Murder at Mansfield Park

Maddox took a memorandum book from his pocket, and opened it with a theatrical flourish. "According to the information supplied to my assistant yesterday by the stable-boy, you arrived just before nine o’clock. He is quite sure of this, because the great clock at Mansfield happened to chime as he was unharnessing the horses. I say again, it was not eleven o’clock, as you claim, but nine. Having employed one of Sir Thomas’s carriages for the journey, you naturally came directly to the stables here, but then, rather than going into the house, you told your valet that you would, instead, walk across the park to the White House. Rather an irregular way of proceeding, would you not say?"

"What do you mean to imply by that?"

Maddox snapped his pocket-book shut. "I imply nothing; I enquire merely. However, I am sure I would not be alone in regarding it as rather curious for a gentleman in your position, returning to a house in turmoil, and a family in dire need of him, to dawdle among the delphiniums for upwards of three hours."

Edmund’s colour was, by this time, as heightened as Mary had ever seen it, and it had not escaped her notice that, whether he knew it or not, he had reverted to the stiff and officious mode of discourse that had characterised his manner on their first acquaintance, and which her brother had once found so entertaining. There was no possibility of entertainment now; knowing him as she did, Mary feared, rather, that the alteration in his elocution betrayed a mind profoundly ill at ease.

"I was not aware it was so long," he stammered.

Maddox linked his hands behind his back. "You are an educated man, Mr Norris, and as such you will be aware that, given these facts, it would have been quite possible for you to have seen Miss Price — and not only seen her, but met with her, and talked to her. Indeed, it almost defies belief that such an encounter did not take place. And it would hardly have been a congenial reunion. You would, indeed, have had good cause for resentment on Miss Price’s account. To be subjected to the shame of a public jilting — what man of any character could submit to that with equanimity? And there is, of course, the small matter of her very considerable fortune."

"You need not concern yourself about that," said Mrs Norris quickly, her face red. "My son has plenty of money of his own."

"In my experience, madam," said Maddox coolly, "all men covet money, however lofty their professed indifference; many are willing to die for it, and some are prepared to kill for it. So, Mr Norris, I repeat: what, precisely, happened in the park that morning?"

Mary felt quite sick with fear and apprehension; she could not dispute Maddox’s reasoning, but her heart shrank from what that reasoning implied. She did not — could not — believe Edmund guilty of such an act of horror and violence, however cruelly provoked, but she could not deny that his actions had driven him into the appearance of such guilt. She could quite believe that Maddox found his story incredible; she alone, of all the family, might have been able to account for such uncharacteristic perturbation of mind, but how could she, with propriety or delicacy, supply Maddox with the explanation he lacked? And even if she overlooked her own scruples, was it not equally possible that Maddox might consider that if Edmund was in love with her, and not Fanny, that would only serve to provide him with an even more cogent motive for committing the very act from which she hoped to exonerate him? She could barely keep still, terrified of what Maddox might say next. Would he have Edmund apprehended there and then? Were his odious assistants even now summoning magistrates and constables from Northampton? It was altogether horrible, and in her anxiety for Edmund, it did not occur to her to fear for herself: not until much later did she perceive that what Maddox had said of Edmund, he could equally well have said of her.

Edmund, meanwhile, appeared to have regained his composure. He looked first at his family, and then at Maddox."You have my word, sir, as a gentleman, that no such encounter with Miss Price took place, either then, or at any other time. I can offer no corroborating circumstances or exculpatory evidence; my word alone will have to suffice."

His voice was both cool and steady, and the two men remained stationed thus for what seemed to Mary to be an age, gazing upon one another in silence. Then Maddox suddenly gave a brief bow. "Thank you," he said, "I have all I need. For the present."