There Must Be Murder

by Margaret C. Sullivan

  “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.”

  Chapter Six

  Murder and Everything of the Kind

  Mrs. Findlay’s words shocked all present into silence.

  “Really, Fanny,” said Lady Beauclerk in a faint tone of voice. “You must be reading horrid novels to imagine such a thing. Poor Sir Arthur, murdered! After he suffered so! I am sure that no man could have been more tenderly nursed by his wife and daughter.”

  “Giving you the perfect opportunity to assist his exit from this world. And you,” said Mrs. Findlay, rounding on Sir Philip, “always hanging around and ingratiating yourself with the old man. You did not think he would hear about your unsavory adventures, did you? You are fortunate he did not cut you out of the will!”

  “Beaumont is entailed,” said Sir Philip. “Whatever my uncle thought of me — and I think, and hope, he thought well — he did not have the power to disinherit me.”

  “From the title and the estate, perhaps not; but what of the funded monies? I know of a few provisions in the entailment that would have put you in a very uncomfortable situation indeed: master of a great estate, and unable to afford to run it!”

  “There was no reason for my uncle to change the provisions of his will,” said Sir Philip with a touch of impatience.

  “No reason? After the way you carried on in Brighton last summer? To think I would live to see a Beauclerk involved in a criminal conversation!”

  Catherine was paying little attention to the argument between Sir Philip and his aunt. She was thinking over everything she had learned that afternoon: that Sir Arthur’s sister thought his death had not been natural; that both Lady Beauclerk and her daughter had private, secret access to strong poison; and that the apothecary who provided Miss Beauclerk with that poisonous potion had tended Sir Arthur in his last days. A younger Catherine might have reached a most alarming conclusion indeed; but as Henry had once bid her, she now consulted her own sense of the probable. It did not seem possible that a man such as Sir Arthur Beauclerk, tended by a retinue of servants and physicians, could be the victim of a murderous plot; but the Beauclerks were an unhappy family, and who could tell to what measures the desperate might resort?

  Sir Philip, mistaking Catherine’s thoughtfulness for distress, or perhaps just embarrassed that an outsider was witnessing the incident, said, “Mrs. Tilney should not have to listen to this.”

  Mrs. Findlay whirled about. “Tilney! I have heard that name. You may tell General Tilney, madam, that he is in my sights as well. Sniffing round the widow before my poor brother had been dead half a year! I dare say that fancy Abbey of his costs a pretty penny to run. He’ll have a mind to your jointure, Agatha, you may depend upon it.”

  “That is enough, aunt,” said Sir Philip. He crossed the room to where Catherine stood and took her elbow. “Let me procure a chair to take you home, ma’am.”

  “Yes, let Philip help you,” said Miss Beauclerk. “Thank you for coming out with me this morning, Mrs. Tilney, and I hope to see you tonight at the theatre.”

  Catherine hastily took her leave; Sir Philip escorted her down the stairs and waited with her while the footman went off to fetch MacGuffin.

  “May I get you a chair?”

  “Oh, no; my lodgings are just a few steps away, and I have my dog.”

  “One of the footmen could bring your dog to your lodgings, and you are distressed by my aunt Findlay’s nonsense. Pray let me procure you a chair.”

  “Oh, I am not distressed,” said Catherine.

  He looked at her closely. “Are you not?”

  “No, sir; I am perfectly able to walk; but is very kind of you to think of it.”

  “Most women would have a fit of the vapors at overhearing such an extraordinary declaration as my aunt’s. I salute you, Mrs. Tilney.”

  Catherine smiled and blushed as the footman returned, leading MacGuffin.

  Sir Philip looked at the Newfoundland and said, “Good Lord. No, you need no chair, Mrs. Tilney; you could ride this fellow home.”

  Catherine considered this. “Henry talks of training him to pull a little cart to give rides to the children of our parish. But that would not do for me.”

  Sir Philip smiled. “Indeed not, madam; though he is a handsome lad.” He bent to pet MacGuffin, but the dog pressed against Catherine and made a sound somewhere between a snort and a growl.

  “For shame, Mac!” cried Catherine. “Sir Philip means me no harm.” MacGuffin looked up at her with sorrowful eyes. To Sir Philip she said, “He really is a very good-natured creature in general.”

  “He probably caught a scent of Lady Josephine upon me. That deuced creature will get my coat all over hair when I call upon my aunt.”

  “Yes, that must be the case. Good day, Sir Philip, and thank you again for your kindness.”

  “It was my pleasure, ma’am. Did I hear my cousin say that you would be at the theatre tonight?”

  “Yes, Lord Whiting procured a box and invited us to join him.”

  “May I look forward to the pleasure of visiting your box between acts?”

  Catherine was unsure of the proper response to such a proposal. “Why — yes, I dare say his lordship will not mind.”

  “That is very good of you to say.” He raised her gloved hand to his lips. “Until tonight.”

  Catherine, blushing at such attention, hastily said good-bye and left the house. As she reached Pulteney-street, she could not help looking back; Sir Philip still stood in the doorway of his aunt’s house, watching after her with a little smile.

  ***

  The maidservant had just placed the final touches on her hair when Henry entered Catherine’s dressing-room. He surveyed her with pleasure. “Very lovely, my sweet. Whiting and Eleanor join us for dinner; I saw them at Milsom-street, and did not think you would mind.”

  “No, of course not.” She dismissed the maid and turned to Henry eagerly. “What did your father say?”

  “As we suspected, he is considering marriage with Lady Beauclerk, but has made no declaration.”

  “Will he, do you think?”

  “I cannot say; I do not think he knows his own mind.”

  Catherine had a brief struggle with her conscience, trying to decide if she should tell Henry about the scene in Laura-place; but since General Tilney was involved, she reasoned he would hear about it soon enough. She related her adventure of the afternoon: the visit to the apothecary, Miss Beauclerk’s beauty potion, her aunt’s accusations. At the end, Henry looked thoughtful.

  “Do you think Sir Arthur was murdered, Henry?”

  “He had been ill for many months before his death.”

  “Well, I am sure General Tilney was not involved.”

  “As we were in Bath last year when Sir Arthur died, I dare say not; a circumstance that casts doubt on the rest of Mrs. Findlay’s allegations.”

  “But Henry, what of the potion? Miss Beauclerk and her mother use a beauty potion that contains arsenic.”

  “As do many ladies, as your Mr. Shaw pointed out.”

  “He is not my Mr. Shaw.”

  “I am glad to hear it; I would not like to be forced to nurture jealousy of this Adonis of an apothecary.”

  “He is in love with Miss Beauclerk at any rate.”

  “And much good may it do him.”

  Catherine looked curiously at Henry, who was frowning at his reflection and adjusting his cravat. “You speak as though Miss Beauclerk is a great flirt.”

  “You have been in her company long enough to discover that for yourself, Cat.”

  “Yes; but — you seem to have personal knowledge.”

  Henry looked down at her, smiling. “Could it be that you suspect me of nurturing a broken heart? I do not like to make myself appear less heroic to you, my sweet; but until I met you, the only romance in my life took the shape of four duodecimo volumes from Mrs. Radcliffe and her sisterhood.”

  “But, Henry, Lady Beauclerk sai
d that the neighborhood wondered who would catch you. I thought you must have had many flirts.”

  “Lady Beauclerk exaggerated. I had no flirts, and the young ladies of Gloucestershire were much more interested in the Tilney heir than the cadet. Is there room for me?” She slid over on the bench in front of her dressing-table, and he sat next to her. “That’s better.”

  “Even Miss Beauclerk? She is always saying how much she would like to be married to someone like you.”

  “Very complimentary of Judith! I must remember to thank her for it.” Seeing Catherine’s grave expression, he continued, “We were childhood playmates, until we both were sent away to school. When I was at Oxford, she was the belle of the neighborhood, and paid no attention to me whatsoever, which suited me perfectly. Judith is not without ambition, and that ambition does not include a younger son and a country parsonage.”

  ”Then why does she flirt with you now, when you are married?“

  “Perhaps she flirts because I am married; she knows I am safe from her arts. I think Miss Beauclerk is unable to interact with my sex without flirtation, and I suspect it does not always serve her well. Witness poor Mr. Shaw. He may harbor hope, Cat, but I assure you that he will never take Judith Beauclerk to wife.”

  Catherine thought of the expression on Mr. Shaw’s face when he looked at Miss Beauclerk. “The poor man! But I am glad to hear that Miss Beauclerk has not used you ill. If she had, I could not be her friend.”

  Henry smiled, put his arm around her waist, and murmured, “My darling defender!”

  She obliged him in a kiss, but drew back immediately; at his surprised expression, she said, “I do not want to spoil your cravat.”

  “Thwarted by my own vanity! There is a lesson hard-learnt. And I suppose I should have a similar care for your gown.” He released her with obvious reluctance.

  “You should; besides, Eleanor and John will be here soon, and I must finish dressing. Help me with my necklace, and then I will be ready.”