Yes, Julia Bertram must be overthrown for the heiress, but you must still try to catch Elinor if you can, Edmund. Then you shall have this house, and you and our brother can save me from ruin!”
Edward motioned for his sister to lower her voice. “Is it quite certain the truth will be exposed? That you will lose everything?”