Murder at Mansfield Park

the
rise, and disappear from her view.
    Mary found her spirits unexpectedly unsettled, and carried on walking for some while, hardly knowing where she was heading, and engrossed in her own thoughts, until she
suddenly became conscious of a line of ancient oak trees stretching to her right and left. She perceived at once that she must be in that very avenue of which she had heard so much, and was
surprised to find that she had walked so far. She was on the point of turning back when her eye was caught by a figure seated under one of the trees, and a moment later she recognised the youngest
Miss Bertram, intent on her sketch-book, inks, and pencils.
    ‘Will I disturb Miss Julia if I join her for a few moments?’ Mary asked as she approached the bench.
    Julia looked up with a sad smile. ‘In truth, Miss Crawford, I would welcome the interruption. I have been trying to capture the exact effect of the sunlight on the leaves, but it is, for
the moment, eluding me.’
    Mary looked over the girl’s shoulder at the drawing, and was agreeably surprised at what she saw. There was a peculiar felicity in the mixture of the colours, even if the more disciplined
guidance of a proper drawing-master seemed to have been wanting. Mary could not but wonder why Sir Thomas had not provided such tuition for his daughter; the expense would be nothing to a man in
his position. But putting the thought aside for the moment, she resolved to speak to Henry when she returned to the parsonage; as far as she was able to judge, Miss Julia had a more than everyday
talent, and her brother might perhaps be able to offer some assistance. The two of them sat companionably for some minutes more, looking at the view and talking of poetry. Their taste was
strikingly similar—the same books, the same passages were loved by each, and Julia brought all her favourite authors forward, giving Thomson, Cowper, and Scott their due reverence by turns,
and finding a rapturous delight in discovering such a coincidence of preference.
    ‘And your sister?’ Mary enquired, after a pause. ‘Does she share your enjoyment of reading?’
    Julia smiled gravely. ‘Alas, no. Maria and I used to read together at one time, but her thoughts now are all of balls and gowns and head-dresses, and other such idle vanities. No,’
she said, with a faltering voice, and tears in her eyes, ‘now that my beloved William is at sea, there is no-one in whom I can confide.’
    She sighed, and was silent for a moment, gazing at the vista before them. ‘I had hoped to follow the course of his ship on the map in the school-room, but he could not be sure of his exact
route. My father has promised that this picture I am drawing will be sent to William in Bahama, if I can perfect it.’
    Mary gently touched her arm, and observed, ‘I am sure the gift will be all the more precious to him, because it comes from your own hand.’
    ‘This was our favourite place,’ Julia continued, with more animation. ‘How many times have we sat together under these beloved trees! I always come here when I wish to think of
him. We so loved to watch the progress of the seasons, and see the leaves change colour from the freshest green to the autumn glories of gold and red and brown.’
    ‘In that case I am sure you must spend many happy hours with your cousin,’ said Mary. ‘Only yesterday I heard Miss Price rhapsodising about the beauties of spring.’
    In spite of herself, Julia could not help half a smile. ‘That does not surprise me—Fanny is much given to “rhapsodising” of late. She believes it shews her to have
elegant taste and—what was her phrase?—“sublimity of soul”. And such romantic sensibilities are, of course, exceedingly fashionable just at present.’
    It was Mary’s turn to smile at this, and an unexpected gust of wind then nearly shaking the sketch-book from Julia’s hands, the two of them jumped up and began to walk back towards
the house. By the time they reached the terrace some thing like friendship had already been established between them, notwithstanding their differences in age and situation. They parted with
affectionate words, and Mary returned at last to the parsonage.
    Julia said nothing to her family of her encounter in the avenue, and spent so long in adding new touches to her drawing that her mother was already ringing the bell for dinner
when she joined the other ladies of the family.
    Mrs Norris began scolding at once. ‘That is a very