Murder at Mansfield Park

Mary could not help remembering another gift he had bestowed on Fanny — a gift she had passed to Mary, with no other thought than to ensnare and humiliate her. The necklace still lay in her trinket-box at the parsonage, but she would never now be able to wear it. At that moment the sound of the great clock striking two carried home to Mary’s mind the full duration of her task, and she recollected that she had eaten neither breakfast nor luncheon. Something of the kind had clearly occurred to Mrs Baddeley, and she whispered to Mary that tea and bread and butter had been prepared for her in her own room; Mary thanked her; she owned that she should be very glad of a little tea. The housekeeper took her kindly by the arm, as they watched Dick Jackson nail down the lid, and the footmen shoulder their sad burden. They were all so wholly 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 anything I can do to assist?"

Mary shook her head. "I have administered a cordial, but I fear something 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 something 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."