Jump to new as of June 14, 2001
Jump to new as of June 24, 2001

Prologue

Posted on Friday, 30 March 2001

It is a truth universally acknowledged that when the creativity levels of an author are riding high from inspiration for one story that the idea for another always appears and insists on being written. Whatever the author's feelings are when the idea appears, it can be assured that the readers of the author's previous story (or stories) are both vexed that there is something to delay the other posts, and yet are delighted at a new story - assuming they like the author's style of writing.

Such is the case for myself. Being a college student about to be troubled with a third term, and having started two stories that Jane Austen readers have enjoyed, it can be troublesome when my excellent muse produces a new idea. I must first decide if the idea is worth doing, but if it is then I must write something or part of the idea shall be forever lost.

But this idea is something that has not been touched by fanfic, as far as I know. Fanfiction that focused on Julia was, as I was told when I posted the first parts of "A New Path" nearly a year ago, territory that had not been touched upon. Therefore, it is that much harder to ignore such an idea.

What is the idea, you ask? Pray, patience. You shall know it presently.

Having such a curious mind as I do, and being very open to the question "what if" for situations and plots I do not like, I could not help but be intrigued when I noticed on the MP board at RoP that someone opened the question of what if Mrs. Norris had children. Despite being a confirmed "Auntie Dearest Hater" I pondered the idea. Would having children of her own have made Mrs. Norris a better person? I do not know, but I am certain that some bad habits would not have developed.

But it was not just this that brought this story about; for I already had an idea that I was saving till after I completed one of the other two Austen stories. The idea is what if Sir Thomas had hired a governess who, as it turns out, teaches his three "problem" children to behave properly, to do good, and what it takes to be a good person. This governess, a widow with grown children, comes to Mansfield about two years before Fanny arrives.

Now, as you may have guessed, when Fanny comes to live at Mansfield the other three Bertram children have a better understanding of her and see that she misses home dearly. They are more charitable towards her and include her in as many of their activities as possible.

But not idea is so simple. My problem is that my imagination runs mad with an idea I like and I am unable to keep up with my muse. It therefore takes me some time to get all of the ideas into the computer and posted for the enjoyment of the fellow Dwiggies and RoP'ers.

I, therefore, ask your patience as I slowly produce this story. You may have noticed my style seems different here. I am attempting a style more like the wit of Jane herself. But never let it be said I am trying to duplicate it. I also have no wish to repeat the comments I made (and am yet to make) in "A New Path." I shall enjoy the challenge of this new style, and shall do my best to give you, my dear readers, another good story.

Chapter 1 ~ A Widow's Choice

Posted on Sunday, 3 June 2001

The style I had intended to use for this story was giving me a headache, and I was not making progress. Then I noticed several stories told through letters, and they gave me the idea to change the style to being told through a combination of letters and scenes. I am aware I told you in the prologue that I would write more like our beloved Author, but I suspect I shall find it more enjoyable to write in letters. I hope you all enjoy the characters I am creating this in story.

'January 12, 1798
Meadows Manor

My Dear Alexandra,

I hope this letter finds you and your family in excellent health. I trust your husband's recovery has not been set back by the cold weather. My dear wish is that you and he shall have many more years together; I am glad you did not have the fate of being a young widow like myself. It must be a comfort that you have a good son who was just married last year. Tell me, how do you like Mrs. Jennings as an in-law?

My son and his wife are well; they are exhausted by the twins, but they are happy. Audie and Lord Sanders are quite well, judging from their last letter. She has fully recovered from the cold, and is back to tending to her sons. My son has a boy and a girl, and my daughter has three boys; I feel quite lucky to have them. I feel it most at this time; it was twelve years ago, almost to this day that my darling Robert died. His voice and face are as strong in my memory as ever; that my son, named after his father, is the living image of him is both comforting and painful to me. Robert would be so proud of his children.

Recently I have thought about my future. You shall be no burden to your son when you are a widow; when that sad time comes, I expect that many years shall have passed and there shall be no trouble with your staying at Barton Park. My son took charge of the house upon his coming of age two years ago, and it is hard for me to be here with little to do now. Sarah takes excellent care of her children (I expected nothing less after seeing what a good aunt she is to Audie and Michael's children), but you know how I am. I always needed to be teaching, and though I am still passing knowledge to my children, I feel restless. I know I am welcome here, but I know how it is for young, married couples: they wish to have the house to themselves for a while, and as they have been married three years I do not wonder at that. Though Audie and Michael have been married these five years I have no wish to be a burden to them. I can see them at any time I desire, but I confess I would like to be able to pass my knowledge to more children. You know to what extent my parents educated me; having learned all I have about the sciences, arts, and languages why should I be idle with my knowledge? Why not pass it on to other children?

On that point, I have made an unusual decision: I have decided to look into becoming a governess to a good family. I am aware I am not the usual kind of lady to apply for the position, but I would think my knowledge would promote myself. I am also unafraid to say "no" to a child, which I think many governesses have not the strength to do. I do have some requirements in a position. I do not wish to live far away from my children; therefore the family must not live very far from the area in and around Northamptonshire. I must be treated with respect; therefore any position coming from someone who seems too harsh or proud shall be refused.

My family was very surprised by my decision, but they understand my motives and are supportive. They have promised to look out for any suitable places. I do not ask the family I will serve for much more than what is usual; my pleasure and satisfaction must come from knowing I am helping a child (or children).

I am about to send out inquiries; when I shall receive any offers I do not know. I do hope some will come within a few weeks; being away from this place may do me some good despite that it has been my home for over twenty years. I must now conclude; the sooner I start on this, the better.

Yours, etc.
Autumn Winters'

'To whomever it may concern,

I am a woman inquiring about a governess position for a good family. I am forty, a widow of twelve years with grown, settled children. Having managed my late husband's estate until two and a half years ago, and having received from my father (with aid from my mother) the education of a university graduate, I can offer a wide knowledge of the world and languages to any pupils I would have under my care. I ask for the best governess terms possible, and I am free to start upon accepting a position.

I desire to be hired by a family who lives in the vicinity of Northamptonshire, or even within the county. Please send replies to Meadows Manor in __________.

Mrs. Autumn Winters
Meadows Manor'

'January 20, 1798
Wimpole Street

My dear Autumn,

We are indeed well. John is nearly back to full health, and I cannot tell you with words how happy Johnny and Mary are. I shall spare you from hearing Mrs. Jennings' remarks on the matter. I know she means well, but I wish she could hold her tongue and keep a secret. (I do not care how she says no one keeps secrets in the Barton area; some do.) The only this that shall make my joy complete is when I am blessed with grandchildren, as you have been.

I confess John and I were very surprised at your decision; I had to read that passage several times to be sure I read it correctly, and I never thought John's eyes might fall out of his head until I read that passage to him. And yet when we recovered enough to think it through, we were not surprised by your decision. You always were meant to teach; it was your joy as a child and continued to be such when you had your children. I think Robert would be pleased with your decision.

I am sure you will find what you are looking for in a position. Any liberal-minded parent would be delighted by your knowledge and ability to enforce good behavior in children.

I am afraid I have nothing of interest to tell you. You know what London is like at this time, and the balls and parties (with a few exceptions) are the boring displays of wealth and status that you and I abhor. So, I shall bid you adieu. John wishes you luck, and will inform you of any posts that come to his attention that are suitable. I would have kept this from my son and Mrs. Jennings, but I fear they overheard a conversation between John and myself. Be prepared for a letter from her; I thought as a friend I should warn you.

Yours, etc.
Lady Alexandra Middleton'

Mansfield Park, January 24

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a father who has not an inconsiderable amount of wealth will hire a governess to instruct his children; even his sons to a point. But when the governess proves to allow the children too much freedom and does not teach them to curb their tempers the father has no recourse but to dismiss her. Then he must search for a new governess, and his search may be made harder because he must find one any children giving him trouble will obey and respect.

Such was the case for Sir Thomas Bertram of Mansfield Park. He had every luxury fortune could offer at his disposal, a beautiful wife, and four handsome children. He commanded the respect of all his neighbors, and to all appearances had everything a baronet could possibly wish for in life. But that was not the case. Three of his children were concerning him. Edmund would be fine; the lad was a good-natured boy and would likely take orders when he was grown. But Tom was not responding to the strictness of school, and his daughters did not seem to know to not indulge in everything life could offer.

Miss Lee, their last governess, had been liked by the girls, but she did not instill proper feelings into them and did not make them practice charity to the unfortunate. Sir Thomas feared that if his children did not learn to think of others and about their own behavior they would make very bad choices when they were grown.

He had dismissed Miss Lee yesterday, and she had left within two hours; that some family would want her services he did not doubt, but she was not for his family. Therefore, he investigated the inquiries for governess posts. He had to be more particular in his selection; she must be intelligent, command the respect and obedience of the children, and teach proper manners.

One other factor drew consideration from Sir Thomas. His sister-in-law, Mrs. Norris, and her husband had three children who needed educations. Sir Thomas' children were fourteen, thirteen, ten, and nine; the Norris' son was eight, and the two girls were seven. As an uncle who wished to help them, he had agreed to have the family governess teach them as well. So the next governess must be willing to take on seven pupils.

These thoughts and more were uppermost in his mind when one inquiry caught his attention. From a Mrs. Winters. He knew he had heard of that name, and knew the butler had come from the vicinity of Meadows Manor. He asked Baddeley, for that was the man's name, whether he knew of the Winters family of Meadows Manor; the servant answered in the affirmative; the lady in question was reputed to have been given by her parents an education a man would envy, and had raised two children on her own excellently. Both children had made excellent matches by marrying into the family of the Earldom of Sanders, and Baddeley himself had heard nothing but the highest praise of Mrs. Winters.

Satisfied, Sir Thomas went to his study to write a letter.

Meadows Manor, January 27

The mother of the master of the house had not been disappointed by the replies she received. Six had come so far, and two of them that day. The first four had been unacceptable for varying reasons; the greatest that they were all too far off. Autumn, for that is how I must call her, was not the type to be greatly saddened by not finding a post as soon as she would have liked. As dearly as she loved her home, the pain of losing her dear husband still weighed on her heart, and a change of scene and society would be best for her.

Upon picking up one of the new letters, she noticed a London address and suspected it too would be unsuitable. Her face remained calm as she opened the letter, but within a few moments she was stunned. It came from an Admiral Crawford, offering a high sum to come to town to teach his nephew and niece; the town part would have made it unsuitable by itself, but the man also seemed to think he was giving her a high honour, and that she would do anything he asked her to. She had, as recalled when calmness returned, heard of the man's reputation, and knew that he would try to make her his mistress. She quickly wrote a short missive declining the post.

The second letter, however, proved promising. It went as follows:

'January 24, 1798
Mansfield Park

Dear Mrs. Winters,

I am Sir Thomas Bertram, a baronet of Northamptonshire. My family and I reside at my estate, Mansfield Park. I learned of your inquiry today, and have a post to offer. I have two sons, fourteen and thirteen, and two daughters, ten and nine, who are in need of the guidance you offered in your inquiry.

I am aware that normally a father does not ask a governess to teach sons above twelve years, but I fear the school my eldest son, Tom, goes to does not instill in him proper consideration of others, and he does not take his responsibilities seriously. Having heard of your excellent son and that you raised him to be such a man, I have no doubt that you could make my son responsible and attentive to his duties. My son Edmund already has every good principle in him, and you would find in him an excellent pupil.

My daughters, Maria and Julia, are a source of concern for me. I fear their last governess allowed them too much freedom, and did not make them practice charity and good behavior towards others. My hope is that you will teach them to become proper ladies, and help them to make good matches. What I hear of Lady Sanders suggests that you have much to pass on to girl pupils.

There are other children that I would be asking you to teach. My friend and parson, the Reverend Mr. Norris, is married to my wife's elder sister, and has three children; a son, eight, and twin daughters, seven. Because Mr. Norris cannot afford a good education for his children, I decided to let his children be taught by my children's governess. Am I asking too much of you to teach seven children?

I can offer you a comfortable room for as long as you are with us at Mansfield, inclusion in family events (as I believe one can learn something at any time), and _____ a year. I am willing to pay such a price because of your education, your current station in life, and the number of pupils you would be taking charge of.

If you consider this acceptable, you may start as soon as you are ready. I shall await your answer.

I am, etc.
Sir Thomas Bertram, M.P.'

"I believe I have found my post," Autumn whispered to herself. She would be at an easy distance from her children, and the Mansfield family was considered excellent to work for. Therefore, she wrote a reply at once.

'January 26, 1798
Meadows Manor

Dear Sir,

I received your offer today and am quite happy with the terms. I accept your offer. I shall be able to arrive within a week; it must be a week because of the farewells I shall be obliged to make. Do not worry about seven pupils being too much for me; I shall manage quite well. I am looking forward to meeting your family as I have heard much good about yourself and them.

I am, etc.
Mrs. Autumn Winters'

Let other pens dwell on farewells and the sadness that accompanies them. My Autumn and her family were saddened about the separation, and their not knowing when they would meet again added to the quietness of the morning on which she was to leave. Breakfast was quiet, though they talked of everything except her departure. When the dreaded time came, Autumn, being a woman not given to sudden bursts of emotion, was still unable to leave without a tear-streaked face. Both of her children, children-in-laws, and all of her grandchild were there to see her off. Indeed, even the servants cried at her departure. Long had she been highly valued by the neighborhood and household; and while they knew she had to be active again there was not a dry eye as her carriage passed the village.

For Autumn, the travel was short given the distance between Meadows Manor and Mansfield; yet it had been some time since she had been in this direction, and every sight fed her with a peace that calmed her heart and soothed her mind. Her thought soon was directed towards the family at Mansfield. What would Lady Bertram be like? What sort of people were the Norris'? Were the children totally spoiled and would require a great amount of time to teach? She did not know, but she had confidence in her abilities to instruct, and actually hoped it would be challenging; or at least that the children would provide good companions during the day.

With thoughts such as those, her eyes came upon Mansfield Park. The great house was indeed grand and handsome; the grounds, while in the stages of winter, held great beauty and promised excellent walks; and the surrounding houses were well kept. It all spoke that the master was properly attentive to his duties, and would likely be good to work for.

All my years of learning about being in the world were about to come into handy, she thought as her carriage came to a stop and servants came up to let her out. One, who introduced himself as the butler, Baddeley, welcomed her and offered to lead her to the family, who was waiting for her. This is it. This is what you wanted, were her thoughts as she was led to the sitting room.

Chapter 2

Posted on Monday, 11 June 2001

Baddeley opened the door and entered; Autumn followed at a proper distance, her eyes taking in the house and its decorations. She was pleased to see the simple elegance of the house, which suggested that Sir Thomas did not have the extravagant tastes that some of the elites had. She hoped her judgment of his character from the letter was close to the truth.

Baddeley announced her, bowed, and was gracefully dismissed from the room. Autumn now stood in the presence of four adults. A well-dressed man who was clearly Sir Thomas, a finely dressed and beautiful lady lying on the couch with a pug in her lap, a clergyman, and a lady whose clothing marked her as being a clergyman's wife. A silence briefly dominated the room during Baddeley's exit as the Mansfield family observed the lady who would teach the children, and she made observations on the family present.

Sir Thomas, a healthy yet not young man wearing a brown wig (an all too common taste in the gentry and the higher ranks), came forward to greet her in the manner deemed proper for a greeting a governess from such a rank, and her greeting was proper in greeting a respectable baronet. His tone was that of a man used to command, yet knowing when to seek advice. Sir Thomas then introduced her to the other people. The finely dressed brunette was indeed Lady Bertram, who spoke in a soft manner, and quickly gave Autumn the opinion that she was only concerned with beauty and consequence. Mr. Norris, wearing a white wig, appeared to be in ill health, but had kind and gracious manners. His wife, a light-brown haired woman older than Lady Bertram, however, seemed like a younger and more meddlesome Mrs. Jennings, but one not so well-intentioned. Perhaps she was doing Mrs. Norris an ill service with that thought, but the lady's manner in greeting her said that she felt threatened by her intelligence and good reception from Sir Thomas. So Autumn sat down, took an offered cup of hot chocolate, and answered questions from her employers.

Any concern Autumn might have felt at her reception was quickly dispelled. She was everything Sir Thomas could wish for in a governess; her intelligence lacked in nothing, she had every sign of good sense, and would keep a child in line. He therefore felt disposed to ensure that Mrs. Winters was well treated in his house. Lady Bertram felt little consideration for Mrs. Winters' intelligence except for its ability to keep the children from disturbing her peace or her Pug, but was willing to be considerate; that her beauty seemed to have gotten her well settled in marriage spoke well of her.

The Norris' feelings were different from that of their relations. Mr. Norris had every hope that Mrs. Winters could give his children every advantage possible, and give them the strength to be able to stand up to their mother if need be when they were making decisions about their lives. Mrs. Norris did feel threatened by Mrs. Winters. The lady was too intelligent, too pretty, her opinion asked for by Sir Thomas too much, and she did not seem the sort of woman who would punish properly. Mrs. Norris had very bad feelings on the matter, but held them back to the tone in her voice when speaking to Mrs. Winters.

After half an hour of pleasantries, Sir Thomas had a servant show Autumn to her room. It was on the second floor and called the Rose Room. Everything in the room lived up to the room's name, and it was pleasant and everything comforting. Roses were also her favorite flower, having many fond memories attached to them. But they reminded her of her late husband; and yet in that room she felt a degree of comfort in knowing that he would approve of her decision. She spent several minutes to gain a feel for the room before deciding it was time to meet her pupils.

Going down to the sitting room again, she found the four adults had been joined by the children. Sir Thomas stood upon her entrance. "Ah, there you are, Mrs. Winters. The children have just returned from playing out-of-doors, and have just asked about you. Children," he addressed them with the force of authority, "this is your new governess, Mrs. Winters." He introduced to her a tall blond boy, Tom; a slightly shorter brown-haired boy, Edmund; a blonde girl, Maria; a redhead, Julia; a young brown-haired boy, Chris; and red and blonde haired twin girls, Anna and Isabelle.

Autumn could see in her pupils eyes' the same curiosity hers surely held, so she went forward to greet them; the moment she started speaking, their eyes went wide; it seemed she was far from what they had expected given their last governess. It became readily apparent from his expressions that Tom had problems with authority; perhaps because he found his father's ways too strict, but time would tell. Edmund had every appearance of a well-natured lad; unless he had a side his father did not know about, he would be an excellent pupil. Maria had the look of a spoiled eldest daughter; she would have to be carefully watched. Julia seemed to be suffering from being the younger girl; encouragement and support should bring her out of her sister's shadow. Chris and his sisters seemed calm yet uneasy; Autumn noticed their trying not to show nervousness in front of their mother and realized the source of their unease. They would likely need a great deal of support to gain the confidence they wished to show.

To start the process at once, Autumn asked to be shown the schoolroom. Sir Thomas excused them, and Anna and Isabelle actually took her hands as they all led her out of the room. Surprised, she gently inquired about their action. Both hesitated, but Isabelle finally explained that "Mama is not nearly as nice or kind as you are."

Autumn's ill opinion of Mrs. Norris strengthened; she generally thought badly of any parent who made their children afraid of them, but she had no real knowledge yet about how Sir Thomas fared as a father. If Lady Bertram's behavior upon greeting her was anything to go by, she had no involvement in her children's lives. However, even if that was true, she could hardly be called a mean parent, so Autumn vowed to not think ill of Lady Bertram unless she earned such an opinion.

The schoolroom turned out to be on the second floor on the east side of the manor. It was a pleasant room, with the small chairs that all schoolrooms had, and would do quite well. She urged the children to sit down and make themselves comfortable. No lesson would begin if they were not ready. They seated themselves in a semi circle around a table in the middle of the room. Their eyes were questioning: "what do you have planned for us?" Autumn kept her expression kind and patient. At last, they seemed ready.

"Now, I want to start by determining where each of you is in your education, what your interests are, and what subjects you find difficult. And I shall start with you, Tom," she said, approaching him. He frowned and sighed, which Autumn knew was an ploy from a lad who was guarding himself. "I understand you have been having trouble in school. Your father informed me that the schoolteachers say you are not learning and not behaving. What is happening?"

"I am having no problems learning. It is what they are teaching that's the matter. I am past those levels already."

The others, Edmund in particular, looked surprised, but Autumn was not. She had a feeling what was going on at his school. "So, you know what they are teaching already, and want to move to things that are at your level or more advanced than your level because you love challenges. But the teachers insist that you study what the other must study, and when you balk you are punished. Have I got it?"

Tom nodded. "My problem is not with them; it is with what they force me to study. I knew most of it years ago! Why should I have to study it again when I know it cold already?" The last was exclaimed with frustration.

"I believe the masters assume that all children who go to school learn at the same pace, but I know they do not. You shall have no cause for concern here, Tom. You shall learn at your pace. I do expect you to learn something daily, but I shall not dictate what it shall be. At times," and she addressed them all, "I will hand you something, ask you to study it, and see how you are doing after a certain number of days; all I ask is that you do study it; the when is up to you. But if you are having trouble, bring your questions or problems to me and we shall discuss it until you understand them. Are you all comfortable with that arrangement?" The answering nods were full of energy; it seemed she had their trust.

The next two hours were spent asking questions, learning about the children, and deciding what each should focus on. Her guesses proved to be fairly accurate, and the stories she got about how they were raised were consistent with her observations. Sir Thomas was a strict father, but he knew when to seek help. Mr. Norris was a good, kind father, but the stories about Mrs. Norris were enough to make Autumn firmly dislike her; no sister should try to manage her sister's household even if she was indolent.

Within a month, the improved education program proved to be benefiting the children. They placed more effort into their studies, and Autumn saw Maria and Julia using the library frequently, which Sir Thomas said they never did before. The children observed that "Mrs. Winters encouraged them to work very hard and expected much from them, but they liked her greatly."

But their "school" work was not all Autumn had them do. On Sundays, she had them come with her to the village to give clothing, food, and aid to the poor families. Her aim was that by seeing generosity, kindness, and their results they would learn about proper treatment of others and not be vain or proud. At first, the girls had been shocked by what they saw, but the smiles the young children gave upon being given new clothes or a toy were enough to encourage them to give more charity and have patience. Edmund, being already a charitable and patient boy, helped teach the others by example.

That was key to Autumn's plan. She knew from experience that children learned more from actions than from words, and hoped to bring that fact to good use with the Mansfield children. Not that she did not encounter some problems, but her patience wore them out.

So it was with a great satisfaction that she gave her first monthly report to Sir Thomas and Mr. Norris. Sir Thomas was very pleased with the improvements. Tom was a dutiful son now, and the girls seemed to be growing free of self-importance. Julia was also growing in confidence; she was indeed coming into her own. He decided, based on the improvements brought by the encouragement and love that Mrs. Winters freely bestowed upon the children, to be less severe with them; to encourage them to be more open around him.

The Norris children were greatly improved as well. Mr. Norris observed that they seemed bolder, and were well on their way to becoming the kind people he wanted them to be. He admitted that Mrs. Norris thought she was being too soft with them, but this was one place where he would not give way to her will. This did lead to trouble within the Parsonage, but Mr. Norris was prepared to endure many rants from his wife to ensure that the education his children were receiving would continue.

And so it was that when Tom was sixteen he went to Cambridge. The patience he learned, and the freedom to have say in what he studied, made his first months go by quickly; his teachers called him their hardest student. Edmund would go off to college a year later. Chris, given his interest in law, would likely gain a clerk position with the help of his uncle once he was ready to leave Mansfield.

Tom's departure came at the same time as connections were re-established between Mansfield and Lady Bertram's younger sister, Mrs. Price. Autumn was quickly filled in on the circumstances by Mrs. Norris, though she wondered how much was true, and learned that help would be sent to the Prices. She felt for Mrs. Price's situation, and wondered how she coped with eight children.

It was around when Autumn learned that Mrs. Price was expecting again that she became aware of a plan of Mrs. Norris'.

Chapter Three

Posted on Thursday, 14 June 2001

The children were off to play in the grounds again, a reward for having done excellently on tests she had done to check on their progress. So Autumn chose to head to the sitting room to plan a musical lesson for Anna and Isabelle.

It had been nearly two years since her arrival at Mansfield. She had managed to see her children and grandchildren five times; two of which were at Mansfield. The last, however, was a sadder occasion. Her eldest grandchild, a sickly boy, had caught a severe cold and died. Audie had been inconsolable, and the rest of the family not much better off. Sir Thomas had given Autumn a full month off to be with her family, and she used it all. That had been three months ago, and when she returned to Mansfield the children did not disobey her for over a month.

The pain would be there for some time, so she pushed herself into caring for the Mansfield children even more. Edmund would be leaving for college soon enough, and she wanted to make the most of the time she had left to teach him.

Hearing the voices of Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris discussing something made her nearly turn back, but she had to get the lesson ready. Lady Bertram was adding a few words of her own when Autumn entered. Mrs. Norris looked displeased with her arrival, but Sir Thomas, who was standing, was pleased to see her. He asked her to be seated; "he wanted her opinion on an important matter." Once she was, he informed her of a plan Mrs. Norris had.

Lately, Mrs. Norris had been speaking about how "she could not get poor sister Price out of her head, and had been thinking of what more could be done to help her." So she thought of relieving Mrs. Price of part of her burden by Mansfield taking in one of her children. The idea had been talked over by the Bertrams and the Norris', and it had been agreed upon. All that was left was to decide which child. Mrs. Price had written to describe her eight older children (the infant she was about to have was out of the question), and the agreement reached by Sir Thomas, Lady Bertram, and Mrs. Norris was to take in the eldest girl, Fanny. Having said so, Sir Thomas handed Autumn the letter, and asked her for her opinion. "Would one more child be too much for her to handle?"

Looking over the letter, Autumn could see good reason to take Fanny - she appeared from the letter to not be well suited to Portsmouth, and perhaps the move would improve her health - but one other child caught her attention. Mary seemed to have many of the same problems Fanny had, but her being four years younger made her weaker to disease. The wish to protect the girl's life was strong, and so Autumn voiced her agreement about Fanny and asked "would it be too much trouble to also take in Mary? She could easily handle another child, and think of what a help it would be to Mrs. Price."

Mrs. Norris seemed the most against it, which allowed Autumn to tell that she had come up with the plan to appear kind and generous before Sir Thomas. But Sir Thomas saw where Autumn was coming from with her suggestion, and the results of the increased kindness he showed his children and sister-in-law's children made him feel more generous; so he agreed. Fanny and Mary would arrive in a month.

Mrs. Norris was angered about not having a say in the final outcome, yet she did not show it, much to her credit. She instead left for errands around the village, and Autumn went back to her original intent for entering the room.

The dirty month of February had arrived, and Mrs. Norris had left to bring Fanny and Mary to Mansfield. She did not go to Portsmouth; the girls were to be brought to _________, and would meet their aunt there. Autumn hoped that a journey with Mrs. Norris would not leave too great an impression on the girls.

Tom had been allowed leave to return to greet the girls, which allowed him an excuse to receive advanced language lessons from Autumn. He and the others were still mildly concerned about how quiet their governess could be lately. She was not a lively woman to begin with, yet it took great pains to make her smile. But the expectation of two new pupils seemed to liven her spirits. Indeed, the children had taken to calling her "Aunt Autumn."

The day Fanny and Mary were to arrive at Mansfield, Autumn had a final talk with the children to ensure that they were ready for their cousins. Edmund she knew was ready, but she wanted to make sure about the rest. "Now, remember: your cousins are not ten and six, respectively, so they are likely upset about being separated from their family. They will need to feel welcome and supported. Make it known that you will be there if they need you, but do not smother them; they will need time to adjust."

"They will write home, won't they," Anna wondered.

"I suspect they each have a sibling that they will miss above the rest, so they must have access to pen and paper to remain connected with their family."

"Do we know anything about their temperaments," Maria inquired.

Autumn paused, considering the letter. "From the letter their mother wrote, I think Fanny is very shy, but wishes to be helpful. Mary seems livelier, but since she is younger she may be scared of such a large place. However, both were described as small for their age. That may be because they are not receiving what they need to grow properly. Your parents' hope is that the reduced pressure on the Prices will allow the other children more than they otherwise would have."

"What has my father provided for if they marry or do not marry?" Tom wished to know.

"Sir Thomas is assuring them of some small settlement if they marry. If they do not, he shall ensure that they may live as gentlewomen."

That talk did not last much longer, for Isabelle noticed her uncle's carriage approaching. They went down calmly. It had taken four months to get them to listen to her "walk, do not run" urging, but now they obeyed at once whenever she said it.

As expected, Mr. Norris was unable to arrive to greet his wife and nieces upon their arrival. Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram were ready. Lady Bertram was more concerned that her nieces might disturb Pug, but the others simply made no comment on that score. Sir Thomas gave the children a warm greeting. His way of behaving around the children when Autumn had arrived had been suppressing the children's spirits; however, she soon saw that he was an anxious father, and once he observed how they thrived on kindness, attention, and open love his manner became far less severe. In recent months, the grave manner returned; he did not wish to make the lady who was causing such good in his family uncomfortable when she was in mourning for a grandchild.

The children tried to keep calm and quiet. Edmund's easiness with doing so made a contrast with the others, who showed their excitement at new companions. Autumn actually smiled at how they fidgeted.

At last, Mrs. Norris was announced, and she brought in the girls. There was a hushed silence as Fanny and Mary walked into the room. Even Autumn was surprised, though she saw just what she had thought she would. Puny was an accurate description of the girls. Fanny looked very timid, and Mary was sniffling, obviously from a cold. Mary actually looked like the healthier of the two, yet she was the one who was sick. She looked nervous, but her glances at Mrs. Norris showed that it was more because of her aunt. Fanny simply looked scared. Her expression became less afraid at the gentle tone of her uncle, and both allowed him to guide them over to Lady Bertram, of whom they seemed even more comfortable around. Autumn put it partly to her talking so softly and saying so little.

Lady Bertram performed the introductions from the couch, after gently urging the girls to be seated between herself and Autumn. The children behaved exactly as Autumn wished them to: kind, generous, and warm. Maria and Julia offered the girls hot chocolate, which was hesitantly accepted. When they did receive the cups, both wanted the heat to warm their faces, which Autumn let them do; she even held Mary's cup for her. After two cups, Fanny and Mary were led by the other girls to their room: the White Attic. That room was considered too small for anyone's comfort, but for now it had to do. Fanny and Mary would be given hot baths and a change of clothing afterwards.

Autumn remained, after sending the boys to the schoolroom to prepare for a language lesson, to discuss how the girls should be brought up. Mrs. Norris spoke of how they should keep ranks clear, but Autumn was concerned with ensuring that Fanny and Mary grew up to be well-adjusted ladies, and that would not happen if they were constantly told that they were inferior. That distinction was made by society; at Mansfield there should be no ranks interfering with the girls' interaction with and treatment of each other. Autumn won the argument, as Sir Thomas said that he would leave that to her discretion. So she left, leaving a pleased Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram, and a vexed Mrs. Norris.

Only an hour later, Maria, her sister, and the Norris girls were walking towards the White Attic to see how the girls were doing. They were surprised to find Fanny and Mary sitting on the bottom of the stairs, hugging and crying. A moment's thought made them remember Aunt Autumn's warning that the girls would miss home greatly. That sprung all four into action.

Maria and Julia knelt close to Fanny, while Anna and Isabelle knelt close to Mary, and they at once asked what the matter was. "Had someone scolded them?" was something they wondered, but Fanny seemed too upset to answer, and Mary just asked them to "pray, excuse us."

"Fanny," Julia urged, "Mary, please. We shall feel bad if we cannot help you."

No answer came, so Isabelle asked who would comfort them at home. At once more tears fell, and she bit her lip, afraid she should not have said it. But Maria took charge. "Is that it, girls? Do you miss your mama?"

"No, cousins," Fanny finally said, lifting her face off of the top of Mary's head, "it's not mama."

"Well, then you must tell us," Anna said, her calmness almost a match for her cousin Edmund's. "Yes, we shall go to - your room, Maria? - Maria's room, which is quite comfortable to talk in. Please remember, Fanny and Mary, you are with family who love you both."

Several minutes later, they were sitting on the bed in Maria's room, talking about their families. Maria and Julia spoke about their brothers and life at the manor. Anna and Isabelle spoke about their parents and the Parsonage, trying not to speak ill of their mother, which was hard even for Anna. They then encouraged Fanny and Mary to describe their family at Portsmouth. Soon, they knew all the names of their cousins and something of what they were like. William, the eldest, was an active boy and yearning to travel the seas. He was also their mother and father's favorite. John and Richard, fraternal twins a year younger than Fanny, were also wanting to travel, but one wanted to be a sailor and the other a lawyer. Susan, two years Fanny's junior, was the most outgoing of the girls. Sam, three years younger than Mary, was a loud boy, and always taking things apart. Betsy was almost a year old, and the first girl their mother paid a lot of attention to. Tom so far did not act any differently than his siblings, so neither Fanny nor Mary could say what he was like.

"And you two are very close?" Julia asked. Both nodded. "And whom of the siblings at home will you miss the most?"

That took a moment for the girls to answer. Mary answered first. Susan was as close to her as Fanny was. For Fanny, it was William. He comforted her and pleaded for her to their mother when she was vexed. "And he will miss us both," she added.

"But he and Susan will write to you?" Anna wondered.

"Yes," said Fanny, "they promised. But we told them that we would write first, and Mary has difficulty writing. So I must write for her while she dictates."

"So shall you write to them?" inquired Maria.

Fanny and Mary frowned. "We haven't any paper," Mary answered.

"That is all your difficulty?" A thought came to Maria, and she smiled. "Would it make you happy to write to them?"

Happy gasps came from both girls. "Yes, very!" they both exclaimed.

"Then we shall do it at once." Maria led the group down to the breakfast-room where they would have privacy and the materials they would need. Communication with home made both girls excited, and the letters therefore contained their livened spirits. Anna offered to write for Mary to allow Fanny to write to William immediately. Before they were done, Autumn and the boys came upon them. Seeing the raised spirits of Fanny and Mary, and the bond they already had with their female cousins was beyond her wildest dreams. Edmund added a few lines to Fanny's letter, expressing his best wishes and love to his cousin, and included half a guinea under the seal. Tom did the same for Susan through Mary's letter. The joy both girls felt was beyond their abilities to express.

For Autumn, this was an excellent promise of what the future would be for Fanny and Mary at Mansfield.

Within three months of Fanny and Mary's arrival, their health was considerably improved. Fanny looked normal for a girl of almost ten years, and Mary had almost no colds and had grown a great deal. Their education had a difficult start, but once they picked up basic knowledge, each began to shine there.

Tom had returned to college soon after their arrival, but wrote to them often, and included little teasing remarks for cousin Susan, which Mary made sure were repeated. She was soon able to write her letters herself, which made her very proud and happy. Through Mary, Tom and Susan engaged in a playful sparing match. Fanny and William wrote just as often, and he took great delight in her reports on how she and Mary were doing.

For Autumn, who was soon called "Aunt Autumn" by Fanny and Mary as well, the situation worked very well. She had eager pupils, Tom was doing excellently, and her standing in the household was secure despite the best efforts of Mrs. Norris to the contrary. She held hopes of no difficulties being encountered from then on.

Minor troubles were to be expected; such was the case when Lady Bertram caught a cold. No one thought anything serious of it; that Mary was getting over a cold at that same time meant little. Surely Lady Bertram had had something like it at that age; it would not be long before she recovered. So for a week everyone went on as usual.

At the end of that week, they started to worry. Lady Bertram had been expected to recover slowly, but instead she was slowly getting worse. Her coughs worsened day by day, she was sneezing often, she felt pressure in her face, and her lungs felt like they had something in them. Autumn, having seen many colds, knew better than anyone that something was dreadfully wrong. People recovered from colds within a week and progressively got better. If Lady Bertram was getting worse, than she had something worse than a cold. Also, she had seen a similar condition before, and hoped it was not what she feared it was.

Mary had been concerned that perhaps she had given her aunt what she had, but Autumn explained that Lady Bertram could have picked it up from any number of possible places. Even if she did get it from her, it was not her fault. That calmed Mary, but did nothing to relieve the family.

At last, they called the doctor. Sir Thomas, who started to look pale upon realizing his wife was getting worse, hoped that his trusted doctor would find something to help Lady Bertram. So when the doctor arrived, Sir Thomas had to wait with the Norris' while the children were in the library with Mrs. Winters. Tom knew of his mother's cold, but they had not sent word of her current condition. If her state got much worse, they would send for him via express.

Finally, Sir Thomas heard the doctor's grave report. His wife had consumption. If her state continued like it was, she would not survive a week.

The news rendered the room speechless. Sir Thomas had to sit down; it was too much for him. His was in denial. This could not be happening! And yet he knew that his Maria had a weak constitution and had ill health. Indeed, it was incredible that she had survived so long given that fact.

Mr. Norris was deeply shocked. Lady Bertram was such a sweet and beautiful lady; to have her life possibly cut so short was a tragedy in his eyes. His wife felt the potential loss, but, to her credit, she refused to think about what would happen afterwards. She would do her sister that much.

Sir Thomas thanked the doctor and asked him to do everything he could to keep Lady Bertram comfortable. Once the doctor returned to his patient, Sir Thomas went to the library to break the news to his children, nephew, and nieces.

Autumn knew there was bad news when Sir Thomas entered looking as if someone had punched him in the stomach; worse still was that his first words were for them to remain seated. Then he sat down and told them about Lady Bertram's condition.

The room was silent. No one could speak a word for five minutes. As little time as Lady Bertram had spent with them, she had been a constant in their lives. To have that constant taken from them shook them all to the core.

At last, Edmund asked if they could see her. Sir Thomas' eyes widened, as if he had not asked that question; but Autumn had seen a few consumptions in her time, and knew that they would not be allowed to see her for fear that they would get a consumption too. When she said that, the full extent of the situation hit all the children; Mary burst into tears, and the others were either crying or close to tears, hugging each other. Mary ran to her uncle, crying and absolutely convinced her cold was why her aunt was so ill. Before Autumn could speak, Sir Thomas brought Mary onto his lap and hugged her tightly, telling her to not hold herself at fault. They would never knew how Lady Bertram became sick, but it was the fault of none of them.

It was a few minutes before Mary calmed down enough to truly listen to her uncle, and the firmness of his voice combined with concern for her convinced her that no one was to blame. Once she said she believed it, her uncle urged her to go to her governess, which she did. Sir Thomas stood as soon as Mary was in Aututmn's arms, and shakily announced that he had to send for Tom.

Less than half an hour later, a man was hurrying away from Mansfield, carrying an important letter to Tom Bertram. Sir Thomas watched as the man rode away like hounds were on his heels.

Five days had passed with no sign of Tom, and no improvement in Lady Bertram. The doctor had been unable to hide the news from Lady Bertram; she knew something was gravely wrong with her. When he told her, her first reaction had been as emotional as the children's had been; but after a day, she began to consider the children, and started to write a new will.

She called for lists of all her possessions and her financial situation. Upon her marriage, how her money gained interest had changed because of suggestions of Sir Thomas. Inheritance, and Mrs. Price being disinherited, had given her eighteen thousand pounds, but investments had turned that into fifty thousand. She carefully divided her fortune and property. Her children would receive five thousand each, plus items that she thought should go to them. Chris, Anna, Isabelle, Fanny, and Mary would each receive three thousand and some items; what Fanny would get included items that had belonged to her mother, and Lady Bertram thought Fanny should get them as she was the eldest daughter. The remainder, fifteen thousand, would go to Mrs. Price for the upbringing of the rest of her children. Eight thousand of that, however, would be placed into investments to increase the money available to the Price children. The rest, the part that should have been Mrs. Price's from the start, would be available to her at once. Lady Bertram hoped it would ease her sister's burdens.

That the night of the fifth day since Doctor _____'s report, Lady Bertram found her strength slipping away. She knew she was not going to make it through the night, and when Sir Thomas entered to check on her, she told him so.

"My dear, do not trouble yourself with such thoughts," urged Sir Thomas, who no longer cared to try to hide his feelings. He hurried to her side, took her hand, and kissed it. She was propped up on pillows at her request, and felt rather calm about the situation. Having settled her will, signing it with the Norris' and Sir Thomas as witnesses, she was prepared to meet her maker.

Lady Bertram shook her head. "Mr. dear Sir Thomas, I have lived a long and comfortable life for someone of my disposition. I have four handsome children, four good nieces and a nephew, and the kindest husband I could have ever asked for."

A few tears escaped Sir Thomas' eyes, and he smiled ruefully. "I wish I had not been so grave towards my family for all those years. I am grateful that Mrs. Winters showed me that the children under my care thrive on kindness and love; I can hopefully be closer to them now. My... My deepest regret is that you will not be there to see your daughters and nieces grow up to be beauties, and that you will never see your sons and nephews settle down and raise families."

"I shall see all of that. I shall look down often to see how you are all coping and living." A noise from downstairs made her look around. "What was that?"

Sir Thomas sighed with relief. "I think Tom is here at last."

Lady Bertram turned to Mrs. Chapman, her maidservant for as long as she had been at Mansfield, and asked her to bring the children to her. "I wish to say goodbye to them." Doctor _______ had protested at first, but when Lady Bertram agreed to not allow them to come too close to her he relented. So he went with Mrs. Chapman to summon the children and Mrs. Winters.

Once they were gone, Lady Bertram turned to Sir Thomas; there was something she needed to tell him. "My dear, I must tell you something about my sisters before I die. You must know this. It will help you make proper judgments for the future." Her husband was all attention, and nodded for her to go on.

"My sister Norris was not pleased when you chose me. You see, she wanted to marry you and be Lady Bertram. I do not think she has - or ever shall - forgive me, the weak sister, for 'capturing' you. She will try to dominate the household some time after my death. I know she has meddled before, but what she has done is nothing to what I am sure she shall try to do after a month of so has passed. Do not allow her to control the household, and do everything possible to prevent her bitterness from affecting the children. That includes her own."

Sir Thomas was shocked, but the story did explain Mrs. Norris' behavior on many occasions. But he could not get a word in. His wife was not done.

"There is more. She lost another potential suitor to Frances over twelve years ago. You know that Mr. Norris was courting her then when he visited my childhood home. What you do not know, because you were away in London, is that there was a captain in the navy who was in town. His name Crawford, and I must confess that I was worried about the unmarried girls of the town. He had this look in his eyes I could not trust, and I confess was not at all handsome, but his manners flattered all the young girls except for Frances.

"Sister Anna was charmed by him, fell in love with him, and became determined to marry him. I thank the Lord that Mr. Norris did not see any of that because he had to return to the Parsonage. However, his attention focused on Frances because she would not have him. He claimed to have fallen in love with her, but I think he was simply an overgrown child who wanted something because he could not get it. Anna was furious, but our father was too happy with the offer; she would not dare anger him, but held out until she had to accept Mr. Norris. I think she still loves that dreadful man.

"But Frances would not have him. She endured a lot from her family; everyone except her sisters pressured her to accept the captain. I think she was starting to feel desperate when fate threw a chance out at her door. A handsome lieutenant of the Marines, Mr. William Price, came to town. He liked to drink, but he was a decent man, and took an instant liking to Frances. He had to see her while she did errands in town for family and friends, and he went about trying to woo her.

"She liked him almost at once. He told great stories of life in the King's service, and had a rugged, honest charm about him that wooed her into love. She did see that he could have a bit of a temper when he was drunk, but she also saw that his bark was far worse than his bite; he would never hit her or be unfaithful, that she could tell for certain. He proposed and she accepted, but they knew her father would not consent.

"So their only course left was to elope. She packed as much as she could carry, and stole out of the house early in the morning. It was not until later in the day that the family found that she was missing. She did entrust a maid with a letter for me; I got it later that day, and I intend for Fanny to have it. I loved her too much to say anything about the letter to anyone, and I was not sure what father would do when he realized what she had done.

"He was furious, and disinherited her at once. But instead of dividing her fortune between me and Mrs. Norris, he gave it all - including the rest of her belongings - to me; that, as you may imagine, increased the tension between us, and Frances and I were Father's favourites. He forbade either of us from contacting her, and I think it was Frances' anger at Father that made her sever contact with Mansfield. Though I do not know how Mrs. Norris knew every time Frances had another child. I know Frances would never have written to her during that time.

"Sir Thomas, now I think you see where my sister's bitterness comes from. She has allowed it to consume her, and I fear the consequences for the children. I have written a letter to Frances, which I want sent to her as soon as possible. I have also kept a detailed record of those events in my journals, which I am leaving to Maria and Julia to share with their cousins. I hope it will teach them to learn from our mistakes.

"But above all, I need you to make a few promises to me, my love." Sir Thomas' shock at the narrative was great, but he was able to nod, urging her to name those promises. "Keep Mrs. Winters at Mansfield for as long as the children need her. Her influence is keeping Mrs. Norris at bay, but she cannot do it alone. The children need you to be strong and caring to them, and to keep them free from the bitterness that my sister has aplenty. You said you wished you had not been so severe with them for most of their lives? Then never be severe with them again unless you absolutely must rebuke them.

"Make sure the children know to consider the character of whomever they may be thinking about marrying. Never force any of them to marry where they do not wish to. No not let Fanny and Mary be treated as being lower than our daughters or our other nieces. Let them understand that society shall treat them differently, but in our family circle let them all be treated as equals.

"And, my love, if you should... decide to remarry one day, let her be a stronger and more active woman than I. Let her be there to ensure that none of the children make a match that is not good for them. Will you do all this, my dear Sir Thomas?"

She rarely pleaded with him using her eyes, but when she used that expression he could deny her nothing. And what she asked of him was all that was proper and good. He took both her hands in his, and placed them close to his heart. "I promise, my dearest, that I shall do right by all the children under my care, and that I shall do as you say."

Lady Bertram breathed a big sigh of relief, which brought on a coughing fit. It took a minute for it to pass, and when it did, there was a knock. Mrs. Chapman and Doctor ________ entered, informing them that the children were right there to see Lady Bertram. She nodded, and Mrs. Chapman stood aside to allow the children entrance. First came Tom, carrying Mary; then Edmund, holding his sisters' hands; Chris and his sisters; and finally Mrs. Winters and Fanny. Then the Norris' entered behind Mrs. Winters.

"Sister, I hope you are feeling comfortable," Mrs. Norris began, "but what is this at having the children up to see you?"

"Sister, I am certain that I will not survive the night, and I want to say goodbye to the children before I go." For once Lady Bertram's voice was strong enough to book no opposition, which surprised Mrs. Norris. But a look from Sir Thomas made her be quiet and back off. Mrs. Norris did wonder at the calmness and sudden intelligence her sister was showing.

Lady Bertram looked at the children, noticing how pale they all looked (even Mrs. Winters looked a bit pale), and immediately talked, gathering all her strength to say what she had to. "Dearest children, I know I have not been active in your lives. Part of that was ill health, but the other was, I freely confess, laziness. I urge you all to not follow in my example and neglect your children in any way." Tom and Julia looked ready to protest, but their mother managed to hold up a hand. "No, do not say otherwise simply to make me feel better. Looking death in the eye has made me consider my life, and I wish I had acted differently at many times in my life. But I cannot undo the past. I can, however, try to ensure that my children and nephews and nieces do not make the mistakes I made. Always remember what I am about to say.

"Listen to all the advice Mrs. Winters gives you. She has very solid judgment, and I entrust you into her care. I know you all love her; you may depend on her for support after I am gone. Look out for each other, and help each other."

Then she addressed the children individually. "Tom, Edmund, and Chris: let your wives be caring women who will actively look after your children, and who will support and love you as much you will them. Girls, make sure the men you marry are good men who will treat you and your children well. And all of you carefully consider the character of whomever you consider marrying. I was fortunate to find Sir Thomas, and I do not want any of you to have a bad marriage. And one more thing: make yourselves useful, not just decorative.*?

Faints attempts at smiles were on the children's faces. Then a soft smile came onto Lady Bertram's face. "Tom, Edmund, Maria, and Julia: I am proud to have brought you into the world. I know great things will become of you three." Then her eyes turned to the Norris children. "Chris, Anna, and Isabelle: you three have much potential too. You shall be a credit to the family." And at last to Fanny and Mary: "I am glad I knew you two. Give my love to all your family, and tell my sister that I am glad she had the strength to do what she did." At the puzzled looks of everyone except Sir Thomas, Lady Bertram simply said, "She will know what I mean. I am sorry I shall miss the rest of your lives, but make the most of them."

Her children nodded. "We love you, Mama, and will miss you very much."

"As will we, Aunt Bertram," added her nephew and nieces.

"Mrs. Winters," said Lady Bertram, "keep doing what you have been doing with the children. They have become much better people since you have arrived, and it was so wonderful to see how Fanny and Mary have started blooming into fine young girls. I trust you shall be there for them as often as they need you?"

"Lady Bertram, I have no plans to quit being in service of your family; besides, the children have grown so dear to me that I cannot fathom leaving them." Fanny squeezed her hand as she spoke.

"It comforts me greatly to know that my children and my sister Price's children will have such a good motherly influence as you." Autumn nodded, smiling her thanks.

Then, the dying lady of the house turned her attention to the man who had been her husband for not quite twenty years. "And thank you for everything, my dear. I cannot imagine being anywhere except Mansfield for these good years." The smile she gave him was such that only a few of the servants could remember ever seeing on her, and the tears it produced in Sir Thomas' eyes certainly surprised the children. Never had they seen evidence of such mutual love between Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram. It made all the children smile at proof that happiness in marriage did exist - even little Mary smiled at a sight that would have made her turn away in disgust had it happened at Portsmouth. Mr. Norris smiled sadly, wishing he could have had the happiness his friend had. Mrs. Norris, however, was fuming; Autumn noticed, and worried about it. That was not a good sign for the future.

"Thank you, my love, for all that you have given me," said Sir Thomas, holding back tears.

Lady Bertram looked him in the eyes for the longest moment before hers began to flutter, and her breathing slowed. She struggled to take one last deep breath for her final farewell. "Goodbye, my dear, dear family," said she with infinite tenderness, despite her knowing that Mrs. Norris deserved none of it. Sir Thomas saw a long exhale as her eyes closed, and then could not hear or see her breathing.

"Doctor!" The doctor went straight to her side, and felt for signs of life. After a moment, he looked up sadly at Sir Thomas. "I am sorry, sir. She is gone."

"No!" Mary screamed, forcing Tom, who had tears in his eyes to hurry her out of the room. "No! Aunt Bertram!" she continued. The other girls were all crying either for "Mama" or "Aunt Bertram," but were promptly moved out. Tears started falling from the eyes of the boys as they rushed the girls away, but none of them cried out. Autumn struggled to herd the children into a room where they could all stay the night and comfort each other.

Mr. Norris managed to get his wife out of the room, and the doctor followed after Sir Thomas numbly allowed him to leave. Once only a few servants, all with tears falling down their faces, were left in the room, Sir Thomas started crying. He pulled his dead wife into his arms and cried in her hair. "My dearest, beloved Maria...."

He was still in that position hours later, still crying his wife's name into her hair.

*A direct quote from my departed grandfather. He had a number of gems to say. I miss him.

Chapter Four

Posted on Wednesday, 20 June 2001

Thank you for the support after the last chapter. I feel a little tired thanks to the surprise party my friends threw for me on Saturday, so this may not be as detailed as I might have liked it to be, but I got what I wanted into this chapter. This chapter is dedicated to Gabby, who not only helped make it better, but also place the mental image of Mrs. Norris as a Mr. Burns type. (The Simpsons.)

Gathering Lady Bertram's family for the funeral proved to be the easiest part of preparing the services for her. Sir Thomas even arranged for the Price family to come - in two carriages to make the trip easier for them. The sight of their family brought some boost to the spirits of Fanny and Mary, but nothing could bring anyone's spirits above a sad, quiet nature. Even Mr. Price was rather quiet. The youngest Prices could tell that it was best to be quiet even if they did not understand that an aunt whom they had never met had died.

No one knew the contents of the letter Sir Thomas handed to Mrs. Price other than it was from Lady Bertram. She had taken it away from the prying eyes of her sister and did not rejoin the others for some time; when she did, tears filled her eyes. Mrs. Norris spent a great deal of time trying to find out what the letter said, but Mrs. Price hid it among belongings that she knew Mrs. Norris would never go through. It would not do to make Mrs. Norris intolerable during the mourning period.

Sir Thomas drove his actions into preparing for the funeral. He was not looking forward to that day, but he had to get it done; the sooner it was over, the sooner the family could start healing. The children had been miserable ever since that fateful night. The girls were often crying, albeit softly, and hardly talked in anything but the quietest voices; the boys might have tears in their eyes, but they were more likely to be found holding their heads up with their hands and they hardly talked except to request something or in answer to a question.

Autumn was also very tired. That night she had barely slept. Her time had been spent consoling the children and getting the younger ones to sleep. Mary kept waking up during the night, and at last Autumn had resorted to letting her sleep in her arms; by then the others were all drifting, and only then did she allow herself to sleep. Since then, her task had been to console the children and help them learn to move on. She encouraged them to read whatever eased their minds, and to help on errands around the village. That provided a temporary distraction for them, but the sympathy of the villagers always brought tears to the eyes of the girls and rendered the boys unable to speak. Their reactions did not please Mrs. Norris; she believed they should learn to suppress their grief to a small outward expression. Autumn would not allow this; they must learn how to freely cope; there was nothing wrong with showing your grief, but you could not let it consume you.

It took well over a week to accomplish everything that needed to be done. At last, all the preparations were complete.

The funeral itself took place on a gray, cloudy day. It was half expected to rain, which would have suited the day perfectly. Those who lived in the Mansfield area for years had not seen so many people in black since Sir Thomas' late father's funeral. That had been years before (more than some cared to admit), and Sir Thomas' mother had been gone years earlier. Some attributed his formerly grave manner to losing his parents so early.

The procession to church for the services was quiet except for some crying from some of the family. No one ever remembered Sir Thomas' eyes looking so red, or seeing such emotion on his face. He hardly said a word. Mrs. Norris tried to cry, but it was the children and Mrs. Price who made the most noise throughout the day. Mr. Norris performed the services with great honour and emotion; he spoke of what the lady had done for her family, and of her acknowledgment upon her deathbed of her own faults; he added a plea to remember Lady Bertram with fondness, and to support her children and the nephew and nieces who lived at Mansfield.

By far the quietest moment was when her coffin was lowered into the ground. Mr. Norris read the usual saying while four men carefully lowered her body into her grave. Her closest family stood nearby, watching. Once Lady Bertram had reached her resting place, the men walked aside, and Sir Thomas threw into his wife's grave one rose for each year of their marriage. The children present followed next, each throwing in a flower of their choice. Mrs. Norris went after, and after her was Mrs. Price. She had something to say to her sister, and did not care if the others heard it. She thanked her for being the only one who supported her in "that most troubling time." Only a few of the adults knew what she meant, and one of them was Mrs. Norris; she gave the slightest glare to her sister, who chose to ignore it.

After the funeral was a gathering at Mansfield itself to honour Lady Bertram. The children stayed mostly by themselves, which allowed Autumn a moment of rest. She sat near the children, but kept out of the way of the others; she was well aware of how some people looked upon governesses. Most were talking to Sir Thomas, offering their condolences. Autumn was vaguely aware that some of those people had daughters of eligible ages; maybe some of them were waiting for Sir Thomas to be out of mourning to throw their daughters his way, and some of the young ladies themselves looked impatient for that day to come. Autumn shook her head at the sight. I must not allow any of the girls to behave like that. They must make men come to them instead of hunting them like many young ladies and their mothers do.

She was so caught up in her thoughts and in keeping an eye on the children that she did not notice Mrs. Price coming her way, with her infant son in her arms, until she sat down next to her.

"Mrs. Price," said Autumn, "I am sorry we had to meet under these circumstances."

"As am I." Mrs. Price seemed far quieter and calmer than Mrs. Norris would have a person believe, and it seemed having nine children made her look very tired; few could blame her for it.

Both attempted to think of something to say. "I do not suppose," said Mrs. Price after nearly a minute of silence, "that you know anything about the rift between myself and my family."

"I knew that there was a time when you were never mentioned at Mansfield, except for a few times by Lady Bertram in passing. I could not understand how Mrs. Norris got her information about each time you had another child, or why she spoke so harshly at times about you."

Mrs. Price shook her head with a snort. "She has a friend who lives close to Portsmouth. When my sister realized how close that friend was to her... naughty sister... she demanded her friend find out as much as possible about my family. I figured out who she was one day, and from then on I made sure she found out nothing beyond if all my children were well and if I was having another."

"Why would she wish to spy on you, and why does she speak so meanly to you? I see no reason why she should speak so bitterly about anyone." Autumn had decided she had to know what Mrs. Norris was about; it might help her deal with her in the future.

Her companion was surprisingly willing to discuss it; it seemed she needed someone to listen to her frustrations. However, she pulled Autumn close to a window, away from where others could overhear. No one seemed to notice their moving to another part of the room, and both ladies hoped that certain persons would not take notice of them.

"You want to know what my sister's problem is? She was the eldest child, and while she was not our father's favourite, she was our mother's."

Autumn was now very intrigued. "What happened?"

"Our mother brought her up," Mrs. Price continued, "believing that because she was the eldest daughter she was the one destined for greatness. Anna grew up believing herself to be the most beautiful, intelligent, and useful one of the three of us. I admit that Maria was in ill health and I did not like to exert myself, but that seemed to make us objects of her contempt. Mother encouraged her to think that way, and Maria and I disliked both of them for it. Maria was the more forgiving one, but even she had a limit as to how much of Anna's behavior she could stand. The truth was that she was vain, conceited, selfish, a bit stupid, and determined to get her way. Perhaps we all lacked a little in intelligence, but Maria and I had more of it than she does."

"Was your father aware of this? Did he do anything about it?"

"Oh! he knew what she becoming. I think it is partly his fault; he did not spend enough time with her to curb my mother's influence on her."

"Mama!" Susan's voice interrupted them. They turned to see her come up to them. "Sam was having a little trouble. What should she do?" Mrs. Price knew what Sam's problem was, and Autumn knew whom she should ask for help. With that Susan hurried off.

"I assume," continued Autumn, "that your sister's beliefs made it difficult to deal with her when she came out?"

Mrs. Price nodded. "When she came out, she had the misfortune of being considered the belle of the neighborhood, which only made it worse to deal with her. At last, Maria came out. By then, Anna had noticed Sir Thomas Bertram, the most eligible bachelor in the county, and was determined to become Lady Bertram. Her mother introduced them, and he did dance with her. But he found her a little too proud for his taste. Then he saw Maria. He asked her to dance, and did not dance again with Anna the whole night; other young men were asking for dances, and she could not refuse them or she would be seen as not following society's rules.

"Anna and Mother were angry. They did everything they could to keep Maria out of the way and put Anna in Sir Thomas' path, but Father put stops to every one of their actions (that he knew of). And Maria, while she liked Sir Thomas for his strength and protectiveness, wanted to get out of the house. So she happily accepted him when he proposed.

"If Anna and Mother were angry before, they were furious then. But Father made a few threats to both of them, which I almost felt sorry for them over, and they never said another word about it; but Anna became very bitter over it. I don't think Sir Thomas truly suspected what was going on because of what Father did."

Autumn glanced in the direction of Sir Thomas, who was enduring the company of Mrs. Norris.

"I think Lady Bertram may have told him something about it. He does not seem to have as much respect for her as he used to."

Mrs. Price followed her gaze. "Well, then I am glad that he thinks that way. But Maria's 'triumph' is not all Anna is bitter over.

"Mother died around the time Edmund was born. Father's health, which had been shaky, seemed to improve. She was mourned as was required, but no more. Anna suffered the worst. She could not understand why everyone else seemed to be at least a little better off. On Mother's deathbed, she would not forgive Maria or Father. She always believed she was destined to marry much higher than her father forced her to, so she was determined that her namesake and daughter would succeed where she failed. Her bitterness did nothing to help Anna, but I always thought she could let go of that bitterness; she never did, and I doubt she ever will."

"Lady Bertram hinted once that Mrs. Norris holds a grudge against you. What is it over?"

Mrs. Price hesitated. "I had always thought that Father would always be kind to Maria and me, but," (and now she looked uneasy) "I discovered a few months before Julia was born that Father could be cold himself. He was determined that his ambitious daughter not marry high, and his daughters who were rather uninfluenced by ambition - despite what Maria may have acted like, she cared about being at least comfortable. She was indolent, but the full extent was not as bad as she showed; it helped her handle our sister - to marry high. So when a rich captain in the navy arrives in town and takes an interest in me, Father was delighted."

Her frustration now seemed mixed with some pain. This part appeared to still pain her after twelve years. "Did you like the man?"

"No. I could not trust him. I saw him flirting with every young lady in the town, including Anna. She actually fell in love with him, which shocked me; I didn't think she really could love, and wanted to marry him. But he proposed to me. He thought all he had to do was ask me and I would just give him my heart and hand!"

"So you did not believe that he loved you?" Autumn suspected she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear this story. It could be a vital way of teaching the children about looking for signs about a person's character.

"No. He wanted me because I would not have him. I saw through his charms, and Maria was observant enough to notice too. But Father was determined to make it a match. Anna tried to pull his attention away from me, which I would have allowed even though I was not sure he would not hurt her, but he was sadly determined that nothing would prevent him from getting me. Then Father forced Anna to marry Mr. Norris, who had been courting her for months. He was there when she married Mr. Norris. He seemed more certain than ever that he would succeed. But Mr. Price came into town."

Mrs. Price described their courtship, even repeating some of the stories she had been told, and his proposal. She had never been blind to his faults - loudness and drinking being the primary faults - but he was clearly not the kind to hit someone except in self-defense or to protect someone. He would never be unfaithful or treat her poorly; both that captain would have surely done to her had she married him. Mrs. Price finished her tale by describing her escape, the Gretna Green wedding, and the hardships she had endured in the marriage. They had enough money to put enough food on the table to allow their children to thrive and get them some little education, but it was a cramped house and the servants were horrible. Having nine children in such a place was hard enough, but when an accident forced Mr. Price out of the Marines, he had barely been able to find work around the area to make a little more money for the family.

Autumn listened to the tale with sympathy. It was good to hear the truth; Mrs. Price was not one to lie. "I am curious about one thing: you never said the captain's name or where he was from."

Mrs. Price looked like she would have been quite happy to forget about the man, but never could thanks to his forcing her to flee and be disinherited to escape a bad marriage. "Oh, I think he made Admiral. Must have charmed the right people, I think." Autumn gave a smile and a small laugh for good measure. "His name was Crawford, and I think he lived in London."

Autumn nearly choked on her drink upon hearing that name. Mrs. Price asked what was the matter. Autumn explained about the letter she got before reading Sir Thomas' offer, and Mrs. Price simply shook her head. "That sounds just like him," she declared.

The two women then walked over to the children; Mrs. Price decided she should get to know Fanny and Mary better; thought told her that she did not want a great emotional distance between herself and any of her children. If she let that happen, one of them might become a younger version of Mrs. Norris.

The Price family stayed for two weeks longer. Sir Thomas needed to talk to them to decide how to handle the money Lady Bertram gave them. It was eventually decided that of the money Lady Bertram had left directly to Mrs. Price, two thousand of it would join the eight thousand in investments. The remaining five thousand would become five hundred pounds a year for ten years, which would hopefully result in a slightly greater amount each year. Sir Thomas also promised to help them seek a different home, which he wished to be a little more comfortable for them. He would send three servants from Mansfield to become servants for the Prices. He would also give them books for the children to take home, and continue to provide as much educational aid as possible.

Sir Thomas made good on his promises. He sent inquiries through a friend near Portsmouth, and found a home or rent in a decent part of Portsmouth that fit the requirements. When the Price family finally moved into it, they were pleased. It was closer to the sea, cleaner, and had more room. Sir Thomas also took advantage of a few favours owed to him to ensure the Price boys got into a better school. Because of the nature of the favours owed to him he could have called for something greater elsewhere, but chose to use them to help his sister-in-law's family.

The time Mr. and Mrs. Price spent at Mansfield improved their relations with Fanny and Mary. Lady Bertram's letter had urged her to be close to all of her children, so they started to give the older girls more attention. It would be a long time before there was a real closeness between them, but it was a start. Mr. and Mrs. Price were both pleased with Autumn as the governess; she was a good influence, taught the girls well, and kept Mrs. Norris from influencing them. The last was very important to Mrs. Price.

Mr. Price also took pleasure from the company of his nieces and nephews. The nephews were fine boys, and responded well to him, and the girls were good children. His brothers-in-law made good company, and they had long talks about raising a family and money. And, of course, Mrs. Norris was as charming as ever.

The day the Prices departed for Portsmouth to pack and move to their new home was a sad one for the occupants of Mansfield Park. The circle would contract sharply, and everyone had to get on with their lives. Mr. Norris and his children were also sad, but Mrs. Norris seemed happy that her sister and her disorderly family were gone. That made Sir Thomas less than pleased with her, and Mr. Norris decided that he may have to take a drastic step to ensure his children grew up to be the people he wanted them to be, and whom they wanted to be.

William would return to Mansfield in December for a short visit before he started his career in the navy. The Mansfield children were certain to be glad of his company when it came, William would be delighted to see his cousins and sisters again, and Sir Thomas would be glad of an addition to the company, however short it may be.

It had been nearly a year since her sister's death, and Mrs. Norris was exceedingly vexed.

I must call her vexed, for that is the polite term for what she was feeling. If I used the word that most accurately described her feelings, I would not be able to tell you this part of the story.

She had indeed been extremely unhappy to have been denied what she wanted twice, but had planned since becoming Mrs. Norris to basically take on the role of mistress of Mansfield Park because of her sister's indolence. She had planned years ago that by now she would be in control of nearly all of the decisions made; even Sir Thomas would see what good advice she had.

She had been making good progress in gain the control she wanted (despite the fact that her children forced her to slow down) when Sir Thomas had fired Miss Lee. Then she saw him deciding that a different kind of governess was needed. She had thought Miss Lee was a good choice; she did her bidding and would have produced in the girls what they should have.

But when Mrs. Winters had arrived, Mrs. Norris had not been pleased. She was far too kind, intelligent, and generous; the children would not be properly restrained. And yet she saw all the children thriving under Mrs. Winters' care, and they knew a lot that she did not know. This made Mrs. Norris feel threatened. Worse yet was Sir Thomas' becoming softer towards the children, and Mr. Norris was finally, after all those years of bending to her will, standing in her way. So, she thought of a plan to make herself appear more generous before Sir Thomas; that would be the way to regain the ground she lost in the nearly two years Mrs. Winters had been there.

Yet Sir Thomas sought that woman's opinion on the plan to take in a Price girl, and she suggested taking in two girls! That was a tax on Sir Thomas' benevolence as far as Mrs. Norris was concerned, yet he gladly agreed. Then the girls turned out to be shy and quiet, much to Mrs. Norris' displeasure. But then all the children bonded to them at once, and they became bolder. All, she was sure, because of that intolerable woman Sir Thomas called a governess!

When Lady Bertram fell ill so soon after one of Mary's colds, Mrs. Norris hoped the child would forever know that had she not come her aunt would still be alive, and was convinced that the child would obey her in anything. But then that Mrs. Winters convinced the girl that it was not her fault that there were many things that could have caused the consumption, and that she should not blame herself.

Mrs. Norris then planned to make herself vital to running the household with Lady Bertram gone, but she did wait two months before doing anything. But each time she tried to make a decision for the household, she found that Sir Thomas would insist on taking care of it himself. Furthermore, on the two occasions he had to briefly travel to London, he ordered that any decisions not resolved by the housekeeper or the steward should be resolved by Mrs. Winters!

William's holiday visit had been worse. She had decided to do some good to get the children listening to her again, but what she knew was benevolent generosity was considered by the children - even by her own! - as imposing herself on them with things that were not best for them. Mrs. Winters did everything to halt those, and Sir Thomas backed her on them.

The worst had just come. After one of her more forceful attempts, Mr. Norris and Sir Thomas had nearly yelled at her in anger. She had never seen Sir Thomas so angry and had frozen. Her husband in anger she considered merely a vexation, but Sir Thomas looked ready to throw her out of Mansfield Park forever. Then he and Mr. Norris had gone into his study, and Sir Thomas' attorney had joined them. They met for hours two straight days, and on the third day servants came to the Parsonage and packed the children's belongings to bring them to Mansfield Manor. Mr. Norris then informed her that due to her insufferable behavior, he and Sir Thomas had signed an agreement that Chris, Anna, and Isabelle would all go under the immediate care of Sir Thomas, and he would be the sole person in charge of them once Mr. Norris himself died. Other provisions had been made, but the important part was that Mrs. Norris now had no legal say in her children's upbringing.

Her husband called it a just punishment given all that she had done to the whole family, but she had raised a screaming match. But it was done, and she could do nothing to reverse it. What was even worse was seeing Mrs. Winters raising them. Sir Thomas wasted far too much time being with the children. He was becoming too soft, and he asked Mrs. Winters for advice far too often.

She hated feeling powerless. She was destined for greatness; her mother always said so, and she was the best of her sisters. Why did they get the good suitors and she was stuck being a poor clergyman's wife? It simply was not fair! She should be Lady Bertram! There would certainly be no soft governesses at Mansfield, odious nieces becoming like daughters to Sir Thomas, or nieces becoming on the same level as daughters!

As she had paced, thinking about how to ensure success, a horrible thought came to her: what if Sir Thomas decided to make Mrs. Winters the next Lady Bertram? True, she was a grandmother and beyond her childbearing years, but her will was strong, and she would not back down where she thought herself to be right. If she became Lady Bertram, then any chance of running Mansfield would be gone. She had to find a way to keep her from becoming Lady Bertram!

A plan began to hatch. She would make life for Mrs. Winters so miserable that she would have to leave Mansfield. Or perhaps she would create an incident that would force Sir Thomas to fire her, and then the power would go where it should have gone years ago. She rubbed her hands together in glee thinking about what she would do.

If Mrs. Norris was looking upon the possibility of Autumn Winters becoming Lady Bertram with anger, Autumn herself looked upon it with dread. She liked where she was at present, and she saw no reason to remarry since she was a grandmother; but she certainly had no idea what Sir Thomas' plans were.

He did not look as sad as before, but he was certainly quiet. Too quiet. The household had its moments of laughter, but Mansfield had become a very quiet place since Lady Bertram's death. She had been a quiet lady, and the house was consequently not as loud as some homes Autumn knew (including her own, with just two children instead of seven to nine). Mansfield needed a lively presence sooner or later, but who knew what it would be?

She had been called by Sir Thomas into his study; he needed to talk to someone who was not a Norris. It seemed Mrs. Norris had gotten on his nerves again, which was quite understandable. That lady simply did not know when to quit!

Autumn passed Baddeley, who nodded a greeting and she returned it, as she walked up to the door. Granted immediate entrance, she opened it to find Sir Thomas struggling to mend his pen. He looked up upon her closing the door.

"I am sorry," said he. "I have been having a trying day and I think I took it out slightly on the pen."

"Understandable. I... heard who your visitor was this afternoon."

"Please, Mrs. Winters, be seated." Sir Thomas was on far less formal terms than when she had arrived, and the quiet, polite tone was either him maintaining a non-grave expression, or something to concern Autumn. As she sat, she wondered if she should bring up what the servants had told her Mrs. Norris thought was happening.

Sir Thomas, at last succeeding in mending the pen, put it down and clasped his hands, placing them in front of him on the desk. "I have rarely been comfortable with the prospect of talking about my past, but I have managed to do so to give my sons ideas about handling situations. You know I was an only child. I did not like being alone when my mother died, and later my father. My greatest regret about my childhood was having no one to call an honourary sibling. But when I met you I was reminded of my mother; she had a similar disposition. You are the closest thing to a sister that I have ever had."

Autumn could not hide her surprise or her relief upon hearing those words. Sir Thomas saw both, and added, "I say it because I heard from the servants that the wild imagination of Mrs. Norris seems to be making you uneasy, and I wished to set your mind at ease; I also wished to have someone whom I can freely call a honourary sibling to confide in. I hope I am not making too much of a demand on you."

"Oh, no. I am... rather pleased to be considered a sister by you. I confess I was disconcerted when I heard what Mrs. Norris thought. Had it not been for how often you asked for my advice I would have dismissed the story at once. I myself have no siblings, and to have a sort of brother is good to know. This sets my mind and spirits at ease." A grateful smile crossed her face, but then she quickly became serious. "Now, what is it that you wished to discuss with me?"

Sir Thomas sighed. "It involves Mrs. Norris and her behavior. It became so intolerable that I wrote an express to the husband of her friend near Portsmouth to ask if he could find a way to get her away from Mansfield for a while by offering something she could not refuse. I received his response today." He handed her the letter, allowing her to read it. "He said he and his wife are going to Bath, Stratford, and I believe a few other places; the journey will take three months. They leave in about four weeks. He believes his wife can convince her to go, and think she will come back with a fail-safe plan for gaining control of Mansfield. If she were not my sister-in-law and married to my best friend I would send her away for what she has done, but I cannot."

"No, but you can quiet her with the threat of being thrown out when Mr. Norris is gone. He tells me that he doubts he will live many more years."

He shook his head and stood to pace. "I do not want to be that cold to my sister-in-law. It was Mr. Norris who insisted on his children coming to Mansfield and my becoming their immediate guardian. He wanted to make sure Mrs. Norris held no power over the children, including their money. I hesitated at such a step, but he was adamant, and I could not refuse his wish."

Autumn could only imagine what could have driven Mr. Norris to such a step. He seemed like a man whose nerves were not easily tried; but Mrs. Norris was not an ordinary person. Even a person with as much patience as Mr. Norris must find Mrs. Norris' behavior and feelings as a serious thorn in their side. A woman might call her a viper in her bosom. "It would appear that Mrs. Norris did not take well to the news given how she has behaved in the past few days."

Sir Thomas' frustrated noise (Autumn was not sure what to call it) attested to what every person who lived in the Mansfield area knew by now.

"And that adds to my desire to get her away from Mansfield for a while. Perhaps Mr. Norris' health shall improve and the rest of us shall receive a much needed relaxing period."

"But this appears to be something that someone who loves luxury would love. Why do you think she would not go?"

"For the ridiculous notion that had you nervous not too long ago. I must rid her of that notion before the invitation comes or she shall not accept it; but I know not how to do it."

"The only way I can think of is to carefully make it clear that I shall remain the governess in a conversation. Perhaps one of the children could ask about my plans, and I can say that I am content where I am. That should be enough, if combined with a comment from yourself confirming it." This seemed to satisfy Sir Thomas, but he still looked troubled. "Sir Thomas, is there something else that is bothering you?"

Silence reigned in the room for an unnaturally long time. Sir Thomas walked to the window and looked out, seeing the children playing in the distance. A sad look crossed his face as he watched, and Autumn felt it necessary to stand and walk up to the window to see what he was watching. I do not understand what could be troubling him now. We have a plan for dealing with Mrs. Norris. What else is there to do?

At last, he spoke.

"I do not... I do not regret marrying Maria Ward. She gave me a peaceful home with four good children, and many good memories. But the house has become too quiet since her death. There is a want of life and laughter. I know now that it is time to find a new mother figure for the children, but I must be careful and selective. She must be of a more active and healthier constitution than Maria; be more involved in the running of Mansfield and in the children's lives; and have a strong will to deal with Mrs. Norris. The best choice would be a widow with at least one daughter and one son. I know no one around her whom I could think of as a good possibility, and even if we get Mrs. Norris to leave, I think I need a change or scenery."

"Then go to London." The certainty in her voice made him turn to look her in the eye. "Find an old friend you have not seen in years, and go with him to someplace. If he has an estate and would not mind the company, then go with him. See who you meet there."

"Do you not think the children might be uneasy about a step-mother?"

"They will probably be a little uncomfortable dealing with their father or uncle being with someone else, but in time and with guidance they should be fine. Just as long as the new Lady Bertram is a good woman and treats them well."

A long pause followed; then Sir Thomas sighed. "Thank you."

Autumn soon left him to respond to Mr. ________'s letter. She had children to attend to, and had to pick which child would help get Mrs. Norris to accept that invitation when it came.

Maria turned out to be the one to help with the plan. That night after dinner, she asked Autumn about what her future plans were, and a short discussion had started. It worked like a charm. Mrs. Norris' expression grew visibly relieved, and a large smile was on her face for almost the rest of the night. It dampened briefly when Sir Thomas announced that he was going to London in four days, and would perhaps be gone for three months, leaving the house in the care of the housekeeper and the steward.

Sir Thomas wisely did not state that any disagreements or trouble within the Park would be settled by Mrs. Winters. That he would save till he was almost due to leave.

The day he did leave was a sad one. He promised to bring something back for each child. Fanny had nearly felt that it was not needed, but since her uncle was so kind to her she would not say anything; it did feel wonderful to be noticed. Mrs. Norris was at her best that day; not one bad word or hostile action. Even when it became clear who was in charge if there were disagreements she did not become anything less than polite and kind.

But as Sir Thomas' carriage drove away, Autumn, Mr. Norris, and the children all knew it would not last for long.