There Must Be Murder

Chapter Nine The Most Unpromising Circumstance

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.”

Matthew coughed and did not meet Henry’s eye; if he had, he might have seen the teasing humor lurking there. “I did my best to fulfill my duty, sir.”

“I hope your zealous pursuit of intelligence did not lead you to make overhasty declarations. But if it has, we shall make your lady welcome at Woodston. Mrs. Tilney has provided for you; it was her word that saved the little cottage beyond the orchard from being pulled down. It could be fitted up for a young family, I dare say — ”

“Oh, no, sir,” said Matthew, his face deep red.

“Do not tease him, Henry,” said Catherine. “Matthew deserves a much better wife than a mere maidservant who cannot even be trusted to keep her employer’s secrets.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Matthew with a gratified look.

Henry smiled, and said, “He does indeed deserve better; and I know he will seek better.”

“I have no such plans at present, sir, to — seek,” said Matthew, still blushing.

“A man never does,” said Henry.

The dark pressed in early, and even in the hour before dinner, Catherine needed candles to light her sewing. Henry had gone down to the kitchen to make sure MacGuffin had been brushed, fed, and watered after his adventures of the morning. She knew that Henry probably would end up brushing MacGuffin himself, and get his coat all over dog hair, but such a circumstance was not unusual and did not trouble her.

As was her custom while working, her mind ran on other matters than the task at hand, and her needle slowed as she considered all that had happened that day. When she had defended Matthew, Catherine had spoken instinctively; she did not know Matthew well. He was always pleasant and respectful, but his disposition was not open. It had never before occurred to her to wonder about his situation. He was Henry’s clerk, and wrote in a strong, elegant hand, so clearly he was an educated man; but then why had he been obliged to go into service? He had worked for Henry since he had taken over the living at Woodston, and was always there, dependable and steady, but so unobtrusive that she rarely thought of him except when he was needed or present. She realized she did not even know his surname.

Such an unremarkable young man — and yet so completely capable of gaining access to Lady Beauclerk’s house and the confidence of her servant! Mr. Shaw, for instance, could not have done such a thing. His first concern was himself, his own wishes and concerns, and he was not able to put those aside for duty. No wonder he worked for a vulgar apothecary, while Matthew had a comfortable, if not prominent, place at Woodston parsonage, where his singular skills were valued.

Such skills were not commonplace; yet how had someone like Matthew acquired them? Immediately a romantic past for Matthew sprung up in her imagination: perhaps he was a younger son from a great family, now fallen on hard times, or perhaps his mother had died and his father remarried to a cruel woman who would not allow him to assist his own children. Young Matthew, forced from his far-flung, retired home, had learned woodcraft for survival; thus his general reserve and silent movement. During a snowstorm, he was forced to ask for shelter at a country parsonage (a comfortable yet unpretending place, rather like Woodston), and the kind rector had taken in the orphan and given him the final polish on his education. Catherine smiled over her sewing, lost in dreams of romance and adventure.

Her solitude was broken by the little maidservant coming in with a note. Catherine did not recognize the handwriting; she broke open the wafer and read.

You have not been asking the right questions. If you wish to know all about the murder of Sir Arthur Beauclerk, go outside now. All will be explained.

The note was unsigned.

What had Henry just said about a mysterious, unsigned note? “Beware getting too close to the truth. Next you will receive a mysterious unsigned note warning you off, and any heroine worth her smelling salts cannot resist such a challenge.” Her mind swirled with possibilities: Lady Beauclerk, weary at a lifetime of harsh treatment; Miss Beauclerk, resisting overbearing parental authority with the help of a besotted apothecary; Sir Philip, desperate to keep his uncle from changing his will; Mrs. Findlay herself, attempting to set into action a cunningly planned series of events. It was just like a book! Though Catherine’s disposition was mostly quite unheroic, when presented with such a delicious adventure, what heroine could resist?

She went to the window and peered down onto Pulteney-street, looking for lurking figures; the darkness was almost full, and a fog swirled off the river, making it impossible to see anything. Catherine hesitated, then decided; someone was trying to tell her something, and she must know what happened. She threw a shawl about her shoulders and went downstairs.

She opened the door and peered outside; she saw no one. She took one step, then another, down the short path that crossed over the vaults below; as she drew close to the iron archway that marked the edge of the pavement, a hand reached out of the fog and seized her wrist. “You come with me now,” said a voice, and bore her inexorably away before she could breathe a word.