Carrie Bebris - The Matters at Mansfield

“And what will you do if those misgivings take root and blossom into full-grown convictions? If you find evidence that she was involved in Mr. Crawford’s death, will you bring it to Sir Thomas? She is your aunt, after all, and I know your sense of family loyalty to be as strong as your veneration for justice.”

Darcy had been wrestling with that very dilemma. He quite honestly did not know what he would do, and was almost tempted to abandon his investigative efforts so that he would not have to face that decision. “Let us hope that I need not make that choice.”

The carriage slowed. Darcy glanced out the window. They had not reached the village yet, but neared a crossroads. A man on horseback approached from another direction and hailed their driver.

Darcy studied the rider as well as he could from this distance. Highwaymen were a constant concern for travelers, and one should always be on his guard. The gentleman in question, however, appeared harmless. In fact, he appeared familiar.

Darcy leaned forward and peered more intently. Elizabeth, too, now looked out the window. And gasped.

“Darcy, is that truly…?”

It could not be. Yet it was.

Henry Crawford.

Elizabeth could not believe her eyes. “How?”

“I cannot explain it.” Darcy instructed the driver to stop. They alighted just as Mr. Crawford reached the chaise.

“Pardon me — I did not mean to trouble you so far as to leave your carriage. I merely sought confirmation that this is the London road, as I am not familiar with the area and there is no signpost.”

Elizabeth was the first to recover herself. “Mr. Crawford, how ever did you come to be here?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“We believed you dead.”

“Madam, I happily offer my assurance that you are mistaken on that point. As you can see, I am quite alive. But as I am not the Mr. Crawford for whom you apparently take me, perhaps that gentleman is indeed less fortunate.”

“You most certainly are Mr. Henry Crawford,” Darcy said. “I would know you anywhere.”

“I am not, sir. My name is John Garrick.”

Now Elizabeth could not believe her ears. Not only was Mr. Crawford alive, but insistent upon continuing the fraud he had perpetrated against Meg. What could he possibly hope to accomplish by behaving so?

Darcy had adopted a stance so rigid that Elizabeth had seen it only a few times before — on occasions when he was beyond incensed. “Mr. Crawford, kindly spare us the insult of subjecting us to this charade any longer.”

“I give you my word, sir, I am not Mr. Crawford, but John Garrick.”

“John Garrick is a fiction you invented.”

“My wife would tell you otherwise, were she here. Now if you will excuse me, I have a great distance to travel before reaching home. I am sorry I am not the person you believe me to be — though if he is dead, I am not that sorry.” He signaled his horse to trot.

“Is your wife’s name Meg?” Elizabeth called after him.

He brought the bay to a halt and turned around. “How did you know that?”

“She is in Mansfield. She has been looking for you.”

“Meg is here in Northamptonshire? How did she get here?”

“You know perfectly well how she came to be here.” Darcy clipped his words. “You saw her arrive.”

“When?”

“A se’nnight ago.”

“A se’nnight ago I was—” He abruptly stopped speaking.

“You were what?”

“A se’nnight ago I was injured,” he said. “I have no memory of events leading up to that night.”

“How very convenient.”

“It was a head injury — a wound along my temple.” He dismounted and removed his hat. “See — it has not fully healed.”

Elizabeth and Darcy both looked at the side of his head. The gentleman indeed sported a stripe of damaged flesh above his ear. The wound garnered no sympathy from Darcy. His tone did not soften in the least as he asked what had caused the injury.

“I…” Mr. Crawford turned away from the impassive Darcy and instead addressed Elizabeth. “I need to see my wife.”

“Which one?” Darcy asked.

Mr. Crawford regarded him with confusion, then turned back to Elizabeth. “Please — you said you know where Meg is. Will you take me to her?”

Elizabeth could not determine what Mr. Crawford was about. “Do you also wish to see Anne?”

“Who is Anne?”

At that, Darcy’s ire flared. “We will take you to see Meg, but only if you answer some questions first.”

Mr. Crawford glanced between them, as if trying to determine whether they could be trusted. How absurd — considering that he was the one with a record of betrayal.

“I… I believe a bullet caused my injury,” he told Elizabeth.

“Whence did this bullet come?” Darcy asked.

“As I told you, I do not recall what happened. I woke up Thursday morning to the sensation of rain falling upon me. I was lying in a grove. It was dawn, or shortly thereafter — I could not be sure, clouds so darkened the sky. I had no idea where I was or how I came to be there. My head ached beyond anything, and I had trouble holding a thought. The side of my face was sticky with my own blood. It was agony to lift my head from the ground but I managed to push myself into a sitting position. That is when I noticed a pistol lying beside me.”

“And when did you notice the body?” Darcy asked.

Mr. Crawford started. “How do you know about the body?”

“It was still there days later, when it was mistaken for you. Whose body is it, Mr. Crawford, and why did you kill him?”

“I do not know!” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I do not know what happened, or who he was. I left the pistol where it lay — I wanted no part of it — and stumbled over to him, but he was past any assistance this world could offer. My mind was so cloudy that I could scarcely stand. A whinny drew my attention to a cluster of trees. This horse was tied there. I know not whether it was his horse or mine. I untied her, somehow managed to climb into the saddle, and nudged her forward.

“I must have lost consciousness again shortly afterward, for I remember nothing else until I woke up again in a crofter’s cottage. The farmer told me he had seen the horse pass his home with me slumped over her neck, and so had stopped the animal and brought me inside. His daughter nursed me until today, when I at last felt myself strong enough to attempt getting home to Meg. But you tell me she is near. I have revealed all I know — will you take me to her now?”

Elizabeth looked to Darcy. He was clearly unconvinced by Mr. Crawford’s story, but he assented. Their driver turned the chaise around and they headed back to Mansfield with Mr. Crawford accompanying on horseback.

“Just when one thinks Henry Crawford’s affairs could not become more knotty…” Elizabeth shook her head in amazement. “You are quite certain this gentleman is indeed Mr. Crawford?”

“Yes. Are not you?”

“Almost certain. He looks like Henry Crawford, but we have been mistaken in the past about the true identities of other individuals. And if this gentleman is indeed Mr. Crawford, that means you erred in identifying the corpse discovered in Mansfield Wood.”

“I am well aware of that,” he said tersely.

The defensive response took her aback. “I did not mean that as a criticism of you, only a statement of fact. Sir Thomas and the coroner also bear responsibility. I wonder who the unfortunate gentleman is, if not Mr. Crawford?”