Murder at Mansfield Park by Lynn Shepherd

matrimony may be called a happy life. ’ He was in the middle of the speech before he suspected its purport, and his reading gradually slackened, until at last, the eyes which had been fixed so studiously on the book were raised towards Mary. Their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of each were overspread with the deepest blush.
    ‘ This picture is pleasing, ’ continued Edmund, rising from his chair,‘ but I must beg you not to forget that there is another on the same subject. When convenience, and fair appearance, joined to folly and ill-humour, forge the fetters of matrimony— ’
    He turned away to recover himself, and when he spoke again, though his voice still faltered, his manner shewed the wish of self-command.
    ‘I must apologise,’ he said after a pause, turning back to the young ladies, both of whom had risen from their seats in surprise and concern. ‘The fatigue of so long a journey is proving to be no trifling evil. I beg your indulgence and your pity. I deserve the latter, at least,’ he said, his voice sinking a little, ‘more than you can ever surmise.’
    He was gone as he spoke, and Mary followed him almost as quickly, very much afraid lest he should choose this moment to look in upon the rehearsals taking place in the billiard-room. She proved, however, to be too late. As she reached the theatre she found Edmund at the door, his hand still on the lock, his eyes fixed on the performers before him. Mr Rushworth’s indefatigable Frederick was supporting Agatha in his arms, as she fainted most charmingly against his breast.
    ‘ I will, now, never leave you more ,’ he stormed. ‘ Look how tall and strong I am grown. These arms can now afford you support. They can, and shall, procure you subsistence .’
    Rushworth was so totally unconscious of any thing beyond the stage that he did not notice the uneasy movements of many of the audience, and it was not until Tom gave a decided and uneasy ‘hem’ that he was at all aware of Edmund’s presence, at which he immediately gave perhaps the very best start he had ever given in the whole course of his rehearsals.
    ‘Ah—Norris!—my dear Norris!—’ he cried, ‘you find us at a most interesting moment! Miss Price’s character has just been recounting her sad tale to her son. It was most affecting; we are fortunate indeed to have such an excellent Agatha, there is some thing so maternal in her manner, so completely maternal in her voice and countenance.’
    Mr Rushworth continued in the same eager tone, unmindful of Mr Norris’s expression as he turned to look at Miss Price. She, however, returned his gaze with a bold eye; even now, Mr Rushworth retained her hand, and the very circumstance which had occasioned their present embarrassment, was to her the sweetest support. Ever since the ball her manner to Edmund had been careless and cold, and she wanted only the certainty of a more eligible offer to break off an engagement that had now become a source of regret and disappointment, however public the rupture must prove to be.
    The eyes of everyone present were still fixed on Miss Price, and only Mary was so placed as to see the expression of shock and alarm on Mrs Norris’s face. It was apparent at once that she was under the influence of a tumult of new and very unwelcome ideas. She looked almost aghast, but it was not the arrival of her son that was the cause of it; for many weeks now she had considered Mary to be the principal threat to a union that she had looked forward to for so long, and which was even now on the point of accomplishment. But in devoting so much energy to hindering Mary, and disparaging her, she had entirely overlooked another, and far more insidious development. There was now no room for error. The conviction that had rushed over her mind, and driven the colour from her cheeks, could no longer be denied: the true daemon of the piece was not the upstart, under-bred Mary, but the smooth and plausible Mr Rushworth, a man she