21 April, 1831

Mansfield Parsonage

Dear Jamie,

Worse and worse! Today Papa informed us at the dinner table that Mr. Fulke and Lucy would be leaving the country.

“For a visit?” I asked, thinking it was most unexpected.

Papa looked quite forbidding. “For good,” he said.

I could hardly restrain a cry. “Why?” I stammered.

“I have dismissed Mr. Fulke from the church’s service,” Papa said, shockingly.

Mama did not look the least bit surprised, although she did appear sad. Before I could rally my scattered wits, Miss C had to interfere.

“Edmund, really! No need to dismiss the poor boy just because he and Cassandra have let their hearts overcome their good sense. Must you be so heartless?”

That, of course, left me sputtering with outrage.

“This has nothing to do with Cassandra,” Papa said gravely. “It concerns a private matter between Mr. Fulke and myself.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What could have happened so suddenly to make you dismiss him? He is an excellent curate: he visits the elderly and infirm diligently; he cares for the poorer people; he is humble of spirit; he has a godly heart; he is an excellent preacher when he consent to preach …” I could have gone on, but then I saw Her smirking at me in pretended sympathy and I choked up with rage again.

“I do not deny any of that, Cass,” Papa said. “I did not want to dismiss him, you may be sure of that. In many ways he is the best curate I ever had.”

“Then why?”

Papa hesitated. “I loathe unnecessary mystery,” he said finally. “Were it up to me, I would tell all, but Mr. Fulke has asked me to keep silent on this matter, and though I disapprove, I will respect him in this, as I can no longer respect him in …”

“Edmund!” Mama spoke up quickly. She turned to me. “Cass, when your father spoke to Mr. Fulke a few days ago, Mr. Fulke told him something that left your father with no choice but to dismiss him.” She looked at Papa. “I know you are sorely disappointed in Mr. Fulke, Edmund, but I really don’t think you ought to say anything more.”

It is so rare for Mama to chastise anyone, no matter how gentle, that we always heed her words.

“You are right, Fanny,” Papa said. “I cannot speak of Mr. Fulke without letting my anger show, so it is best if I simply do not speak of him at all.”

I flung my napkin down on the table with what Mama would call “unnecessary force.” “What could Mr. Fulke have possibly done that is so dreadful? It can be nothing criminal, or Papa would have had him arrested instead of simply dismissing him.” For a moment I wondered if he had a more sordid secret—a natural daughter back in Scotland, a ruined woman in his past—but I dismissed the notion instantly. Young men often do foolish things, but I refuse to believe that Mr. Fulke could have behaved shabbily by any woman, no matter how long ago in his past.

“I hate all this secrecy,” I continued. “I’ve a good mind to go over and demand Mr. Fulke tell all.”

“You shall not do that, Cass,” Papa said gravely. “I do not want you visiting Mr. Fulke anymore.”

“Papa!” I flinched at his words, knowing how Miss C would misconstrue them. “I do not visit Mr Fulke; I visit Lucy.”

“I do not want you visiting her, either.”

“What?” I could not believe my ears. Whatever Mr. Fulke had done, surely Lucy was innocent. Papa could not truly mean to separate me from my only female friend.

“Furthermore,” Papa continued, “I forbid you to write to her after they leave, as well.”

“Papa!” I looked at Mama for help, and she rose to the occasion.

“Edmund, don’t you think that is slightly harsh? Miss Fulke has done nothing wrong.”

Papa shook his head. “I am sorry, Fanny, and sorry for you, Cassandra, but I cannot take the chance. I do not want you having anything to do with either of the Fulkes.”

“May I at least tell Lucy why I cannot write to her?” I asked helplessly, for I knew Papa would not bend on this. “If you do not want me at their cottage, I can ask her to come here to say farewell, or at least send a note of explanation.”

“I already told Mr. Fulke that you would not be permitted to have contact with either him or his sister.” Papa rose to his feet. “I am sorry, Cass. It is for the best.”

He left the room. I saw Miss C open her mouth, and I suddenly felt I could not bear it if she spoke one word to me. I mumbled an excuse and rushed out into the garden.

Mama followed me in a few minutes.

“Do not think too harshly of your father, Cass darling,” she said gently. “He is only doing what he feels best to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” I asked. “I cannot think Lucy is a danger to me—and I still do not think Mr. Fulke would do anything wrong by me, no matter what his dreadful secret is!”

“It is … complicated,” Mama said. “Mr. Fulke might not intentionally harm you, but … oh dear, I dare not say anymore. As for Miss Fulke, your Papa remembers how,” she glanced around to make sure Miss C was nowhere in earshot, “Mr. Crawford used his sister’s letters to me to try to persuade me to marry him. He knows all too well how a devoted sister, even when she is well-meaning, can be a danger to an innocent mind.”

“I just wish I understood,” I said.

“And I wish I could tell you, but as Papa said, we must honour Mr. Fulke’s wishes in this, even when we disagree with them.”

There being no real reply I could make to this, I said nothing. Mama left me to myself after a bit, and after sulking in the garden a while longer, I finally came up to my room to write to you.

He must have done something dreadful but not criminal in his past. However much I hate to believe it, I can think of no other explanation. I am quite ignorant about Scottish customs. Do they allow duelling there? Perhaps he fought a duel with a man and killed him.

Maybe, in a moment of foolish compassion, he married a woman of ill repute. I could see him doing something stupid and chivalrous like that, if she told him a plausible story and made him feel sorry for her. He would have left her in Scotland, of course, but Papa would still consider it scandalous.

He never ruined anyone. I will not believe it.

I am quite miserable, Jamie. Not only am I losing Lucy, but …

I am not in love with Mr. Fulke. But the thought of never seeing him again makes me thoroughly unhappy.

I would like to slap Miss C. If only she hadn’t started teasing about Mr. Fulke, none of this would have happened! Papa would not have visited him to inquire about his intentions, and Mr. Fulke would not have confessed … whatever it is he confessed.

This has been a miserable, miserable day.

Yours,

Cass.