Lynn Shepherd - Murder at Mansfield Park

All this time Mary had been edging along the side of the table, hoping to attain the French door, and praying that it would not be locked; but she was too slow, and Mrs Norris too quick. Time and time again Mary had heard tell of this woman’s energy and vigour, but she had never seen it put to such dreadful use. She seized Mary by the arm, and twisted it so brutally that she fell back against the table, gasping in pain, and then in fear, as she felt the cold blade of the silver knife pressed against her throat. Overcome with panic, she wrenched herself away and reached in desperation for the empty glass on the table — anything that might serve to defend herself — but it span away from her on the polished wood, and she felt fingers in her hair, and an arm dragging her back and down. She put up her hands to shield her face, but she was too late. The blade flashed before her sight, and as the hot blood ran on her skin, and the icy metal cut into her flesh, her eyes filled with darkness, and she knew no more.

Maddox had heard enough. He pushed his fist through the window-pane and threw open the door. He had relied on surprising her, and it did indeed buy him a few precious seconds. The old woman looked up at him, and at the burly figure of Fraser at his heels. Her eyes narrowed, and she raised her hand to strike, just as Maddox seized her wiry wrist, and forced the blade from her grasp. As the knife clattered onto the floor he dragged her away from the insentient body of Mary Crawford, and pushed her, none too gently, into Fraser’s muscular clutches. She began to shriek and kick, the spittle dripping from her mouth as she hurled a stream of such rank and obscene insults, as would not have disgraced one of the more brazen Covent-garden whores of Maddox’s acquaintance.

"Secure this harpy’s hands, and take her down to the cellar," he said, with an expression of disgust. "She is not fit for decent company. And make sure to lock the door behind you."

"Aye, sir. It’ll be my personal pleasure."

"And call Stornaway in from the garden. I need to send him at once in search of the physician."

Fraser nodded, and hoisted the screaming woman over his shoulder, and made towards the door, while she all the while hurled invective at anyone prepared to listen.

"And you can tell that slattern Mary Crawford that I insist she cleans that blood off the carpet before she goes, even if it means getting down on her hands and knees and scrubbing it herself.That carpet is genuine Turkey, I’ll have you know, and cost me fifteen shillings a yard from Laidler’s, and that does not even include the cost of carriage — "

As soon as the door had closed behind them, Maddox went to Mary Crawford and knelt down beside her. The wound on her brow was bleeding profusely, and she was still unconscious; Norris remained sprawled over the chair, his head thrown back, and his mouth hanging open. Maddox took out his handkerchief, and folded it into a wad. The blood seeped into the fine linen, as he pushed her smooth dark hair away from the gash; he had never touched her before, beyond the briefest of hand-shakes, and his fingers trembled at the contact with her skin. If he had tried to deny his emotions before that moment, he could do so no longer.

He was still bent over her when he heard the sound of footsteps, and saw Stornaway’s tall thin frame at the door, followed hard by Henry Crawford. The latter could not possibly have had any apprehension of what he was about to see, and he stood for a moment, gazing in horror at the scene before him — the man with his sister’s head in his lap, the blood on her face, and on his hands. A moment later Maddox found himself hauled up by the collar, and pushed violently against the wall.

"What the devil has happened here?" cried Crawford. "What have you done to my sister? If she is harmed, I swear to God I will kill you with my own bare hands — "

Stornaway had by this time seized Crawford by the shoulders, in an endeavour to pull him away, but Crawford was the stronger, and his hands began to tighten round Maddox’s neck.

"I am waiting, Maddox," he hissed, his eyes fixed on the thief-taker’s.

"You would do better to release my throat, sir, and allow me to send my man for the physician. Mr Norris’s life, if not your sister’s, may depend upon it."

The grip slackened, and Crawford took a step back. Maddox nodded to Stornaway, who turned at once, and left the way he had come.

"What in heaven’s name is going on?" said Crawford, as he sank to his knees, and took Mary in his arms.

"The person who killed your wife has just attempted to murder your sister. Thankfully, I was close by, and able to intervene in time."

"But who? Why ?"

Maddox looked down at his distraught face, "All in good time, Mr Crawford. The more urgent necessity at this moment is to convey Mr Norris upstairs to his bed. And then we will do whatever is necessary to assist your sister. She is a remarkable young woman, sir. A remarkable young woman indeed."

When Mary opened her eyes it was to see Charles Maddox sitting at her side. She was lying down, with a blanket about her, and there were lamps burning in the room. Something was obscuring her left eye, and she put up her hand to find a thick cloth bandage had been wound about her head. She stared at Maddox for a moment, her vision still blurred, then endeavoured to sit up.

"Have a care, my dear Miss Crawford. You have had a terrible shock, and are not yet fully recovered."

She looked around at the room; her head was painfully heavy, but her mind clearing; she was starting to remember what had happened — and why she now found herself lying on a sopha in the drawing-room at the White House. Mrs Norris had attacked her, and Edmund —

"Where is he?" she said quickly. "He needs help — he was given — "

" — a fatal dose of laudanum, I know. Fear not, Miss Crawford; he is in the best hands. Mr Gilbert and Mr Phillips are upstairs with him now.We were able to get help to him quickly, and purge the system before the poison took full effect. He is still very ill, but they are in hopes that no mortal damage has been done. If he lives, he will have much to thank you for."

Mary turned away, her eyes filling with tears; it was too much. Charles Maddox watched her for a moment.

"I am afraid I cannot offer you the use of my handkerchief; I had to use it to staunch the bleeding. The cut you have sustained is deep, and you lost a quantity of blood. Mr Gilbert has done his best to dress it, but you have, I fear, quite ruined your gown." He smiled. "This time, at least, there is no need to prove that the blood is indeed your own."

"You have cuts on your own hand," she said weakly.

Maddox shook his head dismissively. "I have borne far worse in the past. These are mere scratches, incurred in the process of unlawful entry into Mrs Norris’s house."

Mary nodded slowly; she had no memory of such a thing, but it must indeed have been so, though in all her girlish dreams of a princely rescuer riding to her deliverance on a milk-white palfrey, he had never taken on such a shape as Maddox.

"How can I thank you," she began. "Had you not happened to be there — "

He got up and went to the side-table and poured a little wine, all the while avoiding her eye. "I think you should drink what you can of this," he said. "As to my presence, you will find out soon enough that it was not quite so fortuitous as it might seem. This case has been one of the most demanding of my career. The evidence pointed first one way, and then another. I will confess, Miss Crawford, that until very recently I was fully convinced that it was your brother who was responsible. No-one had a better motive than he."