Murder at Mansfield Park

house since the bottle was left there.’
    She turned to him quickly, then looked away. Maddox continued, ‘I have had word from Gilbert. He says he left that bottle by Miss Julia’s bed two afternoons ago. He left it there,
indeed, only a few short hours before Mr Crawford returned from his long absence, and hastened to pay his visit to the Park.’
    ‘Oh, you need not concern yourself about my brother, Mr Maddox. He did not remain in the house long enough, and was certainly not alone.’ She smiled, but it seemed to Maddox
that she was struggling to maintain a corresponding lightness of tone, an effort somewhat belied by the slight flush to her cheek.
    ‘On the contrary,’ he said, ‘I recall that Mr Bertram kept him waiting upwards of half an hour. A petty gesture, I grant, but perhaps we might forgive him, when we consider the
injuries the family has suffered at your brother’s hands. And as you said, only a few minutes ago, it would have been the work of a moment to slip up to Miss Julia’s chamber.’
    ‘Perhaps,’ she said, with enforced patience, ‘if he had known where he was going. Do you ask me to believe my brother to be acquainted with the whereabouts of the
sleeping-rooms of the young ladies of the house? I doubt he has even been upstairs. It is a ridiculous theory.’
    Maddox was undeterred. ‘He might have made a shrewd guess, based on all those other great houses in which he has been employed, or he might simply have followed Mrs Baddeley, without her
being at all aware of it. It is not quite so ridiculous a theory as you maintain, Miss Crawford. Indeed, I wondered at the time why Mr Crawford was so determined to pay his call that evening, late
and dark as it was. It might have waited until the morning, might it not? But for reasons of his own, your brother insisted on presenting himself at the Park without delay. Having gone thus far,
let me postulate a little further. Let us say that your brother returned to the Park some days earlier than he would have us believe, and that he encountered his wife, fresh off the coach from
London. Let us say that they argued—argued so bitterly that he was moved to strike her. Faced with the full enormity of his crime, he flees the estate, but not without first perceiving Miss
Julia in the park. He does not know what she has seen—or if she has indeed seen any thing—but when he returns some days later, feigning to have arrived directly from Enfield, he
discovers that this possible witness has been all this time unconscious. He has an unlooked-for opportunity to silence her for ever, and he seizes it. Without remorse.’
    There was no doubt of the colour in her cheeks now, but the reason for it was not entirely clear to him. It might be anger at his impertinence, but it might equally be fear of discovery. Ever
since he had learned that Crawford was Miss Price’s abductor, he had been convinced that he was by far her most likely killer. Logic, observation, and experience all argued for it, and if it
was indeed so, he had no doubt that this young woman was in her brother’s confidence; Crawford would have confessed every thing to her on his return, even if she had not known of his plans
for the elopement until after it had taken place. Indeed, Maddox could easily see Mary Crawford as far more than a mere confidante ; he knew she had loved the girl, but she loved her brother
more, and if Julia Bertram’s silence was the only means to save him from the gallows, then it was a price she would be prepared to pay. If there was a woman in existence, who would have the
courage, the resolution, and the sang-froid to carry through such a crime, he could believe Miss Crawford to be that woman.
    ‘I do not believe him capable of such a thing,’ she said at last, in a tone of utter dejection, as if all her strength were gone.
    ‘You did not believe him capable of lying, and yet he did.’
    She turned to look at him, as he continued, ‘He lied to you about being at Sir Robert Ferrars’s estate—indeed, I believe he even wrote you a letter that he claimed to have sent
from there, which can only have been designed to deceive you. And if that were not enough, he lied to you about his marriage. I am sorry to be the bearer of such news—believe me, or not, as
you will, but it gives me no pleasure to tell you this. I have just this hour received word from Fraser in London. He has spoken to Mrs Jellett, the gentlewoman who keeps the lodgings in