Lynn Shepherd - Murder at Mansfield Park

As Mr Gilbert turned to spread his happy news to the rest of the family, the two young women went out onto the sweep; Miss Crawford began to walk down the drive towards the parsonage, while Miss Bertram appeared to be making her way to the garden. Maddox followed them out of the house and lingered a moment, watching the retreating figure of Mary Crawford, and suppressing the urge to follow her; something told him that this young woman had a role to play yet, in this affair.What that might be, he could not tell, but he owned himself engrossed to an unprecedented and possibly dangerous degree with the captivating Miss Crawford. For a moment the man strove with the professional, but the professional prevailed. He turned away, and walked briskly in the direction of the garden.

Maria had taken a seat in the alcove at the farther end from the gate, and although she had drawn a piece of needlework from her pocket, she let it fall in her lap when she saw Maddox approaching. Her position afforded each the opportunity of observing the other as he drew near. He looked all confidence, but Maria’s feelings were not as easily discerned as they had been in the hall; she knew herself to be under scrutiny, and was more guarded as a consequence.

"May I?" said Maddox.

"It appears you have little regard for the niceties of common civility, Mr Maddox," she replied archly. "I dare say you will sit down whether I give my permission or no."

"Ah," he said with a smile, as he sat down beside her, "there you are wrong, Miss Bertram, if you will forgive me. There are few men who are more watchful of what you term “niceties” than I am. Many of my former cases have turned on such things. In my profession it is not only the devil you may find in the detail."

Maria replied only with a toss of her head; she seemed anxious to be gone, but unable to take her leave without appearing ill-mannered. Maddox smiled to himself — these fine ladies and gentlemen! It was not the first time that he had seen one of their class imprisoned by the iron constraints of politeness and decorum.

"To tell you the truth, I followed you here, precisely so that we might have this chance to talk privately," he continued. "I wished to elucidate one or two points, but felt that you would prefer to discuss these matters when the rest of your family were not present."

He received a side-glance at this, but nothing more.

"You stated, just now, that you remained in your own room for the whole morning on Tuesday last, and that your maid was with you. You still hold to that? There is nothing you wish to add — or, perhaps, modify?"

"No," she said, her colour rising. "I have told you everything you need to know."

"I fear," he said, with a shake of the head, "that that is not the case. But let us leave the matter there for the moment. Why are you so concerned that your sister may soon be in a position to speak to me?"

A slight change in his tone ought to have been warning enough, but she had not heeded it.

"I–I — do not know what you mean," she stammered, her face like scarlet.

"It is not wise to trifle with me, Miss Bertram, and even more foolish to attempt to deceive me. I saw it with my own eyes only a few minutes ago. Mr Gilbert told you that Miss Julia may soon be recovered enough to speak, did he not? I saw the effect this intelligence had upon you — and how intent you were to disguise it."

"How could you possibly — "

Maddox smiled. "Logic and observation, Miss Bertram, logic and observation. They are, you might say, the tools of my trade. Mr Gilbert had good news, that much was obvious; ergo , your sister is recovering. And if your sister is recovering, she will soon be able to speak. This intelligence clearly disturbs you; ergo , you must fear what it is she is likely to say. Simple, is it not?"

She was, by now, breathless with agitation, and had her handkerchief before her face."I am not well," she said weakly, attempting to rise, "I must return to the house."

"All in good time," said Maddox. "Let us first conclude our discussion. You may, perhaps, find that it is not quite as alarming as you fear at this moment. But I have taken the precaution of providing myself with salts. I have had need of them on many other like occasions."

Maria took them into her own hands, and smelling them, raised her head a little.

"You are a villain, sir — not to allow a lady on the point of fainting — "

"Not such a villain as you may at present believe. But no matter; I will leave it to your own conscience to dictate whether you do me an injustice on that score. But to the point at hand. I will ask you the question once again, and this time, I hope you will answer me honestly. I can assure you, for your own sake, that this would be by far the most advisable way of proceeding."

She hesitated, then acquiesced, her hands twisting the handkerchief in her lap all the while.

"Good. So I will ask you once more, what is it that you fear your sister will divulge?"

A pause, then, "She heard me tell Fanny that I wished she were dead."

"I see. And when was this?"

"At Compton. The day we visited the grounds."

Maddox nodded, more to himself than to his companion, whose eyes were still fixed firmly on the ground; one piece of the puzzle had found its correct place.

"I was — angry — with Fanny," she continued, "and I spoke the words in haste." Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "I did not mean it."

Maddox smiled. "I am sure we all say such things on occasion, Miss Bertram, and from what I hear, your cousin was not, perhaps, the easiest person to live with, even in a house the size of this. Why should such idle, if unfortunate words have caused you so much anxiety?"

It was his normal practice to ask only those questions to which he had already ascertained the answer, and this was no exception; but even the most proficient physiognomist would have been hard put to it to decide whether the terror perceptible in the young woman’s face was proof of an unsophisticated innocence — or the blackest of guilt.

Maria put her handkerchief to her eyes. "After Fanny and I quarrelled in the wilderness I ran away — but — but — my eyes were full of tears and I could hardly see. I stumbled on the steps leading up to the lawn, and made my nose bleed. I did what I could to staunch it, but the front of my dress was covered with blood. I was mortified to be seen so in public, so I concealed the stain with my shawl, that no-one should perceive it. As a result I alone know how and when the blood came to be there."

"You did not ask your maid to launder the gown?"

She shook her head. "Not at first. I had not spirits to bear even her expressive looks. Insolence would have been intolerable, but pity infinitely worse. And when Fanny’s body was found, it was too late. I became more and more terrified. It was as if some frightful trap had been laid for me. I thought that if — "

" — if I searched your room I would discover this dress, and draw the obvious — indeed the natural — conclusion. I confess I did wonder why you were so adamant in your refusal to permit such a search."

"How could I have proved that the blood was my own? Such a thing is impossible."

"Quite so," said Maddox, who reflected to himself in passing that, unlike any other injury, a nose-bleed offered the invaluable advantage of leaving no visible scar or sign thereafter, which made Maria Bertram either transparently guiltless, or quite exceptionally devious. He had his own ideas on that subject, but he had not finished with her yet. "I can quite understand why you should have been concerned, Miss Bertram. And, if I may say so, your explanation seems most convincing."

Her head lifted, and she looked at him in the face for the first time. "O, how you do relieve me!" she burst out. "I have not slept properly for days — not since — "