Murder at Mansfield Park

dreadful day when they had discovered Fanny’s
body. Even in the midst of her terror she had thought his behaviour singular: she had told herself since, that his composure was that of a rational man, undaunted by the horrors of death, and
concerned only to alleviate her own distress; but now she knew, beyond question, that it was not so: he had known all along what he would find in that trench, and prepared himself, however
unconsciously, to behold it without recoiling. And yet she could not entirely quell the bewitching conviction that he had loved her, nor forget how she had felt with his eyes upon her. Whatever his
fate, whatever his crime, she could not imagine thinking of another man as a husband. Was it an attachment to govern her whole life?
    It was enough to shake the experience of twenty. And though she knew it to be her duty to go at once to Maddox and put an end to this suspense, she did not yet feel capable of such an
irrevocable deed, and sought the most retired and unfrequented areas of the park, hoping by prayer and reflection to calm her mind, and steel herself against the final act of absolute condemnation.
It was near the hour of luncheon when she returned to the parsonage, and she was in hopes that her walk in the fresh air had sufficed to wipe away every outward memento of what she had undergone
since she was last within its doors. But she need not have been uneasy. Her sister came running towards her, as she entered the garden gate, her handkerchief in her hand, and her face in a high
colour.
    ‘Oh Mary, Mary! Such news, such shocking news! Mr Norris has confessed! He has told Mr Maddox that he killed Fanny! Who would have believed such a frightful and incredible
thing?’
    Mary was not quite so unprepared for this intelligence as her sister might have supposed, but it was not without its effect; she staggered, and felt she might faint, and a moment later felt
Henry’s arm about her waist, supporting her.
    ‘Come Mary,’ he said softly. ‘This is a most dreadful shock, and you have already had too much to bear. Come inside, and I will send for some tea.’
    She did not have the energy to refuse, and a few minutes later found herself sitting by the parlour fire, with her sister fussing about her, chattering all the while about the astonishing
developments at the Park.
    ‘Mrs Baddeley told me about it herself, when I encountered her in the lane. It appears Mr Norris went to Mr Maddox this very morning, and told him the whole appalling tale—how he met
Miss Price that morning by accident, and they had the most terrible quarrel. He claims he never intended to harm her, but when she told him she was married, he was seized of a sudden by a desperate
anger. It seems he does not remember much of what ensued, and it was not until the body was found, that it was brought home to him exactly what he had done.’
    ‘That being the case,’ said Dr Grant heavily, ‘it is a pity he did not make his confession then and there, and save us all a world of trouble and scandal.’
    ‘He has saved my neck, at least,’ said Henry. ‘I owe him a debt of gratitude for that.’
    ‘ You , sir,’ replied Dr Grant, ‘have almost as much cause for remorse and repentance as Mr Norris can have. You , sir, deserve, if not the gallows, then the public
punishment of utter disgrace, for your own part in this infamous affair. You , sir, have indulged in thoughtless selfishness, and coldhearted vanity for far too long. You , sir, would
do better to take this unhappy event as a dire warning of what God apportions to the wicked, and hope by sincere amendment and reform, to avoid a juster appointment hereafter.’
    ‘A pretty good lecture, upon my word!’ said Henry, sarcastically. ‘Was it part of your last sermon?’
    ‘Come, come,’ said Mrs Grant, quickly, ‘I am sure Henry is well aware that he has a good deal to answer for. I must say,’ she continued with a sigh, ‘I never
thought to hear myself say such a thing, but it’s Mrs Norris I pity. I cannot imagine what she must be suffering.’
    ‘She will have to bear much worse if he is convicted,’ said Dr Grant. ‘As a gentleman, Norris might hope to avoid being dragged through the public streets to the taunts of the
mob, but birth and fortune will not preserve him from the gallows. He deserves no better, and should expect no less; it will be a meritorious retribution for a crime so obnoxious to the laws of God
and man.’
    Mary could