Carrie Bebris - The Matters at Mansfield

“Poor Anne — as if she has not endured enough,” she said after he finished narrating the morning’s errand. Despite the relative privacy afforded by four walls and a closed door, they nevertheless kept their voices low. Their party nearly filled the inn, and while most of their acquaintances were not wont to eavesdrop, conversations could yet be inadvertently overheard. Too, the subject matter itself dictated somber tones. “Do you believe, as Sir Thomas does, that Mr. Crawford committed self-murder?”

“There is evidence in support of it, but also against. It suits Sir Thomas’s interests for Mr. Crawford to have killed himself. It does not suit Anne’s. Therefore, I will do what I can to disprove that theory.”

“If it is not suicide, then someone not only killed Mr. Crawford but left him to the predations of animals. I dislike thinking anyone capable of that.”

He had spared her the most disturbing details of Mr. Crawford’s condition, only explained that his remains were not in an appropriate state for visitation by mourners.

If there were any mourners. “Mr. Crawford had no shortage of enemies.”

“I daresay our hosts are the only people in town without cause to despise him. Between all his relations-by-marriage occupying the bedchambers and the gossipmongers crowding the dining room every mealtime, business at the Ox and Bull is thriving. But there is a difference between wanting vengeance and actually executing it.”

“Yet there is a good chance that someone has — the location of the pistol suggests as much, as does Mr. Crawford’s presence in Mansfield Wood in the first place. If Mr. Crawford indeed killed himself, why would he choose to do so on Sir Thomas’s estate?”

“Because of its connection to Maria Rushworth?”

“His present difficulties derive from his two marriages, not an affair he ended a year ago without regret. And then there is the matter of the shot patch. I cannot imagine its having come from any weapon but that pistol, yet Sir Thomas quite dismissed it and encouraged his friend to do likewise. I can predict the results of the coroner’s examination. Even should Mr. Stover not render an opinion of suicide, Sir Thomas’s dislike of Mr. Crawford is so pronounced that I am not confident any official murder investigation would be undertaken in a diligent manner. The magistrate seems content to consider Mr. Crawford’s death justice served.”

She studied his expression. “Do you?”

It was a difficult question, one he had been pondering since first being summoned to the scene. “I am not exactly overcome by grief,” he confessed. “I do, however, believe in the due process of law. To tacitly condone murder, even when justified, sets a dangerous precedent. Regardless of his personal feelings toward Mr. Crawford, as magistrate Sir Thomas ought to uphold his duty, or he risks his district descending into anarchy.”

“Mr. Crawford ruined Sir Thomas’s daughter. Do you think the magistrate bypassed the courts and sentenced Henry Crawford himself?”

“Before your arrival in the village I heard that Sir Thomas had washed his hands of Maria. But as a father myself, I could see a man who refuses to publicly forgive his daughter nevertheless acting privately to punish her seducer.”

“Or, through inaction, protect her if she herself killed her lover. Maria Rushworth was quite warm in her anger the day Mr. Crawford disappeared. She seemed to have just learned of Mr. Rushworth’s intentions to divorce her. If her husband’s petition succeeds, she will be utterly destroyed in society — divorce is so rare, and it always taints the woman, regardless of individual circumstances. Meanwhile Mr. Crawford, as a man, would have endured a few reproofs and blithely gone on with his life.”

“She loses everything, and he, nothing.”

“Socially, she will be dead, and might have decided that a literal death for Mr. Crawford would be fair recompense.”

“So she lured him to Mansfield Wood to deliver it?” Darcy pondered the hypothesis a moment. It was not entirely without merit. “The grove in which he was found is rather secluded. Though as unwelcome in her father’s house as Mr. Crawford, she would know the grounds, and could have chosen that spot intentionally.”

“I wonder, though, where she would have obtained the firearm. Tell me more about the pistol. Was it a gentleman’s weapon, or a lady’s?”

He looked at her askance. “ Lady’s? What do you know of muff pistols?”

“I have read a novel or two.”

“I shall not ask which of them encourage ladies to conceal firearms in their apparel.”

“You disapprove? That is unfortunate for me, as I am begun to grow restless in Mansfield and had thought to purchase one as a diversion.”

“A muff pistol?”

She laughed. “No, a novel. But now that you have suggested it, perhaps I ought to acquire a pistol along with it. Then, like a proper heroine, I could stop the villain by revealing my weapon and proclaiming, ‘Hold, sir — I am armed!’ ”

He wished they were home, and she reading another novel right now, instead of discussing a very real death. “That is unnecessary. I will protect you from any villains who might be lurking about.”

“And who will protect you?”

“I believe it may be safely assumed that the person who shot Mr. Crawford acted out of revenge. So long as I keep my suspicions quiet, he will believe his revenge satisfied and himself safe. I therefore need not fear him, whoever he is.”

“You sound certain that the killer is a man.”

“Not entirely. Though it was larger than a muff pistol, the weapon found with Mr. Crawford was small enough that it could be comfortably handled by a woman, and a considerable number of women did have motive to harm Mr. Crawford: Maria Rush-worth, as we have said, but also two betrayed wives.”

“One betrayed wife, for the killer could not possibly be Anne. She is incapacitated. And even were she more ambulatory, she has had nearly constant companionship since the carriage accident, and so could not have been absent long enough to commit the deed.”

“I, too, have ruled her out — beyond the impossibility of her circumstances, violence is simply not in her nature. I also consider Mrs. Garrick unlikely. Although she had an opportunity to do away with Mr. Crawford when she rode off in pursuit of him, where on earth would she have obtained a pistol of that quality? Even if she had stolen it, she could not have had it with her when she arrived in Mansfield, for you and I both saw her disembark from the coach with naught but the clothes she wore.”

“Ah, but those clothes could have concealed a pistol! Do not regard me so — I only half jest. I rather like Meg, and I do not want to believe her capable of killing anybody. But she did travel all this way unescorted, and before that lived alone with her mother while Mr. Crawford was allegedly sailing the seven seas. It is not unreasonable to suppose she possesses some means of defending herself.”

“I do not recall her carrying so much as a reticule in which to keep it.”

“That is not the only place a lady might conceal a pistol.”

“What have you been reading?”

She started to answer, but he shook his head. “Never mind. If indeed the weapon was fired by a woman, I believe Maria Rushworth is the more likely owner. The pistol was manufactured in London, where she lived during her marriage and also during her liaison with Mr. Crawford.”

“Do you suppose she purchased it herself?”

“Perhaps, out of her pin money.”

Her brows rose. “Apparently, I need to ask for more pin money.”

“I wondered how you intend to finance this muff pistol you speak of acquiring.”

“By employing my feminine wiles upon you.”