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eosr-by-muxse · 13 days

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The Two Smallest Engines

May 1930

The Adventure Begins (2015)

Word Count: 3,543

Since the end of the 1920 Locomotive Crisis Loan, the North Western Railway has been struggling to continue operation with its five engines. Sir Bertram Topham Hatt II makes a big decision: purchase a tank engine for the railway.

On a sunny afternoon, Edward, the smallest engine on the North Western, was working in Tidmouth Yard. He was chatting with Emily, who was slightly larger than him. The smallest of the two was waiting to be uncoupled from a train of empty trucks when a grand blue tender engine rolled into the yard with-

"A goods train, a goods train! The shame of it! Oh, the shame of it!" he complained. His voice boomed throughout the yard, reaching the station.

The pair of smaller engines sighed, annoyed. "For guidness sake, it's no yon most shameful thin’ ye're doin, Gordon!" Edward reprimanded as he looked at the express passenger engine. "Ye ken thon we've been havin’ more guids trains every year."

"And why can't James take them? Wasn't he bought for that reason?"

"He wiz," replied Edward, "but traffic has grown more than expectit since, especially durin’ the summer season."

Gordon huffed.

"Oh, get over it!" called out the Stirling Single. "You didn't have a problem with it before. What's so different now?"

"Other engines did most of the goods work," replied Gordon. "You should've been glad that was the case back then."

"How come?" She squinted suspiciously.

"You're very outdated, Emily," he sneered. "Old, weak, and slow. Those large wheels of yours are nothing but an inconvenience to your performance."

Emily gasped, and her face scrunched up in fury. "I-!"

"Wrap it, both o' ye," scolded Edward. He looked at the larger cerulean engine. "Start headin’ tae the station, Gordon. I'll shunt the Express coaches in a moment." He looked over to the GNR green engine. "Emily, yer guids train is ready. Please, jist git tae it."

Emily sighed. She wheeshed, a final blow towards Gordon, before leaving to pick up her goods train.

Gordon huffed, heading to the station to wait for the Express coaches. "Once the new engine arrives, I better not keep pulling them."

Edward froze. "New engine?" he exclaimed, rolling forward. "Whit new engi- Och!" He suddenly jerked back, having not been uncoupled yet. The little tender engine quickly shot an apologetic smile to the workman who had approached him with a shunter's pole.

Once Edward was uncoupled, Gordon continued. "He bought a new engine. Might replace you or one of the others."

His nose twitched. "Excuse me-?"

"Wouldn't be surprised, especially with James when we all found out about his wooden brakes."

"That doesn’t make me useless!" someone exclaimed.

Suddenly, James screeched to a halt into the yard. Gordon and Edward halted as they neared the track the black tender engine rolled on.

"James…" muttered Gordon.

"I'll have you know, my brakes work just fine! My stops are much better than any of yours."

"Oh, but at what cost?" he asked mockingly. "What about that black cloud coming from your brakes the other day?"

The ex-L&YR Class 28 huffed. "I may not be as 'grand' as you," he replied, avoiding the question. "But I'm bigger and stronger than the smaller two," he finished with a prideful smirk directed at the smallest engine.

Edward could only be unamused.

"You may be stronger but you're barely any bigger,” argued Gordon. “Your ego is, though, by a long shot."

James jerked his smokebox door open. Steam blasted out and spread throughout the surrounding area. Fuming and scrunching up his face in fury, he glared and wheeshed steam at Gordon.

"James, could ye please move along?" asked Edward, not wanting to have to separate the pair if needed. He wasn’t sure what happened between them. Five years ago, they got along just fine, minus the minor disagreement. "Gordon, jist go wait at the station. I'll be there with the Express coaches."

"But-" said Gordon.

"Go. Noo,” he repeated sternly.

Just as he expected, both engines grumbled. Once James shut his smokebox door, both larger engines left.

“My brakes work just as good as yours!” He heard James holler at Gordon in vain.

Edward wheeshed the very little steam he could and sighed before he fetched the Express coaches.

…

Days went by as the engines waited for the newcomer but there was no sign or announcement about them. While the others didn't think much about it, Edward would occasionally look around as he worked in the yard, hoping to catch sight of the new engine. Unaware of his crew, Charlie and Sidney were humored by his behavior.

A few weeks later, a tank engine rolled into Tidmouth Yard. He peered around the yard, looking for something, or someone. His new crew let him do his thing, as they were informed by the previous crew that this particular engine liked to get to know his surroundings.

"Tidmouth, Tidmouth, Tidmouth…" he murmured.

Earlier, at the crack of dawn, he asked his crew not to show him the way to his final destination once they reached the Vicarstown Drawbridge. There was no ship available from Southampton Docks to the Island of Sodor, not until August, so he was sent by land. Once the ex-LBSCR E2 reached the bridge, he was bored so he challenged himself.

He was really regretting it now.

Suddenly, a loud shrill rang throughout the yard. The lost newcomer was startled, trembling on his six-driving wheels.

The little tank engine frowned. What a way to welcome some-engine, he thought with a huff.

An engine came from the turn up ahead. "Hey, you!" he exclaimed and laughed.

"Bloody hell, ya bloke!" the little engine exclaimed. "Some manners ya have."

"Alright, sheesh! I didn't mean to frighten you like that."

"Of course, you didn't."

"Well, I didn't!" James exclaimed, in a "matter-of-fact" tone. "You seem lost. Where are you heading?"

Meanwhile, Edward was being uncoupled from a set of giggling Troublesome Trucks, having played with them for a bit, when he overheard them.

"Tidmouth!" A voice, unknown to Edward, exclaimed. "Do ya know where it is?

Edward stilled and stayed quiet, quickly shushing the Troublesome Trucks. Surprisingly, not to him, they listened.

"But you're already in Tidmouth!" chuckled James. "Where are you from?"

"The Southern Railway. All the way down south in Brighton." He eyed James quizzically. "What's up with your eyes? Why are they different colors? Did something happen? Were they like that since ya were built-?"

As the engine continued to ramble on and James fumed, Edward gasped. He whispered excitedly, "Bertram's new engine!" The elder blue tender engine whistled as he backed up slowly. Charlie, his driver, gently pet his outer cab and chuckled along with the fireman, Sidney, seeing the excitement of their cerulean engine.

Once Edward backed up to line up to James and saw the new engine, he was shocked and gasped.

The new engine was tiny. He had no tender, his coal box being right behind the cab on the back of the engine. The little engine had a short stumpy dome, a short stumpy funnel, and six small, blue wheels, but they was as tall as he and James were. A normal tank engine, Edward realized.

His livery was a pale brown, Khaki, Edward figured, with white lining. The letters "SR" and the number 107 with a small B above it were painted white on the side of his tanks. His eyes were dark teal, looking around the yard excitedly as he rambled on.

"...I've heard so many things about Sodor. What's it-" The new engine noticed Edward, who was slightly smaller than James, staring at him. "Hello? Is something the matter?" He scrunched up his face, looking at his round nose. "Do I have soot on my face?"

"Och, whit? Naw, naw… It's jist… ye're… small," said Edward awkwardly, slightly confused and still shocked.

"No, I'm not," huffed the E2, annoyed. "I was one of the larger shunters on the Southern Railway!"

"Oh really?" James teased.

"Well, I was big enough to do my job just fine in Victoria and London.” Maybe too big… “I can do the same here!" the tank engine fumed and he moved along.

"Wait, wait! Thon's no how I meant it!" Edward quickly chuffed backward. "It's jist… ye're very different tae everyane else… I huvnae seen a wee tank engine like ye in years."

The little khaki tank engine huffed again. "I may be a 'wee' tank engine, ‘sir,’ but I'm very hardworking!" he expressed pridefully.

"S-Sir?" Edward exclaimed, startled and flustered as he saw James backing up with boisterous laughter.

“Old…” murmured James.

Edward’s glare was all in vain.

Suddenly, Gordon thundered into the shunting yard. He came to a halt with a whistle and laughed. "And who are you?"

"I'm Thomas," the khaki tank engine puffed pridefully. “Your director named me!”

"The new engine!" Edward emphasized with excitement as James reversed, stopping right next to Edward.

"Oh dear," the grand express engine mourned mockingly. "The Fat Director must've made a terrible mistake. I think he was expecting someone really… useful."

"I am useful," Thomas huffed. He didn't like this grand blue engine. He didn’t feel welcome. So full of himself. So disrespectful when he’d only just arrived!

Edward noticed and felt guilty for Thomas, especially for his own words. He hadn't even introduced himself properly.

Gordon laughed dismissively. "For fetching coaches, perhaps. Oh well. If you stick around long enough, you might be lucky enough to see me pulling the Express,” he boasted before he whistled and departed. "That will be a fine sight for you."

Thomas glared at the Gresley experimental Pacific as he passed by. "Without me, he wouldn't have an Express to pull," he muttered and rolled his eyes. He didn't like him at all.

Edward sighed. "I'm sorry aboot Gordon. I'm afraid he's like thon." He inched forward. "I'm sorry for whit I said earlier. I dinnae mean any offense tae ye. Where were ma manners… I'm Edward."

“And I'm James,” introduced the larger mixed-traffic engine, following Edward.

Another voice spoke from a distance. "Hello there, hello!"

"And there's the Fat-"

"Sir Topham Hatt!" Edward forced a smile as James scoffed at him, muttering “Rude.”

"Hello there!" A short, well-dressed, chubby man exclaimed as he and his assistants approached the newcomer. He was excited to see Thomas once again. "I’m glad you three made it safely. Welcome to the North Western Railway, Thomas," said Sir Topham Hatt II with pride, gesturing to the surrounding area. "Pardon me for the introduction a few days ago. I am Sir Topham Hatt, the director of this fine railway. You will become a great addition to the place. I expect you to do very well as Edward will be mentoring you."

"Of course, sir!" replied Thomas.

"Alright then. Go on with your work! I shall be checking up on your progress now and then for the first week," exclaimed Sir Topham Hatt II. He dismissed the engines before walking away with his two assistants.

Once Sir Topham Hatt II was gone, Edward said, "He's right. The others will be arriving soon."

"Fine, fine," huffed James as he rolled away from the yard, heading to the Main Line.

"Where's he going?" Thomas asked.

"Tae Brendam Docks, I presume," Edward replied. "He diz'nae hae any passenger duties until later."

"Passenger duties?" Thomas flipped his smokebox door open and looked at James. "Isn't he a goods engine?"

"Well, his class was meant for goods trains…" Edward replied and hummed. "Things are different here."

Thomas thought for a moment. "Will I be able to do that?"

Edward hummed. "Maybe. But right noo, ye need tae focus oan whit I need tae teach ye during your trainin."

"And what are we going to start with?"

"Shuntin."

"Shunting? My class was practically built to shunt."

"Well, it diz'nae hurt tae practice, especially in a new railway. No everything is the same as oan the Mainland."

"Really? How come?"

"The Troublesome Trucks ur more tedious and difficult tae deal wit, thon's ane thin'. And the yards ur much smaller here than oan the Mainland, if ye take a quick look around. And this yard is the largest oan Sodor, besides Vicarstown," Edward replied. "Give me a moment, I need tae git the Express coaches ready for Gordon. I'll be back in a bit."

Thomas hummed in response as Edward chuffed away. The steam shunter looked around, examining the yard. It was much smaller than the ones in the Southern Railway. It was slightly smaller than the smallest yard in the Southern Railway.

"How much smaller is the smallest yard here?" he mumbled to himself.

He chuffed around Tidmouth Yard, struggling with the tight turns. Hopefully, Edward and others didn’t take notice. He didn’t need to be reminded of how troublesome his performance was. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t his fault that he performed this way.

As Thomas wandered about, he heard two voices. His eyes followed the sound, eventually landing on two auburn passenger coaches, tucked away neatly in what appeared to be a carriage shed.

"I'm worried about James' brakes, Annie. Honestly, I smell nothing but ash whenever he brakes!" The coach with the name "Clarabel" painted in white on their sides whispered.

Annie, the other coach with her name painted on as well, replied, "So do I, Clarabel! It bothers me so much. I do hope the Fat Director figures something out…"

The two auburn coaches were unaware of the khaki shunter looking at them. From his own experience, coaches could either be sweet with reasonable sternness or absolutely hostile. There was no in-between, just a game of chance when it came to them. He nervously approached them as he felt lonely. "Hello there.”

Annie and Clarabel suddenly went quiet. "Who was that, Annie?" the latter asked.

"It's a new engine! Hello there, little one!"

Thomas huffed. "I'm not little!"

The pair giggled at the newcomer’s fussiness. "What's your name? You must be new around here," said Clarabel.

"I am! My name is Thomas," Thomas replied. "I'm from the Southern Railway."

"Hello, Thomas. I’m Annie," said Annie.

"And I'm Clarabel," Clarabel greeted.

"And we are the Ffarquhar Branch Line’s coaches," they said in unison.

"Figures," said Thomas. “I don’t think two coaches can handle mainline passenger service.”

"Smart, smart!" said Clarabel.

"Indeed," said Annie but froze as she noticed a familiar face through Thomas' front cab window. "Mr. Perkins?"

"Mr. Perkins?" exclaimed Clarabel.

"Mr. Perkins?" asked Thomas, confused.

A soft chuckle came from Thomas' cab. His driver, Gilbert Perkins, popped his head out of the cab. "Hello, you two. It's been a while!"

"Hello, Mr. Perkins!" greeted the auburn coaches.

Thomas was confused. "You know each other?"

"Oh, of course, we do!" exclaimed Annie.

"He was our old engine's driver," giggled Clarabel.

Just then, Edward returned.

"I'm back, Thomas!" Edward exclaimed as he chuffed into the yard. The elder blue tender engine took notice of the scene. "Och, I see ye've met Annie and Clarabel- Mr. Perkins?" he exclaimed.

"Hello there, Edward!" replied Mr. Perkins.

Edward flabbergasted. "Ye-"

"Looks like I’m a permanent driver from now on!" he exclaimed with excitement. “Can’t wait to work with this fella,” he continued, petting Thomas' cab, who laughed at the interaction. “Nice to see you’re doing well, old boy.” With that, Mr. Perkins popped right back into the tank engine’s cab.

"Oh, hello, Edward!" said Clarabel. "You're guiding Thomas, right?"

"Be sure to teach him well, Edward!" Annie exclaimed.

"Please do!" continued Clarabel, before dropping her voice down to a whisper. "And maybe James while you're at it."

"Noo, I dinnae ken aboot thon last ane, but I will try, ma'ams. Noo, git some rest. It will be a while before James comes back," Edward replied, reminding the two auburn coaches.

Annie and Clarabel hummed in reply.

"We shall chat some other time then!" exclaimed Annie.

"Indeed! It was a pleasure meeting you, Thomas," said Clarabel.

"Goodbye, Thomas! Goodbye, Edward!" The two sister coaches exclaimed before getting some shut-eye.

"Goodbye!" the two engines replied. They puffed away as quietly as they could from the carriage shed.

Once they were far away enough, Thomas asked, "So, where do we start?"

"Wit’ the regular freight trucks!" replied Edward.

…

Edward and Thomas spent the rest of the afternoon shunting. Though Thomas grew a bit exhausted, that didn't mean he had no energy to be cheeky.

During the late afternoon, Gordon was resting in the yard. Thomas was beside Edward, resting from the day's work when the little khaki tank engine noticed.

Thomas sneaked up on Gordon on the track next to him as Edward looked at him, confused. He was shocked when Thomas' whistle shrilled throughout the yard.

The loud noise startled Gordon awake as Thomas exclaimed, "Wake up, lazy-bones! Why don't you be as useful as me!" Cheeky laughter tumbled off his tongue as he raced away.

Edward couldn't help but laugh at the little tank engine's cheekiness, following him and leaving behind an annoyed Gordon.

…

Evening approached when Emily pulled into Tidmouth Yard. Thomas noticed her, in awe of her shape. She looked very different from the other engines. "Who's that?" he asked with curiosity as he backed away from a few trucks.

Edward followed suit from the train of empty cars, lining buffer to buffer to Thomas on a different track. "Thon's Emily," he replied. "She's the ane wha pulls the mornin’ Wild Nor' Wester."

“The what?”

“The Express.”

“Really? She-”

The Stirling Single’s whistle shrilled throughout the area, grabbing Edward and the tank engine’s attention. Within minutes, she approached the other two.

"Good evening, Edward! Who is this?" Emily excitedly asked.

"Guid evenin’, Emily! This is Be- the Fat Director’s new engine!" he replied.

"Hello, I'm Thomas!" the E2 greeted.

"Hello! My name is Emily," the ex-GNR Stirling Single replied. "I'm about to head back to the shed. Are you two heading back?"

"In a bit. We jist need tae finish up here," Edward replied.

"Ah, alright then. I'll see you two later," Emily said before lowering her voice. "I just hope the others aren't there already…"

"James and Gordon ur. Henry's no due until much later."

"I was hoping it wasn’t either of those two. Henry's much more bearable…" she grumbled.

"Dinnae worry, Emily. Dinnae mind em."

Thomas spoke up. "What's wrong with James? He seemed nice!”

"James is a bit…" Emily hummed, "...rude."

"But he can be nice, like earlier," Edward pointed out. "It's jist… rare tae see him be like thon…”

"Oh," Thomas said. "So you pull the morning Express?"

"Ah, I see you've heard," Emily replied teasingly. "I used to pull it all the time until Gordon arrived to help. The Other Director was concerned about my age so he bought Gordon from my old railway."

"So Gordon's the Number Three?"

"That would be me!” piped up Emily, gesturing towards her tender. “Henry's number four. Then Gordon's number five. James is number six, and, well…"

"I would be number seven?"

"Yes," replied Edward quickly.

"You really like to ask a lot of questions, don't you?" chuckled Emily.

"I just have to know!" huffed Thomas defensively. The tender engines laughed at his fussiness. "It's a new railway. I don't want to be wandering around like a fool! I want to know what I’m doing!"

"And ye will wit’ time, Thomas! Wit’ time," chuckled Edward, just as Emily yawned.

"Sorry," she quickly piped. "I'm chuffed! I'll see you two back at the shed. Bye!" The apple green single pulled out of the yard, onto the mainline, and headed to Knapford Shed.

"Bye, Emily!" Edward and Thomas said in unison before getting back to work.

…

That night at Knapford Shed, Thomas was now the smallest engine of the North Western Railway. He was exhausted by the time he and Edward pulled up to the Shed. They saw Emily watching James failing to talk to Gordon while a grand green tender engine was fast asleep.

I guess he’s just like that with everyone, Thomas mused as Gordon shot a glare at James, quickly shutting up the black tender engine. Said engine pouted and reversed into his berth, calling it a night.

Knapford Shed was like any normal engine shed. It had a turntable next to it. There were doors to each berth. From what Thomas could see as he approached the turntable, it looked like the structure had sections. The roof seemed to split into three, and each one looked identical. Each section had three berths.

"How did ye like yer first day?" asked Edward as the little khaki tank engine was turned around.

"I enjoyed it!" he exclaimed, catching the attention of the other three tender engines. However, the unknown engine stayed asleep. "I can't wait to start pulling trains and exploring the island!"

A grumble was heard, and the two smallest engines looked to find a disgruntled Gordon.

The Edwardian-styled engine sighed. "Listen, Thomas. Yer dedication is great but ye need tae learn the basics first," said Edward. The guilt of grounding the newcomer's hopes down struck him. "Neither o' us want ye tae get intae trouble because ye dinnae ken ‘em."

"Oh, I'll get them down! It'll be easy!" claimed Thomas.

Edward chuckled but his worry for his mentee persisted. The pair talked for a while longer as the others slept. They giggled and whispered as quietly as they could before sleep finally took over.

What a great first day.

Notes:

Imagine rewriting a rewrite you did, haha-

I wasn't satisfied with the rewrite. It was the one story that kept pestering me so I finally got the chance to sit down and fix it.

I decided to split it up into multiple stories and heavily edited the parts I didn't like. Most of it was down to the dialogue and cutting out parts like Henry's story and the scene with Edward and Gordon.

Another thing that really irked me about my rewrite was Emily. She created more dead space so this is intended to fix that, as well as other continuity errors from James' arrival arc and connotations to IRL basis/facts, such as James' wooden brake blocks and the problems with the LBSCR E2s.

Thank you for reading! Have a wonderful day! <3

#engines of sudrian rails by muxse #engines of sudrian rails (shipverse) by muxse #my writing #ttte thomas #ttte edward #ttte emily #ttte james #ttte gordon #eosr sir bertram topham hatt ii #ttte fic

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cerenemuxse · 7 months

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Cold Iron

December 1962

CW: Deadnaming and using incorrect pronouns (from me for the purpose of storytelling with no ill intention) + Profanity

The story can be found at @eosr-by-muxse for easier access.

Marion’s find turns out to be Glynn, the coffeepot engine who was once responsible for Thomas’ branch line. So when Thomas and Percy show him to James and Emily, James can’t help but wonder how they never found Glynn after all these years. Something’s not right, of that James was certain of.

No one should've been in Knapford Sheds that morning. Everyone should've been working.

Only five of the six engines in the shed had gone to work, leaving one all alone. James was the last of the five to leave the sheds.

About an hour after he left, another engine had come by with the Fat Director in their cab. They crept towards the first berth in the second section of the shed, where Glynn was, whose crew they also had in tow. The cab was quite cramped.

Glynn was a bit of a heavy sleeper so when the engine backed down in the berth and buffered up to him, he didn't awaken. Not even when Mr. Perkins, his driver, coupled him up to the tender engine. Mr. Perkins and the fireman climbed onto Glynn and released the brakes.

And that was when he woke up.

With no effort, the engine towing him left the sheds without wheeshing so much. The Fat Director made sure that the other engines had jobs that wouldn't lead to them coming across Knapford. They were all on the other side of the island or on the only other operating branch line that led down to the docks.

Quickly, the engine was switched to the east tracks of Knapford Junction, going right on the Ffarquhar Branch Line. They trotted down the line as Glynn stayed quiet, enjoying the view of the line one last time.

His time had come.

Passing the ever-growing trees of the surrounding area, the group eventually arrived at the place. It was an abandoned siding covered in an endless number of bushes that had just flourished from the late spring climate, right between Toryreck and Eldridge. The track creaked as the tender engine shunted Glynn into the siding. Before the engine could speak, Glynn stopped them.

"Don't ever blame yourself for this, mate," he whispered. The lukewarm tone of reassurance hit the tender engine with great force as tears welled in their eyes. "My time has come. Thank you for everything."

The sun was beginning to set when two tank engines, Thomas and Percy, rushed into Tidmouth Yards with something in tow. Or rather, someone.

After decades of being believed to have been scrapped, Glynn was found, though in poor condition. His once-shiny red paintwork was cracked and peeling off with huge chunks missing, and he was covered in dust and twigs from funnel to wheel. As quietly as they could, Thomas carefully shunted Glynn into a corner of the yard, unaware of a tender engine having seen the whole thing. As soon as Thomas began to speak, the tender engine rushed away to find the Fat Controller, absolutely terrified.

Once Glynn was hidden away, Thomas and Percy searched around the yard in hopes of finding any of the engines who'd been on the railway before them. Just their luck, James and Emily had pulled into the yard minutes later.

"Emily, James!" hollered the small tank engines as they scuttled towards the tender engines. So much for trying to keep a secret.

"Thomas? Percy?" replied Emily worryingly.

"What's going on?" asked James, equally concerned.

"You'll never guess who we've found!" exclaimed Percy, bubbling with excitement.

"Guess, guess!" followed Thomas.

Both tender engines looked at one another before glancing back at the excited tank engines.

Emily hummed. "Mm, has Gator come back?"

"Nope!" piped up Percy cheerfully.

"Then who?"

"Glynn! We found Glynn!" exclaimed Thomas.

"What?" exclaimed both tender engines very loudly, bellowing huge clouds of steam.

"This isn't funny!" huffed James as his emotions buzzed about. "Glynn was scrapped decades ago!"

"That's what we believed, James!" exclaimed Thomas. "But he was alive all along! Come on, we'll show you!" And with a fweep fweeeep!, Thomas reversed down the track, unable to hold his excitement. "Come on, come on!"

Emily, who had stayed rather quiet, rushed forward, following the blue tank engine, leaving behind a disbelieved James and a confused Percy. The former watched the other two rush away.

"We're not joking around, James," piped up Percy, getting James' full attention, with a serious tone. "Marion found Glynn by accident, but they thought they'd found a talking tree so we went to check it out ourselves."

"Fine. Show me Glynn," replied James sternly and infuriated.

"Are you okay?" Percy asked without any hesitation. He was confused as he had expected James to react rather positively, not the complete opposite.

"Not now, Percy," huffed the snow-covered red tender engine before storming off to follow the others. The little green tank engine quickly scuttled after him, not having shaken off the worrisome feeling he was getting.

When both engines arrived, they found Emily sobbing as none other than Glynn comforted her.

"W-What happened to you?" cried out the Stirling Single. "You've been gone, gone! We thought you'd been scrapped!"

"My deepest apologies, Emily," comforted Glynn, who was also crying. Small tears dripped down his aged cheeks as he let out a soft, tired laugh. "I've simply been here and there on this railway ever since I was withdrawn all those years ago."

"Simply?" repeated Emily as James slowly approached the two. "Glynn, it's been nearly four decades!"

"I know. I know," Glynn replied softly as he peered over to the brightly red-painted tender engine. Even though he was tired as he had no fire running, his eyesight worked well enough. He squinted before he let out a soft chuckle. "James, lad. Is that you?"

"Yes," replied James shakily, huffing out his response. "Yes, it is."

"I see you've taken a liking for red," teased Glynn as he smiled. The wrinkles on his face became more pronounced. "Looks quite smart on you."

And for once, James didn't boast about it, or at least not immediately. He cared less at that moment because now, his old friend was home. Yet he tried to hide his cries. "It does!" he replied letting out a very loud voice crack.

The others let out light chuckles at the red medium-sized tender engine's attempt to hide his emotions. "You'll have to tell me the story about that one soon."

James' chubby cheeks burned with embarrassment. "That's a… bit of a story."

Glynn chuckled. "I'd like to hear it." He let out a yawn, joined by Percy right after. "It is late, however. You all need to get rest. We may have a chat tomorrow. That is if I haven't been found yet."

Percy and Thomas quietly winced, looking at one another, while Emily frowned at them in confusion. "You haven't told him?" she whispered hastily.

"No! Glynn's worried he'll be scrapped if the Fat Controller finds out," replied Thomas.

"He's got to know!" huffed James. "How else is Glynn supposed to stay here?"

"I'm much too old for any of the jobs you all have, James. The Fat Controller will scrap me,” replied Glynn, having accepted his fate long ago. “It’s not a matter of if he’ll scrap me. It’s a matter of when he’ll have me scrapped.

"We have to try at least!" exclaimed the red medium-sized tender engine desperately before taking off.

"James, wait!" exclaimed Thomas as James rushed off. The little tank engines glanced at one another with worry as dread filled the quiet Stirling Single.

After a bit of silence, she spoke. "Glynn, who was the one moving you around?"

"I can't say who but I can say who it wasn't," replied the old coffeepot engine. "It wasn't James, if you're worried about him."

"I wasn't," huffed Emily. "But why can't you tell us?"

"Because they could get in trouble."

…

As quickly as he had left, James was nearly approaching the Fat Controller's office when he heard the voice of the man he was looking for. It came from behind the train of vans to his right.

"Come on, then. To the Ffarquhar Branch Line, chap," whispered the Fat Controller.

Suspicion began to overtake the red tender engine's thoughts as steam wheeshed out in heavy clouds. His crew, who had lost control of James, were startled as they saw his steam pressure rise alarmingly.

"James, please-!" exclaimed Fred.

The sound of a steam engine starting was heard and within seconds, the sound began to drift away. From where he was, James could only see the steam being puffed out from the other steam engine's funnel. Not wanting to get caught after getting an idea, James stayed silent. The steam engine had gone towards the direction James had come from and switched onto the Main Line. As soon as the other engine did, James rushed to the turntable in Tidmouth Sheds, had himself turned around, and chased after them.

…

The sun had fully set by then so the path was dark. Luckily, James had the headlamp on top of his smokebox, so he could travel without his snow-covered snowplow partially blocking the light source. He was a good distance behind the unknown engine as he could barely see the red tail lamp. When they slowed down, James followed suit at the same time, hoping the other engine couldn't hear him.

It seemed to have worked as the other engine didn't say or utter anything. Soon enough, the engine arrived at the siding Glynn had been found at. Slowly and carefully, they were switched to the siding and stopped once they were fully on it.

Without realizing he was holding his steam, James slowly crept towards the engine. His lamp began to shine on the snow closest to the engine when they spoke up.

"He's no' here, sir," spoke the engine. "They've found him."

As soon as words began to slip out of the obscured engine's lips, James fumed. He knew exactly who it was.

"Edward!" he hollered furiously as he rushed forward for his lamp to shine on the engine's tender. Like a deer in headlights, the light revealed the blue tender with the number 2 in its unrecognizable colors of yellow and red. Fury bubbled within James as the words Edward had told him years ago taunted him.

"I'm sorry. I wish I ken. If I did, I wid tell ye."

"Bloody bastard!" exclaimed James as he slowly approached the blue tender engine, ignoring Fred and George’s scolding. "You're supposed to be my friend! You bloody bastard!" he continued as burning hot steam bellowed from his nostrils and the light of his lamp slowly shined across Edward, towards the latter’s front.

Edward hadn’t moved an inch or said a word the moment he was caught. The Fat Controller, however, climbed out of the cab to confront the furious red tender engine, and it seemed to be enough for the engine to crack.

James was outright sobbing. "You lied to me!" he hollered at Edward, purposely ignoring the approaching controller. "And not just me! You lied to everyone!"

There was no response.

"You even lied to Emily."

Edward mumbled something.

"Well-?"

"I'm sorry!" cried out the blue medium-sized tender engine, his voice being silenced by his snowplow. "I'm sorry, I'm sae sorry, James!"

"You're sorry?" James laughed in disbelief. "You're sorry for what? Lying?"

"I'm sorry," Edward repeated, shaking. "I should've said somethin' sooner. I should've-!"

"You very damn well should've!" James yelled back. His tone and volume made Edward tense and frightened. "I asked you about him, and you told me you didn't know! You lied!"

"I had tae!"

"Had to?" fumed the red medium-sized tender engine. "Had to? What? Was your life at stake? Were you being threatened?"

"Naw-!"

"Then what's your shit excuse?"

"That's enough! Both of you!" exclaimed the Fat Controller. "We're heading back to Tidmouth. We'll explain everything, James."

"To everyone?" he spat out. "Or are you both going to wait until the others find out?"

"James-!"

"Answer me!"

"It will be to everyone!" The Fat Controller was becoming frustrated. "I do not like this behavior-."

"Then you shouldn't have lied!"

"James-!"

"No!" he interrupted again. "You told us that he was scrapped. We expected him to be scrapped! But oops! He's actually alive! I may have lied about his livelihood but I still should be respected as if I've done nothing wrong!" cried out James, mocking the Fat Controller.

"James, please!" winced Edward, growing worried about what could happen.

"I'm not keeping my smokebox shut the same way you did!" continued James before letting out a heavy huff, wheeshing steam that was hot enough to melt the surrounding snow. "You know what! I'm not sticking around to hear your bullshit. I've had enough of it." With that, James reversed on the line as the Fat Controller called out for him and Edward remained quiet. As he did so, he spoke again. "Edward, if you're hiding something else, you better tell me or I'm not sticking around you anymore."

The engine didn't respond and James couldn't see Edward's face. However, the sudden bellows of steam was enough of an answer.

"I'm going back to my shed," he muttered, leaving the group behind.

Once James was far away, Edward cried, though still trying to hold it in. His cries were strangled as he huffed and sniffled. His crew and the Fat Controller rushed to the front of the engine. They did what they could to console the elderly engine but he continued to sob. He didn't need this consoling. If anything, he was the last engine who needed it. What about the others? What about his friends? What about them?

…

Once James and his crew arrived at Kildane Sheds, his crew scolded him severely. "What were you thinking? Using such crass language like that?" scolded Fred. "If you wanted to get yourself shut up in the shed, then you've done yourself the favor."

"I can't believe you're defending him!" exclaimed James as water in his boiler bubbled furiously.

"We are not!" shot back his driver, taking off his hat and ruffling his hair roughly. "We get that you're upset, but that wasn't the proper way to respond!"

"Ooo, you sound just like Duck!"

"James!"

"You can go now!" he sneered. "I'd prefer to be alone before the others get here."

"But you're by yourself for tonight," retorted George calmly.

"E-Exactly!" sputtered James, having slightly forgotten.

George let out a sigh as Fred simply left to go home. As his fireman climbed out of his cab once James' firebox was cleared out, he taunted lightly, "Talk about being a close friend."

That struck a tube for James. "What are you talking about?"

"I get you're upset with Edward, old chap," continued George, ignoring the sudden audible fuming from his engine as he walked toward the front. "But don't you think you might've taken it a little too far?"

"Nonsense! Close friends don't lie to each other!"

"Mm, true. But do you even know why he lied?"

"I don't need to," huffed James. "I wasn't even on this railway for a month, yet he was already lying to me."

"Right," replied his fireman, still speaking in a calm tone. By then, he was standing in front of James. "But still, don't you think you took it too far with your threat?"

James' eyebrows furrowed. His eyes fidgeted around as he tried to process what his fireman said. "...My threat?"

"Yes, your threat," scolded his fireman. "They were in the wrong, yes, but so are you. You told Edward to tell you a secret he's hiding or you're not friends with him anymore. That is a threat, James."

"I'm not going to use it against him! That's just low."

"This isn't about blackmail, James. This is about respect. You have your own secrets, don't you?"

The red medium-sized tender engine hummed in annoyance, which only revealed that he, too, was just as guilty.

"There's a reason why people, or engines in your case, keep certain things as secrets, but it's usually out of the same one."

"And what is that?"

"Fear."

"But…" Guilt began to creep within his boiler. "What was Edward so afraid of?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

"Not after I yelled at him!" he exclaimed with fear written all over his face.

"I don't mean now!" reassured his fireman. "Whenever you both are ready to talk."

"Edward will never be," mumbled the red medium-sized tender engine, squeezing his eyes shut. "I yelled at him and just left him behind in the dark. I threatened him with no longer being friends. I even called him crass things."

"Then figure it out. Just know that it can’t continue to be like this."

"I know," replied James.

With that, George walked out of the shed. As he shut the doors to James' berth, he called out, "Good night, James."

"Good night, mister."

…

"...and ever since then, I've been movin' him around."

It was very late into the cold December evening at Tidmouth Yards, just outside the roundhouse. Eyes of purple, brown, and green watched the warm-brass-eyed tender engine carefully as the story came to an end. Said engine looked down, acknowledging his fault and giving his sincere apology. He didn't care if they forgave him and accepted his apology.

That hadn't gone so well with James.

And as expected, Emily spoke up first. "I can't believe it," she sniffled. "You knew this the whole time and never bothered to tell us."

"Out of all the engines," groaned Gordon. "Out of all the engines, Edward, this is beneath you."

"I can't imagine how James reacted," hummed Henry, a bit worried for the red engine.

"There's a reason why he's no' here," replied Edward, slowly looking up at the other three engines. "I wish I could've told ye three sooner. I'm sae sorry."

"Well, if you want forgiveness, you're not getting any," retorted Gordon, whose demeanor was the complete opposite of what he showed outside. If anything, he was ready to burst. "I've had quite enough for today." Slowly, Gordon backed down and headed to the roundhouse.

Henry looked solemnly at Edward. "I'm going," he bluntly said before heading off in the same direction. That left Emily and Edward.

"So how did Jimmy react?" Emily asked.

"Terribly."

"What did he say?"

"What I deservit," replied Edward as he let out a sigh. "Emily, I need tae talk tae ye and James. Privately. Withoot yer crew around."

Emily perked up. "What for?"

"I'll tell ye when we get James." His voice was shaken. "Please. I need tae talk tae ye both."

…

At Kildane Sheds, James was deep in his sleep when two engines backed into the berths next to him, Edward being the closest.

"James!" Emily exclaimed hastily as their crews dropped their fires. "Jimmy, wake up!"

The red medium-sized tender engine groaned as he woke up. With a quick shake, his eyes fluttered open and he opened his smokebox. He would've said something if seeing Edward hadn't kept his mouth shut.

"James, I need tae talk tae ye both," said Edward.

"Don't," replied James. "Forget what I said earlier. I shouldn't have threatened you like that."

"I'm no’ tellin’ ye because o’ thon, James," said Edward sternly. The tone of urgency was there, and James could sense it, much to the other two's relief. "I'm tellin’ ye this because I want tae."

Heterochromatic eyes glanced between warm brass eyes and purple eyes. Once the crews had left, he replied with hesitation, "Okay. Shoot. Whiff and Scruff are working overnight.”

Panic rose within Edward. He was really about to do this, and he couldn't go back.

"Dae either o’ ye ken an engine namit Goldilocks?" he asked.

James froze as the name rang around in his smokebox. "W-What class are they?" he asked, shaken.

"You mean that Larger Seagull from the Furness Railway?" asked Emily.

"Aye, her," replied Edward.

James' eyes frantically looked around. His old friend. One of the seven Furness Railway 21s he was friends with, that he was shedmates with.

What did Goldi have to do with Edward?

"I've always known where I've come frae and whit class I am," continued Edward. His breath was shaking. "Or ance wis."

"But what does Goldilocks have to do with that?" asked Emily, confused.

Edward let out a soft laughter, one of a broken heart. "Goldilocks wis ane o’ ma seven baby sisters," he replied. "I'm the auldest o’ yon Furness Railway 21s." He looked over at James. "I wis ance known as Alice. Dae ye remember me, Nine-Twenty?"

And everything came full force.

It was the middle of a sunny, spring day as Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway's Number 920 traveled towards a junction with a goods train. Everything was going well that day. He arrived on time with all of his trains and he would continue to do so if he kept his current momentum consistent throughout the day. Nothing but a simple day on the line.

But when the junction came into view, something went wrong. His signal was green, so he had the right of way.

Not the loaned Furness Railway engine heading straight towards him.

The poor Class 28 cried out as he pulled on his brakes. The Larger Seagull followed suit but the weight of the passenger express coaches pushed against the Deep-Indian-red engine. Both engines drew closer and closer to one another, the same way the inevitable crash would.

But the crash never happened.

Just their luck, the signalman maneuvered quick enough to change the points, diverting both to opposite lines. 920 was sent to a siding while the Larger Seagull was switched to another track, continuing her trip.

As the day went on, 920 was never explained the cause so he assumed that the Larger Seagull was at fault. "Alice is truly her class' namesake!" he vented to his older sister, 743. He had just learned the Larger Seagull's name. Unbeknownst to him, Alice’s eyesight was not to blame. Her signal had been broken and the message alerting her hadn’t been sent in time. Said engine had been distressed for the rest of her stay as soon as word got out of the incident. Her reputation had only worsened, and so did her hostile behavior.

"It was you," whispered James. "You're that Larger Seagull that came over to the L n' YR."

"And the one who came over to help build the North Western," continued Emily. She observed her close friend. "What happened?"

Edward looked down, squeezing his eyes shut. It was enough for James and Emily to not push any further. "No’ taeday. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," reassured Emily. "You can tell us when you're ready."

"Thank ye. Both o’ ye," he whispered. "Please, dinnae tell anyone. Naw ane else can ken."

"Have you told someone else?" asked James.

“Aye. I’ve told Thomas but that wis… ten years ago. Be- The Fat Controller, I mean!" he quickly corrected himself. The slight burn of his cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by either engine. After all these years, the elderly blue engine still saw the Fat Controller as a close friend, not just as his owner. "Then there’s Glynn and a few others."

Emily couldn’t shake the question away. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

“It’s because o’ Sir Louis.”

“The Other Fat Controller?”

“Aye. Sir Louis threatenit tae scrap me and the other original North Westerners if anyane caught wind o’ whit happenit. I knen he’s long gone but I jist- Jist dinnae tell anyane else. If British Railways finds oot, it's over and we can all kiss thon partial independence guidbye.”

“And what about Glynn?” asked James.

“It had everythin’ tae dae wit’ money,” Edward replied. “Glynn broke down but the railway could’nae afford the repairs sae he wis withdrawn until they could. We’ve kept it a secret since then because we didnae wantit to bring yer hopes up. Glynn’s repairs never happenit, sae the board wanit him tae be scrappit. However, the Fat Controller wis determinit tae keep him sae he liet tae the board. James, when ye were bought around the time Glynn broke down, the railway wis already at a terrible financial point. Why dae ye think we were being rushit oan our wheels around thon time?”

“So it was because of me?”

“Naw, naw!” reassured Edward, recalling James’ now-long-gone fear. “It wis because o’ the Nineteen-Twenty Locomotive Loans when yer sister and Goldilocks came over wit’ those other Mainlanders. Those loans made everythin’ worse. Honestly, I dinnae ken whit Sir Louis wis thinkin’ around thon time.” He looked over at Emily. “He bought ye, Emily, in nineteen-nineteen, yet ye didnae enter service until nineteen-twenty-ane. Then he bought Henry in nineteen-twenty-two but we… all ken how thon went. Instead o’ cooperatin’ wit’ the police, he kept those engines for the first year the Amalgamation took effect until he got Gordon in March of thon year. After nineteen-twenty-three, he let thaim go. He didnae keep any o’ thaim like we thought he would.”

“Jasmine wasn’t kidding when she said it was bad.”

“It was terrible,” piped up Emily. “Sir Louis was… some man.”

“You’re being a little too nice about him,” James noted, only for Emily and Edward to laugh. “What? It’s true! You both know that.”

“Only ye would think thon,” teased the blue medium-sized tender engine.

James huffed playfully until his expression fell slightly. With a heavy sigh, he looked over at Edward. “Edward, I… I’m sorry for the way I reacted earlier.”

“Dinnae worry aboot it-”

“No, listen. I don’t know how you didn’t break then and there, but I’m sorry. It didn’t matter what you did. I still shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m surprised you wanted to talk to me that soon.”

Edward mentally hissed but he kept quiet. James didn’t need to feel any more guilty for making him upset. It wasn’t important, but Emily thought otherwise. “He did break apart,” she bluntly said.

“Emily-!” whispered Edward hastily.

“No, hush! You can’t keep hiding this kind of thing over and over again, Edward.”

“It’s no’ important-!” he said hastily, avoiding the look James was giving him by looking straight forward into the snowy evening.

“Important, my firebox!” she scolded with good intention. “You came into the yards shaking with black stains on your face and snowplow before you broke down again.”

“I-!”

CRUNCH-SCREECH!

The sound would’ve been terrifying if neither engine had been aware of what happened.

The red medium-sized tender engine had shifted his weight on his chassis, which allowed him to lean onto Edward. The horrible sound of metal being crushed and scratched had been James’s handrails scratching against the blue medium-sized tender engine’s boiler. By then, their boilers had cooled down, thanks to the cold December weather. The feeling, however, was anything but cold iron. Edward was stunned as tears welled in his eyes, only for Emily to follow James right after.

“We’re still friends, right?” muttered James.

“O’ course, we ur,” replied Edward, letting out soft cries and his tears. The other two engines let their watery eyes cry at the same time. The cold air wasn’t enough to beat the tears as stains of coal dust mixed with the water were left behind on their faces.

…

The following morning, the three engines were awakened with exciting news: Glynn would be restored and preserved at Ulfstead Castle, alongside Stephen and Millie. Sir Topham Hatt II had been more than happy to allow his engines to visit the coffeepot engine as soon as Glynn began work at the estate. While the North Westerners were joyfully celebrating Glynn’s arrival to the Earl’s estate, another engine wasn’t too keen.

#my writing #ttte edward #ttte james #ttte emily #ttte glynn #ttte thomas #ttte percy #engines of sudrian rails by muxse #engines of sudrian rails (shipverse) by muxse #ttte henry #ttte gordon #eosr sir bertram topham hatt II #eosr sir louis topham hatt I #ttte fic

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janefrigginausten · 4 months

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There is nothing like employment, active indispensable employment, for relieving sorrow.

— Jane Austen, Mansfield Park

#sir thomas Bertram #jane austen characters #Jane Austen quotes #jane austen #books #mansfield park quote #mansfield park #mansfield park quotes #sir thomas #quotes #education quotes

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bethanydelleman · 6 months

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Now that I think about it you are the perfect person to explain Mariah to me from Mansfield Park and I'm not looking to like her per se but I never understood why she insisted on getting married ridiculously fast. Like I know women needed to get married but why such a horrible choice? Was she getting too old?

Hello! Thank you for calling me perfect. Here are the relevant quotes:

Being now in her twenty-first year, Maria Bertram was beginning to think matrimony a duty; and as a marriage with Mr. Rushworth would give her the enjoyment of a larger income than her father’s, as well as ensure her the house in town, which was now a prime object, it became, by the same rule of moral obligation, her evident duty to marry Mr. Rushworth if she could. (Ch 4)

Henry Crawford had destroyed her happiness, but he should not know that he had done it; he should not destroy her credit, her appearance, her prosperity, too. He should not have to think of her as pining in the retirement of Mansfield for him, rejecting Sotherton and London, independence and splendour, for his sake. Independence was more needful than ever; the want of it at Mansfield more sensibly felt. She was less and less able to endure the restraint which her father imposed. The liberty which his absence had given was now become absolutely necessary. She must escape from him and Mansfield as soon as possible, and find consolation in fortune and consequence, bustle and the world, for a wounded spirit. Her mind was quite determined, and varied not..... In all the important preparations of the mind she was complete: being prepared for matrimony by an hatred of home, restraint, and tranquillity; by the misery of disappointed affection, and contempt of the man she was to marry. (Ch 21)

Maria is not too old, she's only 21 and the average age of first marriage in her era was 23.4 for women (Women's History of Britian, 2005). She has several reasons to want to marry, none of them particularly good: wealth, freedom, and hatred of home (also sticking it to Henry Crawford). Her motivations can be understood is we look at the two major influences in her life, Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris.

Sir Thomas is a strict father who has allowed the indolence of his wife to deprive his daughters of an opportunity to mix much in society. Maria and Julia both really want to spend time in London and have fun. Maria sees marriage as the only way out, especially after having tasted freedom while her father was away. When Henry is no longer a prospect, she clings to Rushworth as her escape route.

Mrs. Norris is obsessed with money and married below the income she wanted. Her principles have been taught to her favourite niece, so Maria accepts that marrying for money is a duty. Maria has been taught, just like Mary Crawford, to disregard feelings in favour of wealth (a good income is the best recipe for happiness). Unfortunately (for her), Maria was never Mrs. Norris and her passions overcome her mercenary education in the end. The "moral obligation" is sarcastic, it reveals how messed up Maria's sense of morality has become.

Lastly, disappointed in Henry Crawford, Maria marries to prove that he hasn't ruined her life. What Maria should have learned from the Henry flirtation is that she is a passionate woman who yearns for love, but she never took that lesson.

Also, I wrote an imaginary conversation between Maria and Mrs. Norris, expanding on these points. I posted it to AO3 for you:

#question response #maria bertram #sir thomas #mrs. norris #henry crawford #mansfield park #why maria wanted to marry so badly #maria is not a good person but it was tragic that she was led astray by people who claimed to love her

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sandgambler · 6 months

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Wrote a (late) Halloween story (it’s 4 chapters and they’re all uploaded) with Sir Handel being haunted! It’s does get really really dark so heed the tags and here’s some art work I did for it

#ttte humanized #ttte fandom #ttte human au #thomas and friends #thomas the tank engine #ttte sir handel #ttte skarloey #ttte peter sam #ttte rheneas #ttte rusty #Ttte smudger #ttte bertram #ttte ghost engine #ttte proteus #ttte fanfic #ttte duke #ttte narrow gauge engines

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kittyyhanice26 · 10 days

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Thomas & Friends

The Narrow Gauge Engines

#thomas and friends #thomas the tank engine #drawing fanart #drawing #fanart #ttte skarloey #ttte rheneas #ttte sir handel #ttte peter sam #ttte rusty #ttte duncan #ttte duke #ttte smudger #ttte bertram #ttte mighty mac #ttte proteus #ttte freddie

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whenthesunshinesonanewhope · 1 year

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FINALLY. IT HAS BEEN DONE.

Hello, hello, my dear friends! This is your hostess, Miss Kani, and I have a big surprise before the New Year arrives!

Welcome, Skarloey Mansion, to When the Sun Shines on a New Hope! I am happy to announce that this is the last major batch of characters that will be announced for this human AU, which means that the ask boxes for the Tidmouth Family, Little Western Apartment Complex, and the Skarloey Mansion are officially open! Some characters may be made in the future , so keep an eye out!

With that, I can safely say that all the character bios for everyone in this human AU are officially updated! So, feel free to look through all of the character bios thus far and ask any of the characters for this human AU anything! Or if you have any questions relating to events in this human AU, feel free to drop by!

This is Miss Kani, and I’ll see you all in 2023 with more to come for When the Sun Shines on a New Hope!

Though… I cannot deny that something seems a bit… off…

In due time, secrets will be unveiled…

#thomas the tank engine #ttte #ttte humanized #ttte human au #ttte when the sun rises on a new hope #ttte au #the sun over the lake and waterfall #ttte skarloey #ttte rheneas #ttte sir handel #ttte peter sam #ttte rusty #ttte duncan #ttte duke #ttte luke #ttte millie #ttte victor #ttte bertram #ttte proteus

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thelonelynightwatcher · 1 year

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"In the evening it was found, according to the predetermination of Mrs. Grant and her sister, that after making up the whist-table there would remain sufficient for a round game, and everybody being as perfectly complying and without a choice as on such occasions they always are, speculation was decided on almost as soon as whist; and Lady Bertram soon found herself in the critical situation of being applied to for her own choice between the games, and being required either to draw a card for whist or not. She hesitated. Luckily Sir Thomas was at hand.

“What shall I do, Sir Thomas? Whist and speculation; which will amuse me most?”

Sir Thomas, after a moment’s thought, recommended speculation. He was a whist player himself, and perhaps might feel that it would not much amuse him to have her for a partner.

“Very well,” was her ladyship’s contented answer; “then speculation, if you please, Mrs. Grant. I know nothing about it, but Fanny must teach me.”

Here Fanny interposed, however, with anxious protestations of her own equal ignorance; she had never played the game nor seen it played in her life; and Lady Bertram felt a moment’s indecision again; but upon everybody’s assuring her that nothing could be so easy, that it was the easiest game on the cards, and Henry Crawford’s stepping forward with a most earnest request to be allowed to sit between her ladyship and Miss Price, and teach them both, it was so settled; and Sir Thomas, Mrs. Norris, and Dr. and Mrs. Grant being seated at the table of prime intellectual state and dignity, the remaining six, under Miss Crawford’s direction, were arranged round the other. It was a fine arrangement for Henry Crawford, who was close to Fanny, and with his hands full of business, having two persons’ cards to manage as well as his own; for though it was impossible for Fanny not to feel herself mistress of the rules of the game in three minutes, he had yet to inspirit her play, sharpen her avarice, and harden her heart, which, especially in any competition with William, was a work of some difficulty; and as for Lady Bertram, he must continue in charge of all her fame and fortune through the whole evening; and if quick enough to keep her from looking at her cards when the deal began, must direct her in whatever was to be done with them to the end of it.

He was in high spirits, doing everything with happy ease, and preeminent in all the lively turns, quick resources, and playful impudence that could do honour to the game; and the round table was altogether a very comfortable contrast to the steady sobriety and orderly silence of the other.

Twice had Sir Thomas inquired into the enjoyment and success of his lady, but in vain; no pause was long enough for the time his measured manner needed; and very little of her state could be known till Mrs. Grant was able, at the end of the first rubber, to go to her and pay her compliments.

“I hope your ladyship is pleased with the game.”

“Oh dear, yes! very entertaining indeed. A very odd game. I do not know what it is all about. I am never to see my cards; and Mr. Crawford does all the rest.”

“Bertram,” said Crawford, some time afterwards, taking the opportunity of a little languor in the game, “I have never told you what happened to me yesterday in my ride home.” They had been hunting together, and were in the midst of a good run, and at some distance from Mansfield, when his horse being found to have flung a shoe, Henry Crawford had been obliged to give up, and make the best of his way back. “I told you I lost my way after passing that old farmhouse with the yew-trees, because I can never bear to ask; but I have not told you that, with my usual luck—for I never do wrong without gaining by it—I found myself in due time in the very place which I had a curiosity to see. I was suddenly, upon turning the corner of a steepish downy field, in the midst of a retired little village between gently rising hills; a small stream before me to be forded, a church standing on a sort of knoll to my right—which church was strikingly large and handsome for the place, and not a gentleman or half a gentleman’s house to be seen excepting one—to be presumed the Parsonage—within a stone’s throw of the said knoll and church. I found myself, in short, in Thornton Lacey.”

“It sounds like it,” said Edmund; “but which way did you turn after passing Sewell’s farm?”

“I answer no such irrelevant and insidious questions; though were I to answer all that you could put in the course of an hour, you would never be able to prove that it was not Thornton Lacey—for such it certainly was.”

“You inquired, then?”

“No, I never inquire. But I told a man mending a hedge that it was Thornton Lacey, and he agreed to it.”

“You have a good memory. I had forgotten having ever told you half so much of the place.”

Thornton Lacey was the name of his impending living, as Miss Crawford well knew; and her interest in a negotiation for William Price’s knave increased.

“Well,” continued Edmund, “and how did you like what you saw?”

“Very much indeed. You are a lucky fellow. There will be work for five summers at least before the place is liveable.”

“No, no, not so bad as that. The farmyard must be moved, I grant you; but I am not aware of anything else. The house is by no means bad, and when the yard is removed, there may be a very tolerable approach to it.”

“The farmyard must be cleared away entirely, and planted up to shut out the blacksmith’s shop. The house must be turned to front the east instead of the north—the entrance and principal rooms, I mean, must be on that side, where the view is really very pretty; I am sure it may be done. And there must be your approach, through what is at present the garden. You must make a new garden at what is now the back of the house; which will be giving it the best aspect in the world, sloping to the south-east. The ground seems precisely formed for it. I rode fifty yards up the lane, between the church and the house, in order to look about me; and saw how it might all be. Nothing can be easier. The meadows beyond what will be the garden, as well as what now is, sweeping round from the lane I stood in to the north-east, that is, to the principal road through the village, must be all laid together, of course; very pretty meadows they are, finely sprinkled with timber. They belong to the living, I suppose; if not, you must purchase them. Then the stream—something must be done with the stream; but I could not quite determine what. I had two or three ideas.”

“And I have two or three ideas also,” said Edmund, “and one of them is, that very little of your plan for Thornton Lacey will ever be put in practice. I must be satisfied with rather less ornament and beauty. I think the house and premises may be made comfortable, and given the air of a gentleman’s residence, without any very heavy expense, and that must suffice me; and, I hope, may suffice all who care about me.”

Miss Crawford, a little suspicious and resentful of a certain tone of voice, and a certain half-look attending the last expression of his hope, made a hasty finish of her dealings with William Price; and securing his knave at an exorbitant rate, exclaimed, “There, I will stake my last like a woman of spirit. No cold prudence for me. I am not born to sit still and do nothing. If I lose the game, it shall not be from not striving for it.”

The game was hers, and only did not pay her for what she had given to secure it. Another deal proceeded, and Crawford began again about Thornton Lacey.

“My plan may not be the best possible: I had not many minutes to form it in; but you must do a good deal. The place deserves it, and you will find yourself not satisfied with much less than it is capable of. (Excuse me, your ladyship must not see your cards. There, let them lie just before you.) The place deserves it, Bertram. You talk of giving it the air of a gentleman’s residence. That will be done by the removal of the farmyard; for, independent of that terrible nuisance, I never saw a house of the kind which had in itself so much the air of a gentleman’s residence, so much the look of a something above a mere parsonage-house—above the expenditure of a few hundreds a year. It is not a scrambling collection of low single rooms, with as many roofs as windows; it is not cramped into the vulgar compactness of a square farmhouse: it is a solid, roomy, mansion-like looking house, such as one might suppose a respectable old country family had lived in from generation to generation, through two centuries at least, and were now spending from two to three thousand a year in.” Miss Crawford listened, and Edmund agreed to this. “The air of a gentleman’s residence, therefore, you cannot but give it, if you do anything. But it is capable of much more. (Let me see, Mary; Lady Bertram bids a dozen for that queen; no, no, a dozen is more than it is worth. Lady Bertram does not bid a dozen. She will have nothing to say to it. Go on, go on.) By some such improvements as I have suggested (I do not really require you to proceed upon my plan, though, by the bye, I doubt anybody’s striking out a better) you may give it a higher character. You may raise it into a place. From being the mere gentleman’s residence, it becomes, by judicious improvement, the residence of a man of education, taste, modern manners, good connexions. All this may be stamped on it; and that house receive such an air as to make its owner be set down as the great landholder of the parish by every creature travelling the road; especially as there is no real squire’s house to dispute the point—a circumstance, between ourselves, to enhance the value of such a situation in point of privilege and independence beyond all calculation. You think with me, I hope” (turning with a softened voice to Fanny). “Have you ever seen the place?”

Fanny gave a quick negative, and tried to hide her interest in the subject by an eager attention to her brother, who was driving as hard a bargain, and imposing on her as much as he could; but Crawford pursued with “No, no, you must not part with the queen. You have bought her too dearly, and your brother does not offer half her value. No, no, sir, hands off, hands off. Your sister does not part with the queen. She is quite determined. The game will be yours,” turning to her again; “it will certainly be yours.”

“And Fanny had much rather it were William’s,” said Edmund, smiling at her. “Poor Fanny! not allowed to cheat herself as she wishes!”

“Mr. Bertram,” said Miss Crawford, a few minutes afterwards, “you know Henry to be such a capital improver, that you cannot possibly engage in anything of the sort at Thornton Lacey without accepting his help. Only think how useful he was at Sotherton! Only think what grand things were produced there by our all going with him one hot day in August to drive about the grounds, and see his genius take fire. There we went, and there we came home again; and what was done there is not to be told!”

Fanny’s eyes were turned on Crawford for a moment with an expression more than grave—even reproachful; but on catching his, were instantly withdrawn. With something of consciousness he shook his head at his sister, and laughingly replied, “I cannot say there was much done at Sotherton; but it was a hot day, and we were all walking after each other, and bewildered.” As soon as a general buzz gave him shelter, he added, in a low voice, directed solely at Fanny, “I should be sorry to have my powers of planning judged of by the day at Sotherton. I see things very differently now. Do not think of me as I appeared then.”

Sotherton was a word to catch Mrs. Norris, and being just then in the happy leisure which followed securing the odd trick by Sir Thomas’s capital play and her own against Dr. and Mrs. Grant’s great hands, she called out, in high good-humour, “Sotherton! Yes, that is a place, indeed, and we had a charming day there. William, you are quite out of luck; but the next time you come, I hope dear Mr. and Mrs. Rushworth will be at home, and I am sure I can answer for your being kindly received by both. Your cousins are not of a sort to forget their relations, and Mr. Rushworth is a most amiable man. They are at Brighton now, you know; in one of the best houses there, as Mr. Rushworth’s fine fortune gives them a right to be. I do not exactly know the distance, but when you get back to Portsmouth, if it is not very far off, you ought to go over and pay your respects to them; and I could send a little parcel by you that I want to get conveyed to your cousins.”

“I should be very happy, aunt; but Brighton is almost by Beachey Head; and if I could get so far, I could not expect to be welcome in such a smart place as that—poor scrubby midshipman as I am.”

Mrs. Norris was beginning an eager assurance of the affability he might depend on, when she was stopped by Sir Thomas’s saying with authority, “I do not advise your going to Brighton, William, as I trust you may soon have more convenient opportunities of meeting; but my daughters would be happy to see their cousins anywhere; and you will find Mr. Rushworth most sincerely disposed to regard all the connexions of our family as his own.”

“I would rather find him private secretary to the First Lord than anything else,” was William’s only answer, in an undervoice, not meant to reach far, and the subject dropped.

As yet Sir Thomas had seen nothing to remark in Mr. Crawford’s behaviour; but when the whist-table broke up at the end of the second rubber, and leaving Dr. Grant and Mrs. Norris to dispute over their last play, he became a looker-on at the other, he found his niece the object of attentions, or rather of professions, of a somewhat pointed character.

Henry Crawford was in the first glow of another scheme about Thornton Lacey; and not being able to catch Edmund’s ear, was detailing it to his fair neighbour with a look of considerable earnestness. His scheme was to rent the house himself the following winter, that he might have a home of his own in that neighbourhood; and it was not merely for the use of it in the hunting-season (as he was then telling her), though that consideration had certainly some weight, feeling as he did that, in spite of all Dr. Grant’s very great kindness, it was impossible for him and his horses to be accommodated where they now were without material inconvenience; but his attachment to that neighbourhood did not depend upon one amusement or one season of the year: he had set his heart upon having a something there that he could come to at any time, a little homestall at his command, where all the holidays of his year might be spent, and he might find himself continuing, improving, and perfecting that friendship and intimacy with the Mansfield Park family which was increasing in value to him every day. Sir Thomas heard and was not offended. There was no want of respect in the young man’s address; and Fanny’s reception of it was so proper and modest, so calm and uninviting, that he had nothing to censure in her. She said little, assented only here and there, and betrayed no inclination either of appropriating any part of the compliment to herself, or of strengthening his views in favour of Northamptonshire. Finding by whom he was observed, Henry Crawford addressed himself on the same subject to Sir Thomas, in a more everyday tone, but still with feeling.

“I want to be your neighbour, Sir Thomas, as you have, perhaps, heard me telling Miss Price. May I hope for your acquiescence, and for your not influencing your son against such a tenant?”

Sir Thomas, politely bowing, replied, “It is the only way, sir, in which I could not wish you established as a permanent neighbour; but I hope, and believe, that Edmund will occupy his own house at Thornton Lacey. Edmund, am I saying too much?”

Edmund, on this appeal, had first to hear what was going on; but, on understanding the question, was at no loss for an answer.

“Certainly, sir, I have no idea but of residence. But, Crawford, though I refuse you as a tenant, come to me as a friend. Consider the house as half your own every winter, and we will add to the stables on your own improved plan, and with all the improvements of your improved plan that may occur to you this spring.”

“We shall be the losers,” continued Sir Thomas. “His going, though only eight miles, will be an unwelcome contraction of our family circle; but I should have been deeply mortified if any son of mine could reconcile himself to doing less. It is perfectly natural that you should not have thought much on the subject, Mr. Crawford. But a parish has wants and claims which can be known only by a clergyman constantly resident, and which no proxy can be capable of satisfying to the same extent. Edmund might, in the common phrase, do the duty of Thornton, that is, he might read prayers and preach, without giving up Mansfield Park: he might ride over every Sunday, to a house nominally inhabited, and go through divine service; he might be the clergyman of Thornton Lacey every seventh day, for three or four hours, if that would content him. But it will not. He knows that human nature needs more lessons than a weekly sermon can convey; and that if he does not live among his parishioners, and prove himself, by constant attention, their well-wisher and friend, he does very little either for their good or his own.”

Mr. Crawford bowed his acquiescence.

“I repeat again,” added Sir Thomas, “that Thornton Lacey is the only house in the neighbourhood in which I should not be happy to wait on Mr. Crawford as occupier.”

Mr. Crawford bowed his thanks.

“Sir Thomas,” said Edmund, “undoubtedly understands the duty of a parish priest. We must hope his son may prove that he knows it too.”

Whatever effect Sir Thomas’s little harangue might really produce on Mr. Crawford, it raised some awkward sensations in two of the others, two of his most attentive listeners—Miss Crawford and Fanny. One of whom, having never before understood that Thornton was so soon and so completely to be his home, was pondering with downcast eyes on what it would be not to see Edmund every day; and the other, startled from the agreeable fancies she had been previously indulging on the strength of her brother’s description, no longer able, in the picture she had been forming of a future Thornton, to shut out the church, sink the clergyman, and see only the respectable, elegant, modernised, and occasional residence of a man of independent fortune, was considering Sir Thomas, with decided ill-will, as the destroyer of all this, and suffering the more from that involuntary forbearance which his character and manner commanded, and from not daring to relieve herself by a single attempt at throwing ridicule on his cause.

All the agreeable of her speculation was over for that hour. It was time to have done with cards, if sermons prevailed; and she was glad to find it necessary to come to a conclusion, and be able to refresh her spirits by a change of place and neighbour."

Mansfield Park, Jane Austen.

#jane austen #mansfield park #lady bertram #sir thomas bertram #henry crawford #fanny price #mary crawford #edmund bertram #william price #speculation

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