Edmund Bertram's Diary

  ‘No!’ he said, but he did not sound convinced. ‘Neither do I.’

  Wednesday 17 November

  I wrote to Mama and told her how I was going on, adding my love for my sisters and for Fanny. I wrote separately to my father and gave him news of my studies, whilst thanking him for my al owance. I wondered whether to say something about Tom, for he was drunk al day yesterday and could not crawl out of bed, but I decided that loyalty outweighed every other feeling. I often wonder, if Tom had been the younger and I the elder, would I have been more highspirited and would he have been more studious? Or is the difference between us in our characters, and would he have been wild and I serious whatever the case?

  Friday 19 November

  Owen has invited me to spend some time with his family near Peterborough when we break up for the Christmas holidays, and I have accepted.

  DECEMBER

  Monday 20 December

  It is good to be home. I was met by kindness from Mama, enquiries about my health from Mrs. Norris, judicious interest from Papa, squeals from Maria and Julia, a shamefaced anxiety from Tom — which, however, evaporated when it became clear that I did not mean to mention any of his university exploits — and unabashed happiness from Fanny. The way her face lit up when she saw me lifted my spirits, and it was not long before we were outside.

  ‘Are you sure you are warm enough?’ I asked her, for the air was cold even though the sun was shining.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Let me look at you to be sure.’

  I cast my eyes over her cloak, which she wore over her pelisse, and saw that her bonnet was pul ed down over her ears, and that her hands were gloved as wel as being hidden in her muff.

  ‘Yes, I think you are.’

  As we began our walk I asked her what she had been reading. She had read the Goldsmith I recommended, and we were soon so engrossed in the conversation that we lost track of the time, being taken by surprise when we discovered that dusk was fal ing. We returned to the house. Just before we went in I took the opportunity of quizzing her on the constel ations, which were beginning to appear in the sky, and I found she had memorized al that we could see.

  We went inside and I returned to my room to find Tom lol ing there, bored. He sat and talked whilst I dressed for dinner and then we went downstairs. After dinner I cal ed Fanny to me, for I saw my aunt’s eyes on her and suspected Fanny would soon be sent on an errand through the cold corridors if I did not keep her by my side. She repaid me by tel ing me al about the letter she had had from her family, and regaling me with stories about Susan and Wil iam. Tuesday 21 December

  Tom thanked me for not mentioning his conduct to Papa. I told him I would never betray him, and said how glad I was to see him looking better for being at home. He told me it was just high spirits that made him wild at Oxford, and I should join him in his pleasures.

  ‘There wil be time enough to be sober when you are older,’ he told me.

  ‘After seeing you lying face down in the quad, I would rather be sober now,’ I said. I think that is why I have never succumbed to the worst temptations university life has to offer. Tom has always been there before me, and shown me the evil of excess by his example. If he could only see himself when he is drunk I am sure he would be as disgusted with it as I am. He looked annoyed, but his face soon cleared and he chal enged me to a race over to Hampton’s Cross. I accepted the chal enge, and I would have beaten him if my horse had not thrown a shoe. He laughed at me when I said as much, saying he had been letting me edge into the lead to hum our me, and that he would have overtaken me before we reached the cross. We were stil arguing the point when we returned to the house. We had hearty appetites and begged some food from Mrs. Hannah in the kitchen, knowing it was stil some hours until dinner. She gave us a hunk of roast beef and a loaf to share between us, and we ate it hungrily before returning to our rooms.

  After dinner we had an impromptu bal and Tom taught us al a new dance. He could not remember half the steps, but the girls enjoyed it. Aunt Norris said she had never seen finer dancing, remarking that Maria would have many admirers when she came out. Julia went into a pet, and Tom teased her out of it, saying she would no doubt marry a prince, and we ended the evening very merrily.

  1803

  APRIL

  Thursday 7 April

  The weather is remarkably fine and I am enjoying my holiday. I decided to ask Fanny if she would like to go for a ride with me this morning, but when I went into the drawing-room I found her opening a letter from Portsmouth. I did not like to disturb her so I sat down for a few minutes and let her read in comfort, whilst Aunt Norris busied herself about her sewing and Mama played with Pug.

  I was surprised to hear a choked sob from Fanny and, looking up, I saw that she was crying. I went over to her at once.

  ‘Fanny, my dear, whatever is wrong?’

  I took the let er from her hand, as she could not speak, and read the sad news, that her sister Mary had died.

  ‘What is it? What is wrong?’ asked Aunt Norris.

  ‘Fanny’s sister has died,’ I told her.

  Mama murmured kind words of sympathy, and offered Fanny Pug to play with. It was a kind offer, but Fanny declined it, being too distressed for Pug to cheer, whilst Aunt Norris said only,

  ‘A blessing for my sister, for she has so many children, she wil not miss one.’

  I gave her an angry look and took Fanny into the library, where I took her head on my shoulder and let her cry.

  ‘She was such a pretty little thing,’ said Fanny, clutching her handkerchief. ‘I believe I loved her even more than I loved Susan. She was only five years old. If only I had known! I should have been with her. I could have nursed her. I could have helped Mama to take care of her.’

  ‘Your mother and Susan looked after her,’ I soothed her. ‘They did al they could. No one could have done more, not even you, my dear. Now dry your eyes, Fanny, do, for I cannot bear to see you so distressed. Your sister is with God now.’

  She took comfort from this and her tears changed to healthy tears. I comforted her until her sobbing ceased.

  I took pains to cheer her this evening, and, having told Maria and Julia what had happened, and begged their kindness for her, I found them very affectionate. Maria asked Fanny if she would like to help her trim a bonnet and Julia gave her a silver thimble. As I watched them I thought again about making the church my career. I know Papa would like it, for he could give me the family livings, but it is not something I could do without a vocation. And yet I am beginning to think I have one. I found it natural to help Fanny in her time of grief, and though I have a great affection for her that I do not have for other people, I think I could help them, too.

  It has also been growing on me that I have a desire to live a good life, and though I would not say so to Tom, for fear of being laughed at, I think it is no bad thing. My father lives a good life and he is respected by everyone around him. I would like to be respected by those around me, too, for if I am respected I can set a good example and help others escape the miseries I see: the drink that has contributed to the poverty of Fanny’s family, so that they cannot afford to keep her, and the idleness and profligacy that are blighting Tom’s life. Wednesday 13 April

  My father is delighted with my thoughts about the future, and he has promised me he wil do everything he can to assist me with a career in the church.

  1805

  MARCH

  Tuesday 26 March

  We are al in turmoil. Uncle Norris has died. I cannot believe it. He seemed so wel , and he was so young. He ate too much, to be sure, and drank perhaps too freely, but none of us expected this. My aunt has been bearing up bravely; Tom has spent the afternoon standing about looking grave and Papa has given his attention to al the business natural y fol owing on from the calamity. It has come as another burden to him at a time when he is already burdened with worries about his business affairs, and I am sorry I cannot do more to help him.

  AP
RIL

  Wednesday 3 April

  Papa cal ed Tom into his study this morning, and Tom emerged an hour later looking sick and il . I was about to ask him what was wrong when I was summoned, and found myself closeted with Papa.

  He looked very serious, and hummed and hawed as though he did not know how to begin.

  ‘This is a sad business, Edmund, a very sad business.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Then, as he did not seem to know how to continue, I added, ‘Mr. Norris always seemed so hearty. Apart from his gout, he was in good health. It has come as a shock to us al .’

  ‘Indeed, indeed.’ He col ected himself. ‘And it could not have come at a worse time. I had expected to give the living of Mansfield to you upon Mr. Norris’s death, for I was sure he would not die until you were old enough to be in holy orders, but this has put a new complexion on matters. I should, by rights, be giving the living to a friend to hold for you until you are old enough to claim it for yourself but, as you know, things have been going badly for me in Antigua and, as you perhaps do not know, Tom came home a few weeks ago with very heavy debts. I have settled them, of course, but his excesses have left me in difficulties. I blush for the expedient which I am driven on, but I am forced to sel the living of Mansfield. I only hope this might curb your brother at last, for he has robbed you for ten, twenty, thirty years, perhaps for life, of more than half the income which ought to be yours, and I am extremely sorry for it.’

  ‘It is no matter,’ I said, though in truth it was a blow. I had expected the living of Mansfield, and I had wanted it, for it was the very living to which I belonged.

  ‘You have taken it like a gentleman. You make me proud,’ he said with a grave smile. ‘I promise I wil do everything I can to make it up to you in the future if possible.’

  We talked for some little time more and then he said I might go. I went out to the stables, thinking a ride would clear my head, and found Tom there, preparing to mount.

  He was awkward, as wel he might be, and stammered out an apology, but he was soon making light of it.

  ‘It was not so very much money after al ,’ he said. ‘I was not half so much in debt as some of my friends. And besides, I am sure you wil not have to wait long for the living. As soon as the new incumbent dies the living wil revert to you, and he cannot live for ever.’

  He suggested we ride together but I had no taste for his company and, without realizing what I was doing, I found myself walking up to the attic to see Fanny. I found her in the schoolroom with a book. She looked up as I entered, and smiled, and made me welcome, like a hostess receiving a friend, and we were soon discussing the books she has read. And then, I do not know how it happened, I was tel ing her about the living of Mansfield and my disappointment at finding it had been sold.

  ‘It is a bad thing,’ she said, entering into my feelings and shaking her head, ‘a very bad thing. But you do not need Mansfield, Edmund. You have yourself, and that is al you need to do good in the world.’

  I smiled, cheered by her attitude.

  ‘And you wil stil have Thornton Lacey. It is not such a large parish as Mansfield, to be sure, or such a prosperous living, but it is stil yours.’

  She so comforted me that by the time dinner was served I was able to greet Tom with civility, and I believe I am reconciled to the loss of the Mansfield living.

  1806

  AUGUST

  Tuesday 12 August

  I cannot believe it! My father is to leave us and go to Antigua for a year. I knew his affairs were not prospering as he had hoped, but I had no idea things had come to such a pass.

  ‘You wil have to look after my affairs here at home whilst I am gone, and the family, too,’ he told me. ‘It is a heavy responsibility for a young man of two-and-twenty years, but I have confidence in you, Edmund. Take your tone of conduct from me. If you are in difficulties then ask yourself what I would do in the same circumstances and act accordingly.’

  I said I would do my best.

  ‘I wil be taking Tom with me,’ he said. ‘I had hoped he would grow more settled, but he appears to be getting worse instead of better. His friends are badly chosen and lead him astray, and Tom, alas, does not have the character to resist them. If I leave him behind, I fear he wil squander what remains of our fortune whilst I am away.’

  He told me what he expected of me, and then I was free to go.

  ‘He cannot do this to me,’ said Tom angrily, coming into my room as I dressed for dinner. ‘He cannot take me out of England at such a time — and to the Indies, for God’s sake! What the devil am I to do in Antigua?’

  ‘Learn about his business affairs?’ I asked.

  ‘Like some money-grubbing shopkeeper, or a mil owner? I am not an estate manager, I am a baronet’s son!’

  ‘The baronet does it,’ I pointed out.

  ‘More fool him. Why does he not leave it to his men of business?’

  ‘Because his affairs have not prospered in their hands.’

  ‘Then he should get rid of them, and hire new men.’

  ‘There is no one he can trust so wel as himself.’

  ‘Antigua!’ said Tom with a groan, flinging himself down across a chair. ‘The heat . . . the people .

  . . it wil be abominable. I cannot stand it. I wil not go.’

  ‘Then tel him so.’

  He shuffled uncomfortably.

  ‘I have already tried. He told me plainly that if I refuse, he wil not honor my gambling debts.’

  ‘What, none of them?’

  ‘None of them,’ he said morosely. He broke out passionately. ‘It was not my fault. I had an unbeatable hand! The only thing I had to fear was an ace. And then Watkins turned his card over, and there it was. The ace of hearts. It was damnable luck. Quite damnable. So of course I had to keep playing, to win back what I had lost. Except I had a run of bad luck that led me to such ruin I had to apply to Papa.’ He shook his head. ‘It was not my fault. The cards were against me, that is al .’

  ‘You might like the Indies,’ I said.

  ‘Hah!’ He swung his leg over the arm of the chair. ‘A likely tale. And whilst I am sweltering in al that heat, with no one to talk to and nothing to do, you wil be here enjoying yourself.’

  ‘I wil be here looking after the estate,’ I said, shrugging on my coat.

  ‘Which no doubt you wil relish.’

  ‘At the moment, I am terrified. What if we have a poor harvest, or there is a French invasion, or Maria and Julia elope, or are preyed upon by fortune hunters? I tel you plainly, Tom, I am dreading it.’

  He was cheered by thoughts of my responsibilities, and by the idea that I would not be enjoying myself at home.

  We went down to dinner, and had a sorry evening. Mama was out of spirits, too, and lamenting the fact that Papa wil soon be far away, whilst Aunt Norris was elated by the thought of everything she would have to do. I glanced at Tom, and he laughed to think of Aunt Norris organizing us al with no one to check her officiousness, for I am sure my father is the only one who has the slightest influence over her.

  ‘You may rely on me, Sir Thomas,’ she said. ‘Young ladies of eighteen and nineteen years of age need a great deal of care, but it wil not be lacking, I assure you. I wil see to it that they do you credit whilst you are away.’

  My father thanked her, and told Maria, Julia and Fanny to mind their mother and their aunt whilst he is away.

  My sisters seemed relieved at the news of his departure.

  ‘Papa is always so grave,’ said Maria, as she walked over to the pianoforte with Julia. ‘I feel quite cast down whilst he is by.’

  Julia agreed, saying there was something stately in his manner that put her high spirits to flight. Fanny said nothing, and yet even she seemed to feel his coming absence as a relief. As for me, I wil be glad when he is safely home again.

  SEPTEMBER

  Wednesday 3 September

  And so my father has gone, and I am in charge of his affairs. I rose early, conscious of how
much there was to do, and after spending the morning with the steward, so that I could refresh my mind as to my duties for the coming month, this afternoon I began on them in earnest. Dinner-time came quickly and I hesitated before taking my father’s place. It seemed strange to sit in his chair and carve the meat, providing a focus at the head of the table. And afterwards, when the ladies withdrew, I was conscious of how alone I was, for without Tom and my father to talk to I sat in state by myself. I quickly repaired to the drawing-room where the others were gathered.

  ‘Wel , Edmund, and so we are alone, and must get used to being alone, for who knows when we may see Sir Thomas again?’ said my aunt with a sigh.

  ‘He has gone for a year, not for ever,’ I said.

  ‘I only hope it may be so,’ she said, relishing the new situation and determined to make a drama of it. ‘But who knows what may happen to a man, once he leaves his own fireside? There are vil ains everywhere. At this very minute, Sir Thomas may be in the power of pirates.’

  ‘Sir Thomas wil not have been caught by pirates, wil he?’ asked Mama, stirring.

  ‘I hardly think so,’ I told her.

  ‘Who can say?’ countered Aunt Norris. ‘The sea is a very unsafe place. And if he has not been captured by pirates, then what other dangers might he not be facing? There are typhoons and tidal waves . . . I shal not be surprised if Sir Thomas is shipwrecked, only to return to us after fifteen years with long white hair and a beard.’

  Mama was alarmed.

  ‘Do not say so! I have never been able to abide a beard,’ she said.

  ‘Depend upon it, he wil have fine weather and make the crossing in a month,’ I told her.

  ‘If he is not set upon by an enemy vessel,’ said my aunt, ‘for then he wil be thrown into the sea, as like as not, and eaten by a whale.’