There Must Be Murder

Chapter Twelve Going to One Wedding Brings on Another

Friday night arrived as scheduled, and as Catherine’s pleasure in dancing had not been diminished by several exercises, the Tilneys went to the Lower Rooms for the weekly ball. The first set was forming as they arrived; Judith and Sir Philip Beauclerk stood at the top, ready to lead the dance. They took their places and the music began; too late, Catherine saw Eleanor waving to them.

“I should have liked to be next to Eleanor,” Catherine said to Henry.

“We will find them before the next,” he said, and then they were obliged to attend to the dance. Catherine watched Miss Beauclerk carefully so that she would be able to copy her figures, and was a little surprised to see that she was behaving towards her cousin — well, there was no other word for it but flirtatiously; and even more surprisingly, Sir Philip’s behavior was not much different. Henry also was watching the Beauclerks, his brow creased.

When the lead couple reached the Tilneys, Miss Beauclerk reached out and took Catherine’s hand, squeezing it quickly as she crossed over. She said, “Mrs. Tilney, I am so glad to see you!” and went around Henry with her usual light-footed grace. She crossed back and said, “I believe you have not heard my good news. You must wish me joy, for I am to be married.”

Catherine, startled, said, “To whom?” Had Mr. Shaw been able to convince Judith to accept his offer? But that romantic hope was dashed immediately.

“Why, to my dear Philip, of course!”

Catherine looked at Sir Philip, her eyes wide and her mouth open in surprise. How could he — it had not been a week since Sir Philip had acted towards herself as — oh! How could it be?

Sir Philip smirked at her confusion and gave her a little bow. “I thank you for the kind wishes you no doubt wish to bestow, Mrs. Tilney; the demands of the dance, I know, make it difficult.”

“I give you joy, Beauclerk,” said Henry. Only Catherine and Lady Whiting would have recognized the ironic edge of his words.

Certainly Sir Philip did not. “Dashed civil of you, Tilney,” he said, and they were gone, dancing with the next couple in the set.

“How could she do such a thing?” Catherine asked Henry. “She does not know about — ” She stopped, unable to discuss Sir Philip’s behavior in so public a place.

Henry, however, showed perfect comprehension. “Do not fret, my sweet. I suspect she knows more than you think.”

Catherine found such a thing hard to believe. How could Miss Beauclerk take a husband who did not scruple to seduce a married woman?

The Tilneys reached the top of the set and began to dance down; when they reached the Whitings, Eleanor gave Catherine a rueful smile. “I am sure that Judith Beauclerk was full of her news,” she said to Catherine. “Had I the opportunity to speak with you before the dance, I would have given you due warning, so you could meet Sir Philip with composure.”

“Thank you, but I do not think it would have made any difference,” said Catherine.

“One of our problems is solved, at least,” Henry said to his sister. “Judith will not be living at Northanger after a certain happy event. We should be grateful that she has so obligingly disposed of herself.”

“And given her mother an incentive to hasten that happy event,” said Eleanor.

They were then obliged to separate, and when they met again for the next dance, they spoke of more pleasant topics, but Miss Beauclerk and her cousin were never far from Catherine’s mind. It was all so unaccountable! She determined to give Miss Beauclerk a hint, a warning of some kind, but did not encounter her again until they were coming out of the tea room. She felt someone take her elbow and steer her away from Henry.

It was Miss Beauclerk, who whispered in her ear, “I wanted so much to speak with you before the dancing began. One can hear nothing over the musicians. Let us chat now before they start again. What do you think of my news? Is it not a surprise?”

“I am sure I wish you every happiness,” said Catherine.

“I thank you, Mrs. Tilney; that is most kind of you. It is all so exciting! Word got round so fast — as soon as we came in tonight, Mr. King engaged us to open the dance. By the bye, I think Philip would like to dance with you.”

“Please convey my thanks to Sir Philip, but I am engaged for the rest of the evening.”

“You have only been dancing with Henry,” said Miss Beauclerk, laughing. “I have no hope at keeping my husband so much at my side, I fear.”

Here was the opening Catherine had been waiting for. “Miss Beauclerk, have you thought about this very seriously? Are you sure that Sir Philip will make you a good husband?”

“Why should he not?” said Miss Beauclerk with a smile.

Catherine turned to face her, took her hands and leaned close so that no one could overhear; she had forgotten how much taller she was than Miss Beauclerk. She whispered, “I hope I am not saying anything wrong, but I must speak. Sir Philip — that is — he — ” Words failed Catherine, and she blushed deeply.

Miss Beauclerk looked at her with a knowing smile. “Oh, Mrs. Tilney, you are adorable! You mean to warn me about my rakehell cousin! I dare say he has been amusing himself by flirting with you, is that it?”

“I believe he intended more than a flirtation, ma’am.”

Miss Beauclerk smiled, her head tilted to one side, as if Catherine were some exotic foreign animal that she was observing at a zoo. “I do not understand; what has that got to do with me?”

“Are you not afraid he will continue to — flirt — with other women after you are married?”

Miss Beauclerk shook her head and laughed. “You are a dear thing! But you need not worry about me, Mrs. Tilney. I am no romantic young miss. I shall take good care that my husband does not tire of me; and if he does, I shall accept it with good grace. And who knows, perhaps I shall have flirtations of my own!”

Desperately, Catherine played her last card. “But what of Mr. Shaw?”

“What of him?”

“I believe he has a great deal of affection for you; and I believe you gave him to understand that you had great affection for him as well.”

“I am very sorry if Mr. Shaw has deluded himself so far, but I made him no promises, and he has nothing with which to reproach me. He knew that Miss Beauclerk of Beaumont could not marry an apothecary.”

“He said he had performed services for you — and Mrs. Findlay said — ”

Miss Beauclerk gave a trill of laughter. “Neddie is such a foolish thing! When he worked at Beaumont, he made my potion up for me from his employer’s stores and then refused to take payment. He got turned off when his employer found out about it, and he came to the house, expecting us — expecting me — to take him in. My aunt heard of it, and embroidered it with her own wild imagination. Now, I hope to see you again before we leave, Mrs. Tilney; Philip and I will be married at Beaumont in two weeks’ time by special license, and then we shall take a tour of Wales. Mamma and I are frantic over my wedding-clothes, as I dare say you can imagine. Now, I see your partner looking for you; I shall not keep you away.” And she was gone in a whirl of filmy muslin and perfume.

Catherine could tell that Henry knew exactly what had happened; he could have said something like, “I told you that Judith knew all about Beauclerk, and decided to marry him anyway, as her ambition has overcome her good sense,” but to his credit and her relief he said only, “The set is forming, Cat.”

She reached out to him. “Dance with me, Henry, please!”

“With the greatest pleasure.” He took her hand and led her to the set.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Perhaps.”

Matthew stopped, surprised, and turned; he had a way about him that made it unusual for most people to notice him on a crowded street, but then most people were not looking for him. He bowed to the young lady who had accosted him. “Miss Biddy.”

She curtsied. “I shouldn’t talk to you. I’m very put out, sir. You never came to see me.”

Mentally asking his master’s forgiveness for a white lie in a good cause, Matthew said, “I apologize, but Mr. Tilney has kept me very busy.”

“Oh, aye, I don’t doubt it. You’re lucky you saw me here, for I’m back to Beaumont on Monday, and you wouldn’t have had a chance to say goodbye.”

“To Beaumont? Indeed?”

“Aye. I don’t know if you heard, Miss is getting married to Sir Philip. They’re all in uproar, getting her clothes made and all. They sent me out for ribbon.” She held up a package.

“Our paths lay on the same route; I shall walk back with you.” Biddy seemed pleased with this gallantry, and accordingly they turned their steps towards Laura-place.

“At least her ladyship won’t need clothes made before her wedding. She bought a dozen gowns, or more, since she came to Bath, and I can’t tell you how many caps and bonnets.”

“I did not know things were so far forward with Lady Beauclerk’s wedding. There has been no announcement.”

“No, she’s letting Miss have her day; or so she says. After all her complaining about Miss not getting married, she’s getting her own back. Miss’ll be Lady Beauclerk, and Lady Beauclerk will be a mere Mrs. And don’t think Miss is letting her forget it, either.”

“Surely Lady Beauclerk could keep her title after marrying General Tilney?”

Biddy reached out and grabbed Matthew’s arm. “Haven’t you heard, ducky? She’s not marrying General Tilney! She’s marrying that Mr. Hornebolt, him as has more money than the Duke of Devonshire, or so they say. She says General Tilney’s fortune doesn’t compare; but she really did like him best, until they had the row about Lady Josephine.”

As Matthew had heard of the general’s humiliation in the service of Lady Josephine, he expressed his surprise that they would have had an argument over the creature.

“He said she had humiliated him in front of all of Bath, and he wouldn’t be able to show his face in public again; and she cried and said if he loved her, he would love her cat, but he swore he wouldn’t have a cat for a pet, they were only fit for chasing mice in the kitchens, and that Lady J. was a lazy, ill-natured creature who would tease his dogs and plague his life out. Her ladyship said she couldn’t abide a man who could be cruel to dumb animals, especially one so affectionate as Lady Josephine, and the general said if that was her notion of affection, then she had no business being married, and the shocking amount of money she spent at her mantua-maker would bankrupt any man in a year anyway, and her ladyship said he could just leave if he felt that way, and not darken her doorstep ever again. And so he did leave, and hasn’t been back. She accepted Mr. Hornebolt’s proposal the next day.”

“Surely Lady Beauclerk has since regretted the argument with General Tilney, if she felt true affection for him?”

“Oh, no; Mr. Hornebolt dotes on her ladyship, and on that cat, too. Says Lady J. is a superior creature of her kind, and that his dear Agatha can spend just what she likes on her bits of muslin, and any jumped-up half-pay officer who won’t stand the expense of his wife’s fitting-out should be run through with his own sword. I dare say he was talking about the general. But he won’t stand for Lady Beauclerk keeping her title. He’s an old-fashioned man, his mother was Mrs. Hornebolt and his wife will be Mrs. Hornebolt. Miss don’t let her forget it, either; she will have precedence over her own mother when she is Lady Beauclerk and her mamma is Mrs. Hornebolt.”

She stopped for breath, and Matthew regarded her with admiration. “My dear Miss Biddy, have you been listening at doors again?”

“Of course! How else could I learn anything? You like to listen to my gossip well enough, I’m sure. I’ll wager you carry it back to your master right smart, too.”

The sudden, simple truth of her words shamed Matthew; so much so, that when they reached Laura-place, he allowed her to draw him into a dark niche by the kitchen door “to say good-bye proper-like” with very good grace, and gave her a good-bye kiss that left her dreamy-eyed and giggling.

The previous Sunday walk to Beechen Cliff had been so successful that the Tilneys and the Whitings determined to repeat it. The day was fine and sunny, and while the walk beside the river was not as crowded as the Royal Crescent, they were not alone, so MacGuffin remained on his lead. Henry and Eleanor both were in fine spirits, having had good news from Matthew about their father.

“I cannot help feeling a little sorry for General Tilney,” said Catherine. “What if Lady Beauclerk had made him very much in love with her?”

“I think he was, after his own fashion,” said Henry. “But your amiable habit of putting yourself in another’s place, and attributing to them your own unhappiness in such a situation, has misled you, I fear. If my father is unhappy over Lady Beauclerk, his disposition is such that it will not be of long duration. He will soon tease himself out of it by recalling her account at her mantua-maker’s, and congratulating himself on escaping having to pay it.”

“Not to mention escaping having to walk her cat,” said his lordship.

A man was pacing along the riverbank ahead of them, near the spot where MacGuffin had waded out to chase the ducks. As they approached him, Catherine recognized him. “That is Mr. Shaw. Poor man! I do feel very sorry for him, and I dare say he feels his misfortune more than General Tilney.”

The man bent over and picked up some objects along the shoreline and placed them in his coat pockets. He paced some more, and then, as they approached from one side and a large family party from the other, he suddenly waded out into the river.

Understanding dawned on Catherine. “Oh! He has placed rocks in his pockets! Henry, Mr. Shaw means to drown himself! You must stop him!”

“Shaw!” cried Henry. “I say, Shaw!”

Mr. Shaw whirled around and pointed a finger accusingly at them. “Do not try to stop me! No one would help me, no one would make my angel listen to me! It is too late! My blood is on your hands!” He turned away and stumbled forward, walking with odd high steps rather than wading. “She will know!” he cried, pointing in the general direction of the Pulteney Bridge. “She will know how much I loved her when she finds me floating by her very door, and then she will regret her treatment of me! But it will be too late! I shall be gone from this earth forever!”

Catherine, frightened beyond understanding, cried, “Oh, stop him! Someone stop him!”

Henry released her arm and strode down the riverbank. “That river must be freezing at this season, Shaw, and you are frightening the ladies. Do come out now, there’s a good fellow.” MacGuffin added several barks as emphasis as he strained on his lead.

Mr. Shaw took two more thrashing steps into the river, which flowed against him and broke around his knees. “I have nothing to live for,” he said. “Nothing. My angel has forsaken me. The devil must take me for his own now!”

Henry gave a short sigh of impatience, and then bent down and took off MacGuffin’s lead. The dog immediately raced for the river and plunged in.

Mr. Shaw flailed away from MacGuffin. “Begone, hellbeast! Leave me to your dark master!” One of his feet slipped, and he went down on one knee, struggling to keep his head above water. Even in her fright, Catherine thought his behavior odd; he said he wanted to drown himself, but seemed afraid to go under water.

MacGuffin, up to his haunches in the water, seized the floating end of Mr. Shaw’s tailcoat firmly in his mouth and braced himself on the river bottom. Mr. Shaw tried to move away from him, but MacGuffin held firm.

“He has been trained in water retrieval,” Henry called to Mr. Shaw. “Trained very well, I may add. You might as well give it up now.”

Mr. Shaw attempted to unbutton his coat and slip out of it, but MacGuffin growled, the coat-tail still in his mouth, and shook his head violently from side to side, as though playing a game of keep-away. Mr. Shaw stopped struggling and began to weep with loud braying sobs; he then buried his face in his hands.

Henry watched him for a long moment. “Do you think you are the only man whose peace has been destroyed by Judith Beauclerk?” he asked, his voice full of compassion. Mr. Shaw’s turned to look at him; Henry gazed back at him steadily, and they seemed to communicate something, a shared knowledge that made Catherine suddenly uneasy.

MacGuffin tugged again, and at last Mr. Shaw came with him, stumbling out of the river, the dog herding him like a lost sheep and never letting go of the coat-tail until his captive was safely on land and wrapped in a blanket produced by the family party, which had watched the proceedings with fascinated horror. A few more spectators had collected, including several small boys who heard that someone had drowned himself and demanded, in high-pitched, strident voices, to see the corpse. Lord Whiting sent them away and consulted with the father of the family-party, and they went to fetch his carriage, which was waiting in Argyle-street.

Henry put an arm around Mr. Shaw’s shoulders, still bowed in sorrow. He looked up at Catherine consciously, and she turned and said to the fascinated onlookers, “Step away, please; leave him be.” They turned, one by one, and drifted away, as Henry spoke to Mr. Shaw in unintelligible tones.

The mother of the family-party would not be moved so easily. “What is he saying?” she asked Catherine, peering over her shoulder at Henry and Mr. Shaw huddled on the riverbank. “What is he doing?”

“My husband is a priest,” said Catherine firmly. “He will say all that is necessary.”

The woman’s face cleared. “Oh, a priest,” she said. “Aye, he’ll take care of the poor devil.” She turned to shoo her children away.

Lord Whiting and the father returned, and the three men helped Mr. Shaw to get up and moving towards the bridge. “Cat, take MacGuffin, and go to our lodgings with Eleanor,” Henry called to her. “We will meet you there.”

Henry and John returned to Pulteney-street a few hours later, and assured the worried ladies that they had returned Mr. Shaw to his rooms in Westgate Buildings, saw him into dry clothes and left him in front of a blazing fire.

“How could you leave him?” cried Catherine. “How do you know he will not try again to destroy himself?”

“He did not really want to destroy himself,” said his lordship, flinging himself into a chair. “He only wanted someone to share his misery. Did you not see that he feared the water? Only a man still in love with life would have such fear.”

“And pray note that he chose to make his attempt nearly on the Beauclerks’ doorstep,” said Henry. “He raved a bit in the carriage about Judith finding him floating in the river and being sorry she had cast him off, but it soon came out that he really did not wish to drown himself; he had a wild scheme of someone running for Judith so she could stop him from drowning himself and reconcile with him.”

“He also waited until he was sure he had an audience,” said Lord Whiting. “He could have jumped in before we or that nice fellow from Hampshire got there, but he waited for us to be close enough to see his act. I give him credit; ’twas as good as anything one sees on Drury Lane. Though the poor fellow has had a bad time of it.”

Henry looked at Catherine, who sat with her head down, and her hands fastened in her lap; an attitude he knew to mean that she was in some distress that she did not care to vocalize. “Do not worry, my sweet. Mr. Shaw and I had a good talk, and I made him see the foolishness of martyring himself to Miss Beauclerk. I think he might even be on the way to mending his broken heart.”

Catherine lifted her head and looked into Henry’s eyes. “You once said to me that Miss Beauclerk had not injured you; but the way you spoke to him today — the way you said he was not the first man to have his peace destroyed by her — ”

Henry and Eleanor exchanged glances, and Eleanor said, “Catherine and John are part of our family now, Henry; I believe you should tell them.”

He nodded, and said to Catherine, “I told you the truth. Judith Beauclerk did not break my heart or injure me by her flirtations. I regret I cannot say the same for my brother.”

“Captain Tilney?”

“Yes. He came home several years ago, a newly commissioned lieutenant in the Twelfth Light Dragoons, and fell for Judith with all the ardent affection of a young man fresh from a battlefield, and offered her his hand and his heart. She said that she could not marry a mere Lieutenant Tilney, and he had to put himself in the way of a battlefield commission or, better yet, a knighthood so she could be Lady Tilney. Frederick told no one of this, not even my father; and he went off to Toulon and put himself in grave danger during the siege there, in a hopeless cause, trying to cover himself with glory for her sake.”

“He won his commission?”

“Yes; he was Captain Tilney, but it was not enough for Judith; he was not Sir Frederick. He presented himself to Judith, and she laughed at him, and said she had never intended to marry him or any officer, and how could he take her so seriously? My brother changed that day, Cat; he changed from a brave, headstrong, sometimes vain and thoughtless young man into someone capable of amusing himself at the expense of another’s comfort. He learned to give what he received from Miss Beauclerk; and since then has found no woman worthy of his affection.”

Catherine considered this gravely. “That is why he acted the way he did with Isabella Thorpe, I dare say; he knew her for a vain coquette, and took his revenge on her.”

“Not so much revenge, I think, as recognizing that Miss Thorpe’s was not a heart worth winning, or worth more than a common flirtation, and perhaps taking advantage of it.”

“And now I understand why you did not wish Miss Beauclerk to live at Northanger; if Captain Tilney came to visit, I dare say it would be most uncomfortable for him.”

“Yes,” said Eleanor. “And my father promoted the match between Frederick and Judith, which really was most eligible, so Henry and I were astonished that he seemed to have forgotten the outcome of it.”

“I do not understand why Miss Beauclerk would refuse Captain Tilney and accept Sir Philip,” said Catherine. “Captain Tilney will have a much larger estate and fortune.”

“I believe she always meant to get Beauclerk, if she could,” said Henry. “She could not capture him with her own charms, but her father made it possible with the terms of his will.”

“So ambition makes fools of us all,” said his lordship. “Eleanor, love, is that tea hot? I could use a cup.”

The fire in their bedroom was past its first and highest blaze, and Henry and Catherine burrowed into their thick quilts, embraced by the circle of light thrown off by Henry’s candle as he read aloud the last chapter of The Mysteries of Udolpho.

O! how joyful it is to tell of happiness, such as that of Valancourt and Emily; to relate, that, after suffering under the oppression of the vicious and the disdain of the weak, they were, at length, restored to each other — to the beloved landscapes of their native country, — to the securest felicity of this life, that of aspiring to moral and labouring for intellectual improvement — to the pleasures of enlightened society, and to the exercise of the benevolence, which had always animated their hearts; while the bowers of La Vallee became, once more, the retreat of goodness, wisdom and domestic blessedness!

O! useful may it be to have shewn, that, though the vicious can sometimes pour affliction upon the good, their power is transient and their punishment certain; and that innocence, though oppressed by injustice, shall, supported by patience, finally triumph over misfortune!

Catherine made an impatient noise and thrashed a bit under her quilt.

Henry looked down at her in surprise. “You disagree with Mrs. Radcliffe, my sweet?”

“I once believed that innocence could triumph over misfortune, but now I am not so sure.”

Henry closed the book and set it aside. “Somehow, I do not think you are speaking of Udolpho.”

“No.” He waited, and she said, “Well, look at Miss Beauclerk! She has injured your brother, and poor Mr. Shaw, and now she gets what she always wanted: to be Lady Beauclerk, when she should be forced to — ”

“ — take the veil, like Laurentini?”

“Well, yes! Or something like that! It does not seem fair!”

“Consider, my sweet: to achieve her ambition, Miss Beauclerk accepted a husband who is unlikely to make her very happy. Some would say that her success will be her own punishment.”

Catherine subsided and rested her head upon his shoulder, suddenly wearied by it all. “I suppose.”

He kissed her forehead. “I fear the friends you have made in Bath have given your faith in your fellow man a severe trial. Shall we give up the lodgings, and go back to Woodston early?”

She considered his suggestion for a moment. “No, I would like to stay another week or two, if we can; the Beauclerks will be gone, and perhaps we will make new acquaintances. Although I cannot think of any friends I should like better than you, and Eleanor and John.”

“Then I must make plans for your further entertainment. We shall go to the bookseller’s tomorrow and choose something else to read together. Another by Mrs. Radcliffe? Perhaps The Italian, or The Romance of the Forest?”

“Perhaps The Midnight Bell? I like the sound of that one.”

“The Midnight Bell it is, then. And we have not been out once yet in the curricle; Matthew tells me the horses are getting fat and need exercise. One fine morning this week I will drive you out to Bristol and you shall finally see Blaise Castle.”

Henry’s words, meant to cheer Catherine, instead distressed her. “I once thought it a real castle! I was such a foolish creature. How could you ever fall in love with me?”

He looked down at her with a warm smile, his eyes all affection. “How could I not love you, Catherine? How could any man of sense not see all your good qualities? You were not foolish, just innocent of the world; and as Mrs. Radcliffe has taught us, innocence — “ he reached out and extinguished the candle — “must always triumph.”

It was not very long before Catherine found herself agreeing with that sentiment; for when he was inspired, Henry could be very convincing indeed.

FINIS.