Murder at Mansfield Park

"Nonsense!" cried Mrs Norris, turning her eyes on Mary with her usual contempt. "What can you know of such things? I have been nursing the Mansfield servants for twenty years — Wilcox has been quite cured of his rheumatism, thanks to me, and there were plenty who said he would never walk again. And besides, we have our own physician to consult — quite the best man in the neighbourhood, I can assure you. Not that it is any of your concern. What are you standing there gaping for, Williams? Hurry up, man — take Miss Julia to the carriage!"

"In that case," said Mary firmly, "I hope you will permit me to accompany you back to the Park. It would comfort me to know that Mr Phillips’s instructions were conveyed correctly."

"That is quite ridiculous!" cried Mrs Norris, her face red. "Absolutely out of the question! Even if there were room in the carriage, how dare you suggest that I cannot comprehend the instructions of a mere apothecary, or that the Bertrams are incapable of caring properly for their own daughter!" And with that she turned, and without the courtesy of a bow, swept out of the room.

Mary was about to follow her when Mrs Grant put a hand on her arm. "Let her go, sister.You know it is useless to remonstrate with her when she is in such a humour as this."

But Mary was not to be restrained, and shaking herself free, she ran out of the house towards the carriage, only to stop a moment later in amazement and confusion. For who should she see helping to settle Julia into the carriage, and arranging the shawls gently about her, but Edmund! She had been thinking him two hundred miles off, and here he was, less than ten yards away. Their eyes instantly met, and she felt her cheeks glow, though whether with pleasure or embarrassment she could not have told. He was the more prepared of the two for the encounter, and came towards her with a resolute step, ignoring his mother’s agitations to be gone.

"Miss Julia is most unwell," faltered Mary. "The apothecary — he was concerned at the harm that might be caused by such a removal — I do not think Mrs Norris — "

"My mother can be very resolute, once she has determined on a course of action," he replied, with a grim look, "but once I understood her design in coming here, I insisted on accompanying her. You may trust me to ensure that the journey causes Julia the least possible discomfort, and that she will have every attention at the Park."

"And your own journey?" she asked quickly. "You must have arrived very recently."

"This very hour," he said, with a look of consciousness. "I am sure you will be relieved to hear that Sir Thomas improves daily, but Mansfield is a very different place from the one I left. You, I know, will understand — "

At that moment they were interrupted once again by the sharp voice of Mrs Norris from her seat in the carriage. "I thought Miss Crawford professed herself concerned for Julia’s health. In which case I cannot conceive why she is deliberately delaying our departure in this way, and forcing the carriage to wait about in this heat. That will do Julia no good at all, you may be sure of that."

Edmund turned to Mary. "Perhaps you would do us the honour of calling at the Park in the morning?" he said quickly, with a look of earnestness. "You will be able to enquire after Julia, and perhaps I might also take the opportunity to have some minutes’ converse with you, if it is not inconvenient."

"Yes — that is — no, not at all. I will call after breakfast."

He bowed briefly, and the carriage was gone.

Mary kept her promise; indeed, she could not suppress a flutter of expectation as she dressed the following morning, and rejoiced that the continued sunshine made it possible for her to wear her prettiest shoes, and her patterned muslin. She knew she should not be happy — how could she be so when the family at the Park was labouring under a threefold misery? Even if the news from Cumberland continued to improve, there had been no tidings of Fanny, and at that very moment Julia might be dangerously ill; but whatever Mary’s rational mind might tell her, her heart whispered only that she was to see Edmund — and an Edmund who was now, for the first time in their acquaintance, released from an engagement to a woman who had evidently never loved him, and whom, perhaps, he had never loved. Whatever her feelings ought to have been on such an occasion, hope had already stolen in upon her, and Mary had neither the wish nor the strength to spurn it.