Murder at Mansfield Park

endure no more, and leaping from her chair, ran out of the room. It was one thing to act as she had done, from the heroism of principle, and a determination to do her duty; it was
quite another to hear Edmund’s fate so freely, so coolly canvassed. She took refuge in a far corner of the garden, which offered no view of the Park, feeling the tears running down her
cheeks, without being at any trouble to check them. It was some minutes before she heard the sound of footsteps, and looked up to see her brother walking towards her.
    As soon as he reached her, he took her hand, and pressed it kindly. ‘I am no great admirer of our brother-in-law, but you must forgive him, if you can, on this occasion. I do not think he
has the least idea of your feelings for Mr Norris. Whatever our sister says, I believe you are more to be pitied than his unspeakable mother.’
    Mary nodded, a spasm in her throat. ‘It must have been the work of a moment—a temporary insanity—under sudden and terrible distress of mind—’
    Henry looked away, uncomfortable.
    ‘What is it, Henry?’ she cried, catching his arm. ‘Tell me, please.’
    She would not be denied, and he did, at length, capitulate. ‘Very well. It was not, perhaps, so unpremeditated an act as you have just described. I have not told you this before, as there
seemed no necessity to do so, but when we were in Portman-square, Fanny wrote to Mr Norris, to tell him of her marriage. I heard her give the messenger the directions to the White House.’
    ‘And what did she say in this letter?’
    ‘I did not see it all, only some scraps. What I did see was couched in the scornful and imperious language that I was, by then, coming to expect from her. I do, however, recall one
phrase. It was some thing to the effect that “I wonder now if my fortune was always the principal attraction on your part, given that I have now discovered that you are very much in need of
it”.’
    ‘I do not understand—Edmund has an extensive property.’
    ‘Not, perhaps, as extensive as we have all been induced to believe. And it seems that this is not the only matter about which Mr Norris has dissembled. Having received that letter, he
would have known that Fanny was married, but he said nothing of this to anyone at the Park.’
    Mary’s heart sank still further. ‘I suppose no killer would willingly draw such attention upon himself.’
    Henry pressed her hand once more. ‘But he has, at least, confessed. That can only assist him at the assizes. We must hope for clemency.’ He stopped, seeing the expression on her
face. ‘Mary?’
    She took a deep breath, and looked him in the eyes. ‘He did confess, but not voluntarily. I myself forced his hand.’
    She had, until that moment, adhered to Maddox’s request to keep the manner of Julia Bertram’s death a secret, but she saw no reason to respect his wishes any further, now that he had
apprehended his killer. She saw at once that her brother was shocked and disgusted at what she had to tell him, far more shocked and disgusted, indeed, than he had been at the death of his own
wife.
    ‘But she was a mere child—an innocent child —’
    ‘I know, I know—but if she did indeed see what happened that day—if he feared she was recovering and would soon tell what she knew—’
    Henry dropped her hand and walked away, pacing across the grass, his face intent and thoughtful.
    ‘Did you hear what our sister said, Mary? There was no mention, as far as I can recall, that Mr Norris has confessed to killing Julia. Fanny, yes, but not Julia. That is curious, is it
not?’
    It had not occurred to her before, and she hardly knew how to explain it. ‘I cannot tell, Henry, nothing seems to make sense.’
    ‘But this, indeed, does not make sense. From what you say, aside from good Mrs Baddeley, no-one at the Park is aware how Julia died—with one exception: our friend Maddox. So
why has he not confronted Mr Norris with that fact? Why has he not extorted a second confession?’
    Mary looked helpless. ‘I do not know. It is unaccountable.’
    Henry was still pacing, still pensive. It was some minutes before he spoke again, but when he did, his words made every nerve in her body thrill with transport. ‘Do you really believe him
to be guilty of these terrible crimes?’
    ‘I do not want to believe it, but what choice do I have? I heard what Julia Bertram said.’
    ‘But from what you say, she only cried out his name—that does not