Mrs Norris groaned, and turned her face away, and it occurred to Mary, for the first time since she had heard the news, that in the distress and anxiety occasioned by Sir Thomas’s accident, the approach of Miss Price’s birthday had gone unnoticed. She was about to come into her whole fortune, a fortune that would, by the terms of her grandfather’s will, pass to her husband on the occasion of her marriage. Mary sighed; she did not know whether to rejoice that her brother was safely in Hertfordshire, and beyond the reach of accusation, or regret that if Fanny’s estate was to pass out of the family in such a painful and public manner, it should not be Henry, with all his talents and merits, who was to benefit. She quickly dismissed the thought as unworthy, at such a dreadful time, and directed her attention to the matter in hand. It seemed to her that the situation required both method and dispatch, and the longer decisive action was delayed, the greater the likelihood that Miss Price would not be recovered until it was too late. "O Edmund!" Mary thought,"how your family miss you now! Tom Bertram has neither your judgment, nor your determination, but I will do what I can, if they will let me." She took a step further into the room. "Have you sent out messengers?" she asked.

Tom Bertram looked up at her in some surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"I apologise if you consider this an intrusion, but in such a state of affairs a stander-by may be able to see things more clearly than those who are more directly affected. I have read about such cases, and it seems to me that the best course would be to send out messengers to every inn and turnpike between here and London. Furnish the men with a description of Miss Price, and it cannot be long before you will trace where she has gone. Likewise, Miss Price cannot have been acquainted with more than a dozen young gentlemen hereabouts; it is a matter that will require considerable delicacy, but if any of these young men departed the neighbourhood suddenly in the last few days, it would merit further investigation."

Mrs Norris raised herself with difficulty in her chair. "Of all the impertinent, insolent — "

"On the contrary, madam," said Tom, quickly, "I believe Miss Crawford has hit upon exactly what was wanting. We have been so overcome with shock, that we have done little but stare at each other, and repine at our fate, all the while doing very little to the purpose. But that will not find her. I will go to the steward at once; with luck and expedition we may have news by nightfall."

So saying, he walked briskly out of the room. Lady Bertram had begun to weep quietly, and Julia being too distressed herself to offer any support to her mother, Mary suggested gently that they might both be more comfortable upstairs. Mrs Norris turning away in a manner so pointed that anger and resentment could not have been more plainly spoken, Mary decided that her presence was no longer helpful, and politely took her leave. As she moved towards the door, she was not a little surprised to find Maria Bertram offering to walk with her a little way towards the parsonage.

"I suppose this will be the talk of the village before the day is out," said Maria, as they went out through the hall and onto the drive. Mary stole a glance at her, unable to decipher her tone: was it possible that she took pleasure in the fact that Fanny’s disgrace must be spread abroad in such a humiliating and public fashion?

"If that is so, it will not be my doing," she replied, firmly. "It would be best for everyone if the truth were concealed for as long as it is possible. Your father must be consulted, and it is still possible Miss Price may repent of her hasty decision, and return home on her own account."

Judging from the expression on her face, Miss Bertram clearly found this prospect absurd, but confined her incredulity to some lines shewn about the corners of her mouth.

"All the same, Miss Crawford," she pursued, after a moment, "I am sure you must have some idea — some theory — about what could have happened?"

Mary sighed, and shook her head. "I find it hard to comprehend how, or why, Miss Price left your father’s house."

Maria gave a short, bitter laugh. "As to the why, Miss Crawford, I am sure you know as well as I do. Fanny was desperate to avoid marrying Edmund. Her manner to him of late has been utterly indifferent. Indeed, I am more and more convinced that she never wanted to marry him at all, but merely acquiesced in a plan of others’ making. And to others’ advantage," she concluded, with a look of meaning.

"But even were that so," replied Mary, who did not doubt it, "she must have been desperate indeed to throw in her lot with someone she hardly knew."

Maria looked at her archly. "Why should you say that? I can think of at least two gentlemen she knows quite well enough — either one of them might have found her fortune, if not her person, sufficient inducement."

Mary coloured in shame and vexation. "Miss Bertram may not have heard that my brother left Mansfield some days ago for Hertfordshire. I expect to hear from him presently."

"I am pleased to hear it," replied Miss Bertram, "for your sake, if not for his. But there is still Mr Rushworth to be considered."

Mary looked at her in some surprise. "I was told he had departed for Bath?"

Maria raised an eyebrow. "So was I. So were we all. But we do not know that is where he is. Do we, Miss Crawford?"

And with that she gave a brief bow, turned on her heel, and walked quickly back towards the house.

Chapter 10

If Mary had been concerned how to keep the matter secret from her sister, her fears proved of little consequence; as Miss Bertram had suspected, there was not a house in Mansfield that had not heard the news of Fanny’s elopement by Monday evening. It was not to be expected that a lady of such an open and inquisitive temper as Mrs Grant would not find much food for conjecture in so extraordinary and uncommon an event, and Mary had to endure many hours of such speculation from her sister, as well as observations of a more severe and moralising character from Dr Grant. The only event to enliven the quiet and anxious days that followed was a letter from Henry, much longer and gayer than his usual communications, and full of such entertaining accounts of mud waded through, and deluges averted, that could not but make Mary laugh despite herself. Once, and once only, was she able to see Julia, when she was persuaded to leave her sorrowing mother to her sister’s care, and sit for an hour with Mary in the Mansfield flower garden. Mary saw at once that although her young friend had grown even thinner, her looks were greatly improved; the explanation for this gratifying change was soon forthcoming.

"We have heard from Edmund," she said, slipping her arm through Mary’s. "He writes that my father is in every respect materially better — the fever has all but abated, and although he still has all the weakness and debility of such a serious illness, the physician believes he will make an entire recovery."

Mary expressed her sincere relief at such welcome news. "And how is your cousin?" she continued, in a guarded manner.

Julia sighed. "If what you really mean to ask is whether Edmund has been told the news from Mansfield, then the answer is yes. My father is as yet too weak and nervous to withstand such a shock, but Edmund has sent a letter of advice and assistance to Tom, which has been an inestimable support to him. He has also promised to leave Cumberland as soon as he may, my father being out of danger, and Edmund’s presence being so much wanted here. As to his own feelings on the matter, I cannot tell. My cousin has always been reserved, and a frank expression of his sentiments was not to be expected in such a letter, at such a time."

"No indeed," thought Mary, who felt a respect for him on the occasion, which only gained him ground in her good opinion. Even were she to suppose him heart-broken by the news of Fanny’s duplicity, his dignified restraint under such a trial could not but augment her tenderness and esteem.

A few moments later they turned from the garden into the green shade of the lime walk, which stretched beyond the garden to the boundary of the pleasure-grounds. It was a charming walk, leading to a belvedere, which, by reason of its position on the top of a considerable bank, afforded a delightful view towards the stream and the valley beyond. When they had seated themselves on the bench, Mary ventured to introduce the subject of Compton, and enquire of Julia what it was that she had wished to discuss with her.

"I know it seems a long time ago, and so much has happened since then, but I cannot forget how distressed you seemed. It appeared to be a matter of some urgency."

Julia bit her lip and looked down, avoiding Mary’s eye. Did she imagine it, or had a shadow passed across the girl’s face at her words?

"Miss Bertram? Have I said something to offend you?"

"It was nothing — a — a misunderstanding," said Julia quickly. "My apologies, my dear Miss Crawford, but I find the walk has tired me more than I expected. Perhaps we could return to the house?"

"By all means," replied Mary, quite at a loss to know how she had transgressed.

Julia rose to her feet, and stood for a moment looking over the balustrade. The workmen were clearly visible on the far side of the stream, as was the cart in which their tools were stored; they had already completed the first length of the channel, and an ugly black gash was perceptible against the verdant green bank.