Murder at Mansfield Park

Chapter 10

If Mary had been concerned how to keep the matter secret from her sister, her fears proved of little consequence; as Miss Bertram had suspected, there was not a house in Mansfield that had not heard the news of Fanny’s elopement by Monday evening. It was not to be expected that a lady of such an open and inquisitive temper as Mrs Grant would not find much food for conjecture in so extraordinary and uncommon an event, and Mary had to endure many hours of such speculation from her sister, as well as observations of a more severe and moralising character from Dr Grant. The only event to enliven the quiet and anxious days that followed was a letter from Henry, much longer and gayer than his usual communications, and full of such entertaining accounts of mud waded through, and deluges averted, that could not but make Mary laugh despite herself. Once, and once only, was she able to see Julia, when she was persuaded to leave her sorrowing mother to her sister’s care, and sit for an hour with Mary in the Mansfield flower garden. Mary saw at once that although her young friend had grown even thinner, her looks were greatly improved; the explanation for this gratifying change was soon forthcoming.

"We have heard from Edmund," she said, slipping her arm through Mary’s. "He writes that my father is in every respect materially better — the fever has all but abated, and although he still has all the weakness and debility of such a serious illness, the physician believes he will make an entire recovery."

Mary expressed her sincere relief at such welcome news. "And how is your cousin?" she continued, in a guarded manner.

Julia sighed. "If what you really mean to ask is whether Edmund has been told the news from Mansfield, then the answer is yes. My father is as yet too weak and nervous to withstand such a shock, but Edmund has sent a letter of advice and assistance to Tom, which has been an inestimable support to him. He has also promised to leave Cumberland as soon as he may, my father being out of danger, and Edmund’s presence being so much wanted here. As to his own feelings on the matter, I cannot tell. My cousin has always been reserved, and a frank expression of his sentiments was not to be expected in such a letter, at such a time."

"No indeed," thought Mary, who felt a respect for him on the occasion, which only gained him ground in her good opinion. Even were she to suppose him heart-broken by the news of Fanny’s duplicity, his dignified restraint under such a trial could not but augment her tenderness and esteem.

A few moments later they turned from the garden into the green shade of the lime walk, which stretched beyond the garden to the boundary of the pleasure-grounds. It was a charming walk, leading to a belvedere, which, by reason of its position on the top of a considerable bank, afforded a delightful view towards the stream and the valley beyond. When they had seated themselves on the bench, Mary ventured to introduce the subject of Compton, and enquire of Julia what it was that she had wished to discuss with her.

"I know it seems a long time ago, and so much has happened since then, but I cannot forget how distressed you seemed. It appeared to be a matter of some urgency."

Julia bit her lip and looked down, avoiding Mary’s eye. Did she imagine it, or had a shadow passed across the girl’s face at her words?

"Miss Bertram? Have I said something to offend you?"

"It was nothing — a — a misunderstanding," said Julia quickly. "My apologies, my dear Miss Crawford, but I find the walk has tired me more than I expected. Perhaps we could return to the house?"

"By all means," replied Mary, quite at a loss to know how she had transgressed.

Julia rose to her feet, and stood for a moment looking over the balustrade. The workmen were clearly visible on the far side of the stream, as was the cart in which their tools were stored; they had already completed the first length of the channel, and an ugly black gash was perceptible against the verdant green bank.

Julia’s brow darkened. "How long, do you suppose, Miss Crawford, before they start to fell the avenue?"

Mary went to her friend’s side, "I am afraid I do not know. It will depend what instructions my brother has left in his absence."

"So there may still be time," said Julia, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Time to prevent it."

They returned to the house in time to see a messenger mounting his horse, and departing down the drive. Seeing their approach,Tom Bertram came down the steps to meet them, but it was clear even before he spoke, that the letter had brought nothing of significance, concerning either Fanny, or Sir Thomas’s health. Julia took the opportunity to excuse herself, and hastened away into the house without meeting Mary’s eye. Still wondering at the sudden alteration in her manner, Mary was about to take her leave, when Tom asked if he might take a turn with her for a few minutes, and consult her on the subject of the message he had just received.

"I would be most happy," she said, as they moved towards the garden, "but I am not sure what assistance I can provide."

"On the contrary," he replied earnestly, "the advice you were previously so good as to offer, was exactly what Edmund suggested in his letter. Your happy interposition saved us at least three days. We are all — the family — most grateful."

Mary wondered for a moment at that "all’, suspecting that Mrs Norris was in all likelihood experiencing quite another emotion, but she knew better than to voice such a sentiment aloud.

"All the same," she replied, "I gather from Miss Julia that following my advice has not advanced you very far."

Tom shook his head. "The messengers made every possible enquiry on this side of London, renewing them at all the turnpikes, and at the inns in St Albans and Barnet, but without any success; no-one answering to Fanny’s description had been seen to pass through. I believe a carriage was seen early that day on the turnpike road, three miles from here, which may, or may not, have contained the fugitives. It was travelling at speed, with the blinds drawn, and bore no livery. But beyond Northampton it cannot be traced."

"But it was going south? To London, I mean, and not to Scotland?"

"Indeed. And as far as I have been able to ascertain, it was not hired any where hereabouts."

"I see," said Mary. "That suggests to me that it may have been brought especially from London for the purpose, which places the matter in a rather different light."

Tom stopped, and looked her in the face. "How so?"

Mary sighed. "I believe it proves that this was not the impulse of a moment. No sudden decision, but a premeditated plan, carefully conceived. I fear that whomsoever she has gone with, has made the most careful arrangements, and finding the two of them will be all the more difficult as a consequence. And yet she left Mansfield with nothing beyond her purse and the clothes she was wearing. It is all so very strange!"

Tom nodded. "I can only concur. But thanks to your kind hint, we have also made enquiries throughout the surrounding neighbourhood, and all the young gentlemen of our immediate acquaintance are either in residence, or accounted for, save one. Tom Oliver is thought to be at Weymouth with a party of friends, but there was some uncertainty about his plans, and my letter to an acquaintance in the town has not, as yet, met with a reply. It is, however, unlikely — I would be much surprised if Fanny had spoken to him more than twice in her whole life. Indeed, Miss Crawford, at times I am almost forced to conclude that she did not elope at all, but left here alone, and under her own direction."

"But even were she the sort of young woman who might contemplate doing such a thing," said Mary, "surely she would have taken more of her belongings with her? That circumstance alone seems to argue for the presence of a protector and companion."

"If that is indeed the case, we can, at least, remove one name from our list of possible seducers," replied Tom. "The letter I have only now received was from my father’s friend, Mr Harding, in London. He has been making discreet investigations on our behalf, and while he has found no trace of Fanny, he was able to inform me that an engagement has just been announced between Mr Rushworth and a Miss Knightley, who has a fortune of over thirty thousand pounds. The two families’ estates lie immediately adjoining one another in Surry, and it seems that Mr Rushworth’s father has long hoped to unite them by means of this marriage."

"Mr Rushworth did not behave as a man who considered himself on the brink of matrimony," said Mary hesitantly, wondering how much Tom Bertram had noticed of what had passed between Mr Rushworth, his sister, and Fanny. He had never struck her as particularly discerning, but the frown her words occasioned suggested that he had been rather more observant than she had previously guessed.

"No indeed," he said. "Some part of his conduct I cannot excuse. Had we known of the existence of this Miss Knightley, both Maria and Fanny might have been on their guard, and dismissed his behaviour as mere flirtation. But whatever else we might justly accuse him of, he bore no part in Fanny’s disappearance. All the rest is irrelevant now."

Mary could not be so sanguine. She had seen looks exchanged between Fanny and Miss Bertram in public, and could imagine the words that might have accompanied them in private. It was clear to her that they had never been friends, and once rivals, they had quickly become the greatest of enemies. How would Maria take this latest news from London? She might well have hoped that, with Fanny out of the way, Mr Rushworth would be free to return to her. If so, the news of his forthcoming marriage would be a bitter blow.

"You must understand now why I wished to consult you," continued Tom. "On the day Fanny went off, the prospect of an alliance with Rushworth, begun under circumstances such as these, filled us with horror; at any time it would have been unwelcome, given her longstanding engagement to Edmund, but to have it so clandestinely formed, and at such a period, would have been the severest of trials. But as the days have crept slowly by, and no news has come, we have all been reduced to the faint hope that it would indeed be Rushworth, and no worse a scoundrel, who would prove to be guilty in this affair. My father might have been brought, in time, to forgive the foolish precipitation of such a match, and receive him into the family. But now, our fears can only increase with each hour that passes."

"And Miss Price is now twenty-one," said Mary thoughtfully. "If she was determined upon marriage, there is no impediment now to prevent her."

Tom nodded grimly."Fanny’s coming of age should have been a day of celebration, especially now that my father’s health is improving. It was instead marked by the most bitter recriminations. I know I can trust to your discretion, Miss Crawford, when I say that we are all angrily blaming one another for being blind to the truth and strength of Fanny’s feelings, which now seem only too obvious. It is a wretched business, and I do not know what else we can do. What do you advise?"

"I advise, Mr Bertram! I will be as useful as I can; but I am not qualified for an adviser."

"You should have a juster estimate of your own judgment, Miss Crawford. I know Mr Norris holds you in very high regard. He himself suggested, in his last letter from Cumberland, that I might turn to you for counsel, and rely on your good sense."

"I–I hardly know what to say," she stammered, her cheeks in a glow, wondering what she should make of such a gratifying compliment. "I truly believe you have done all that could be expected of you. And your letter to Weymouth may yet lead to something. In the mean time we can only wait, and hope for the best."

Mr Bertram took her hand, and shook it warmly. "Thank you, Miss Crawford. I do not know what we should do without you. My younger sister, in particular, will, I fear, continue to need your help in the coming days. She is not strong, and the strain of this dreadful situation, coupled with the burden of supporting my mother’s enfeebled spirits, is more than her own delicate constitution can withstand. I am sure it would be a great relief to her if she could confide in you, as a friend."

"Pray tell her I am at her disposal; she has only to ask," replied Mary but as she watched her companion return at a brisk pace to the house, she wondered, not for the first time that afternoon, if Julia really wished to have her as a confidante or whether there was, in fact, something preying upon her friend’s mind that she had decided to keep to herself, and reveal to no-one.