(illustrator) Cassandra Chouinard - There Must Be Murder

“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.”