Dr Grant had not yet concluded his diatribe. "And now we have this wretched man Maddox in our midst, poking and prying and intermeddling with affairs that in no way concern him, in what has so far proved to be a fruitless quest for the truth. He will want to see you, sir, without delay; that much is abundantly clear. There will be questions — and you will be required to answer. And what will you have to say for yourself, I wonder?"
There was a silence. Henry did not appear to be aware that he was being addressed. He was staring into the bottom of the glass of wine Mary had poured for him, his thoughts elsewhere.
Dr Grant cleared his throat loudly. "Well, sir? I am waiting."
Henry looked up, and Mary saw with apprehension that his eyes had taken on a wild look that she had seen in them once before, many years ago. It did not bode a happy issue.
"What did you say?" he cried, springing up and striding across the room towards Dr Grant. "Who is this —
The two men were, by now, scarcely a yard apart, and Henry’s face was flushed with anger, his fists clenched. Mary stepped forward quickly, and put a hand on his arm. "He is the person the family have charged with finding the man responsible for Fanny’s murder," she said. "It is only natural that he should wish to talk to you — once he knows what has occurred."
Henry shook her hand free; he was still staring at Dr Grant, who had started back with a look of alarm.
"Henry, Henry," said Mary, in a pleading tone, "you must see that it is only reasonable that Mr Maddox should wish to talk to you.You may be in possession of information that could be vital to his enquiries. You must remember that you saw her — spoke to her — more recently than any of us. It may be that there is something of which you alone are aware, which may be of vital significance — more than you can, at present, possibly perceive."
She stopped, breathless with agitation, and watched as Henry stared first at her, and then at her sister and Dr Grant.
"So that is what you are all thinking," he said, nodding slowly, his face grim. "You think
He turned away. His voice was unsteady, and he looked very ill; he was evidently suffering under a confusion of violent and perplexing emotions, and Mary could only pity him.
"Come, Henry," she said softly. "Your spirits are exhausted, and I doubt you have either eaten or slept properly for days. Let me call for a basin of soup, and we will talk about this again tomorrow."
"No," said Henry, with unexpected decision. "If this Maddox wishes to see me, I will not stay to be sent for. I have nothing to hide."
Dr Grant eyed him, shaking his head in steady scepticism. "I hope so, for your sake, Crawford."
The two ladies turned to look at him, as he continued. "We here at Mansfield have spent the last week conjecturing and speculating about the death of Miss Price, but it seems that we were all mistaken. It was not Miss Price at all, but
Mary’s eyes widened in sudden fear. "You mean — "
"Indeed I do. Whoever might have perpetrated this foul crime, it has made your brother an extremely rich man. As Mr Maddox will no doubt be fully aware."
At that very moment, Charles Maddox was sitting by the fire in Sir Thomas’s room. It was a noble fire over which to sit and think, and he had decided to afford himself the indulgence of an hour’s mature deliberation, before going in to dinner. He had not yet been invited to dine with the family, but such little indignities were not uncommon in his profession, and he had, besides, gathered more from a few days in the servants’ hall than he could have done in the dining-parlour in the course of an entire month. They ate well, the Mansfield servants, he could not deny that; and Maddox was a man who appreciated good food as much as he appreciated Sir Thomas’s fine port and excellent claret, a glass of which sat even now at his elbow. He got up to poke the fire, then settled himself back in his chair.
