The Matters at Mansfield

Anne heard the news in the chamber she had shared with Henry during their brief marriage. She was sitting up in bed, having just finished her breakfast, when Elizabeth and Darcy entered. Colonel Fitzwilliam was seated in a chair at her bedside. The two had been talking, and Anne’s countenance reflected more serenity than it had in days. Elizabeth was reluctant to disturb such hard-won peace with the tidings she bore.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, took one of Anne’s hands, and delivered the censored version of the morning’s events that she and Darcy had agreed upon: Henry’s remains had been found with a head wound; the coroner was examining his body to determine its cause.

Anne released a small gasp and an “Oh, poor Henry!” The colonel, upon receiving the news, blinked in momentary, and to all appearances genuine, surprise, but quickly assumed the detachment of a military commander accustomed to hearing reports of death.

After her initial response, the erstwhile Mrs. Crawford assumed an air of dignified composure. Having started grieving the loss of her husband and marriage when she first learned of Henry’s duplicity, the permanent bereavement was easier to accept. “So I am a bride and a widow in the span of a fortnight,” she said. “Or perhaps neither. It would seem that I am not meant for the marital state.”

“No,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, “you simply were not meant for Henry Crawford.” He took her other hand. “It may wound you to hear me say this now, but this news frees you. He can no longer wreak havoc with your feelings; his death severs your legal and emotional entanglements with him unquestionably. You need not fear he will come round begging your forgiveness, or torment yourself over whether you should grant it. Mourn him if you must, Anne, but let it not be for long. He does not deserve your tears.”

“I have already shed his share. Any remaining ones are for myself and the wreckage I have made of my life.”

“Then let those be few, as well.”

She nodded and met his eyes. “I am grateful for your friendship through all of this. Were it not for you, I know not how I would bear it.” Her gaze quickly shifted to encompass Elizabeth and Darcy. “Were it not for all of you.” Her gaze strayed back to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s countenance, where it lingered before dropping to their hands, which were yet joined.

Elizabeth studied Anne more closely, a notion forming in her mind. Had Anne developed a tendre for her cousin? The possibility seemed premature, given that she had been widowed — or whatever one called her current state — so little time, but then again, she had not been married long. Or was this not a new attachment? She recalled Anne’s obvious pleasure in dancing with the colonel at the Riveton ball. Had she long harbored feelings for Fitzwilliam, temporarily eclipsed by Henry Crawford’s more passionate flirtation?

Her scrutiny moved to the colonel. His solicitude toward Anne was evidenced by the warmth of his expression as he regarded her. Was he beginning to return her sentiments?

With apparent reluctance, Fitzwilliam released Anne’s hand, rose, and turned to Darcy. “The sooner Mr. Crawford is laid to rest, the better. What arrangements are being made?”

“He will be interred pending the results of the coroner’s examination.”

“I expect his family will want him buried at Everingham. Our aunt has the name of his solicitor, who can notify his sister and uncle. Has Lady Catherine been informed?”

“Not yet.”

“I anticipate her at any moment. She has requested my assistance with—” Footsteps sounded in the hall. “I believe she comes now.”

Lady Catherine burst into the chamber in her usual manner. “Mr. Darcy, I understand you have been on an errand this morning.”

“I did not realize my whereabouts held such powerful interest for you.”

“They do, insofar as they pertain to the hunt for Mr. Crawford. What have you done to advance the search?”

“I have ended it.”

“What? With him yet at large?”

“Mother—”

Lady Catherine ignored her daughter. “I cannot believe this of you, Darcy. How can you so shirk your duty? Until Henry Crawford is found, Anne is at sixes and sevens.”

“Mother—”

“I will not tolerate excuses. I want Henry Crawford back here, in this paltry little village, to answer for his conduct. If you cannot bring about—”

“Mother! He is dead!”

At last, Lady Catherine bestowed her attention on Anne. “How do you know he is dead?”

“He was found this morning,” Darcy said. “I have seen him myself.”

“Well!” For a minute, it seemed that was all her ladyship had to say on the matter. But Elizabeth could see that her mind was hard at work. “Well,” she repeated a moment later. “This is the best news I have received in weeks.”

“Mother!”

“Anne, do not become sentimental over the man. We have too much to do. What time does the post leave? Never mind — I shall send an express.”

“To whom? Mr. Crawford’s solicitor?” Elizabeth could not think of any other remote person who required such immediate notification of Mr. Crawford’s passing, except perhaps his sister, and she doubted Lady Catherine cared one whit about ensuring that any of his relations were informed in a timely manner of his death.

“No, Mr. Archer can see to that. I must write to Lord Sennex.”

“Whatever for?” Darcy asked.

“Anne is a widow. We can renew her betrothal to Mr. Sennex.”

“Mother! Henry has not even been laid to rest yet!”

“We must act quickly, lest the existence of that wretched Mrs. Garrick woman come to the viscount’s attention.” Lady Catherine addressed not Anne, but Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. For all the heed she paid her daughter, Anne might as well not even have been in the room. “At present, the viscount and his son are unaware of Mrs. Garrick, and I intend to keep them in ignorance. They know Anne eloped with Mr. Crawford — revealing that fact was unavoidable when the original betrothal agreement was broken — but no one outside this village knows that the marriage was of questionable legal status. We can yet marry off Anne well, but we cannot risk the bigamy issue becoming public knowledge before such a marriage is achieved. Once the vows have been exchanged, the new bridegroom cannot change his mind. Her place will be secure.”

Elizabeth’s heart went out to Anne. Widowed but hours, she was already once more subject to her mother’s machinations. And what of her possible feelings for Colonel Fitzwilliam? “Would it not be scandalous for Anne to remarry before observing proper mourning?”

“Gossip over an abbreviated mourning period would be nothing compared to that of bigamy. I shall finesse the point with Lord Sennex. His mental faculties are not what they once were, and I have developed proficiency in managing him. I shall put it in his head that the marriage should take place as soon as possible to ensure that he lives to see it. All society knows he is old and frail — if there is talk, it will be little, and the status of a viscount is such that no one will voice disapproval too loudly.”

Anne sat up straighter in her bed. “I do not wish to marry Mr. Sennex.”

“You wished to marry Mr. Crawford, and observe the calamitous consequences of that decision! You have demonstrated all too clearly the soundness of your judgment in such matters. Through selfishness and obstinacy you contrived to marry a man of your own choice; your next marriage shall be to a man of mine. You should consider yourself fortunate if Mr. Sennex will even have you now. As it is, I expect he will demand a much larger settlement from us than that which we negotiated in our previous agreement, one enticing enough for him to overlook your ignominious elopement. Fortunately, Mr. Crawford himself will be funding it.”

“How so?” asked Darcy.

“In exchange for Anne’s not bringing a suit against him for fraud, Mr. Crawford agreed to a quiet pecuniary transaction as restitution. Mr. Archer handled the matter.”

Elizabeth regarded Lady Catherine in amazement. The fact of Mr. Crawford’s marriage to Meg had scarcely