Murder at Mansfield Park (11 page)

‘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 every thing, 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 some thing 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 any thing she had seen in the theatre at Mansfield Park, and though she knew she ought to draw their attention to her presence, some thing 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.’