There Must Be Murder (7 page)

***

The maidservant had just placed the final
touches on her hair when Henry entered Catherine’s dressing-room.
He surveyed her with pleasure. “Very lovely, my sweet. Whiting and
Eleanor join us for dinner; I saw them at Milsom-street, and did
not think you would mind.”

“No, of course not.” She dismissed the maid and
turned to Henry eagerly. “What did your father say?”

“As we suspected, he is considering marriage
with Lady Beauclerk, but has made no declaration.”

“Will he, do you think?”

“I cannot say; I do not think he knows his own
mind.”

Catherine had a brief struggle with her
conscience, trying to decide if she should tell Henry about the
scene in Laura-place; but since General Tilney was involved, she
reasoned he would hear about it soon enough. She related her
adventure of the afternoon: the visit to the apothecary, Miss
Beauclerk’s beauty potion, her aunt’s accusations. At the end,
Henry looked thoughtful.

“Do you think Sir Arthur was murdered,
Henry?”

“He had been ill for many months before his
death.”

“Well, I am sure General Tilney was not
involved.”

“As we were in Bath last year when Sir Arthur
died, I dare say not; a circumstance that casts doubt on the rest
of Mrs. Findlay’s allegations.”

“But Henry, what of the potion? Miss Beauclerk
and her mother use a beauty potion that contains arsenic.”

“As do many ladies, as your Mr. Shaw pointed
out.”

“He is not
my
Mr. Shaw.”

“I am glad to hear it; I would not like to be
forced to nurture jealousy of this Adonis of an apothecary.”

“He is in love with Miss Beauclerk at any
rate.”

“And much good may it do him.”

Catherine looked curiously at Henry, who was
frowning at his reflection and adjusting his cravat. “You speak as
though Miss Beauclerk is a great flirt.”

“You have been in her company long enough to
discover that for yourself, Cat.”

“Yes; but—you seem to have personal
knowledge.”

Henry looked down at her, smiling. “Could it be
that you suspect me of nurturing a broken heart? I do not like to
make myself appear less heroic to you, my sweet; but until I met
you, the only romance in my life took the shape of four duodecimo
volumes from Mrs. Radcliffe and her sisterhood.”

“But, Henry, Lady Beauclerk said that the
neighborhood wondered who would catch you. I thought you must have
had many flirts.”

“Lady Beauclerk exaggerated. I had no flirts,
and the young ladies of Gloucestershire were much more interested
in the Tilney heir than the cadet. Is there room for me?” She slid
over on the bench in front of her dressing-table, and he sat next
to her. “That’s better.”

“Even Miss Beauclerk? She is always saying how
much she would like to be married to someone like you.”

“Very complimentary of Judith! I must remember
to thank her for it.” Seeing Catherine’s grave expression, he
continued, “We were childhood playmates, until we both were sent
away to school. When I was at Oxford, she was the belle of the
neighborhood, and paid no attention to me whatsoever, which suited
me perfectly. Judith is not without ambition, and that ambition
does not include a younger son and a country parsonage.”

”Then why does she flirt with you now, when you
are married?“

“Perhaps she flirts because I am married; she
knows I am safe from her arts. I think Miss Beauclerk is unable to
interact with my sex without flirtation, and I suspect it does not
always serve her well. Witness poor Mr. Shaw. He may harbor hope,
Cat, but I assure you that he will never take Judith Beauclerk to
wife.”

Catherine thought of the expression on Mr.
Shaw’s face when he looked at Miss Beauclerk. “The poor man! But I
am glad to hear that Miss Beauclerk has not used you ill. If she
had, I could not be her friend.”

Henry smiled, put his arm around her waist, and
murmured, “My darling defender!”

She obliged him in a kiss, but drew back
immediately; at his surprised expression, she said, “I do not want
to spoil your cravat.”

“Thwarted by my own vanity! There is a lesson
hard-learnt. And I suppose I should have a similar care for your
gown.” He released her with obvious reluctance.

“You should; besides, Eleanor and John will be
here soon, and I must finish dressing. Help me with my necklace,
and then I will be ready.”

Henry obligingly stood and moved behind her to
fasten the chain; if he placed a few kisses on the nape of her neck
while he performed this service, I hope the generous reader will
not find it wonderful.

The maidservant brought out trays of fruit and
sweetmeats and a decanter of sweet wine and slipped away, leaving
them to talk freely.

“Tell Eleanor and Whiting about your adventure
today, Cat,” said Henry.

Catherine related her tale, which entertained
his lordship mightily but left Eleanor frowning. “If my father
intends to marry Lady Beauclerk,” she said, “it will not do to have
such talk about. And you know Mrs. Findlay will not scruple to
repeat it to everyone in Bath.”

“Consider the positive, my love,” said her
husband. “Perhaps if the talk gets about, General Tilney will
change his mind about marrying the Merry Widow.”

“Naturally I wish my father to be happy,” said
Eleanor, “but I confess I would rather he found happiness
elsewhere.”

“Indeed,” said Henry. “I am glad that Lady
Beauclerk has procured her own box tonight at the theatre, and we
need not share it with her traveling circus.”

“Oh dear,” said Catherine, distressed at Henry’s
words. “Sir Philip asked if he could visit me in our box, and I did
not quite know what to say—I told him he might do so.”

“Never mind,” said Lord Whiting. “Those awkward
moments always put one at a loss. It would have been better for
Beauclerk to wait for an invitation rather than putting himself
forward so. Tilney and I will send him to the rightabout,
Catherine; your reputation will not be compromised.”

“My reputation?”

Henry and his lordship exchanged glances.

“Beauclerk,” said Henry, “likes to—entertain
himself with married women.”

Catherine turned to Henry with a look of alarm.
“You do not think that I—”

“Of course not,” said Henry with a smile.

“I wish you had told me,” said Catherine. “I
would not have danced with him last night, even if it meant that I
would sit out. Perhaps my reputation is already compromised! And he
will be looking for me at the theatre tonight!”

“As far as things have gone, a few dances at a
public assembly, there is no harm done,” said Eleanor.

Catherine remembered liberties taken by a
drunken gallant at the rooms, and thought there had been harm done
enough.

“Beauclerk was named in a divorce last summer,”
said his lordship. “Apparently a servant overheard an incriminating
conversation.”

“Mrs. Findlay said he was involved in a criminal
conversation in Brighton,” said Catherine.

“A nasty business, and he refused to marry the
lady involved after her husband obtained a divorce, so she was
obliged to retire to the country.”

“How dreadful! I shall not accept any
invitations from him in future, to dance or anything else. He was
so kind to me! How mistaken I have been.”

“It is never wrong to respond to kindness with
gratitude,” said Henry. “But you need feel no lingering obligation,
my sweet.”

“But if General Tilney should marry Lady
Beauclerk, I dare say we shall see a great deal of him.”

“We shall concern ourselves with that when the
happy event occurs.”

“I hate the idea of that woman in my mother’s
place,” said Eleanor with unaccustomed warmth.

“As do I,” said Henry. “But we have no right to
interfere.”

“But do we have the duty? When she will bring
such profligacy into our family?”

“Your notions of duty have always been very
nice, Eleanor,” said Henry. “Were you still unmarried, I would
protest, or take you to live at Woodston should the general marry
Lady Beauclerk, but as we both are no longer living under his roof,
I think we must let him make up his own mind. And I remind you,
Eleanor: his mind is not yet made up. It is by no means determined
that this marriage will happen.”

“But in the meantime he makes us the subject of
unkind gossip,” said Eleanor. “We must speak to him, Henry. We must
convince him that he is pursuing an unwise course.”

“Not yet,” said her brother. “The General has
long military experience and is a wily opponent. A well-led army’s
first weapon is good intelligence. We need more information before
we plan our campaign.”

Catherine looked at her husband thoughtfully.
Henry spoke lightly, but he seemed to have given the matter a great
deal of thought; indeed, one might say he already had conceived a
scheme.

***

Lord Whiting’s carriage brought them to the
theatre in good time, and they were established in their box before
the curtain raised on the first act. Catherine was prepared to
enjoy herself, and the comings-and-goings and incessant noise made
by those who had no interest in the stage did not interfere in her
pleasure.

Midway through the first act, Lady Beauclerk’s
party arrived, including General Tilney and several of Lady
Beauclerk’s other suitors; as Henry had pointed out, the general
was a wily campaigner, and managed to secure the seat directly next
to her ladyship’s. Sir Philip attended his cousin; he caught
Catherine’s eye, and bowed and smiled.

She did not dare to look in his direction again
until the intermission; when she looked, he was gone, and she
prepared herself to receive his visit.

Several of Lord Whiting’s friends had joined
them, and the box was crowded. When Sir Philip made his appearance,
Henry stood and blocked him from entering the box.

“It is very obliging of you to stop by,
Beauclerk,” he was saying, “but you see we are a full house at the
moment.”

Sir Philip looked at Catherine, who sat with her
head down, blushing, her eyes fixed upon her fan. “Yes; full
indeed. Pray convey my compliments to Mrs. Tilney.”

“I will be sure to do so.”

Sir Philip left, and Catherine let out a sigh of
relief. Henry sat next to her, and she squeezed his hand
gratefully.

Henry whispered, “All well, Cat?”

“Yes; thank you for sending him away, Henry. I
could not bear his compliments after what I learnt of him
today.”

“If he does not take the hint, a few more
repetitions ought to do the trick, unless he is a blockhead, or
very much in love with you; for which I cannot fault him.”

“You always know the right thing to say; and you
were so dignified, so completely civil!”

“I thank you for the compliment, my sweet; and I
am always at your service to dispose with your persistent
suitors.”

“I hope you will not have to do so another
time.”

“Alas, I fear I will; it is the price paid when
a man takes a pretty wife.”

Catherine blushed and disclaimed, but her eyes
were bright with happiness and affection. Henry could ask nothing
more.

***

Catherine hung onto Henry’s arm as they exited
the theatre in the crush of merry, chattering humanity all
attempting to do the same thing.

Henry looked around. “I fear we have become
separated from Eleanor and Whiting, Cat.” He expertly steered them
into a gap, past a couple of stately matrons desperately clutching
at the nodding feathers in their hair. “There is no need for you to
get tossed about in this crowd,” he said. “Wait here by this
column; I will find Whiting’s servant and come back for you.”

Glad to be out of the tumult, Catherine stood
close to the column and watched the ladies, inspecting their gowns
for details she might copy for her own wardrobe.

A familiar voice came from the other side of the
column. “Judith, I beg you—”

“I must go. My mother will be looking for
me.”

“I can take you away from her oppression
forever, my love, my heart! I cannot live without you, Judith! Say
you will be mine!”

Catherine peeked around the column; the lovers
proved to indeed be Mr. Shaw and Miss Beauclerk. She listened in
spite of herself, because she had never before heard a man who
talked so exactly like the hero of a novel.

“I am grateful for the services you have
performed for me,” said Miss Beauclerk. “But I find your continued
declarations most tiresome in the face of my previous professions
on the subject.”

“Services? You can talk of services? When I
would do anything for you, my own heart? When I have done for
you—”

“Do not speak of it,” said Miss Beauclerk in a
low, urgent voice. “Not here.”

Catherine’s eyes widened in spite of herself.
What services could Mr. Shaw have performed that must not be
discussed in a public place? Could it be—could Mrs. Findlay’s
accusations have merit? Henry and Lord Whiting had laughed at the
idea, but—