"She was like this when we found her," the man stammered, his face white and terrified. "We didn’t know what else to do, but bring her here."

"Quickly!" cried Mary. "Carry her into the house, and have the maids fetch blankets and hot tea. I fear she has been quite soaked through."

"You mean she b’aint dead after all?" said the man, as he followed them inside. "It took us so long to free her, and all the while she neither moved nor spoke. I don’t mind telling you, we feared the worst."

"Bring her through here, if you would," said Mrs Grant briskly. "Lay her on the sopha — gently now! Mary, rub her temples, and send a maid to find my salts. Heaven only knows how long she has been in this state."

Mary looked up at the man, who was standing in the doorway, twisting his hat in his hand. She had seen him before — a tall, handsome fellow, who had touched his hat to her once or twice when she had encountered him in the park.

"Did I hear you aright — did you not say something about freeing her?"

He nodded. "Yes, miss. We saw her as soon as we got to the avenue — she’d gone and chained herself to one of those old trees. How she managed such a thing on her own, God alone knows, but I swear she weren’t there when we left the place last night."

Mary wondered for a moment why they had not sent immediately to the Park for help, given the much greater distance to the parsonage, but she had seen the trepidation in the man’s eyes; in the face of what must have seemed to be a fatal catastrophe, he had no doubt feared that his employer would be only too ready to lay the whole blame of it at his door.

"You have nothing to fear," she said quickly. "You have acted quite properly. But I am very much afraid that Miss Julia is extremely ill. We must dispatch a messenger for the apothecary at once, and send word to the Park. Her family will already have missed her." Even as she uttered the words, her heart ached for the distress the Bertrams must be in — first Fanny, and now Julia, gone from the house with no explanation. What must they be thinking?

Mrs Grant was clearly of the same mind; she went immediately to her writing-desk, and penned a short note to Lady Bertram. "If you will be so good as to take that to the Park," she said, holding it out to the workman. "And with all speed, if you please."

"Yes, ma’am," he said, bowing, and with a parting look at Mary, he was gone.

The apothecary was not long in arriving thereafter; it was lucky for them that he was close by, having been attending a case of pleurisy in Mansfield-common, and he was able to give his opinion on the invalid without delay.

"I am afraid, Mrs Grant, that it is a very serious disorder," he said, shaking his head. "Her strength has been much weakened, and in consequence the danger of infection is very great. I will prescribe a cordial for you to administer, and you must convey her upstairs to bed at once. On no account should she be moved unnecessarily. I will call again later today."

"Thank you, Mr Phillips, you may rely on us," said Mrs Grant. "I will see you to the door."

When Mrs Grant returned to the parlour she found Mary sitting at Julia’s side, her eyes filled with tears. "I should have foreseen this!" she said. "I knew she had been neglecting her health — I knew she was half frantic about the felling of the avenue — I should have talked to her — comforted her — "

Mrs Grant sat down next to her, and took her hands in both her own. "I am sure you did everything you could, Mary. I know your kind heart, and I know your regard for Miss Julia. This latest folly of hers was in all probability the whim of the moment — how could you possibly have anticipated she would do such a thing? And on such a night!"

Mary wiped her eyes. "It was her last chance," she said softly. "They were to start the felling today. She must have been truly desperate."

"Come, Mary," said her sister, kindly, "the best way for us to shew our concern is by ensuring she is well cared for. The maids have prepared the spare room, and lit a good fire. Let us ask Baker to carry her upstairs."

Mrs Grant went in search of the man-servant, and Mary was left for a few moments to herself — a few moments only, for she was soon roused by a loud knocking at the door, followed, without announcement, by the unexpected appearance of Mrs Norris. This lady looked exceedingly angry, and seemed to have recovered all her former spirit of activity; she immediately set about giving loud instructions to the maids, and directing her own servants to carry Julia to the waiting carriage. Mary intervened most strenuously, citing the apothecary’s advice, her own concerns, and the certainty of the best possible care under Mrs Grant’s good management, but to no avail. Mrs Norris was not to be denied, and even the reappearance of Mrs Grant herself could not dissuade her.The two were seldom good friends: Mrs Norris had always considered Mrs Grant’s housekeeping to be profligate and extravagant, and their tempers, pursuits, and habits were totally dissimilar. One of the Mansfield footmen was already lifting Julia in his arms, when Mary made one last attempt to prevent what must, she believed, be a wretched mistake.

"I beg you, Mrs Norris, not to do anything that might endanger Miss Julia any further. Mr Phillips was most definite — she was not to be moved."

"Nonsense!" cried Mrs Norris, turning her eyes on Mary with her usual contempt. "What can you know of such things? I have been nursing the Mansfield servants for twenty years — Wilcox has been quite cured of his rheumatism, thanks to me, and there were plenty who said he would never walk again. And besides, we have our own physician to consult — quite the best man in the neighbourhood, I can assure you. Not that it is any of your concern. What are you standing there gaping for, Williams? Hurry up, man — take Miss Julia to the carriage!"

"In that case," said Mary firmly, "I hope you will permit me to accompany you back to the Park. It would comfort me to know that Mr Phillips’s instructions were conveyed correctly."

"That is quite ridiculous!" cried Mrs Norris, her face red. "Absolutely out of the question! Even if there were room in the carriage, how dare you suggest that I cannot comprehend the instructions of a mere apothecary, or that the Bertrams are incapable of caring properly for their own daughter!" And with that she turned, and without the courtesy of a bow, swept out of the room.

Mary was about to follow her when Mrs Grant put a hand on her arm. "Let her go, sister.You know it is useless to remonstrate with her when she is in such a humour as this."

But Mary was not to be restrained, and shaking herself free, she ran out of the house towards the carriage, only to stop a moment later in amazement and confusion. For who should she see helping to settle Julia into the carriage, and arranging the shawls gently about her, but Edmund! She had been thinking him two hundred miles off, and here he was, less than ten yards away. Their eyes instantly met, and she felt her cheeks glow, though whether with pleasure or embarrassment she could not have told. He was the more prepared of the two for the encounter, and came towards her with a resolute step, ignoring his mother’s agitations to be gone.

"Miss Julia is most unwell," faltered Mary. "The apothecary — he was concerned at the harm that might be caused by such a removal — I do not think Mrs Norris — "

"My mother can be very resolute, once she has determined on a course of action," he replied, with a grim look, "but once I understood her design in coming here, I insisted on accompanying her. You may trust me to ensure that the journey causes Julia the least possible discomfort, and that she will have every attention at the Park."

"And your own journey?" she asked quickly. "You must have arrived very recently."

"This very hour," he said, with a look of consciousness. "I am sure you will be relieved to hear that Sir Thomas improves daily, but Mansfield is a very different place from the one I left. You, I know, will understand — "

At that moment they were interrupted once again by the sharp voice of Mrs Norris from her seat in the carriage. "I thought Miss Crawford professed herself concerned for Julia’s health. In which case I cannot conceive why she is deliberately delaying our departure in this way, and forcing the carriage to wait about in this heat. That will do Julia no good at all, you may be sure of that."

Edmund turned to Mary. "Perhaps you would do us the honour of calling at the Park in the morning?" he said quickly, with a look of earnestness. "You will be able to enquire after Julia, and perhaps I might also take the opportunity to have some minutes’ converse with you, if it is not inconvenient."

"Yes — that is — no, not at all. I will call after breakfast."

He bowed briefly, and the carriage was gone.


Mary kept her promise; indeed, she could not suppress a flutter of expectation as she dressed the following morning, and rejoiced that the continued sunshine made it possible for her to wear her prettiest shoes, and her patterned muslin. She knew she should not be happy — how could she be so when the family at the Park was labouring under a threefold misery? Even if the news from Cumberland continued to improve, there had been no tidings of Fanny, and at that very moment Julia might be dangerously ill; but whatever Mary’s rational mind might tell her, her heart whispered only that she was to see Edmund — and an Edmund who was now, for the first time in their acquaintance, released from an engagement to a woman who had evidently never loved him, and whom, perhaps, he had never loved. Whatever her feelings ought to have been on such an occasion, hope had already stolen in upon her, and Mary had neither the wish nor the strength to spurn it.