Murder at Mansfield Park

never misses an opportunity to interfere, even where she is not wanted. Did you see her at the ball? Taking it on
herself to make up the card-tables, as if she were the hostess, and plaguing the life out of the chaperons because she wanted them moved to another part of the room. But at least we will not
have to endure all that again in a hurry. There will be no more balls at Sotherton for the present.’
    Henry looked up from where he was sitting removing his boots. ‘What is this? No more balls at Sotherton? Do not ask me to believe that Mr Rushworth has all of a sudden lost his taste for
gaudy display, or acquired a preference for the modest and discreet.’
    ‘No, indeed, Henry,’ said Mrs Grant, with a look that was only half reproving. ‘But I heard this morning that he has left the neighbourhood. I am told that when he returned to
Sotherton last night, there was a letter awaiting him from his father requesting his presence in Bath, and his father’s requests are not, apparently, of the kind to be trifled with. They say
he will not be back before the winter. Did you not hear about it at the Park, Mary? Mr Rushworth called there this morning, on his way to the turnpike road—or so Mrs Baddeley told me. The
ladies must have heard the news by now.’
    ‘I am certain they have,’ thought Mary, ‘and I do not doubt that it was this news, unexpected and unwelcome as it must have been, that was the real cause of Miss
Price’s hysteria, rather than any excessive solicitude for her uncle’s health.’ A glance at her brother proved that he was of much the same mind, but Henry refused to meet her
gaze, and a moment later he was on his feet, and hurrying away to dress for dinner.

 
    CHAPTER IX
    The weather worsening the next day, Mary was forced to give up all notion of a walk to the Park, and resigned herself to the probability of twenty-four hours within doors, with
only her brother and the Grants for company. In the latter, however, she was mistaken. They were just beginning breakfast when a letter arrived for Henry; a letter of the most pressing business, as
they soon discovered.
    ‘It is from Sir Robert Ferrars,’ he said, as he turned the pages. ‘You remember, Mary? I had the laying out of his pleasure-grounds at Netherfield last year, after he acquired
the estate from Charles Bingley. A small job, hardly worth the trouble, but one that obtained for me some invaluable new connections. Indeed, I still have hopes of a commission at Bingley’s
new property on the strength of his recommendation. However,’ he continued, his brow contracting, ‘it seems that an officious gardener has been interfering with the drains, with the
result that most of the gravel walks are now under half a foot of water. Ferrars is reluctant to entrust the repair work to anyone but me—as well he should be, in the circumstances.’ He
folded the letter and put it carefully in his pocket-book. ‘He writes to request my presence without delay. I will pen a note to Bertram to inform him, if you would be so good as to send one
of the men to the Park? The affair requires my immediate departure, and if the weather is at all the same in Hertford-shire as it is here, I dare not imagine the dirt and disorder I will find on my
arrival. It will be a miracle if my magnificent statues are not up to their knees in mud.’
    The rest of the morning was devoted to packing Henry’s trunk, and preparing for his journey. When the whirl of departure was over, and they had watched him disappear into the mist and
gloom of the afternoon, Mary returned to the parlour to warm herself by the fire, and reflect on the slow monotony of a wet day in the country, with nothing but the prospect of cribbage with her
brother-in-law to enliven it. The only slight communication from the Park was a short note from Tom Bertram by way of reply to Henry, but it contained no further tidings from Cumberland, and
consideration for the footman standing shivering in the dark at the outer door prevented Mary from sending any word to Julia. She would have to wait for better weather, and as she was used to
walking, and had no fear of either path or puddles, she was confident that she, at least, would not be too long confined to the house.
    However, in this, she was to be disappointed. It was a further four days before even Mary could venture outdoors, four days that brought no further news, either from the Park,
or from Henry, though in truth she had