The Matters at Mansfield: (Or, the Crawford Affair) (Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mysteries) (15 page)

Twenty-one

“
When my aunt has got a fancy in her head, nothing can stop her.
”

—
Tom Bertram,
Mansfield Park

C
onsider, Darcy, how much Lady Catherine stands to gain from Mr. Crawford’s death.” Elizabeth lifted the hem of her skirt and picked her way through a particularly muddy patch of road as they walked down the lane past the village green. Overnight rain had made for a damp, slow walk to Mrs. Norris’s house, where they hoped to find Maria Rushworth at home following her previous day’s journey to Sotherton. “As she said, she now can pass off Anne as a widow. Provided Meg does not draw attention to herself, no one in society need ever know that Anne’s first marriage was invalid, whereas if Mr. Crawford were still alive, the scandal would have inevitably been exposed. Even if she fails to complete the alliance with the Sennex family, Anne’s reputation is partially preserved. In fact, she looks like a romantic heroine—her windswept courtship and elopement brought to a premature, tragic end by her groom’s sudden death. She will be a figure of sympathy, not scorn.”

“His death is a fortunate coincidence for my aunt, nothing more.”

“Are you entirely certain? Mr. Archer went off in pursuit of Mr. Crawford that night. And, I recall the following morning, observing a streak of golden residue on the lower leg of his trousers. Perhaps it was pollen from some plant in the grove.”

“Or anywhere in the village. The rain has been so abundant that the weeds are, as well.”

“Why are you so quick to eliminate him as a suspect?”

“Mr. Archer is a highly reputable London solicitor. He deals exclusively with the aristocracy, and charges fees that render him immune to the temptation of increasing his coffers by dirtying his hands with anything so tawdry—not to mention risky—as murder.”

“Could he not have hired a third party to complete the business?”

Darcy released an exasperated sigh. “I suppose he could have. But there are other individuals who are far more likely to have committed the deed.” They had arrived at the gate of White House. “Including a certain discarded mistress who lives here.”

They passed through the gate to the front door, which appeared to have recently been worked upon. Elizabeth noted that a second lock had been installed.

“Have you the earrings?” Darcy asked. The jewelry formed the pretext of their call.

“In my reticule.” She glanced at him archly. “In the absence of a muff pistol.”

They knocked on the door and were greeted by the maid, who bade them wait in the entry while she announced them. Voices carried from the morning room.

“Well, you simply must try again.” The tones belonged unmistakably to Mrs. Norris.

“Perhaps I do not want to try again.” Petulance. Definitely Maria.

“Do not be ridiculous. Anything is better than divorce, and now that Mr. Crawford is dead, it will be easier to persuade Mr. Rushworth to reconcile. You should have tried harder yesterday. Why did you not?”

“Because he was as stupid and dull as ever, and the whole visit only reminded me of why I left him for Mr. Crawford in the first place. Also, his mother was in the room the entire time, standing watch—the old dragon. We could not have a private word. Even could I tolerate living with Mr. Rushworth again, she would never allow it. I do not think he uses the necessary without her permission.”

“Next time I shall come with you to divert her. I ought to have gone yesterday and never should have let you persuade me otherwise.”

“There will be no next time.”

“Maria, I managed matters once with Mr. Rushworth; I will manage them again.”

A break in their conversation suggested that the maid had at last won Mrs. Norris’s attention. Darcy and Elizabeth heard their names announced; they were the next minute ushered into the morning room.

Maria picked indifferently at a piece of needlework as Mrs. Norris greeted them. After the requisite exchange of empty pleasantries, Elizabeth addressed Mrs. Rushworth.

“We are happy to find you at home,” she said. “I do wish this were merely a social call, but I am afraid my husband and I must beg your assistance. As Mrs. Norris has no doubt told you, Mr. Crawford was discovered dead yesterday. His injuries were such that his remains were identified by his personal effects—among them, these earrings.” She withdrew the baubles from her reticule and held them toward Maria. “Mr. Darcy and I are fairly certain these are the ear-bobs you returned to Mr. Crawford on the day of his disappearance, but we hope you will confirm our identification. As you surely understand, this is too important a matter to risk error.”

Maria set aside her needlework to take the ear-bobs from Elizabeth’s hand. She outlined one of the pendant gems with her forefinger, her expression impassive. “Yes, these are the earrings.”

“We are trying to trace Mr. Crawford’s movements that day. Did you happen to see him again after you left the inn?”

“No. I came back to White House and did not go out again.”

“I can vouch for her on that account,” said Mrs. Norris.

“But you left here for a time to visit my mother.”

Mrs. Norris regarded Maria with annoyance. Elizabeth wondered whether she had been trying to reinforce her niece’s alibi out of suspicion—or knowledge—that she had not in fact been where she claimed.

“So I did,” Mrs. Norris said. “But you were in your chamber when I departed, and still there when I returned.”

“I have nowhere else to go in this deplorable village. As if I care whether anybody in Mansfield receives me.” She closed her hand around the earrings and reached out to return them to Elizabeth. “Here. I have answered your questions.”

Mrs. Norris intercepted. “Allow me to see those, Maria.”

Mrs. Rushworth surrendered them to her aunt, who held them up to catch the light. Sunlight glinted off the sapphires. “You ought to keep these. Mr. Crawford no longer has any use for them.”

“Neither do I.”

“Well—I shall retain them lest you change your mind.”

Before Elizabeth could issue a startled protest, Mrs. Norris deposited the earrings in her own workbag. Elizabeth decided to let the presumptuousness go for now, as she and Darcy had yet more information they hoped to obtain.

“Mrs. Rushworth, I realize that speaking of Mr. Crawford might cause you distress, but may I ask you to indulge me in a few more queries?”

“It depends upon what they are.”

“Another item was found with Mr. Crawford’s remains—a pistol. Do you recall his having possessed one?”

“Not whilst we were in London. I have never seen Everingham, however, and so do not know what possessions he might keep there.”

The sound of a carriage drew their attention to the window. A chaise had come up the lane and stopped in front of White House. Elizabeth recognized the livery.

“Mr. Rushworth has come to call!” Mrs. Norris exclaimed. “See, Maria—it is not too late. Matters between you might yet be patched up.” She crossed to the window to obtain a better view. “He has just alighted. Smooth your hair, child—remind him why he married you.”

“But I—”

“Oh, why did
she
have to accompany him?” Mrs. Norris scowled as Mr. Rushworth handed his mother out of the carriage. “Well, no matter. I will manage her, as I said I would. Do not you fret, Maria—your Aunt Norris will have you living back at Sotherton Court within a fortnight.”

Maria stood and stomped. “You are not listening! I—”

“Maria, I am the only remaining friend you have. Who but your Aunt Norris stepped forward to take you in when your own father would not? You must heed my counsel. Divorce is an evil to be avoided at all costs. Mr. Rushworth may be thick-witted, but he is the only chance you have at salvaging your respectability.” Mrs. Norris turned from the window and glanced at the Darcys with an almost startled expression. Apparently in her exultation over Mr. Rushworth’s arrival, she had forgotten their presence. “If you will excuse us, we have done speaking about Mr. Crawford.”

“We were just about to take leave,” Darcy said. They rose.

A knock on the door was quickly followed by the maid’s announcing the Rushworths’ arrival. Mother and son entered, the dowager responding to the Darcys’ presence with disdain.

“You are Mr. Crawford’s friend, are you not?”

Darcy offered his name and acknowledged the association. “Mr. Crawford was a recent acquaintance, a relation by marriage.” Elizabeth supposed that was as accurate a description of their connection as ought to be attempted. Darcy then introduced Elizabeth, who received a cool nod. Mr. Rushworth bowed, his expression warmer, though not by much.

“Maria, there is a matter of business we need to discuss,” said Mr. Rushworth. “Is there another room in which we could—”

“No, no!” Mrs. Norris interjected. “Stay right here. The Darcys were just departing.”

She instructed the maid to show them out, and dismissed them with scarcely a glance. “Now, Mrs. Rushworth, let us move to the drawing room while your son and my niece converse. May I offer you some tea? Cook prepared Bath cakes this morning, and I have a very fine wild gooseberry jam—my only remaining jar from last year, as I have not yet had time to put up any this season. I know a spot with superior berries—”

“We shall not stay long.”

Elizabeth and Darcy followed the maid to the front door. The servant opened it, startling a man on the other side who had been about to knock. He was a large, burly fellow, and had with him a large, burly dog. Elizabeth had never seen such an enormous mastiff, and was thankful the man held it on a leash.

The man and maid greeted each other. “And who is this?” the maid asked, nodding toward the animal.

“Wolfgang. Mrs. Norris told me to bring him round today.”

“Well, bring him round to the back door and we’ll get him familiar with the place.”

Elizabeth held her tongue until she and Darcy were beyond the gate. “I dislike that woman more with every meeting.”

“Which one?”

“Mrs.—” She had been about to say “Norris,” but stopped herself. “All of them, actually. Maria reminds me too much of my youngest sister, and the two older matrons are at least as dictatorial as Lady Catherine.”

“Mrs. Norris and the dowager do seem to share some common traits with my aunt.”

“The three of them are insufferable—so certain that they know what is best for everybody else.” Though their power was confined to the domestic sphere, they wielded it with divine self-righteousness. “They could model for a portrait of the Fates.”

“Mrs. Norris spinning the thread, Mrs. Rushworth measuring it, and Lady Catherine cutting it off?”

“A sanctimonious triumvirate that rules through intimidation.” She took his arm to steady herself as she negotiated another muddy patch of road.

“Surely they do not intimidate
you
? Why, you have been standing up to my aunt since before we were engaged, and after a few more years as mistress of Pemberley I fully expect you will be as capable as they of commanding everybody around you.”

She halted abruptly. “Are you quite serious?” Images of herself ten, fifteen years into the future flashed in her mind. She saw herself arranging a betrothal for Lily-Anne without her knowledge, manipulating her neighbors, lecturing her guests. She did not like what she saw. Did Darcy truly think her capable of such behavior? “No one knows what is best for everybody else, including me,” she said. “And I do not want to become the sort of person who thinks she does.”

“I did but jest,” he said. “I could never have married you if I thought you inclined to my aunt’s propensities. One Lady Catherine in our family is more than enough.”

They reached the inn and elected to partake of an early dinner. They were startled when their server appeared.

“Meg? Whatever are you doing?”

“One of the girls quit after Lady Catherine yelled at her again, and I have taken her job. I told you I would find a means of supporting myself.”

“But—do you want to work as a servant?”

“I worked at an inn before my marriage; I can work in one again.”

Within ten minutes, another pair of patrons had taken a table in the dining room: Mr. Rushworth and his mother. Meg greeted them with a smile. Mr. Rushworth returned it with a polite nod. The dowager scowled.

“Welcome,” Meg said. “Have you dined at the Ox and Bull before?”

“On a few occasions,” Mr. Rushworth replied. “Though when last we were here, we did not linger to eat.”

“Had places to be, did you?”

“Yes, we were on our way to London.”

“Well, I am glad you have returned. What can I bring you?”

Elizabeth glanced at Darcy. Had Mr. Rushworth gone to London to purchase a pistol after his discussion with Henry Crawford? He could not have returned quickly enough to have killed Mr. Crawford that night, but Mr. Crawford had been missing for days before his discovery—perhaps the murder had not taken place on the evening of his disappearance, but some time later.

On the other hand, perhaps Mr. Rushworth had been far to the south when the murder occurred.

Darcy answered her unspoken question in muted tones shielded from the Rushworths’ hearing by Meg’s cheerful chatter. “We can probably verify how long he was in London. If it was any length of time, he likely would have been seen at one of his clubs. Or perhaps he filed court papers related to the crim con trial. I will ask Mr. Harper to make some enquiries.”

Elizabeth knew their solicitor could be relied upon to conduct his investigation discreetly.

They finished their meal and headed for their chamber. As they reached the base of the stairs, the front door opened. An old man with a cane shuffled in, followed by his sullen son.

“Why, Mr. Darcy—it is Mr. Darcy, is it not?—how good to see you again.”

Lord Sennex had arrived.

Twenty-two

“
Younger sons cannot marry where they like . . . there are not many in my rank of life who can afford to marry without some attention to money.
”

—
Colonel Fitzwilliam,
Pride and Prejudice

L
ady Catherine gripped the top of the chair back, too impatient to sit down. “Whatever is taking his lordship so long?”

“Doubtless he requires more time than you or I to cope with the stairs,” Darcy replied. “I am sure he will be down as soon as he is able.”

The only room available for Lord Sennex’s use had been the upper-level chamber vacated by Mr. Lautus some days ago. That gentleman apparently had grown so weary of the Crawford–de Bourgh entourage occupying all the attention of the Bull’s employees that he had departed without so much as informing his host of his intention of never returning. Darcy was beginning to wish he could flee the inn himself. He had trouble tolerating his aunt for more than a se’nnight when he had all of Pemberley or Rosings in which to lose himself; the inn’s close quarters were becoming closer with each passing day.

As their party now comprised the whole of the inn’s guest list, Lady Catherine had commandeered the small parlor for their use in holding the imminent meeting. Colonel Fitzwilliam paced restlessly while Mr. Archer sat in front of the empty fireplace.

“This is
not
how I intended to conduct these negotiations,” his aunt said. “I had planned to send Mr. Archer to Hawthorn Manor. I certainly did not want Mr. Sennex and his lordship to come here, where they might encounter that Garrick woman flitting about and learn that Anne might never have been truly married.” She drummed her fingers on the chair. “I can manage Lord Sennex. It is Neville Sennex and their solicitor who concern me. Fortunately the solicitor is not expected for a day or two.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam halted his agitated movements. “I must again express my conviction that this betrothal is not in Anne’s best interest. I spoke with her not twenty minutes ago and she dreads the very thought of it. Indeed, I harbor reservations of my own about Mr. Sennex’s suitability. Anne’s cooperation is coerced by her contrition over the Crawford debacle and her reluctance to defy you.”

“So long as she cooperates, I do not care what her motivation is.”

“But in my opinion—”

“I have not solicited your opinion.”

“Then why have you asked me to this meeting?”

“For the same reason I invited Mr. Darcy to attend. I want your help in persuading Mr. Sennex to accept terms most advantageous to Anne.”

“Anne’s inheritance of Rosings is secure whether she marries or not,” Darcy said. “Why pressure her to wed at all?”

“To preserve her reputation. To ennoble our family line. To create another generation . . . if she has not begun
that
already.” She emitted a sound of disgust. “I pray she does not carry Mr. Crawford’s child. As it is, Mr. Sennex will almost certainly insist the wedding be postponed until that fact is determined.”

A moment later, Lord Sennex and his son entered. Lady Catherine greeted them warmly—as warm as conversation with her ladyship ever became—and invited them to sit.

Neville shook his head. “I am not staying. I only escorted my father down at his insistence.”

Lady Catherine frowned. “Surely you want a voice in these proceedings?”

“The only thing I have to say about the matter is that I refuse to participate. Your daughter’s elopement humiliated me beyond restitution. Henry Crawford might have managed to get himself killed before I had an opportunity to seek satisfaction, but I will not take his widow on any terms. No fortune in the world is worth lowering myself to accept used goods.”

Lady Catherine gasped.

“Neville,” the viscount said in a even tone, “you must reconsider—”

“No. As I told you the entire length of our journey, I am decided. If you remain determined to bring Miss de Bourgh—pardon me,
Mrs. Crawford
—into this family, you will have to marry her yourself.”

With that, he abruptly departed. All stared in silence at the door Mr. Sennex had closed behind him with force that echoed in the walls.

“I . . . er, I believe I need to sit down.” The viscount leaned heavily on his cane. Darcy went to him and assisted him into a chair.

Lady Catherine eyed him appraisingly.

“I—I am afraid I must apologize for my son. I had hoped that once we arrived . . . Perhaps if he could meet with Mrs. Crawford . . .”

“Given his present disposition, I do not think that advisable,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Lord Sennex released a sigh so heavy that it seemed to deflate his entire carriage. “I had so hoped to see him settled. Hawthorn Manor has been a lonely place since my wife passed away. I looked forward to a young bride cheering its halls again.”

Lady Catherine took the chair next to him. “How long have you been a widower?”

“Oh, it has been . . . now let me see . . .” His wrinkles deepened as he concentrated. He issued another sigh. “A score of years, at least.”

“That is a long time to be alone,” she said in the most sympathetic voice Darcy had ever heard issue from her lips.

“Have you ever considered remarrying?”

“Anne will never agree to it.”

“Of course she will,” Lady Catherine told Colonel Fitzwilliam after Lord Sennex left the parlor. “This is an even better arrangement than her marrying the son. She will become a viscountess immediately. With that title, no one will dare criticize her elopement. And Lord Sennex was in favor of the special license, so we need not worry about the reading of the banns—the wedding can take place immediately. He is too addled to even think about waiting long enough to ensure Anne is not in a family way. If she is, it will be an easy matter to dupe him into believing the child is his. Mr. Archer, go draft the marriage agreement directly. I want his lordship to sign it before his solicitor arrives.”

As Mr. Archer departed to do her bidding, Darcy exchanged glances with his cousin.

“Have you considered,” Darcy said to his aunt, “that the viscountcy will pass to Neville Sennex and his children, not to any children of Anne’s?”

“If Neville Sennex produces children.”

“You do not think he will eventually wed?”

“It is a chance I am willing to take to preserve Anne’s respectability.”

“She need not marry a man more than twice her age to do so,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“Who else is there? She is almost thirty years old. Suitors were hardly lining up on the steps of Rosings before her elopement. You heard what Neville Sennex said. His own humiliation aside, he is correct in that Anne’s association with Mr. Crawford has tainted her. What man of consequence will have her now? What gentleman at all?”

“I will.”

Lady Catherine stared at the colonel. “What are you saying, Fitzwilliam?”

“I am offering my hand—if Anne herself is willing to accept it.”

“Despite the fact that Henry Crawford compromised her? And that she could be carrying his child?”

“Yes.”

Lady Catherine’s brows rose. “That is very noble of you. But entirely unnecessary. We have just achieved an understanding with Viscount Sennex, and he offers a superior situation. Marrying Anne to her own cousin, a younger son with no land or title of his own, would make the marriage look like a patched-up business. I will not have Society thinking that the daughter of Sir Lewis de Bourgh could do no better than an army officer bought by her fortune and pressured by duty to restore the family name.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s jaw tightened. “Why do we not allow Anne to determine that? She is over one-and-twenty. She can decide for herself which offer she prefers to accept, if she wants to accept one at all.”

“I forbid you to mention this to Anne.”

“You
forbid
me?”

Lady Catherine released a heavy breath. “I can see how the alliance you propose will materially benefit you, and make worthwhile the sacrifice of overlooking her compromised state. But if she defies me in this matter, she will not receive a shilling of her trust funds—the other trustees will side with me and refuse to release her annual income. If, however, you are patient, you can still gain. Wait until she is widowed again to marry her. The viscount is old and frail; his passing will not take long. Then she will have a restored reputation and the handsome jointure I just negotiated with him, as well as Rosings, to bring to your marriage.”

“My offer was not about money.”

Lady Catherine laughed coldly. “I thought you were more worldly, Fitzwilliam. Marriages are always about money, whether that fact is acknowledged or not.”

Their aunt left to oversee Mr. Archer’s progress in drafting the agreement with Sennex. Colonel Fitzwilliam was silent; Darcy could tell he struggled to subdue his resentment toward Lady Catherine.

“For my part,” Darcy said, “I believe Anne would be fortunate in a marriage to you.”

“It is gratifying to know that you, at least, think so.”

“I was, however, as surprised as Lady Catherine by your offer.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam became very busy with a button on the cuff of his coat. “It is not about money.”