Murder at Mansfield Park

occupied in their progress out of the school-room and into the narrow corridor, that the opening of an adjacent door passed
unnoticed—unnoticed, that is, until the silence was rent by a shriek of so terrifying a pitch as to be scarcely human. It was Julia Bertram; her face was white, and she had sunk to her knees,
her eyes wide with awe and terror.
    ‘No! No!’ she screamed. ‘Tell me she is not dead! She cannot, cannot be dead!’
    ‘Oh my Lord!’ cried Mrs Baddeley, rushing to Julia’s aid. ‘This is just what I tried to prevent!’
    Mary turned at once to the footmen, who were standing motionless, half stupefied. ‘Go at once,’ she said quickly. ‘Make haste with the coffin, if you please. Miss Julia should
never have seen this.’
    ‘Did I not tell you, not an hour since,’ said the housekeeper, casting a furious look at the maid who had just appeared at Julia’s side, ‘that on no account was
Miss Julia to be allowed to leave her bed this afternoon? Heavens above, girl, what were you thinking of?’
    The maid was, by this time, almost as horror-struck as her young mistress, and stammered between her tears that ‘They would have stopped her had they only known, but Miss Julia had
insisted on rising—she said she wished to see her brother, and she seemed so much better, that they all thought some fresh air would do her good.’
    ‘As to that, Polly Evans, it’s not for you to think thoughts, it’s for you to do as you’re told. Heaven only knows what Mr Gilbert will say. It will be a miracle if
serious mischief has not been done.’
    This did little to calm the terrified maid, who looked ready to fall into hysterics herself, and Mary motioned to Mrs Baddeley to take the girl to her own quarters, while she helped Julia back
to her bed. She was by this time in a state of such extreme distress that Mary sent one of the servants to fetch Mr Bertram, with a request that the physician be summoned at once. But as she waited
anxiously for his arrival, it was not Tom Bertram, but Edmund, who appeared at the door. When he saw his young cousin lying insensible on the bed, moaning and crying indistinctly, his face assumed
an expression of the most profound concern.
    ‘Is there any thing I can do to assist?’
    Mary shook her head. ‘I have administered a cordial, but I fear some thing stronger is required.’
    Edmund nodded. ‘I concur with your judgment. Let us hope Gilbert is not long in arriving.’ As he spoke the words his eyes stole to her face, and he saw for the first time that Mary,
too, was wan and tremulous. A glance at the apron, with its tell-tale stains, lying disregarded on the chair, told him all that was needful for him to know.
    ‘So it was you ! You were the one who—’ He stopped, in momentary bewilderment. ‘When I saw the coffin being carried through the hall I thought—at least, I had
no conception that it was your kindness—’
    Mary had borne a good deal that day, but it was the gentleness of his words, rather than the horror of what she had seen and endured, that proved her undoing. She turned away in confusion, hot
tears running down her face. Edmund helped her to a chair, and rang the bell.
    ‘You are overcome, Miss Crawford, and I can quite comprehend why. You have over-taxed yourself for our sakes, and I am deeply, everlastingly, grateful. But I am here now, and I can
watch with my cousin until Mr Gilbert arrives. You look to stand in great need of rest and wholesome food. I will ring for it directly.’
    Being obliged to speak, Mary could not forbear from saying some thing in which the words ‘Mrs Baddeley’s room’ were only just audible.
    ‘I understand,’ said Edmund, with a grim look, and not wanting to hear more. ‘I understand. I have allowed this unpardonable incivility to continue for far too long. I will
arrange for you to take a proper meal in the dining-parlour, as befits a lady, and one to whom we all owe such an inexpressible obligation.’
    Such a speech was hardly calculated to compose Mary’s spirits, but he would brook no denial, and within a few minutes she was settled in a chair by the fire downstairs, being helped to an
elegant collation of minced chicken and apple-tart. Both her head and her heart were soon the better for such well-timed kindness, and when the maid returned with a glass of Madeira with Mr
Norris’s compliments, Mary enquired at once whether Mr Gilbert had yet been in attendance.
    ‘I believe so, miss.