There Must Be Murder

by Margaret C. Sullivan

  He went to her and again took her in his arms. “I do not believe Mrs. Morland ever called you a simpleton. You have good sense, Cat, and a good heart. You would not think anyone would try to harm you, because you would not harm another person with malice aforethought. You think the best of everyone, and I would not have you lose that quality. It was the first thing I truly loved about you.” He lifted her chin and kissed her.

  Catherine was quiet for a moment, wrapped in warmth and happiness. Finally she said, “Although the accusations of murder have been proven wrong, Henry, I think I should not like to have much more to do with the Beauclerks.”

  “Nor I, my sweet; but they may be family soon enough, if my father persists in his courtship.”

  She lifted her head and looked up at him in alarm. “I forgot. Now that you have your intelligence, what will you say to General Tilney?”

  Henry sighed and shook his head. “I do not know. I am not sure I have the right to tell him anything. His happiness is not in my keeping, and it would not be right to prevent it.”

  The maidservant knocked on the door at that moment, and they went to have their dinner and talk of happier things.

  Chapter Eleven

  Speaking Well Enough to be Intelligible

  By prearrangement, the Tilneys were to meet the Whitings in Milsom-street the next morning and proceed to the pump-room. Accordingly, Henry and Catherine set out from Pulteney-street, leaving behind a very sad MacGuffin, who had come to consider himself an indispensable part of any expedition out of doors. Fond as the Tilneys were of their pet, he could not go to the pump-room, so they left him with much petting and extravagant promises of an afternoon walk. MacGuffin lay by the fire as they departed, his chin resting on his paws and his eyes reproachful.

  As they passed through Laura-place and into Argyle-street, there was a commotion on the pavement ahead of them: exclamations of surprise, laughter, heads craning for a better view. At last they saw the object of this public amusement, one that astonished them both.

  General Tilney stood on the pavement, holding a lead with Lady Beauclerk’s cat on the end of it. Unlike MacGuffin, or dogs in general, Lady Josephine did not eagerly pull on the lead, seeking out the next interesting-smelling thing in her path; she meandered, she leapt up on posts and stoops, and otherwise made little progress. At the present moment she sat on her haunches in the middle of the pavement, cleaning her paw very carefully, stretching her claws apart so that her tongue could reach every place between them; she was fully absorbed in her task, and took no notice of either the general or the leering crowd.

  General Tilney stood waiting, his posture ramrod straight, his expression dignified and proud, as though he were an ensign in formation. Catherine had to bite her tongue quite hard to keep from laughing, feeling herself at the same time to be an undutiful daughter. She glanced at Henry; besides a slight crease in his brow, he did not seem to think his father’s behavior odd. Growing up in a military family had taught him to control his expression.

  “Good morning, sir,” he said. “I see you have called upon Lady Beauclerk. May I inquire after her health?”

  “She was very well when I left her,” said the general stiffly.

  “I am glad to hear it. Pray convey my compliments, and Catherine’s, too,” he added, looking down at her.

  Catherine said, “Oh, yes, sir, if you please.”

  “Very well.”

  Lady Josephine finished her toilette, stood, stretched, and finally took notice of her attendant. She wound herself around his legs, rubbing against them and purring loudly. The briefest expression of something like revulsion crossed the general’s face. “I believe Lord and Lady Whiting are waiting for you in Milsom-street,” he said.

  “Yes, we are to meet by appointment. Good day, sir.”

  “Good day, Henry, Mrs. Tilney.” He bowed, but as Lady Josephine was still rubbing against his legs, he made an awkward job of it.

  They continued on their way down Argyle-street. Catherine glanced up at Henry, wondering what she might say; she judged it best to let him start any conversation, but he seemed lost in thought.

  The General’s servant showed them into the sitting-room; his lordship received them there and sent the servant to fetch her ladyship, preparing them with a murmured, “We have had some bad news.”

  Eleanor rushed into the room and went to Henry directly. “My father told me this morning that he intends to make Lady Beauclerk an offer. You must speak to the him, Henry,” she said. “You must tell him what Matthew learned from the maidservant. It is the only chance we have to stop this.”

  “I fear it is too late for that. Depend upon it, Eleanor, when a man humiliates himself in public for the sake of a woman, he is too much in love to stop for worldly reasons.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Henry told the Whitings what he and Catherine had seen in Argyle-street. His lordship seemed to find it a very good joke, but a look at his wife’s face stopped his laughter. He did, however, exchange a covert, sympathetic smile with Catherine.

  Eleanor sat as if stunned. “You are right, Henry; it is too late. We must consider this settled. They must be. . . engaged. How strange to talk of one’s father as engaged! And what a mother-in-law we shall have! But at least we have the comfort of knowing that there is affection in the match. There must be.”

  “Indeed. We must take our comfort where we can find it.”

  “I cannot help thinking of my poor mother,” said Eleanor quietly. After a moment, she roused herself and smiled at them. “Well, as there is nothing else to be done, we must make the best of it. Shall we go to the pump-room, then, and let all of Bath gossip about our family behind our backs?”

  The Whitings led the way down Milsom-street toward the pump-room, and Henry and Catherine walked a little behind. The day was fine, and being young and in Bath and the happiness of walking on Henry’s arm put Catherine in high spirits that could not be dampened even by General Tilney’s intended nuptials. She asked Henry, “Did you ever humiliate yourself for me?”

  “No, I do not think so; other than a fist-fight with John Thorpe outside the Upper Rooms when he said something about you that I did not quite like.”

  “Henry! You did not!” A closer look at his expression let her know he had not, and she laughed in her relief; though a little something else would persist; a feeling that she might like Henry to have engaged in fisticuffs with John Thorpe for her honor.

  Henry, with that disconcerting habit he had of guessing her thoughts, said, “Would you like that, my sweet?”

  She blushed, but said, “No, I should not like it. Neither John Thorpe nor his opinion mean anything to me.”

  “Very sensibly said.”

  “ — but not very romantic.”

  “Everyday life provides little in the way of romance, Cat; we must make our own.” He gave her a significant look and a smile that made her shiver pleasantly.

  The pump-room was pleasantly crowded with all those in Bath who had come to see and be seen. They drank their water, and Henry and Lord Whiting joined a group of men discussing politics and the news of the day, while Eleanor and Catherine circled the room arm in arm. They drew not a few appreciative glances, being young and pretty and fashionably dressed; Eleanor’s rank did not discourage this appreciation, Bath being a place where rank is given consideration — perhaps more than its due.

  They met some women of Eleanor’s acquaintance, and stood comfortably chatting when a familiar voice behind her gave Catherine a start.

  “Mrs. Tilney,” Sir Philip Beauclerk murmured in a low, confidential voice meant only for her ear. “It is not often that I find you without your keeper.”

  “I am sure I do not understand you, sir.”

  “Fear not, madam; your husband is across the room, and engaged. Your sister is occupied; you can slip away very easily.”

  Catherine had no notion of “slipping away” with Sir Philip, but she knew, with a sinking feeling, that he
must be told of his misapprehension, and this was the best opportunity she was likely to have. Eleanor looked at her at that moment, looked at Sir Philip, and then back at Catherine, her brow creased in concern. Catherine nodded and smiled to send a message that all was well, and Eleanor returned the nod, though not the smile.

  Sir Philip took her elbow and steered her away from the chattering ladies. “Your sister approves, then? She in your confidence?”

  He would have steered her toward the door, but Catherine said, “I would stay in the pump-room, sir.”

  He glanced over to the part of the room where Henry stood, and said, “If you insist, madam; but I had hoped for a private audience.”

  “We do not need privacy, sir, for what I have to say.” He gazed at her steadily, and Catherine discovered that her carefully prepared speech from Mrs. Radcliffe had abandoned her. “I — that is — ”

  Sir Philip’s eyes flicked somewhere behind her, and she knew, without looking, that Henry was there; and the knowledge of that was like a burst of warmth within her.

  “Too late,” said Sir Philip, confirming her guess. “Your watchdog has sniffed us out, and stands ready to interfere, as always.”

  Catherine turned then, and met Henry’s eye. She smiled, and he smiled in return, and nodded to her encouragingly, but did not approach. He knew that Catherine wished to address the problem herself, but he was there if she needed him. Henry was so kind, and sensible, and dependable! That thought cheered her and at the same time made her angry. How could Sir Philip think that — ? She turned back to him, and found she no longer needed to borrow Mrs. Radcliffe’s words; her own would do.

  “My husband only has ‘interfered,’ as you put it, because I asked him to; because I could see that you had formed certain ideas — I know little of the world or of flirtation, sir, and I believe you have misunderstood what only was meant as civility. I have hinted, but I see now that only plain speaking will do. Thus I say to you as plainly as I can, sir, that I have no intention of being your latest amusement. I am a married woman, and I shall keep my vows.”

  Sir Philip’s eyes flicked again to Henry. “Madam, I am familiar with the methods that General Tilney employs with his family. If you have been coerced — ”

  “General Tilney is different from Henry. I have always been a little afraid of the general, but I could never be afraid of Henry. He has all my confidence, and all my affection.” The last sentence was said with such warmth of expression and such a smile that could leave no man in doubt that Catherine’s words were sincere.

  Sir Philip looked at Henry and said, “You have a faithful little wife, Tilney, and I give you joy of her.”

  Only then did Henry approach them. “I thank you, Beauclerk; I have great joy of her, I assure you.” He took Catherine’s hand and raised it to his lips.

  “Forgive me, madam,” said Sir Philip. “I hope my misapprehension has not caused you undue distress.”

  “Oh, no,” said Catherine, who in the flush of her success could not imagine ever feeling distressed again. “I am glad that we understand one another at last.”

  “Yes; at last.” He bowed to her, nodded to Henry, and left the pump-room.

  The Whitings joined them almost immediately. “Is everything well, Catherine?” Eleanor asked anxiously.

  “Yes, I thank you. I forgot the speech I had planned, but I made Sir Philip understand me at last.”

  “You were magnificent, my sweet,” said Henry. “Plain speech can do as well, and sometimes better, than the most learned oratory, or even one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s speeches.”

  “It will be uncomfortable to be in company with Sir Philip, however. I wish I could have nothing more to do with him, but if General Tilney is determined on marrying Lady Beauclerk, I cannot see how we will be able to avoid him. I am sorry to say it, as they will soon be part of the family, but I do not like the Beauclerks.”

  “We need have little to do with any of them beyond her ladyship,” said Henry.

  “Will Miss Beauclerk go to live at Northanger Abbey when her mother is married, do you think?”

  Eleanor exclaimed, and she exchanged a dismayed look with her brother.

  “I had not thought of that,” said Henry.

  “Surely my father would not — ” said Eleanor.

  Catherine wondered at their words; why would it be so dreadful for Judith Beauclerk to live at Northanger Abbey with her mother?

  “Perhaps Miss Beauclerk will marry Sir Philip,” said Lord Whiting. “He has lost his distraction — ” bowing in Catherine’s direction — “and may now remember what is expected of him and come up to scratch.”

  “Oh, poor Mr. Shaw,” said Catherine.

  Their attention was claimed at that moment by some acquaintances of the Whitings, and Catherine was left to her own thoughts. Though Mrs. Findlay’s accusations of murder had proved to be the workings of an imagination overly stimulated by horrid novels, that did not explain some of the other mysteries that surrounded the Beauclerk family. Mr. Shaw had spoken darkly of “services” he performed on his beloved’s behalf; could they have had anything to do with Sir Arthur Beauclerk’s death? Would Miss Beauclerk buy his silence with the money gained by a marriage to Sir Philip? And why were Eleanor and Henry so alarmed at the idea of Miss Beauclerk living at Northanger Abbey? Even without a murder in the case, there was no doubt that the Beauclerks were a very odd and mysterious family. Catherine had grown up a great deal since her adventures at Northanger Abbey, but there still was a part of her that longed to discover the truth of those mysteries; though in the social crush and swirl of a fine day of high season at the pump-room, murder and mystery seemed laughably improbable.

  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.”