There Must Be Murder (9 page)

“Oh!” she said, not at all put out. “Bold as
brass, aren’t you? See something you like?”

“Perhaps,” he said.

“Who’s your governor, then?”

“Mr. Tilney,” said Matthew.

“Mr. Tilney?” asked the maidservant. “General
Tilney’s son?”

“Yes.”

The maidservant giggled behind her hand; a habit
that Matthew normally found distasteful, but knew it would not be
wise for him to say so at the present juncture.

“That will do, Biddy,” said the butler,
returning to the entry. “There is no reply,” he said to
Matthew.

Matthew nodded and made as though to leave, but
Biddy said, “Come down to the kitchen, Mr. Perhaps, if you’ve no
other duty right now; Cook’ll give you a mug of beer.”

Matthew glanced at the butler, who sniffed
disdainfully and walked away. He followed Biddy down to the
kitchens, a level below the street in the back of the house.

“That’s more than His Nibs up there will give
you, ducky,” said Biddy as they descended. “Won’t get a farthing
out of that one, run all over Bath though you will, fetching and
carrying. They keep you running, these Tilneys, do they?”

“Mr. Tilney keeps me busy, yes.”

“He seems a right one; not too high in the
instep. Not like the old man.”

“Mr. Tilney is a very kind—governor.”

“Oh, I’ve heard no ill of him. Here, Cooky,” she
said, entering the steaming kitchen, “I’ve got a gentleman caller.
Give him a mug of beer while I take these to the linen-room.”

“A gentleman caller?” The cook looked over
Matthew with a sharp eye. “He looks too good for the likes of you,
Biddy Johnson.”

“He’s Mr. Tilney’s man, brought a note to her
ladyship.”

“Oh, aye. Sit down, love, we’ll give you a bit
of bite and sup.” And within a few moments there were a mug of
foamy ale and some bread and cheese before him on the wooden table.
He found he was hungry, and partook heartily, which the cook
watched with approval before turning to the counter where her
underlings cut vegetables and cleaned fowl in preparation for the
evening meal.

Biddy had disappeared briefly, but soon came
back and sat disconcertingly close to him on the long bench.

“What’s your name, then?” she asked.

“Matthew.”

“Is that your Christian name or your family
name?”

He smiled at her and said, “It will do for
both.”

“Have it your way, then, Mr. Perhaps. Have you
been in the Tilney family long?”

“Two years, since Mr. Tilney took the Woodston
living.”

“So you know General Tilney, then?”

“Aye.”

“He’s not very friendly, is he?”

Matthew, who had particular reason to know,
said, “I find him a fair-minded man.”

“Mmm,” said Biddy. Under the table, she slid a
slippered foot up the back of his leg, then down again. “I hear her
ladyship is going to marry him.”

“I did not know the business was so far
forward,” said Matthew.

“What’s to stop it? He’s a rich man, and you
know one great fortune always looks out for another.”

“Her ladyship’s fortune is a large one?”

Biddy snorted. “Not as large as she wants people
to think. I was dusting the hallway and happened to overhear her
talking to her solicitor. That’s why she’s looking to make a great
marriage. She’s living on credit right now; expects to get the
money that Sir Arthur left in the Funds.”

“I thought Sir Philip was his heir.”

“Of the old pile he is, that was entailed. But
apparently Sir Arthur didn’t like his nephew’s profligate ways. He
had it put in his will that Sir P. only gets the money in the Funds
if he marries his cousin.”

“Miss Beauclerk?”

“Aye. Though I don’t know as she’s so keen on
the deal. That’s why her mamma thinks she will get the money; and
if Miss Judith does marry her cousin, her ladyship will make a
great marriage for herself with a rich man, one who will keep her
in fine style, not like her husband. That one still had the first
sixpence his papa gave him under his pillow when he popped off.
Never spent a farthing he didn’t have to, and her ladyship’s making
up for it now. I hope Miss Judith does marry Sir Philip, and takes
me back to Beaumont with her. It’s hard enough for those in service
to a pleasant family, but I don’t fancy having that General Tilney
for a governor. I tried to act friendly-like to him, you know, just
trying to get on his good side, and he drew up all prim around his
mouth, as though I’d affronted him.”

Matthew tried to imagine the general’s reaction
to Biddy’s “friendly-like” overtures, and had to hide his laughter
in his mug of ale. When he had recovered, he asked, “Did you hear
that Sir Arthur’s sister thinks someone murdered her brother?”

“Oh, aye!” cried Biddy, leaning forward and
placing her hand on his knee. A lesser man might have jumped in
alarm, but Matthew remained steady. “If the rest of them are out of
the way, hanged or transported, you know old lady Findlay will come
in for the fortune. A pretty good reason to start throwing about
accusations, if you ask me. I bet Sir P. would pay a pretty penny
to keep that away from the magistrate.”

Matthew grinned at her. “Do you act
friendly-like to Sir P., then?”

“What, are you jealous?” Biddy laughed, and the
impertinent foot began its travels once again.

“Have I anything to be jealous of?”

She leaned close and whispered, her breath warm
in his ear, “Not hardly.”

Matthew judged her sufficiently distracted to
return to the subject at hand. “Were you at Beaumont when Sir
Arthur died?”

“I was, and the poor man suffered something
terrible. I say it was a judgment on him for making his family so
unhappy.”

“You do not think it was murder, then?”

“Who knows? They was all of them miserable
enough to do him in.”

The cook looked over and said, “That’s enough of
your gossiping, Biddy Johnson. See your young man out and get back
to work, or the housekeeper will be after me.”

Biddy took Matthew by the hand and showed him
out by the service entrance. She made it very clear that she
expected him to steal a kiss, and he felt obligated to try; after
all, if she were to remain a viable source of future information,
it would be useful to be considered an interested suitor. Biddy’s
protests at this assault on her virtue were rote and quite
ineffectual, and if Matthew enjoyed the exercise more than was
strictly necessary, we hope the reader will recall the young lady’s
words about the hard life of those in service, and allow him a
little indulgence.

The Tilneys and the Whitings separated at
Argyle-buildings, and despite the fatigue of their long walk, their
good-byes were cheerful. With MacGuffin, shaggy-haired and
muddy-pawed from the day’s exertions, once more on his lead, Henry
and Catherine turned towards Pulteney-street.

As they walked through Laura-place, they noticed
a disturbance outside Lady Beauclerk’s house. A man stood in the
doorway, arguing with the butler. As they passed, Catherine
recognized him; she squeezed Henry’s arm and whispered, “That is
Mr. Shaw.”

Apparently the butler had grown tired of the
argument, and the door was closed with a stately finality that did
not bode well for Mr. Shaw. He turned away and looked around the
little square, as though wondering what to do next; the Tilneys had
already passed when they heard him shout, “Miss! Miss! Please,
miss!”

He caught up to them and touched Catherine’s
arm. “It is you, is it not? Judith’s friend? I remember your
dog.”

“Your dog, but not your name, apparently,” Henry
murmured.

“Please, Miss, you must help me!” cried Mr. Shaw
in urgent tones. “I beg you! Be my friend, as you are hers, Miss—
Miss—”

“Mrs. Tilney,” said Catherine. “Mr. Tilney, may
I present Mr. Shaw, Miss Beauclerk’s—” she cast about for the
proper word— “friend.”

“Friend!” cried Mr. Shaw, raking his hands
through his handsome mop of hair and disarranging it sadly. “I
cannot even call myself that! Once so much to each other! Now so
cold to me! Dismissed without even a glimpse—I would think that her
mother or her cousin had intervened, but after my treatment at her
hands last night, I know not what to think. You must help me,
ma’am; intercede on my behalf. You must tell my angel what a
dreadful mistake she has made in casting me off!”

“I think Miss Beauclerk must be left to make her
own choice,” said Catherine.

“She made her choice, ma’am. She loved me, until
her mother turned her head with seasons in Bath and houses in
Laura-place, and a mere apothecary, even one of an ancient and
noble family, though a lesser branch of course, is no longer good
enough to be her husband.”

“Mr. Shaw,” said Henry, “I have known Miss
Beauclerk and her family all my life. I assure you that if she
truly wanted to marry you, she would not let inconsequential things
such as duty and the honor of her family name stand in her way. She
has given you her answer, and I advise you to accept it as best you
can. I have rarely known Miss Beauclerk to turn from a path upon
which she was determined.”

Mr. Shaw stared at him wildly. “You are one of
them!” he cried, tearing at his hair once again. “You are one of
the false friends who has contrived to separate us! You may fill my
angel’s head with false ideas, you may introduce her to men of
fortune and property who will shower her with riches, but you will
fail, sir. One day you will learn that no one will ever love her as
I do!” He turned on his heel, walked a few steps, and then stopped
and turned back. “And one day she will regret casting me off, when
she remembers the services I have performed for her!” He left them
with all the dignity he could muster, leaving the Tilneys staring
after him.

“Upon my word, Cat,” said Henry. “Your
description of Mr. Shaw was very apt. He talks exactly like a hero
in a novel.”

“That may do very well for Miss Beauclerk, but I
think I should not like it in a husband.”

He smiled at her. “That is fortunate, for I
should not be up to the task.”

MacGuffin, wearied of hard pavements and longing
for his dinner and a long sleep by the fire, pulled impatiently on
the lead, and they resumed their journey to Pulteney-street.

They had put off their coats and the maidservant
had just left the tea things when Matthew appeared in the sitting
room, almost between one blink and another, springing up like a
hothouse plant.

“Were you able to procure any intelligence?”
Henry asked him.

“Yes, sir; quite what you wished to learn, I
believe.”

“Come in, sit down. Will you take tea?” He
turned to Catherine. “I asked Matthew to take on the persona of a
common servant in order to gain the confidence of Lady Beauclerk’s
domestics and obtain what intelligence they were willing to
share.”

Catherine passed Matthew a cup of tea. “I thank
you, Mrs. Tilney. I made the acquaintance of a young maidservant,
who has been in her ladyship’s service for some time. She also has
developed a habit of listening at closed doors.”

“A valuable habit for our purposes,” said
Henry.

“Yes, sir,” said Matthew, not quite approving.
“Miss Biddy—the maidservant—told me that Lady Beauclerk’s fortune
is not as extensive as her manner of living indicates.”

“Indeed? I understood that Sir Arthur controlled
a large amount of funded money. One assumes he would have given his
widow a comfortable jointure.”

“It may be comfortable, sir, but not
lavish.”

“An important distinction. Pray go on.”

“The largest part of the funded money has been
left to Sir Philip conditionally. He must marry Miss Beauclerk in
order to gain control.”

“That must be why she has sent away Mr. Shaw!”
cried Catherine. “It is all for ambition!”

“Judith had plenty of ambition before her father
died,” said Henry. “She needed no such encouragement.”

“You did say that before,” said Catherine. “You
said that she would never marry an apothecary.”

“Indeed. I tried to tell Mr. Shaw, but he had
not ears to hear it. Matthew, did you learn what would happen if
Beauclerk did not fulfill the provisions of his uncle’s will?”

“In that case, the money goes to Lady Beauclerk.
She seems convinced that her daughter will refuse to marry Sir
Philip, my informant said, and counts the fortune as very likely
her own. However, she also is making alternative arrangements.”

“In the shape of a rich husband, I dare
say.”

“As you say, sir.” He hesitated, and then said,
“One more thing that Miss Biddy told me, sir; it is not directly
applicable to this situation, but you may find it of interest. If
the Beauclerks were not in a position to inherit the funded
monies—for instance, if they were hanged or transported—the fortune
will pass to Sir Arthur’s sister, Mrs. Findlay. Miss Biddy thought
Sir Arthur a hard man, begging your pardon, sir. She expressed an
opinion that the Beauclerks were an unhappy family, and that she
would not be surprised at such an outcome.”