The Mansfield Park Murders

by Victoria Grossack

  ​“Should I not meet with the coroner?” inquired Mr. Yates.

  ​Sir Thomas assured his son-in-law that if the coroner needed to speak with him, that he would be summoned, but in the meantime, Mr. Yates could spare his sensibilities. Sir Thomas then asked a footman to accompany Mr. Yates to assist with packing and his son Tom to attend to Mr. Yates to support his spirits.

  ​Tom frowned briefly, as if he did not relish the assignment, but Susan was glad to observe that her cousin then banished the expression of distaste from his face. “Come, Yates,” Tom said, rising and compelling his brother-in-law to rise as well.

  ​When the young men were safely away, Maria spoke. “I suppose it is too early to offer congratulations, Julia.”

  ​“Congratulations!” exclaimed Julia, as if the term alarmed her, and then she asked cautiously, “Of what do you speak?”

  ​Maria explained. “Your husband, Julia, is now the heir of the Baron of Dexthorpe.”

  ​“One day you will be Lady Dexthorpe,” added Mrs. Norris. “An elevation, indeed, but one you surely merit.”

  ​Julia’s eyes widened. “I suppose that is true.”

  ​Lady Bertram beamed at her younger daughter. “How lovely, my dear! I am so happy for you.”

  ​“Yes, it is an elevation, Julia, but we must recall the current circumstances. You should not celebrate too soon,” said Sir Thomas, but even he had to struggle to appear solemn.

  ​“No, Father,” said Julia, and indeed she did not look particularly happy. In fact, Susan thought she appeared to be the only one in the room who was not affected by her change in status, despite that change being great indeed. Julia could expect rank and fortune in the future; the match which had originally so disappointed Sir Thomas appeared to have turned out well after all.

  ​Of course, Mr. George Yates had been Julia’s brother-in-law; his death was so shocking to her that she had actually fainted. What was interesting to the rest of them was dreadful for Julia. Again, Susan chided herself for her indifference; why was she not more distressed? A man who had been alive yesterday, who had accosted her on the stairs, yes, but who had lived and breathed and laughed – he was dead, dead forever.

  ​Before Susan could persuade herself to be as distraught as her cousin Julia, Tom entered the room carrying an object that everyone recognized as an important item in Sir Thomas’s collection of curiosities.

  ​Sir Thomas asked, “Tom, what are you doing with my snuffbox?”

  ​Sir Thomas did not use snuff, but the item was a memento, constructed from the hoof of a famous battle horse in the previous century. Sir Thomas’s treasure usually occupied a particular place in one of the halls, so why Mr. Bertram should be carrying it into the drawing-room was a reasonable question.

  ​“I found it in Mr. George Yates’s room.”

  ​“And what was it doing in Mr. George Yates’s room?”

  ​Tom said that he did not know, and that he had come downstairs to pose questions on that subject himself.

  ​No one knew for certain; Sir Thomas had not given permission to Mr. George Yates to remove it from its position of honor. Lady Bertram suggested that perhaps Mr. Yates had wished to use some snuff, but as the hoof was empty, everyone doubted her conjecture. Lady Bertram then suggested that Mr. George Yates had not realized that it was empty, but it was even more possible that he had not realized that it was a snuffbox. Everyone denied having described the item to him during this visit, but the fact that it was one of Sir Thomas’s possessions was general knowledge.

  ​“Could someone else have placed it in Mr. Yates’s room?” inquired Mrs. Norris. “Some servant, perhaps, wishing to impress Mr. Yates by showing him such a valuable object?”

  ​Although Mrs. Norris was ready to suspect the servants of anything and everything, those who lived at Mansfield Park were less willing to find fault with the domestics.

  ​“Perhaps,” Sir Thomas conceded. “If Mr. Yates expressed an interest in examining it. But why would he not come to me to ask about it?”

  ​“Mr. Bertram,” said Susan, “where was it in the room?”

  ​At the formality of her address, Tom raised his eyebrows, but he answered her question. “That is what is so odd, Miss Price. I did not find it on a table, but at the bottom of his traveling case. It appears that George Yates, who was killed by a horse thief, was not above stealing horse parts himself.”

  ​The information took them all by surprise, except for Lady Bertram, who did not quite understand and needed to have the situation explained to her by Susan; then she was as shocked as the others. “Mr. Yates planned to steal your uncle’s snuffbox? But why would he do that?”

  ​“For money, I suspect,” said Maria.

  ​Sir Thomas, holding the hoof, said: “We should not be hasty. We do not know what happened exactly.”

  ​“You are too good, Father, but you are right, as always. We should not be hasty to judge the dead, for not only is it cruel, they can no longer defend themselves,” Maria said, and then added that she had never trusted Mr. Yates, who was not as sweet and kind as their Mr. Yates, Mr. John Yates.

  ​Sir Thomas inquired of Julia if she had ever suspected her brother-in-law of theft. Julia reflected. “I do not know. Certainly, he seemed to have more money to spend than we could comprehend. We were aware that he was a gamester, and by all accounts his wagers were generally profitable, but we always mistrusted that information, because it is easier to lose than to win. We believed that the Baron of Dexthorpe was simply generous with his elder son.”

  ​Sir Thomas then asked his younger daughter if her husband would be very distressed if he inquired whether or not his deceased brother could have taken the hoof. Julia hesitated, as if she did not wish to deny her father this but as if she knew very well that her husband, already so affected by what had happened, would be overpowered by the suggestion that the elder Mr. Yates could have been a thief.

  ​“Let me make the inquiries,” offered Tom. “The subject will be natural to introduce while we are traveling.”

  ​Sir Thomas was pleased by this, either because he was happy to see his elder son taking responsibility, or simply to be spared his son-in-law’s rants. He handed the snuffbox to Baddeley, telling him to return the object to its position of honor, then excused himself and his son to meet with the coroner, and to give directions about the body.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The next few hours were very busy. Notes of concern continued to arrive from friends in the neighborhood; Susan read them to Lady Bertram, wrote her replies, including one to Fanny and Edmund, who had learned the dreadful news.

  ​Mrs. Norris went to make inquiries of her own and reported that Cook was terribly agitated, for a loaf of bread was missing and had been missing ever since the morning. Cook had made her own inquiries, and all the servants denied taking the loaf. Cook was now convinced that the missing loaf of bread was connected to the murder of Mr. Yates.

  ​Maria expressed doubt – the two crimes were hardly of the same magnitude, and one had taken place in the stables while the other had occurred in the kitchens – while Mrs. Norris maintained that the stolen loaf of bread was worse because it had actually been inside Mansfield Park, which meant that the murderer was inside Mansfield Park as well! Lady Bertram placidly said that she did not think that they had a murderer in the house, but that she did not like the possibility that Cook could be upset. Meals suffered whenever Cook was distressed. Julia, as if she could not bear listening to the discussion, excused herself to go upstairs, professing that she wished to be with her husband. Susan observed Mrs. Yates with curiosity as she departed. Did Julia just wish to get away from the conversations she was hearing? Or did she wish to mourn her brother-in-law in private?

  ​“Perhaps Mr. Yates took the loaf of bread with him to the stables,” said Susan, and although Mrs. Norris was reluctant to approve anything uttered by any Miss Price, the suggestion was so satisfactory that even Mrs. Norris could find no fau
lt with it. If Mr. Yates had been planning a journey, then he might have wished to take a loaf with him. The bread could easily have been removed by the horse thief, or eaten by birds or mice or even the horses.

  ​The coroner declared the death to be murder by person or persons unknown; meanwhile arrangements were made for the transport of Mr. George Yates’s body to the Baron of Dexthorpe’s estate in C— and for the two young men to accompany it. The next morning, the rain still falling, the two young men departed, the vehicle with the coffin following the young men riding in Mr. John Yates’s chaise. Watching them leave, Susan experienced a sense of emptiness; now no young men remained at Mansfield Park.

  ​Susan joined the ladies, applying herself to the neglected poor basket while the other ladies paired off – Maria was speaking with Julia, and Mrs. Norris with Lady Bertram – and then Sir Thomas asked Lady Bertram if he could borrow Susan for a few hours.

  ​“If you must, Sir Thomas,” said Lady Bertram while Mrs. Norris said that, while she did not see what good Susan could possibly do for Sir Thomas, she assured him that she would look after everyone, especially Lady Bertram.

  ​Susan put away her needle – really, she was not making any progress on the shirt – and joined her uncle. When they were beyond the hearing of those in the drawing-room, he explained that he wished to call at the Parsonage and to speak with the Grants. As the house nearest to Mansfield Park, it was possible that someone associated with it might have noticed something.

  ​“I want another pair of eyes and ears with me,” said her uncle, “and now that Tom is away, you are the only one here I can ask.”

  ​Susan expressed her willingness to be of service, and her eagerness was augmented by her great curiosity. Susan had only met the Grants briefly when she had first arrived, as the elopement of Mrs. Rushworth and Mrs. Grant’s brother had made everything awkward and had reduced the intercourse between the families to mere formalities.

  ​The Grants were extremely hospitable, with Dr. Grant offering, “Media vita in morte sumus,” and other choice phrases in both Latin and English about the frailty of life. Mrs. Grant inquired after the health and spirits of everyone at Mansfield Park, and asked that her kindest regards be conveyed to Lady Bertram. Mrs. Grant’s sister, Miss Crawford, joined them as well. Susan had never met Miss Crawford, but she knew that Edmund had been in love with the petite, dark woman, and hence was particularly interested in this former rival of Fanny’s. When Sir Thomas introduced her as “my niece, Miss Price,” Susan perceived Miss Crawford’s start. Poor Miss Crawford! From what Susan had gathered, she had also been in love with Edmund, and had expected to marry him. Through no fault of her own, instead due to the shocking behavior of others, Miss Crawford was separated from Edmund forever. Despite her pretty face, good humor, and twenty thousand pounds – an income of 1000£ per annum, so much personal wealth Susan could not imagine – Miss Crawford was still unmarried, hinting that, despite the more than two years that had passed, the disappointment of her heart had not healed.

  ​The inmates of the Parsonage were aware of everything that had happened at Mansfield Park, including details about the body having been found in the stables and a horse having been taken.

  ​“It is all so extraordinary!” Miss Crawford exclaimed. “To think that Mr. George Yates could have been killed by a horse thief!”

  ​Sir Thomas asked Miss Crawford if she had been acquainted with Mr. Yates.

  ​“A little,” Miss Crawford admitted.

  ​“I understand he was a good friend of my brother’s, was he not, Mary?” said Mrs. Grant.

  ​Alluding to Mr. Crawford in front of Sir Thomas was especially awkward; Sir Thomas’s expression darkened, and Miss Crawford quietly said she believed so. After that, Dr. Grant invited Sir Thomas to come with him to speak to the man in charge of the Parsonage stable; Mrs. Grant accompanied them. Susan found herself alone with Miss Crawford in the parlor of the Parsonage and was wondering how to begin a conversation with this woman when Miss Crawford began speaking herself. She said she was glad to have a moment to speak with Miss Price. “Mr. Edmund Bertram and your sister are now married, are they not?”

  ​Susan said that they were; the service had taken place a few days ago.

  ​Miss Crawford was so perturbed that she could not remain seated. She rose, walked to the window and stared in the general direction of Thornton Lacey, although of course it was too distant, too blocked by trees and hills and houses, for her to see anything of it. Miss Crawford said, without turning, “I wish them every happiness. I do indeed.”

  ​Susan said nothing, but stared at Miss Crawford’s back with pity.

  ​“If only one could go back in time and make other choices! Wisdom often comes too late. But I expect that Fanny – I mean, Mrs. Bertram – is very happy and he – Mr. Edmund Bertram – must be as well. Your sister will make an admirable clergyman’s wife, far better than – but this is the past, and we must concentrate on the present. You will convey my compliments – I dare not write – but you can do it for me. Would you do that for me, Miss Price?”

  ​Susan said she would.

  ​Miss Crawford thanked her, and then, finally turning around, crossing the room again, said she wished to discuss another matter: Mr. George Yates. “As I said, I knew him a little; I sometimes met him at the theatre and dinner parties and I know many things were whispered about him.”

  ​Susan inquired as to the nature of these whispers.

  ​Miss Crawford, despite her forthright nature, was reluctant to speak. “I have several reasons for hesitating. First, we are not supposed to speak ill of the dead; second, I am not certain in my information – and third, Miss Price, you are so young that I do not wish to sully your innocent ears.”

  ​Susan had heard many shocking stories during her time in Portsmouth – her father, Mr. Price, had not repressed his tongue – and even at Mansfield Park she was not spared tales of disgrace and infamy. She assured Miss Crawford that she was willing to listen to anything. “You have information about the character of Mr. Yates?”

  ​“I do.”

  ​“Information more pertinent than the information that can be given by his brother, Mr. John Yates?”

  ​Miss Crawford colored. “Possibly. Mr. John Yates may not be aware of all that has been said about his brother. Sometimes we are unaware of the deficiencies in our nearest relations – something I have experienced myself – and I could understand if Mr. John Yates were reluctant to speak ill of, or even to think ill of, his deceased brother. And if Mr. Yates was killed by a horse thief, as I understand Sir Thomas believes, then my information may not matter. On the other hand, it may” – hesitating – “and I think it may be important for you, or at least for Sir Thomas, to know more about Mr. George Yates. I do not know everything and cannot speak with authority – especially not to your uncle; I cannot even imagine that conversation – but I will write to Henry, my brother, to ask him what he knows. I know Henry was with Yates recently, and may be able to provide information useful to Sir Thomas. It is the least I can do.”

  ​“You do not think that Mr. Yates was killed by a horse thief?”

  ​“I think it wise to be open to other possibilities,” said Miss Crawford.

  ​“I do not think my uncle would have much confidence in any letter written by your brother.”

  ​“I am aware of that. Still, is it not important to know if the killer is not a horse thief but some other guilty party? If someone dangerous is among us, should we not know?”

  ​Susan did not have a good opinion of the late Mr. Yates, but nevertheless she wondered if Miss Crawford were inventing things. Miss Crawford could simply be wishing for a reason to be readmitted into the society of some members of the Bertram family. On the other hand, what if Mr. Crawford did have something important to convey? “I suppose it would do no harm for you to write to your brother and to ask him for particulars,” Susan said cautiously. “If the information is irrelevant, ther
e will be no need to show his letter to my uncle.”

  ​“Yes!” agreed Miss Crawford.

  ​Hoping to put an end to the tête-à-tête, Susan suggested they join the others, and Miss Crawford led Miss Price to another room.

  ​The information learned at the Parsonage was not conclusive. The only item of interest was that an unfamiliar horse had been observed by Robert, one of the manservants, in the early morning. Robert had noticed the animal because it was walking along the road without a rider. The sighting had been shortly after sunrise, with the bright rays reducing visibility, so the young man could not give a detailed description of the animal nor be certain that its owner was not walking nearby. Other than that, none of the Parsonage’s inmates had anything unusual to report. No one had been murdered; no one had been hit on the head or stabbed in the throat. No horses were missing; no one had broken into their stables. Those who worked in the kitchen assured Sir Thomas and his niece that they could not even report a loaf of stolen bread.

  ​The Grants assured Sir Thomas, however, that they and everyone at the Parsonage would remain watchful and would inform him of anything that they learned or observed in the future.

  ​Sir Thomas thanked them and then he and Susan departed to walk back to Mansfield Park. During this walk – the day had become very fine – Susan told her uncle about Miss Crawford’s offer to write to her brother to inquire about Mr. George Yates.

  ​“I cannot see what will come of it,” said Sir Thomas, brusquely, not pleased by the allusion to Mr. Crawford. Then his tone softened, and he asked about Miss Crawford. “She must have suffered a great deal, after – and she was completely faultless. That is a dreadful consequence of misdeeds – so often the innocent are punished.”