Murder at Mansfield Park

prolonged that Julia felt it necessary to prompt Miss Price with her next speech. Casting a look of some irritation in her cousin’s direction,
Miss Price continued. ‘ He talked of love, and promised me marriage ,’ she said, in tones of becoming modesty. ‘ He was the first man who had ever spoken to me on such a
subject — don’t look at me, dear Frederick! I can say no more ,’ and indeed she did not, though there was a certain half-glance at Mr Rushworth that seemed designed to
convey a private meaning.
    Mr Rushworth composed himself into yet another attitude of manly vigour, and pressed his companion’s hand next to his heart.
    ‘ Oh! My son! ’ she sighed. ‘ I was intoxicated by the fervent caresses of —’
    ‘You must excuse me, Fanny,’ said Julia, rising from her seat, ‘but this passage has been omitted.’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ said Miss Price quickly, returning to her own voice, ‘I recall. Mr Rushworth, we now move on to the next page. You begin again with “ Proceed,
proceed ”.’
    Lady Bertram and her sister happened to choose this moment to join the small audience, and therefore witnessed only the closing moments of the scene. Mrs Norris was loud in her
disappointment at missing Fanny’s triumph, but eventually accepted her assurance that there were several more scenes of equal potential, and took her seat.
    The next scene brought Mr Yates to the stage for the first time. He had been severely displeased to find that his blue cloak was still unfinished, a failure he did not scruple to attribute to
Mrs Norris’s insistence on completing it without sending out for another roll of satin. It took some moments for him to rant himself back into a good humour, but by the point of Mary’s
entrance he was in full voice.
    ‘ The name of Wildenhaim will die with me! ’ he stormed. ‘ Oh! Why was not my Amelia a boy? ’
    Mr Yates’s voice was so thunderous, his manner so ridiculous, that it was as much as Mary could do to avoid laughing aloud. In consequence, she did the comedy of the scene some credit, and
they proceeded with great éclat, especially after the entrance of Henry, whose appearance in a cocked hat he had discovered in the Mansfield school-room was such a piece of true comic
acting as Mary would not have lost upon any account.
    They were obliged to stop half way through the act, where Mr Norris’s character would have entered, and Mary returned to her seat to watch Rushworth and Yates roar through the next scene.
Frederick drew his sword upon his unknown father, and the Baron imprisoned his unknown son, both hallooing at one another from a distance of less than a yard. The act closed with the solemn
pronouncement from Mr Yates that ‘ Vice is never half so dangerous, as when it assumes the garb of morality ’, and the fervent applause of the spectators. Both audience and actors
then repaired to the dining-parlour, where a collation had been prepared, and the company began upon the cold meat and cake with equal enthusiasm.
    Everyone was too much engaged in compliment and criticism to be struck by an unusual noise in the other part of the house, until the door of the room was thrown open, and Maria appearing at it,
with a look of meaning at her cousin and Mr Rushworth, announced in trembling tones, ‘Edmund has come! He is in the hall at this moment!’
    Not a word was spoken for half a minute, but there was no time for further consternation, for Edmund was following his cousin almost instantaneously into the dining-room, intent on losing no
time in giving them a full report of his uncle’s health, and the particulars of their journey.
    ‘And what of you all?’ he asked at the end of it. ‘How does the play go on?’
    ‘We have chosen Lovers’ Vows ,’ replied Mr Yates, his voice still rather hoarse from his exertions. ‘And I take Baron Wildenhaim.’
    ‘I see,’ said Edmund, then, ‘I am afraid I do not know the play,’ unaware of the relief this declaration afforded to at least one person present.
    ‘You are to be Anhalt, Edmund,’ said Tom quickly. ‘We have cast all the other men. Indeed, we were in the midst of a rehearsal when you arrived.’
    ‘Pray do not leave off on my account, Tom,’said Edmund with a smile. ‘I will join the audience and spur you on.’
    ‘Would it not be better,’ began Miss Price, with a look at Mr Rushworth, ‘if Anhalt were to read through his scene with Amelia here, in the dining-parlour? The rest might