Murder at Mansfield Park (2 page)

At Mansfield Park a son and a daughter successively entered the world, and as the years passed, Sir Thomas contrived to maintain a regular if unfrequent correspondence with his brother-in-law, Mr Price, in which he learned of little Fanny’s progress with much complacency. But when the girl was a few months short of her twelfth birthday, Sir Thomas, in place of his usual communication from Cumberland, received instead a letter in a lawyer’s hand, conveying the sorrowful information that Mr and Mrs Price had both succumbed to a putrid fever, and in the next sentence, beseeching Sir Thomas, as the child’s uncle, and only relation, to take the whole charge of her. Sir Thomas was a man of honour and principle, and not insensible to the claims of duty and the ties of blood, but such an undertaking was not to be lightly engaged in; not, at least, without consulting his wife. Lady Bertram was a woman of very tranquil feelings, guided in every thing important by Sir Thomas, and in smaller day-to-day concerns by her sister. Knowing as he did Mrs Norris’s generous concern for the wants of others, Sir Thomas elected to bring the subject forward as they were sitting together at the tea-table, where Mrs Norris was presiding. He gave the ladies the particulars of the letter in his usual measured and dignified manner, concluding with the observation that ‘after due consideration, and examining this distressing circumstance in all its particulars, I firmly believe that I have no other alternative but to accede to this lawyer’s request and bring Fanny to live with us here, at Mansfield Park. I hope, my dear, that you will also see it in the same judicious light.’

Lady Bertram agreed with him instantly. ‘I think we cannot do better,’ said she. ‘Let us send for her at once. Is she not my niece, and poor Frances’ orphan child?’

As for Mrs Norris, she had not a word to say. She saw decision in Sir Thomas’s looks, and her surprise and vexation required some moments’ silence to be settled into composure. Instead of seeing her first, and beseeching her to try what her influence might do, Sir Thomas had shewn a very reasonable dependence on the nerves of his wife, and introduced the subject with no more ceremony than he might have announced such common and indifferent news as their country neighbourhood usually furnished. Mrs Norris felt herself defrauded of an office, but there was comfort, however, soon at hand. A second and most interesting reflection suddenly occurring to her, she resumed the conversation with renewed animation as soon as the tea-things had been removed.

‘My dear Sir Thomas,’ she began, with a voice as well regulated as she could manage, ‘considering what excellent prospects the young lady has, and supposing her to possess even one hundredth part of the sweet temper of your own dear girls, would it not be a fine thing for us all if she were to develop a fondness for my Edmund? After all, he will in time inherit poor Mr Norris’s property, and she will have her grandfather’s estate, an estate which can only improve further under your prudent management. It is the very thing of all others to be wished.’

‘There is some truth in what you say,’ replied Sir Thomas, after some deliberation, ‘and should such a situation arise, no-one, I am sure, would be more contented than myself. But whatever its merits, I would not wish to impose such a union upon any young person in my care. Every thing shall take its course. All the young people will be much thrown together. There is no saying what it may lead to.’

Mrs Norris was content, and every thing was considered as settled. Sir Thomas made arrangements for Mr Price’s lawyer to accompany the girl on the long journey to Northampton-shire, and three weeks later she was delivered safely into her uncle’s charge.

Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram received her very kindly, and Mrs Norris was all delight and volubility and made her sit on the sopha with herself. Their visitor took care to shew an appropriate gratitude, as well as an engaging submissiveness and humility. Sir Thomas, believing her quite overcome, decided that she needed encouragement, and tried to be all that was conciliating, little thinking that, in consequence of having been, for some years past, Mrs Price’s constant companion and
protégée
, she was too much used to the company and praise of a wide circle of fine ladies and gentlemen to have any thing like a natural shyness. Finding nothing in Fanny’s person to counteract her advantages of fortune and connections, Mrs Norris’s efforts to become acquainted with her exhibited all the warmth of an interested party. She thought with even greater satisfaction of Sir Thomas’s benevolent plan; and pretty soon decided that her niece, so long lost sight of, was blessed with talents and acquirements in no common degree. And Mrs Norris was not the only inmate of Mansfield to partake of this generous opinion. Fanny herself was perfectly conscious of her own pre-eminence, and found her cousins so ignorant of many things with which she had been long familiar, that she thought them prodigiously stupid, and although she was careful to utter nothing but praise before her uncle and aunt Bertram, she always found a most encouraging listener in Mrs Norris.

‘My dear Fanny,’ her aunt would reply, ‘you must not expect every body to be as forward and quick at learning as yourself. You must make allowance for your cousins, and pity their deficiency. Nor is it at all necessary that they should be as accomplished as
you
are; on the contrary, it is much more desirable that there should be a difference.
You
, after all, are an
heiress
. And remember that, if you are ever so forward and clever yourself, you should always be modest. That is by far the most becoming demeanour for a superior young lady.’

As Fanny grew tall and womanly, and Sir Thomas made his yearly visit to Cumberland to receive the accounts, and superintend the management of the estate, Mrs Norris did not forget to think of the match she had projected when her niece’s coming to Mansfield was first proposed, and became most zealous in promoting it, by every suggestion and contrivance likely to enhance its desirableness to either party. Once Edmund was of age Mrs Norris saw no necessity to make any other attempt at secrecy, than talking of it every where as a matter not to be talked of at present. If Sir Thomas saw any thing of this, he did nothing to contradict it. Without enquiring into their feelings, the complaisance of the young people seemed to justify Mrs Norris’s opinion, and Sir Thomas was satisfied; too glad to be satisfied, perhaps, to urge the matter quite so far as his judgment might have dictated to others. He could only be happy in the prospect of an alliance so unquestionably advantageous, a connection exactly of the right sort, and one which would retain Fanny’s fortune within the family, when it might have been bestowed elsewhere. Sir Thomas knew that his own daughters would not have a quarter as much as Fanny, but trusted that the brilliance of countenance that they had inherited from one parent, would more than compensate for any slight deficiency in what they were to receive from the other.

The first event of any importance in the family happened in the year that Miss Price was to come of age. Her elder cousin Maria had just entered her twentieth year, and Julia was some six years younger. Tom Bertram, at twenty-one, was just entering into life, full of spirits, and with all the liberal dispositions of an eldest son, but a material change was to occur at Mansfield, with the departure of his younger brother, William, to take up his duties as a midshipman on board His Majesty’s Ship the
Perseverance
. With his open, amiable disposition, and easy, unaffected manners William could not but be missed, and the family was prepared to find a great chasm in their society, and to miss him decidedly. A prospect that had once seemed a long way off was soon upon them, and the last few days were taken up with the necessary preparations for his removal; business followed business, and the days were hardly long enough for all the agitating cares and busy little particulars attending this momentous event.

The last breakfast was soon over; the last kiss was given, and William was gone. After seeing her brother to the final moment, Maria walked back to the breakfast-room with a saddened heart to comfort her mother and Julia, who were sitting crying over William’s deserted chair and empty plate. Lady Bertram was feeling as an anxious mother must feel, but Julia was giving herself up to all the excessive affliction of a young and ardent heart that had never yet been acquainted with the grief of parting. Even though some two years older than herself, William had been her constant companion in every childhood pleasure, her friend in every youthful distress. However her sister might reason with her, Julia could not be brought to consider the separation as any thing other than permanent.

‘Dear, dear William!’ she sobbed. ‘Who knows if I will ever behold you again! Those delightful hours we have spent together, opening our hearts to one another and sharing all our hopes and plans! Those sweet summers when every succeeding morrow renewed our delightful converse! How endless they once seemed but how quickly they have passed! And now I fear they will never come again! Even if you do return, it will not be the same—you will have new cares, and new pleasures, and little thought for the sister you left behind!’

Maria hastened to assure her that such precious memories of their earliest attachment would surely never be entirely forgotten, and that William had such a warm heart that time and absence must only increase their mutual affection, but Julia was not to be consoled, and all her sister’s soothings proved ineffectual.

‘We shall miss William at Mansfield,’ was Sir Thomas’s observation when he joined them with Mrs Norris in the breakfast-room, but noticing his younger daughter’s distress, and knowing that in general her sorrows, like her joys, were as immoderate as they were momentary, decided it was best to say no more and presently turned the subject. ‘Where are Tom and Fanny?’

‘Fanny is playing the piano-forte, and Tom has just set off for Sotherton to call on Mr Rushworth,’ replied Maria.

‘He will find our new neighbour a most pleasant, gentleman-like man,’ said Sir Thomas. ‘I sat but ten minutes with him in his library, yet he appeared to me to have good sense and a pleasing address. I should certainly have stayed longer but the house is all in an uproar. I have always thought Sotherton a fine old place—but Mr Rushworth says it wants improvement, and in consequence the house is in a cloud of dust, noise, and confusion, without a carpet to the floor, or a sopha to sit on. Rushworth was called out of the room twice while I was there, to satisfy some doubts of the plasterer. And once he has done with the house, he intends to begin upon the grounds. Given my own interest in the subject, we found we had much in common.’

‘What can you mean, Sir Thomas?’ enquired Lady Bertram, roused from her melancholy reverie. ‘I am sure I never heard you mention such a thing before.’

Sir Thomas looked round the table. ‘I have been considering the matter for some time, and, if the prospect is not unpleasant to you, madam, I intend to improve Mansfield. I have no eye for such matters, but our woods are very fine, the house is well-placed on rising ground, and there is the stream, which, I dare say, one might make some thing of. When I last dined at the parsonage, I mentioned my plans to Dr Grant, and he told me that his wife’s brother had the laying out of the grounds at Compton. I have since enquired into this Mr Crawford’s character and reputation, and my subsequent letter to him received a most prompt and courteous reply. He is to bring his sister with him, and they are to spend three months in Mansfield. Indeed, they arrived last night; and I have invited them and the Grants to drink tea with us this evening.’

The family could not conceal their astonishment, and looked all the amazement which such an unexpected announcement could not fail of exciting. Even Julia checked her tears, and tried to compose herself. Mrs Norris was ready at once with her suggestions, but was vexed to find that Sir Thomas had been amusing himself with shaping a very complete outline of the business. He had, in fact, long been apprehensive of the effect of his son’s departure, and the contraction of the Mansfield circle consequent thereon. He had reasoned to himself that if he could find the means of distracting his family’s attention, and keeping up their spirits for the first few weeks, he should think the time and money very well spent. Such careful solicitude was quite of a piece with the whole of his careful, upright conduct as a husband and father, and the eager curiosity of his family was just what he wished. Questions and exclamations followed each other rapidly, and he was ready to give such information as he possessed, and answer every query almost before it was put, looking with heartfelt satisfaction on the animated faces around him. One question, however, he could not answer; he had never yet seen Mr Crawford, and could not answer for any thing more than his skill with a pen. Had he known all that was to come of the acquaintance, Sir Thomas would surely have forbad him the house.

The Crawfords were not young people of fortune. The brother had a small property near London, the sister less than two thousand pounds. They were the children of Mrs Grant’s mother by a second marriage, and when they were young she had been very fond of them; but, as her own marriage had been soon followed by the death of their common parent, which left them to the care of a brother of their father, a man of whom Mrs Grant knew nothing, she had scarcely seen them since. In their uncle’s house near Bedford-square they had found a kind home. He was a single man, and the cheerful company of the brother and sister ensured that his final years had every comfort that he could wish; he doated on the boy, and found both nurse and housekeeper in the girl. Unfortunately, his own property was entailed on a distant relation; and this cousin installing himself in the house within a month of the old gentleman’s sudden death, Mr and Miss Crawford were obliged to look for another home without delay, Mr Crawford’s own house being too small for their joint comfort, and one to which his sister had taken a fixed dislike, for reasons of her own. Having been forced by want of fortune to go into a profession, Mr Crawford had begun with the law, but soon after had discovered a genius for improvement that gave him the excuse he had been wanting to give up his first choice and enter upon another. For the last three years he had spent nine months in every twelve travelling the country from Devon-shire to Derby-shire, visiting gentlemen’s seats, and laying out their grounds, gathering at the same time a list of noble patrons and a competent knowledge of Views, Situations, Prospects and the principles of the Picturesque. What would have been hardship to a more indolent, stay-at-home man was bustle and excitement to him. For Henry Crawford had, luckily, a great dislike to any thing like a permanence of abode, or limitation of society; and he boasted of spending half his life in a post-chaise, and forming more new acquaintances in a fortnight than most men did in a twelvemonth. But, all the same, he was properly aware that it was his duty to provide a comfortable home for Mary, and when the letter from the Park was soon followed by another from the parsonage offering his sister far more suitable accommodations than their present lodgings could afford, he saw it as the happy intervention of a Providence that had ever been his friend.