(illustrator) Cassandra Chouinard - There Must Be Murder

“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.”

“And it gives Mrs. Findlay an excellent reason to make false accusations,” said Henry. “You look troubled, my sweet.”

“Beware getting too close to the truth,” said Henry. “Next you will receive a mysterious unsigned note warning you off, and any heroine worth her smelling salts cannot resist such a challenge. Matthew, you have done very well. I hope the formation of your acquaintance with Miss — Biddy, was it? — was not onerous.”