Murder at Mansfield Park

by Lynn Shepherd

  ‘Dear, dear William!’ she sobbed. ‘Who knows if I will ever behold you again! Those delightful hours we have spent together, opening our hearts to one another and sharing all our hopes and plans! Those sweet summers when every succeeding morrow renewed our delightful converse! How endless they once seemed but how quickly they have passed! And now I fear they will never come again! Even if you do return, it will not be the same—you will have new cares, and new pleasures, and little thought for the sister you left behind!’

  Maria hastened to assure her that such precious memories of their earliest attachment would surely never be entirely forgotten, and that William had such a warm heart that time and absence must only increase their mutual affection, but Julia was not to be consoled, and all her sister’s soothings proved ineffectual.

  ‘We shall miss William at Mansfield,’ was Sir Thomas’s observation when he joined them with Mrs Norris in the breakfast-room, but noticing his younger daughter’s distress, and knowing that in general her sorrows, like her joys, were as immoderate as they were momentary, decided it was best to say no more and presently turned the subject. ‘Where are Tom and Fanny?’

  ‘Fanny is playing the piano-forte, and Tom has just set off for Sotherton to call on Mr Rushworth,’ replied Maria.

  ‘He will find our new neighbour a most pleasant, gentleman-like man,’ said Sir Thomas. ‘I sat but ten minutes with him in his library, yet he appeared to me to have good sense and a pleasing address. I should certainly have stayed longer but the house is all in an uproar. I have always thought Sotherton a fine old place—but Mr Rushworth says it wants improvement, and in consequence the house is in a cloud of dust, noise, and confusion, without a carpet to the floor, or a sopha to sit on. Rushworth was called out of the room twice while I was there, to satisfy some doubts of the plasterer. And once he has done with the house, he intends to begin upon the grounds. Given my own interest in the subject, we found we had much in common.’

  ‘What can you mean, Sir Thomas?’ enquired Lady Bertram, roused from her melancholy reverie. ‘I am sure I never heard you mention such a thing before.’

  Sir Thomas looked round the table. ‘I have been considering the matter for some time, and, if the prospect is not unpleasant to you, madam, I intend to improve Mansfield. I have no eye for such matters, but our woods are very fine, the house is well-placed on rising ground, and there is the stream, which, I dare say, one might make some thing of. When I last dined at the parsonage, I mentioned my plans to Dr Grant, and he told me that his wife’s brother had the laying out of the grounds at Compton. I have since enquired into this Mr Crawford’s character and reputation, and my subsequent letter to him received a most prompt and courteous reply. He is to bring his sister with him, and they are to spend three months in Mansfield. Indeed, they arrived last night; and I have invited them and the Grants to drink tea with us this evening.’

  The family could not conceal their astonishment, and looked all the amazement which such an unexpected announcement could not fail of exciting. Even Julia checked her tears, and tried to compose herself. Mrs Norris was ready at once with her suggestions, but was vexed to find that Sir Thomas had been amusing himself with shaping a very complete outline of the business. He had, in fact, long been apprehensive of the effect of his son’s departure, and the contraction of the Mansfield circle consequent thereon. He had reasoned to himself that if he could find the means of distracting his family’s attention, and keeping up their spirits for the first few weeks, he should think the time and money very well spent. Such careful solicitude was quite of a piece with the whole of his careful, upright conduct as a husband and father, and the eager curiosity of his family was just what he wished. Questions and exclamations followed each other rapidly, and he was ready to give such information as he possessed, and answer every query almost before it was put, looking with heartfelt satisfaction on the animated faces around him. One question, however, he could not answer; he had never yet seen Mr Crawford, and could not answer for any thing more than his skill with a pen. Had he known all that was to come of the acquaintance, Sir Thomas would surely have forbad him the house.

  The Crawfords were not young people of fortune. The brother had a small property near London, the sister less than two thousand pounds. They were the children of Mrs Grant’s mother by a second marriage, and when they were young she had been very fond of them; but, as her own marriage had been soon followed by the death of their common parent, which left them to the care of a brother of their father, a man of whom Mrs Grant knew nothing, she had scarcely seen them since. In their uncle’s house near Bedford-square they had found a kind home. He was a single man, and the cheerful company of the brother and sister ensured that his final years had every comfort that he could wish; he doated on the boy, and found both nurse and housekeeper in the girl. Unfortunately, his own property was entailed on a distant relation; and this cousin installing himself in the house within a month of the old gentleman’s sudden death, Mr and Miss Crawford were obliged to look for another home without delay, Mr Crawford’s own house being too small for their joint comfort, and one to which his sister had taken a fixed dislike, for reasons of her own. Having been forced by want of fortune to go into a profession, Mr Crawford had begun with the law, but soon after had discovered a genius for improvement that gave him the excuse he had been wanting to give up his first choice and enter upon another. For the last three years he had spent nine months in every twelve travelling the country from Devon-shire to Derby-shire, visiting gentlemen’s seats, and laying out their grounds, gathering at the same time a list of noble patrons and a competent knowledge of Views, Situations, Prospects and the principles of the Picturesque. What would have been hardship to a more indolent, stay-at-home man was bustle and excitement to him. For Henry Crawford had, luckily, a great dislike to any thing like a permanence of abode, or limitation of society; and he boasted of spending half his life in a postchaise, and forming more new acquaintances in a fortnight than most men did in a twelvemonth. But, all the same, he was properly aware that it was his duty to provide a comfortable home for Mary, and when the letter from the Park was soon followed by another from the parsonage offering his sister far more suitable accommodations than their present lodgings could afford, he saw it as the happy intervention of a Providence that had ever been his friend.

  The measure was quite as welcome on one side as it could be expedient on the other; for Mrs Grant, having by this time run through all the usual resources of ladies residing in a country parsonage without a family of children to superintend, was very much in want of some domestic diversion.The arrival, therefore, of her brother and sister was highly agreeable; and Mrs Grant was delighted to receive a young man and woman of very pleasant appearance. Henry Crawford was decidedly handsome, with a person, height, and air that many a nobleman might have envied, while Mary had an elegant and graceful beauty, and a strength of understanding that might even exceed her brother’s. This, however, she had the good sense to conceal, at least when first introduced into polite company. Mrs Grant had not waited her sister’s arrival to look out for a desirable match for her, and she had fixed, for want of much variety of suitable young men in the immediate vicinity, on Tom Bertram. He was, she was constrained to admit, but twenty-one, and perhaps an eldest son would in general be thought too good for a girl of less than two thousand pounds, but stranger things have happened, especially where the young woman in question had all the accomplishments which Mrs Grant saw in her sister. Did not Lady Bertram herself have little more than that sum when she captivated Sir Thomas? Mary had not been three hours in the house before Mrs Grant told her what she had planned, concluding with, ‘And as we are invited to the Park this evening, you will see him for yourself.’

  ‘And what of your poor brother?’ asked Henry with a smile. ‘Are there no Miss Bertrams to whom I can make myself agreeable? No rich ward of Sir Thomas’s I can entertain? I ask only that they have at least twenty thousand pounds. I cannot exert mys
elf for any thing less.’

  ‘If that is your standard,’ replied Mrs Grant, ‘then Mansfield has only one young woman worthy of the name. Fanny Price is Sir Thomas’s niece, and has at least twice that sum, and will inherit her grandfather’s Cumberland property, and some vast estates in the West Indies, I believe. And she is generally thought to be by far the handsomest of the young ladies—quite the belle of the neighbourhood. But I am sorry for your sake, my dear brother, that she is already engaged. Or at least, so I believe, for no announcement has actually been made, but Mrs Norris told me in confidence, that Fanny is to marry her son Edmund. He has a very large property from his father, though you would scarcely believe it from the way his mother carries on. Such assiduous economy and frugality I have never known, and certainly not from a person so admirably provided for as Mrs Norris must be. I believe she must positively enjoy all her ingenious contrivances, and take pleasure in saving half a crown here and there, since there cannot possibly be any other explanation.’

  Mary heaved a small sigh at this, and thought of the considerable retrenchment she had been forced to make in her own expenditure of late. Mrs Grant, meanwhile, had returned to the young ladies of the Park.

  ‘You will be obliged to content yourself with Miss Bertram, Henry. She is a pretty young lady, if not so handsome as Miss Price, and has a nice height and size, and sweet dark eyes. But I warn you that you may encounter some competition in that quarter. A Mr Rushworth has but lately arrived in the neighbourhood, and I believe we may even see him at the Park this evening. He is the younger son of a lord, with an estate of four or five thousand a year, they say, and very likely more.’

  Henry could not help half a smile, but he said nothing.

  The dinner hour approaching, the ladies separated for their toilette. Although Mary had laughed heartily at her sister’s picture of herself as the future mistress of Mansfield Park, she found herself meditating upon it in the calmness of her own room, and she dressed with more than usual care. The loss of her home, with all its attendant indignity, had been a painful proof that matrimony was the only honourable provision for a well-educated young woman of such little fortune as hers. Marriage, therefore, must be her object, and she must resign herself to marrying as well as she could, even if that meant submitting to an alliance with a man of talents far inferior to her own.

  As the weather was fine and the paths dry, they elected to walk to their engagement across the park. If she could not share her brother’s professional interest in the disposition of the grounds, Mary yet saw much to be pleased with: lawns and plantations of the freshest green, and nearer the house, trees and shrubberies, and a long lime walk. From the entrance hall, they were shewn into the drawing-room, where everyone was assembled. They soon discovered, however, that the family had been frustrated in their hopes of Mr Rushworth; he had sent Sir Thomas a very proper letter of excuse, but regretted that he was required directly in town. The immediate disappointment of the party was rendered even more acute by the fair reports Mr Bertram brought with him from Sotherton. In the course of the afternoon Mr Bertram had perfected his acquaintance with their new neighbour, and was returned with his head full of his recently acquired friend. The topic had evidently been already handled in the dining-parlour; it was revived in the drawing-room, and as coffee was being poured Mary was standing near enough to Mr Bertram for her to overhear a discussion with her brother on the same engrossing subject.

  ‘I tell you, Crawford, you never saw so complete a man! He has taste, spirit, genius, every thing. He intends to re-establish Sotherton as one of the foremost houses in Northampton-shire. It has lain empty for so long, and the house itself is sadly neglected, but Rushworth has great hopes for it. I will take the first opportunity to introduce you—he has above seven hundred acres, and all of it needing as much attention as the house.’

  Mr Crawford bowed his thanks. ‘I am always happy to make the acquaintance of gentlemen of extensive and unimproved property,’ he said with a smile.

  The card tables were soon placed, and Sir Thomas and his lady, and Dr and Mrs Grant sat down to Casino. Mrs Norris called for music, and Mary was prevailed upon by Mr Bertram to sit down at the piano-forte. After listening for a few minutes, Mrs Norris said loudly, ‘If Miss Crawford had had the advantage of a proper master she might almost have played as well as Fanny, do you not agree, Edmund?’

  ‘You are too kind, ma’am,’ said Miss Price, colouring most becomingly. Mr Norris said nothing, and Mary looked up to see how warmly he assented to his lady’s praise; but neither at that moment nor at any other time during the evening could she perceive any visible symptom of love; and from the whole of his behaviour to Miss Price she derived only the conviction that he was an arrogant, weak young man, driven by motives of selfishness and worldly ambition into a marriage without affection. Miss Price herself was more of a puzzle. The good-natured Mrs Grant had extolled her beauty so highly, that Mary had the pleasure of being disappointed. But it was not merely Miss Price’s looks that attracted Mary’s notice. With an uncommon quickness in understanding the tempers of those she had to deal with, and no natural timidity to hinder her, Mary rarely had any great difficulty in making out the characters of the people she encountered, but Miss Price, at first, was in every view unaccountable. That a young woman possessed of so large a fortune should have consented to an engagement without further proof of attachment than Mary was able to discern in Mr Norris, was beyond her comprehension. Mary loved to laugh, and she fancied she might find much in the situation to amuse her in the weeks to come, but to her reason, her judgment, it was inexplicable. Further observation of Miss Price in the evening circle shewed her to be vain, insincere, and possessed of a quite excessive degree of self-consequence, despite her studied appearance of modest self-denial. Mary could only conclude that so far, at least, the foremost position in the family which the supposed engagement afforded her, had been reason enough to assent to it. But despite the longstanding nature of the connection, and the apparently unanimous wishes of the two families, Mary did not give much for Mr Norris’s chances if a more prepossessing rival were to step in before the articles were signed.

  The other young women of the family were more easily accounted for. Julia Bertram spent the evening with her mother on the sopha, engaged in her needlework, but from one or two remarks Mary heard her make, and from the little shelf of books at her side, she judged the youngest Miss Bertram to have both a tender disposition, and a fondness for reading. Her sister Maria seemed to be a pleasant, accomplished girl, but one whose natural sweetness of temper was not equal to the severe trial of holding but a second place in every thing to Miss Price. Despite her beauty and acquirements, Miss Bertram’s fortune was so markedly inferior, and her footing in the family so subordinate, as to have pressed very hard upon the patience of a saint, much less the feelings of a pretty young woman of twenty. Mary wondered at Sir Thomas, whose conduct seemed in so many other respects to be most just and reasonable. Could he be blind to a state of affairs that was plain to Mary after little more than an evening’s acquaintance with the family? Could he not see what the consequences of such a misplaced distinction might prove to be? Could he, in fact, have so little insight into the disposition of his niece—a young woman who had been brought up under his eye since she was twelve years old?

  CHAPTER II

  After breakfast the following morning Henry proposed that Mary accompany him on a survey of the park. The enthusiasm produced by their walk of the previous evening was excited still more by the loveliness of the day; it was really April; but it was May in its mild air, brisk soft wind, and bright sun, occasionally clouded for a minute. Every thing looked beautiful under the influence of such a sky, even a bowling-green and a formal parterre laid out with too much regularity for his improver’s eye.

  ‘Well my dear Mary,’ said Henry, drawing her arm within his, as they walked along the sweep, ‘how do you like Mansfield?’

  ‘Very well—very much. Our sis
ter is all kindness, and I am sure our three months here will be marked by many such evenings at the Park.’

  ‘And Mr Bertram?’ he asked.

  Mary shook her head with a smile. ‘I fear our sister will be disappointed if she persists in her expectations of him, even supposing him capable of attaching himself to a woman of no fortune, and no connections. I concede that Mr Bertram has easy manners and excellent spirits, as well as a long list of intimate friends that he seems to add to on the strength of the most meagre acquaintance, but these are not sufficient qualities to attract me, notwithstanding the reversion of Mansfield Park, and the baronetcy he will one day assume.’

  Henry laughed. ‘You are far too old for your twenty years, my dear Mary. I will leave it to you to break the news to our poor sister! And the young ladies?’

  Mary decided to keep her more perplexing observations to herself for the present, stating merely that Miss Bertram seemed to be a very pleasing young woman.

  ‘Quite so, but I do not know what to make of Miss Julia. I do not understand her. Why did she draw back and look so grave at me? She hardly said a word.’

  Mary laughed. ‘Henry! Miss Julia is not out. No wonder you could not get her to speak. She should not be noticed for another six months at least—or until Miss Price marries.’

  ‘Oh, Mary, these outs and not outs are beyond me! But you have now introduced a subject in which I must confess the most profound interest.What think you, my dear Mary, of the said Miss Price? The sweet and amiable and modest Miss Price? Did you not see her last night? Writing that note for Lady Bertram? Attending with such ineffable gentleness and patience, her colour beautifully heightened as she leant over it, her hair arranged neatly, and one little curl falling forward as she wrote—’