Susan felt a pang for her favorite aunt, but Lady Bertram had her daughters with her; her presence could not be necessary. Besides, why would Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram wish for the company of a murderer?
“Do you not think I am a murderer?” asked Susan.
Tom told her that he did not. He reminded her that recently he had been Lord Dexthorpe’s preferred perpetrator and he was aware of how unpleasant the position was. He had always known that he had not killed Mr. George Yates, but he had been at a loss of how to prove it. He was certain that Susan had not killed the man either.
“I am grateful for your confidence in me,” said Susan, but as she burst into tears, her gratitude was difficult to discern.
Tom passed her a handkerchief, then looked away as Susan dabbed her eyes and attempted to regain self-control. “I came out here to cheer you up, but obviously I am making a poor go of it.”
She tried to apologize, but her murmurs were unintelligible.
Tom returned to the most important subject. “It is difficult enough to imagine my late aunt Norris hitting anyone on the head. But to imagine you kneeling by a man and then carving his throat! – no, no, my fancy, like a stubborn horse, refuses to jump that gate.”
Susan thanked him again. A little calmer, she said: “I know that I did not go to the stables that night. But how do I prove it?”
Tom assured her that they would manage to establish Susan’s innocence somehow, and somehow convince Lord Dexthorpe as well. “The baron stopped ranting long enough for my father to persuade him to be more cautious in his assumptions and his accusations, and I pointed out that if my aunt Norris could hit George Yates on the head and poison Rushworth and try to poison Crawford, she would have no scruples writing falsehoods about you.”
Tom’s words lifted Susan’s spirits a little. But only a little, for other vexing thoughts assailed her. She realized that Tom, if he had spoken with his uncle, must have seen the letter that she had written to Fanny and had not sent.
Tom admitted that he had indeed, seen Susan’s letter. “My father showed it to me. By G—, that Yates! If I had known how he treated you, I might have taken a knife to his throat myself.”
His anger on her behalf warmed Susan, and almost smiling, she was able to warn her cousin that it might be wise to keep silent about that particular impulse. Then she asked: “And the rest? Did you read that?”
“Yes, I saw that you were uncomfortable by what Mrs. Norris said about you and me. I did not enjoy her speeches either, Sue. Think no more of it, and come inside before you miss tea altogether.”
Susan consented, letting her cousin help her to her feet. They first went to the kitchen gardens to collect Elissa, who was watching a gardener dig up a potato plant. Elissa informed them that potatoes grew in the ground, and that you had to wash them before you could eat them. She showed them the beds of cabbages and parsnips with such delight and wonder that Susan could not help smiling. By the time they reached the house she was sufficiently composed to enter.
“Will you venture into the drawing-room?” asked her cousin. “Or do you want your tea upstairs?”
Susan said she would face her relations. Tom gave his daughter over to the care of a housemaid and then the two of them entered the drawing-room, although Susan was tempted to run away when she saw Lord Dexthorpe.
Lady Bertram addressed her niece at once. “Susan, could you fetch me another cup of tea? And explain to me why my sister declared you to be a murderer? I am quite confused; I do not understand it at all.”
The two requests were of such differing import that Susan found it difficult to move or speak. Sir Thomas intervened, asking Maria to bring Lady Bertram her second cup of tea and inviting his niece to sit down. Mrs. Rushworth poured tea for both her mother and her cousin.
Susan took a deep breath and explained, in what she hoped were reasonable tones, that she had not murdered Mr. Yates, that after encountering him and Mrs. Norris on the stairs she had gone upstairs to her room where she had remained the entire night.
“So, what happened in the stables?” demanded the baron.
Susan explained again that, as she had not gone to the stables that night, she did not know.
Lady Bertram wanted to know why Mrs. Norris had written that Susan had gone to the stables that night, and Susan said that she could not answer why Mrs. Norris had written such a thing, as it was not true. Susan’s answer seemed to confuse Lady Bertram even more, so Maria suggested that perhaps Mrs. Norris had been mistaken, while Julia suggested that Mrs. Norris might have been writing an untruth, because sometimes people told untruths, even for very good reasons. “Or for very bad reasons,” added Tom.
The myriad explanations seemed to puzzle her ladyship even more, or at least give her a great deal to contemplate, for she fell silent.
The baron repeated that he wanted to know what had happened in the stables, and Sir Thomas, to forestall this useless inquiry, or perhaps to keep Lord Dexthorpe from haranguing his niece, asked Susan to recount what had happened that night.
Susan was not happy with having to review those embarrassing moments, but in comparison with being suspected of murder, the vexation was minor. She related how she had been ascending the stairs to her room, how she had encountered Mr. George Yates on the stairs – he had been examining some object, which he had then slipped into his pocket – and how he had taken her hand and had talked about how he could take her to London and how he had leered at her and had refused to release her hand. She had been mortified by his words and his behavior, mortification growing into alarm. When Mrs. Norris appeared, and had accused her of being forward, Susan had actually been relieved, for her aunt’s interference had permitted her to escape and go to her room. She had found Mr. Yates’s manner so unsettling that she had put a stool and a chair before her door, and had actually pulled out her silver knife, although she thought it would make a poor weapon. And, unable to sleep, and wishing to confide in someone but unsure of whom she could tell, she had then added those words to the letter that she had been writing to her sister but had never sent.
Sir Thomas asked if Susan had remained in her room the rest of the night; she affirmed that she had.
Lord Dexthorpe asked about the other exchanges that Miss Price had had with Mr. George Yates during his visit.
Susan considered before answering. Susan had met him when he arrived, and had been with him at meals and in the drawing-room, but besides the initial introduction and when she had gone with everyone to the stables to admire the black horse, they had exchanged very few words.
The baron noted that Susan had been in the stables with Mr. George Yates, but as that had been in the company of many, and during the day, and everyone agreed that Miss Price had neither taken a shovel to the back of his head nor placed a knife to his throat, even his lordship found it difficult to declare that this was proof of Miss Price's murdering his son during the middle of the night.
Tom inquired again about the encounter on the stairs. Had Miss Price seen what Mr. Yates had been holding in his hand, the item that he had slipped into his pocket? By any chance had it been Sir Thomas’s snuffbox, the one made from the hoof of a famous warhorse?
Susan shook her head. The object had been too small to be her uncle’s snuffbox; Mr. Yates had been able to conceal it completely in his hand. “Besides, it glittered as if it were made of gold”—then Susan stopped speaking, for she realized what the object was, but she could not comprehend why Mr. Yates should have been holding that particular object. Her expression and her hesitation revealed to all – except Lady Bertram – that she had remembered something.
“Susan, what did you see?” asked Sir Thomas.
“Perhaps a watch?” suggested Maria.
“George’s watch was broken,” said Mr. John Yates. “He left it with a jeweler in London for repair.”
“I – I am not sure.”
“Miss Price, what was in my late son’s hand?” demanded the baron.
“It was not a watch,” said Susan. “It was – I think it was – Mrs. Rushworth’s sapphire necklace.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
All eyes turned towards Maria, who in shame turned her face away. Sir Thomas asked if Susan meant the necklace currently adorning his daughter’s throat; Susan confirmed that she did. Sir Thomas then asked his eldest daughter if this were true, and Maria, although she attempted to deny it, could not; the guilt, which she wished to conceal, was plain on her face and confirmed when she burst into tears. Several interviews were necessary before Maria shared all of what she knew, but one thing she avowed as soon as she could speak: she had not killed Mr. Yates, and she did not know who the murderer was.
Eventually her story was told. Maria had met Mr. George Yates in London a few times when she was there with Mr. Rushworth, and after her divorce she encountered Mr. George Yates in Ireland. “He was gallant, extremely gallant,” said Maria, and her cheeks turned bright red. “I was not in love with him, as I had been with” –- and she paused, unable to utter the name Mr. Crawford — “but he promised that he would marry me. I believed him, because, as my sister was married to his brother, I did not anticipate poor treatment.”
But Maria had been wrong; Mr. Yates had not wished for an engagement or a wife but a dupe with means to extort. She had written him indiscreet letters – Susan was comforted to learn that she was not the only woman in the family to confide inappropriate musings to paper, and she could flatter herself that she had never posted hers – and he had threatened to show them to her father if she did not give him money. So, when she had met him again at Mansfield Park, she had given him her necklace to buy his silence.
Susan suspected that Maria had been seduced by Mr. Yates, another matter that could elicit harsh judgment on the part of her father – but at the moment everyone was more interested in murder and not seduction.
Mrs. Norris had learnt what had passed, in Ireland and in Northamptonshire, and had been angry on her niece’s behalf. After Susan left Mrs. Norris and Mr. Yates on the stairs, he had taken the sapphire necklace out of his pocket and taunted her with it. Mrs. Norris had gone straight to Maria, who confessed that she had given Mr. Yates her necklace, and that she believed that Mr. Yates was planning to leave Mansfield Park that very night. Mrs. Norris ordered Maria to follow Mr. Yates to the stables and to demand the return of the sapphire necklace, or else she would tell Sir Thomas about the indiscretion herself.
Maria had not wished to go, but Mrs. Norris was adamant, so Maria put on a cloak and ventured outside. When she arrived at the stables Mr. Yates was saddling his horse. Maria recounted what happened: “I asked him to give back the necklace, telling him that he had procured it under the cruelest circumstances. Mr. Yates laughed. He – he called me names, and attacked me. When we were struggling, my aunt arrived and hit him on the back of the head with a shovel. He collapsed to the ground, but I did not know whether he was alive or dead. My aunt told me to carry his bag back to the house, while she remained behind in order to search his pockets, in case my necklace should be in one of them.” Maria added that she believed that she was the young woman who had been seen by the coachman that night.
“You mean to say that Mrs. Norris then slit my son’s throat? And then covered his body with hay?” These were the points that concerned the baron.
“Hitting him with a shovel was not sufficient?” inquired Tom.
Maria said that she did not know. Distressed by what had happened, she had not remained in the stables, but had returned with Mr. Yates’s traveling bag to the house. After looking for, and quickly finding, her sapphire necklace – she had been hasty and had overlooked the snuffbox – she had placed the bag in Mr. Yates’s room. Therefore, Maria had not witnessed Mrs. Norris’s behavior after her own departure from the stables. But she could confirm that Mrs. Norris had not taken very long to come to her own room, and that Maria had not detected any blood or hay on her aunt’s clothing, only a little dirt on her skirts, not surprising if she had knelt on the ground in order to search Mr. Yates’s pockets. Maria added: “The next morning, my aunt was genuinely surprised to learn what had happened. She was convinced that he had recovered from his injuries and departed on his horse, and after his body was discovered, she seemed to believe that the murderer was a horse thief.”
Sir Thomas asked if Mrs. Rushworth could say where exactly Mr. Yates had fallen in the stables, and if it had been near the corner with the hay. Maria explained that the incident had taken place closer to the center of the room, several yards distant from the hay.
Lady Bertram asked why this mattered, and Sir Thomas explained that if Mr. Yates had fallen near the corner with the hay, then Mrs. Norris would not have had to move him, not more than a few inches, and then could have covered him where he lay.
The baron said that this was proof that someone else killed his son. “Miss Price is not in the clear.”
“Nor am I,” said Tom.
“But Mrs. Norris blamed Miss Price in her letter.”
Susan was distressed to discover that the baron persisted in his presumption of her guilt.
But assistance, surprisingly, came from Maria. “My lord, no one is in the clear, but I think we should not be so ready to blame Miss Price. My aunt Norris resented Miss Price. She was angry because she did not think that she and I should be in cold, wet Ireland, at such a distance from our friends, while my cousin sat comfortably in Mansfield Park, usurping the affections of my father and my mother. I believe that was why my aunt Norris blamed my cousin in her letter to my father, and was rude to Miss Price beforehand.” Mrs. Rushworth then conceded that she should have explained all of this earlier, especially when Lord Dexthorpe was charging Susan for the murder of his son. “Cousin Susan, I apologize for not speaking earlier,” and admitted she had been both ashamed and uncertain what to say.
Although the hours during which Susan had been under suspicion had seemed very long while they occurred, she was grateful to Maria and pointed out that Maria had taken less than a day to come forward. Maria’s male relatives were less forgiving. Sir Thomas said that Maria should have spoken to him weeks ago; her information was necessary for his investigation, while Tom was angry because the suspicion on him had lasted for days. Sir Thomas then asked why Mrs. Norris had committed such heinous acts.
Mrs. Rushworth colored but continued to explain. Mrs. Norris had been extremely angry with these men – Mr. Rushworth, Mr. Crawford, and Mr. Yates – whom she believed had taken advantage of her favorite niece and who deserved punishment for their actions. It had been grossly unfair for the men to go about enjoying large incomes and unsullied reputations, when their guilt had been greater than Maria’s. “I do not defend myself,” said Maria hastily, “especially not with respect to Mr. Rushworth. I simply explain my aunt’s motives.”
Susan asked how Mrs. Norris had procured the poison, and wished to know if their aunt had truly been ill. Maria said that Mrs. Norris had indeed had a little heart trouble, and had learned to make an infusion from foxglove. She had spoken with neighbors and discovered that the cherry laurel tree in the garden should not be confused with a bay laurel tree, as the cherry laurel tree’s leaves were toxic.
Lady Bertram remarked that her sister had often treated the Mansfield Park servants for their ailments. “She was so clever!”
No one else in the room was prepared to praise Mrs. Norris’s memory, and Lord Dexthorpe was anxious to return to his preferred topic. The baron reminded them that the identity of his son’s murderer was still unknown. If Mrs. Rushworth’s account was to be believed, the murderer was more likely to have been a man, because a woman would have lacked the strength to move Mr. Yates from the center of the barn to the area with the hay.
“Which means I am still your favorite suspect,” said Tom.
Mr. John Yates
had another idea: what if George had awoken and had moved himself, crawling perhaps, and fainting again from his injuries? Then anyone could have done it, and he proceeded to name every person at Mansfield Park, from the scullery maids and the stable hands to Sir Thomas himself. “Even I should be included, although Julia can aver that I was with her during the night.”
Julia, who so far had listened much but said little, asked why the murderer had hidden Mr. Yates’s body. “It is not as if the body could remain hidden for long.”
This point was discussed. The only reason to hide the body would be to keep it from being discovered – presumably so that the murderer could get further away, an idea that, as it acquitted everyone at Mansfield Park, pleased everyone save Lord Dexthorpe, who wished for a guilty party to punish. He argued that although the murderer might have hidden Mr. Yates in order to increase his time for escape, that was not the only possible explanation for concealment. Perhaps he had planned to return to the body and move it later.
The conversation continued quite a while, through dinner and afterwards in the drawing-room. Sir Thomas did not linger over his wine, but asked Susan to join him in his office, where he dictated letters to be sent to Thornton Lacey and to Sotherton as soon as the sun rose. Susan felt happier when she went to bed, remembering how her cousin Tom had come looking for her, and how kind he had been – and how she was no longer a murder suspect – and then she felt anxious, for they still did not know if Mansfield Park housed a knife-wielding killer. Before she retired, Susan pushed a chair before her door.
The Mansfield Park Murders Page 21
