“That will do very well, lad,” said Henry. “You have had your swim, and now must stay with your master.”

MacGuffin shook himself violently, spraying water all over them. He stood before them, his fur standing on end; his tail wagged wildly, thick strings of saliva suspended from his panting mouth, but his joy was obvious; to Catherine, he looked almost as though he were laughing. He turned and bounded ahead of them along the riverbank towards the steep climb up to Beechen Cliff.

Catherine could not help laughing at the dog’s comical appearance; her companions, busily employing their handkerchiefs to dry themselves as best they could, looked at each other and burst into laughter.

“Trained him to retrieve, did you, Tilney?” said his lordship. “I think you need to train him a little more.”

“Mac is a good dog,” said Catherine, remembering how he had tried to protect her from Sir Philip Beauclerk the previous day. “He is still a puppy, really.”

“Indeed he is; and we must all be forgiven our youthful trespasses,” said Henry with a smile. Catherine took his arm once again, and the party proceeded to where MacGuffin stood waiting for them at the base of Beechen Cliff.

* * *

Lady Beauclerk’s butler gave Matthew a careful once-over. The young man was clean, plainly dressed, unremarkable in every way, and his demeanor was respectful; there was no reason to make him wait outside like a common tradesman. He stood back from the open door and said, “You may wait here whilst I ascertain if her ladyship wishes to respond.”

Matthew entered and stood in an out-of-the-way corner in the entry. The butler nodded approvingly, placed the note on a silver tray and carried it off.

A maidservant walked past, her arms full of folded sheets. She paused when she saw Matthew, and her gaze traveled over his person. “Beg pardon,” she said, curtseying.

Matthew noticed the shapely ankle she managed to display as she did so, and her no less shapely figure. As she looked up from the curtsey, she caught his eye boldly, and he winked at her.

“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.