Sir Thomas could not bring himself to utter the awful presentiment that occurred to his mind. It was too terrible a thing to pronounce, and he shrank from asking, in the forlorn hope that it was some other distress which thus brought his daughter, penitent, to her knees before him.
“Maria, what is it? What is the matter?” Was all he could bring himself to say. But his hopes, and very nearly his reason itself, were to be shattered, as his daughter, unable to look at him, uttered through her sobs…
“Oh, father! Oh, father! I am carrying Henry Crawford’s child!”
A long silence followed as Sir Thomas struggled to regain his composure. A black tide of misery swept over father and daughter alike, she awash with shame and fear, he with anger and sorrow. If Sir Thomas had been applied to the day before and asked, what was to be done if a daughter of good family had sacrificed her virtue, he would have answered unhesitatingly that death was to be preferred to a dishonour so complete, comprehending as it did the reputation of a family, the happiness of its members, the respectability of all of its daughters, and the defiance of a morality whose strictures he had endeavoured to live by and imbibe in his children.
But as Maria had not spontaneously expired under the disgrace of her condition, as she lived, and would live, and so in time, might bring forth a living child, Sir Thomas’s thoughts rapidly turned to where he might send her to reside until she was safely delivered, and to consider what might be done thereafter.
“Maria, I trust you understand it is impossible for you to stay under the same roof as your sister,” he began, and Maria nodded, remaining where she was, eyes downcast, at his feet. “We will spare no exertion and there will be no loss of time in making those arrangements which are necessary. You will be provided with a secluded but comfortable lodging in some neighbourhood where the name of ‘Bertram’ is unknown. You could represent yourself as being the wife of a ship’s officer—should you be forced to converse with anyone, which, under any circumstances, I advise strongly against. But the servants I shall engage for you will be so informed. Heaven help you to uphold this necessary deception! You will be provided with sufficient funds, of course, as would be consistent with your pretended station in life. But….”
Maria shuddered, and waited, head bowed, for the lacerating tongue of her father to outline, in his formal and measured way, why she was a disgrace to the name of Bertram, how he wished she had never been born, and how she was never to address him as ‘father’ again, when an unusual sound caught her ear. She looked up and beheld to her astonishment that her father was weeping! He gathered her up in his arms and said, “You asked me to consent to your marriage to Mr. Crawford, more than once you beseeched me—I refused, repeatedly. Had I acquiesced, you would now be honourably married, albeit to a man I must forever regard with detestation. I knew he was an unprincipled cad—but never did I suspect the depths of his depravity! Your happiness and credit were my only consideration, my Maria!”
Father and daughter wept together, then, after looking in the hallway to see that no servants were about, Sir Thomas led Maria back to her bedchamber, where with his own hands he helped her to pack her travelling trunks.
To completely conceal the truth of what was happening would most likely be impossible. The servants who had waited on Maria these past few months might be in the secret of it, perhaps Julia also. But everything that speed and discretion could do, would be done. He and Maria left London together, by post, and he arrived at Mansfield Park eight days later, alone. The story was given out that she was staying with friends at the seaside to recover her health and spirits after the failure of her second engagement within the span of six months. The necessity for dissimulation to his household, to friends and neighbours, to his own wife and his own family, sickened Sir Thomas until he wondered whether his constitution could withstand the shock and horror of it.
Tom Bertram was dispatched to bring Julia home, as Sir Thomas was disposed to gather what remained of his family around him. It was a more sober and generous Julia who returned home after her season in London. Henry Crawford had wounded her, but she had pride and spirit enough to recover, and though the experience was dearly bought, she felt the wiser for it. She came away with vows of eternal friendship and promises of faithful correspondence from some of the other young ladies she had met during the Season. Home now wore a more attractive aspect; her mother greeted her with something approaching animation and pleasure, and Julia was ready, after the late hours and bustle of London, for country air, horse-riding, and long walks.
In the ensuing days, the household servants understood it was best to avoid Sir Thomas, to exit through one door if he entered at another, to keep their eyes to the floor if passing him in the hallway, and to move about their tasks in utter silence. Some suspected the reason for his severity—and some remembered the housemaid, Sarah, who had been dismissed from service and publicly disgraced by this same Sir Thomas a few months before. Did the master of the house ever spare a thought for
