Murder at Mansfield Park

for an hour with Mary in the Mansfield flower garden. Mary saw at once that although her young friend had grown even thinner, her looks were
greatly improved; the explanation for this gratifying change was soon forthcoming.
    ‘We have heard from Edmund,’ she said, slipping her arm through Mary’s. ‘He writes that my father is in every respect materially better—the fever has all but
abated, and although he still has all the weakness and debility of such a serious illness, the physician believes he will make an entire recovery.’
    Mary expressed her sincere relief at such welcome news. ‘And how is your cousin?’ she continued, in a guarded manner.
    Julia sighed. ‘If what you really mean to ask is whether Edmund has been told the news from Mansfield, then the answer is yes. My father is as yet too weak and nervous to withstand such a
shock, but Edmund has sent a letter of advice and assistance to Tom, which has been an inestimable support to him. He has also promised to leave Cumberland as soon as he may, my father being out of
danger, and Edmund’s presence being so much wanted here. As to his own feelings on the matter, I cannot tell. My cousin has always been reserved, and a frank expression of his sentiments was
not to be expected in such a letter, at such a time.’
    ‘No indeed,’ thought Mary, who felt a respect for him on the occasion, which only gained him ground in her good opinion. Even were she to suppose him heart-broken by the news of
Fanny’s duplicity, his dignified restraint under such a trial could not but augment her tenderness and esteem.
    A few moments later they turned from the garden into the green shade of the lime walk, which stretched beyond the garden to the boundary of the pleasure-grounds. It was a charming walk, leading
to a belvedere, which, by reason of its position on the top of a considerable bank, afforded a delightful view towards the stream and the valley beyond. When they had seated themselves on the
bench, Mary ventured to introduce the subject of Compton, and enquire of Julia what it was that she had wished to discuss with her.
    ‘I know it seems a long time ago, and so much has happened since then, but I cannot forget how distressed you seemed. It appeared to be a matter of some urgency.’
    Julia bit her lip and looked down, avoiding Mary’s eye. Did she imagine it, or had a shadow passed across the girl’s face at her words?
    ‘Miss Bertram? Have I said some thing to offend you?’
    ‘It was nothing—a—a misunderstanding,’ said Julia quickly. ‘My apologies, my dear Miss Crawford, but I find the walk has tired me more than I expected. Perhaps we
could return to the house?’
    ‘By all means,’ replied Mary, quite at a loss to know how she had transgressed.
    Julia rose to her feet, and stood for a moment looking over the balustrade. The workmen were clearly visible on the far side of the stream, as was the cart in which their tools were stored; they
had already completed the first length of the channel, and an ugly black gash was perceptible against the verdant green bank.
    Julia’s brow darkened. ‘How long, do you suppose, Miss Crawford, before they start to fell the avenue?’
    Mary went to her friend’s side, ‘I am afraid I do not know. It will depend what instructions my brother has left in his absence.’
    ‘So there may still be time,’ said Julia, her voice dropping to a whisper. ‘Time to prevent it.’
    They returned to the house in time to see a messenger mounting his horse, and departing down the drive. Seeing their approach, Tom Bertram came down the steps to meet them, but it was clear even
before he spoke, that the letter had brought nothing of significance, concerning either Fanny, or Sir Thomas’s health. Julia took the opportunity to excuse herself, and hastened away into the
house without meeting Mary’s eye. Still wondering at the sudden alteration in her manner, Mary was about to take her leave, when Tom asked if he might take a turn with her for a few minutes,
and consult her on the subject of the message he had just received.
    ‘I would be most happy,’ she said, as they moved towards the garden, ‘but I am not sure what assistance I can provide.’
    ‘On the contrary,’ he replied earnestly, ‘the advice you were previously so good as to offer, was exactly what Edmund suggested in his letter. Your happy interposition saved us
at least three days. We are all—the family—most grateful.’
    Mary