Lynn Shepherd - Murder at Mansfield Park

"But why?" stammered Mary. "What can be the justification for such an unnecessary deception?"

"Perhaps because Mrs Norris’s beady little eyes have detected some part of the truth? That Miss Price no longer cares for her son — that is, if she ever did — and her making his gift over to you is proof of that. But, one thing you may be sure of — one thing we may both be sure of," this with a look of meaning, "is that old Mother Norris will not let it go as easily as that. That marriage is the favourite project of her heart, and she will do anything necessary to secure it — even if it means practising deceit on her own son."

"But why should Fanny do such a thing?" said Mary. "She must have known the effect it would produce on Edmund — Mr Norris. I can quite believe that she would connive most happily at anything that caused me embarrassment, but what can she hope to gain by behaving so discourteously to Mr Norris? What can be her motive?"

"I do not pretend to understand Miss Price," said Henry grimly, "but could it be that she wishes to put his affection to the test? Or to ascertain if he has feelings for another?"

He stopped. By this time Mary’s cheeks were in such a glow, that curious as he was, he would not press the article farther.

"I do not like deceiving Mr Norris," said Mary after a few moments, oppressed by an anguish of heart.

Henry sighed, and took her hand. "But unless you propose to un deceive him, and therefore to contradict Mrs Norris (which would cause no end of vexation, and not least to you, my dear Mary), then I do not see how it is to be avoided."

In such spirits as Mary now found herself, the rest of the evening brought her little amusement. She danced every dance, though without any expectation of pleasure, seeing it only as the surest means of avoiding Edmund. She told herself that he would soon be gone, and hoped that, by the time of his return, many days hence, she would have succeeded in reasoning herself into a stronger frame of mind. For, although she could see that, contrary to his earlier reserve, he now very much wished to speak to her, she could not yet bear the prospect of listening politely to apologies that had been extorted from him by falsehood.

The house was very soon afterwards deprived of its master, and the day of Sir Thomas’s departure followed quickly upon the night of the ball. Only the necessity of the measure in a pecuniary light had resigned Sir Thomas to the painful effort of quitting his family, but the young ladies, at least, were somewhat reconciled to the prospect of his absence by the arrival of Mr Rushworth, who, riding over to Mansfield on the day of Sir Thomas’s leave-taking to pay his respects, renewed his proposal for private theatricals. However, contrary to Miss Price’s more sanguine expectations, the business of finding a play that would suit every body proved to be no trifle. All the best plays were run over in vain, and Othello, Macbeth, The Rivals, The School for Scandal, and a long etcetera, were successively dismissed.

"This will never do," said Tom Bertram at last. "At this rate, my father will be returned before we have even begun. From this moment I make no difficulties. I will take any part you choose to give me."

At that moment, Mr Yates took up one of the many volumes of plays that lay on the table, and suddenly exclaimed, " Lovers’ Vows ! Why not Lovers’ Vows ?"

"My dear Yates," cried Tom, "it strikes me as if it would do exactly! Frederick and the Baron are capital parts for Rushworth and Yates, and here is the rhyming Butler for me — if nobody else wants it. And as for the rest, it is only Count Cassel and Anhalt. Even Edmund may attempt one of them without disgracing himself, when he returns."

The suggestion was highly acceptable to all; to storm through Baron Wildenhaim was the height of Mr Yates’s theatrical ambition, and he immediately offered his services for the part, allowing Mr Rushworth to claim that of Frederick with almost equal satisfaction. Three of the characters were now cast, and Maria began to be concerned to know her own fate. "But surely there are not women enough," said she. "Only Agatha and Amelia. Here is nothing for Miss Crawford."

But this was immediately opposed by Tom Bertram, who asserted the part of Amelia to be in every respect the property of Miss Crawford, if she would accept it. A short silence followed. Fanny and Maria each felt the best claim to Agatha, and was hoping to have it pressed on her by the rest. But Mr Rushworth, who with seeming carelessness was turning over the first act, soon settled the business. "I must entreat Miss Bertram ," said he, "not to contemplate any character but that of Amelia. That, in my opinion, is by far the most difficult character in the whole piece. The last time I saw Lovers’ Vows the actress in the part gave quite the most deplorable performance (and in my opinion, the whole play was sadly wanting — if they had accepted my advice, they might have brought the thing round in a trice, but though I offered my services to the manager, the scoundrel had the insolence to turn me down). But as I was saying, a proper representation of Amelia demands considerable delicacy — the sort of delicacy we may confidently expect from Maria Bertram."

For a moment Miss Bertram wavered: his words were of a piece with his previous compliments; but that was before the ball, when he had danced with her only once, and with Fanny three times. Since then he had hardly spoken to her. Was he now seeking only to induce her to overlook these previous affronts? She distrusted him; he was, she now suspected, at treacherous play with her, but as she hesitated, her brother interposed once again with Miss Crawford’s better claim.

"No, no, no, Maria must not be Amelia," said Tom. "The part is fit for Miss Crawford, and Miss Crawford only. She looks the part, and sounds the part, and I am persuaded will do it admirably."

Maria looked narrowly at Fanny; the smile of triumph which she was trying to suppress afforded a yet stronger suspicion of there now being something of a private understanding between her and Rushworth, the man Maria had been thinking of as her own avowed admirer only a few days before. Maria knew her cousin, and knew that opposition would only expose her to public shame and humiliation. She had had enough.

"Oh! Do not be afraid of my wanting to act," she cried; "I am not to be Agatha, and as to Amelia — such a pert, upstart girl. Most suitable for someone such as — "

She stopped and reddened, and then walked hastily out of the room, leaving awkward feelings for more than one.

The concerns of the theater were suspended during dinner, but the spirits of evening giving fresh courage, Tom, Mr Rushworth, and Mr Yates seated themselves once again in committee, when an interruption was given by the entrance of the Grants and the Crawfords, who had come, late as it was, to drink tea with them. Mr Rushworth stepped forward with great alacrity to tell them the agreeable news.

"We have got a play," said he.

"I must congratulate you, sir," said Dr Grant. "And what have you decided upon?"

"It is to be Lovers’ Vows ."

"Indeed," said Dr Grant, who had once attended a performance in London. "That is not the play I would have chosen for a private theatre."

"Now, Dr Grant, do not be disagreeable," said his wife. "Nobody loves a play better than you do. And are you to act, Miss Price?" she continued, taking a seat next to her by the fire."

"I am to play Agatha," replied Miss Price with happy complacency.

"And I take Frederick," said Mr Rushworth carelessly. "I was equally willing to have the Baron, but the others pressed me so hard, insisting that the whole play would be indescribably the weaker unless I should undertake it, that at the last I agreed to take it on, merely to be obliging."