William Price nodded. “Of course. I daresay you would have gone before now, but for—”
Mr. Gibson smiled. “Yes, but for languishing in prison.”
In fact, before his impetuosity overturned all his plans for the future, he had intended to publish his novel, marry Fanny, and take her abroad. Now, his protracted journey, rather than being a honeymoon, was intended to furnish new material for his future novels; and console him for what he must leave behind.
After completing his walking tour, Mr. Gibson left England from Plymouth, with no fixed idea as to his itinerary on the continent, or the time of his return.
PART TWO
Prologue, Norfolk, Spring 1818
Thornton Lacey was, of course, the lesser of the two livings which Sir Thomas had intended for his son Edmund; but before Edmund attained his majority, Sir Thomas was compelled to sell the living of Mansfield to settle the debts run up by his oldest son and heir Tom.
Dr. Grant had held the living since that time, and his coming to Mansfield altered the lives of the Bertrams to a not inconsiderable degree—for Mary and Henry Crawford were his wife’s half-sister and brother.
In the spring of 1818 Dr. Grant, through an interest on which he had almost ceased to form hopes, succeeded to a stall in Westminster. While the Grants—particularly Mrs. Grant—were well-respected in Mansfield, the fact of their removal was highly acceptable to both the Grants and the Bertrams.
This important intelligence was some time in finding Edmund in Italy, and his reply was longer in returning, but he affirmed he would come home to take up the living in Mansfield.
Once this news got about, Edmund’s aunt Mrs. Norris received many calls from the ladies of the parish, curious to know what she would have to say.
The ladies, of course, prefaced their enquiries with hearty congratulations, but they swiftly discovered their error. For before rejoicing in Mr. Bertram’s return, it was necessary to acknowledge the possibility, the more-than-likelihood, of some terrible mishap befalling Edmund and his family during their perilous journey across land and sea. However, should they return safely home, which was a doubtful matter, Mrs. Norris was in a position to enlighten them on a central point—dear Edmund did not intend to live in the great house, which was sitting vacant since Lord and Lady Delingpole had quitted it. He intended to live at the parsonage.
Well, said her visitors, and the parsonage house was just large enough to accommodate the family. There were—what—three young children, and Mr. Bertram and... his wife?
At the mention of Mrs. Bertram, the teacups paused in the air, and all eyes fixed on their hostess.
“My poor nephew,” Mrs. Norris announced with firmness, “was sadly taken in by that woman. I always had my reservations about her, when she came among us. She had ten thousand pounds and a pretty face, but I was never certain of her character, and I did give Edmund a little hint on the matter, but what is done, is done. ‘Whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder.’ I am sure I would be the last to withhold the olive branch, so long as Mary understands that I can never forgive her for running away and deserting Edmund.”
“She left Thornton Lacey directly after so many hardships befell Sir Thomas, was that not so?” asked one of the visiting ladies.
Mrs. Norris nodded vigorously. “Yes, indeed! Shortly after Sir Thomas lost much of his fortune. I did my best to uphold everyone’s spirits of course, but it was still very hard upon dear Sir Thomas and my poor sister. At any rate, Edmund visited here to condole with his parents, and when he rode back to Thornton Lacey he found the parsonage house stripped bare—horses, furniture, linen, everything taken away to London!” She paused to look around at all her guests, to satisfy herself that they comprehended the full depravity of Mary’s actions.
In fact, everyone was already well-acquainted with the particulars; any one of them could have related it to the last detail, but the opportunity to once again express their entire disapprobation, their very great surprise, their utter perturbation, was not to be foregone. The ladies murmured and sighed and shook their heads, and when they were done, Mrs. Norris resumed the tale. “Edmund has laid much of the blame for his wife’s conduct upon her uncle, the Admiral. Apparently he interposed himself in their marriage to a unwarrantable degree, which I have always held is very unwise, and that is why I have always made it a rule not to interfere in my family’s affairs.”
One of the ladies almost choked on her biscuit, and took a quick sip of tea.
“Certainly I might, on occasion, give advice,” Mrs. Norris continued, “out of necessity. But what is to be done in an instance such as this, I am sure I cannot say. Poor Edmund!”
A fortnight later, Mrs. Norris received word from France, assuring her that Edmund and the children were still alive and bearing the journey very well. Young Thomas had developed a decided interest in history, so Edmund had promised to take him to Agincourt, to view the field where “the band of brothers” under Henry the Fifth defeated the French, before proceeding to Calais and taking passage for England.
She then perused the next paragraph and exclaimed out loud: “Why, the unnatural creature! What a dreadful, dreadful woman!”
My wife is not accompanying us at this time. She finds the climate and society in Italy to be more congenial for her health and spirits. She intends to pass the summer in Tuscany, at a place called Bagni di Lucca. Bagni means, baths. There are hot springs there and I am told it
