Murder at Mansfield Park

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?’

 
    CHAPTER VIII
    Nothing can convey the alarm and distress of the party. Sir Thomas was dead! All felt the instantaneous conviction. Not a hope of imposition or mistake was harboured any where.
Lady Bertram’s looks were an evidence of the fact that made it indisputable. It was a terrible pause; every heart was suggesting, ‘What will become of us? What is to be done
now?’
    Edmund was the first to move and speak again. ‘My dear madam, what has happened?’ he asked, helping his aunt to a chair, but Lady Bertram could only hold out the letter she had been
clutching, and exclaim in the anguish of her heart, ‘Oh, Edmund, if I had known, I would never have allowed him to go!’
    Entrusting Lady Bertram to her daughters’ care, Edmund turned quickly to the letter.
    ‘He is not dead!’ he cried a moment later, anxious to give what immediate comfort was within his power. Julia sat down in the nearest chair, unable to support herself, and Tom
started forward, saying, ‘Then what is the matter? For God’s sake, Edmund, tell us what has happened!’
    ‘He is not dead, but he is very ill. The letter is from a Mr Croxford, a physician in Keswick. It appears my uncle elected to undertake an inspection of the property on horseback,
and suffered a dreadful fall, and a serious contusion to his head. It was some hours before he was missed, and several more before he was discovered, by which time he was unconscious, and very
cold, and had bled a good deal. This Mr Croxford was sent for at once, and initial progress was good. That afternoon he opened his eyes—’
    ‘So he is better—he is recovered!’ cried Julia in all the agony of renewed hope.
    ‘—but soon closed them again, without apparent consciousness, and by the evening he was alternating between fits of dangerous delirium in which he scarce knew his own name, and
moments of lucidity, when he seemed almost himself. At the time of writing, Mr Croxford admits that the signs are still alarming, but he talks with hope of the improvement which a fresh mode of
treatment might procure. “ Before he sank into his present wildness ,”’ Edmund continued, his voice sinking, ‘“ Sir Thomas begged me to ensure that this letter
should go to Mansfield at once, and by private messenger. Knowing himself to be in danger, and fearing that he may never see his beloved family again, he demanded a promise from me, with all the
strength and urgency which illness could command, that I would communicate to you his wish, perhaps his dying wish— ”’
    Edmund stopped a moment, then added, in a voice which seemed to distrust itself, ‘I think, perhaps, that it would be better if we deferred the discussion of such a subject until
tomorrow—it is a matter of some delicacy.’
    Mr Rushworth offered at once to withdraw, but Miss Bertram stopped him, saying, ‘What is it, Edmund? What are my father’s wishes?’
    ‘Very well,’ said Edmund, with resignation. ‘Mr Croxford writes as follows: “ Sir Thomas directs that there should no longer be any delay in the celebration of the
marriage between his niece and Mr Norris. If he should be doomed never to return, it would give him the last, best comfort to know that he had ensured the happiness of two young people so very dear
to him. He only wishes that he could be sure that his own children were as nobly and as eligibly settled. ”’
    Every eye turned upon Miss Price, who, conscious of their scrutiny, rose to her feet and said in an unsteady voice, ‘You must excuse me, indeed you must excuse me,’ before running
out of the room.
    Mrs Norris made to follow her, unable to suppress a look of triumph and exultation at such an unlooked-for resolution to all her difficulties, but Edmund firmly prevented her. ‘She is
distressed, madam. It will all be better left until tomorrow, when we will have had the advantage of sleep. In the mean time, Mr Rushworth, I would be most grateful if you would assist us in
keeping the whole affair from public knowledge for the time being, until we receive further news.’
    Mr Rushworth readily assured them of his secrecy, expressed his sorrow for their suffering, and requested their permission to call the following morning, before taking his leave.
    The evening