Carrie Bebris - The Matters at Mansfield

Lady Catherine burst into the chamber in her usual manner. “Mr. Darcy, I understand you have been on an errand this morning.”

“I did not realize my whereabouts held such powerful interest for you.”

“They do, insofar as they pertain to the hunt for Mr. Crawford. What have you done to advance the search?”

“I have ended it.”

“What? With him yet at large?”

“Mother—”

Lady Catherine ignored her daughter. “I cannot believe this of you, Darcy. How can you so shirk your duty? Until Henry Crawford is found, Anne is at sixes and sevens.”

“Mother—”

“I will not tolerate excuses. I want Henry Crawford back here, in this paltry little village, to answer for his conduct. If you cannot bring about—”

“Mother! He is dead!”

At last, Lady Catherine bestowed her attention on Anne. “How do you know he is dead?”

“He was found this morning,” Darcy said. “I have seen him myself.”

“Well!” For a minute, it seemed that was all her ladyship had to say on the matter. But Elizabeth could see that her mind was hard at work. “Well,” she repeated a moment later. “This is the best news I have received in weeks.”

“Mother!”

“Anne, do not become sentimental over the man. We have too much to do. What time does the post leave? Never mind — I shall send an express.”

“To whom? Mr. Crawford’s solicitor?” Elizabeth could not think of any other remote person who required such immediate notification of Mr. Crawford’s passing, except perhaps his sister, and she doubted Lady Catherine cared one whit about ensuring that any of his relations were informed in a timely manner of his death.

“No, Mr. Archer can see to that. I must write to Lord Sennex.”

“Whatever for?” Darcy asked.

“Anne is a widow. We can renew her betrothal to Mr. Sennex.”

“Mother! Henry has not even been laid to rest yet!”

“We must act quickly, lest the existence of that wretched Mrs. Garrick woman come to the viscount’s attention.” Lady Catherine addressed not Anne, but Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. For all the heed she paid her daughter, Anne might as well not even have been in the room. “At present, the viscount and his son are unaware of Mrs. Garrick, and I intend to keep them in ignorance. They know Anne eloped with Mr. Crawford — revealing that fact was unavoidable when the original betrothal agreement was broken — but no one outside this village knows that the marriage was of questionable legal status. We can yet marry off Anne well, but we cannot risk the bigamy issue becoming public knowledge before such a marriage is achieved. Once the vows have been exchanged, the new bridegroom cannot change his mind. Her place will be secure.”

Elizabeth’s heart went out to Anne. Widowed but hours, she was already once more subject to her mother’s machinations. And what of her possible feelings for Colonel Fitzwilliam? “Would it not be scandalous for Anne to remarry before observing proper mourning?”

“Gossip over an abbreviated mourning period would be nothing compared to that of bigamy. I shall finesse the point with Lord Sennex. His mental faculties are not what they once were, and I have developed proficiency in managing him. I shall put it in his head that the marriage should take place as soon as possible to ensure that he lives to see it. All society knows he is old and frail — if there is talk, it will be little, and the status of a viscount is such that no one will voice disapproval too loudly.”

Anne sat up straighter in her bed. “I do not wish to marry Mr. Sennex.”

“You wished to marry Mr. Crawford, and observe the calamitous consequences of that decision! You have demonstrated all too clearly the soundness of your judgment in such matters. Through selfishness and obstinacy you contrived to marry a man of your own choice; your next marriage shall be to a man of mine. You should consider yourself fortunate if Mr. Sennex will even have you now. As it is, I expect he will demand a much larger settlement from us than that which we negotiated in our previous agreement, one enticing enough for him to overlook your ignominious elopement. Fortunately, Mr. Crawford himself will be funding it.”

“How so?” asked Darcy.

“In exchange for Anne’s not bringing a suit against him for fraud, Mr. Crawford agreed to a quiet pecuniary transaction as restitution. Mr. Archer handled the matter.”

Elizabeth regarded Lady Catherine in amazement. The fact of Mr. Crawford’s marriage to Meg had scarcely been revealed before he disappeared, yet in that time, she had managed to exact a financial commitment from him that, while it could not possibly atone for his crimes against Anne, would at least somehow benefit her.

And then Mr. Crawford had died.

In fact, Mr. Archer had most likely been the last person to see Henry Crawford alive. A disturbing thought entered Elizabeth’s mind, and she met Darcy’s gaze to see if he shared it.

Mr. Archer handled the matter. What other matters had Mr. Archer handled?

“I may require your assistance,” Darcy said as soon as he and Colonel Fitzwilliam extricated themselves from Anne’s chamber. Or, more to the point, from Lady Catherine’s hearing.

His cousin asked no questions, only answered without hesitation, “Of course.”

Darcy glanced about the hall, then decided their conversation was best held elsewhere. Fortunately, they found the small parlor on the main floor unoccupied. Colonel Fitzwilliam regarded Darcy expectantly.

“I believe Henry Crawford has been murdered,” Darcy said.

Surprise flashed across Fitzwilliam’s countenance. “What raises your suspicion?”

“The lead ball in his brain.”

“That would indeed cause quite a head wound. I understand now why you imparted so few details to Anne. Pray continue.”

Darcy described the state in which Mr. Crawford had been found. When he finished, he added, “The coroner and Sir Thomas believe it to be a case of suicide.”

“And you doubt their judgment?”

“I doubt their objectivity. I also find curious several particulars regarding the pistol. It was found on Mr. Crawford’s left side, and this gun patch lay some distance away.” He produced the cloth circle and handed it to his cousin.

“Silk. And a fine one at that. His Majesty does not issue patches of this quality to my sharpshooters.”

“Nor does he provide firearms such as the one discovered. Among all the weapons you have personally encountered, I defy you to produce a finer example of craftsmanship.”

The colonel rubbed his thumb across one of the black rays. A streak of powder smeared onto his skin. “These lines are intriguing.”

“I thought so, as well. They suggest the presence of rifling, but the pistol is smoothbore.”

“That would seem to indicate that this patch did not come from the pistol you found.” Colonel Fitzwilliam frowned in thought. “Are you quite certain it is smoothbore?”

“I held it myself.”

“But did you look all the way down the barrel?”

“No.”

“Where is the weapon now? I would like to see it if I could.”

“Sir Thomas took it into his possession.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam consulted his pocketwatch. “The noon hour approaches — early yet for a social visit to Mansfield Park, but our purpose is business. We need to examine that pistol, preferably in strong sunlight. It might contain rifling farther down the barrel — French rifling, it is called, and aptly named, for it is a deceitful practice, but unfortunately one sometimes seen in private firearms. The rifling stops an inch or two from the muzzle, making the pistol appear to be smoothbore — and therefore in compliance with dueling protocol should the need arise — but concealing the improved accuracy of a rifled weapon. It is difficult to detect, and best observed in bright sunlight aimed down the bore.”