REGENCY ERA PRAISE FOR…

Mansfield Park and Mummies

“A Brilliant Parody of a Portrait!”

—A Certain Lady

“I fought for first possession of this tome at the Lending Library, sustaining but negligible injury to my person. It is regrettable, however, that the Duchess of K. may never walk again.”

—A Gentleman of Taste

“Is it so entirely wrong to love a Mummy?”

—A Lady of Erudition

“Do not allow impressionable young persons near this dreadful book; it is a moral travesty, containing Theatrical scenes and blatant Acting.”

—A Gentleman of Breeding

“QUACK!”

—The Brighton Duck

MANSFIELD PARK AND MUMMIES:

Monster Mayhem, Matrimony, Ancient Curses, True Love, and Other Dire Delights

Jane Austen and Vera Nazarian

Published by Norilana Books at Smashwords

Copyright © 2009 by Vera Nazarian

Cover Art Details:

“Miss Pinkerton’s Academy” by George Goodwin Kilburne (1839-1924); “Malvern Hall” by John Constable (1809); “Grabkammer der Nefertari, Gattin des Ramses II., Szene: Der Gott Re-Harakleti und Amentit, die Göttin des Okzidents”; “Photo from Egyptian Gallery, British Museum” by Steve F. E. Cameron (2006-2007).

Interior Illustrations:

“Appendix,” courtesy of Pearson Scott Foresman.

“After Mummification,” Copyright © 2009 by Vera Nazarian

Cover Design Copyright © 2009 by Vera Nazarian

Ebook Edition

February 22, 2012

Discover other titles by Vera Nazarian at

Epub Format ISBN:

ISBN-13: 978-1-60762-101-0

ISBN-10: 1-60762-101-0

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictional or used in an imaginary manner to entertain, and any resemblance to any real people, situations, or incidents is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

For Janet Chui

My thanks for the mummies!

MANSFIELD PARK AND MUMMIES

Monster Mayhem, Matrimony, Ancient Curses, True Love, and Other Dire Delights

Jane Austen and Vera Nazarian

With Scholarly Footnotes and Appendices

Chapter I

About three thousand years ago, an Ancient Egyptian Pharaoh, with infinite riches of his kingdom surrounding him, had the bad luck to die, be embalmed, mummified and then sealed up in his great tomb among the sands of Lower Egypt, and to be thereby raised to the rank of eternity and, quite possibly, deity.

About thirty years ago, Miss Maria Ward, of Huntingdon, with only seven thousand pounds and nary a kingdom or sand granule in sight, had the good luck to captivate Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park, in the county of Northampton, and to be thereby raised to the rank of a baronet’s lady, with all the comforts and consequences of an handsome house and large income.

With the former, all Egypt mourned. With the latter, all Huntingdon exclaimed on the greatness of the match, and her uncle, the lawyer, himself allowed her to be at least three thousand pounds short of any equitable claim to it. The deceased Pharaoh had two royal siblings who immediately benefited from his elevation to the Afterlife. Miss Maria Ward had two sisters to be benefited by her elevation—not to the Afterlife, to be sure, but to the even grander state of AfterEngagement—and such of their acquaintance as thought Miss Ward and Miss Frances quite as handsome as Miss Maria, did not scruple to predict their marrying with almost equal advantage. But whether three thousand or merely thirty years ago, there certainly are not so many men of large fortune in the world as there are pretty (and decidedly unmummified) women to deserve them.

While the venerable Pharaoh mummy continued to desiccate in secret splendor for thousands of years, far into the future, our Maria’s one sister, Miss Ward, at the end of half a dozen years, found herself obliged to be attached to the Rev. Mr. Norris, a friend of her brother-in-law, with scarcely any private fortune, and the other, Miss Frances, fared yet worse. Miss Ward’s match was indeed not contemptible: Sir Thomas happily gave his friend an income in the living of Mansfield. And Mr. and Mrs. Norris began their career of conjugal felicity with very little less than a thousand a year. But Miss Frances married, in the common phrase, to disoblige her family, and by fixing on a lieutenant of marines, without education, fortune, or connexions, did it very thoroughly. Short of marrying the mummy of a deceased ancient Egyptian pharaoh, she could hardly have made a more untoward choice. But, speaking of mummies, dear Reader, we are getting somewhat ahead of ourselves—

Sir Thomas Bertram had every intention to gladly assist Lady Bertram’s sister in her relative destitution. But her husband’s profession was such as no interest could reach. And before Sir Thomas could devise another method of aid, an absolute breach between the sisters had taken place. It was a breach of tremendous proportions, a crevasse, a grand canyon, or possibly, a pyramid of sorts—a truly monstrous and rather angular coldness, or maybe a heat, but most likely a thing lukewarm and therefore utterly indifferent, as though brought forth out of the grave, spurred on by royal dead ancients. It was the natural result of the conduct of each party—such as a very imprudent marriage almost always produces.

To save herself from useless remonstrance, Mrs. Price never wrote to her family on the subject till actually married. Lady Bertram, who was a woman of very tranquil feelings, and a temper remarkably easy and indolent—one might say, placid to the point of being simultaneously deceased and yet walking upright—would have contented herself with merely giving up her sister, and thinking no more of the matter. But Mrs. Norris had a spirit of activity, not to mention a vaguely wolfish streak, which could not be satisfied till she had written a long and angry letter to Fanny, to point out the folly of her conduct, and threaten her with all its possible ill consequences—palsy, the poor house, rabid creature bites, the cut complete. Mrs. Price, in her turn, was injured and angry; and her bitter answer to her sisters put an end to all intercourse[1] between them for a considerable period.

Their homes were so distant, and the circles in which they moved so distinct—Lady Bertram, for instance was always surrounded by Egyptologists, famous exotic doctorate-endowed visiting scholars du jour, and attended instructional lectures that would have bored the other to tears—as almost to preclude the means of ever hearing of each other’s existence during the eleven following years. Or, at least, it seemed unlikely to Sir Thomas that Mrs. Norris should ever have it in her power to tell them, as often as she did (in her angry wolfish voice), that Fanny had got another child and it was neither bitten by anything wild nor stunted in limb or brain development.

By the end of eleven years, however—a mere blink of an instant to a drying mummy, but quite a different matter to a robust living female; but oh, mustn’t get ahead of ourselves—Mrs. Price could no longer afford to cherish pride or resentment, or to lose one connexion that might possibly assist her. A large and still increasing family, an husband disabled for active service (except for his mouth, decidedly still deployed on multiple vessels in the East Indies), but not the less equal to company and good liquor, and a very small income—all made her eager to regain the friends she had so carelessly sacrificed.

Thus, she addressed Lady Bertram in a letter of contrition and despondence, a superfluity of children, a fair mention of Egyptology, and a want of almost everything else. This could not but dispose them all to a reconciliation. Mrs. Price was preparing for her ninth lying-in; and after bewailing the circumstance, and imploring their countenance as sponsors to the expected child, she could not conceal how important they might be to the future maintenance of the eight already in being.

Her eldest was a boy of ten years old, a fine spirited fellow, who longed to be out in the world, sailing the seas or perchance digging up Egypt (the latter being a strong hint to Lady Bertram to put her in favor of the boy) or seeking treasure in the New World; but what could she do? Was there any chance of his being hereafter useful to Sir Thomas in the concerns of his West Indian property? No situation would be beneath him; or what did Sir Thomas think of Woolwich?

The letter was not unproductive. It re-established peace and kindness. Sir Thomas sent friendly advice and professions, sanguine Lady Bertram dispatched money and baby-linen and Egyptian grave-robbed trifles, and Mrs. Norris wrote the letters.

And within a twelvemonth a more important advantage to Mrs. Price resulted from it. Mrs. Norris often observed to others that she could not get her poor sister and her family out of her head—especially on bright moonlit nights when her head felt rather giddy and almost not her own but, shockingly, one with the field vermin in the countryside—and that, much as they had all done for her, she seemed to be wanting to do more. Finally she admitted her wish that poor Mrs. Price should be relieved from the charge and expense of one of her children.

“What if they were among them to undertake the care of her eldest daughter—a girl now nine years old, of an age to require more attention than her poor mother could possibly give? The trouble and expense of it to them would be nothing, compared with the benevolence of the action.”

Lady Bertram agreed with her instantly. “I think we cannot do better,” said she; “let us send for the child. Is she hale and ruddy-cheeked, do you think? Are her teeth all in? Will she be able to handle papyrus?”

Sir Thomas could not give so instantaneous and unqualified a consent. He debated and hesitated—it was a serious charge. A girl so brought up must be adequately provided for, or there would be cruelty instead of kindness in taking her from her family. He thought of his own four children, of his two sons, of cousins in love, etc.;—but no sooner did he try to object, than Mrs. Norris interrupted him with a near-howl—a matronly cough, surely, the weather was dreadful and the moon close to full—and a reply to all objections, stated or not.

“My dear Sir Thomas, I perfectly comprehend you, and do justice to the generosity and delicacy of your notions. I entirely agree with you as to the propriety of fully providing for a child one had taken into one’s own hands. Having no children of my own, I look to the children of my sisters! Do not let us be frightened from a good deed by a trifle. Give a girl an education, by all means, then send her off to harvest Egypt if it pleases—” (with a look at her sister) “You are thinking of your sons forming a possible tendre for a female cousin—but that is the least likely to happen. They would be brought up like brothers and sisters. It is, in fact, the only sure way of preventing the connexion. Suppose her a pretty girl, and seen by Tom or Edmund for the first time seven years hence—I dare say there would be mischief. The very idea of her having been suffered to grow up at a distance from us all in poverty and neglect, would be enough to make either of the dear, sweet-tempered boys in love with her. But breed her up with them from this time, and suppose her even to have the beauty of an angel, she will never be more to either than a sister.”

“There is a great deal of truth in what you say,” replied Sir Thomas, “I only meant to observe that it ought not to be lightly engaged in. To make it really serviceable to Mrs. Price, and creditable to ourselves, we must secure to the child the provision of a gentlewoman.”

“I thoroughly understand you,” cried Mrs. Norris, “you are everything that is generous and considerate. So, if you are not against it, I will write to my poor sister tomorrow, and make the proposal. And, as soon as matters are settled, I will engage to get the child to Mansfield, with no trouble to you. I will send Nanny to London on purpose, and the child be appointed to meet her there. They may easily get her from Portsmouth to town by the coach, under the care of any creditable person.”

Sir Thomas no longer made any objection, and a more respectable, though less economical rendezvous being substituted, everything was considered as settled. But while Sir Thomas was fully resolved to be the patron of the selected child, Mrs. Norris herself had no intention of being at any expense whatever in her maintenance. As far as talk, she was thoroughly benevolent; verily, nobody knew better how to dictate liberality to others. But her love of money was equal to her love of directing—she saved her own and spent that of her friends.

Having married on a narrower income, Mrs. Norris had fancied a very strict line of economy necessary. And with no children to provide for, she had nothing to impede her frugality. Under this principle, with no real affection for her sister, she could only take credit for arranging so expensive a charity. Though, perhaps, after this conversation, she might walk home to the Parsonage (in the delightful moonlight that simply begged for a full-throated howl) in the happy belief of being the most liberal-minded sister and aunt in the world.

When the subject was brought forward again, her views were more fully explained. In reply to Lady Bertram’s calm inquiry of “Where shall the child come to first, sister, to you or to us?” Sir Thomas heard with some surprise that it would be totally out of Mrs. Norris’s power to take any share in the personal charge of her. He had been considering her as a particularly welcome addition at the Parsonage, as a desirable companion to an aunt who had no children of her own; but he found himself wholly mistaken. Mrs. Norris was sorry to say that the little girl’s staying with them was quite out of the question. Poor Mr. Norris’s indifferent state of health made it an impossibility: he (and his gout) could no more bear the noise of a child than he could fly; poor Mr. Norris took up every moment of her time.

“Then she had better come to us,” said Lady Bertram, with the utmost composure, scraping away with patience and futility—and a poultice of apricot jam—some caked-on sand from a clay tablet once belonging to a servant of Ramses III.

After a short pause Sir Thomas added with dignity, “Yes, let her home be in this house. We will do our duty by her. She will have companions of her own age, her own artifacts, and a regular instructress.”

“Very true,” cried Mrs. Norris, “which are all very important considerations. It will be just the same to Miss Lee whether she has three girls to teach, or only two. I only wish I could be more useful; but you see I do all in my power. I am not one of those that spare their own trouble; and Nanny shall fetch her, however it may put me to inconvenience to have my chief counsellor away for three days. I suppose, sister, you will put the child in the little white attic, near the old nurseries. It will be the best place for her, so near Miss Lee, not far from the girls, and close by the housemaids, who could help to dress her, and take care of her clothes. For I suppose you would not think it fair to expect Ellis to wait on her as well as the others. Indeed, I do not see that you could possibly place her anywhere else.”

Lady Bertram made no opposition. It was indeed a fine excuse to visit the attic more often. The little white attic—oh, if only they knew what treasure reposed just next door—

“I hope she will prove a well-disposed girl,” continued Mrs. Norris, “and be sensible of her uncommon good fortune.”

“Should her disposition be really bad,” said Sir Thomas, “we must not, for our own children’s sake, continue her in the family. But there is no reason to expect so great an evil. We shall probably see much to wish altered in her. We must prepare ourselves for gross ignorance, some meanness of opinions, and very distressing vulgarity of manner. But these are not incurable faults. Nor, I trust, can they be dangerous for her associates. Had my daughters been younger than herself, I should have considered the introduction of such a companion as a matter of very serious moment. But, as it is, I hope there can be nothing to fear for them, and everything to hope for her, from the association.”

“That is exactly what I think,” cried Mrs. Norris, “and what I was saying to my husband this morning. It will be an education for the child. Merely being with her cousins; if Miss Lee taught her nothing, she would learn to be good and clever from them.”

“I hope she will not tease my poor pug,” said Lady Bertram; “I have but just got Julia to leave it alone. She must also be very careful of the Egyptian items of my fine collection, taking great care not to touch or smear with unclean fingers, or, Heaven forbid, drop and break anything so precious and costly.”

“There will be some difficulty in our way, Mrs. Norris,” observed Sir Thomas, thinking in the meantime that an Egyptian thing or two dropped and broken would not be such a bad thing, “as to the distinction proper to be made between the girls as they grow up. How to preserve in the minds of my daughters the consciousness of what they are, without making them think too lowly of their cousin. And how, without depressing her spirits too far, to make her remember that she is not a Miss Bertram. I should wish to see them very good friends, and would not authorise in my girls the smallest degree of arrogance towards their relation. But still they cannot be equals. Their rank, fortune, rights, ability to catalogue entrails extraction tools from Luxor, and expectations will always be different. It is a point of great delicacy, and you must assist us in chusing exactly the right line of conduct.”

Mrs. Norris agreed with him as to its difficulty but encouraged hope that it would be managed.

It will be readily believed that Mrs. Norris did not write to her sister in vain. Mrs. Price seemed rather surprised that a girl should be fixed on, when she had so many fine boys. But she accepted the offer most thankfully, assuring them of her daughter’s being a very gentle, good-humoured girl, and trusting they would never have cause to throw her off. She spoke of her as somewhat delicate and puny, but was hopeful of her being materially better for change of air. Poor woman! she undoubtedly thought change of air might agree with many of her children—unlike what it might do to the vestments of a newly exhumed and exposed to the elements ancient mummy.

Chapter II

The little girl performed her long journey in safety; and at Northampton was met by Mrs. Norris, who immediately sniffed her behind the ears, in an unexpected bit of behavioral oddity, but gladly took credit of being first to welcome her and recommend her to the rest of the family.

Fanny Price was at this time just ten years old, and though there might not be much in her first appearance to captivate, there was, at least, nothing to disgust her relations. She was small for her age, with no glow of complexion, nor any other striking beauty. She was exceedingly timid and shy, and shrinking from notice. But her air, though awkward, was not vulgar, her voice was sweet, and when she spoke her countenance was pretty.

Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram received her very kindly; and Sir Thomas, seeing how much she needed encouragement, tried to be all that was conciliating: but he had to work against a most untoward gravity of deportment. Lady Bertram, without half so much trouble, by the mere aid of a good-humoured smile, became immediately the less awful character of the two.

The young people were all at home, and handled the introduction very well, with much good humour, and no embarrassment, at least on the part of the sons, who, at seventeen and sixteen, and tall of their age, had all the grandeur of men in the eyes of their little cousin. The two girls were more at a loss from being younger and in greater awe of their father, who addressed them on the occasion with rather an injudicious particularity. But they were too much used to company and praise to have anything like natural shyness. Their confidence increased from their cousin’s total lack of it, and they examined her face and frock in easy indifference.

They were a remarkably fine family, the sons very well-looking, the daughters decidedly handsome, as though heirs to an ancient dynasty, and all of them well-grown and forward of their age, which produced as striking a difference between the cousins in person, as education had given to their address. There were but two years between the youngest and Fanny. Julia Bertram was only twelve, and Maria but a year older.

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