“I know we are brothers,” said Mr. John Yates with a sigh, “but we have not lived together for years and we are not similar in our tastes and habits.”
“Could he be asleep somewhere else?” asked Mrs. Rushworth.
“Susan was the last person to see him,” said Mrs. Norris, returning to this topic despite Sir Thomas’s prohibition. “As I say, they were holding hands.”
Susan flushed, for the implication was that she had admitted him into her room. “Aunt Norris, I assure you I am completely unaware of Mr. Yates’s whereabouts.” Then, rallying with logic she continued: “When all three of us were on the back staircase, you saw me leave him. Which means you were the last person to see him, not I.”
Susan was shocked by her own outburst – Fanny would have never spoken so! – and Mrs. Norris also turned red. “I have never heard anything like”—she began, but then Tom Bertram interrupted to suggest that perhaps Mr. Yates had simply not gone to sleep at all – perhaps he was injured somewhere on the premises.
Susan was grateful to Tom for the speculation. Certainly, it was wrong of her to hope that any guest at Mansfield Park could be lying somewhere unconscious, but she appreciated her cousin’s diverting the conversation.
Before anyone could conjecture further, the footman returned and informed them that Mr. Yates’s horse was not in the stables, and everyone exclaimed with astonishment.
“He departed without telling anyone?” said Mrs. Norris, full of indignation. “Not even Sir Thomas?”
“Yates did say he was planning to depart today,” said Tom. “Perhaps he wished to go several miles before the rain started.”
At least she was no longer suspected of hiding him in her chamber, thought Susan, and then aloud asked what they should do with the bag Mr. Yates had left behind.
“Perhaps he will send for it later,” said Mr. John Yates. “Or – he may return for the bag himself. Perhaps he only intends to ride a short while, and he just meant to exercise the new horse.”
Sir Thomas said that he was certain Mr. Yates could take care of himself. Whether he chose to return or not, they would certainly learn about it soon. The baronet had letters to write that day and could not concern himself with a visitor who departed without informing anyone.
For Sir Thomas, the words were quite harsh, thought Susan, but Mr. Yates had never been an invited guest, only someone who had imposed himself on those residing at Mansfield Park.
The baronet looked out the window; the rain was falling heavily. “Mr. Yates will have a wet ride,” he pronounced.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When breakfast was finished, Tom Bertram and Maria Rushworth went into the drawing-room; Mr. John Yates went up to his wife and Mrs. Norris sought the company of her sister. Poor Lady Bertram, assailed by Mrs. Norris, thought Susan. But Mrs. Norris respected Lady Bertram more than she did most – a beauty in her day, and still handsome, with a rich, influential husband – and Lady Bertram’s general serenity was a challenge for even Mrs. Norris to ruffle.
Susan asked her uncle if she could join him in his study. Informing Sir Thomas of what had happened on the staircase was painful and awkward, but postponing the conversation would only increase her agitation with unpleasant anticipation.
To Susan’s great relief, Sir Thomas listened without comment and, when she was done, assured her that he believed her; that he knew and trusted her, unlike Mr. George Yates, who did not have the best reputation. “Perhaps we are fortunate that he is gone. If he is gone,” continued the baronet, glancing out the window, where the rain had been joined by wind and thunder. “Given the weather, he may turn back.”
Sir Thomas picked up a letter as if he planned to read it, but Susan was not finished; another idea had occurred to her. “Could this – could Mr. Yates be the reason for Ann Jones’s distress, Uncle?”
Sir Thomas put the letter back down and sighed. He said he had also wondered about this. If Mr. Yates’s horse were not gone as well, he would suspect the eldest son of a baron of being in a room with a maidservant – or worse.
Susan shivered at the “or worse,” and what it implied. Even though dragging furniture before her door had seemed excessively cautious at the time, now she was glad that she had done it. Then she thought of Cousin Maria, or even more terrible, Cousin Julia!
“Perhaps one of the servants knows something,” said Susan. “And perhaps someone – I suggest Mr. John Yates – should inspect what Mr. Yates left behind, to see if that yields any clues.”
Sir Thomas authorized Susan to speak with the servants, especially Ann Jones, in case one had received a message from Mr. Yates and had failed to deliver it. He would send someone to talk to the men who worked in the stables; surely one of them had noticed something – unless Mr. Yates had saddled his own horse in the dark, unlikely albeit not impossible. However, the baronet was not ready, at this point, to search Mr. Yates’s things, or even send his brother into Mr. Yates’s room to do so.
“I will respect his privacy as long as I can,” said Sir Thomas. “After all, he may appear at any moment.”
Tom entered, prepared to review the Antigua accounts with his father. Sir Thomas protested that his eldest son only showed up when it rained; Tom retorted that the reproach was not just, yesterday they had had a guest and he had been occupied with his position as host. Susan smiled at the exchange, but as she was still embarrassed to be around her cousin, she left hastily.
Susan spoke to Baddeley, Chapman and Jones, but all of them claimed to know nothing about what had happened to Mr. Yates. Ann Jones colored at the mention of his name, but denied having had anything to do with him.
Not completely satisfied, but not knowing what else she could do, Susan went to the drawing-room and applied herself to the poor basket that she had neglected so thoroughly the night before. The other ladies – Lady Bertram, Mrs. Norris, Maria and Julia – were all gathered, as the chill and the gloom that accompanied the storm made the noble fire in that room’s large hearth particularly inviting. The topic of conversation was mostly about Mr. Yates. Mrs. Norris was the most voluble. “Even if he is the heir to the Baron of Dexthorpe, his behavior is particularly odd. To leave a house in the middle of the night! Without telling anyone or even writing a note for people to find! It is most inconsiderate, especially to Sir Thomas, and to you, Sister, because of the worry it will cause you.”
Lady Bertram, to whom this was chiefly addressed, stroked her pug. “I am certain we will discover where he is soon.”
“Perhaps I am being uncharitable,” mused Mrs. Norris. “Perhaps he went for a ride and was thrown by his horse and is lying injured somewhere. Maria, the stallion is rather spirited, is he not?”
Maria said she had never known that horse to throw anyone, but supposed it was possible, or that some other mishap might have occurred during a ride in the dark. She then addressed her sister. “Does Mr. Yates have a tendency to ride in the middle of the night?”
Julia was even less interested in the subject than her mother was. “I am sure that I do not know.”
Susan informed the other ladies that she had made inquiries among the servants but had learned no intelligence.
Mrs. Norris peered at Susan. “A sensible thing to do,” she said reluctantly, because she did not wish to offer that niece anything that could be mistaken for praise, “but I am sure you lack the necessary firmness to elicit complete answers. Certainly, one of them knows something. Especially someone in the stables. I could speak to them, Sister.”
“Oh! I am sure that is not necessary. He has not been missing very long.” The theoretical exertion, even offered by another, seemed to exhaust Lady Bertram, who was always a little more fatigued on rainy days.
Susan said that she believed Sir Thomas had sent someone to make additional inquiries in the stables; the information irritated Mrs. Norris, who wished to make the recommendation to the baronet herself. Before Mrs. Norris could vent more than two sentences t
o express her opinion about her niece’s impertinence, their conversation was stopped by a loud disturbance in another part of the house.
Even Lady Bertram looked up, not exactly in alarm, but with more attention than usual. “Whatever is the matter?”
Mrs. Norris offered to go find out; her sister replied that it was surely not necessary. A few minutes passed, and then Lady Bertram’s confidence was rewarded, as the male members of their family – Sir Thomas, Mr. Tom Bertram, and the Honorable John Yates – entered the drawing-room.
“We have found Mr. Yates,” said Sir Thomas gravely.
“Oh, have you?” asked Lady Bertram.
“Where is he?” inquired Mrs. Norris. “Has he apologized for all the difficulty and trouble he has caused?”
“No, George has not apologized,” said Mr. John Yates dramatically. “George cannot apologize. George will never apologize. We – we should apologize to him.”
“Whatever do you mean?” pressed Susan.
“He is dead,” said Tom. “Mr. Yates is dead.”
“Oh!” cried Julia, and fainted.
CHAPTER NINE
The ladies in the drawing-room received this information in their different manners. Mrs. Norris and Mrs. Rushworth both exclaimed in horror and demanded particulars. What had happened? Had there been an accident? Had he been thrown from his horse? Mrs. Norris added that riding in the middle of the night was pure folly. Susan, although just as curious as her aunt Norris and her cousin Maria, first tended to Julia, who fortunately had swooned in a sitting position. Susan fetched a cloth from the poor basket, poured water on it and pressed it to Julia’s temple and her wrists. Lady Bertram wondered if she ought to faint as well but could not manage it, and only thought of offering her younger daughter a whiff of her own sal volatile after Julia had been revived by Susan’s ministrations.
Mr. John Yates stopped ranting and assisted Susan by going to his wife’s other side, kneeling beside her and taking her hand. Julia’s eyes fluttered open; even though she remained pale, she assured everyone that she would not faint again.
With Julia reanimated and entrusted to her husband’s care, Susan could attend to the conversation around her.
Mr. Yates’s body had been discovered in a corner of the stables, under a small mound of hay. Sir Thomas was no medical expert, certainly not a coroner, but he and Tom had looked at the body and discovered evidence of several blows to the head as well as a gash in his neck that looked as if it had been caused by a knife.
“His throat was cut?” inquired Maria.
“A knife wound!” exclaimed Lady Bertram, so interested that she sat upright on her sofa and put aside her pug. “How could a horse have done that?”
Lady Bertram was still operating on Mrs. Norris’s conjecture that Mr. Yates must have been thrown from his horse.
“No horse slashed George Yates’s throat,” said Tom. “No horse dragged his body to the mound of hay and hid him under it.”
“A man must be responsible,” said Sir Thomas.
“My brother murdered! Foully murdered! I cannot believe it,” said Mr. John Yates, and now it was Julia’s turn to comfort her partner.
“But who would wish to murder Mr. Yates?” inquired Lady Bertram.
Lady Bertram, with her kindly disposition, could not imagine anyone wishing to kill another, but Susan discovered, to her consternation, that she was not particularly sorry that Mr. Yates was dead. A murder was dreadful, of course, but if anyone was to die like this, of all her acquaintance she would have chosen Mr. Yates. And then Susan was ashamed of herself for being so unfeeling and for rendering such a harsh judgment on a man she knew so little. Mr. John Yates was overcome by the sudden death of his brother, while Julia had been so affected that she had fainted, literally fainted!
Susan decided she would never, ever confide her own uncharitable thoughts to anyone, not even to Fanny, who would be horrified by their cruel, unforgiving nature.
Sir Thomas explained that Mr. Yates’s horse – the one he had brought with him from Sotherton – was definitely gone. “Perhaps someone was trying to steal the horse and Mr. Yates discovered him in the process.”
“A horse thief must be responsible,” said Maria.
Tom said this was possible. The animal had been especially valuable; perhaps someone had noticed Mr. Yates with it, or had learned of its removal from Sotherton.
Mrs. Norris proclaimed, “Of course the culprit is a horse thief! Some man came into the stables, wishing to steal Mr. Yates’s fine new horse, and Mr. Yates discovered the man and then there was a fight and poor Mr. Yates was murdered.”
Mr. John Yates said that he could not bear to think of it, of what had happened, and of course continued to talk of nothing else.
When her brother-in-law paused for breath, Maria said thoughtfully: “If we discover the horse, we may discover the man who murdered Mr. Yates.”
“Yes,” said Sir Thomas, but added that he was not hopeful. “It is likely that he is already far away.”
“But is that not a good thing?” inquired Lady Bertram. “We do not want a murderer in the neighborhood! Or even a horse thief!”
Mr. John Yates then interrupted to say that it was especially horrible that his brother should be murdered and that the guilty party should escape justice.
When his son-in-law was done, Sir Thomas agreed with him. “It is better for everyone for the man to be caught and punished. That way, he cannot kill again.”
“What a dreadful thing to have happen at Mansfield Park! I am so sorry for you, Sir Thomas, that you should have that happen in your stables. The trouble it will cause you and Lady Bertram!” said Mrs. Norris.
Maria had more penetration than her aunt, and was not as determined to flatter her parents. “I grieve for you, Mr. Yates. I cannot imagine the tragedy of losing a brother or a sister.”
Of course, Mr. John Yates was now Mr. Yates, as he no longer had an elder brother.
Mr. Yates spoke some more about his loss, the shock at the suddenness and the horror of how it had happened.
When Mr. Yates’s soliloquy was done – and given his situation, his speech was tolerated with more patience than usual – Susan, practical, asked what needed to be done, and what she could do to assist. She found paper, pen and ink and began taking notes. They needed to notify the coroner – Sir Thomas said he had already sent a footman on that errand – and to send an express to the Baron of Dexthorpe. Perhaps Mr. Yates knew what should be done with the body of his brother? Mr. Yates mastered himself long enough to say that the body should be transported to his family estate in C—. He would accompany the body. Tom said he would go with his brother-in-law; Sir Thomas nodded approval.
Mr. Yates was profuse in his thanks, and he also hoped the others would take care of his dear Julia while he made this melancholy journey.
“Are you sure you do not wish me to come with you?” asked Julia.
Women often did not travel to funerals, and especially, given the circumstances and the suddenness, Mr. Yates thought his wife would be more comfortable staying in her father’s house. Everyone assured Mr. Yates that Julia was in good hands.
Those most important items being settled, Sir Thomas, with Susan’s assistance, arranged for the express to be sent to Lord Dexthorpe. Then there were the secondary, but still significant, matters to manage.
“We can be assured that much of the neighborhood is aware of what happened,” said Sir Thomas, for two notes of condolence and concern had been brought in by Baddeley. The Mansfield Park servants had spoken to servants not on the estate, and the latter had related news of the death to their masters and mistresses.
Mrs. Norris opined that it was rude of others to speak about Mansfield Park, while Lady Bertram said that she did not suppose it could be helped.
Sir Thomas was more methodical. He wished to inform people more formally, to make sure that everyone
was warned, and to determine if anyone knew anything.
“That is very sensible, Father,” remarked Maria. “Perhaps other stables have been robbed.”
“Or at least they may know of attempts,” said Sir Thomas. “If other stables had been robbed, I should expect to have been informed – unless the theft was extremely recent.”
Lady Bertram added that they needed to tell Fanny and Edmund. “How strange, to think that they do not know!”
Susan was not sure what practical assistance either Fanny or Edmund could offer – and then reproached herself; Edmund, as a clergyman, could condole with Mr. John Yates, while Fanny’s good sense would support them all. And Susan agreed with her aunt that it was odd that Fanny, who had known every particular of their lives until just a few days ago, could be unaware of something so significant. Then she said, “I believe the coroner is arriving.” Her excellent hearing alerted her to the fact that someone was approaching the house, while her position near a window let her discern who it was.
Sir Thomas instructed a servant to take the coroner to the stables. After that aspect of the investigation was done, the coroner could come up to the house and they would resolve whatever needed to be resolved.
The baronet’s statement nearly provoked another speech from Mr. John Yates – and although Susan was sympathetic, she wished to forestall it – so she suggested that Mr. Yates go to the room in which his brother had been staying in order to prepare his things to be transported with him back to C—. Sir Thomas nodded with approval, for his former objection to an inspection of Mr. George Yates’s personal belongings had died with him.
The Mansfield Park Murders Page 7