Carrie Bebris - The Matters at Mansfield

Mrs. Norris first reentered her house, returned with a key, and locked her door. “One cannot be too cautious,” she said as she passed Elizabeth.

Indeed, thought Elizabeth as she watched Mrs. Norris bustle toward Mr. Mauston. In this village, one could not.

“Consider, 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.”