“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 return 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.”