The Mansfield Park Murders

by Victoria Grossack

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The next day was spent riding; that is, the young men decided to ride to Thornton Lacey to see how Edmund and Fanny were doing; Maria accompanied them, using the mare generally ridden by Susan. Susan remained at home, as did Julia. Susan hoped for the opportunity to speak with Julia alone, but Mrs. Yates returned to her room.

  ​Susan, observing that Lady Bertram was attended to by Mrs. Norris, decided to take advantage of the hour to practice on the pianoforte, but before she could reach the instrument on which she learned new songs, Sir Thomas asked her to join him in his study.

  ​“I have a delicate matter to discuss with you.”

  ​Anxiety flooded through her; had she caused offense? Or, despite his promise, had Tom lost money during the night? As her uncle continued to hesitate her alarm grew, but she tried to keep her voice steady. “How can I be of assistance, Uncle?”

  ​“There may be a situation. Normally, someone in Lady Bertram’s position would address the matter, but my dear wife is not, I believe, up to this particular task. And although you are young, you are the only other woman of the house who lives here now.”

  ​Sir Thomas explained that Chapman reported that one of the young housemaids, Ann Jones, had been extremely upset that morning, in hysterics, but that she would not confide in anyone. She would not even speak to Stephen Jackson, the groom in the stables with whom she had an understanding; in fact, when that had been suggested, her weeping had grown even more violent. “I wish for you to speak with her. You are young; you are tactful; she will not feel threatened if you question her. Do your best to determine what is distressing her.”

  ​Susan experienced a moment of selfish relief to learn that she was not the center of the current crisis, and then composed her features. “Certainly, Uncle, I can speak with Ann Jones. We have more people at Mansfield Park than usual. Perhaps she has had difficulty with one of the guests.”

  ​“I fear that is possible. That is why I have not asked Mrs. Norris, who used to manage these situations, to make any inquiries.”

  ​Susan obeyed, first finding Ann Jones and then sitting down with her. Susan knew the housemaid from the music lessons the latter had offered when Susan first arrived at Mansfield Park. Ann was only a little older than Susan, about her height, and usually very pretty, but today her features were marred by copious weeping.

  ​“Ann, what has happened? What is troubling you?”

  ​The housemaid seemed unable to speak.

  ​“You were in good spirits yesterday, were you not?” And Susan hazarded a number of possibilities that could be causing the housemaid’s distress. Was she ill? Had she received terrible news? Had someone been unkind to her? Then Susan posed the most difficult question: was she - was she with child?

  ​The last question brought on the tears again. Susan was relieved to have made some progress in determining the cause of Ann Jones’s distress, but at the same time her heart sank, for she was not sure the indiscretion would be tolerated at Mansfield Park. Her uncle had not forgiven his daughter; how would he treat a housemaid? But before any action could be taken, it was important to determine the truth.

  ​“So, are you with child?” Susan inquired gently. “Is Stephen Jackson the father?”

  ​The situation was not ideal but not that uncommon. If the two married, and if she could persuade her uncle to overlook the lapse in morality, then all would be well, and the problem solved.

  ​But Ann Jones finally found the strength to speak. No, she was not with child, and she could assure Miss Price that Stephen had never touched her.

  ​Susan tried another approach. Had something happened with one of the guests?

  ​Ann Jones colored and hung her head.

  ​“Did Mrs. Norris say something?” inquired Susan.

  ​“Mrs. Norris?” Ann Jones asked with such bewilderment that it was apparent that Mrs. Norris was not responsible for the housemaid’s distress. “Please do not ask me anything more, Miss Price; I just want to be alone. Let me do my work by myself, away from everyone. I promise I will be able to attend to my duties now. I would like to do some dusting and polishing. As for Stephen Jackson – please, please, do not involve him. He has had nothing to do with my distress, and I do not wish to perturb him. Promise me that you will not speak to him.”

  ​Still mystified as to why the young housemaid was so troubled, Susan agreed that Ann Jones could return to her duties. She then reported to her uncle on her less than complete understanding of the situation but that, as far as she could discern, Mrs. Norris had had nothing to do with Ann Jones’s agitation.

  ​“That is one relief, at least,” said Sir Thomas, for he had hoped that a visit from his wife’s sister would cause no problems. He expressed the position that if the cause of Ann Jones’s vexation were important, they would discover it in time, and if it were not, it did not matter. The baronet was also especially pleased to hear that Stephen Jackson had nothing to do with the housemaid’s distress. Mansfield Park could easily find another housemaid – the county was full of young women eager for such a place – but Sir Thomas was hoping for Stephen Jackson to take over the position of coachman; Wilcox had rheumatism and would not be able to continue his duties much longer. A young man with such talent for horses was not easy to find.

  ​“Yes, Uncle. She made me promise not to speak to him of it.”

  ​“Very well, I will speak to Jackson.”

  ​Susan frowned.

  ​“My dear niece, I understand your discomfort. But everyone at Mansfield Park will learn that she is distressed anyway. One cannot keep a secret here; Stephen Jackson is surely aware already of the young woman’s unhappiness. If I question him, you are not breaking your word, and we will have a better idea if anything is truly the matter or if this is just some storm in a teacup.”

  ​Susan submitted to her uncle’s reasoning. She hoped his actions would not harm her friendship with Ann Jones, who had been so kind to Susan upon her arrival, but Sir Thomas was master at Mansfield Park.

  ​Sir Thomas interviewed Stephen Jackson, who also claimed ignorance of the situation, and who asked to speak with Ann Jones during an hour when their duties were light. Ann Jones refused at first, but finally relented. Stephen Jackson seemed angry afterwards, and could be seen pounding a horseshoe with far more force than necessary, but he denied that anything was the matter.

  ​What had happened? Everyone was as ignorant as before, but as secrets could not be kept long at Mansfield Park, the story about Ann Jones and Stephen Jackson found its way into the drawing-room at a time when most of the ladies of the family were present. It was disagreeable to have agitated servants, Julia opined, but Lady Bertram said she was sure they would all be tranquil again, and that Chapman and Baddeley and dear Susan would certainly manage everything, and that those involved were very young and could not be expected to have the steadiness of their elders. Mrs. Norris thought that the passions of the lower classes were responsible for all the trouble. “You will have to let one of them go,” said Mrs. Norris, expressing her disgust with the morals of the current staff. “Nothing like this would ever happen when I had influence,” she pronounced, and then added that she had had an unfavorable opinion of Ann Jones ever since seeing her, and then asked for a description of the maid to make sure that she had seen her. As for Stephen Jackson, she had a low opinion of all the Jacksons, despite their many years of employment at Mansfield Park, so she was certain that he was guilty somehow, even though when pressed she did not know what crime he could have committed. Mrs. Norris concluded by saying that Jackson and Jones were very inconsiderate, disturbing the peace of their betters.

  ​Lady Bertram said that she was sure all the tempers would be restored soon, and the subject, which had been discussed to the point of repetition, was closed by the return of the young men and Mrs. Rushworth from their ride. They brought a note from Fanny for Lady Bertram, described how the newlyweds were faring, including a humorous story concerni
ng a pair of noisy geese, and generally dominated the conversation, talking of horses and saddles, jumps and views, and how Mr. George Yates was still concerned about one of the shoes of his new steed. Mrs. Norris attempted to revive her complaints about Ann Jones and Stephen Jackson, but her irritable remarks were drowned out by the good humor of the rest of the party. The conversation only finished when they dispersed to dress for dinner.

  ​Susan quickly arranged her simple attire and decided to seek Ann Jones again to see if she could persuade the housemaid to confide in her, and slipped quietly to the servants’ quarters. But as she approached the housemaid’s room she overheard voices and realized that Ann Jones had another visitor: Maria Rushworth! Susan paused in the dim corridor.

  ​“Ann, please tell me what is bothering you,” said Maria.

  ​“Mrs. Rushworth, I cannot talk about it.”

  ​So, Maria had learned about Ann Jones’s troubles, probably from Mrs. Norris. Susan was a little surprised that Maria was acquainted with Ann, but then realized that Jones had begun work as an under housemaid before Maria’s marriage.

  ​“Have you done something wrong? If so, I will not judge.” Maria’s voice was gentle and encouraging. Susan was surprised to discover that Maria could demonstrate such warmth to a servant when she was so cold to a cousin.

  ​“No, I assure you I have not. Nor has Stephen. You must believe me.”

  ​“Then why was he so angry?”

  ​Ann Jones’s response was so soft that Susan did not catch it. Susan instinctively moved towards the door so that she could hear better – then realized she was trying to listen to a private conversation. She moved silently away, and just in time, for someone else was walking in the corridor. Leaving the servants’ area and descending the stairs, Susan wondered if Maria would ascertain what troubled the housemaid. Susan hoped that Ann Jones would confide in someone, for that would ease her distress, but it was vexing to think that Jones might prefer confiding in Maria to confiding in her. Susan tried to persuade herself not to be so silly. First, there were many reasons that Ann Jones could prefer Mrs. Rushworth as a confidante. Maria must have known Jones when she was first at Mansfield Park; perhaps they had formed a friendship then. Perhaps Jones’s difficulty involved something indiscreet, and lowering her reserve with the guilty Mrs. Rushworth could prove easier than with the innocent and inexperienced Miss Price. Perhaps the fact that Mrs. Rushworth did not reside at Mansfield Park made Jones’s sharing of her troubles easier, rather than telling someone whom she could expect to see every day. Or perhaps Maria had simply come across Ann Jones at a propitious moment, when the housemaid’s heart was so overburdened that she was ready to talk.

  ​Or, as Susan had not actually heard what the housemaid said, it was possible that she had not confided in Maria, but had rebuffed her. As the bell rang for dinner, Susan reminded herself of her uncle’s words: no secret could be kept for long at Mansfield Park. Susan’s curiosity would be satisfied eventually, even if not in the manner she preferred. In the meantime, she should spend what time she could with the visitors; the estate rarely had so much company.

  ​She went to the drawing-room where the family were assembling, and, as the place next to Lady Bertram was occupied, she chose a position near Mr. John Yates. “Is my cousin Julia feeling well?” she inquired, because Mrs. Yates was not in the room. Her honorable cousin-in-law started at the question, and then said he thought she was, and that she would join them momentarily. He rose, and departed from the room, leaving Susan alone near the fireplace. Mr. John Yates returned shortly afterwards with his wife, and everyone went in to dinner.

  ​Susan was correct that Mansfield Park would be less crowded soon. Mr. George Yates announced that, if the weather allowed, he planned to depart the next day. Tom Bertram expressed disappointment, but Susan knew her cousin well enough to comprehend that his regret was perfunctory; Tom uttered only one sentence pressing Mr. Yates to stay longer. In fact, even though Mr. Yates was the elder son of a baron, no one at Mansfield Park seemed to want him to remain. Sir Thomas was eager to have him gone, partly because he disapproved of gaming, but also because he preferred to have his family party to himself. Lady Bertram sensed her husband’s wishes and followed his lead; besides, Mr. Yates was too loud and too animated for the placid mistress of Mansfield Park. Mrs. Norris seemed to believe that Mr. Yates was about to succumb to Susan’s charms – based on what evidence, Susan could not comprehend – and as Mrs. Norris could not tolerate the elevation of another indigent niece, glowered at him. Mrs. Rushworth was polite, but seemed unhappy with Mr. Yates about something; Susan wondered if some unpleasant exchange had happened during their ride that morning. Julia Yates said nothing, but stared with hostility at the partridge leg on her plate. As for Mr. John Yates, even he did not encourage his brother to stay, but made inquiries about his impending travel. “Will you visit our father?” asked Mr. John Yates.

  ​“I do not plan to,” said Mr. Yates. “I do not think he would see me.”

  ​Susan wondered at this; what sort of father would refuse to see his son? Not that her own father was known for his paternal affection, but at least Mr. Price was proud of his children, especially of his sons who were making their careers in the Navy.

  ​Her reaction, however, was confined to herself. Mr. John Yates seemed to be the only other person who heard his brother’s comment, and apparently the remark did not surprise him.

  ​The ladies’ part of the dinner ended, and they withdrew to the drawing-room. Sir Thomas kept the young men longer than usual over wine; Susan suspected that her uncle wished to forestall any card games. The gentlemen entered the drawing-room at last, but only briefly: Tom and the brothers planned to play at billiards. Mrs. Norris and Mrs. Rushworth crowded around Lady Bertram, relating anecdotes about Ireland, while Susan conversed with Sir Thomas about how he wished her to help him inventory a collection of curiosities. Julia occasionally spoke to her mother.

  ​Julia, yawning, retired; Maria excused herself as well. Sir Thomas said he wished to review some papers, and Susan found herself alone with Lady Bertram and Mrs. Norris. Susan had spent many pleasant evenings with Lady Bertram, either playing a quiet game or working together, but with Mrs. Norris in the room, their usual activities needed to be put aside. Susan picked up the poor basket, seated herself near a window, and began to sew.

  ​“Sister, I am glad to have the chance to speak with you alone,” began Mrs. Norris.

  ​Susan, across the room, raised her eyebrows at this. Did Mrs. Norris consider her to be little more than the furniture?

  ​“Maria misses you terribly. She wishes to come home to stay.”

  ​Lady Bertram remarked that, given the amusing tales Maria had related, it appeared as if she were enjoying her time in Ireland.

  ​Mrs. Norris used that opening to praise her eldest niece, how she tried to be optimistic and cheerful, and that no one had a better nature than Maria, but nothing could supersede home in one’s heart, especially if that home were Mansfield Park. “I, too, miss Mansfield Park,” added Mrs. Norris. “And most of all I miss you, dear sister.”

  ​Susan reflected that Mrs. Norris had not seen her other sister, Susan’s own mother, in more than twenty years, but did not seem to miss Mrs. Price. Not that she wished for Mrs. Norris to inflict herself on her poor mother!

  ​Lady Bertram reminded Mrs. Norris that Sir Thomas was still unhappy with what Maria had done, but that he might relent – not to let Maria resume a permanent residence at Mansfield Park, but perhaps he could find her another situation, in England instead of another country.

  ​“I suppose that is an improvement. But I find it strange that Sir Thomas can banish a daughter only to welcome a niece.” And Mrs. Norris glanced in Susan’s direction and proved that she was aware of her. “Susan, I wish to speak with my sister in private. You can take your work somewhere else.”

  ​At Mrs. Norris’s words, Susan colored. “Aunt Bertram, do you wish for me to d
epart?”

  ​Lady Bertram seemed at a loss at being appealed to this way. Mrs. Norris answered for her sister. “I assure you, Susan, my sister and I will do very well together.”

  ​Summarily dismissed, Susan took the basket and left the drawing-room. So much for an amusing evening! So many people in the house, and yet there seemed to be no one who wanted to speak with her. On the other hand, the others did not seem to be having a pleasant evening either. What was wrong? Why was everyone cross and dispirited? Had the quarrel between Ann Jones and Stephen Jackson, the maid and the groom, somehow affected the entire household? Yet that did not ring true. Ann Jones had been in tears before her conversation with Jackson. Or perhaps people were uncomfortable because of Mrs. Norris, whose sharp tongue made few happy? Then she heard male laughter emanating from the billiards-room; at least some people were enjoying themselves.

  ​Susan went to her uncle’s study, and asked him if he needed anything, but he said he did not, that he wished to be alone, so she went to a staircase and climbed towards her chamber.

  ​She reminded herself that she was young, a poor relation, without the ties that went back many years. Mr. Yates and Mr. John Yates were brothers, and Tom Bertram their brother-in-law. Lady Bertram and Mrs. Norris were sisters, as were Maria and Julia. Compared to everyone else, she was an intruder with few claims.

  ​Susan wished she could speak with her own sister. Dear Fanny! Even though Susan had always valued and loved Fanny, now that Fanny was no longer at Mansfield Park, Susan felt that her appreciation these last two years had been insufficient. Was that her problem, her reason for feeling so unsettled – that she missed Fanny? And how was the new Mrs. Bertram finding married life? Was she as happy as she had hoped? The reports from the others had been pleasant, but Susan was not confident that the party on horseback had keenly observed everything.

  ​Susan went to her room with the poor basket, but instead of applying herself to seams and hems, she put the basket on a stool and went to her little writing desk to compose a letter to her sister in this last hour of summer sunlight. During the last two years she had occasionally assisted both her uncle and her aunt with their correspondence, and because of that her own composition had improved. Dear Mrs. Bertram, she began, and then followed with a sentence explaining how much she missed her.