Murder at Mansfield Park (35 page)

‘Because I had no alternative. And if you recall, I did go to great lengths to ensure that he would not be removed to Northampton, nor suffer the indignities of the common jail.’

Mary turned her face away, and he saw, once more, the thinness of her face, and the hollowness under her eyes; she had clearly suffered much in those two days.

‘Besides,’ he continued, ‘I wished to keep him here in Mansfield for my own reasons. Given that Mr Norris had clearly
not
committed the crime, there was only one possible reason why he should have chosen to confess to it. He was protecting someone; someone for whom he felt either duty and responsibility, or great affection. Someone he perceived to be weaker than himself, and less capable of enduring the punishment that must attend such a heinous crime. In short, a woman.’

He got to his feet and began to walk about the room, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘I was convinced, for some time, that this woman was
you
, Miss Crawford. I had you watched at all times, I intercepted your letters, and subjected your behaviour to the most intense scrutiny. I know your habits, I know all your ways; what time you prefer to breakfast, and where you prefer to walk. I know every thing about you—I have made it my business to know. Despite all my efforts, I saw nothing to indicate that you yourself were guilty.You were distressed, but I was forced to acknowledge that this was the natural distress of a woman who knows the man she loves is about to sacrifice himself needlessly for her sake.’

Her face was, by now, flushed a deep red, but she did not turn to look at him.

‘And so I turned my attention elsewhere. I had initially dismissed Mrs Norris as a possible murderess, on account of her age, but it seems I did not fully appreciate her physical strength, nor her formidable capacity for jealousy and resentment. It was the poisoning of Julia Bertram that forced me to think again. The killing of Mrs Crawford had always seemed to me to be the work of a man—the brutality, the bodily vigour it required—but poisoning is, in my experience, very much a woman’s crime. And who was better placed than Mrs Norris to perpetrate the act? The whole household went to her with their coughs and sore throats and arthritic joints, and no-one—not even you, Miss Crawford—would have questioned her presence in the sick-room.’

Mary looked at him in consternation, unable to take in all this new information. ‘Then why in heaven’s name did you not arrest her at once?’

‘I needed
proof
, Miss Crawford,
proof
. I needed to
hear
her say it—
admit what she had done in the presence of a witness.You were my only hope. I guessed that you would try to see Mr Norris, and having let it be known that he would be moved on Thursday, I made sure that today was your last opportunity. I knew, likewise, that if Mrs Norris was indeed guilty, she would have to intervene to prevent you speaking to him. And knowing how much she hated you, I relied on that hatred to make her voluble.’

‘And while you waited for this confession of yours, you stood idly by and watched her try to kill her own
son
?’

For the first time in their acquaintance, she saw Maddox flush. ‘That, I confess, was an error on my part. I had not expected her to act so soon. I attended the funeral, as you did, having left Stornaway overseeing matters here.’

‘And he did
nothing
whatsoever to prevent her?’

‘I have not yet had the opportunity to question him fully, but I suspect he did exactly what I instructed him to do. Watch and wait. But I had not, I regret, anticipated either the speed, or the method she would employ. If she resorted to laudanum a second time, I relied on Mr Norris being able to discern the taste; I did not bargain for the dulling effect of curried mutton. No doubt she chose it for precisely that purpose.’

‘That does not excuse you, Mr Maddox. You put Mr Norris in deplorable danger, and I can never forgive you. He may, even now, be dying at her hands.’

Maddox looked grave. ‘I will regret that, Miss Crawford, for as long as I live. But there is some thing I regret even more. That I should have so endangered
you
.You are brave, and you are capable, and I thought that would be sufficient to protect you.To my infinite regret, I found that it was not, and I am more sorry for that than I can say.’

They looked at one another for a moment, then she looked away. ‘You saved my life,’ she said, her voice breaking.

He smiled gently. ‘You are most welcome,Miss Crawford. And now I will leave you. I hear a little commotion in the hall, and I fancy your brother has returned with Mrs Grant.’

He gave a deep bow, and went out into the garden, leaving her wondering at what had happened, and wondering still more at what was yet to come.

CHAPTER XXII

A week later, Mary was sitting in the garden at the parsonage, a parasol at her side, and a book, unopened, in her lap. It was such a lovely day that her sister had finally relented and permitted her to take the air outside. It was the first time she had been out of doors since the events at the White House, and she breathed the fresh air with the purest delight, noticing how the last flowers of the summer had already started to fade, and the first edges of gold were appearing on the leaves. But her pleasure was not wholly unalloyed. She had not yet been able to visit the Park, whither Edmund had now been removed, and she knew that his recovery was neither as complete, nor as swift, as Mr Gilbert had hoped. They had kept it from her at first, fearing a relapse in her own condition, but Mrs Grant had, at last, admitted that while Mr Norris was now out of danger, the family were apprehensive for his future health. Mary had not yet heard from Mr Gilbert that morning, and when she saw her sister approaching from the house, she presumed at first that she was coming with a message from the physician.

‘There is someone to see you, Mary,’ said Mrs Grant. ‘I have explained that you have already seen Sir Thomas today, and are still too delicate to receive so many visitors, but he will not be gainsaid.’

Mary smiled. ‘Let me hazard a guess—it is, perhaps, Mr Maddox to whom you refer?’

‘The man has scarcely been out of the house since the day you—well, since the day of your accident. I am more than half tempted to start charging him board and lodging.’

‘I do not recommend it!’ laughed Mary. ‘I am sure our table is better stocked than Mr McGregor’s, so he will very likely take you at your word, and then where will you be?’

Mrs Grant smiled, despite herself. ‘With an unwanted lodger taking up the only spare room, that’s where I would be. How do you go on with your book?’

Mary smiled. ‘Not well. It is very entertaining—the author blends a great deal of sense with the lighter matter of the piece, and holds up an excellent lesson as to the dangers of too great a sensibility, but I fear my spirits are not yet equal to the playfulness of the style.’

‘Well, if you do not wish to read, perhaps you have energy enough for conversation? Shall I fetch Mr Maddox? He says there is some thing he wishes to discuss with you. I’ll wager it’s about what is to be done with Mrs Norris— there have been messages going to and fro between him and the magistrate for the best part of a week. Mrs Baddeley told me she is to be shut up in a private establishment in another part of the country—some where remote and private, by all accounts, and with her own mad-doctor in constant attendance. If you ask me, she should have paid the price for what she did, but it appears she has quite lost her reason, and become quite raving, and Dr Grant says that even if there were a possibility of her ever standing trial, the jury would be forced to acquit her by reason of insanity. As you might imagine, Sir Thomas will not hear of a public asylum.’

‘I am not surprised at that. I have acquaintances in London who have visited Bedlam, and I would not wish even Mrs Norris incarcerated in such a terrible place. People make visits there as if it were some sort of human menagerie—they even take long sticks with them, so that they can provoke the poor mad inmates, purely for the sake of entertainment. It is unforgiveable. Sir Thomas would never permit such inhumane treatment, even for the murderess of his own daughter.’

Mrs Grant stood up and touched her sister on the shoulder. ‘
You
have become quite the daughter to him, these last few days.’

Mary blushed. ‘I think he wished, in the beginning, to thank me for what I have tried to do for the family, and especially for Julia. But since then we have spent more time in conversation, and have found we enjoy one another’s company.’

‘I am sure that you are more than half the reason why he seems to be becoming reconciled to Henry as a nephew.’

Mary shook her head. ‘I have scrupled to plead Henry’s cause directly—that is not my place. Sir Thomas knows I do not approve of what my brother has done, but I do believe Henry to be sincerely desirous of being really received into the Bertram family, and very much disposed to look up to Sir Thomas, and be guided by him. For his part, Sir Thomas has acknowledged to me that he feels he should bear some part of the blame for what happened—for the elopement, at least. He feels that he ought never to have agreed to the engagement with Edmund in the first place, and that in so doing he allowed himself to be governed by mercenary and worldly motives. He is too judicious to say so, and too mindful of the respect owing to the dead, but I think he had very little knowledge of the weak side of Fanny’s character, or the consequences that might ensue from the excessive indulgence and constant flattery she received from Mrs Norris. As for Henry, if he knew Sir Thomas as I now do, he would value him as a friend, as well as someone who might supply the place of the father we lost so long ago. Sir Thomas and I have talked together on many subjects, and he has always paid me the compliment of considering my opinions seriously, while correcting me most graciously where I have been mistaken. I admire him immensely.’

‘As he does you, no doubt. And as
Mr Maddox
does also,’ said Mrs Grant with a knowing look. ‘Good heavens! That gentleman will be wondering where I have got to! I will shew him into the garden, and fetch you some thing to drink from the kitchen. And then I must return to unpacking the new Wedgwood-ware. The pattern is pretty enough, in its way, but I think they might have allowed us rather larger leaves—one is almost forced to conclude that the woods about Birmingham must be blighted.’

Despite all her other cares, Mary could not but laugh at this, and she was still smiling a few minutes later when Maddox appeared, carrying a tray and a pitcher of spruce-beer.

‘I come bearing gifts,’ he said, ‘but I am not Greek, and you need not fear me.’

‘
Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.
I did not know you read Virgil, Mr Maddox.’

‘And I did not know you read Latin, Miss Crawford. There is a good deal, I suspect, that we do not yet know of one another.’

Mary noticed that ‘yet’, but she did not remark upon it.

‘My sister says there is some thing you wish to discuss with me?’

‘Quite so. May I?’ he said, indicating the chair.

‘Of course. Pray be seated.’

He sat for a moment, looking at her face, and she became self-conscious. The wound had started to heal above her eye, but there would always be a scar. It was little enough in itself, considering what might have been, and she had never prided herself on her beauty alone, seeing it as both ephemeral and insignificant; but she had not yet become accustomed to her new face, and his intent gaze unsettled her.

‘My apologies,’ he said quickly. ‘I did not mean to stare in such an unmannerly way, only—’ ‘Only?’

‘It occurred to me, just then, that we have a good deal in common, besides a liking for Virgil. And a scar above the left eye.’

Mary laughed. ‘That is no way to ingratiate yourself with a lady, Mr Maddox! You should be thankful that your profession does not require you to obtain information under cover of flirtatious gallantry.You would never resolve a crime again.’

She had meant it as a joke, but his face fell, and she felt, for a moment, as remorseful if she had chosen her words on purpose to wound him.

‘I am sorry, Mr Maddox, I did not mean—’

He waved his hand. ‘No, no. Think nothing of it. I was merely momentarily discomfited. The conversation is not going in the direction I had intended.’

‘And what did you intend, Mr Maddox?’

‘To ask you to marry me.’

She could not pretend it came as a surprise; she had been aware, for some time, of a particularity in his manners towards her, and since her convalescence, his attentions had become so conspicuous that even Dr Grant could not avoid perceiving in a grand and careless way that Mr Maddox was somewhat distinguishing his wife’s sister. But all the same, as every young lady knows, the supposition of admiration is quite a different thing from a decided offer, and she was, for a moment, unable to think or speak very clearly.

‘I see I have taken you by surprise,’ he said. ‘You will naturally wish for time to collect your thoughts. Allow me, in the mean time, to plead my case. It is, perhaps, not the most romantic language to use, but you are an intelligent woman, and I wish to appeal, principally, to that intelligence. I know you have an attachment to Mr Norris—’ she coloured and started at this, but he continued, ‘I have no illusions, Miss Crawford.
My
affections are, I assure you, quite fervent enough to satisfy the vanity of a young woman of a far more trivial cast of mind than your own, but I have known for some time that I would have a pre-engaged heart to assail. I know, likewise, that you will now be a woman of no inconsiderable fortune. But what can Mr Norris do for you—what can even your brother do—compared to what
I
shall do? I am not the master of Lessingby, but I am, nonetheless, a man of no inconsiderable property. If such things are important to you, you may have what house you choose, and have it completely new furnished from cellar to attic, and dictate your own terms as to pin-money, jewels, carriages, and the rest. But I suspect such things are
not
important to you. My offer to you is independence. Heroism, danger, activity, adventure. The chance to travel— to see the world. All the things that men take for granted, and most women do not even have the imagination to dream of, far less embrace. But you, I fancy, are an exception. What would be tranquillity and comfort to little Maria Bertram, would be tediousness and vexation to
you. You
are not born to sit still and do nothing. Even if he makes a complete recovery, which is by no means certain, you are no more fitted to be Edmund Norris’s sweet little wife than I would be. And if he does
not
recover, you will waste your youth and beauty pushing an invalid in a bath chair, buried in a suffocating domesticity. Do not make the mistake of marrying a man whose understanding is inferior to your own—do not hide your light under a bushel, purely to do him credit.You are worth more than that—you can
achieve
more than that. I know enough of you already to be quite sure that you would be an inestimable support to me in my profession—and not merely a support, but a partner, in the truest, fullest sense of the word. Your eye for detail, your capacity for logical thinking and lucid deduction, surpass any thing I have seen, even among men whom I admire. You have a genius for the business, Mary, and if you do not choose it, it seems that
it
chooses
you
.’