MacGuffin was indeed a strong swimmer, but the ducks were in their natural element, and soon outstripped him. He made a wide turn in the water, became caught a little in the current — Eleanor gasped, and Catherine’s heart was in her mouth — but he soon was climbing up onto the riverbank and running back towards them, bounding with energy and canine happiness.
“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.
“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 re
turn 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.
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 mi
ght 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.
There Must Be Murder Page 6