Murder at Mansfield Park

passed without a pause of misery, the night was totally sleepless, and the following morning brought no relief. Those of the family who appeared for breakfast were
quiet and dejected; Tom was the only one among them who seemed disposed for speech, wondering aloud how he would ever be able to assume all his father’s responsibilities.
    ‘Someone must speak to the steward, and then there is the bailiff,’ he said, half to himself, ‘and of course there are the improvements. I will walk down to the parsonage this
morning and see Crawford myself. He should know immediately. I think we may safely confide in the Crawfords. Knowing my father, as they do, they will be genuinely distressed at this dreadful
news.’
    The Grants were not at home, but the Crawfords received the news with all the sympathy and concern required by such painful tidings; Mary had barely comprehended the consequences of his
disclosure, and Henry was still expressing their wishes for a happier conclusion to his father’s illness than there was at present reason to hope, when Mr Bertram threw them into even greater
amazement.
    ‘I am grateful for your kind condolences, which I will convey to my mother and sisters,’ he said, ‘and if Miss Crawford were to favour them with her company at the Park
tomorrow, I am sure they would be thankful for any assistance she might be able to offer with the preparations. Though needless to say, we intend to keep matters within a much smaller circle than
was originally intended.’
    He stopped, seeing their looks of incomprehension. ‘Forgive me, my thoughts are somewhat distracted. But every thing considered, I see no reason why you should not know. Sir Thomas has
expressed his wish that the marriage between Edmund and Fanny might take place at once. Indeed I was hoping to see Dr Grant, that I might consult him about the service.’
    ‘I see,’ said Mary, rising from her chair and going over to her work-table to hide her perturbation.
    ‘So Miss Price and Mr Norris are to marry at last,’ said Henry, with studied indifference. ‘And when, precisely, are we to wish them joy?’
    ‘As soon as Edmund returns. He left this morning for Cumberland. In the mean time, we await further news,’ he concluded, in a more serious tone, ‘but I fear that the next
letter may simply confer an even greater obligation upon us to hasten the accomplishment of my father’s wishes.’
    Mr Bertram departed soon after, and Henry following him out, Mary was left alone. Her mind was in the utmost confusion and dismay. It was exactly as she had expected, and yet it was beyond
belief!
    ‘Oh, Edmund!’ she said to herself. ‘How can you be so blind! Will nothing open your eyes? Surely Sir Thomas would not insist on this wedding if he knew your true
feelings! Or those of his niece! Oh! If I could believe Miss Price to deserve you, it would be—how different would it be! But it is all too late. You will marry, and you will be miserable,
and there is nothing anyone else can do to prevent it.’
    The agitation and tears which the subject occasioned brought on a head-ache. Her usual practice under such circumstances would be to go out for an hour’s exercise, but she dreaded meeting
anyone from the Park, and took refuge instead in her room. In consequence, her head-ache grew so much worse towards the evening that she refused all dinner, and went to bed with her heart as full
as on the first evening of her arrival at Mansfield.
    The next morning brought no further news, and her head-ache easing, Mary prepared herself to fulfil her promise, and pay a visit to the ladies of the Park. It was a miserable
little party. Lady Bertram was a wretched, stupefied creature, and Julia was scarcely less an object of pity, her eyes red, and the stains of tears covering her cheeks. Maria Bertram was by far the
most animated of the three, but hers was the animation of an agitated and anxious mind. Fear and expectation seemed to oppress her in equal degrees, and she was unable to keep her seat, picking up
first one book and then another, before abandoning both to pace impatiently up and down the room. There was no sign of Fanny, and when Mary made a brief enquiry she was told merely that Miss Price
was indisposed, and Mrs Norris was attending to her.
    Mary sat for some minutes more in silence, impatient to be gone, but constrained by the forms of general civility, until the appearance of Baddeley with a tray of chocolate, which, by