Carrie Bebris - The Matters at Mansfield

“It is a name I invented.”

“And you married this — this Meg person — under that name?”

“I did.”

Anne fainted.

Henry tried to prevent her from falling, but Colonel Fitzwilliam caught her. Henry reached for her. “Allow me to—”

“Do not touch her. Not ever again.”

Darcy had never seen such cold fury in his cousin. At that moment, he looked every inch the military officer facing a sworn enemy on the battlefield. “Would that I could have saved her from your grasp before today,” the colonel said. He lifted Anne into his arms and carried her into the inn, away from the faithless Mr. Crawford.

A hand on Darcy’s own arm drew his attention to Elizabeth. The briefest look between them communicated her intention to follow and offer Anne whatever succor she could. He watched her go, grateful for the constancy of his own spouse.

There remained the minister, Mr. Crawford, Meg, Darcy, Lady Catherine, and Mr. Archer.

Meg gestured toward the entrance through which Colonel Fitzwilliam had whisked Anne. “Will anybody tell me who that lady was?”

“That is Mr. Crawford’s other wife,” Darcy said.

“His what ?”

Darcy fixed Mr. Crawford with a glare. “I cannot comprehend such deceit, let alone any possible justification for it. Do you think yourself the Prince of Wales?”

“His dishonesty does not end with these two ladies,” said Edmund. “What were you about, making an offer to Miss Price last spring?”

Meg kicked Henry’s shin. “You snake! You married me with a false name and then roamed England making love to other women while I waited for you at home? How many wives do you have?”

“Only two.”

She kicked his other shin. “That’s one too many!”

Henry doubled over, rubbing one of his injured limbs. Darcy was of the opinion that Mr. Crawford deserved to be kicked elsewhere; he judged from Mr. Bertram’s expression that even the clergyman concurred.

“Actually, Mr. Crawford has but one legal wife,” declared Mr. Archer.

“The question is,” Darcy said, “which one?” The woman he had married first, or the woman he had married under his legal name? Darcy himself did not know the answer.

“If he married under a false name, that constitutes fraud. The marriage is voidable,” Mr. Archer said.

“Unless it is a name under which he is commonly known,” Mr. Bertram responded, “in which case the ecclesiastical court may rule in favor of preserving the marriage.”

“Everyone in my village knew him as John Garrick!” Meg said.

“Everyone in London, Bath, and a host of other cities knows him as Henry Crawford — his legal name,” Mr. Archer replied.

“The courts will have to sort this out,” Darcy said. Unfortunately, no matter which way they ruled, the scandal would disastrously compromise Anne’s position in society — if it left her with any at all. “Who is the local magistrate?” he asked the minister.

“My father, Sir Thomas Bertram. I would suggest moving this discussion to his home, but given Mr. Crawford’s previous association with my family, my father could not tolerate the man’s presence at Mansfield Park even for the satisfaction of committing him to gaol.”

“Gaol?” Mr. Crawford appeared stunned by the very notion.

“Bigamy is a capital offense.”

“But surely, as I am a gentleman, he would release me on my own recognizance pending trial?”

“Perhaps he might do so for another gentleman,” said Edmund, “but as you have proven yourself no gentleman in any meaningful sense of the word, I doubt your plight will engage his sympathy. I shall summon my father here directly.”

“No.” Lady Catherine, who to this point had been in a state of contemplation, pronounced the word with such force that it held the weight of a full speech. “Postpone that summons, Reverend, if you would. Prior to Mr. Crawford’s appearance before the magistrate, I wish to confer with my solicitor to ensure that my daughter’s interest in the case is properly represented.”

“Once Mr. Crawford enters custody, you will have ample time to engage a barrister and otherwise prepare for the trial.”

“Even so, I wish to be present at Mr. Archer’s initial interview with Mr. Crawford, and I would not subject myself to the indignity, or the noisomeness, of entering a gaol to speak with him.”

“Very well. He can remain here until you have had enough of him. As it happens, my father conducts much of his magisterial business at the inn. When you have done with Mr. Crawford, simply send word to Mansfield Park that you have need of Sir Thomas.”

“I shall. In the meantime, Mr. Bertram, I request that you hold the subject of Mr. Crawford’s alleged marriage to Mrs. Garrick in strict confidence. This is a delicate matter, and I would not have it become a topic of public discourse. Nor, I expect, would you, given not only your sister’s circumstances, but the Miss Price you mentioned. Doubtless, you wish to protect her reputation from association with this affair.”

“She is now my wife, so indeed, yes — I assure you of my discretion.”

Mr. Crawford turned to the bewildered Mrs. Garrick. “Meg—”

“Don’t even speak to me, John. Or whatever your name is.”

“Meg, I understand you are angry, but—”

“Angry? Angry ?” She laughed maniacally. “Do I have something to be angry about?”

“Meg—”

“Did I ever mean anything to you? Or was it all playacting? When my mother died and the fire took our cottage, the one thing that helped me survive was the belief that I still had you. And now I learn that I never had you at all. I might not even be married! Where am I to go, John? I cannot go back to the village and resume my life as ‘Mrs. Garrick.’ Mrs. Garrick doesn’t exist. And I have no money to go anywhere else.”

“For now, go inside and take a room. Explain to Mr. Gower that I will pay for it.”

“You have a great deal to pay for.”

“Meg—”

She turned her back on him and went within. Lady Catherine and Mr. Archer followed, withdrawing for their tête-à-tête.

Henry stared at the door through which Meg had passed. Then he turned to face Darcy’s glare.

“It began as playacting.” He seemed to be speaking as much for his own benefit as for Darcy’s or Edmund’s. “One spring I was a guest at a house party where endless rain confined us indoors, and we entertained ourselves by engaging in impromptu theatricals. My friends were particularly diverted by my portrayal of a seafarer named John Garrick, a character I created from stories I recalled hearing from my uncle and his fellow naval officers. While traveling back to Cambridge, washed-out roads detained me in a small village for several days, and I amused myself by continuing the role among the simple folk I encountered there. For the duration of my stay, I was John Garrick, merchant marine, regaling the villagers with my adventures on the high seas.

“It was there that I met Meg,” he continued. “She worked at the inn, and would often draw near as I told my tales. When the weather cleared and I prepared to leave, I knew from her crestfallen countenance that I had won her. ‘She lov’d me for the dangers I had pass’d, and I lov’d her that she did pity them.’ ”

“All the world’s a stage with you, is it?” Edmund said bitterly.

“No. When I returned after Easter and Michaelmas terms solely to see her again, that was genuine.”

“I do not believe you know the meaning of that word.” Edmund shook his head in disgust and turned to Darcy. “I cannot listen to more. Should you have need of me, I can be found at my father’s house or the parsonage in Thornton Lacey.” He departed.