Chapter One
All of Huntingdon began to talk with some surprise on the second season of Miss Ward. Her first season in society had not been unsuccessful; she remained Miss Ward by choice for yet another year. Why throw oneself away too early? With seven thousand pounds and eighteen years to her credit, she was an object worthy to be reserved for the best match. All the local gentlemens' sons had tried for her. Miss Ward remained unconquered, and yet, she had not said definitively no to any of them. Perhaps if she had been married, they'd have ceased to watch her from the corners of the room. As it was, that she was still Miss Ward, the stares followed her. One chap after another made their advances across the ballroom, asking her to bestow them a dance. What a lovely figure she cut under the decorative wreathe of vines. A violet silhouetted by a hundred candles. Only one thing checked their unbridled enthusiasm for her. Any young man that wished to stand up for a dance with her had to be at his best. Only a schoolmaster could possibly be safe with her. Certain words provoked her quiet, charming contempt, anything that was not grammatically correct. The average young man, of the farm or owner of a farm, often took liberties with the English language. Whereas, the Ward girls had been educated at a fine school for ladies. Abbreviations and misuse of words were coarseness and a travesty. It didn't deter them, but as a result, all her dance partners kept their conversation minimal. Easy enough when the fiddles filled everyone's ears.
When the current reel had finished and the applause died down, a familiar face came into view. He had promised he would come, and kept his word. A friend had accompanied him, and both stood by the entrance observing the world around them. Upon catching her eye, the eye twinkled and turned the lip upward. With some exchanged words, the smart and handsome pair made their advance.
"Good evening, Miss Ward!"
"Good evening, Sir Thomas." He rendered her a courtly bow. "I'm glad you've come after all. I hope the journey was tolerable."
"We've got on quite well. And so many good friends to offer us a place to stay. We've been looking forward to this excursion for weeks. May I introduce my good friend, Mr. Norris."
Any friend of Sir Thomas was a delight. "How do you do, Mr. Norris?"
"It's a pleasure, Miss Ward."
"Please tell me your dance card hasn't been filled yet. I'm afraid we were late in coming," remarked Sir Thomas.
"Not at all, sir."
"Still at least two? One for me and one for Norris?"
"Absolutely." Miss Ward extended her hand, and was led to the line of dancers middle of the room. This would be their first dance, and her first time, dancing with a baronet. Quite a refreshing change after the country manners she'd been so much exposed to already. A lively dancer too, and as proper, he inquired after her family, her health, her sisters individually. They talked of the shooting on their trip. Although Miss Ward wasn't a hunter, being a member of the party was always a social bustle. If ladies were at their best at a ball, it was in attendance at a shooting expedition where men felt themselves superior to dancing.
"That's kind of you to think so, but you're in for a real disappointment," replied Sir Thomas. "I'm a terrible shot. Norris and I both! When you can't help standing in the midst of far superior hunters out in the brush, you lose motivation quickly to try."
"Oh, Sir Thomas that's exaggerating, surely!"
"I enjoy it, but my forte, in all honesty, is the ballroom or the parlour or the garden. Much more peaceful."
"That is… astonishing. Refreshing."
"Refreshing?"
"Yes—a man of quiet pleasures. That is as it should be," declared Miss Ward. The dance concluded, and they stepped aside and out of the way of the next reel. Thankfully, none of the Miss Downeys or Miss Sampsons were within sight of them. Otherwise, her new beau would've been swarmed on pretense of congratulations for Miss Ward, disguising their motives for introductions and maneuvering an invitation for a dance themselves.
"I mean it, truly. Your expression is so uncommon among the youth, particularly of gentlemen in my acquaintance."
He smiled. "Don't mistake me, Miss Ward, for some sort of misanthropist," he laughed. "I have a great fondness for society and its pleasures. I suppose you could say I've been raised in a quiet home, in a quiet way. And having recently entered Parliament, I have never appreciated it more."
"Last time, you started to tell me about your home. Mansfield Park. Tell me more."
"It's just like any other family seat, any manor you'll typically find in the country. Mansfield Downs—if you enjoy riding—"
"Oh I do!"
"Excellent, beautiful scenery for riding."
"I enjoy it very much, but I'm afraid I don't get myself up in a saddle as often as I should. Suppose this will be good excuse. For there is so much to be done at home during the day that I do not get out as often as I should like." And with keen, almost zealous interest, she pursued the topic of his late mother's gardens, the estate's cottages, the vicarage, the number of horses he kept, and the books in his library. Not a single one of the quiet pleasures of home was bypassed. Having helped her own father keep his book of accounts, the economy involved of keeping a grand estate was certainly unique, not the usual preoccupation of a girl under the age of twenty. She could guess the yearly income of each tenant of the cottages, how many cooks and footmen were needed in employ to keep up the house. Would he ever seek to make improvements one day? No, it was not in his plans. There was no need for improvements for the house, though the cottages required more frequent maintenance.
"That is a good landlord," she praised. "For I'm sure your tenants are much in your debt."
"Well, they pay that debt. It's rent. Whatever I do to upkeep their homes is my duty."
"Indeed!"
"My father left me a great deal of responsibilities, including property in Antigua."
"Very right… Very right of you to think of… your responsibilities…" Somewhere, somehow, the light in the room had dimmed and a shadow came upon her, sensing the waning interest. Attention had diminished—in fact, stolen away, to her horror. Across the room, a mild commotion near the refreshment tables caused some agitation from nearby spectators. What a bother! Once again, a little fool nearly fainted, likely having drawn her laces too tight. Mrs. Ward caught the girl before completely sinking to the floor. Within a few seconds, she revived with the smelling salts, then was led by the hand to a seat along the wall.
"Good heavens, that was a close one. Who is that girl?"
"That is my sister, Miss Maria."
"Is she well?"
"Probably just a little giddy and overcome. It's her first ball, just come out."
"Ah yes, I can see the resemblance. I ought to have known… And the other woman, that must be your mother? Will you be so good as to introduce me to your family, Miss Ward?"
What else could she do but oblige. It would've been awkward to deny him, but she might have managed it by begging for another dance. She attempted to dissuade him and turn back to the dancing. Instead, he preferred to sit down for a bit and take some refreshment. It could not be avoided. Miss Ward led the way and made the introduction to her dear mamma and little sister, Maria. Seventeen was hardly an advantage over eighteen. Not to mention her white frock did an already pale complexion no real service. Between the two, the gauche younger was clearly distinguishable from the elder. Nevertheless, the acquaintance of Mrs. Ward and Miss Maria was a greater pleasure than the introduction. He offered his same good manners and courtesies to Miss Maria, reciprocated readily by smiles and blushes. Her fan beat frantically for any puff of cool air. He fetched a cup of punch. To be fair, he offered a serving also to Mrs. Ward and Maria's sister. They were not left out, though clearly, Miss Ward no longer led conversation. Maria's soft gray eyes and rising hues, so lackluster, and yet, so endearing. She asked after his journey and his family and home county and Mansfield Park, everything that her sister had already discussed was happily repeated.
What was it? When was it that it happened? Hers was the advantage: beauty, charm, education, manners, and conversation. Fortune and family resemblance, undeniably the same. Miss Ward turned heads. Miss Maria only turned heads when she suffered a fainting fit. Though she did not dance at all that evening, demureness and complaisance effectively engrossed the gentleman.
"Sir Thomas, won't you grant me the pleasure of a second dance?"
"Of course. But first, let me first have a dance with you, Miss Maria."
"Me? Oh Sir Thomas, I'm no dancer. Even if I were, I don't feel equal to the task at the moment. Better you stand up with my sister."
"Well, that is a shame. Why don't you dance?"
Some weakexplanation was given, that engaged his sympathy readily. In the meanwhile, his good old friend, Mr. Norris, appeared in their midst. Having patiently waited his turn, he now stepped forward.
"If you will not claim it immediately, Tom, may I claim Miss Ward for our dance?"
"Oh yes! Don't stand upon ceremony, Norris. Rest assured, Miss Ward. You can trust my friend. He'll squire you up and down the floor with better grace than myself."
What had been an additional, side pleasure, a secondary dance partner and 'any good friend of Sir Thomas…', had become a mortifying consolation. He had never been an ill-looking fellow, and danced creditably. By the end of the evening, half the room declared Sir Thomas smitten by the newly come-out younger sister.
Within a year of the introduction, and much to the surprise of the widowed Mrs. Ward and uncle, she had made a very fine match indeed. Miss Ward had not done with her dancing days as a single lady. Connection with such a brother-in-law ought not to have made her desperate. However, in time, the Ward family suffered some financial reversals which also diminished the unmarried sisters' portions. Now, the situation was dire. Unmarried at four and twenty, with almost no fortune, there was danger in reserving her hand for better prospects. It had been prudent that the acquaintance with Mr. Norris had been maintained over the course of years and several visits to Mansfield Park. He was not the ambitious sort, out for a great fortune, in no hurry to attain to the state of matrimony. His vocation and manner of life proved him in every way respectable. Perhaps his only prospect, to make him an enticement, was being a good friend of Sir Thomas and soon to receive the gift of the Mansfield living. Close proximity. If one could not marry into a good fortune, family connection was the next best. Miss Ward, at the end of half a dozen years, found herself obliged to be attached to the Rev. Mr. Norris.
She was proud of having done so, unlike so many girls of her age who think of nothing but money and their own place in society. What care had she, Mrs. Norris? Besides those things, a great many. The abstract, the opinions of her neighbours and her own family and the loss of many material advantages, were nothing when staring down everyday practicalities. How to make a little go a long way. A little can go a long way… When Lady Bertram struggled to judge how much thread was needed for her unborn child's clothes, she always made the holes for head and arms too large. A little can go a long way. When the servants at the great house prepared the dinner and the portions to be served at the table, whenever any of the other tenants and members of Mr. Norris' parish came into tribulation, and when little Fanny Price came to live at Mansfield, everything revolved around a little going a long way—in every way. In every way, except in the keeping of her nieces and nephews. In the absence of children of her own, these sources of pride and joy filled her vacancies. Mrs. Price could have supplied her with plenty of substitutes and glad to share them. But of course, she had married to disoblige her family, and all her children marked by their inferior birth. The one with all the advantages of the first, and the added advantages of the second's marriage, threw herself away on a lieutenant of the marines. He produced no income but a measly pension after being disabled from active service, upon which a house numbering a dozen must live on. Oh yes, a little must go a long way.
Four was the perfect number for Lady Bertram. Plenty of love and attention to go round between them, and time enough on her hands to render them their due. But of them all, one grew dearer and closer to the heart than any other. Little Maria. She'd been a darling infant and handsome child. Her mother had remarked once: "Dear sister, she looks so much like you! I borne her myself, but to look at her, a stranger might suppose her your daughter." Dangerous words. Sweet, whimsical, thoughtless words by Lady Bertram, little knowing what such well-intentioned fancies did to the mind of a childless woman. No stranger would suppose any such thing, of course. It was true, however; even Sir Thomas agreed on that point over dinner. There was an uncanny resemblance between aunt and niece, especially in the eyes and complexion. Her colouring, her chestnut tresses—very much like the Ward sisters. Only a few marked differences distinguished her: green eyes instead of gray and rather tall, especially as she grew up. Mrs. Norris never recalled herself being of robust height, nor especially athletic figure. All these developments pleased the eye and soothed a wound.
"Julia, you must stop that! If Mama catches you, she'll never let you touch Pug again," advised Maria. Pug, just scarcely a puppy, was still a novelty to the girls. Younger sister Julia had been attempting to cuddle the pup, only against her will and struggled violently in the girl's arms. Maria removed the prisoner from Julia's arms, placing her on the floor before them. A hand and fingers were outstretched. The puppy sniffed a moment, then gave a thankful lick to her gentler rescuer. "You have to let her sniff you first. Be easy. Then she'll come to you."
For only being one year apart from each other, there existed a larger chasm in the age of their minds. Maria, at the time, only thirteen, and Julia, twelve. Mrs. Norris observed the interaction silently from the doorway. Julia seemed much younger than twelve, to need supervision of over-handling a little dog. Maria had already grasped that concept at half her own age. Not only that, but she could teach her younger sister properly.
"Ah, there you are, girls! Julia, your mother is asking for you."
"What for?" whined she. "I'm finished with my lessons for today."
"She'd like a recitation."
"Last time you sent me down to recite the countries of Europe, Mama did not even listen. And I don't have down all the kings of England yet."
"Now, now, do as you're told. Go recite to her," chided Mrs. Norris. "Do your best. You've got most of them. Practice makes perfect."
Julia shrugged, picked herself up off the floor, and sauntered on out. Petulance… Not favourable but not incurable.
"What about my scales, Aunt? Did I do well today?" asked Maria, looking up from the floor.
"Very well, my dear! Very well. Miss Lee has said you have quite a natural turn for it."
"I declare, it is perhaps my favourite subject now. I'm glad to be nearly done with history and the sciences, all that nonsense."
Mrs. Norris sat herself on the sofa, contemplating how best to fix this notion without wounding better feelings. Given the subjects were kings of England, emperors of Rome, and Greek mythology, how could a girl of thirteen be blamed for calling them tedious? She'd been through the same torture herself, tolerated the torture, and attained to knowledge with greater fortitude than sister Maria or Frances ever had. "Well, it may seem irrelevant to a girl of your age, but there is a purpose to it, my dear. With a younger mind, you are capable of learning quicker, retaining your lessons better than when older. In a few years, you'll see the inside of museums and great houses, full of history. You might be walking inside a house dating back to the days of King Charles II. You might be asked an opinion of some architecture of the Tudor period, or even earlier! Imagine to give your opinion, have people turn and look at you, and be thinking: Oh dear, poor, ignorant girl… I know you shall not be like that. You could never be that."
Maria looked up at her. For though still young, the eyelashes were rather full, which matured every expression to beam from the eye. The eyes looking up at her were weighing the world, weighing her words with due gravity. Still, she didn't lose that lightness of face by somber contemplation.
"I hope I never shall," agreed Maria. Picking up Pug, she rose from the floor and seated herself by her aunt. "I hope I shall please you, aunt. And my family too."
"And think also, you must be an example to your sister, and to your little cousin Fanny. If you take an attitude of perseverance, they shall persevere in their lessons too."
"I don't know how I could help them. Julia will always do as she pleases, but Fanny… Well, she is good-natured enough. But I was just telling Mama yesterday, for only ten, Fanny is quite the ignorant girl. She can read and write, do some needlework, but nothing else. My cousin cannot put the map of Europe together, nor tell the principal rivers in Russia—never even heard of Asia Minor!"
"Ah, yes. I saw it all when I looked in on Miss Lee. Poor girl."
"Poor girl, indeed! Miss Lee asked her to go fetch the crayons and water-colours out of the closet. And what do you think? Fanny stares directly at them and turns to ask her: What do they look like? Miss Lee was at a complete loss how to answer her. Did you ever hear anything so stupid!"
"It is very bad, my dear, yes. But you must not expect everybody to be as forward and quick at learning as yourself and Julia. You are blessed with wonderful memories, you and Julia, while your cousin has probably none at all. There is a vast deal of difference in memories, as well as in everything else, and your cousin, and pity her deficiency. And remember that, if you are ever so forward and clever yourselves, you should always be modest; for, much as you know already, there is a great deal more for you to learn."
"Yes, I know there is, till I am seventeen… But I must tell you another thing of Fanny—so odd and so stupid. Do you know, she says she does not want to learn either music or drawing."
Frances had expressed much the same in her early days. "To be sure, my dear, that is very stupid indeed, and shows a great want of genius and emulation. But, all things considered, I do not know whether it is not as well that it should be so. For though you know, owing to me, your papa and mama are so good as to bring her up with you, it is not at all necessary that she should be as accomplished as you are—on the contrary, it is much more desirable that there should be a difference."
Such were the counsels by which Mrs. Norris assisted to form her nieces' minds. Although she had touched upon humility, it was hardly a proper lesson on the subject. If not for Sir Thomas' stern reminders, to see his sons and daughters treat Fanny with kindness, Maria and Julia might have been much harsher and less tolerant of their indigent cousin.
A little white parcel with gold ribbon was passed discreetly to her niece's hands. "My dear, for your good practice today, I've brought you a little present."
"What's this?"
"Candied nuts."
"What—no! Aunt, I couldn't have these." The parcel was returned. "My father says too many sweets will rot our teeth."
"Oh… But you've always loved them."
"I shan't anymore." Rising abruptly from the sofa, Maria raced over to the hanging mirror.
"What are you doing? Why are you—Don't stretch your mouth that way," begged Mrs. Norris. "It's so unbecoming."
"I had a toothache a few days ago. In the back… I can't tell if it's rotten."
"Oh dear, your teeth are not rotting. Your father merely warns you not to overindulge. A few little candied nuts won't hurt your teeth."
"Not a few, but many will. I will not have another, ever again."
"Maria darling, don't be so drastic."
"Give it to Julia, or Fanny. I'll not let my teeth be spoiled by sugar. It's a wonder that our father will grow sugar in Antigua, but warn us against the evils of it. And I'd rather not be forced to undergo dentistry, horrid treatments." With a rub of the cheek and a huff, she quit the room. "Well, I'm done with lessons. I'm going riding before dinner."
Mrs. Norris' little white parcel had been left behind on the sofa. It had always pleased her, to slip such little delights routinely into Maria's hands; until now, she had never complained against it, never shunned it. Cook had been put out more than once about Mrs. Norris looking into the house kitchens, perusing the pantries and scouring the dishes for imperfections. The woman herself even dared to scold against giving the children too many sweets. "Nau' good for 'em," she said. Ever since that incident, Mrs. Norris made sure to assert her better knowledge and experience with raising children, more than that of the cooks and scullery maids. Threats were also added to curb any future impudence. All of that, and for naught, for Maria to scorn her little treats from henceforth. The mirror looked upon a wounded woman, a childless aunt, though a better mother than her sister had ever been to her own. Of course, despite the hurt, there was good reason. The ruin of her teeth would be the ruin of her beauty, and everything for Maria. Swallowing the tears, Mrs. Norris raised her head, straightened her collar, gave a nod to the looking-glass and turned away. More pressing matters required her attention. Fanny needed some motivation for her next drawing lessons. Maybe she didn't need to improve, but no motivation? Unacceptable!
In a matter of years, Mrs. Norris would be staring at that mirror again and again. Ironic to think, what little thought she gave to it while it hung in her sister's salon. A magnificent piece, eventually made into an object of charity. Now, it sat, all wrapped and covered, as it rumbled on with a pile of luggage, the entirety of her belongings and Maria's, in the back of a wagon on their way to their new residence.
New story! It took long enough and I lost a little motivation for awhile to try this project again. But I think I'm ready to start again. Whatever happened to Mrs. Norris and Maria end of Mansfield Park?
I never read MP with much sympathy for these characters. I am of the opinion, though, which I may be alone in thinking, that Maria is a more interesting and complex character that she's often made out to be. I think she has as much depth and capacity as Fanny and Mary Crawford among others in the novel. Are you of that opinion? Feel free to drop a comment. It will help me in writing and in keeping with their original characterization. Like other Jane Austen FF, I'll try and keep them as Jane Austen wrote them.