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"Mr. Bertram," Fanny said politely as she entered the breakfast room.
Tom, the only person sitting at the table, looked up. "Mrs. Bertram." He turned to the footman standing at attention next to the sideboard. "George, you may go."
Once they were alone, he looked at Fanny with a lifted eyebrow. She blushed. "Good morning, Tom."
"Good morning, Fanny," he said, standing up to grace his wife with a quick kiss before serving himself a second helping of eggs.
Fanny joined him at the sideboard. "Has Susan had breakfast already?"
"George said she was already in the breakfast room when the food was delivered." Tom sat back down and frowned lightly. "Do you think we should worry about her?"
Fanny considered the question as she joined Tom at the table. It was true that Susan's energetic nature was at odds with Lady Bertram's placidity, but she believed that Susan would have come to Fanny if she was seriously unhappy. "I believe she is using the opportunity provided by Sir Thomas's absence to explore the grounds." When Sir Thomas was travelling, Lady Bertram rarely left her rooms before luncheon.
"Very wise of her," Tom said with a smile. "What about your plans for the day? Are you to see Widow Smith again?"
"I am." Fanny sighed and pushed away her plate. "I'm worried about the baby, of course. And about the future of the farm. The other children are doing the best they can, but none of them are old enough to plow the fields." She looked at Tom. "What will Lord Hotham do if she cannot pay the rent?"
"While he would be within his rights to evict her, I hope he would not." Tom took one of Fanny's hands and pressed it lightly. "Hotham should be providing for her until the children are older. Caring for his tenants should be a matter of honor."
Fanny hesitated. "Is it inappropriate of me to be offering assistance to one of Lord Hotham's tenants?"
Tom gave her a reassuring smile. "Christian charity is always appropriate, my dear."
Still, Tom was unusually quiet for the rest of the meal and Fanny wondered.
~~ooOOoo~~
The Smith cottage was in deplorable condition. The thatched roof was musty and damp, the dirt floor showed signs of persistent leaking, and light filtered through holes in the walls. Fanny did her best to ignore her surroundings as she smiled at Mrs. Smith, who was slumped in the only chair in the house, holding a tiny baby.
"How is the baby today, Mrs. Smith?" Fanny asked, setting her basket on the table and unpacking the food sent over by Cook. Mrs. Smith's three other children looked at Fanny with plaintive expressions.
Fanny smiled and handed each child a bun before sending them out to their chores. The oldest of the three was a boy not yet six; he chivvied his siblings out to the garden while Fanny poured soup into the cauldron and directed the groom to add wood to the fire.
By the time Fanny left an hour later, she was feeling a little more hopeful for the baby. Mrs. Smith was still deeply grieving for her husband, but her milk had come in and she had been feeding the baby when Fanny gave her farewells.
Still, as Fanny looked over the dilapidated cottage and the fallow fields, she could not help but fear for the future of the Smith family.
~~ooOOoo~~
At dinner that night, Fanny made a point to ask Susan about her day.
"I sewed with Aunt Bertram before tea," Susan said, smiling at her aunt. "And after we read some Shakespeare."
Fanny took that to mean that Susan read some Shakespeare while Lady Bertram took a nap. "And in the morning?" she hinted.
"I went for a walk," Susan said guilelessly, and proceeded to describe her explorations.
Just as with breakfast, Tom was unusually quiet for most of the meal and it was up to Fanny and Susan to carry the conversation until dessert, when Tom took advantage of a conversation between Lady Bertram and Susan to ask after Widow Smith.
"She is doing better, I think," Fanny said. "But I still worry about the farm. The children are managing the garden as best they can, but it is barely producing enough to feed the family."
Tom nodded and redirected the conversation to Edmond, who had accompanied his wife to London when they had heard about the death of Mr. Grant. Mary was going to stay a few weeks longer to support her sister, but Edmond had not wanted to miss the Sunday service and was due back the next day. With Sir Thomas still travelling, it would be up to Tom to oversee the logistics of transferring Mansfield living to his brother.
With no other gentlemen in the house, Tom accompanied the ladies to the drawing room, and he and Susan engaged in an animated debate about the merits of garden follies versus flowers versus shrubbery. Fanny sat by a dozing Lady Bertram, filled with pride for her sister, so grown in confidence and poise since her arrival at Mansfield Park. Tom, too, had grown in the last year, shaking off the last of his most troublesome behaviors and finding deep satisfaction in assisting Sir Thomas in managing the estate.
Who would have thought, two years before, during the chaos of Tom's illness, Edmond's impulsive engagement to Mary Crawford, Julia's unfortunate elopement, and, of course, the dreadful affair of Henry Crawford and Maria Rushworth, that life could have settled into such lovely contentment?
~~ooOOoo~~
That night Fanny sat in bed and eyed the door to her husband's room. He had given none of the usual hints that he was planning to join her for marital activities this evening, but of late he had occasionally come into her room for discussions not meant for servant's ears. Fanny cherished these discussions because she felt Tom benefited from a sympathetic ear, even though Fanny herself was the first to admit that there was little she could contribute to a discussion of excise duties or the window tax.
As she watched, the door opened and Tom stepped in. He was wrapped in an Indian gown and his hair was disheveled, as if he had been running his fingers through it repeatedly. "Fanny, I… do you have a moment? There is something I wish to discuss with you."
"Of course," Fanny said, shifting over in the bed to make space for Tom to sit. Tom hesitated, then pulled the chair from the dressing table over and sat there instead. Fanny felt a sense of alarm as Tom stared at his hands and remained silent.
"Fanny," he finally said. "Do you remember… you probably do not remember, as it was years ago, but…" He sighed. "There was an evening shortly after Sir Thomas returned from Antigua when you asked him about the slave trade."
"I do remember," Fanny said. "I do not remember his answer, but I do remember how quiet the room was. No one else spoke on the subject."
"It is not a pleasant subject to discuss," Tom said. "Especially since our fortune is in sugar."
He paused, before visibly gathering his courage to continue. "What my brother and sisters did not understand, what I did not understand, until I went to Antigua, is that sugar plantations – our plantations – rely on the use of slaves."
Fanny stared at him, horror-struck.
"I did not take this revelation well. I believe my father thought I would become more acclimated to the idea as time went on, but I did not. If anything, the reverse." He smiled without humor. "That is why he sent me home early, but I confess… even in England, I struggled with the knowledge."
Fanny had the sudden, unexpected thought that perhaps Tom's theater had not been in spite of Sir Thomas's likely disapproval, but because of it.
Tom sighed and sat back in the chair, rubbing his face. "Your question, innocent as it was, was the reason I left the house so soon after. I engaged myself in house parties and affairs with friends to distract myself from what I had learned in Antigua.
"Then I became ill and… everything happened." Tom grimaced in lieu of detailing the disastrous affair between Maria and Henry, and the hasty marriages of Julia and Edmond. He took a deep breath and graced Fanny with a warm smile. "As you nursed me through my illness, I understood for the first time what it meant to love someone enough that I would do anything to ensure their security. When we became engaged, I resolved to focus on the needs of my family, to leave the concerns of the estate to Sir Thomas."
Fanny's thoughts must have shown on her face, because Tom's smile turned wry. "Yes, Fanny, I do recognize that I am the future Sir Thomas. The endeavor was doomed to failure from the start."
At that, he sank into a silence that stretched long enough that Fanny prompted, "Did something happen?"
Tom sighed. "Sir Thomas received a letter yesterday from the steward of the Antigua plantation."
Understanding came to Fanny. Tom was managing Sir Thomas's affairs while Sir Thomas was in London and as such was answering all the mail. "What did the letter say?"
"Good news!" Tom exclaimed bitterly. "The estate is doing so well that Jennings has requested permission to purchase another half dozen slaves."
"Oh, no," Fanny cried. "You couldn't!"
"No, Fanny," Tom said quietly, "I do not think I could."
They sat silently. "Sir Thomas would approve the purchase," Fanny said hesitantly.
"He would," Tom confirmed. "And he would expect me to do the same."
"What are you going to do?"
"Well," Tom said, "that rather depends on you." He leaned forward and gently took Fanny's hands. "Tell me, Fanny, why did you start visiting Widow Smith?"
Fanny stared at him uncertainly.
"You did nothing wrong, my love, I promise." He squeezed her hands lightly. "How did you even hear about her?"
"From Mrs. Jackson," Fanny said. "She is Mrs. Smith's sister. I happened to be in the kitchen when Mrs. Jackson was visiting her daughter, who is one of the housemaids, and overheard her discussing Mrs. Smith."
Tom looked struck, as if it had never occurred to him to consider the relationships between his servants. To be fair, Fanny's knowledge of the servants' affairs mostly came from Sarah, who had taken care of Fanny when Sarah was a housemaid and who had been elevated to lady's maid on Fanny's unexpected marriage to the heir of the Mansfield estate. Proper lady's maids, like the ones employed by Lady Bertram and Julia Yates, were probably too correct to gossip.
After a moment, Tom cleared his throat. "And why did you visit her?"
"Because she needed help," Fanny said. Tom continued to look expectant, so she added, "We have so much, Tom. We have enough to help."
"Yes," Tom said warmly. "That is what I thought you would say." He shifted onto the bed and carefully gathered Fanny in his arms.
Bewildered, Fanny curled into his embrace. "Tom?"
"The last time I was in town, I learned that Lord Hotham is deeply in debt."
Fanny, who was unsure why their neighbor had entered the conversation, kept a prudent silence.
"He also has no children, he is not close to his extended family, and there is no entail on Wardon Hall."
Fanny straightened slightly, though she was careful not to dislodge Tom's arms. "You are thinking of buying the estate."
"I am exploring the possibility. There are many factors to consider. Freehold land in England is far more expensive than land in Antigua. The property is in terrible condition. The tenants are using antiquated farming methods." Tom took a deep breath. "In short, my dear, Wardon Hall will likely require far more work and generate far less profit than the way we live now."
She considered his words. "You are seeking my opinion?"
"Of course. With Edmond in orders and my sisters married, you and our future children will be the most affected by the consequences of this decision."
Fanny realized that he was discreetly referencing her jointure. As she had no dowery to bring into the marriage, her marriage settlement stated that her own daughters' doweries and Fanny's income in the event of Tom's death would both depend on the money that was being placed in trust for them every year. Fanny's jointure was a percentage of the estate's income.
When the jointure had first been proposed, Fanny had considered it very generous. Sir Thomas had assured her that her daughters would have respectable doweries, especially if the estate performed well and Tom was able to supplement the required contributions to her jointure. That may not be true if the estate's income was significantly reduced.
The marriage settlement had not mentioned pin money at all. While Fanny had been shocked at the difference of expense between a single woman's wardrobe and that of a married woman, her current pin money was more than sufficient for her needs, allowing her to fund her works of charity, to send money to her mother, and to give gifts to Susan. Fanny would not be the only person who would suffer if financial circumstances required her pin money to be reduced.
The more she thought about the subject, the more she understood why Tom had chosen to put the question out of his mind so that he could focus on more immediate matters.
Fanny took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "The right thing to do is often the hardest."
"It is."
"Mrs. Smith is not the only tenant on Lord Hotham's estate who needs assistance. Many others are struggling."
"They are."
Fanny turned to Tom. "How difficult would it be to buy Wardon Hall?"
"It would not be easy," Tom admitted. "Especially if my father does not agree."
Unspoken was the understanding that if Sir Thomas would not agree, the purchase would not be possible before his death.
Fanny took another deep breath and looked Tom in the eye. "We must do what is right."
A complex mix of relief and anxiety crossed Tom's face. "Oh, Fanny. It will be difficult, you know."
"I know." She took his hand and held it tight. "But it is the right thing to do."