Carrie Bebris - The Matters at Mansfield

“I cannot speculate. Whoever the deceased might be, Henry Crawford’s reappearance absolves us of any interest in the matter. From the sound of things, Mr. Crawford himself is most likely responsible for the man’s death, and even if he is not, I happily relinquish to Sir Thomas the charge of determining what occurred.”

“Our lives have indeed become simpler this half hour. Though Anne’s life, however, has not. I wonder what Lady Catherine will do when she catches sight of Mr. Crawford? Anne cannot marry the viscount now without first fully disclosing the details of her first marriage. As it is, he might not live long enough for the courts to sort out the matter.”

“My aunt will be most seriously displeased.”

“Poor Mr. Crawford — to return from the dead, only to have all his acquaintance wish he would go back.” She looked out the window at the gentleman in question riding beside them. “Do you suppose he truly believes himself to be Mr. Garrick?”

“The man has either lost the ability to distinguish his real existence from playacting, or he hopes to somehow use the ruse to win pardon for his crimes. I speculate the latter.”

“Do you think his head injury might have muddled his memory?”

“We shall see how he behaves in the presence of his wife.”

“Which wife?”

“Both of them.”

When they neared the village, Darcy suggested to Mr. Crawford that he ride in the chaise and allow his mount to follow. “Everyone in the village believes you dead. It will not do to have you parade through the streets. The shock would cause ladies to swoon.”

Mr. Crawford readily complied. As they rode the remaining mile, he spoke little of himself, providing no new information about his present circumstances. From the time the farmer found him until the present morning, he claimed, he had been confined to the cottage as he recovered and come into contact with no one save the crofter and his daughter. At last today he had believed himself restored enough to attempt the journey home.

He made repeated inquiries about Meg. Elizabeth and Darcy volunteered few details.

“When did you last see your wife?” Elizabeth asked.

“I cannot recall. I am a merchant marine, and thus do not enjoy opportunities enough to spend time at home with her.”

Darcy regarded him with impatience. “If you are a marine, why do you not speak more like a sailor?”

“I…” Mr. Crawford appeared confused and lapsed into contemplative silence.

Upon reaching the inn, they ushered Mr. Crawford into the small parlor as quickly as they could. His arrival, however, was noted by several patrons in the dining room, who then swallowed the remainder of their meals at an indigestion-courting rate so as to be the first to circulate the news abroad.

Mr. Crawford’s arrival was also noticed by Meg, who nearly dropped a tray full of food in her shock. Her struggle to keep its entire contents from tumbling to the floor drew his attention.

“Meg!” Happy expectation, coupled with relief, overcame his countenance.

Her breath caught in her throat. She turned to Elizabeth, her wide eyes begging an explanation.

Elizabeth took the tray from her hands, set it down, and led her toward the parlor. “We are as astonished as you are. Come, he has been asking for you.”

They shut the parlor door against intrusive eyes. Darcy stood in one corner, arms folded across his chest. Mr. Crawford took a step toward Meg.

“Meg, why do you regard me so? It is as if you do not recognize me. It is I — John.”

“John?” The name prodded Meg from her disbelieving daze. “John! How dare you use that name?”

“What do you mean? That is my name. What other am I supposed to use?”

“Henry Crawford — the name you revealed to me before you disappeared. We thought you were dead, you know.”

“ Who is this Henry Crawford fellow? I heard his name whispered even as we entered.”

Meg looked as if she wanted to strike him, but restrained herself. “Where have you been this past week?”

“I suffered an injury and have been recovering at a farm several miles hence. A crofter and his daughter took me in.”

“A crofter with a daughter? And you’ve been there a week. Have you married her yet?”

“I do not understand you.”

“I do not understand you ! After everything you did to me, now you come back here calling yourself John Garrick? What do you want from me?”

He took another step toward her. “I want my wife.”

“Do not come near me!” She kicked him in the shin.

“Ouch!” He doubled over and reached for his leg. Suddenly, he shifted his hands to his head. “I am dizzy.”

He hobbled to a chair and sat down. He shut his eyes tightly for a minute, then opened them and regarded Meg in wonderment. “You have done that before.”

“I have done what?”

“Kicked me that way.”

“Yes. Once.”

“Here, at this inn. Outside.”

“Yes.”

“I am remembering… We argued — I do not recall the subject — but we argued… and afterward I went to my chamber. I found a note there — an unsigned note. Its author invited me to meet at the grove in Mansfield Wood, there to discuss a matter of honor that could not be forgiven.”

He rubbed his brow and turned to Darcy. “I kept the appointment. When I arrived, I was met by a man with a pistol. I recognized him as another guest at this inn — he had the room next to mine. He said I had behaved dishonorably, and that he had been hired to punish my conduct. I said, would he kindly name his employer? He refused, just handed me a pistol that matched his own and ordered me to walk fifteen paces. He took his shot as I was yet turning around. A searing pain seized my temple, and I fell to the ground, believing myself dying.”

“What occurred afterward?” Darcy asked.

“It is as I told you earlier. I recollect nothing more. Except…”

“Except what?”

“The body. When I awoke, the body that was lying nearby — it was his.”

Darcy opened the door and summoned Mr. Gower. Though surely he had heard the news of Mr. Crawford’s return as it circulated the inn, their host nevertheless regarded Henry in amazement upon entering.

“What can you tell us about the gentleman who occupied the room next to Mr. Crawford’s?”

“Mr. Lautus? He arrived just after you did; gave an address in Birmingham when he signed the register. Settled his account in full each day and kept to himself, mostly. I last saw him the day your wife and all the others arrived. He said he would be moving on soon, though at the time I did not understand him to mean that day. But Mrs. Garrick’s coach arrived while we were speaking and in the confusion I must have mistook him.”

“Mr. Crawford has information pertaining to him that will be of interest to the magistrate. Kindly send someone for Sir Thomas.”

No sooner had Mr. Gower left the parlor than Lady Catherine entered it. Upon sighting Mr. Crawford in the chair, her expression turned stony.

“So, the report is true. You are yet among the living.”

“Yes, madam.”

“Is there no end to the damage you wreak? Your very existence causes me tribulation and grief.”

Henry turned to Elizabeth. “Do I know her?”

“She is your mother-in-law.”

“You are mistaken. She is not Meg’s mother.”

“Henry Crawford’s mother-in-law.”

“Oh. Perhaps he is happier dead.”

“What is this you are saying?” Lady Catherine snapped. “What is this pretense? You are Henry Crawford! And because of you, my plans for Anne’s future have once more come undone.”

“What? What do you say about Anne?” Viscount Sennex shuffled into the room. “Oh, here you are, Lady Catherine. I have been looking for you this hour. I have questions about the agreement we discussed—”