There Must Be Murder

Chapter Five Something Very Shocking Indeed

The ladies’ departure from Laura-place was delayed first by Miss Beauclerk’s “running up for a moment” to fetch her bonnet, pelisse, and parasol, a moment that turned into a quarter-hour, during which time the general and Henry left for Milsom-street.

They were further delayed by Lady Beauclerk’s insistence that her daughter’s maid accompany them, and her daughter’s insistence that they did not need such escort. “Mrs. Tilney and I will be one another’s chaperone, and MacGuffin here will provide us with more protection than Marie-Louise can.” The struggle of wills went on for several minutes whilst Catherine stood by, awkward at being forced to bear witness to it, but at last they made their escape.

By the time they reached Argyle-street, Catherine regretted her impulsive offer to accompany Miss Beauclerk. Miss Beauclerk floated along the pavement, everything about her as light as air, from the filmy lace that trimmed her pelisse to her delicate satin slippers. Catherine stumbled along, her thick leather shoes chosen with a mind to a country walk rather than to a city promenade, tethered to a living ten-stone weight that propelled her forward relentlessly and lurched off to either side whenever it smelled anything interesting.

As they crossed the bridge, Miss Beauclerk said, “Thank you for agreeing to be my companion, Mrs. Tilney. My maid reports all my movements to my mother. Not that there is anything to report, but it is a relief to feel oneself not constantly under the scrutiny of a servant with suspect loyalties. Now, what commissions have you? The linen-drapers, I dare say?”

“Truthfully, I have no commissions,” said Catherine. “I only said I did because Lady Beauclerk — ” she stopped, confused.

Miss Beauclerk laid a gloved hand on Catherine’s arm. “How very kind you are! I can see why Mr. Tilney is so wild about you; but you must not mind Mamma. She would very much like to talk to her friends about her daughter, Mrs. This or Lady That, but I have thwarted her. I am a regular old maid now, at seven and twenty, and she sometimes lets her disappointment get the better of her.”

“I do not see why you feel it so hopeless a case,” said Catherine. “Many girls marry who have not your advantages; you have a fortune, and you are very pretty.”

Miss Beauclerk looked at Catherine, startled, and then laughed. “Why, you dear creature! How funny you are. I dare say I could find a husband if I settled for the first fortune-hunter to make an offer; but I am, perhaps, too nice. We not all of us have a Henry Tilney in our sights.”

“Now that you are in Bath, I am sure you will meet someone. There are many young men here, and you had several partners at the assembly. But I dare say you have had seasons in Bath before, and even London.”

“There were no seasons in London for me, Mrs. Tilney! My father did not like cities, and disliked even more what he would have considered unnecessary expenditure. During his lifetime there were no trips to Bath, and certainly no houses taken in Laura-place. My mother is making up for a lifetime of deprivation.”

Such talk, so disrespectful of a father so lately dead, did not please Catherine, and she was silent. Miss Beauclerk did not seem to notice her disapproval, or at least was determined to ignore it. “Well, if you have no commissions, will you accompany me to the apothecary? I must have some of my special beauty tonic made up. The shop is a little out of the way, I am afraid.”

The apothecary’s shop was indeed out of the way, and Catherine was grateful for her canine escort as they entered a part of Bath she had never before seen. Close to the river, the buildings slouched and leaned upon one another, as did the individuals lounging in doorways and sauntering down the pavement. Some appeared as though they might approach the two ladies, and not with kind intentions, but a look from the shaggy Newfoundland kept them at a careful distance.

Catherine glanced at Miss Beauclerk, who appeared to take no notice of their singular surroundings. “There is a very good apothecary in Milsom-street,” she said. “Perhaps we could turn back, and you can obtain your potion there.”

“No,” said Miss Beauclerk, rather sharply. “It is a very particular kind of potion, and only can be trusted to someone who — oh, here it is.”

The apothecary’s premises turned out to be a dark little building at the end of a row of similarly mean-looking shops. Catherine did not feel right leaving MacGuffin on the pavement, at the mercy of passersby, so he accompanied them inside the shop and, at her command, sat by the door. Miss Beauclerk went to the counter whilst Catherine stopped to stroke the dog’s head and whisper, “I am sorry I brought you here, darling. We shall not be long.” He looked up at her trustingly, his feathery tail gently thumping the grimy floor.

As she turned away from MacGuffin, Catherine heard a man’s voice say, “Judith! What are you — ”

“Good day, Mr. Shaw,” said Miss Beauclerk, glancing consciously over her shoulder at Catherine.

The man to whom she spoke was extremely handsome — everything a hero should be: tall, dark, and mysterious; Valancourt verily come to life, though the practical part of Catherine’s mind could not help thinking that Emily would never have seen Valancourt in shirtsleeves and a green baize apron. But even Valancourt could not have gazed at his heroine with more obvious adoration than Mr. Shaw; his expression was one of mingled surprise, admiration, and something else — something hungry, thought Catherine, and then laughed at herself for being fanciful.

The man struggled for speech. “You are — you are in Bath?”

“Yes, my mother is here to take the waters, and how lucky that I was able to find your shop, since I have run out of the beauty tonic that you so obligingly made up for me.” She turned to Catherine. “Mrs. Tilney, may I present Mr. Shaw? He is a very clever apothecary — too much so for Beaumont, where he used to reside, and he has moved his practice to Bath, which I’m sure you will agree is just the place for an apothecary. He was invaluable during my father’s illness; poor Papa was in so much pain at the end, we were grateful for anything that would bring him relief, and Mr. Shaw’s potions always did so.”

“I was happy to be of service to you, Miss Beauclerk,” said Mr. Shaw. “And to your family, of course.”

“Of course,” said Miss Beauclerk with a smile, which Mr. Shaw returned; he stood staring at her for a moment, quite dazzled, until Miss Beauclerk reminded him gently, “My potion?”

“Yes! Yes, of course; right away; it will not take a moment to mix it up. Will you wait, or can I have it sent to — ?” The end of his sentence trailed off suggestively.

“We have taken a house in Laura-place,” said Miss Beauclerk. “But today, I shall wait.”

Mr. Shaw went into the back of the shop, and Miss Beauclerk said in a low voice. “Mr. Shaw comes from a very good family, really; but he must make his living. Younger son, you know.”

“Yes,” said Catherine. “Henry is a younger son.”

“So he is,” said Miss Beauclerk, smiling at her.

Just then a voice came from the back; not Mr. Shaw’s, but one of much more vulgar accents. “What do you need that for, then?”

A low murmuring followed; and the voice said, “What? You make that up for a young lady? What are you thinking, you fool?” More murmuring; and the voice said, “She’s right here in the shop? I’ll talk to her, you never mind.”

An elderly man in a frizzled wig and a green baize apron like Mr. Shaw’s emerged from the back of the shop, followed by the protesting Mr. Shaw.

“Introduce me to the lady, Ned, there’s a good lad,” said the older man.

“Miss Beauclerk,” said Mr. Shaw in tones of resignation, “may I present Mr. Walton?”

“I’ve been compounding since long before you were born, ma’am,” said the older man earnestly, “and I’m here to tell you that these beauty potions you young ladies will take do you no good, ma’am, you mark my words. They may make your skin white for a time, but the arsenic builds up in the humors, and poisons you in the end. You look like a good girl; you’ll listen to old Sam, you will, and leave off this potion.”

“Arsenic?” cried Catherine in alarm. “My dear Miss Beauclerk — you take arsenic?”

“It is trace amounts, ma’am,” said the harassed Mr. Shaw. “Not enough to harm anyone, I assure you; just enough to freshen the complexion; I would never harm — ” he broke off, confused.

Mr. Walton was much amused by his lackey’s confusion. “Oh, yes, that’s right, Neddy. You understand. You won’t let the young lady poison herself. If it’s a fresher complexion you’re seeking, miss, I recommend a bit of Gowland’s Lotion. For a patent potion it’s very effective; apply it every day, and keep out of the sun, and your skin will stay white and soft without the poison. You listen to old Sam.”

“Come, Mrs. Tilney,” said Miss Beauclerk coldly. “If we cannot procure the item we seek here, we must find it elsewhere.” She left the shop immediately, Catherine and MacGuffin following hastily behind.

They had not got far when they heard running footsteps behind them. MacGuffin pressed against Catherine’s legs and turned back to face their attacker; but it was only Mr. Shaw. He seized Miss Beauclerk’s hand. “Judith,” he said, “I have been in hell since I came here. You see the depths to which I have fallen.”

“I wonder why you stay there, then; I thought you came to Bath to open your own establishment.”

“I will require much more than I thought to set up my own shop. I am working at Walton’s only until I save enough — only a few more months, I swear it. Then I will be my own man. And now that our obstacle is removed — ”

Miss Beauclerk gave Catherine another conscious side-glance. “No! No, sir, do not speak so. My mother would not allow it, any more than my father did.”

“You are of age, Judith — ”

“I would be cut off from my family, and all good society. Do not ask this of me, sir. You know I have not the courage.”

Mr. Shaw’s handsome head drooped over her hand, still held tightly within his own. “Will I see you at the theatre tonight, at least?”

“Yes, we will be there.”

“May I sit with you?”

“You know that is not within my power.”

“But you will slip away and meet me, then?” His voice lowered. “I shall bring your potion.”

She sighed and gave a little toss of her head. “I shall try.”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it with violent affection. “Do I have your promise, my love?”

“Yes. Yes, you have it. Just be sure to bring the potion.”

Catherine thought a lover should look happier to make an assignation than Miss Beauclerk looked at the present moment, but she had not had experience of such clandestine romance before; nor of a gentleman who made love to a lady in the street, in front of several interested loungers and passersby.

“Until tonight, then.” He bobbed a sort of bow at Catherine and hurried back towards the shop.

As they walked back to Laura-place, Miss Beauclerk seemed inclined to be quiet, and Catherine allowed her to be so. Finally she said, “Mrs. Tilney, I must ask you a favor; on such a short acquaintance as ours, I have no right; but I pray you will not mention this to my mother.”

“Yes, I suppose she might worry if she knew about your tonic.”

Miss Beauclerk looked her surprise. “She knows about my tonic, and what it contains. She uses something similar herself. It was due to her influence that I asked Mr. Shaw to provide it. Mother has her own supplier. But I meant meeting Mr. Shaw. She does not quite approve of my seeing him. I did not intend to — but it is too late for that. I pray you will not mention it.”

Catherine promised that she would not as they entered Laura-place.

“Will you come in for a moment?” asked Miss Beauclerk. “You may take leave of Mamma, and let her know that I have not been wandering the streets of Bath alone, and getting into mischief.”

Catherine thought her request rather extraordinary, but did not know how to refuse it.

They arrived at the door of Lady Beauclerk’s house at the same time that a dowdy chaise, drawn by a pair of shaggy horses, drew up. An elderly servant in well-worn livery climbed down heavily from his perch and, seeing Miss Beauclerk staring at him, waved and grinned toothlessly.

“Oh, Lord,” said Miss Beauclerk under her breath.

Catherine looked at the servant curiously. “Who is that?”

“He is my aunt Findlay’s man. Well, Mrs. Tilney, it seems that you will have the opportunity to meet one of the more eccentric members of my family, arrived with her usual fortunate timing just as we thought to pass ourselves off creditably in Bath.”

Catherine, unsure how to respond, said, “I have a great-aunt who likes to read me lectures.”

“Then you understand what it means to have a relative whose main purpose in life is to mortify one.”

The servant opened the chaise door and let down the steps, and his mistress emerged: a woman tall and solidly built, with a great beak of a nose and a long chin to match. She looked up at the house and said, “Of course she took one of the grandest houses in Bath. Such unwonted extravagance! But that is your mother all over, Judith. What my poor brother would have thought of it, I am sure I do not know.”

“Good day, aunt,” said Miss Beauclerk.

“Good day, indeed! Do not think I have not heard what you all have been up to, aye, and that ne’er-do-well nephew of mine, too. I have my informants, miss.”

“I am sure you do, aunt.” Seeing how Mrs. Findlay stared at Catherine, she added, “May I present Mrs. Tilney to your notice?”

“Tilney, eh? I have heard that name, oh yes indeed. I know what your set is up to.” Mrs. Findlay swept past both ladies and the footman who held the door. “I trust I need not send up my card; I trust the dowager will see her poor widowed sister.”

“Oh, dear,” whispered Miss Beauclerk. “Mamma will not like it if my aunt insists on calling her ‘the dowager.’”

“Perhaps I should just go back to our lodgings,” said Catherine.

“No, no; Mamma will take it amiss if you do not come up, just for a moment. Pray do, ma’am.”

Catherine could not resist a supplication made with such softly pleading eyes; and she was herself interested in seeing her ladyship’s reaction to being called “the dowager.”

The footman said to her, “Begging your pardon, ma’am, but your dog looks like he could use a drink of water. I can take him to the kitchen if you like.”

Catherine looked at MacGuffin’s hanging tongue and agreed, and the Newfoundland padded down the hall behind the footman as the ladies climbed the stairs to her ladyship’s sitting-room.

Sir Philip was there, paying his daily duty call upon his aunt; he acknowledged Catherine with a nod and a smile, which she returned, still grateful for his kindness of the previous evening.

Mrs. Findlay was berating her sister-in-law. “It had to be Laura-place, did it not, Agatha? No Queen-squares for you, ma’am! And my poor brother not cold in his grave. ’Tis not enough that one of you disposed with him, but you must revel in it by making merry with his fortune!”

“I am sure that I do not know what you are talking about, Fanny,” said her ladyship; though her blush did not escape Catherine’s sharp eye.

“I believe you do, Agatha; I know one of you does. You,” she said, looking at Sir Philip, “or you,” turning a glare upon her niece.

“What are you suggesting, madam?” asked Sir Philip, his voice low and dangerous.

“I suggest nothing, sir; I state it for all to hear. I am come to Bath to determine which of you murdered my brother.”