Murder at Mansfield Park

insolent—’
    ‘On the contrary, madam,’ said Tom, quickly, ‘I believe Miss Crawford has hit upon exactly what was wanting. We have been so overcome with shock, that we have done little but
stare at each other, and repine at our fate, all the while doing very little to the purpose. But that will not find her. I will go to the steward at once; with luck and expedition we may have news
by nightfall.’
    So saying, he walked briskly out of the room. Lady Bertram had begun to weep quietly, and Julia being too distressed herself to offer any support to her mother, Mary suggested gently that they
might both be more comfortable upstairs. Mrs Norris turning away in a manner so pointed that anger and resentment could not have been more plainly spoken, Mary decided that her presence was no
longer helpful, and politely took her leave. As she moved towards the door, she was not a little surprised to find Maria Bertram offering to walk with her a little way towards the parsonage.
    ‘I suppose this will be the talk of the village before the day is out,’ said Maria, as they went out through the hall and onto the drive. Mary stole a glance at her, unable to
decipher her tone: was it possible that she took pleasure in the fact that Fanny’s disgrace must be spread abroad in such a humiliating and public fashion?
    ‘If that is so, it will not be my doing,’ she replied, firmly. ‘It would be best for everyone if the truth were concealed for as long as it is possible. Your father must be
consulted, and it is still possible Miss Price may repent of her hasty decision, and return home on her own account.’
    Judging from the expression on her face, Miss Bertram clearly found this prospect absurd, but confined her incredulity to some lines shewn about the corners of her mouth.
    ‘All the same, Miss Crawford,’ she pursued, after a moment, ‘I am sure you must have some idea—some theory—about what could have happened?’
    Mary sighed, and shook her head. ‘I find it hard to comprehend how, or why, Miss Price left your father’s house.’
    Maria gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘As to the why, Miss Crawford, I am sure you know as well as I do. Fanny was desperate to avoid marrying Edmund. Her manner to him of late has been
utterly indifferent. Indeed, I am more and more convinced that she never wanted to marry him at all, but merely acquiesced in a plan of others’ making. And to others ’
advantage,’ she concluded, with a look of meaning.
    ‘But even were that so,’ replied Mary, who did not doubt it, ‘she must have been desperate indeed to throw in her lot with someone she hardly knew.’
    Maria looked at her archly. ‘Why should you say that? I can think of at least two gentlemen she knows quite well enough—either one of them might have found her fortune, if not
her person, sufficient inducement.’
    Mary coloured in shame and vexation. ‘Miss Bertram may not have heard that my brother left Mansfield some days ago for Hertford-shire. I expect to hear from him presently.’
    ‘I am pleased to hear it,’ replied Miss Bertram, ‘for your sake, if not for his. But there is still Mr Rushworth to be considered.’
    Mary looked at her in some surprise. ‘I was told he had departed for Bath?’
    Maria raised an eyebrow. ‘So was I. So were we all. But we do not know that is where he is. Do we, Miss Crawford?’
    And with that she gave a brief bow, turned on her heel, and walked quickly back towards the house.

 
    CHAPTER X
    If Mary had been concerned how to keep the matter secret from her sister, her fears proved of little consequence; as Miss Bertram had suspected, there was not a house in
Mansfield that had not heard the news of Fanny’s elopement by Monday evening. It was not to be expected that a lady of such an open and inquisitive temper as Mrs Grant would not find much
food for conjecture in so extraordinary and uncommon an event, and Mary had to endure many hours of such speculation from her sister, as well as observations of a more severe and moralising
character from Dr Grant. The only event to enliven the quiet and anxious days that followed was a letter from Henry, much longer and gayer than his usual communications, and full of such
entertaining accounts of mud waded through, and deluges averted, that could not but make Mary laugh despite herself. Once, and once only, was she able to see Julia, when she was persuaded to leave
her sorrowing mother to her sister’s care, and sit