The Edges of Grace

Chapter Six

"I'm Mr. Bush, Miss Clarkson, I was your aunt's solicitor." 

Felicity nodded, trying to look less intimidated than she felt. She was in one of Mason's studies; coffee-dark tables, dramatic study lamps, neatly arranged stacks of books, and a huge multi-colored globe. While entering the room, she noted the delicately pressed flowers and plants on canvas hung in stately frames, which she sat with her back to. 

Behind the imposing Mr. Bush, was a huge painting of Mason; his smile captured in watercolour, the bouqet of sunflowers in his hands; the earth in his fingernails and the slight pinkness of his cheeks; the artist had done a remarkable job. Felicity would've examined it in further detail, but the tightly knit brows of Mr. Bush were enough of a siren of reality.

"I am here to make known to you your duties as the heiress, and there are of course, legal agreements that require your signature." Felicity's face drained of colour as she nodded again, and he withdrew a sheaf of papers from his briefcase.

"Miss Clarkson, you are inheriting not only the luxuries of such a grand estate, but also the charge of sustaining all the lives that it impacts, here is a list of the employes..."

And so he droned on and on, Felicity's attention drifting in and out. She was certain she could later ask Miss Rosetta for a list of all the employees, so she made her face appropriately stern but let her attention wander around the fascinatingly neat study room, which she could definitely see Mason in. She forced herself to pay attention to the sale of the fruits and berries that grew in the groves and orchards in the perimeter of Mansfield Estate, how much that stipulated to annually, and how basically she was to be responsible for all of it-- collection, distribution, and fair salaries to everyone involved. It made her heart drum with uncertainty-- was she, a maiden of just seventeen, capable of all of this? 

Mr. Bush's solemn face told her she had to be.

And then he caught her curiosity when he went ahead to describe the tradition of the Mansfields to have community duty in every season of harvest, since the areas around Mansfield, albeit sparsely populated, had a deeply ingrained sense of loyalty towards the Mansfield bloodline. "I must inform you, Miss Clarkson," he said sharply, letting his eyes meet hers in a rare moment of connection, "The locals here have prejudices and beliefs which they refuse to shake off, which they wear as armors as the changing times of modernity confront their way of life. You shall be the first, as both an unmarried woman and a non-Mansfield, to feel their wrath. They will all see Mr. Mason Mansfield as the rightful owner. But speaking from a legal and traditional standpoint, you will have to take responsibility for leading such harmony-bringing enterprises. You must find the surest way of capturing their trust and using your influence to inspire ideals of justice and abundance. That is what the Mansfield Estate has stood for, and that is why I take your aunt's charge-- you-- with so much regard."

"I am grateful," she untied her tongue to finally say, trying not to break out in a sweat. His eyes softened, but he nodded with his lips set in that same thin line of sternness, and proceeded to hand her a few documents. "This requires your signature," he said, "Read it well."

Her eyes glazed past the paragraphs of text, not understanding a word. She felt faint-- she was a crude, unrefined orphanage girl, whose only education consisted of basic herb knowledge and poetry-- she was an imposter in the place of a mistress. 

"You can ask either of your cousins to help," Mr. Bus said, "But a word of caution; it would do you well to keep these legal papers out of the sight of Miss Mansfield. I daren't suggest anything improper on the part of her, but children tend to be impulsive when it comes to the decisions of their parents...it hasn't been easy on either of the two, but your confidences are better placed in Mr. Mansfield, if I do say so."