Fanny felt for him most acutely. She silently resolved that she would take the position offered by Mrs. Butters, so that he had one less dependent relation to be responsible for, in the face of the financial crisis that now threatened to overwhelm them.
A full year of our story has passed since those events transpired, which commenced it—a year since Fanny Price had fled from the Bertram’s roof, a year since Maria ended her loveless engagement to Mr. Rushworth, and a year since the fortunes of the Bertrams became inextricably intertwined with those of the Crawfords.
After the tragedies and disappointments of the past twelve months, and most particularly the latest calamity, Sir Thomas determined upon giving up Mansfield Park. The mansion had been built in his father’s time, when the income from the sugar plantations appeared to offer a never-ending source of wealth; it was intended to be the seat of the Bertrams for many generations to follow, and so to abandon the dwelling was to abandon the assumptions, the expectations and the hopes that had animated his every waking hour.
His heir Tom, Sir Thomas was now fully persuaded, would never take his place as the head of a household. Likewise, while Maria had, by the most unlikely of circumstances, attained to some degree of respectability, she would never be the mistress of Sotherton, never be within a carriage ride of her parents’ home. Nor, to his regret, did he find himself welcome at Thornton Lacey. Miss Crawford had been all affection and complaisance before her marriage, and Sir Thomas had congratulated himself on the acquisition of such a lovely daughter; but now, Edmund’s wife never invited them to visit, and declined all invitations to Mansfield Park, even to visit with Fanny and Julia. Sir Thomas supposed that the death of her brother was the cause of the estrangement, and being helpless to provide redress, accepted the breach with resignation.
The prospect of growing old while living in the great mansion alone, in severely reduced circumstances, surrounded by memories and empty rooms, pitied by the more kind-hearted of his neighbours and mocked by the rest, made an utter removal appear as the least of several evils. Life as he knew it would never return again, both in consequence of the advent of the Crawfords and because of the change of sentiment overtaking the nation in regard to slavery and those who profited from it. What would have been unthinkable only a year before was now almost to be preferred.
Therefore, at Maria’s urgent invitation, Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram prepared to take up residence with her in Norfolk.
Sir Thomas took this step in consultation with his son Edmund, who approved of the measure, as the cost to maintain Mansfield Park, without the additional income from the Antigua plantations, often exceeded the income from the rents attached to it.
Once resolved, Sir Thomas did not hesitate; he promised Maria that he would celebrate Christmas with her at Everingham, and he was as good as his word. Christopher Jackson was put in charge of boarding up the windows, Fanny superintended the packing and removal of the books, plate and paintings, the faithful Baddeley and the old coachman Wilcox received pensions, while a handful of groundskeepers and servants remained to maintain the gardens and safeguard the property.
Edmund, the heir presumptive of what little remained, agreed to assist the steward until a new tenant could be found. He did not foresee a future day when a Sir Edmund might take occupation of Mansfield Park once again. As he explained to his wife, not without some trepidation, “I cannot promise you that we will return to Mansfield Park one day because I cannot promise anything which must be so completely beyond my power to command.” As matters stood, he added, he intended to live and die as a clergyman, making Thornton Lacey his home, and upon Dr. Grant’s retirement, he would prefer to appoint another clergyman rather than move to the Mansfield Parsonage within sight of his boyhood home. She was greatly discomposed by the news, he saw, but she said only, “I see,” before withdrawing to their bedchamber.
* * * * * *
One sunny afternoon shortly thereafter, Fanny was alone in the East Room, filling a small trunk with her own belongings, which she had left behind a year ago—her beloved books, and her writing-desk. Some of her supernumerary sewing chests and netting-boxes would go to her sisters, but she was happy to claim these remembrances from her cousins, reminding her of all that was bitter and sweet of the past.
There came a soft knock at the door, and she turned to behold Edmund.
“What? Still no fire in the hearth, Fanny?” he began cheerfully enough, but soon, the consciousness of what had transpired a year ago in that room, served to silence them both for a time. Here was the table on which Fanny had left her farewell letters, to be intercepted by his now-wife, here were the chairs in which he, and Mary, and Fanny sat, reading through Lovers' Vows together, here they
