Note: this was sideways inspired by the story about training AI to recognize "wolves versus dogs". The sample data had wolves with snowy backgrounds and dogs with snow-free backgrounds, so you can imagine how it went wrong.

Sir Thomas watched as Antigua grew larger on the horizon. He was desperately looking forward to reaching land and all the benefits that came from being on his plantation again.

One of the first errands on his list was to procure another hat. He had lost two hats in the first three days of sailing, having them torn off his head by an impish breeze and tossed into the ocean. His valet had packed another hat but it was buried in the cargo hold for the duration of the voyage. As such, Sir Thomas was thoroughly brown from the relentless sun.

Young Tom had also gone without a hat and had thrown his own to the waves. He claimed it was in solidarity with his father but Sir Thomas knew better. Tom was getting increasingly difficult to manage, increasingly disrespectful. The man had accidentally addressed Sir Thomas as “Aunt Norris” after one recent lecture. Perhaps time in Antigua would shock some sense into his heir, seeing how a plantation foreman handled a lack of discipline with the lash and branding iron.

Activity on board grew to a fever pitch when the ship reached the harbor. Sailors were in constant motion, calling out to each other as they made their final preparations. Sir Thomas stood to the side and fixed his eyes on the queue of people and goods leaving the harbour area.

“Captain Phillips,” he called out when the man approached, “is that new?” He pointed to the gateway that separated the harbor from the rest of the settlement.

“Aye,” came the answer. “The governor added it after he broke up a smuggling ring. Nothing and no one goes in or out without inspection. I do not give the crew permission to leave the ship in Antigua anymore; it is more trouble than it is worth.”

With relief, Sir Thomas and his son finally disembarked. Their luggage was still in the process of being unloaded but it was all clearly labeled and the captain had promised to have it sent to the plantation by nightfall. Right now, Sir Thomas wanted to make it through the customs gate, perhaps enjoy a drink, and get to his home away from Mansfield to finally refresh himself after weeks of travel.

“Come along, Tom,” he said, not bothering to look directly at his son. Tom would quickly realize the importance of obeying his father in this new place.

The line through the gate was long and the sun beat down on them while they waited. There was depressingly only one line for sailors and passengers, rich and poor alike. There was no special treatment here in Antigua's harbor, let Tom notice that!

At last they entered the building itself and received some relief to see that the queue inside was short. Sir Thomas watched as a finely dressed French lady and her maid were called forward by the lone clerk. The women passed him some papers which he didn't read. Instead, he directed them to stand in front of painted planks that had been propped up against a wall.

Each plank was a different shade. The first was painted a soft pink, like Lady Bertram’s complexion. The last plank was brown, almost black. Between the two ends, the planks were painted in pinks, tans, and various shades of brown from light to dark.

“What is that about?” Sir Thomas asked.

The question had been quiet and mostly rhetorical but the man in front of him answered, “It is the Harbour Master’s latest attempt to combat the abolitionists. I do not think it will work quite as he intends, but we must do something.”

A quick glance at the man convinced Sir Thomas that this was a gentleman, probably another plantation owner although his accent was hard to place.

“What are the abolitionists doing now?” he asked, eager for news that might impact his fortune.

“They have brazenly passed several slaves through the harbour with forged papers of free men. It has reached the point where the clerks cannot rely on anything they receive from us to verify our identities. But the planks do not lie.”

Sir Thomas started to ask for more explanation but the scene in front of him explained it clearly.

The gentlewoman stood in profile before the palest plank and the clerk immediately called her back and stamped her papers. The maid stood in front of a slightly darker plank and the clerk ordered her to move to the next plank and the next until her coloring more closely matched the plank. Rather than stamping her papers, the clerk handed them to a soldier. The maid was then snatched and dragged from the room. She called out to her mistress in alarm but the gentlewoman kept her head. The clerk then folded the stamped papers and returned them to the gentlewoman and directed her through a different door.

“What happens to the maid?” asked Sir Thomas while the clerk moved on to the next person in line.

“Her owner must buy her back or produce documentation that she is already owned,” the gentleman sighed. “It is ridiculous. Who carries a bill of sale with them at all times? I have had to leave more than one in the holding pen overnight because I could not fetch the paperwork before nightfall, but it is cheaper than buying them a second time. And what of those born into slavery? How shall I prove that I own them when I came by them naturally?”

Sir Thomas watched as a dark skinned man handed his papers to the clerk. The man's posture spoke of a life of beatings and knowing his place. The clerk still ordered him to stand in front of the planks and find his match before handing the papers to the soldier and watching him be roughly escorted from the room.

The line moved steadily but slowly and at last the gentleman in front of Sir Thomas wished him good luck and good day as the clerk called him forward.

Tom then leaned into his father and spoke quietly, “If they think I am too dark, will you buy me back?”

What a ludicrous thought! Sir Thomas turned away from the clerk and his new acquaintance to look at his son. “Tom, you are an Englishman. They will never lay a hand on you.”

The expression on Tom's face was not teasing but unnerved, and beneath his sunburn he had a slight pallor. He had never been to the plantation before, had never seen the manual labour which produced the fortune he so carelessly wasted. This trip would be more productive than Sir Thomas had hoped of bringing about a correction in his heir.

The clerk called to them and they approached. Sir Thomas handed over the documents and waited as he had seen others do to be told to stand before the planks.

The clerk told him where to stand. Sir Thomas quickly progressed past the palest planks that were suitable only for gently bred women. As the clerk ordered him to keep moving, he began to feel a frisson of worry. Yes, he was sunburned from weeks at sea, but surely he was not that dark!

Finally the clerk stopped ordering him to move. Sir Thomas looked at the man, conveying in every line and whisker that he was a baronet and an Englishman. The clerk held his gaze, folded up the papers without stamping them, and handed them to the soldier at his side.

It all happened so fast after that. Sir Thomas said, “No!” and started to approach the clerk. One of the soldiers grabbed him by the arm and pushed him to the ground. Tom leapt to his father's defense only to be grabbed and pinned by a different soldier. There they remained, thrashing on the floor, until they could be fully restrained and taken to the holding pen with any others who didn't fit the pattern.

.o8o.

The first envelope to arrive from Antigua contained a warning that Sir Thomas and Mr. Bertram had yet to appear at the plantation even though they were weeks late. Using language clearly meant for the whole family, the plantation foreman tried to convey guarded optimism that the two Englishmen were probably only delayed by an unplanned diversion and would no doubt arrive as soon as the letter was posted. Another letter enclosed within was addressed directly to Mr. Edmond Bertram. Surely it contained the foreman’s more candid concerns but Edmund had not shared it with anyone.

Mrs. Norris was quick to seize on every possible calamity, talking loudly and forcefully to anyone in earshot that Sir Thomas must have died gruesomely. Lady Bertram kept to her room after the second morning, Fanny and Pug by her side. Miss Bertram and Miss Julia Bertram were quite beside themselves, not knowing how to act or what to believe. The nearby parsonage sent their prayers and good wishes, and vague offers to help, but kept away for the first two weeks while the family recovered from the first shock.

When the second envelope was delivered a month later, there was a comfort in certainty that slightly blunted the pain of loss. Sir Thomas was dead; Tom too. The foreman offered few details into what happened, only that there had been an incident at the customs house involving some slaves. The bodies had been laid to rest in the plantation cemetery. A small sachet containing the same earth that they had been buried in was included. In addition, their travelling cases -- still unopened -- and a few personal affects from Sir Thomas’ bedroom in Antigua had been sent to England on the same packet that carried the letter although it would arrive separately.

Mrs. Norris lamented the lack of bodies, despaired that Sir Thomas and Tom were not buried in a properly consecrated graveyard, insisted on a statue to be commissioned for display on Mansfield’s village green, and began to organize a memorial service in honor of her dear brother and nephew.

In a frail voice, Lady Bertram announced that she couldn't possibly attend a memorial, much less arrange one just now.

“No, sister, of course not!” Mrs. Norris agreed. “You must grieve. I only ask that you allow our neighbors to grieve as well. Think no more of it. I will handle it. I will handle everything.”

Having settled matters with her sister to her own satisfaction, Mrs. Norris was unprepared for Edmund to say, “I am sorry, Aunt, but there will be nothing planned just yet. I need to speak with executors and attorneys before anything else. But I will not stop you from having some of your neighbors to tea at the White House if you so desire.”

Mrs. Norris was not pleased to have her nephew upset her plans but he was Sir Edmund now and deserved all the respect and deference she had previously bestowed upon Sir Thomas. And the memorial service was not cancelled, she told herself, just delayed. She could still prove herself useful. Her sister, never energetic, was now nearly prostrate with grief; Mansfield Park needed someone like Mrs. Norris to keep it running smoothly. Sir Edmund would appreciate that!

And perhaps -- of course -- Sir Edmund was right: the family should refrain from any social interactions briefly out of respect for the dead. But Mrs. Norris could still begin planning for what would follow. After a suitable period of mourning, she would need to find Maria and Julia rich and respectable husbands; Mr. Rushworth of Southerton would make a fine catch for either. Sir Edmund would need to settle down as well. They would send Fanny back to Portsmouth as she had overstayed her welcome.

And Mrs. Norris had had her eye on the China room in the family wing for years now. It was time that she moved into her rightful place at the center of Mansfield Park.