Section I, Next Section
Chapter One
I know a girl from a lonely street,
Cold as ice-cream but still as sweet.
Deborah Harry
Francine Price stood at the large leaded glass window overlooking Exeter College gardens.
"I am sorry you are leaving Oxford," she said softly to the tall, handsome man beside her, "I will miss it. I wish I was coming here in the autumn myself."
Edmund mimicked her sigh and smiled. He was her cousin and some nine years her senior but the difference in ages had not prevented them becoming the best of friends. Francine had been unofficially adopted by his family eight years ago when her own parents divorced and he had made it his business from the very day she arrived to care for her and guide her in all things. He had been away from home for several years now having worked in London and during that time he had been aware that Francie, a delicate and shy child, had suffered a good deal from his thoughtless family which he had been unable to control at a distance. His mother, although a kind-hearted woman was no match for her older spiteful sister, Ruth Norris, and Edmund never thought of all the months Francie had spent at the mercy of Mrs Norris without a shudder. His greatest cause of rejoicing at the present was the fact that she would now be removed forever from her Aunt Ruth's grasp.
"You did the right thing," he smiled, "you wanted a women's college and as Lady Margaret Hall and Somerville have gone co-ed you had no choice but to apply to Cambridge. I am very proud of you for getting a place at Newnham, you know that."
She smiled and blushed a very little. "I shall still miss Oxford," she insisted, "I have loved all my visits here. What will you do now, go back to law?"
"I had thought about it," he replied, "but I can't face it, it was a mistake from the start. Now, I have a surprise for you, close your eyes..."
She giggled and did as he asked. "What is this?" he slipped a sheet of paper into her hands.
She opened her eyes and ran them down the page, "Oh, Edmund! You passed your ACCM - you are to be a priest! And a place to study at Westcott House this autumn? Oh, it is too good to be true - we will be together at Cambridge after all!"
He laughed at her obvious delight, "Yes, Francie, we will and the only difference will be that I will be living at Westcott rather than here. We will meet every day and go to church together every Sunday."
Francie sighed and flopped down into a huge armchair, "Edmund... Edmund... I will miss this comfortable room but I am sure you will like your room at Westcott House just as much. What church will we go to - Little St Mary's?"
Edmund handed her a cup of tea, "My new room will not be nearly as grand as this one but I will survive. As for church, I think you might like St Clement's on Bridge Street, it is quiet and homely and you would be able to attend a little of the Greek liturgy after ours."
"I think I shall like St Clement's," she said with a little blush, "are you sure you will not mind it?"
Edmund laughed, "I would do anything for you, Francine, and you know it."
Francie was much too modest and self-effacing to know any such thing. She blushed deeper and sipped her tea. Fortnum and Mason's Darjeeling, how lovely. Edmund had such perfect taste and did everything beautifully.
"We had better leave," he said as she laid down her cup, "we cannot afford to miss the train or Tom will have a long wait on the platform at Northampton."
Francie nodded in agreement and stood up. "I wish you liked my new hairstyle," she said plaintively, "I wanted to look more sophisticated for university."
"You looked perfect as you were," he replied, "it took you such a time to grow your hair to waist-length and I cannot believe you thought you were improving yourself by shearing it all off. Honestly, Francie, I much preferred your long hair and Laura Ashley dresses."
Francie felt suddenly depressed, she should have known Edmund would not like her new look but her cousins Ria and Julie had been so encouraging and even her Aunt Maria had agreed that she must not go to university looking as she had at school. Edmund, however, was romantic and old-fashioned and hated her black and silver minimalist style. She resolved to fluff up her hair a bit and wear some of her pretty dresses during the summer holidays but it would have to wait until after the General Election.
Chapter Two
Oh, when we walk it always feels so nice,
And when we talk it seems like paradise.
Deborah Harry
Her uncle, Sir Thomas Bertram, had won Northampton Mansfield for the Conservative Party in 1974 and had served under both Margaret Thatcher and John Major. He was a compassionate man and a tireless campaigner for many causes that transcended the boundaries of mere party politics, however, his strong personal reserve had distanced him from his electorate and he had been advised to loosen up and become a more accessible person with whom his constituents could identify.
It was a huge undertaking and his parliamentary agent, Christopher Jackson, was more often than not in a state of despair over Sir Thomas's attitude. In the end he decided that Sir Thomas's greatest political asset was his family.
Lady Maria Bertram was both fashionable and friendly; she wrote "Aga sagas" and had raised a small fortune for Northampton's neonatal unit. Tom Bertram, the eldest son, was handsome and provided Sir Thomas with a connection to the City and the great financial institutions. His younger daughter, Julie, was an actress often seen in prestigious costume dramas and his elder daughter, Ria, was a Vogue cover-girl and wife of another Conservative MP. A connection, however tenuous, into the world of drama and fashion did the somewhat dull Sir Thomas no harm at all. Lastly, his sister-in-law, Ruth Norris, was a well-known right-wing campaigner and Assistant Treasurer for the Diocese of Northampton, very respectable indeed.
Sir Thomas's only real competition was the Reverend Claire Grant and New Labour. Dr Grant had come to Mansfield Park in 1989 as an experiment, the solitary woman deacon in the diocese but she had gone on to win the affection and admiration of her congregation and when the Reverend Mr Norris took ill she had become one of the first women to enter the Anglican priesthood and inherited his parish with his blessing.
Francie and Edmund reached Mansfield Park in time for dinner. Tom was waiting for them at the station with his brand new Alfa Romeo which he was anxious to show off but could not have found two people in the entire country less interested. Francie was still in the seventh heaven to which she had been transported on hearing that Edmund would be at Cambridge with her next term and he was silently contemplating whether it would be appropriate for him to invite his charming new friend Mary Crawford to Mansfield for the summer if his father lost the election.
Ria Rushworth and her husband, Charles, had arrived earlier that day with the intention of staying several months. He had recently inherited an Elizabethan mansion, Sotherton Court, from his late uncle and there was much work to be done to make it habitable by his standards. Ria, fresh from the catwalks of Milan, was not terribly excited about restoring an old house or the attempts of her husband and father to retain their parliamentary seats.
She was a tall, vivacious blonde with an elegant, disciplined body and a household name. Sir Thomas, having provided both his daughters with a very expensive education at one of England's finest private schools, had hoped to raise Oxbridge graduates who would go on to find careers in medicine or law. He had, instead, produced two very self-centred and egotistical young women who longed for nothing more than to be the centre of attention and as model and actress vied for it constantly. They were good-natured and friendly to eachother and everyonelse until their interests were crossed and in that instant they would immediately become spiteful and dangerous. Mad, bad and dangerous to know was the phrase that usually sprang to Francie's mind.
"Hi, Francine!" Ria called as they entered, "I like your flower arrangement in the dining room. Hi, Eddie, did you find the courage to ask Mary?"
Francie's heart jumped. Mary? Ask Mary? She waited anxiously for a response from Edmund or some further information from Ria but he ran upstairs and she continued to flick carelessly through her magazine with no apparent need for an answer.
"Francie, sweetheart, did you have a nice day?" asked her Aunt Maria, "Was the weather nice? Did you walk along the backs?"
"Very nice, Auntie," replied Francie, wondering how her aunt ever got anything published with her tendency to say 'nice' all the time.
Dinner was a solemn business with Sir Thomas at the head of the table carving a joint and discoursing on the horrors of vegetarianism and noveau cuisine.
"I hope you will all come and see Sotherton," said Mr Rushworth, "I am goin speeches since being elected last time... it is a terrible burden and planning the renovation of Sotherton is a great relaxant."
No one uttered a word. Francie did not relish the prospect of such an exquisite house being altered to suit two people as tasteless as Ria and Mr Rushworth and Edmund, having seen the plans, felt that it should be postponed indefinitely. Charles continued to talk about the house and the 'improvements' he was arranging until his wife, quite desperate for an alternative to that and the Election, enquired again after Miss Crawford.
"So, Edmund, you did not tell me if you had invited Mary for the summer or not."
Francie's heart sank. For the summer? Edmund must have a new girlfriend.
"Yes," chipped in Tom, "tell us all about the glamorous Miss Crawford."
"Is she pretty?" asked Lady Bertram.
Edmund laughed and poured another glass of wine, "Yes, mother, she is pretty. No, Tom, she is not glamorous. Ria, I have not had an opportunity to issue an invitation yet and I thought it might be better to wait until after the Election."
Sir Thomas waved his hand, "No, no, son. Win or lose, life must go on. Make your arrangements for the summer as you please."
Edmund's eyes began to sparkle a little, "Thanks, dad," he grinned. "I'll e-mail her after dinner."
"Who is Mary?" asked Francie in an incredibly small voice.
"A good friend of mine from Cambridge," explained Edmund, "she's a postgraduate student at your college Francie, and you will like her immensely. I know she's looking forward to meeting you."
Francie had no reply; she knew very well she would not like Mary Crawford.
"How do you know her, Ria?" asked Lady Bertram as she daintily arranged scraps on her side plate for her precious pug.
"I don't," smiled Ria, "but I met Edmund with her in London one night and he was extremely cagey when I broached the subject later."
"I was not!" protested Edmund with a hint of embarrassment.
"You were!" cried Ria. "It took a whole hour and half a bottle of Charles's best Chablis to loosen your tongue and still I thought that dashing naval officer was her husband and would to this day if I had not met the man himself in Valerie's the next morning."
Edmund shook his head, "You met Henry Crawford in Valerie's? You might have said."
Ria smirked, "You are not the only one who can keep secrets, big brother."
"Her brother is in the Navy, then?" interrupted Sir Thomas, "Are they by any chance related to Admiral William Crawford?"
"He is their uncle," replied Edmund demurely.
Sir Thomas brightened considerably, "Bill Crawford was the best Defence Secretary we have ever had, an excellent man, an excellent man indeed! His niece and nephew will always be welcome in my house!"
"I will suggest to Mary that she brings her brother with her, if she accepts my invitation in the first place," said Edmund, "and if you will all excuse me I will write my note now."
He left the room with a brief smile at Francie who kept her eyes resolutely on her plate.
Why had he not mentioned Mary Crawford to her before? Why was she always the last person to know anything?
I suppose I am always the last to know because I am the least important. Oh, Edmund, I keep thinking I am more to you than just a little cousin and then you get a girlfriend and all my hopes are dashed. I wish you would marry one of them and put an end to my misery!
Sir Thomas rose, "I shall have an early night, my dear," he addressed Lady Bertram, "Christopher Jackson will be here at eight o'clock in the morning and I fear we will have one of our famous disagreements."
Lady Bertram looked sympathetic, "I thought you were going to the Agricultural College to give a speech on the government's commitment to rural affairs?"
"I am," Sir Thomas bent down and kissed the top of her elegant coiffure, "but first we will discuss the local television interview and you know what that means."
Lady Bertram knew exactly what that meant. She made a mental note to telephone the nice lady from Cosmopolitan and take her up on her offer of an interview in London. It would entail staying overnight in the capital and by the time she returned to Mansfield Park she could reasonably hope that Sir Thomas and Mr Jackson would be on speaking terms again.
Mr Rushworth rooted around for the chocolates he knew his wife had hidden in a napkin and said nothing. Tom thought of his sports car and smiled. Ria thought of the autumn collections and gloated at having been chosen to represent Vivienne Westwood. Only Francie understood and silently sympathized with her uncle.
Chapter Three
It was a palace to be proud of, surpassing all others
For the wonder of its work and the walls enclosing it.
From "Cleanness,"Anon.
Sir Thomas Bertram had an unalterable abhorrence of cameras in his home. He had never allowed any publication to take photographs of the interior of his elegant eighteenth century house although the exterior appeared as a fine example of early Adam in many books on the subject. He had never even allowed it to be filmed for a documentary although the BBC had applied several times and he would not, under any circumstances, permit the local television station to do an "at home" interview. This was the permanent disagreement between him and Christopher Jackson which Lady Bertram so longed to avoid. Mr Jackson was convinced that an "at home" interview would go a long way to making Sir Thomas look friendly to the voters and Sir Thomas was equally convinced that the voters were merely voyeuristic in their desire to see into a public figure's home. Many years ago immediately after her first novel had come out Lady Bertram had entertained a reporter from Woman's Own to tea and sponge cake on the terrace and that was as near as any representative of the media had got or ever would get to the inside of the Bertram family home.
Francie slept as well as could be expected with the thought of Mary Crawford on her mind and got up early in the hope of making the most of all the days that remained with Edmund before she arrived. She dressed herself quickly in black jeans and a short sleeved black sweater and rushed downstairs to wish her aunt goodbye and a safe journey. The huge Victorian grandfather clock in the hall tolled seven-thirty as she dashed past it into the kitchen. It was not loud enough, however, to drown out the raised voices coming from Sir Thomas's library. She shivered briefly, how could Christopher Jackson stand up to her uncle like that?
Lady Bertram was in her large comfortable kitchen stuffing papers into a briefcase that had once been a fashionable tapestry affair but now resembled something more like Mary Poppins' carpet bag. Ria sat at the ancient scrubbed wood table with a glossy magazine sighing over the extreme youth and thinness of the new generation of models and a pot of coffee stood on the Rayburn stove behind her.
"Francie, you do look nice," smiled Lady Bertram, "do you want anything from London?"
"No thank you, Auntie," Francie slipped around Ria and picked up Pug who had got on to the table and was helping himself to marmalade.
"Doesn't she look chic, Ria?" continued Lady Bertram as Francie poured herself a cup of coffee and set about determining which of the other things on the table had been sampled by Pug.
"You do look much smarter nowadays," Ria addressed Francie, "I was a bit worried you were going to go about looking like a character from Anne of Avonlea forever."
"Now, that is a book I wish I had written..." sighed Lady Bertram.
Francie opted for safety, disposed of all the food on the table, and replaced it so quickly that her aunt barely noticed.
"What did Eddie think of the new Francine?"
Francie bit her lip, "He didn't like it at all."
Ria grinned, "Don't worry, he's deeply into the Stepford Wives look but Mary Crawford will cure him of that. Mother... do you know who she looks like?"
"Who, dear?" asked Lady Bertram mildly.
"Francine, of course!"
"Who?"
"Audrey Hepburn."
Lady Bertram crammed the last possible lipstick into her cosmetics purse, "Ria, I do believe you are right. Yes, you are exactly right - she looks just like a young Audrey Hepburn."
She smiled complacently. All her family were remarkably handsome and now little Francine promised to be as handsome, if not more so, than the rest.
"So, what is Mary Crawford like?" asked Francie desperately trying to get a word in. What use was there in looking like Audrey Hepburn if Edmund's taste ran in other directions.
Ria sighed, "She's not beautiful, not exactly beautiful... I would say she has style rather than beauty."
"I see," replied Francie. Style? How am I to compete with someone with style?
"Style is the thing to have," said Lady Bertram, "style lasts. Many a beauty queen at twenty isn't worth a second look at forty but if you have style you will always be worth looking at. I keep telling you, girls, and I hope you listen to me - cultivate style."
Francie and Ria exchanged irreverent looks as Lady Bertram's chic Gucci loafers faded out of hearing along the corridor to the front door. They heard Christopher Jackson wish her a good journey which prompted Ria to put on another pot ofYou can't mean that - don't you remember the last Labour government?"
"Nope," grinned Ria, reminding him of their fifteen year age difference.
Francie ate her second slice of toast and thought more about Mary Crawford and Edmund.
"Francie is a closet socialist," said Kit teasingly.
Francie blushed. She didn't know if she was blushing because he had found her out or because he was so handsome. Tall, slim, very blond and wearing a grey-blue tweed jacket that reflected his eyes - Francie had an unalterable weakness for blonds.
"And Francie still has a relationship with Claire Grant," said Ria sharply.
He stood up, "Don't talk to me about Dr Grant."
Ria looked contemptuous, "I don't know why I talk to you at all. Pass me my cigarettes, Francie, I'm starving."
Francie passed the cigarettes, picked up Pug again and followed Mr Jackson into the hall.
"Do you think my uncle will consent to the interview?" she asked tentatively.
He rolled his eyes, "Never. If he won't let the BBC in for a documentary do you really think he'll let the local independent station in for a rootle round?"
"But you have to ask?"
He grinned, "I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't."
Francie watched him vanish into the disapproving atmosphere of Sir Thomas's study with the coffee pot and wandered into the morning room. She put Pug down on the sofa and picked up Lady Bertram's needlepoint which had gone horribly astray around a convolvulus; she sighed and laid it down again. How could she concentrate on anything with the Election and Mary Crawford competing for attention in her mind? Either her uncle or her best friend would be badly disappointed by the result of the Election and she was already disappointed in the very existence of Mary Crawford. An hour passed and she had not added on stitch to Aunt Maria's needlepoint even though she was aware how many years work must go into recovering every chair in the house. Pug dozed and snored beside her, Sir Thomas's car sped off to Sedgely Oak College, Ria put herself through a punishing routine in the gym and eventually Edmund made his way downstairs to look for breakfast.
Francie dumped the needlepoint carelessly back in the basket and left Pug to his own devices and the upholstery.
"Shall I make breakfast for you?" she offered.
"That would be lovely," he replied, "Where is Mrs Baddeley?"
"Day off yesterday so she stayed with her sister and she'll go to Safeway on her route home so we won't see her till about twelve," Francie smiled, "but I can cook as well as Mrs Baddeley."
"I know you can," said Edmund, "where are the rest of the staff?"
Francie didn't reply. The staff at Mansfield Park were doubtless still experiencing the novelty of life with Mrs Norris on vacation for that lady spent far more time in her sister's house than she had in her own and was minutely aware of everything everyone did or said from Sir Thomas himself down to the man who cleaned the pool.
"Did you send your e-mail?" she asked quietly although her heart felt as fragile as the eggs she was cracking.
Edmund smiled broadly, "I did and she is."
"Oh," Francie broke the last egg rather vindictively. "When?"
"After the election, of course."
She turned her attention to the omelette pan, "And is she bringing her brother?"
"Don't set your sights on Henry Crawford, Francie," he laughed, "I would not have you involved with that fellow for the world."
Francie blushed angrily, "Why on earth should I attach myself to a man I don't even know?"
Edmund poured the coffee, "I was teasing Francie, Ria thinks him rather dashing, you remember?"
Francie held tightly on to her dignity, "Well, Ria might like uniforms but I do not."
Edmund guffawed, "Julie will be mad on him, thank goodness, it may mean the end of John Yates."
"I hope so," Francie put the omelette down in front of Edmund, "I cannot stand John Yates."
"None of us can except Tom," said Edmund glumly, "I would hate both my sisters to marry fools."
Francie had nothing to say about why Ria had married Mr Rushworth. No one could fathom what the woman who had been variously described as "a modern Aphrodite," "the new Grace Kelly," and "the Westwood girl," saw in the portly, unintelligent MP for West Sedgely. No one excepting, of course, the gossip columnists who had viciously suggested that him being a millionare was factor given that Ria Bertram's career was by nature short-term.
"How did you meet Mary Crawford?" she asked.
"Nearly three years ago at Julian Owen's graduation party. You remember him, don't you? Anyway, she turned up at St Mary Mag's with him last term and as I hadn't forgotten her I thought I had better make the most of the opportunity."
At church, so she is devout as well. Say goodbye to him Francine Elinor Price, you just lost your trump card.
"What is she studying?" Say English Lit and I will die.
"She's writing her doctorate on the role of the vamp in eighteenth-century women's literature."
"Really?" Am I stupid? Were there vamps in the eighteenth--century?
"Mmmmm, you and she will get along famously, I know you will."
Must we? "Are you... involved?" Francie sickened in the two or three seconds it took him to answer.
"No, not really, she seems reluctant to get involved with me."
She must be a fool!
"However," he brightened up, "she isn't involved with anyonelse either."
Francie gazed adoringly at Edmund. Was it possible that Mary Crawford was not romantically interested in him? How could any woman not long to be romantically involved with Edmund who was tall, well-built (he played rugby), fair haired and with delicious, the most delicious, hazel eyes?
Chapter Four
Posted Tuesday, 21-Jul-98
Make me a deal and make it straight,
All signed and sealed, articulate...~~~Bryan Ferry
The few weeks to the General Election flew in. Mrs Norris returned from her holiday in Scarborough with sticks of pink rock that no-one wanted and immediately threw herself into a frenzy of campaigning on Sir Thomas's behalf.
Sir Thomas was rarely at home and was missed by everyone. Mr Rushworth, too, was not often at Mansfield Park but in his case not even his wife missed him. It often seemed to Francie that Ria's marriage was merely a divorce waiting to happen but she had no-one to share the opinion with and it seemed bad form to mention it to Claire Grant when she had performed the ceremony.
The day itself arrived amidst inauspicious predictions from the pollsters and a frenzy of media excitement. Francie, along with everyonelse except Aunt Norris and Mr Rushworth, felt sure of seeing the first Labour government in eighteen years but no-one wanted to think of Sir Thomas losing his seat. Indeed, that did not seem possible to anyone but Christopher Jackson who had grown progressively more dour with every screening of Newsnight . The Bertram family went to the polls early and voted confidently for the photographers. Francie was relieved to see that none of the Nationals had sent anyone, with so many big names tipped to lose their seats a rural backbencher, however distinguished, was of no interest to them.
Francie stood in the polling booth in an agonizing state of indecision. She could not bring herself to vote against her uncle who had been so very good to her but neither could she vote against Claire Grant who was not only her friend but represented the party she believed in. She glanced at the other candidates:
William Collins... I don't like him. Mildred Thorsteinsson of the Natural Law Party? Oh, the ones who levitate above the House of Commons during their party political broadcasts, I don't think so...
Finally she put a cross in every box thus spoiling her paper.
Francie and Sir Thomas returned together to Mansfield Park while Lady Bertram and Aunt Norris headed for Conservative Campaign HQ to do their share of ferrying reluctant and elderly voters to the polling stations.
"If you had been more careful with the car your uncle was good enough to buy you, you would be of some use to him today!" chided Aunt Norris.
Francie cringed. She remembered with acute embarrassment how when Edmund had first put forward the idea of her taking driving lessons Aunt Norris had opposed it on the grounds that if Francie had access to a car she would doubtless get into trouble in the back seat as her mother had done.
Sir Thomas came to her defence, "Francie was not careless, Ruth, the car had a design fault. The replacement will be here in a day or two."
Aunt Norris glared. She had never understood why Edmund had been so keen on Francie having her own car. Of course, both dear Ria and dear Julie had got cars for their eighteenth birthdays but there was no call to treat Francie like them.
Sir Thomas spent part of the morning watching the election commentaries and exit polls on television before setting out with Christopher Jackson to visit some polling stations and exercise his old-fashioned charm on the disaffected and straying voters. Francie tried to concentrate on her vacation reading but found it impossible and went for a wander around the gardens to make the most of her liberty before the return of Aunt Norris who would undoubtedly find something for her to do. Busyness was Ruth Norris's religion and Francie her most unwilling proselyte.
Mansfield Park was a remarkably handsome building with the double honour of having been designed by Robert Adam and landscaped by 'Capability' Brown. Its main glory was the long ornamental lake at the front which was the first thing visitors saw on turning from the drive towards the house and many would stop to take a long lingering look before continuing around to the car park at the back. Francie crossed the little bridge at the wide end stopping momentarily to admire the swans and the water-lilies and then made her way through the trees to a tiny pagoda. It was the cherished folly of Emma Bertram for whom the gardens had been created back in the late eighteenth century and Francie had often found it a useful refuge from Aunt Norris.
She had managed a chapter of her book when she heard Aunt Norris's shrill and slightly aggressive tones carry over the water. She instinctively shrank back against the wall and waited for the fearful moment to pass which it did soon enough. Francie had survived her parent's divorce, survive would have taken them. The next day Aunt Norris was taken away by Sir Thomas to the nearest sanatorium; she was deemed to have suffered a breakdown, probably due to the stress of raising Francie all alone.
Claire Grant found Francie several hours later alone in the freezing cold of the Lady Chapel; she had lit all the candles and was staring blankly at the beautiful but impassive face of the Virgin. Dr Grant was not a psychologist and she was very young herself but the terrible expression on Francie's face told her there was something far, far wrong hours before she took the girl home and discovered the riot of bruising on her arms and legs. She vowed never to repeat to anyone what Francie told her but still she managed to convince Sir Thomas that Mrs Norris's disorder was entirely independent of Francie and she persuaded Edmund that Francie's only chance of university and a good future lay in living with her other aunt. For this kindness Francie loved Dr Grant above everyone excepting Edmund.
Aunt Norris had recovered and come home to Mansfield within a few months quite determined to get mileage out of her illness as far as blaming Francie was concerned. Her all consuming fear was that Francie would in some way outshine her cousins and her deepest desire was to have her sent back to her slut of a mother before it happened. Sir Thomas, however, was not that easily deceived. He realized, much to his sorrow, that Mrs Norris had bullied Francine although he remained ignorant of the full extent and assured her that his niece would continue to live with him and be supported emotionally and financially in her future life to the same degree as his own daughters.
She remained concealed in the pagoda until she heard Edmund's car arrive; of course he would come to console with his father over the all too likely Labour victory. Ironically, Edmund, like Francie, was a socialist. Tom, Ria and Julie who were all ardent Tory voters were conspicuously absent. She ran the considerable distance from the lake to the car park in order to catch him before he entered the house.
"Hello, Francie - always the first person I see and always the most welcome!" He kissed her forehead and they walked indoors together.
"Where have you been?" sniped Aunt Norris as soon as they entered the drawing room, "You might have come in and sat with your aunt and me - we have had to endure all those exit polls alone!"
Francie glanced at Lady Bertram who was painstakingly counting stitches oblivious to the television and sat beside her while Edmund pointedly ignored Aunt Norris after the briefest of greetings. The television reports got bleaker and bleaker as the evening wore on and by the close of voting the media were confidently prophesying that Mr Blair would not only be Prime Minister but would be so with a considerable majority. Sir Thomas refused to have anything to do with the television or the wireless after that and closeted himself in his study with Christopher Jackson and a bottle of claret until the Returning Officer summoned him to Mansfield Town Hall.
Francie had half thought of going to the Town Hall herself to give Claire some moral support but in the event she could not face Aunt Norris's reaction to such a plan and excused herself to watch the results on her own television upstairs. She watched almost indifferently to begin with being only interested in her own constituency but after a certain Essex town, reckoned as a touchstone of Tory popularity, returned a Labour MP she found herself caught up in the whirlwind of triumph as the red ribbons announcing seat after seat for Tony Blair's New Labour flashed incessantly at bottom of the screen. She had begun to doze, however, by the time Northampton Mansfield called, it was always among the last results to appear in the wee small hours, but she managed to catch it before sleep overtook her.
Reverend Claire Grant has taken Northampton Mansfield from veteran MP, Sir Thomas Bertram, with a 2,400 majority....
When she arrived at breakfast after only a brief sleep she discovered the breakfast parlour empty and only her Aunts and Edmund assembled in the kitchen.
"Telephoned your dear friend Claire?" began Aunt Norris unpleasantly. "Oh, it's clear to see where your loyalties are - you ungrateful child!"
"Shut up, Ruth!" snapped Lady Bertram, "Sir Thomas and I don't care if she voted Labour - we wouldn't care if she voted Communist - provided she did it on principle. We tried to bring them all up to believe in right not simply to be right wing!"
Mrs Norris and Edmund each stopped mid-mouthful in sheer astonishment. Lady Bertram had never made such an impassioned speech in her entire existence at least not in defence of anything not on four legs. They ate in uncomfortable silence for five minutes until they were joined by a pale, shocked Sir Thomas.
"My dear Tom," Mrs Norris was on her feet and bustling immediately, "sit down - take my seat, it is the most comfortable one - what can I get you? Eggs? Cereal?"
Sir Thomas sat down where he was told, "No, thank you, Ruth. A little coffee will suffice."
Mrs Norris snatched the cafetiere from Francie. "I am so sorry," she said, "words cannot express my sorrow - to think that woman stole my husband's parish and has now stolen your constituency!"
Sir Thomas shook his head wearily, "Perhaps Dr Grant is right for Mansfield on the eve of the twenty-first century. I have been thinking about Tony Blair being the youngest Prime Minister since Lord Liverpool... perhaps it is time to give younger people a chance."
Mrs Norris twisted her lips, "It is not her age or even her politics I object to, as you well know. She should not be a priest, I have said it before and I will say it again, women should not be priests."
"Well, she is not now," said Sir Thomas tolerantly.
Francie looked at Edmund across the table and thought of two or three years at Cambridge together and smiled.
"I do not see anything to smile about, Francie," said Aunt Norris, "unless you voted for her."
"Not that again!" cried Lady Bertram.
"I believe Francie spoiled her voting paper rather than choose between you and Dr Grant, sir," said Edmund to his father, "she is too fastidious sometimes. I, however, did vote for her."
Mrs Norris gasped in genuine dismay; she had been prepared to berate Francie indefinitely while never thinking that one of Sir Thomas's own children would betray him.
Sir Thomas stood up and shrugged his shoulders, "I thought you God-botherers might stick together," he said with a lame attempt at humour. "If you will all excuse me I will go over to the cottage and offer my congratulations, I fear I seemed a little ungracious last night."
He plucked a flower from the vase behind Francie and walked out.
"The kindness, the condescension of the man!" cried Mrs Norris but her eulogy fell on deaf ears for Lady Bertram had dashed out the other door and Edmund and Francie were deep in their own conversation.
"Well, there is one consolation in all this," she sniffed indignantly, "at least dear Charles has retained his seat but then in West Sedgely we were fighting flesh and blood rather than the principalities and powers of the air!"
Edmund and Francie traded hysterical looks and only the sudden arrival of Charles and Ria prevented them from actually laughing out loud.
Part 5
There was a mixture of sweetness and archness
in her manner which made it difficult for
her to affront anybody.~~~Jane Austen
Life at Mansfield Park settled into an uneasy routine in the weeks after the election. Sir Thomas, although always free at this time of year did not know what to do with himself without Westminster to prepare for after the vacation and Lady Bertram felt acutely the responsibility of having a novel to complete while her husband was so miserably idle. It was Ria, however, who suggested the ideal solution: a trip around the world. Lady Bertram had always longed for one but Sir Thomas's responsibilities to Parliament had never permitted it. Now he had no responsibilities whatever but pleasing the wife who had, for over twenty years, arranged her life around his.
Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram left England exactly one month after the Election with everyone's love and good wishes and Tom's hearty assurance that he would take excellent care of the house and the estate. They telephoned at about eight o'clock in the evening having arrived safely in Rome after an uneventful flight but not before Aunt Norris had indulged in some dreadful fears which she had tried to get Edmund to participate in every time she found him alone.
"I do wish they had not gone on a foreign airline. I have said to your dear father again and again, 'Sir Thomas if you cannot go BA then do not go at all!'" she spoke in a tone that suggested Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram had been dead these six months at least.
"Alitalia is an excellent airline, I have used them often myself," replied Edmund sensibly.
Mrs Norris, however, parochial and xenophobic was not to be quietened by Edmund's experience. She had never been abroad excepting one school trip to France from which she had returned with an abhorrence of everything European and a great aversion for anything with a shell. Lady Bertram might protest that the 'snails' of her sister's story were actually mussels but Mrs Norris knew better: she knew that the French, and all Europeans, were deceitful would-be poisoners of all decent God-fearing British folks.
The rest of the evening after the phone call passed tranquilly enough punctuated as it was by Mrs Norris's exclamations of concern for her sister's safety particularly concerning bottled water.
"My mother does not drink tap water here in England so it is highly unlikely she will start in Italy," was Edmund's sensible reply to that.
Aunt Norris refused to be quieted and told him in no uncertain terms that her friend Mrs Oliver had gone down with dysentery after merely cleaning her teeth with Italian tap water.
"And of course she has never been abroad since!" she finished triumphantly.
Edmund sighed. It would be a long, long summer.
The next day Mary Crawford arrived at Mansfield for the remainder of the Long Vacation. Mansfield Park had not been her first choice of place to spend the summer, she would have far rather shared her brother's flat in London while he was on extended sick leave from the Navy but unluckily for her he had a great aversion to anything resembling stability and had protested that he might not even spend the whole summer in England let alone London. Mary, who dreaded being alone more than anythingelse, was more or less forced to accept Edmund Bertram's offer of a few months in the Northamptonshire countryside.
She was not as in love with him as he was with her but in him she had found someone she could rely upon to be there when he was him. He talked no nonsense, he did not flatter, his opinions were unbending and his attentions tranquil and simple. Mary at this time in her life could not have found a more attractive man.
She was pleasantly surprised by the house which she had imagined to be a solid, respectable redbrick mansion and quickly cherished hopes of its inhabitants being equally less solid and respectable. In common with most first time visitors they stopped their car at the bend in the drive to imbibe the vision. It was late evening and the sky behind the house was blending shades of green and gold and dark blue; the house itself built of pale pure sandstone seemed to glimmer in the reflection thrown up by the lake and the two guardian swans glided along the surface like skaters on glass looking as elegant as they did in a host of books and magazines on architecture and gardening. Sir Thomas, for some reason, did not object to cameras in the grounds.
Henry Crawford was about thirty, his sister was some five or so years younger; they were both Cambridge graduates and both had money of their own which in her case enabled her to be a perpetual student and his supplemented his naval officer's salary handsomely. They were chic, attractive and each possessed of a good deal of natural goodness albeit varnished over with the gloss of their metropolitan lifestyle and ambitions. Their differences were almost as striking as their similarities; he was cool and self-possessed, she was warm and passionate; he was calculating, pleasing as much as he chose and no more, she had a manner which made people like her even when she fully intended to affront them.
They were warmly welcomed by the family all of whom dreaded the traditional incarceration at Mansfield for the summer for none but Edmund and Francie really cared for country life. Tom had been working on reasons not to come up so often at weekends but the sight of Mary Crawford with her dark curls, seductive curves and sparkling dark eyes soon turned this thoughts to reasons to the necessity of having more time off during the week. Henry Crawford he knew well from certain of his London haunts. Ria and Julie were scarcely less pleased; had Mary been tall, slender and blonde they might have felt some competition but as it was there was no reason not to like her and she was immediately pronounced the most charming creature. Commander Crawford fared less well on preliminary examination; the men liked him well enough for his openness of manner and extremely smart car but as far as Julie was concerned her sister's enthusiam for him was excessive - he was plain, black and plain.
Francie hid in her room not wishing to be among the first to be introduced to the Crawfords but eventually she was forced out. Mary professed delight at their introduction which Francie could not return; she grudgingly acknowledged Mary's beauty to herself and aloud to her cousins when there was the least possibility of her being heard but she would go no further in her approbation. Henry Crawford she felt uncomfortable about but upon hearing that he was to return to London almost immediately she soon forgot to give him a second thought. It was hard though not to give Mary much thought. She had consciously abstained from wondering what Mary looked like after her Ria described her as "stylish" but there had always been a tiny glimmer of hope that clung to the idea that Mary might be one of those for whom style compensates for physical plainness. However, she was disappointed for Mary Crawford gave every indication of not only having a remarkably attractive exterior but a good mind and a warm heart; it was a bad combination to find in one's competition.
By the next evening both Ria and Julie had altered their opinion of Commander Crawford dramatically. He was still not pronounced handsome but Ria's original opinion of him as extremely dashing was revived to which they added the fact that he was very intelligent and rather well made. By the third day of his visit he was no longer to be called plain by anyone. Francie observed this ridiculous progression with contempt; when she was forced by Edmund to give an opinion she said Commander Crawford was classy, literate and charming but she would not concur with her cousins on his superiority of his looks.
Part 6
Posted on Thursday, 30-Jul-98
The tide is high but I'm holding on,
I'm going to be your number One.
I'm not the kind of girl who gives up
Just like that.~~~ Deborah Harry
Mr Rushworth's presence ensured that the conversation often fell to politics largely it was almost the only subject on which he found himself with something to say. The forty-two speeches he had made since entering Parliament were a great source of conversation and comfort to him.
"It is a great pity," remarked Julie one evening when Mr Rushworth had dozed off, "that there are so few handsome men in politics. I find myself watching the debates on television and wondering why only the most unattractive men go into parliament."
Ria bit her tongue. The jibe was aimed at her and her taste or her motives but she could not afford to appear ungracious in front of Commander Crawford. He, however, found a reply.
"Perhaps, Julie, power is a prerequisite for passion for the women who get involved with them."
Julie laughed heartily at her sister's expense and Francie cringed wishing the subject would change but now Mary had taken it up.
"I have always imagined MPs to be somewhat inadequate," she smiled, "although I do confess to rather liking the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Ria, what is your opinion?"
Edmund looked absolutely horrified at his friend's indiscretion but Julie and Tom were enjoying themselves enormously and no amount of protest on his part would put an end to their sordid speculations.
"I think we should have more compassion on Mrs Rushworth," said Henry with a certain look at Mary. She ignored him although she directed a bewitching smile at Edmund who looked uncomfortably out of the window.
"Julie, we know likes men in uniform; and Francine, what does little Francine like?"
Francie picked up The Radio Times and wished Mary in Cambridge. Cambridge, Massachusetts.
"She is too ladylike to tell!" laughed Mary, "Let's talk about somethingelse as I am sure the politician's wife will not indulge us..."
Ria glanced up and caught Henry's eye; he smiled at her. It seemed to Francie that Mary's constant teasing was actually goading Ria into flirting with Henry and it wasn't as if she really need encouragement. I wish she would get a grip of herself. An affair with an officer won't do Mr Rushworth or the Party much good.
Julie, realizing she had no more to gain from her original subject, changed it somewhat and asked Henry if he still enjoyed the Navy after almost ten years.
"I love it," he replied artlessly, "I joined straight from university and I have never once regretted the decision."
"I would have imagined the discipline to be irksome to a man like you?" remarked Ria.
"No more than the effort of keeping your body in such perfect shape is to you."
Francie groaned inwardly; could they not keep their minds away from sex for even five minutes?
Ria was all smiles; nothing could dampen her good humour now. Edmund, on the other hand, was less than enraptured by the time and attention Mary was giving to Tom.
"When are you returning to London, Tom?"
Tom stretched out lazily, "Tomorrow, I'm afraid. I wish I had an exciting, romantic occupation like you, Crawford. Women fairly fall over themselves when you put that uniform on. Where is your boat now?"
"Aircraft carrier," corrected Ria sharply.
Henry had wandered over to the window and was looking up at the sky, "Give me a tall ship and a star to guide me..." he sighed.
Francie felt a strange flicker of interest in the man. "Do you like John Masefield?" she asked.
"Very much," Henry dropped down on the sofa beside her. "I read all his stories as a child, I much preferred him to C.S. Lewis."
"I disagree," said Francie, "I preferred Lewis but I do like Masefield's poetry."
It was all too much for Edmund. "A tall ship..." he muttered, "for heaven's sake, Crawford, you're a flier. You couldn't sail a dinghy!"
Henry grinned somewhat wickedly at Edmund sensing a brotherly protectiveness that fairly begged to be challenged. He made himself comfortable on the sofa although preserving a decent distance from Francie and then took up the rest of the time before dinner with tales of adventure on the high seas and in the air during the Gulf War. He was a gifted and amusing storyteller not least because he so rarely mentioned himself in his anecdotes; they were all about Captain So&So or Wing Commander Such&Such and he possessed such a talent for creating cliff-hangers that Francie, who loved storytelling, became quite enthralled and forgot he was talking about anything so cruel and immoral as war. Mary who had doubtless heard it all before turned her attention back to Edmund which mollified him a little but he still could not resist reminding Francie that she was a member of CND and objecting loudly to Commander Crawford's scathing remarks about the Americans which all British pilots engage in from time to time.
Commander Crawford's tales although told for the entertainment of everyone often seemed to be directed at Francie which made her distinctly unpopular with both her cousins. Ria reacted by cold-shouldering her for a while but for the few smiles Julie had shared with Henry she had a far more effective deterrent and punishment: she excused herself for five minutes and telephoned John Yates inviting him to make Mansfield his home whenever he chose.
Part 7
O learn to read what silent love hath writ;
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
--- Wm Shakespeare
Mary, being quicker and more perceptive than Edmund had yet given her credit for, had realized that he would like Henry to attach himself to Julie.
"Julie Bertram is a lovely girl," she remarked as they took a turn around the park together.
"They are both lovely girls," he replied.
"So they are and I am delighted to hear you say it, but you do like Julie best, don't you?"
He smiled mischievously, "Oh! Yes, I like Julie best."
"Are you sure? For Ria is the famous beauty, I am sure I have never opened a copy of Vogue or Harper's & Queen without seeing her image somewhere."
"Certainly," he answered, "she has every advantage of face and figure but I like Julie best. I am done with blonde supermodels; I shall henceforth prefer Julie to her sister and every other woman in the world because you command me to."
Mary sighed, "I am done with you !"
He laughed, "You know I have no intentions towards either of Edmund's sisters."
"You may have no intentions towards her, and I know very well you like Ria, in spite of your declarations."
"Out upon it, I have loved three whole days together, and am like to love three more, if it hold fair weather." * He finished with a smile, "You see, I am safe, Mary."
"Well, I do not see it, dear brother. She is a beautiful, vital woman unhappily married to a fool; she is looking for an exit sign, be sure you do not provide it."
Henry laughed in astonishment, "How can you know her marriage is so unhappy?"
"Have you lost your wits? She may not be an intellectual, I am sure sweet little Miss Price could run circles around her on mathematics, philosophy and literature, but still she is intelligent and spirited; she is artistic, she loves music, she sings, she knows as much about opera as anyone I have ever met..."
"Mary... Mary..." he interrupted, "you make her sound a good deal more attractive than I had realized!"
"Do not joke, Henry. For all her attractiveness she is shallow in certain areas and one of them is that she needs a man, she would rather have Rushworth dull and spineless as he is than no-one but give her the idea she could exchange him for you and she will not let go of it easily."
Henry, however, was perverse enough not to take his sister's excellent and well-meant advice on the subject of Mrs Rushworth and continued as he had begun.
Mr Rushworth remembered his idea of going to Sotherton and taking 'before' photographs ahead of the builders and landscapers moving in. He persuaded his mother and her housekeeper to drive over and make it pleasant again for visitors and issued his invitation to the Bertrams, the Crawfords and the newly-arrived Mr Yates for an afternoon of eating and rambling. It was set for the following Saturday and apart from Aunt Norris's attempts to have Francie excluded from the party the days leading up to it were almost as exciting as the event itself. This was in no small way attributable to John Yates who, as a producer for Aurelia Films Ltd, was involved in a soon to be shot film version of Pride and Prejudice.
He had been quite consumed by jealousy and criticism of Andrew Davies' sparkling production and had been forced for two years to re-write the script in his imagination and act Mr Darcy and Mrs Bennet to himself in front of his bedroom mirror. He now saw an opportunity to create the definitive version even within the confines of a two hour film; it was his favourite subject and he talked of it morning, noon and night.
"And I have been cast to play Lydia," announced Julie triumphantly when Mr Yates had finished describing as much as he could of the new production to Francie and Mary who had, at least, some common ground in their passion for Jane Austen.
"Well, I haven't read the book," sneered Ria, "but I did watch it on television a couple of years ago - isn't Lydia the slut who ends up with the loser?"
Rivalry over Commander Crawford had done nothing for their sisterly affection.
"I never read anything by Jane Austen without wishing she had written more," sighed Mary, fidgeting with her camera.
"I couldn't agree more," replied Francie, "I have never read one of her novels without the same regret."
"Wasn't the one she was working on at the time of her death set hereabouts?" asked Mary looking at Francie.
"Yes," Francie kept up her end of the conversation hoping to diffuse the atmosphere building up around her cousins, "she was staying with the Rector of Northampton who was an old friend of her father's and one day while she was out walking she saw Mansfield Park and was very struck with it, particularly the bridge and the lake."
"Really?" said Henry with a quick sidelong glance at Tom, "Jane Austen planned to set her last novel here at Mansfield Park?"
"I always suspected she wasn't worth reading," muttered Ria, "and that proves it. Mansfield Park, for God's sake, it's so bloody dull!"
Mary stared speechlessly at Ria and then glanced at Francie who knew better than to contradict her cousin. Mary, however, was not to be overwhelmed by Ria and began to protest in defence of her favourite writer.
"Let's take a turn in the garden, Ria," suggested Henry quickly, seeing that Mary was looking for a row.
Ria smiled enchantingly; her Versace smile, to be exact.
"Keep the look!" cried Mary adjusting her light meter, "there! You do make a pretty pair!"
Julie watched them leave, "Your brother is very taken with our Ria."
"Is he?" Mary sounded quite cool. "And why shouldn't he be?"
"She's married!" protested Julie in confusion.
Mary made a elegant non-committal gesture. "She is sophisticated enough to know what she is about as is Henry. If those things are conducted with discretion I do not see that they are so wrong, especially when one party is married to a bore."
Tom grinned widely while Mr Yates and Julie gawked. Francie wished with her whole heart that Edmund could hear Mary talk like that but after the silly chat about politicians she seemed to have learned to rein her tongue in his presence.
*The Constant Lover
-- Sir John Suckling
Part 8
Fair quiet, have I found thee here,
And innocence thy sister dear!
Mistaken long, I sought you then
In busy companies of men.~~~Andrew Marvell
Aunt Norris continued in the morning to make a fuss about Francie being included in what she seemed to regard as a huge treat.
"If Francie comes we will have to take another car," she protested, "it will be so inconvenient and someone will be put out. It will be no pleasant journey for them ."
"It is only a few miles and I am sure Francie will not be bored whoever she is with," replied Edmund, deliberately misunderstanding her.
He looked around at the various cars. "Look, Ria has her car. I will take someone in mine and Crawford has room for one in his. I suppose it will not be a hardship going in the Jaguar?"
"Anything but," smiled Ria.
"Then Francie will not object to it," replied Edmund.
"Francie!" cried Julie, "Oh, no, I think Mary will want to drive with her brother."
"I don't feel up to driving," said Ria, "I didn't get a wink of sleep last night. Perhaps Julie or Aunt Norris will take their car."
"Mine needs servicing," replied Julie, a little too promptly. Aunt Norris made it clear that she had no intention of taking her car out for Francine's convenience and so Ria was forced to agree to drive her aunt and John Yates.
"And you will go with Henry," she smiled at Mary in a tone that everyone but Mary knew to obey.
"Oh, no," laughed Mary, "I will go with Edmund and Francie, I have seen quite enough of Henry recently."
It seemed to the ever hopeful Francie that Henry Crawford might not accompany them to Sotherton after all. He stood half in and half out the door for some considerable time talking on Tom's mobile phone and every now and then giving a thumbs up sign to Tom and John Yates who were watching him with considerable interest. Francie could not imagine what they were up to but she knew it was likely to be nothing good: they were quite possibly three of the vainest, most reckless and untrustworthy young men in England.
She was rather upset at the loss of Edmund's company during the drive but quite relieved not to have to go with Commander Crawford. So, when Henry had finally completed his phone calls it was Julie who obtained the coveted seat in the Jaguar XK8 beside him. Francie could only smile at the sight of his car speeding down the drive ahead of them with Julie's long hair flying out behind her like the girl in a Bond movie.
Sotherton had in its time been one of the finest Elizabethan houses in the country but several ham-fisted alterations by Mr Rushworth's father and grandfather in the days before strict regulation had ruined some of its character and drastically reduced the ratings it received from English Heritage and the National Trust. Francie was convinced there was no reason to assume the present Mr Rushworth's renovation would do anything to alter that. However, to her delight, much of the house had William Morris wallpapers and Burne-Jones tiling - someone in the Rushworth family had had taste at some time. Ria pointed out that a conservationist from the Victoria and Albert Museum would be arriving shortly to remove as much as possible of it to restore and put on view to anyone stupid enough to pay for the privilege of seeing it. Mary expressed her disappointment at such lovely things being taken away and Ria seemed, for once, a little ashamed of her ill-breeding.
"And here..." Charles led them out of the house, "I will have all those poplars cut down to make more space."
Mary raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Henry protested there was space enough already but Mr Rushworth was adamant, the poplars must go.
"It reminds me of Hopkins," whispered Francie to Edmund, "you know....
My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled,
quelled in leaves the leaping sun,
all felled, felled, all are felled...*
Do you think Commander Crawford will persuade him to leave them alone?"
"I think the aspens have had it," replied Edmund with a little squeeze of her hand.
He lagged behind her pointing out to Mr Rushworth all the advantages of keeping the trees as they were but with no more success than Henry could boast of and Francie found herself somehow alone with Mary and Ria. They walked as far as a little sunken wall which divided the elegant manicured gardens from an artificial wilderness which in turn seemed to lead on to a cool and interesting wood.
"I think we should wait on the others," said Francie standing on the edge of the ha-ha, "Charles is going to fetch the key for something, I believe."
"Oh, yes," murmured Ria, "there is a locked gate between the wilderness and the woods but there is also a little bench we can sit on while we wait. Charles will be forever finding the key, don't you want to sit down, Francie?"
Francie had to admit she was tired and the prospect of sitting on a bench was much more attractive than sitting on the ground. She had put on one of her Laura Ashley dresses to please Edmund and she did not want to get grass stains on it. The bench was situated pleasantly by a small brook which Mary took off her shoes and stockings to paddle in to the amusement of the other two neither of whom had the courage to join her.
"I would never have imagined finding so much happiness in the countryside," she said suddenly and Francie with a horrible pang saw real emotion - was it love for Edmund? - in her face.
Ria was not interested in Mary's transformed opinions and simply stood with her head against the gate looking down into the wood below. "I feel so trapped," she said in a small voice, "I wish I could be free again."
Mary looked sympathetic, "I know - railings are such harsh things, they seem to symbolize all the imprisoning things in our lives that control us and which we cannot escape from."
Francie shivered.
"Although..." continued Mary in a playful tone, "most controls can be circumvented..."
"What do you mean?" snapped Ria to whom Mary's life was presumably one of pleasurable irresponsibility.
"Well, if you aren't duty bound to be a good, obedient little woman waiting for your Lord and Master's permission to leave the garden...."
"I wish you would stop that," cried Ria, "it isn't funny anymore!"
Mary laughed brightly and in a second had slipped between the gate and the railings, "If I can do it you certainly can. Give me your hand..."
Ria hesitated, "What if I tear my clothes?"
"Buy new ones," retorted Mary, "give me your hand, it is a little space and easily negotiated."
"Be careful, Ria," cried Francie, "you'll be badly hurt if you get caught."
In an instant Ria had put her hand in Mary's and joined her on the other side.
"You see, I am fine, Francine. Tell Charles we will sit on that knoll and wait for him."
They began to walk in the direction of the wood and were soon lost from sight. Francie sat alone on the bench for quite some time until she began to think Mr Rushworth had forgotten about the key. At length, however, she heard footsteps behind her and turned to see Commander Crawford.
"You are all alone," he said, smiling.
She nodded, "Yes. Ria and your sister slipped around the gate but I decided I had better remain here for Mr Rushworth to return with the key."
He joined her on the bench, "Their plans for the house are quite horrific, don't you agree?"
"Yes, it is unbelievable that they should be allowed to get away with it."
He smiled wryly, "We tend to think such terrible things could only happen in the 60s, it is a shock to find they are still happening. Do you know what they are going to do with the area where the poplars are now?"
"I am not sure I want to."
"They are going to build a swimming pool and have the area around it landscaped by an Italian firm. Ria tells me it will look quite like Tuscany when they are finished."
"How ridiculous!" cried Francie, "This is Northamptonshire, it is not meant to look like Italy! If they want an Italian house why don't they buy one? Why do they ruin a perfectly lovely English country home?"
"My thoughts exactly," he murmured. "What are you reading?"
She showed him the cover of her book.
"William Morris?
Our hands have met, our lips have met,
Our souls - who knows when the wind blows
How light souls drift mid longings set,
If thou forget'st, can I forget
The time that was not long ago? "**
Francie was startled almost out of composure, "You have read William Morris? Forgive me, of course you have. I did not expect..."
He smiled away her embarrassment, "And what is your favourite line from him? No, do not tell me, let me guess.... Sad-eyed and soft and grey thou art, O morn!
He was very close to her; she noted his eyes grey and calm; his cologne - Eternity; his voice soft and cool.
"Am I right?
Sad-eyed and soft and grey thou art, O morn!
Across the long grass of the marshy plain
Thy west wind whispers of the coming rain,
Thy lark forgets that May is grown forlorn
Above the lush blades of the springing corn,
Thy thrush within the high elms strives in vain
To store up tales of spring for a summer's pain -
Vain day, why wert thou from the dark night born?"***
At that moment footsteps and then voices were heard behind them and Mr Rushworth appeared out of breath and panting; he was followed by Edmund who appeared out of sorts and cross.
"I have the key!" he announced triumphantly, "But where is my wife?"
"She is in that sweet tangle yonder with my sister," said Henry standing up, "and I believe that is the key which will enable us to follow them."
Mr Rushworth sulkily handed over the key, "I have to write a speech for the next session," he remarked fretfully, "I have better things to do that trail Ria around the gardens. Will you listen to my speech so far, Francie? I know you don't like wandering about any more than I do... you will be interested, it is about the ECU."
Francie smiled weakly. Her heart was beating a little too fast; she genuinely believed herself to have been, for a moment at least, in some danger of liking Henry Crawford despite the inferiority of his principles.
"I have been looking for Mary for half an hour," said Edmund in exasperation, "give me the key, Crawford, don't stand and look at it."
*The Binsey Poplars
Gerard Manley Hopkins**Our Hands Have Met
William Morris***Sad Eyed and Soft and Grey
William Morris
Part 10
Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to Spring.
I own a solace shut within my heart,
A garden full of quaint delight.
~~Amy Lowell
Edmund unlocked the gate and set out with Henry in pursuit of the girls. Mr. Rushworth sat down beside Francie and, after giving her a lengthy introduction to the economics of the new European currency, began to read his speech. He stopped every now and then to ask her how she liked it and what effect she expected it to have on the attitudes of the Treasury.
After an hour of polite listening Francie persuaded Mr. Rushworth to accompany her back to the house where old Mrs. Rushworth and her housekeeper were laying out a delicious feast on little tables under the doomed poplars. Julie and John Yates were there too with Aunt Norris who was at least as sour-faced as ever.
"How like you to run away, Fanny, when there is work to be done! I suggest you help Mrs. Rushworth as a small thank you for her kindness to you today."
Francie escaped gladly into the kitchen and helped the two women arrange food and carry it outside. Finally they poured wine and settled down for the others to return; it took some time but at last the four of them reappeared although it was fairly obvious the two couples had met up on their way home and had not spent the last two hours or so together. No, Edmund had been alone with Mary and Ria alone with Henry Crawford.
"I do not know what women see in that fellow," blustered Charles to Francie, "he is nothing to look at and barely five foot nine! What do think of him, Francine?"
"I do not think him handsome," she said.
"I wish he would go back to the Navy and sail off into the sunset," continued Mr. Rushworth, "just why is he on such a long leave, anyway? What is wrong with him?"
"I do not know," replied Francie, "I never thought to ask."
The rest of the evening was reasonably pleasant for both Francie and Mr. Rushworth. Ria seemed to take some sort of pity on her husband and was exceedingly attentive to him, of course, Sotherton did show him in his best light. Edmund, too, seemed to realize he had been inconsiderate in leaving Francie alone with Rushworth and did everything in his power to make her feel wanted again and had it not been for the Crawfords laughing and whispering together Francie would have felt it a perfect end to a not so perfect day.
"I hope this is not to be the highlight of our summer," said Ria with a hard look at Charles, "we must do something to brighten up the next few weeks."
Julie giggled, "John and I were discussing how brilliantly our chapel would convert into a theatre so why don't we stage a play, we could have great fun and invite a few friends round to see it!
"The chapel?" repeated Edmund, "Over my dead body! Why don't you just build a proper theatre with a real stage and red velvet curtains?" He finished sarcastically but the tone was quite missed on his sisters.
Julie and Ria looked disparagingly at him, "It is by far the best room, Eddie, it has seating and a balcony," said Ria, "so no more of your religiosity."
Edmund fumed silently while the others had more wine and laughed and squabbled about what they should perform.
"I'll be happy with whatever you choose," grinned Henry, "at this moment I feel ambitious enough to take on anything. I view this as a challenge!"
Francie did not doubt that; she had witnessed his abilities as a story-teller already, he had a talent for description, an excellent memory, more confidence than Edmund, more judgment than Tom and more talent and taste than John Yates.
Yes, you could change professions and bring the house down with any part from Hamlet to Professor Higgins, she thought with an overpowering sense of despondency.
"I know," squealed Julie, "Indecent Proposal! You can set it for the stage, John!"
"No!" cried Edmund, "If you must do it then do something decent!"
There was a flurry of laughter, no-one was the faintest bit interested in decency.
"Edmund, don't take it so seriously," the voice was Ria's and very determined.
"Yes, you love the theatre yourself, don't attempt to deny it," added Julie.
Edmund sighed, "I will not deny it, I do love the theatre but note that I do not attend those drama workshops in which a couple of professionals attempt to make actors out of audiences for an afternoon. It cannot be done!"
No-one listened except Mr. Rushworth who wondered loudly if it was a respectable thing to be seen doing and expressed his concern that his electorate might think him a very stupid fellow because of it.
"Can I be Robert Redford?" murmured Henry sidling closer to Ria.
"I don't know..." she replied archly, "after all, you're not blond."
Henry smirked and glanced around the company, "I know but Edmund is the only blond we have and he is your brother."
Thus the major characters were decided upon. Edmund continued to protest but only Francie listened to him. Neither Mrs. Norris or the elder Mrs. Rushworth had heard of Indecent Proposal and, to everyone's incredulity, neither had Mr. Rushworth. Francie while trying to look as if she hadn't seen it was considering how unlikely it was that Ria would need any persuasion let alone a large sum of money to spend the night with Henry Crawford.
The atmosphere having changed to something palpably unpleasant Mrs. Norris decided it was time to return to Mansfield, as she wished to put the various items she had managed to sponge from the housekeeper where they would be better preserved. However, the atmosphere there was a little odd as well. Tom was in his father's study with one of Mr. Yates's colleagues from the television company, a conference Commander Crawford seemed anxious to join. Francie, unable to endure the sense of foreboding that permeated the entire lower floor, raced upstairs to the sanctuary of her own room.
She emerged a little later lured by curiosity to discover the source of the very loud row between Tom and Edmund. It transpired that the owners of Yuill Abbey in Cumbria who had agreed to allow the filming of Pemberley at their home had masonry problems and that Aurelia Films were desperate to find another location. Francie's remark about Jane Austen visiting Mansfield Park had given Tom and John Yates the idea and the Director had fallen in love with the house immediately; it was better, he said, than Yuill Abbey, at least as good as Lyme Hall and a damned sight nearer London than either of them. In vain did Edmund remind Tom of his father's prohibition on cameras in the house; Tom merely shrugged and pointed out that Sir Thomas was in Antigua or somewhere and the whole thing would be over before he returned.
The remainder of the evening was spent in watching the video of Indecent Proposal, casting the other parts and listening to Henry prove that although he was not blond that he could mimic Redford's voice perfectly. Edmund, alone, tried to work out what Tom was up to. He could not see, and neither could Francie, what Tom had to gain by it. Commander Crawford's interest was also utterly beyond them.
"I cannot see why he wishes to involve himself," fretted Edmund, "it's clear that he has done something towards it but I cannot see what. Oh, Francie, I hate intrigue!"
Part 11
O how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wrackful siege of battering days?
~~ Wm Shakespeare
Francie lay awake all night unable to sleep for the burden of guilt bearing down on her. If she had not been so anxious to show-off what she knew about Jane Austen then, perhaps, John Yates and Tom would never have had the idea. She arose early and wrapping up well sat out on the steps and watched the quiet waters of the lake.
"This is early to be outside," said Henry Crawford joining her without an invitation.
"You are out," she replied simply.
"I can't go back to sleep now," he said with a good deal of emotion, "God, this is going to be an awful day!"
"What do you mean?"
He rubbed his hands over his face and frowned at her, "You haven't had the wireless on, then?"
"Not at six in the morning," answered Francie, "and never on a Sunday."
He bit his lip, "The news is very bad. Unbelievably bad."
"What has happened?" Francie began to feel afraid. Could it be connected to her Uncle? A war perhaps in whatever country they were or had the liner sunk?
"What is it?" she repeated fearfully.
"Princess Diana is dead. A car crash in Paris a few hours ago."
"It cannot be true," cried Francie, "there is some mistake!"
He breathed deeply and shook his head, "No, no mistake."
Francie sat quite still transfixed by some inexplicable dismay; she had never thought of Princess Diana as more than an expensive, although pleasant, clothes-horse. She looked obliquely at Commander Crawford, he was nearly tearful.
Poor, poor woman! How old was she - thirty-six? Two years younger than my mother. I wish I had not judged her so harshly for being a vain, silly, human Barbie doll! She at least possessed the ability to make other people happy... Dead? No, she cannot be dead. She was too beautiful, far too beautiful to die. Oh, don't be so stupid - do only plain people die?
Her eyes began to brim over as images of Diana so healthy and sparkling flooded into her memory.
"I can't believe it," she choked.
"And thou art dead, as young and fair, as aught of mortal birth, and form so soft and charms so rare, too soon return'd to earth,"* he murmured, and began to wipe away her tears with his fingers; she noticed he had perfect hands, strong yet delicate and beautifully shaped nails. Her own she curled up into fists; they did not bear comparison. She closed her eyes and did not remove his hands from her face although there were no more tears. After a moment he seemed to remember himself and after giving her his handkerchief wandered back into the house.
Francie headed for the dining room half an hour later. Maureen, who did the cooking on Sundays when Mrs. Baddeley was off, looked drawn and miserable. She sat down opposite Edmund.
"What is wrong with everyone this morning?" he asked, "Ria is crying, Maureen has been crying... There is enough to worry about now with this escapade of Tom's hanging over us. And I thought that silly bunch putting on their own production in the chapel was such a big deal."
"The Princess of Wales died in a car crash a few hours ago," said Francie quietly.
Edmund ate silently after that but Francie couldn't eat at all. The others came down in a straggle; Mary and Mr. Yates seemed quite able to eat but Julie stayed only long enough to take some coffee for Ria and head back upstairs. Aunt Norris made a pretense of grief while consuming everything on her plate and taking seconds.
"I cannot believe it. Those wicked, evil reporters hounding the poor girl like that, the press ought to be ashamed of themselves and I hope the public responds by putting all those papers and magazines out of business, I for one shall not be buying them, not that I ever did, have you seen the prices? I declare it is one pound for some of them. I expect you shall not mind the television on today, Edmund? We must know what is happening. I have sent Maureen down to the village to buy copies of all the papers, I suppose it is just possible that one of them will have some information others don't... would you believe it? I always said the press would do for that girl, didn't I? And now I am right... oh, I do hope they are punished... where is Maureen with the papers? Pass the butter, dear."
Henry came in for coffee and angered Edmund by smoking a cigarette but the sight of Mary putting both bacon and marmalade on her toast and complaining that Maureen wasn't there to provide more coffee seemed to pass over him.
"Nothing official has been said, of course," announced Dr. Grant at the end of what was to be her last sermon, "but I think a two minute silence before the Angelus will be in order."
Francie looked at Edmund but he was in a parallel universe, one in which contacting Sir Thomas and explaining that Tom was inviting a film company in to re-arrange the house and photograph half of it was much more important than the death of a lovely young woman, the anguish of her sons and the feelings of a whole nation. She glanced across the aisle at Henry Crawford standing awkwardly at the edge of a row; he was obviously a stranger to church services, quite unable to determine when to sit, stand or kneel without looking at the person in front of him.
The gloom lasted all day and if Mary had not made an effort it would have persisted through dinner too. She, however, might be sorry for Diana but however badly it affected Henry and the other inhabitants of Mansfield Park she would not mourn someone she had never met. Likewise Julie and Mr. Yates had never any grief to speak of and Ria had emerged, albeit tear-stained, from her room. The conversation at dinner drifted around Aurelia's plans for Pride and Prejudice and the filming at Mansfield.
"Who is cast as Mr. Darcy, Julie?" asked Ria.
"Someone for the ladies to drool over," said Henry with a mischievous smile.
"I have never drooled over a man in my life!" snapped Ria who took very personally a remark not addressed to her.
Mary's laughter broke the tension, "I predict..." she said, lifting a crystal salt cellar and peering at it, "someone tall, dark and incredibly handsome."
Everyone laughed. "Now that is truly an original thought, dear sister," added Henry.
"Francine, how do you like Mr. Darcy as a hero?" asked Mary, ignoring Henry.
"I don't know, I think I would prefer someone like Mr. Knightley."
"So Mr. Knightley is your ideal man?" asked Henry.
"Yes..." she laughed, "if played by James Stewart."
*Lord Byron