Murder at Mansfield Park

"What!" cried Maria quickly. "Go box’d up five in a postchaise in this weather, when we may have seats in a barouche! No, my dear cousin, that will not quite do." After the ruin of Lovers’ Vows, and the wreck of her own hopes of Rushworth, Maria had confined herself to the house, seeing nobody, but for some days past she had begun to affect a brittle and reckless gaiety that seemed precisely calculated to convey an indifference Mary could not believe she really felt. She appeared to have decided that even if the loss of James Rushworth had destroyed her happiness, neither he nor her cousin should know that they had done it. She would not allow them to think of her as pining in a self-imposed solitude for them.

"There is no hardship, I suppose," continued Edmund, "in going on the barouche box?"

"Hardship!" replied Maria; "Oh! I believe it would be generally thought the favourite seat. There can be no comparison as to one’s view of the country from the barouche box."

"Quite so," said Fanny, with a look at Edmund. "I have no doubt that Miss Crawford will choose that seat. She has a great desire to see Compton."

"Miss Crawford has not often an opportunity to see her brother’s work," was Edmund’s only reply, and the subject was dropped.

Friday was fine, and soon after breakfast Mr Rushworth arrived, driving the barouche. Miss Price was clearly meditating how best, and with the most appearance of obliging the others, to secure the barouche box, while Miss Bertram was equally clearly intent on thwarting her, an aim in which she was warmly seconded by her aunt. "You were saying lately, Maria," Mrs Norris said quickly, "that you wished you could drive; I think this will be a good opportunity for you to take a lesson."

Happy Maria! Unhappy Fanny! The latter took her seat within, in gloom and mortification; the former was assisted in ascending the box by Edmund, who saw it all, but said nothing.

When they approached Compton, Mr Rushworth appropriated the role of guide, and regaled them with a succession of observations on the property on each side of the road.

"Now we shall have no more rough road, Miss Bertram, our difficulties are over. Mr Smith had it made when he first purchased the estate. His original intention was to keep the old road as it was, since it passed by some very pretty cottages — delightfully picturesque objects, all ruined and overgrown with ivy — but the wretched tenants made so many difficulties about living in them that he was forced to undertake renovations, with the result that the houses now look quite ordinary and dull. Happily he lighted on the idea of moving the road entirely, so one is no longer troubled by the sight of villagers as one approaches the house. Miss Bertram will be able to see the church tower now, through the trees. Some reckon it tolerably handsome, but Smith tells me the annoyance of the bells is terrible, and I myself can testify to the clergyman’s wife being a remarkably ill-looking woman. Ah," he said as the barouche rounded a bend, "we are about to gain our first sight of the house. Here lies the prospect, Miss Julia," he said, turning back to her where she sat silent and pale at the back of the barouche, "and I am sure you will agree that the approach now, is one of the finest things you ever saw: you will see the rear facade in the most surprising manner. People tell me it is the admiration of all the country, but I assure you it was a mere nothing before — well — before your brother took it in hand, Miss Crawford," he concluded, with a momentary embarrassment, recollecting that the architect of this marvellously improved prospect was not, after all, his friend Mr Smith, but the man riding silently alongside him. Henry proved, moreover, to be close at his elbow at that moment, making so instantaneous a change of expression and tone necessary, as Mary, in spite of everything, could hardly help laughing at.

"Capital, my dear Crawford! I was just saying to the ladies, you have out-Repton’d Repton! We are all anticipating the view of the house with the keenest enthusiasm."

They turned in at the lodge and found themselves at the bottom of a low eminence overspread with trees. A little way farther the wood suddenly ceased, and the eye was instantly caught by the house. It was a handsome brick building, backed by gently rising hills, and in front, a stream of some natural importance had been swelled into a series of small lakes, by Henry’s skill and ingenuity. The barouche was stopped for a few minutes, and the three gentlemen rode up to join them. Mary’s heart swelled with pride and pleasure, to see her brother’s genius and taste realised in the beauties of a landscape such as this. Even Mrs Norris was forced into admiration, though evidently against her will. "I wish my dear husband could have seen this," said she. "It is quite like something we had planned at the White House."