The following morning she awoke to the same thoughts and meditations which had at length closed her eyes. It was impossible to think of any thing else, and she was quite amazed at her own discomposure. Edmund was no longer the same Mr Norris to whom she had taken such an early dislike, taking for coldness and pride what was in reality only shyness and diffidence. True, his manners required intimacy to make them pleasing, but they had enjoyed some thing nearly approaching intimacy every morning for almost a month, and now that his natural shyness was overcome, his behaviour to her gave every indication of an open, affectionate heart. And now the advancement of his marriage, which should have confirmed him as the husband of another woman, had on the contrary, only served to make her understand her own heart; and never had she thought she might have loved him, as she did now, when all love must be in vain.
Remembering that they had agreed to ride again that morning, and feeling herself quite unequal to it, she sent word to the Park that she would not go out that day, and attempted to persuade Henry to walk with her, and conduct that morning’s observations on foot.
‘I wish I could oblige you, my dear Mary,’ he replied, ‘but I am currently sketching plans for a Grecian temple on the hill behind the house. It is full two miles from the parsonage, and I should not have time to complete what I have set myself to do today if I were to walk there and back. But,’ he said, smiling, ‘I would be delighted to have your company to the stables. I hear we are to meet the celebrated Mr Rushworth tomorrow, and I am most eager to know what kind of a man to expect. I am sure the young ladies of the Park have made it their business to discover all there is to know on such a promising subject. You must enlighten me, so I may be fully prepared.’
Henry meant only to divert her, and at any other time he would have succeeded; she would have entered into his lively speculations as to the cut of Mr Rushworth’s frock-coat and his preferred blend of snuff with genuine enthusiasm, for she usually took a great delight in any thing ridiculous, and in self-conceit most of all. But she had never been more at a loss to make her feelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to smile, and smile she did, but the effort required was so far beyond her, that it was a welcome relief to watch him ride away.
After wandering in the park alone for two hours, a recollection of her long absence made her decide at length to return home. She was on the point of turning back when she was surprised by the sight of Mr Norris approaching her, and at no great distance. Composing herself and forcing a smile, she began, as they met, to comment upon the beauty of the day.
‘I did not know before that you ever walked this way, Mr Norris,’ she continued, but then, recollecting that this might suggest she had sought the place purposely to avoid seeing him, her colour changed, and she said no more.
‘I have been making a tour of the park,’ he replied, looking in her face, ‘as I generally do on days when I do not ride. Are you going much farther?’
‘No, I should have turned back in a few moments.’
Mary was surprised to find that he intended to accompany her, and accordingly they both turned, and walked together. She was afraid of talking of any thing that might lead them to Miss Price, or his engagement; and, having nothing else to say, was determined to leave the trouble of finding a subject to him. It was some minutes before he did so, but at last, and as if it were an effort, he said, ‘Are you enjoying your stay in Mansfield? Your sister must be glad of your company.’
‘I think she is, yes. But I suspect that as far as Dr Grant is concerned, my brother is an even more welcome guest, since he provides a perfect excuse for drinking claret every day.’
Mr Norris smiled. ‘I should also take this opportunity to thank you, Miss Crawford.’
‘Thank me, Mr Norris?’ she said, in a voice of forced calmness. ‘What occasion could you have to thank me?’
‘For your kindness to my cousin,’ he said, with a serious look. ‘I have been observing your new intimacy with the greatest pleasure. Julia is a dear child, but she has, perhaps, rather too much feeling for her own tranquillity. The companionship of a rational, unaffected woman like yourself can only be of the utmost advantage to her.’
It was not the prettiest compliment she had ever been paid, but now that she knew Mr Norris better, Mary was sensible of his sincerity, and valued his words all the more.
‘The rest of us have so many cares and preoccupations of our own,’ he continued, ‘that we may not have understood how lonely she has become since William’s departure. And even in a large and happy family the position of a youngest offspring can be a solitary one.’
There might, perhaps, have been the suspicion of a sigh at this, and Mary wondered, for the first time, about his own childhood, and what it might have been to have had such a stepmother as Mrs Norris.
For a moment she thought he was about to say more, but he seemed to think better of it, and another long silence succeeded. But when he spoke again he surprised her exceedingly by asking whether she would be staying on in Northampton-shire when the work on the park was completed. She did not know what to make of it.What was it to him, after all, whether she went or staid?
‘I hardly know,’ she stammered, blushing in spite of herself. ‘We—that is, my sister—has not yet invited me. But Henry will certainly be off,’ she continued, recovering her spirits. ‘Surry or Shrop-shire, I forget which, but in any case some where beginning with an S.’ She smiled. ‘But then Henry loves to be continually travelling. Even now, when he may pick and choose his engagements, I have known him to accept commissions simply for the pleasure of being on the road.’
‘I can see that such a man as Mr Crawford would like to have his own way,’ replied Mr Norris in a serious tone. ‘But we cannot all have his same luxury of choice. I envy him that. Most of his fellow men are condemned to self-denial, and an enforced submission to the will of others.’
Mary laughed. ‘I doubt that the nephew of Sir Thomas Bertram can know very much of self-denial. Now, seriously, Mr Norris, what have you ever known of hardship? When have you been prevented from going wherever you chose, whenever the fancy took you? When have you been forced to rely on the kindness of others to supply the necessities of board and lodging?’
She stopped, knowing she had said a great deal too much, and averting her eyes, was unable to see the look on his face as he replied,‘Miss Crawford is pleased to remind me of the differences in our situations. But,’ he said, in a softer accent, ‘in some matters of great weight, I too have suffered from the want of independence.’
‘Is this,’ thought Mary, ‘meant to refer to Miss Price?’ Her embarrassment appeared in an agitated look, his in a rush of colour; and for a few minutes they were both silent; till the distant apparition of Henry promised to save them both from further discomfiture. He met them with great affability, saying that he had returned to the parsonage, and finding Mary still absent, had walked out to meet her. Mr Norris took the first opportunity of consigning Mary to her brother’s care, and when Henry then turned to her and asked what the two of them had been talking of so earnestly, she hardly knew how to answer.
CHAPTER IV
As she dressed for dinner the following day, Mary struggled to achieve at least the appearance of composure; her brother might make such public shew of his own attachment as he chose, and not care for the consequences; Mary must be more guarded and more circumspect. And now that she was fully apprised of her own feelings, she was apprehensive lest Henry’s discernment or her sister’s shrewd eye might discover the truth; she did not know, in reality, whether it was her brother’s raillery she feared more, or the sisterly concern of Mrs Grant’s warm and affectionate heart.
For the time being, however, Mrs Grant seemed more concerned with the small cares and anxieties of her toilette. ‘What dreadful hot weather this is!’ she said, working away her fan as if for life, as the carriage made its way across the park. ‘It keeps one in a continual state of inelegance.’
‘We shall, at leas
t, find the company somewhat enlivened this evening by the presence of another guest,’ remarked her husband, rather sourly. ‘A larger group is always preferable— tiny parties force one into constant exertion.’
As they approached the Park, they passed close by the stable-yard and coach-house.
‘Ha!’ cried Henry in delight. ‘The much-anticipated Rushworth must be here already! You were right, Mary, ’tis a barouche. And a very fine one, at that! Quite as gaudy and ostentatious as I expected. This is much better than I had dared to hope; I anticipate an evening of the keenest enjoyment.’
As it was, the parsonage party heard Mr Rushworth before they saw him, for the sound of his voice reached them even as the servant led them across the hall.
‘My dear Lady Bertram,’ he was saying loudly, ‘the insufferable dilatoriness one endures at their hands! The thousand disappointments and delays to which one is exposed! The trouble that is made over the slightest request, the tricks and stratagems that are employed to avoid the simplest tasks, make one quite despair. Only this morning I decided that blue was quite the wrong colour for the drawing-room and directed the painter that the entire room should be done again in pea-green. One would have thought that I had asked him to undertake one of the labours of Hercules.’ “For Heaven’s sake, man,” said I, “’tis nothing more than a little distemper—no more than half an hour’s work for a great lubberly fellow like you. Go to it, man! You will have it done before dinner-time!” But needless to say, when I left Sotherton two hours ago he was still there, on his hands and knees with a sponge and a pail of water. They have no capacity for diligence, Mrs Norris, no enthusiasm for honest toil!’
‘Oh! I can only agree with you, Mr Rushworth,’ simpered Mrs Norris, ‘and if he were here, my dear husband would concur most heartily. When we had the dining-parlour at the White House improved, we had to insist that the work was done over three times. I told Mr Norris not to pay them a shilling until we were completely satisfied with the results.’
Mr Rushworth was just beginning to commend Mrs Norris’s good management when the Grants and Crawfords made their entrance. When Mary was introduced he addressed her with affected civility, and gave a haughty bow and wave of the hand, which assured Henry, as plainly as words could have done, that he was exactly the coxcomb he had been hoping for. However, the smiles and pleased looks of those standing round him by the fire shewed that many of the family had already formed a completely contrary opinion. Mary soon observed that Miss Bertram looked particularly happy; her countenance had an unusual animation, which was heightened still farther when they went in to dinner and she was seated opposite to their principal guest.
Henry took a place near to Miss Price, but she very pointedly gave her whole attention to Mr Rushworth, who was sitting beside her. With both Miss Bertram and Miss Price claiming a share in his civilities, Mr Rushworth had much to do to satisfy the vanity of both young ladies, but it soon became obvious to Mary, that despite paying the most flattering courtesies on either side, their visitor’s eye was far more often drawn to Maria than to her cousin. Miss Price saw it too; of that there could be no doubt. Her face crimsoned over and she was evidently struggling for composure. Mary saw that she was piqued, and found herself divided between a hope that Miss Price might derive some benefit from such a lesson in humility, and a degree of sympathy she would not have anticipated, had she pondered the question with cool consideration. Accustomed as the young lady was to constant deference and an easy pre-eminence, no-one seemed to have thought it useful to teach her how to govern her temper, or sustain a second place with patience and fortitude.
Of the tumult of Miss Price’s feelings, however, her family seemed perfectly unaware. Mary thought, however, that she observed a look and a smile of consciousness from Miss Bertram, which shewed that she could not but be pleased, she could not but triumph, meeting with such a delightful and unwonted event. Mary wondered what such an unexpected development might lead to, but even her foresight was not equal to imagining what was eventually to ensue.
When the dessert and the wine were arranged, the subject of improving grounds was brought forward again, and Mr Rushworth turned to Henry with all the careless insolence of imaginary superiority. ‘Knowing some thing of your reputation, nothing could be so gratifying to me as to hear your opinion of my plans for Sotherton. After all, it is so useful to have one’s genius confirmed by a professional man.’
Henry coloured, and said nothing, but Mr Rushworth’s eyes were fixed on the young ladies. ‘In my opinion it is infinitely better to rely on one’s own genius,’ he continued, ‘or, at most, to consult with friends and disinterested advisers, rather than throw the business into the hands of an improver. I had considered engaging Repton. His terms are five guineas a day, you know, which is of course a mere nothing, but in the end I could not see what such a man could possibly devise that I could not do fifty times better myself. How could it be otherwise? I own that he may be blessed with natural taste, but he has no education, none of the instruction that improves the mind and informs the understanding.’
Henry’s mortification was apparent, at least to some, and Mr Norris hastened to ask him about his proposals for Mansfield.
‘We have all, at one time or another in the last few weeks, attempted to divine your intentions, Crawford, but so far you have always stood firm. But we will not be denied tonight—come, you must let us into the secret. Mrs Grant, Miss Crawford, you must join me in persuading your brother.’
Henry laughed, but protested that it would be impossible to do justice to the imagination and invention of his proposals (this with a look of meaning in the direction of Mr Rushworth) without his sketches and drawings shewing the park as it now was, and as it would be after his improvements.
‘But surely you can give us some idea?’ cried Tom Bertram. ‘A general picture of what you propose?’
‘With Sir Thomas’s permission, I will be happy to do so.’ Sir Thomas bowing his consent, Henry began his narration; and Mary smiled to see him now the centre of attention, with even Miss Price gazing intently upon him.
‘I will begin with the river, or perhaps rivulet is a more apt term; a place such as Mansfield should not be dishonoured by such a thin brook that floods with every shower. No, Mansfield deserves the splendid prospect of an abundant river, majestically flowing. But,’ he said, turning to his neighbour, ‘I see a question in Miss Price’s eyes. She is wondering how this is to be done. And the answer is that I propose to build a new weir, a weir that will augment the flow of the river, and create a cascade within view of the house.’
There was the greatest amazement at this, and expressions of astonishment and admiration on all sides.
‘And yet,’ he said, smiling, ‘I have barely begun, and my next scheme is even more ambitious than the first. I will open the prospect at the rear of the house and create a vista that will be the envy of the whole country!’
‘Open the prospect?’ said Julia, speaking for the first time, the colour rushing from her cheeks. ‘But you could not do that—that would not be possible unless—unless— you felled the avenue. Surely you do not—you cannot— intend to do that?’
‘My sincerest apologies to Miss Julia Bertram,’ said Henry in a gentler tone, ‘but I do not see how else it is to be done.’
Seeing her distress, her father took her hand, and pressed it kindly.‘My dear,’ said SirThomas,‘I know your attachment to the avenue, but we have brought Mr Crawford here to give us his advice. There can be no use in that if we do not take it when it is given.’
‘Did not I hear that you did some thing similar at Compton, Crawford?’ asked Mr Rushworth in a complacent accent. ‘Cut down some twisted old trees near the house? I am often asked for my opinion on such matters, and on this occasion, I was forced to acknowledge (though rather against the bias of my inclination, I confess) that it appeared to have been some thing of a success. That horrid dark house at Compton has become almost liveable.’
M
iss Price turned at once to her uncle. ‘I hope you will consider Mr Rushworth’s proposition, sir,’ she said. ‘Those gloomy old trees quite overwhelm the view from my room. Julia’s silly girlish attachment to them cannot be allowed to compromise the comfort of everyone else in the house.’
She spoke in a cross tone quite unlike her usual simper, which Mary took as proof that discontent and jealousy had made her briefly forgetful of the appearance of demure and tender sensibility she normally studied to affect. The effect of her words on Julia was equally apparent; it pained Mary to see that the girl had turned of a death-like paleness, and was too intent on suppressing her agitation to eat or speak any thing more.
‘I quite agree with you, Fanny,’ said Mrs Norris quickly. ‘Indeed, I was saying much the same to Lady Bertram only this evening. At fourteen Julia is in far too many respects exactly as she was at ten. Running about wild in the woods, tearing her clothes, and indulging in all manner of juvenile whims. If you had seen her in the drawing-room the other day, Sir Thomas—quite ragged and covered with paint from head to toe! I am sure you would have agreed with me—it is time she was taken in hand. I am at your service, sir, whenever you command me.’
As a general reflection on Julia, Sir Thomas thought nothing could be more unjust, and seeing that his daughter’s tears were about to shew themselves, he tried to turn the conversation, tried repeatedly before he could succeed, but the volubility of his principal guest came at last to his aid. Mr Rushworth was a great deal too full of his own cares to think of any thing else, or notice what had passed, and he resumed the subject of improvements in general, and Sotherton in particular, with unimpaired enthusiasm. After a lengthy description of the work he was intending to undertake—which was all to be done in the very best taste and without a thought for the expense—he returned once more to Compton, which he now appeared to consider owed all its picturesque new beauty to his having once had a brief conversation on the subject with its owner, more than a twelvemonth before. Mary hardly dared look at her brother, but when she did have the courage to glance across at him, she found to her surprise that he was deep in conversation with Miss Price. Judging by that young lady’s expression, Henry was doubtless supplying all the compliments Mr Rushworth had neglected to provide, but Mary wondered at the wisdom of such a proceeding for either party. Miss Price might make use of her brother’s flattery to console a wounded vanity, and he might profit from such a capital opportunity to advance his own suit, but in neither case could Mary see much good resulting from it, and a glance at Mr Norris shewed that he was not entirely free from similar apprehensions. Mary could not but agree, though to think of Edmund as agitated by jealousy, was a bitter blow indeed.
Murder at Mansfield Park Page 5