There Must Be Murder (13 page)

The Whitings joined them almost immediately. “Is
everything well, Catherine?” Eleanor asked anxiously.

“Yes, I thank you. I forgot the speech I had
planned, but I made Sir Philip understand me at last.”

“You were magnificent, my sweet,” said Henry.
“Plain speech can do as well, and sometimes better, than the most
learned oratory, or even one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s speeches.”

“It will be uncomfortable to be in company with
Sir Philip, however. I wish I could have nothing more to do with
him, but if General Tilney is determined on marrying Lady
Beauclerk, I cannot see how we will be able to avoid him. I am
sorry to say it, as they will soon be part of the family, but I do
not like the Beauclerks.”

“We need have little to do with any of them
beyond her ladyship,” said Henry.

“Will Miss Beauclerk go to live at Northanger
Abbey when her mother is married, do you think?”

Eleanor exclaimed, and she exchanged a dismayed
look with her brother.

“I had not thought of that,” said Henry.

“Surely my father would not—” said Eleanor.

Catherine wondered at their words; why would it
be so dreadful for Judith Beauclerk to live at Northanger Abbey
with her mother?

“Perhaps Miss Beauclerk will marry Sir Philip,”
said Lord Whiting. “He has lost his distraction—” bowing in
Catherine’s direction— “and may now remember what is expected of
him and come up to scratch.”

“Oh, poor Mr. Shaw,” said Catherine.

Their attention was claimed at that moment by
some acquaintances of the Whitings, and Catherine was left to her
own thoughts. Though Mrs. Findlay’s accusations of murder had
proved to be the workings of an imagination overly stimulated by
horrid novels, that did not explain some of the other mysteries
that surrounded the Beauclerk family. Mr. Shaw had spoken darkly of
“services” he performed on his beloved’s behalf; could they have
had anything to do with Sir Arthur Beauclerk’s death? Would Miss
Beauclerk buy his silence with the money gained by a marriage to
Sir Philip? And why were Eleanor and Henry so alarmed at the idea
of Miss Beauclerk living at Northanger Abbey? Even without a murder
in the case, there was no doubt that the Beauclerks were a very odd
and mysterious family. Catherine had grown up a great deal since
her adventures at Northanger Abbey, but there still was a part of
her that longed to discover the truth of those mysteries; though in
the social crush and swirl of a fine day of high season at the
pump-room, murder and mystery seemed laughably improbable.

Friday night arrived as scheduled, and as
Catherine’s pleasure in dancing had not been diminished by several
exercises, the Tilneys went to the Lower Rooms for the weekly ball.
The first set was forming as they arrived; Judith and Sir Philip
Beauclerk stood at the top, ready to lead the dance. They took
their places and the music began; too late, Catherine saw Eleanor
waving to them.

“I should have liked to be next to Eleanor,”
Catherine said to Henry.

“We will find them before the next,” he said,
and then they were obliged to attend to the dance. Catherine
watched Miss Beauclerk carefully so that she would be able to copy
her figures, and was a little surprised to see that she was
behaving towards her cousin—well, there was no other word for it
but flirtatiously; and even more surprisingly, Sir Philip’s
behavior was not much different. Henry also was watching the
Beauclerks, his brow creased.

When the lead couple reached the Tilneys, Miss
Beauclerk reached out and took Catherine’s hand, squeezing it
quickly as she crossed over. She said, “Mrs. Tilney, I am so glad
to see you!” and went around Henry with her usual light-footed
grace. She crossed back and said, “I believe you have not heard my
good news. You must wish me joy, for I am to be married.”

Catherine, startled, said, “To whom?” Had Mr.
Shaw been able to convince Judith to accept his offer? But that
romantic hope was dashed immediately.

“Why, to my dear Philip, of course!”

Catherine looked at Sir Philip, her eyes wide
and her mouth open in surprise. How could he—it had not been a week
since Sir Philip had acted towards herself as—oh! How could it
be?

Sir Philip smirked at her confusion and gave her
a little bow. “I thank you for the kind wishes you no doubt wish to
bestow, Mrs. Tilney; the demands of the dance, I know, make it
difficult.”

“I give you joy, Beauclerk,” said Henry. Only
Catherine and Lady Whiting would have recognized the ironic edge of
his words.

Certainly Sir Philip did not. “Dashed civil of
you, Tilney,” he said, and they were gone, dancing with the next
couple in the set.

“How could she do such a thing?” Catherine asked
Henry. “She does not know about—” She stopped, unable to discuss
Sir Philip’s behavior in so public a place.

Henry, however, showed perfect comprehension.
“Do not fret, my sweet. I suspect she knows more than you
think.”

Catherine found such a thing hard to believe.
How could Miss Beauclerk take a husband who did not scruple to
seduce a married woman?

The Tilneys reached the top of the set and began
to dance down; when they reached the Whitings, Eleanor gave
Catherine a rueful smile. “I am sure that Judith Beauclerk was full
of her news,” she said to Catherine. “Had I the opportunity to
speak with you before the dance, I would have given you due
warning, so you could meet Sir Philip with composure.”

“Thank you, but I do not think it would have
made any difference,” said Catherine.

“One of our problems is solved, at least,” Henry
said to his sister. “Judith will not be living at Northanger after
a certain happy event. We should be grateful that she has so
obligingly disposed of herself.”

“And given her mother an incentive to hasten
that happy event,” said Eleanor.

They were then obliged to separate, and when
they met again for the next dance, they spoke of more pleasant
topics, but Miss Beauclerk and her cousin were never far from
Catherine’s mind. It was all so unaccountable! She determined to
give Miss Beauclerk a hint, a warning of some kind, but did not
encounter her again until they were coming out of the tea room. She
felt someone take her elbow and steer her away from Henry.

It was Miss Beauclerk, who whispered in her ear,
“I wanted so much to speak with you before the dancing began. One
can hear nothing over the musicians. Let us chat now before they
start again. What do you think of my news? Is it not a
surprise?”

“I am sure I wish you every happiness,” said
Catherine.

“I thank you, Mrs. Tilney; that is most kind of
you. It is all so exciting! Word got round so fast—as soon as we
came in tonight, Mr. King engaged us to open the dance. By the bye,
I think Philip would like to dance with you.”

“Please convey my thanks to Sir Philip, but I am
engaged for the rest of the evening.”

“You have only been dancing with Henry,” said
Miss Beauclerk, laughing. “I have no hope at keeping my husband so
much at my side, I fear.”

Here was the opening Catherine had been waiting
for. “Miss Beauclerk, have you thought about this very seriously?
Are you sure that Sir Philip will make you a good husband?”

“Why should he not?” said Miss Beauclerk with a
smile.

Catherine turned to face her, took her hands and
leaned close so that no one could overhear; she had forgotten how
much taller she was than Miss Beauclerk. She whispered, “I hope I
am not saying anything wrong, but I must speak. Sir Philip— that
is— he—” Words failed Catherine, and she blushed deeply.

Miss Beauclerk looked at her with a knowing
smile. “Oh, Mrs. Tilney, you are adorable! You mean to warn me
about my rakehell cousin! I dare say he has been amusing himself by
flirting with you, is that it?”

“I believe he intended more than a flirtation,
ma’am.”

Miss Beauclerk smiled, her head tilted to one
side, as if Catherine were some exotic foreign animal that she was
observing at a zoo. “I do not understand; what has that got to do
with me?”

“Are you not afraid he will continue
to—flirt—with other women after you are married?”

Miss Beauclerk shook her head and laughed. “You
are a dear thing! But you need not worry about me, Mrs. Tilney. I
am no romantic young miss. I shall take good care that my husband
does not tire of me; and if he does, I shall accept it with good
grace. And who knows, perhaps I shall have flirtations of my
own!”

Desperately, Catherine played her last card.
“But what of Mr. Shaw?”

“What of him?”

“I believe he has a great deal of affection for
you; and I believe you gave him to understand that you had great
affection for him as well.”

“I am very sorry if Mr. Shaw has deluded himself
so far, but I made him no promises, and he has nothing with which
to reproach me. He knew that Miss Beauclerk of Beaumont could not
marry an apothecary.”

“He said he had performed services for you—and
Mrs. Findlay said—”

Miss Beauclerk gave a trill of laughter. “Neddie
is such a foolish thing! When he worked at Beaumont, he made my
potion up for me from his employer’s stores and then refused to
take payment. He got turned off when his employer found out about
it, and he came to the house, expecting us—expecting me—to take him
in. My aunt heard of it, and embroidered it with her own wild
imagination. Now, I hope to see you again before we leave, Mrs.
Tilney; Philip and I will be married at Beaumont in two weeks’ time
by special license, and then we shall take a tour of Wales. Mamma
and I are frantic over my wedding-clothes, as I dare say you can
imagine. Now, I see your partner looking for you; I shall not keep
you away.” And she was gone in a whirl of filmy muslin and
perfume.

Catherine could tell that Henry knew exactly
what had happened; he could have said something like, “I told you
that Judith knew all about Beauclerk, and decided to marry him
anyway, as her ambition has overcome her good sense,” but to his
credit and her relief he said only, “The set is forming, Cat.”

She reached out to him. “Dance with me, Henry,
please!”

“With the greatest pleasure.” He took her hand
and led her to the set.

***

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Perhaps.”

Matthew stopped, surprised, and turned; he had a
way about him that made it unusual for most people to notice him on
a crowded street, but then most people were not looking for him. He
bowed to the young lady who had accosted him. “Miss Biddy.”

She curtsied. “I shouldn’t talk to you. I’m very
put out, sir. You never came to see me.”

Mentally asking his master’s forgiveness for a
white lie in a good cause, Matthew said, “I apologize, but Mr.
Tilney has kept me very busy.”

“Oh, aye, I don’t doubt it. You’re lucky you saw
me here, for I’m back to Beaumont on Monday, and you wouldn’t have
had a chance to say goodbye.”

“To Beaumont? Indeed?”

“Aye. I don’t know if you heard, Miss is getting
married to Sir Philip. They’re all in uproar, getting her clothes
made and all. They sent me out for ribbon.” She held up a
package.

“Our paths lay on the same route; I shall walk
back with you.” Biddy seemed pleased with this gallantry, and
accordingly they turned their steps towards Laura-place.

“At least her ladyship won’t need clothes made
before her wedding. She bought a dozen gowns, or more, since she
came to Bath, and I can’t tell you how many caps and bonnets.”

“I did not know things were so far forward with
Lady Beauclerk’s wedding. There has been no announcement.”

“No, she’s letting Miss have her day; or so she
says. After all her complaining about Miss not getting married,
she’s getting her own back. Miss’ll be Lady Beauclerk, and Lady
Beauclerk will be a mere Mrs. And don’t think Miss is letting her
forget it, either.”

“Surely Lady Beauclerk could keep her title
after marrying General Tilney?”

Biddy reached out and grabbed Matthew’s arm.
“Haven’t you heard, ducky? She’s not marrying General Tilney! She’s
marrying that Mr. Hornebolt, him as has more money than the Duke of
Devonshire, or so they say. She says General Tilney’s fortune
doesn’t compare; but she really did like him best, until they had
the row about Lady Josephine.”

As Matthew had heard of the general’s
humiliation in the service of Lady Josephine, he expressed his
surprise that they would have had an argument over the
creature.

“He said she had humiliated him in front of all
of Bath, and he wouldn’t be able to show his face in public again;
and she cried and said if he loved her, he would love her cat, but
he swore he wouldn’t have a cat for a pet, they were only fit for
chasing mice in the kitchens, and that Lady J. was a lazy,
ill-natured creature who would tease his dogs and plague his life
out. Her ladyship said she couldn’t abide a man who could be cruel
to dumb animals, especially one so affectionate as Lady Josephine,
and the general said if that was her notion of affection, then she
had no business being married, and the shocking amount of money she
spent at her mantua-maker would bankrupt any man in a year anyway,
and her ladyship said he could just leave if he felt that way, and
not darken her doorstep ever again. And so he did leave, and hasn’t
been back. She accepted Mr. Hornebolt’s proposal the next day.”