Murder at Mansfield Park

and that does not even include the cost of
carriage—’
    As soon as the door had closed behind them, Maddox went to Mary Crawford and knelt down beside her. The wound on her brow was bleeding profusely, and she was still unconscious; Norris remained
sprawled over the chair, his head thrown back, and his mouth hanging open. Maddox took out his handkerchief, and folded it into a wad. The blood seeped into the fine linen, as he pushed her smooth
dark hair away from the gash; he had never touched her before, beyond the briefest of hand-shakes, and his fingers trembled at the contact with her skin. If he had tried to deny his emotions before
that moment, he could do so no longer.
    He was still bent over her when he heard the sound of footsteps, and saw Stornaway’s tall thin frame at the door, followed hard by Henry Crawford. The latter could not possibly have had
any apprehension of what he was about to see, and he stood for a moment, gazing in horror at the scene before him—the man with his sister’s head in his lap, the blood on her face, and
on his hands. A moment later Maddox found himself hauled up by the collar, and pushed violently against the wall.
    ‘What the devil has happened here?’ cried Crawford. ‘What have you done to my sister? If she is harmed, I swear to God I will kill you with my own bare hands—’
    Stornaway had by this time seized Crawford by the shoulders, in an endeavour to pull him away, but Crawford was the stronger, and his hands began to tighten round Maddox’s neck.
    ‘I am waiting, Maddox,’ he hissed, his eyes fixed on the thief-taker’s.
    ‘You would do better to release my throat, sir, and allow me to send my man for the physician. Mr Norris’s life, if not your sister’s, may depend upon it.’
    The grip slackened, and Crawford took a step back. Maddox nodded to Stornaway, who turned at once, and left the way he had come.
    ‘What in heaven’s name is going on?’ said Crawford, as he sank to his knees, and took Mary in his arms.
    ‘The person who killed your wife has just attempted to murder your sister. Thankfully, I was close by, and able to intervene in time.’
    ‘But who? Why ?’
    Maddox looked down at his distraught face, ‘All in good time, Mr Crawford. The more urgent necessity at this moment is to convey Mr Norris upstairs to his bed. And then we will do whatever
is necessary to assist your sister. She is a remarkable young woman, sir. A remarkable young woman indeed.’

 
    CHAPTER XXI
    When Mary opened her eyes it was to see Charles Maddox sitting at her side. She was lying down, with a blanket about her, and there were lamps burning in the room. Some thing
was obscuring her left eye, and she put up her hand to find a thick cloth bandage had been wound about her head. She stared at Maddox for a moment, her vision still blurred, then endeavoured to sit
up.
    ‘Have a care, my dear Miss Crawford. You have had a terrible shock, and are not yet fully recovered.’
    She looked around at the room; her head was painfully heavy, but her mind clearing; she was starting to remember what had happened—and why she now found herself lying on a sopha in the
drawing-room at the White House. Mrs Norris had attacked her, and Edmund—
    ‘Where is he?’ she said quickly. ‘He needs help—he was given—’
    ‘—a fatal dose of laudanum, I know. Fear not, Miss Crawford; he is in the best hands. Mr Gilbert and Mr Phillips are upstairs with him now. We were able to get help to him quickly,
and purge the system before the poison took full effect. He is still very ill, but they are in hopes that no mortal damage has been done. If he lives, he will have much to thank you for.’
    Mary turned away, her eyes filling with tears; it was too much. Charles Maddox watched her for a moment.
    ‘I am afraid I cannot offer you the use of my handkerchief; I had to use it to staunch the bleeding. The cut you have sustained is deep, and you lost a quantity of blood. Mr Gilbert has
done his best to dress it, but you have, I fear, quite ruined your gown.’ He smiled. ‘This time, at least, there is no need to prove that the blood is indeed your own.’
    ‘You have cuts on your own hand,’ she said weakly.
    Maddox shook his head dismissively. ‘I have borne far worse in the past. These are mere scratches, incurred in the process of unlawful entry into Mrs Norris’s house.’
    Mary nodded slowly; she had no memory of such a thing, but it must indeed have been so,