Murder at Mansfield Park

Chapter 7

The price to be paid for the doubtful pleasure of private theatricals was in Mary’s thoughts the whole of the following day, and an evening of backgammon with Dr Grant was felicity to it. It was the first day for many, many days, in which the households had been wholly divided. Four-and-twenty hours had never passed before, since April began, without bringing them all together in some way or other. At the Park the evening passed with external serenity, though almost every mind was ruffled, and the music which Lady Bertram called for from Julia helped to conceal the want of real harmony. Maria kept to her room, complaining of a cold, while Fanny sat quietly with her needle, a smile of secret delight now and again playing about her lips. In the more retired seclusion of the White House, Mrs Norris gave way to a bitter invective against Rushworth, inciting her son to exert himself, it being within his power to remedy all these evils, if he would but act like a man, with fortitude and resolution. Edmund’s private feelings in the face of such a tirade may only be guessed at.

"I was sorry to hear that the play is done with," said Mrs Grant, when Henry and Mary joined her and Dr Grant in the breakfast-room the next morning. "The other young people must be very much disappointed."

"I fancy Yates is the most afflicted," said Henry with a smile. "He is gone back to Bath, but, he said, if there was any prospect of a renewal of Lovers’ Vows, he should break through every other claim. “From Bath, London, York, Heath Row — wherever I may be,” he announced, “I will attend you from any place in England, at an hour’s notice.”’ "I confess I did wonder at the Heath Row," he continued, helping himself to more chocolate. "Indeed I was not even sure at the time where he meant. It appears it is a small village some where to the west of London.Yates is thinking of buying a place there, but by all accounts the area is damp, low-lying and disposed to fog, and I therefore gave it as my opinion that it was unlikely much would ever be made of it."

"Still," said Mrs Grant, returning to the subject of the lost theatricals,"there will be little rubs and disappointments every where,but then, if one plan of happiness fails,human nature turns to another; if the first calculation is wrong, we make a second better; we find comfort some where."

Mrs Grant’s confidence proved to be well founded, for the weather clearing, the excursion to Compton was reinstated, and the next time they all met together at the Park an early day was named, and agreed to. Lady Bertram having a slight cold, she was persuaded to stay at home by her sister. At any other time Mrs Norris would have very thoroughly relished the means this afforded her of directing the arrangement of the whole scheme; now, all her considerable efforts would be needed to keep Mr Rushworth away from Fanny, while throwing him, if she could, in the way of Maria.

"You must excuse Lady Bertram on this occasion, Mr Rushworth," she said coolly, "and accept of the girls and myself without her."

Julia began to protest, saying she had just as rather not go at all, but her aunt at once addressed her in a whisper both angry and audible: "What a piece of work here is about nothing — I am quite ashamed of you, Julia, to make such a difficulty when the whole party has been arranged for your pleasure and convenience — accept the invitation with a good grace, and let us hear no more of the matter."

"Pray do not urge her, madam," said Edmund. "I am sure my cousin will find herself quite equal to the visit, when the day comes."

Mrs Norris said no more, contenting herself with an angry look before turning to the subject of transport. "Your barouche will hold four perfectly well, Mr Rushworth, independent of the box, on which one might go with you. And as for the young gentlemen, why, they can go on horseback."

"But why is it necessary," said Edmund, "that Rushworth’s carriage, or his only should be employed?"

"What!" cried Maria quickly. "Go box’d up five in a postchaise in this weather, when we may have seats in a barouche! No, my dear cousin, that will not quite do." After the ruin of Lovers’ Vows, and the wreck of her own hopes of Rushworth, Maria had confined herself to the house, seeing nobody, but for some days past she had begun to affect a brittle and reckless gaiety that seemed precisely calculated to convey an indifference Mary could not believe she really felt. She appeared to have decided that even if the loss of James Rushworth had destroyed her happiness, neither he nor her cousin should know that they had done it. She would not allow them to think of her as pining in a self-imposed solitude for them.

"There is no hardship, I suppose," continued Edmund, "in going on the barouche box?"

"Hardship!" replied Maria; "Oh! I believe it would be generally thought the favourite seat. There can be no comparison as to one’s view of the country from the barouche box."

"Quite so," said Fanny, with a look at Edmund. "I have no doubt that Miss Crawford will choose that seat. She has a great desire to see Compton."

"Miss Crawford has not often an opportunity to see her brother’s work," was Edmund’s only reply, and the subject was dropped.

Friday was fine, and soon after breakfast Mr Rushworth arrived, driving the barouche. Miss Price was clearly meditating how best, and with the most appearance of obliging the others, to secure the barouche box, while Miss Bertram was equally clearly intent on thwarting her, an aim in which she was warmly seconded by her aunt. "You were saying lately, Maria," Mrs Norris said quickly, "that you wished you could drive; I think this will be a good opportunity for you to take a lesson."

Happy Maria! Unhappy Fanny! The latter took her seat within, in gloom and mortification; the former was assisted in ascending the box by Edmund, who saw it all, but said nothing.

When they approached Compton, Mr Rushworth appropriated the role of guide, and regaled them with a succession of observations on the property on each side of the road.

"Now we shall have no more rough road, Miss Bertram, our difficulties are over. Mr Smith had it made when he first purchased the estate. His original intention was to keep the old road as it was, since it passed by some very pretty cottages — delightfully picturesque objects, all ruined and overgrown with ivy — but the wretched tenants made so many difficulties about living in them that he was forced to undertake renovations, with the result that the houses now look quite ordinary and dull. Happily he lighted on the idea of moving the road entirely, so one is no longer troubled by the sight of villagers as one approaches the house. Miss Bertram will be able to see the church tower now, through the trees. Some reckon it tolerably handsome, but Smith tells me the annoyance of the bells is terrible, and I myself can testify to the clergyman’s wife being a remarkably ill-looking woman. Ah," he said as the barouche rounded a bend, "we are about to gain our first sight of the house. Here lies the prospect, Miss Julia," he said, turning back to her where she sat silent and pale at the back of the barouche, "and I am sure you will agree that the approach now, is one of the finest things you ever saw: you will see the rear facade in the most surprising manner. People tell me it is the admiration of all the country, but I assure you it was a mere nothing before — well — before your brother took it in hand, Miss Crawford," he concluded, with a momentary embarrassment, recollecting that the architect of this marvellously improved prospect was not, after all, his friend Mr Smith, but the man riding silently alongside him. Henry proved, moreover, to be close at his elbow at that moment, making so instantaneous a change of expression and tone necessary, as Mary, in spite of everything, could hardly help laughing at.

"Capital, my dear Crawford! I was just saying to the ladies, you have out-Repton’d Repton! We are all anticipating the view of the house with the keenest enthusiasm."

They turned in at the lodge and found themselves at the bottom of a low eminence overspread with trees. A little way farther the wood suddenly ceased, and the eye was instantly caught by the house. It was a handsome brick building, backed by gently rising hills, and in front, a stream of some natural importance had been swelled into a series of small lakes, by Henry’s skill and ingenuity. The barouche was stopped for a few minutes, and the three gentlemen rode up to join them. Mary’s heart swelled with pride and pleasure, to see her brother’s genius and taste realised in the beauties of a landscape such as this. Even Mrs Norris was forced into admiration, though evidently against her will. "I wish my dear husband could have seen this," said she. "It is quite like something we had planned at the White House."

Henry was excessively pleased. If Mrs Norris could feel as much as this, the inference of what the young ladies must feel was indeed gratifying. He glanced at Miss Price, to see if a word of accordant praise could be extorted from her, but although she remained resolutely silent, his spirits were in as happy a state as professional pride could furnish when they drove up the last stretch of road to the spacious stone steps before the principal entrance.

The housekeeper met them at the door, and the particular object of the day was then considered. How would the ladies like — in what manner would they choose — to take a survey of the grounds?

"I wonder," said Mr Crawford, looking round him, "whether the party would be interested in an account of the improvements so far? Seeing the park as it is now, it is difficult to imagine it as it was. Shall we summon a council on the lawn? And what does Miss Julia say?" he continued more gently, turning to where she stood at the edge of the party. "How should you like to proceed?"

Julia did not at first appear to have heard, but when Mary touched her gently on the arm she roused herself, and acknowledged in a sad voice, "I suppose I am here to be persuaded, and I cannot give my approbation without knowing how it has been altered."

"Very well," began Henry. "Since I came to Compton we have turned the whole house to front the south-west instead of the north — the entrance and principal rooms, are now on that side, where the view, as you saw, is very fine. The approach was moved, as Mr Rushworth described, and this new garden made at what is now the back of the house, which gives it the best aspect in the world."

"You speak of turning the house with as much ease as I might turn my horse!" cried Tom. "Crawford, is there no limit to your exertions in pursuit of your object?"

"Indeed not," replied Henry, with a look at Miss Price, who affected not to notice. "My role is to improve upon nature, to supply her deficiencies, and create the perfect prospect that should have been from the imperfect one that is."

"A trifling ambition, upon my word!" rejoined Tom. "I will remember to call upon your services when I want a river diverted, a hill removed, or a valley levelled."

"All feats which I have indeed performed!" laughed Henry. "But, to conclude my narration, the meadows you can just see beyond the wilderness have all been laid together in the last year.The wilderness on the right hand was already here when I came — it had been planted up some years before. As such it is further advanced than much of the planting in the new garden, and I commend it to you as not only a pretty walk, but the one affording the best shade on a hot day."

No objection was made, but for some time there seemed no inclination to move in any direction, or to any distance. All dispersed about in happy spontaneous groups, though there was, perhaps, a degree of premeditation in Mrs Norris’s determination to accompany Mr Rushworth and Fanny. For her part, Mary made sure to keep close to Julia, who had relapsed once again into silence and sadness. A moment later she found, to her surprise, that Mr Norris intended to join them, and the three began with a turn on the lawn. A second circuit led them naturally to the door which Henry had told them opened to the wilderness; from there a considerable flight of steps landed them in darkness and shade and natural beauty, compared with the heat and full sunshine of the terrace. For some time they could only walk and admire, and Mary saw at once that the felling of the trees in the park had indeed opened the prospect in a most beautiful manner, even if she forbore from voicing this opinion aloud. At length, after a short pause, Julia turned to Mary and said, "I suppose it must be my late illness that makes me so tired, but the next time we come to a seat, I should be glad to sit down for a little while."

"My dear Julia," cried Edmund, immediately drawing her arm within his, "how thoughtless I have been! I hope you are not very fatigued. Perhaps," turning to Miss Crawford, "my other companion may also do me the honour of taking an arm."

"Thank you, but I am not at all tired." She took it, however, as she spoke, and the gratification of doing so, of feeling such a connection for the first time, assailed her with satisfactions very sweet, if not very sound. A few steps farther brought them out at the bottom of the walk and a comfortable-sized bench, a few yards from an iron gate leading into the park, on which Julia sat down.

"Why would you not speak sooner, Julia?" said Edmund, observing her.

"I shall soon be rested," said Julia quickly. "Pray, do not interrupt your walk. I will be quite comfortable here."

It was with reluctance that Edmund suffered her to remain alone, but Julia eventually prevailed, and watched them till they had turned the corner, and all sound of them had ceased.

A quarter of an hour passed away, and then Miss Bertram unexpectedly appeared on another path, some distance away. She was walking quickly, and with some purpose, and did not seem to notice her sister, or have the slightest notion that any other person was nearby. Julia was about to rise and greet her, when she saw with some surprise that Maria was intent on concealing herself behind a large shrub on one side of the path, to the very great danger of her new muslin gown. The reason for this unaccountable behaviour was soon revealed. Julia heard voices and feet approaching and a few moments later Mr Rushworth and Miss Price issued from the same path, and came to a stop before the iron gate. They had clearly been engaged in a most earnest conversation; Miss Price looked all flutter and happiness, and the faces of both were very close together. Neither was sensible of Miss Bertram’s being there, nor of Julia sitting motionless on the bench only a short distance away. It struck the latter all of a sudden as being more like a play than anything she had seen in the theatre at Mansfield Park, and though she knew she ought to draw their attention to her presence, something constrained her, and she remained fixed in her seat. The first words she heard were from her cousin, and were to this effect.

"My dear Mr Rushworth, I have not the slightest interest in attempting to find Mr Norris. Why, we have but this moment escaped from his horrible mother. No — I have had quite enough of that family for one morning. After all, what is Mr Norris to me that I should get myself hot and out of breath chasing about the garden looking for him?"

"Your words interest me inexpressibly, Miss Price," said Mr Rushworth, with some earnestness. "I had no idea, when I first came into the area, but that you were the intended, indeed the engaged, bride of that very same Mr Norris. A steady respectable sort of fellow, no doubt, but no match for a woman of character and brilliance such as yourself."

"Mr Tiresome Norris bores me more than I can say," said Miss Price with feeling. "So dull, so wretchedly dull! He pays no compliments, he has no wit, and if that were not bad enough, his taste in dress is deplorable, and he has no refined conversation; all he wants to do indoors is talk about books, and all he ever does outside is ride. A deadly tedious life mine would be with the oh-so-estimable Mr Norris."

Mr Rushworth laughed knowingly. "Perhaps Mr Norris has recently found someone who might share these dreary interests of his?"

Miss Price gave him a look which marked her contempt. "She is welcome to him. A woman who has the audacity to attach herself to a man already promised to another, as she has done, will surely have no scruple in taking up that other’s cast-offs."

"And you, my dear — my very dear Miss Price," said he, leaning still closer, "what will you now do? There must surely be countless suitors contending for the honour of your hand."

Miss Price drew away slightly, and began to circle the small glade before the gate. "Not so many as you might imagine, sir. But I have no doubt of acquiring them, once it becomes known that the engagement with Mr Norris is broken off."

"So if there happened to be another gentleman who professed the most sincere attachment to Miss Price — nay, not merely an attachment but the most ardent, disinterested love — it might be as well for that gentleman to declare himself without delay?"

Miss Price looked at him haughtily. "It might be as well for that gentleman to begin by demonstrating, beyond question, that all those ardent feelings are for Miss Price, and not for Miss Bertram."

"My dear Miss Price," he cried, making towards her,"how could you even imagine — you are so infinitely her superior. In beauty, in spirit, in — "

"In fortune, sir?"

He stopped, and looked for a moment exceedingly foolish, but Miss Price turned away, smiling privately to herself, content, for the moment, with so complete a conquest, and not above a wish to sport with her new-declared lover a little, by way of punishment for his recent neglect.

"What is that knoll, I wonder?" she said, looking through the gate. "Might we not obtain a more comprehensive view of the park from there? Such a survey being, after all, the principal reason for our visit?"

"Indeed — I am sure," said Mr Rushworth, in evident embarrassment. "That is, I imagine — "

"Oh, but of course, the gate is locked," she said, a moment later, in a tone of some vexation. "Why is it that it is only ever the gardeners who can go where they like in places like this?"

"I did wonder whether I should bring the key," he stammered. "Indeed, I was on the point of asking the housekeeper whether I might have the key — "

"That may very well be so," she said archly, "but it does not advance us very far. We cannot get through without it."

Mr Rushworth bowed. "I will remedy my mistake at once," said he in a tone of decision. "If Miss Price would do me the infinite honour of awaiting me here, I will return without delay."

Miss Price bowed her complaisance, and Mr Rushworth set off at some speed towards the house.

Miss Price was on the point of resuming her circuit of the glade, and to judge of her expression, with no very unpleasant sensations, but no sooner was Mr Rushworth out of sight when Miss Bertram emerged from her hiding place to confront her startled and affrighted cousin.

"So this is your plan, is it?" said Maria in an angry tone. "You mean to discard our gentle, upright, honest cousin for such a — a — fop as Rushworth?"

"As to that," said Miss Price, reddening with astonishment and disdain, "even were he the most infamous fop in England, I do not think you would have refused him, had he made you an offer. But he did not make you an offer, did he?"

"No," said Maria bitterly, seizing her cousin by the wrist, "because you saw to it that he did not. Can you never allow me anyone or anything of my own, but you have to seize it from me? He admired me, I know he did, and it wanted only a little encouragement to turn that admiration into a decided attachment. A very little encouragement, and a very reasonable forbearance on your part. But no — even that, you could not permit me. Even though you were already pledged to another man — and honourably, publicly pledged at that."

"Do not delude yourself," said Fanny angrily, snatching her hand from Maria’s grasp. "You may have seen admiration; I saw only an idle flirtation — a passing and frivolous gallantry. Whatever you may have hoped, you and your pitiable portion would never have been sufficient to attach a man like Mr Rushworth. You may take my word for that."

These words drew a gasp and a cry of anguish from Maria. "I wish you had never come to Mansfield," she sobbed: "We were all of us perfectly happy before you came — I wish I had never seen you — I wish — I wish you were dead."

For a single dreadful moment Julia thought her sister was about to strike her cousin; but the next thing she knew, Maria had turned away without another word, and was making her way, not very steadily, towards the house. When she reached the steps Julia saw her stumble blindly, and put her hand out to break her fall. Fanny, for her part, stood motionless for some minutes, leaning against the gate for support, her face and lips quite white.

Julia was thrown into a state of dreadful indecision, uncertain whether to remain where she was, or go to offer her sister some assistance, and thereby reveal what she had overheard; but she was soon relieved of the necessity of action by the appearance of Henry Crawford, who had been wandering about the grounds for some time, in search of Miss Price. He had seen her with Rushworth half an hour before, but had been detained at the critical moment by the housekeeper. Having but this minute extricated himself, he was now in the happy but unexpected situation of being face to face with the real object of his attentions. More gratifying still, the young lady was alone, and — to his eye — very much in need of all the relief and support he was only too willing to proffer. She was trembling, and at first she could only cling to his arm, as he helped her to a small rustic seat some yards farther on. The first fit soon passed, however, and in another moment she was able to recollect herself, and make a strong effort for composure, while still refusing in the most strenuous terms to disclose the cause of her distress. Mr Crawford elected not to press her on the subject, while indulging in the private hope that the whole blame of it might be laid to his rival’s account.

"I believe I saw Rushworth on my way here," he said, curious to see her reaction. "He was posting away as if upon life and death."

Miss Price smiled, roused from her indisposition by such pleasing evidence of her power. "He is gone to fetch the key to the gate," she said. "I wanted to see the view from the knoll."

"Then I am delighted to be in a position to assist you," said Henry, taking the key from his pocket, while carefully omitting to mention that it was this very key that Mr Rushworth was at that moment in quest of.

Miss Price rose from her seat, and took Mr Crawford’s arm. "So much you have done here, Mr Crawford!" she said, with forced gaiety. "And to think that Mansfield may look like this in another summer! I confess I long for such freedom and openness as you have created here. Mansfield seems to me more and more like a prison — a dismal old prison. “I cannot get out”, as the starling said."

"To tell you the truth," replied Henry, speaking rather lower, "I do not think that I shall ever see Mansfield again with so much pleasure as I do now. Even my own plans will hardly improve it in some ways."

He moved closer to her as he spoke, and they were too far away for Julia to discern what happened next, but when she saw her cousin’s face again her colour was heightened, and she was breathing rather faster than usual.

"You are too much a man of the world not to see with the eyes of the world," Miss Price continued, somewhat abstractedly. "If other people think Mansfield improved, I have no doubt that you will."

Henry smiled, and took her arm with more confidence and cheerfulness than he had thought possible even an hour before. "I am afraid that there is little prospect of that. Your prospects, however, are too fair to justify want of spirits."

"Do you mean literally or figuratively? Literally I conclude. Yes, certainly, the sun shines and the park looks very cheerful. And I am absolutely at liberty to command my own path."

"I am very glad to hear it," said Henry, with a serious look, as he unlocked the gate and the two of them disappeared from view.

Julia was again left to her uneasy solitude. She began to be surprised at being left so long, and to listen with a very anxious desire of seeing her companions again. But soon the voice of Miss Crawford once more caught her ear. They were just returned into the wilderness from the park, to which a side gate, not fastened, had tempted them very soon after their leaving her.

"We have been admiring the view," said Mary, though in truth, they had passed a greater part of the time in silence. As soon as they were alone, Mr Norris’s politeness and cordiality had vanished, and he had become silent and thoughtful. Mary had been at a loss to think of a subject that they might attempt with impunity; everything brought back some painful recollection — the play, the ball, the ride to Compton, all were equally impossible, and she had at length given up the endeavour.

Julia rose at once from the bench at their approach, and drew Mary to one side. "I must speak with you," she said, in the utmost perturbation.

"Certainly," said Mary, looking at her with some concern. "I hope nothing has occurred to distress you. Do you wish me to find a place where we may be more private?"

"No," said Julia with uncharacteristic firmness, glancing across at Edmund. "I cannot discuss this here. Could you come to the Park tomorrow?"

"Of course. I shall call as early as politeness permits."

"Thank you, thank you!" said Julia, the colour rushing to her face. "My dear Miss Crawford, I shall have no peace until I can confide in you!"

They returned to the house together, where they found Tom Bertram, who had for some time been lounging on the sopha reading reviews, awaiting the arrival of tea.

"There you are at last!" he cried as the three of them came in. "I have had quite enough of improvements for one day, I can tell you. What with wildernesses and terraces and pleasure-grounds, I managed to get myself thoroughly lost. Quite where the rest of you were I cannot tell, but thankfully I came unexpectedly upon the gamekeeper, and spent a capital half hour discussing snipe and pheasant. The covies here are some of the best in the country."

It was late before the other young ladies and gentlemen came in; Miss Price and Henry Crawford arrived first, followed by Miss Bertram, and finally Mr Rushworth in the company of Mrs Norris. By their own accounts they had been all walking about after each other in the heat, and none but Henry appeared to be entirely happy with the day’s events. He certainly looked contented — triumphant even — while Miss Price was more withdrawn and thoughtful, and there was a slight disorder to her dress that could not be entirely explained, even by the rigours of a walk to the knoll. Mr Rushworth, by contrast, was positively ill-tempered, and looked all the more so when he found Miss Price in the company of Henry Crawford, but received no apology for her earlier disappearance. Maria, meanwhile, looked pale and troubled in mind, and was holding her shawl wrapped close around her shoulders; nor could all Mrs Norris’s attempts to put her in the way of Mr Rushworth, and procure her the seat on the barouche box, suffice to restore her to the state of artificial high spirits with which she had begun the day.

The last arrival was soon followed by tea, a ten miles’ drive home allowing no waste of hours, and from the time of their sitting down, it was a quick succession of busy nothings till the carriage came to the door. It was a beautiful evening, mild and still, and the drive was outwardly as pleasant as the serenity of nature could make it; but it was altogether a different matter to the ladies within. Their spirits were in general exhausted — all were absorbed in their own thoughts, and Fanny and Maria in particular, seemed intent on avoiding one another’s eye. The party stopped at the parsonage to take leave of the Crawfords, and then continued on to the Park, where Mr Rushworth was invited to come in and take a glass of wine, before resuming the journey to Sotherton. But the company had scarcely entered the drawing-room when Lady Bertram rose from the sopha to meet them, came forward with no indolent step, and falling on her son’s neck, cried, "Oh, Tom, Tom! What are we to do?"