In the past, with other gentlemen, a word, a look, sufficed to say: this far and no farther. In vain did she attempt to retrace the steps along the path of intimacy and to assume an air of coolness or indifference when Captain Templeton approached her. The man seemed to think she was playing a game, pretending to reject his addresses when she really invited them, and his attentions became even more assiduous.
But what was to be done? To speak to him plainly required a moment of privacy, and there was no such thing as privacy in Belfast. Mary was torn between hoping that her husband had not noticed and wishing that he had. Edmund ought to be jealous, he ought to resent the captain’s overfamiliar addresses.
Edmund had of course perceived Captain Templeton’s admiration of his wife. He found the captain’s company increasingly irksome, but he was the guest of Dr. Ritchie, one of the governors of the school. Then came a particularly mortifying occasion when the captain had too much to drink at Mr. and Mrs. Malcolm’s dinner party. The following day, Edmund happened to be meeting with Dr. Ritchie on school business, and he resolved to ask, how much longer did the captain intend to remain in Belfast?
The doctor did not look surprised at the enquiry. He removed his spectacles, closed his eyes and rubbed the sides of his nose. “Mrs. Ritchie and I have given him not a few hints to be gone. We are almost resolved to shut up our house and take an extended trip to Dublin, as being the only expedient by which we may rid ourselves of him.”
Such a reply invited Edmund to speak frankly in return. “My dear doctor, you have been exceedingly generous to this cousin of yours. I do not know that I would have endured him for so long under my roof.”
“We Irish have been graciously welcoming you Englishmen to our shores for many generations,” Dr. Ritchie observed, replacing his spectacles so that he might gaze at Edmund over the top of them, “and—the present company most notably excepted—you seldom send us your finest specimens. We receive your failures, your drunkards, your runaways, your scoundrels, your landless sons—all those, in short, who could not succeed in their native country. Our poor, starving, bleeding land must supply room, and milk and honey, for you as well. I say this without malice to you, of course, Bertram.”
“Now you make me ashamed,” Edmund exclaimed, “and I have half a notion to invite Captain Templeton to visit with us, so as to give your poor wife some respite.”
Dr. Ritchie looked solemn. “He will do less mischief where he is, I think. I shall deal with him, my good fellow. But I do not intend to leave town until after the dinner at the Linen Hall, so, we must enjoy the captain’s company for a few weeks more.”
Chapter 9: Northumberland, Summer 1815
When Sir Thomas removed from his grand estate in Mansfield to Norfolk in the year ‘10, he felt some apprehension for his wife’s health and spirits. He feared she might think herself an exile from the familiar surroundings of Mansfield Park. His anxieties proved unfounded. Because Lady Bertram had few acquaintance and seldom stirred abroad, she could pursue her usual occupations of writing letters, indulging her pug dog and making carpet-fringe wherever she happened to be. She could recline on her sofa in tolerable comfort, whether in Northamptonshire or Norfolk. He was the greater sufferer. A feeling that he had failed to uphold the dignity of his house and family was never to be entirely done away.
A timely investment in sugar plantations in Antigua, as well as loyal service to the Crown, had elevated his grandfather to the baronetcy. His own father had built the great house called Mansfield Park. Rationally, he knew it was no fault of his, the third Sir Thomas of that name, that the monies which once flowed from Antigua were gone. Further he could not wish to return to the days of relying upon the labour of slaves to fund his family’s comfortable existence.
The family investments had been restored through frugality and good management. But even the ingenuity of Sir Thomas could not turn a good income into a grand one. He considered it best, therefore, for he and his lady to stay on at their daughter’s estate.
His occasional excursions to Mansfield, to consult with his tenants and with his excellent manager, always sufficed to remind him of the secondary blessing obtained by the move to Everingham. When he went to Mansfield, he must also visit his wife’s sister. Enduring Mrs. Norris’s company and conversation was no longer his daily portion, as it had been when he lived at Mansfield Park, and bidding her farewell always brought unalloyed sensations of relief and felicity.
Even more than this, was the satisfaction derived from knowing the undoubted good he had brought to Everingham. His daughter’s estate had been sadly neglected under its previous owner, Maria’s late husband, who had left all of his affairs in the hands of a corrupt agent. Sir Thomas discharged Mr. Maddison, but the mischief which had been done both to the memory of his late employer and to the comforts of the poor, was considerable, and Sir Thomas devoted much care and attention to amending them. The loyalty and gratitude of his new tenants were circumstances which gradually brought their alleviation to Sir Thomas, deadening his sense of what was lost, and in part reconciling him to himself.
In addition, Sir Thomas devoted much interest to the progress of his family. Communication with his son Tom was further interrupted by the war between England and the United States. Edmund lived in Belfast and since her marriage, Julia had stayed with her husband aboard
