Murder at Mansfield Park

But whatever joyful imaginings might captivate her in the privacy of her chamber at the parsonage, every step towards the house reminded her of the wretched state the family must be in, and her duty to offer what comfort she could, without thought for herself. By the time she rang the bell at the Park she had reasoned herself into such a state of penitent selflessness, as to almost put Edmund out of her mind, only to find that all the ladies of the Park were indisposed, and unable to receive visitors. She should, perhaps, have expected such a reception, but she had not, and stood on the step for a moment, feeling all of a sudden exceedingly foolish, her good intentions as vain and irrelevant as her good shoes. She recovered herself sufficiently to leave a message enquiring after Julia, but the very instant she was turning to go, the housekeeper happened to cross the hall with a basin of soup, and glimpsing Mary at the door, hurried over at once to speak to her. She was a motherly, good sort of woman, with a round, rosy face. Even had Mary been in the habit of chatting with servants, Mrs Baddeley was rather too partial to gossip for Mary’s fastidious taste, but the circumstances being what they were, she swallowed her scruples and accepted the offer of a dish of tea in the housekeeper’s room. Mrs Baddeley was soon bustling about with cups and saucers, while Mary listened to her account of Julia’s restless and feverish night with growing concern.

"I don’t think the poor little thing slept a wink all night, that I don’t, Miss Crawford. Tossing and turning and moaning she was, babbling one minute, and as good as dead the next. And that terrible rash all over her poor arms. Mr Gilbert came again at first light, and has been with her these two hours, but I doubt he has seen ought like it, for all his notions and potions."

"I am very sorry to hear it, Mrs Baddeley," Mary replied, her heart sinking.

"Between ourselves," said the housekeeper, moving a little closer, "I think you was right to tell Mrs Norris she shouldn’t have been moved. That will be at the root of the mischief, you mark my words."

Mary flushed. "I am not sure I take your meaning — how did you know that I — "

Mrs Baddeley gave a knowing look. "Servants may be dumb, Miss Crawford, but we be not deaf into the bargain. Young Williams, the footman who carried Miss Julia to the carriage, he told my Baddeley what you said, and he told me. There be no secrets in the servants’ hall, whatever our betters might choose to believe."

Mary had never doubted it; she had once been a housekeeper herself in all but name, and had learned more about human nature from those few short years than she had from all her books and schoolmasters, even if it was an experience she now preferred not to dwell on, at least when among genteel company.

"If you ask me, the ladies could do with having someone like you in the house, Miss Crawford," continued Mrs Baddeley. "The whole place is at sixes and sevens. Are you sure I cannot fetch you a piece of cake? Very good cake it is, made to my mother’s own receipt."

"No, thank you, Mrs Baddeley."

Her companion settled her ample form more comfortably into her chair. "I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that her ladyship is of no use in a sick-room, and Miss Maria isn’t much better — from the moment they brought her sister back yesterday she’s been all but frantic — crying and falling into fits, and needing almost as much attention as poor Miss Julia."

"And Mrs Norris? As I understood it, she was to take charge of the nursing."

"Well, if you call it taking charge. There’s been a lot of shouting and bawling, and calls for footmen in the middle of the night, but not much of any use, in my opinion. If you ask me, she’s never got over the shock of Miss Fanny taking off like that. That marriage was going to be the making of her. Her and Mr Norris both."

The mention of Edmund’s name recalled Mary to herself, and she hastened to thank Mrs Baddeley for her tea and depart, before she found herself made the confidante of observations of an even more awkward nature.

She had almost given up any hope of seeing Edmund, but as she went back up the stairs she saw him at the outer door in the company of Sir Thomas’s steward. The two were deep in serious discussion, and it was several moments before they became aware of her.

"My dear Miss Crawford," said Edmund at once, "do forgive me. I have been engrossed, as you can see, with Mr McGregor." He stopped, momentarily discomfited. "I recall now that you were so good as to agree to call on us today. I have had so much to attend to since my return that my mind has been too much engaged to fix on anything else. Were you able to see my cousin?"

Mary shook her head. "Miss Julia is not well enough to be disturbed. I am afraid it is as I feared."

Edmund nodded, his face grave. "My reason hopes you are wrong, but my heart tells me otherwise."