The Mansfield Park Murders

by Victoria Grossack

  ​The evening that Susan had expected to be dull was spent in pouring out her thoughts and ideas to her sister and was more absorbing than she could have ever anticipated. When the sun was setting, and her own words were becoming difficult to read, she paused to light a candle, mended her pen with her penknife, and then continued, telling her sister about Mr. George Yates and Mr. Rushworth’s horse, how tired and unfriendly Julia was, how a disturbance among the servants was troubling Mansfield Park, and the awkwardness of dealing with Maria Rushworth, when so many subjects could not be broached because they were indelicate.

  ​Speaking of indelicate subjects, Mrs. Norris has accused me of being interested, in a romantic way, in my cousin Tom, and has advised my uncle and my aunt to do whatever they can to prevent our engagement! Tom was annoyed as well, and he later told me that he was not worth having. I do not know where these suspicions are coming from, and now I am rather uncomfortable, when before our friendship was so pleasant. Can you advise me, Fanny, how I should behave?

  ​That was the awkward paragraph, the one that was difficult to write, and so embarrassing that Susan was not sure she could even send the letter. What if someone else read it? She blushed to imagine even dear Edmund reading it, yet was that not likely? Did not husbands and wives, especially those so recently married, strive to tell each other everything? Yet this was the one matter on which Susan desperately desired counsel. How unfortunate that Fanny was seven miles distant! It was as if she were impossibly remote, like William, on some ship in the Atlantic. Susan sorely missed her sister, and decided she should be more charitable towards Maria and Julia, or even Mrs. Norris and Lady Bertram, and encourage those pairs to profit from their sisters’ companionship while they could.

  ​Susan finished the letter with words of gratitude and good wishes, and signed it – but she was still not sure if she would send it. She could not send it this evening, anyway, so she could reconsider in the morning. She folded the letter and hid it under a book.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Susan glanced out the window. The days were at their longest, and the sky was not completely dark. She had no wish to sleep, and still had a desire for company. Her gaze fell on the neglected poor basket. If she returned it to the drawing-room she might find someone willing to partake in conversation. She picked up the poor basket and started downstairs, passing Mr. John Yates, who was heading in the other direction.

  ​“You are finished with billiards?” Susan inquired.

  ​“I beg your pardon?” responded her cousin’s husband, as if his thoughts were elsewhere, and then he seemed to understand. “Ah, Miss Price, no more billiards for me, at least not at present. I – I wish to see how Julia is faring,” he concluded, and then his expression appeared so guilty that Susan was confused. “Pardon me,” he said, and hastened up the stairs.

  ​Susan hoped that her encounter with Mr. John Yates meant that all the men had stopped playing billiards and that Tom Bertram and Mr. Yates had returned to the drawing-room. Even if she had been warned against making a match with either of them, Tom’s good humor made him her favorite cousin, and Mr. Yates’s conversation at least offered novelty. She did not need to speak much; she would be content simply to listen. But the sounds from the billiards room promised disappointment in the drawing-room.

  ​Nevertheless, Susan continued to the drawing-room, prepared to amuse Lady Bertram, to listen to Sir Thomas on any subject he chose, or even to endure the unkind remarks of Mrs. Norris. Perhaps she could ask Mrs. Norris about maintaining a household in Ireland. Mrs. Norris was an economist, dedicated to spending as little of her own income as she could; perhaps Susan could divert her remarks.

  ​Yet Susan’s good intentions were for naught; except for the fire, the drawing-room was empty and dark. Neither aunt was to be found, which meant that Lady Bertram must have gone upstairs, possibly to spend time with her daughters or probably to her own room. Susan returned the poor basket to its usual position; at least she was spared Mrs. Norris’s inquiries regarding how much, or rather how little, sewing Susan had accomplished. She took a seat, hoping that one of her relations would appear, but no one seemed to be around, which was peculiar for a house so full of people. The only person who entered the room was the butler, asking if she wished for the fire to be built up. Noticing that Baddeley seemed fatigued, Susan told him that no fire was necessary on her account. To put him at ease, she left the drawing-room.

  ​Susan could reach her room either by the front stairs, generally used by the family, or by the back stairs, generally used by the servants. Doubting she would see any of her family, she decided to use the stairs in the back. Perhaps she could exchange a word with Ann Jones, and finally discover what had so distressed the housemaid. Yet none of the servants seemed to be around either, although she did hear laughter from down a corridor. Susan slowly climbed the stairs, resigned to retiring; perhaps tomorrow would be more interesting. But as she ascended, she did encounter someone: by the light of a candle, Mr. George Yates appeared to be examining something in his hand.

  ​As she approached he started, and stared, and then smiled as he closed his fist. “Is that you, Miss Price? The helpful niece and poor cousin?”

  ​“Yes,” she replied. She did not particularly like his representation of her, but she would not quarrel with it.

  ​“You are very like your cousins,” he remarked. “At first I thought you were Mrs. Rushworth or my fair sister-in-law herself.”

  ​“I suppose,” said Susan. She had longed for a bit of conversation, but speaking to Mr. Yates – and on the back stairs – was not what she had had in mind. With the advantage of the steps he seemed especially tall, and although she did not understand it, his presence made her uneasy. Yet, why should they not converse?

  ​He slipped the hand with the object into his pocket. “Apparently my watch needs repair. But as I will be leaving you tomorrow, I will get it to a man soon enough.”

  ​“Then you are definitely leaving tomorrow?” she asked. If Mr. George Yates wished to make an early start, and avoid riding in the heat of the day, retiring early would be sensible for him. She wondered what he was doing on the back stairs.

  ​“That is the plan – unless someone gives me a reason to remain.”

  ​“Then I wish you a good evening.” Susan attempted to continue up the stairs.

  ​“You are very pretty, Miss Price.” He did not move out of her way.

  ​Her heart pounded. “Thank you, Mr. Yates. If you will let me pass...”

  ​He did not let her pass but remained on the stairs. “It must be a dull and dreary life for you here. Oh, not this week – not with your cousins all visiting, and a fine fellow like myself – but most of the time, cooped up with your serious uncle and your silly aunt.”

  ​“Mr. Yates, I am very grateful to my uncle and my aunt.”

  ​“Yes, you seem capable of gratitude. But you, such an attractive young lady – you are wasting your life here. You should be enjoying yourself. Would you not prefer to be in London – to go to the theatre – to be with people?”

  ​“I have never been to London.”

  ​“I could take you there.”

  ​His offer – was he making her an offer? – was so unexpected that she was confused. “What? You take me to London?”

  ​“Yes, to London, to Ireland, to any place you would like to see. What place would you like to see, Miss Price?”

  ​And then she comprehended that his offer was not a marriage proposal, but something far less honorable. She felt her cheeks redden as she said, “You are talking nonsense, Mr. Yates. Please, let me pass.”

  ​“Are you sure? You will soon be as pretty as your cousin – Maria, I mean, not my dear sister-in-law. We could have fun. I could show you the world, Miss Price – Susan.”

  ​He reached for her hand. His was warm and strong. Susan attempted to pull hers back, but he did not release it.

  ​“Please let me pass, Mr. Yates.”


  ​“You could leave with me in the morning; my horse could easily carry us both. Your uncle is only your uncle; he will not stop you.”

  ​He was making her extremely uncomfortable, even nervous. He was much stronger than she was. Surely he would not accost her here on the stairs? Should she run back down and then return up the other staircase? Or should she even call out for assistance? But to do that – to raise an alarm – would cause even greater consternation than had already been caused.

  ​She was spared from having to summon help when a door creaked, and footsteps announced the approach of another person. The bustle soon revealed Mrs. Norris. “I thought I heard something! I was afraid some thief was coming up from the servants’ quarters. I do not like the look of the new kitchen maid! Susan, what are you still doing up? You should be in bed, not inflicting your company on Mr. Yates.”

  ​It was not especially late, but Susan did not object. “I am going to my room now, Aunt,” she said. With the presence of Mrs. Norris, Mr. Yates finally let go of Susan’s hand and permitted her to pass him on the stairs.

  ​“I would hardly call Miss Price an infliction,” Mr. Yates called after her, and laughed.

  ​Susan tried to walk with dignity, but as soon as she judged that she was out of their sight, she hurried her steps. To think that she should be so importuned! And in her uncle’s house! How could he believe her so susceptible? Of course, Mrs. Rushworth’s reputation was blemished, and Susan was merely the niece, and not the daughter, of a baronet. Still, what made Mr. Yates believe she would acquiesce to such an immoral proposal?

  ​Even though he had released her hand, Susan still seemed to feel his pressure on it. What if Mr. Yates followed her up here and attempted to enter? And then attempted something far worse than an improper conversation? The door could not be locked, but never before had she had a need to lock her door. Susan owned few valuable items, only keepsakes that mattered to her but that would be of little worth to anyone else. The one exception was a silver knife that had been given to her by a now-deceased sister.

  ​Susan could not lock her door, but she could barricade it. She dragged a chair and a small table in front of the door, and piled on books and even a pair of shoes. She did not believe that the items were heavy enough to truly stop Mr. Yates if he were very determined, but the noise that would be made by pushing against the pile of objects would give her the time to act, if action were necessary. Susan changed into her night clothes, armed herself with the silver knife – not the most powerful of weapons, but it was all she had – and climbed into bed and tried to sleep.

  Slumber did not come easily, however; her mind was too busy. Why did some men assume that their attentions were welcome when they were not? She recalled how Mr. Henry Crawford had persisted in wooing her sister Fanny, despite Fanny’s repeated refusals. Mr. Crawford’s behavior towards Fanny had at least appeared honorable. Mr. Yates’s behavior was inexplicable; Susan did not think she had given him any encouragement. Perhaps the eldest son of a baron believed he needed none.

  ​Susan decided to avoid Mr. Yates as much as possible during the following day. He was supposed to depart, which would make it easy, but if for some reason he did not, she would stay close to Lady Bertram, retreat to the shrubbery, or even do errands in the village.

  ​That resolution made, and the silence of the house convincing her that no one was approaching, Susan finally found repose. Her disturbed night caused her to sleep past her usual hour, and she only woke when a maid exclaimed at her inability to open the door. Susan hurried out of bed and pushed aside the furniture, so that the servant could enter.

  ​The sunbeams streaming through the window gave Susan courage; what seemed threatening in the dark of night became nothing in the light of day. She would make sure she was not alone with Mr. George Yates today, but surely she could dare to partake of breakfast. She dressed hastily and ventured to the stairs. He might already have departed, but if he had not, she could speak to her uncle. She had longed for company, for visitors, and the entertainment they might bring, but Mr. Yates was not amusing, not amusing at all. She now understood her uncle’s reluctance to let strangers disturb the tranquility of Mansfield Park.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Sometimes resolutions are easier to keep than expected; when Susan arrived downstairs, Mr. Yates was not in the breakfast parlor. In fact, the room had only one occupant, Sir Thomas; although they were joined moments later by Mrs. Norris and Mrs. Rushworth. Mr. John Yates entered and said good morning; Julia and Lady Bertram, the married ladies, would take breakfast in their rooms.

  ​Susan was still apprehensive, every footstep outside the room made her worry that the man she did not wish to see was about to enter. Mr. Yates did not arrive, however; nearly all footfalls were followed by the appearance of a servant bringing either coffee, bread or boiled eggs. Near the end of the meal, Tom sauntered into the room, yawning, then sitting down heavily and calling for a cup of tea. “Late night. Think it will rain, can see clouds on the horizon. Not a good day to travel, but might take a short ride before the storm strikes. Yates, where is your brother?”

  ​Mr. John Yates said that he did not know. “I tapped on his door this morning, but he did not answer,” and then added that his brother was probably sleeping late.

  ​Sir Thomas, frowning, agreed that the weather would be inclement and that he recommended no one ride. “I suppose that Mr. Yates will be obliged to remain with us at least one more day.”

  ​This information seemed to please no one at the table, from Sir Thomas, who shook his head at the prospect of this continued intrusion into their family party, to his son Tom, who glanced briefly with an apologetic look at Susan. Susan wondered if Tom had failed to keep his promise and had engaged in a wager with Mr. Yates – or could her cousin be aware of how Mr. Yates had importuned her on the stairs? Mrs. Norris might have said something, with hints and allusions to make Susan appear culpable.

  ​“I am concerned that Mr. Yates has not joined us yet,” said Sir Thomas. “Perhaps he is unwell.”

  ​Tom remarked that Mr. George Yates had appeared to be in good health the evening before.

  ​Sir Thomas, master of Mansfield Park, would not be derelict in his duty, even to a guest he did not much like. The baronet told a footman to go to Mr. Yates’s room and to determine if he required anything. While the rest of them waited for information about the heir to the Baron of Dexthorpe, they discussed possible plans for the day at Mansfield Park.

  ​“I should so like to take a little excursion,” said Mrs. Rushworth. “I have not seen Mansfield Common in years!”

  ​Sir Thomas repeated that he believed it would rain. “You will be wet through and through.”

  ​Poor Mrs. Norris had to choose whether to support her dear Maria or to flatter Sir Thomas; her decision was assisted by the appearance of several drops on the window pane. “Sir Thomas is right; Maria, you will have to postpone your ride until another day.”

  ​“If the rain clears, we could go to Mansfield Common in the afternoon,” said Tom. “Sue, do you like that ride?”

  ​Mrs. Norris bristled at Susan’s being asked for her opinion and especially at the implication that Susan could be a member of any riding party. Susan hesitated because she did not want to do anything with Mr. Yates, who would surely accompany them, and although the excursion sounded amusing, and this was the first time for Tom to invite her, Mrs. Norris’s speculation about them becoming a pair increased her uneasiness.

  ​“The ride is very pretty. I do not know that I could go today, especially not if Cousin Maria wishes to use the mare,” said Susan. “Besides, Lady Bertram may need me.”

  ​“I will attend to Lady Bertram, Susan,” said Mrs. Norris. “You had better attend to the poor basket. I examined it this morning, and I cannot tell that you accomplished anything. What were you about last night?” She turned towards the baronet, and continued: “I can tell you what Susan was about last night, Sir Thomas – she w
as speaking to Mr. George Yates on the back staircase.”

  ​Susan was startled by the warmth of her aunt’s attack, but she did not protest because she had not done any sewing and she had spoken to Mr. Yates on the stairs. Nor did she explain that she had spent the time writing a letter to Fanny, because she had still not decided if she wished to send it or burn it.

  ​“And Mr. Yates and Susan were holding hands.”

  ​This last remark of Mrs. Norris caused all eyes in the room to turn towards Susan; Sir Thomas’s expression was most grave. “Is this true?” he asked.

  ​Susan colored deeply, but she was ready to defend herself. “Mr. Yates took my hand, Uncle; I did not offer it to him. Only when my aunt appeared did he release it.”

  ​Her words provoked changes on the countenances of her listeners. Mr. John Yates appeared concerned; Tom and Mrs. Norris seemed angry, and Mrs. Rushworth frowned. But before anyone could speak, Sir Thomas terminated the topic. “I think this is a matter better discussed privately,” he said firmly.

  ​Susan was grateful for his statement. She did not exactly look forward to having a tête-à-tête with her uncle about the incident, but that had to be an improvement to the embarrassment she was experiencing at the breakfast table.

  ​The subject of Mr. George Yates was not finished, however. The footman returned to explain that Mr. Yates was not in his room, and that it appeared that he had not slept in his bed.

  ​“So, has he departed?” inquired Tom Bertram.

  ​The footman did not believe so, for Mr. Yates’s traveling bag was still in his room. Sir Thomas frowned and dispatched the footman in the direction of the stables to determine if Mr. Yates’s horse were still in the stables. In the meantime, those at the breakfast table plied Mr. John Yates with respect to his brother’s habits. Was it like him to depart without saying good-bye? Mr. John Yates said he did not think so, but he could not be sure. Could he be out wandering the grounds? That was more likely; Mr. Yates liked late hours and occasionally stayed up the entire night. Last night the moon, though not quite full, had given enough light for those determined to be outside.