There Must Be Murder (5 page)

“Everyone who saw you conduct Lady Beauclerk to
the Lower Rooms last night and to the pump-room this morning, and
who knows you have been daily in her company for the past several
months.” The General was silent. “Do you deny it, sir? Do you deny
that you are trying to fix your interest with Lady Beauclerk,
before her husband has been dead a year?”

The General poured another glass of wine. “No. I
do not deny it.” He took a deep draught.

“It is well that you have been on the spot, as
they say, for I see you have a few rivals here in Bath. Lady
Beauclerk’s fortune is a handsome one, is it not? And will remain
hers in the event of a remarriage?”

“Lady Beauclerk is a handsome woman, and a good
neighbor and friend. It is not to be wondered at that she would
have—admirers.”

Henry stared at his father. Could it be that
this misguided courtship had more than financial motives? “I dare
say the Abbey is a rather lonely place these days.”

“Some might find it so, but the military man has
resources, Henry. Do not forget that.” He paused, thoughtful for a
moment. “You suspect me of trying to acquire Lady Beauclerk’s
fortune for my own, do not you? I confess that it is a handsome
fortune, and not a small consideration.”

“Are you distressed for funds, sir? Has
Frederick been extravagant, or got into debt? If that is the case,
you must allow me to assist however is in my power—”

The General waved his hand dismissively. “No,
no; the estates are producing very well, as you know, and your
brother has not overspent his allowance quite yet this quarter. Not
that I could not use a little extra; who cannot? But Lady Beauclerk
is a very pleasant woman, and very good company; very good company,
indeed. I would be proud to have her bear the Tilney name.” He
sipped his wine thoughtfully.

Henry Tilney was rarely at a loss for words; but
finding his father in the midst of a romance served to rob him of
speech completely.

The ladies’ departure from Laura-place was
delayed first by Miss Beauclerk’s “running up for a moment” to
fetch her bonnet, pelisse, and parasol, a moment that turned into a
quarter-hour, during which time the general and Henry left for
Milsom-street.

They were further delayed by Lady Beauclerk’s
insistence that her daughter’s maid accompany them, and her
daughter’s insistence that they did not need such escort. “Mrs.
Tilney and I will be one another’s chaperone, and MacGuffin here
will provide us with more protection than Marie-Louise can.” The
struggle of wills went on for several minutes whilst Catherine
stood by, awkward at being forced to bear witness to it, but at
last they made their escape.

By the time they reached Argyle-street,
Catherine regretted her impulsive offer to accompany Miss
Beauclerk. Miss Beauclerk floated along the pavement, everything
about her as light as air, from the filmy lace that trimmed her
pelisse to her delicate satin slippers. Catherine stumbled along,
her thick leather shoes chosen with a mind to a country walk rather
than to a city promenade, tethered to a living ten-stone weight
that propelled her forward relentlessly and lurched off to either
side whenever it smelled anything interesting.

As they crossed the bridge, Miss Beauclerk said,
“Thank you for agreeing to be my companion, Mrs. Tilney. My maid
reports all my movements to my mother. Not that there is anything
to report, but it is a relief to feel oneself not constantly under
the scrutiny of a servant with suspect loyalties. Now, what
commissions have you? The linen-drapers, I dare say?”

“Truthfully, I have no commissions,” said
Catherine. “I only said I did because Lady Beauclerk—” she stopped,
confused.

Miss Beauclerk laid a gloved hand on Catherine’s
arm. “How very kind you are! I can see why Mr. Tilney is so wild
about you; but you must not mind Mamma. She would very much like to
talk to her friends about her daughter, Mrs. This or Lady That, but
I have thwarted her. I am a regular old maid now, at seven and
twenty, and she sometimes lets her disappointment get the better of
her.”

“I do not see why you feel it so hopeless a
case,” said Catherine. “Many girls marry who have not your
advantages; you have a fortune, and you are very pretty.”

Miss Beauclerk looked at Catherine, startled,
and then laughed. “Why, you dear creature! How funny you are. I
dare say I could find a husband if I settled for the first
fortune-hunter to make an offer; but I am, perhaps, too nice. We
not all of us have a Henry Tilney in our sights.”

“Now that you are in Bath, I am sure you will
meet someone. There are many young men here, and you had several
partners at the assembly. But I dare say you have had seasons in
Bath before, and even London.”

“There were no seasons in London for me, Mrs.
Tilney! My father did not like cities, and disliked even more what
he would have considered unnecessary expenditure. During his
lifetime there were no trips to Bath, and certainly no houses taken
in Laura-place. My mother is making up for a lifetime of
deprivation.”

Such talk, so disrespectful of a father so
lately dead, did not please Catherine, and she was silent. Miss
Beauclerk did not seem to notice her disapproval, or at least was
determined to ignore it. “Well, if you have no commissions, will
you accompany me to the apothecary? I must have some of my special
beauty tonic made up. The shop is a little out of the way, I am
afraid.”

The apothecary’s shop was indeed out of the way,
and Catherine was grateful for her canine escort as they entered a
part of Bath she had never before seen. Close to the river, the
buildings slouched and leaned upon one another, as did the
individuals lounging in doorways and sauntering down the pavement.
Some appeared as though they might approach the two ladies, and not
with kind intentions, but a look from the shaggy Newfoundland kept
them at a careful distance.

Catherine glanced at Miss Beauclerk, who
appeared to take no notice of their singular surroundings. “There
is a very good apothecary in Milsom-street,” she said. “Perhaps we
could turn back, and you can obtain your potion there.”

“No,” said Miss Beauclerk, rather sharply. “It
is a very particular kind of potion, and only can be trusted to
someone who—oh, here it is.”

The apothecary’s premises turned out to be a
dark little building at the end of a row of similarly mean-looking
shops. Catherine did not feel right leaving MacGuffin on the
pavement, at the mercy of passersby, so he accompanied them inside
the shop and, at her command, sat by the door. Miss Beauclerk went
to the counter whilst Catherine stopped to stroke the dog’s head
and whisper, “I am sorry I brought you here, darling. We shall not
be long.” He looked up at her trustingly, his feathery tail gently
thumping the grimy floor.

As she turned away from MacGuffin, Catherine
heard a man’s voice say, “Judith! What are you—”

“Good day, Mr. Shaw,” said Miss Beauclerk,
glancing consciously over her shoulder at Catherine.

The man to whom she spoke was extremely
handsome—everything a hero should be: tall, dark, and mysterious;
Valancourt verily come to life, though the practical part of
Catherine’s mind could not help thinking that Emily would never
have seen Valancourt in shirtsleeves and a green baize apron. But
even Valancourt could not have gazed at his heroine with more
obvious adoration than Mr. Shaw; his expression was one of mingled
surprise, admiration, and something else—something hungry, thought
Catherine, and then laughed at herself for being fanciful.

The man struggled for speech. “You are—you are
in Bath?”

“Yes, my mother is here to take the waters, and
how lucky that I was able to find your shop, since I have run out
of the beauty tonic that you so obligingly made up for me.” She
turned to Catherine. “Mrs. Tilney, may I present Mr. Shaw? He is a
very clever apothecary—too much so for Beaumont, where he used to
reside, and he has moved his practice to Bath, which I’m sure you
will agree is just the place for an apothecary. He was invaluable
during my father’s illness; poor Papa was in so much pain at the
end, we were grateful for anything that would bring him relief, and
Mr. Shaw’s potions always did so.”

“I was happy to be of service to you, Miss
Beauclerk,” said Mr. Shaw. “And to your family, of course.”

“Of course,” said Miss Beauclerk with a smile,
which Mr. Shaw returned; he stood staring at her for a moment,
quite dazzled, until Miss Beauclerk reminded him gently, “My
potion?”

“Yes! Yes, of course; right away; it will not
take a moment to mix it up. Will you wait, or can I have it sent
to—?” The end of his sentence trailed off suggestively.

“We have taken a house in Laura-place,” said
Miss Beauclerk. “But today, I shall wait.”

Mr. Shaw went into the back of the shop, and
Miss Beauclerk said in a low voice. “Mr. Shaw comes from a very
good family, really; but he must make his living. Younger son, you
know.”

“Yes,” said Catherine. “Henry is a younger
son.”

“So he is,” said Miss Beauclerk, smiling at
her.

Just then a voice came from the back; not Mr.
Shaw’s, but one of much more vulgar accents. “What do you need that
for, then?”

A low murmuring followed; and the voice said,
“What? You make that up for a young lady? What are you thinking,
you fool?” More murmuring; and the voice said, “She’s right here in
the shop? I’ll talk to her, you never mind.”

An elderly man in a frizzled wig and a green
baize apron like Mr. Shaw’s emerged from the back of the shop,
followed by the protesting Mr. Shaw.

“Introduce me to the lady, Ned, there’s a good
lad,” said the older man.

“Miss Beauclerk,” said Mr. Shaw in tones of
resignation, “may I present Mr. Walton?”

“I’ve been compounding since long before you
were born, ma’am,” said the older man earnestly, “and I’m here to
tell you that these beauty potions you young ladies will take do
you no good, ma’am, you mark my words. They may make your skin
white for a time, but the arsenic builds up in the humors, and
poisons you in the end. You look like a good girl; you’ll listen to
old Sam, you will, and leave off this potion.”

“Arsenic?” cried Catherine in alarm. “My dear
Miss Beauclerk—you take arsenic?”

“It is trace amounts, ma’am,” said the harassed
Mr. Shaw. “Not enough to harm anyone, I assure you; just enough to
freshen the complexion; I would never harm—” he broke off,
confused.

Mr. Walton was much amused by his lackey’s
confusion. “Oh, yes, that’s right, Neddy. You understand. You won’t
let the young lady poison herself. If it’s a fresher complexion
you’re seeking, miss, I recommend a bit of Gowland’s Lotion. For a
patent potion it’s very effective; apply it every day, and keep out
of the sun, and your skin will stay white and soft without the
poison. You listen to old Sam.”

“Come, Mrs. Tilney,” said Miss Beauclerk coldly.
“If we cannot procure the item we seek here, we must find it
elsewhere.” She left the shop immediately, Catherine and MacGuffin
following hastily behind.

They had not got far when they heard running
footsteps behind them. MacGuffin pressed against Catherine’s legs
and turned back to face their attacker; but it was only Mr. Shaw.
He seized Miss Beauclerk’s hand. “Judith,” he said, “I have been in
hell since I came here. You see the depths to which I have
fallen.”

“I wonder why you stay there, then; I thought
you came to Bath to open your own establishment.”

“I will require much more than I thought to set
up my own shop. I am working at Walton’s only until I save
enough—only a few more months, I swear it. Then I will be my own
man. And now that our obstacle is removed—”

Miss Beauclerk gave Catherine another conscious
side-glance. “No! No, sir, do not speak so. My mother would not
allow it, any more than my father did.”

“You are of age, Judith—”

“I would be cut off from my family, and all good
society. Do not ask this of me, sir. You know I have not the
courage.”

Mr. Shaw’s handsome head drooped over her hand,
still held tightly within his own. “Will I see you at the theatre
tonight, at least?”

“Yes, we will be there.”

“May I sit with you?”

“You know that is not within my power.”

“But you will slip away and meet me, then?” His
voice lowered. “I shall bring your potion.”

She sighed and gave a little toss of her head.
“I shall try.”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it
with violent affection. “Do I have your promise, my love?”

“Yes. Yes, you have it. Just be sure to bring
the potion.”

Catherine thought a lover should look happier to
make an assignation than Miss Beauclerk looked at the present
moment, but she had not had experience of such clandestine romance
before; nor of a gentleman who made love to a lady in the street,
in front of several interested loungers and passersby.