Murder at Mansfield Park (19 page)

‘As to that, Polly Evans, it’s not for you to think thoughts, it’s for you to do as you’re told. Heaven only knows what Mr Gilbert will say. It will be a miracle if serious mischief has not been done.’

This did little to calm the terrified maid, who looked ready to fall into hysterics herself, and Mary motioned to Mrs Baddeley to take the girl to her own quarters, while she helped Julia back to her bed. She was by this time in a state of such extreme distress that Mary sent one of the servants to fetch Mr Bertram, with a request that the physician be summoned at once. But as she waited anxiously for his arrival, it was not Tom Bertram, but Edmund, who appeared at the door. When he saw his young cousin lying insensible on the bed, moaning and crying indistinctly, his face assumed an expression of the most profound concern.

‘Is there any thing I can do to assist?’

Mary shook her head. ‘I have administered a cordial, but I fear some thing stronger is required.’

Edmund nodded. ‘I concur with your judgment. Let us hope Gilbert is not long in arriving.’ As he spoke the words his eyes stole to her face, and he saw for the first time that Mary, too, was wan and tremulous. A glance at the apron, with its tell-tale stains, lying disregarded on the chair, told him all that was needful for him to know.

‘So it was
you
! You were the one who—’ He stopped, in momentary bewilderment. ‘When I saw the coffin being carried through the hall I thought—at least, I had no conception that it was
your
kindness—’

Mary had borne a good deal that day, but it was the gentleness of his words, rather than the horror of what she had seen and endured, that proved her undoing. She turned away in confusion, hot tears running down her face. Edmund helped her to a chair, and rang the bell.

‘You are overcome, Miss Crawford, and I can quite comprehend why. You have over-taxed yourself for our sakes, and I am deeply, everlastingly, grateful. But
I
am here now, and I can watch with my cousin until Mr Gilbert arrives. You look to stand in great need of rest and wholesome food. I will ring for it directly.’

Being obliged to speak, Mary could not forbear from saying some thing in which the words ‘Mrs Baddeley’s room’ were only just audible.

‘I understand,’ said Edmund, with a grim look, and not wanting to hear more. ‘I understand. I have allowed this unpardonable incivility to continue for far too long. I will arrange for you to take a proper meal in the dining-parlour, as befits a lady, and one to whom we all owe such an inexpressible obligation.’

Such a speech was hardly calculated to compose Mary’s spirits, but he would brook no denial, and within a few minutes she was settled in a chair by the fire downstairs, being helped to an elegant collation of minced chicken and apple-tart. Both her head and her heart were soon the better for such well-timed kindness, and when the maid returned with a glass of Madeira with Mr Norris’s compliments, Mary enquired at once whether Mr Gilbert had yet been in attendance.

‘I believe so, miss. Mrs Baddeley said he’d given Miss Julia some thing to help her sleep.’

Mary nodded; such a measure seemed both prudent and expedient; they must all trust to the certainty and efficacy of some hours’ repose. She thanked the maid, and sat for a few minutes deliberating whether it would be best to return to the parsonage; her sister must be wondering where she was. She was still debating the matter when she heard the sound of a carriage on the drive, and went to the window. It was a very handsome equipage, but the horses were post, and neither the carriage, nor the coachman who drove it, were familiar to her. The man who emerged was a little above medium height, with rather strong features and a visible scar above one eye. His clothes, however, were fashionable and of very superior quality, and he stood for a moment looking confidently about him, as if he was weighing what he saw, and putting the intelligence aside for future use. He was not handsome—or not, at least, in any conventional manner—but there was some thing about him, a sense of latent energy, of formidable powers held in check, such as might command attention, and draw every eye, even in the most crowded of rooms. As she observed him ascend the steps to the door, Mary did not need to overhear the servant’s announcement to guess that the man before her was none other than Mr Charles Maddox.

A few moments later, this impressive and uncommon personage was being shewn into Sir Thomas’s room, where Mr Bertram and Mr Norris were awaiting him. The former had taken up the post of honour behind his father’s desk, while his cousin was standing by the window, evidently ill at ease. They had both been to Oxford, and no doubt considered themselves men of the world, but such a creature as Maddox was far beyond their experience.

‘Good day to you, sirs!’ said their visitor, with the most perfunctory of bows. ‘I admire your discernment. This will do admirably.’

‘I am not sure I understand you,’ said Tom, who had not expected such extraordinary self-assurance from a man who was to be in his employ.

But Maddox had already assumed a proprietorial air, and was wandering about the room, running his hand over the furniture, and inspecting the view from the windows. ‘This will make a very suitable “seat of operations”, as I like to call it. I will have my assistants set up in here.’

‘But this is my father’s room—’ began Tom, looking at him in consternation.

Maddox waved his hand. ‘You have nothing to fear on that score, Mr Bertram. His house shall not be hurt. For every thing of that nature, I will be answerable. And my men are good men. They know how to behave themselves, even in such a grand house as this one.’

Tom and Edmund exchanged a look in which there was as much anxiety on the one side, as there was reproof on the other; the door then opened for a second time, and two men appeared, carrying a large trunk. One was tall and thin, with a pock-marked face; the other short and stout, with a reddened and weather-beaten complexion, and his fore-teeth gone. They set down their burden heavily on the carpet, then departed as they had come, without a word, but leaving behind them a distinct waft of tobacco. Maddox, meanwhile, had installed himself comfortably in an elbow-chair, without staying to be asked.

‘And now to business,’ he said, genially. ‘You agree to my terms, both as to the daily rate, and the reward in the event of an arrest?’

Tom endeavoured to regain the dignified manner suitable to the head of such a house, and to reclaim the mastery of the situation. ‘We consider ourselves fortunate to be able to call upon a man of your reputation, Mr Maddox. Indeed, we are relying on you to bring matters to a prompt and satisfactory conclusion.’

‘My own aim, entirely,’ said Maddox, with a smile.‘And in the pursuit of same, may I begin by examining the corpse?’

The two gentlemen absolutely started, and for a moment both seemed immoveable from surprise; but Edmund shortly recovered himself, and said in a hoarse voice, ‘You cannot possibly be in earnest, Mr Maddox. It is quite out of the question.’

Mr Maddox frowned. ‘I assure you I am in the most deadly earnest, Mr Norris. The precise state of the body— the nature of the injuries, the advancement of putrefaction, and such like matters—are all of the utmost significance to my enquiries. It is the
evidence
, sir, the
evidence,
and without it, my investigation is thwarted before it even commences.’

‘You mistake me, Mr Maddox,’ said Edmund coldly, a deep shade of crimson overspreading his features. ‘It is out of the question, because the coffin has already been sealed. To open it again—to break open the shroud—would be a sacrilegious outrage that I cannot—
will not
—permit.’

‘I see,’ said Maddox, eyeing him coolly. ‘In that case, may I be permitted to speak to the person who laid out the corpse? It is a poor substitute, but in such a circumstance, secondhand intelligence is better than no intelligence at all.’

Tom hesitated, and looked to his cousin. ‘What think you, Edmund? May we impose so much on Miss Crawford’s kindness?’

‘Could such an importunate interview not wait a few days?’ said Edmund, angrily. ‘It has been a distressing day for us all, and for none more so than Miss Crawford. She finished laying out the body not two hours ago.’

‘So much the better,’ replied Maddox. ‘The lady’s memory will be all the fresher for it. You would be surprised, Mr Norris, how quickly one’s powers of recall weaken and become confused, especially in cases such as this, when the mind is exerting itself to throw a mist over unpleasantness. We all believe our faculties of recollection to be so retentive, yet I have questioned witnesses who would swear to have seen things that I know, from my own knowledge, to be absolutely impossible. And yet they sincerely believe what they say. Which is why it is essential that I speak with this Miss Crawford without delay. There is not a moment to lose.’

Edmund turned and went to the window, and remained there some moments. This did not fail to attract a considerable degree of interest from Mr Maddox, though he said nothing, and appeared to be absorbed merely in contemplating the set of family portraits that hung on the wall behind.

A moment later Edmund turned to face them; his features had assumed an air of grim determination, but his voice was steady.

‘I will ask Miss Crawford to join us. I am sure you will find her to be both accurate and reliable in her observations.’

He bowed hurriedly, and left the room. There was a short silence, in the course of which, Mr Maddox got up from his chair, and strolled with apparent unconcern towards the paintings.

‘Is this the victim?’ he asked.

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Tom, who had not been accustomed to such language as this.

‘Fanny Price—is this her?’

‘Yes,’ said Tom, stiffly, bridling at the familiarity. ‘That is indeed a likeness of Miss Price.’

‘And is it a good one?’

‘I believe it is generally thought to be so. It was drawn some two years ago.’

‘I see,’ said Maddox, thoughtfully. ‘A handsome woman. A very handsome woman, if I may say so. And an heiress, into the bargain.Your Mr Norris was a lucky fellow. And to lose such a prize, in such a way—it would be a wonder if his life were not ruined. Would it not, Mr Bertram?’

Tom was saved from the necessity of a reply by the sound of the door opening, and the reappearance of Edmund, accompanied by Mary.

‘I have explained the circumstances to Miss Crawford,’ he said, ‘and she has kindly agreed to answer any questions you may have. But I would beg you to recollect that we have already made more demands on her than we can claim any right to, and she is, as a consequence, quite exhausted. Pray do not tire her unnecessarily, or distress her without good reason.’

Edmund made to take a seat, but Maddox prevented him. ‘I would much prefer to speak with Miss Crawford in private, Mr Norris.’

‘Why so? Surely
that
is not necessary?’

‘In my experience, Mr Norris, people find it easier to be completely frank and open in their disclosures, when their family or acquaintances are not listening to every word they say. All the more so, when the questions to be asked are of such a delicate and, shall we say, squeamish nature. So if Miss Crawford permits—?’

Mary held his gaze for a moment, and he perceived the slightest lift of her head as she replied, with some self-possession, ‘Thank you for your concern, Mr Norris, but I am quite content. I will speak to Mr Maddox alone.’

Mary had been both surprised and pleased when Edmund had sought her in the dining-parlour, but she had instantly perceived him to be wholly preoccupied by some thing that seemed to have little to do with her; his manner was distant, and had she not become well acquainted with his character and temper, she might have considered him to be almost uncivil. He had explained his errand in some haste, barely meeting her eye, and she could not tell if he was vexed or relieved when he met with a ready acquiescence to his request. He had asked her to accompany him with scarcely another word, and she had barely enough time to collect her wits before she was led into the presence of Charles Maddox.

When the door had closed behind the two gentlemen, Maddox directed her to a chair beside the fire, and took one facing her. It might have been accident, or design, but the seat he had chosen afforded him a clear view of her face in the light from the window, while his own features remained shadowed and obscure.

‘Now, Miss Crawford,’ he began. ‘I am most grateful for your assistance in this sad affair. I am sure you are as anxious as any body to have it elucidated.’

‘I will do any thing in my power to help.’

‘Quite so, quite so. Perhaps you might begin, then, by giving me your impressions of the corpse. In your own words, of course.’

This was not what she had expected—in so far as she had expected any thing—and she sat for a moment without speaking, wondering how, and where, to commence. She was aware that Maddox was eyeing her closely all the while, but before she had the chance to begin her relation, he took matters into his own hands.

‘Perhaps it might expedite the business if I began by putting one or two questions of my own?’

Mary blushed in spite of herself; she had not thought to find an intellectual superior in such a man as this, but he already had the advantage of her.

‘If you would be so good. I have no experience of such things, and do not know what, precisely, you wish to ascertain.’

‘Quite so. I would have been astonished if it had been otherwise,’ he replied with what he clearly believed to be an affable smile. ‘As far as I have been informed, Miss Price met her death as the result of an accident.’

Mary shook her head. ‘That is simply not possible. Such injuries could not have been sustained in a simple fall.’

‘You say injuries, in the plural.Was that deliberate?’

Mary looked at him archly. ‘I am always most precise in my use of words, Mr Maddox. You may take it that what I say, I mean.’

He bowed. ‘I am glad to hear it. Indeed, I wish more of my witnesses demonstrated such precision of thought. So, we may conclude her assailant inflicted more than one blow?’