Murder at Mansfield Park

know as I’d be much use, what with my heart being as it is, but I
don’t like to think of you up here all alone. Quite turns my stomach, that it does. Such a duty is bad enough at the best of times, but having to look at—’
    Mary smiled. ‘You are very kind, but you need not be concerned,’ she said firmly. ‘The dead are at peace, Mrs Baddeley, however terrible the manner of their demise.’
    When she was once again safely alone, Mary stood for a moment with her back to the door, then took a deep breath, and started to pin back her sleeves. She hoped to harden
herself to the undertaking before her by beginning with those parts of it that she might accomplish without trepidation. Leaving the face covered for as long as possible, she first cut the clothes
away, and folded them carefully. The skin beneath was cold and waxy, and its paleness had begun to acquire a greenish tinge, while dark purple patches had spread underneath, where the body had been
lying against the damp earth. Mary had always been observant, and now, as once before, she wondered if this quick-sightedness were not a positive curse; she feared that every tiny detail of that
terrible hour would be etched forever on her mind, but she endeavoured to dismiss the thought, and turned her attention instead to the heavy toil of washing the body, and dressing it in a simple
white night-gown. The limbs had become stiff and rigid, and she wondered once or twice whether she should indeed have insisted that Mrs Baddeley remain behind to assist her, but another
moment’s thought told her that such a request would have been ignoble. She must shift as she could, and do the best she was able.
    It was a long task, and an arduous one, but at last the moment came when the sheet must be removed; she could avoid it no longer. She took hold of the cloth, and lifted it slowly away. She had
prepared herself, but she could not suppress a gasp. The right side of the face was much as she remembered it, though drawn and distorted, and its features sharpened by death; but the rest was
merely a dark mass of crusted flesh, with here and there the pale glimmer of naked bone. The eye that remained was dull and clouded, and seemed to stare up at her with an expression of unspeakable
reproach. Mary reached blindly for her handkerchief, and held it to her face, stifling a spasm of nausea. It was so horribly akin to what she had seen once before; but then it had been
merely the impression of a moment, which she had laboured to forget; now she must confront this horror without flinching, and do what she could to assuage it. Steady nerves achieved a good deal,
soap and water even more; and as the dirt and dried blood were eased away, Fanny’s face regained a little of its human shape. When it was done, Mary smoothed the hair, secured the jaw with
ribbon, and wound the body in its shroud, securing it neatly at head and foot. She had never undertaken any task she had dreaded more, or relished less; but she had probably never done a thing more
needful, or one she might be prouder to own.
    She washed her hands carefully, then rang the bell for Mrs Baddeley. A few moments later Mary was ushering in the carpenter and a group of footmen, and instructing them how to
place the body within its plain oak coffin. As they lifted the lid and made to secure it, Mrs Baddeley took a small package from her pocket, and laid it quickly at the feet of the corpse. Seeing
Mary’s enquiring look, she hastened to explain herself.
    ‘’Tis nought but a little Bible, miss. Mr Norris gave it me and asked me to place it there. A last gift, he said.’
    Mary could not help remembering another gift he had bestowed on Fanny—a gift she had passed to Mary, with no other thought than to ensnare and humiliate her. The necklace still lay in her
trinket-box at the parsonage, but she would never now be able to wear it. At that moment the sound of the great clock striking two carried home to Mary’s mind the full duration of her task,
and she recollected that she had eaten neither breakfast nor luncheon. Some thing of the kind had clearly occurred to Mrs Baddeley, and she whispered to Mary that tea and bread and butter had been
prepared for her in her own room; Mary thanked her; she owned that she should be very glad of a little tea. The housekeeper took her kindly by the arm, as they watched Dick Jackson nail down the
lid, and the footmen shoulder their sad burden. They were all so wholly