Chapter Five #2
Miss Tilney said, “You have no sense of the subject of this discord? None whatsoever?”
“None,” Jane promised, “and whatever it was, it was smoothed over within a week’s time.”
“What of the other gentlemen?” Jonathan asked.
“Mr. Brooks could become very annoyed with Mr. Hurst, for when Mr. Hurst was in his cups, he did sometimes take the name of the Lord in vain. As for Mr. Lofton, he did not take much note of Mr. Hurst’s behavior at such times.
Between them, I recollect no disharmony greater than a conversation in which Mr. Lofton strongly defended the merits of Rhenish wine, versus Mr. Hurst’s preference for French.
” None of these appeared to Jane as likely reasons for murder, but she supposed Jonathan and Miss Tilney’s greater experience allowed them to see more within this than she could do.
“What of the servants?” Miss Tilney said. “Was Mr. Hurst difficult with them?”
“Indeed no. I do believe he sometimes—that on occasion, there were messes that required more cleaning.” How terrible to think of that!
One did not even wish to admit to oneself that a guest had drunk to the point of sickness.
Yet she carried on. “No doubt that was troublesome for them, but Mr. Hurst was not unkind. Of that I feel certain. Our servants know that they can come to us with their worries, and that we will help them if we can. Not one of them had anything to say regarding Mr. Hurst.”
The two young people exchanged glances, and Jane recognized the deep understanding between them as a kind of intimacy she normally observed only in husbands and wives—usually, not even then.
From letters, she knew that the elder Mr. Darcy opposed this match, and that even Elizabeth was uncertain.
Yet Jane was too tender of heart to stand in the way of such affection.
“Thank you, Aunt Jane. That will be all,” Jonathan said, unaware he had just gained a great ally.
The next to enter was Mr. Lofton, a gentleman utterly unknown to Juliet and none too familiar to Jonathan.
Together they had determined that, when questioning those not well-known to either party, this should be led by the person of the same sex.
Therefore it was Mr. Darcy who asked Mr. Lofton a question to which they already knew the answer: “On the morning of Mr. Hurst’s death, had you left your room at any time? ”
“I did, sir,” said Mr. Lofton. He was a tall man, very slender and very genteel.
His fair hair was shot through with silver, but otherwise he would have appeared younger than his years.
“My wife sometimes wishes for a bit of bread or a biscuit or some such thing at an odd hour of the day. As she was hungry that morning, I came down and fetched her some toast. The servants were no doubt busy with breakfast—quicker to have done it myself.”
This sensible attitude, so unusual and refreshing for a member of the gentry, made Juliet feel more warmly toward Mr. Lofton.
However, she swiftly rebuked herself; some of the murderers she had encountered in the past had been entirely capable of conducting themselves in a civil manner when not actively engaged in homicide.
She could, however, credit him with honesty: Mr. Lofton had not attempted to conceal his visit to the kitchen, even though he was unaware they had already learned of it.
Mr. Darcy asked, “What was the nature of your relationship with Mr. Hurst?”
“We married sisters,” Mr. Lofton said, “which meant we were obliged to be friendly whether or not we felt any particular warmth toward each other. I will confess now that I did not, and I feel quite certain Hurst did not, either. Let me be frank: His favorite companion was drink; and where that is so, no friendship can exist entirely beyond it. As I am not overly fond of spirits, we had little to say to each other. That said, there was no real harm in the fellow; and it is hard, very hard, to think of him dying in such a manner.” Indeed, he did seem to be much moved.
Yet Juliet felt she had detected a discrepancy that needed clarification. “We had heard that Mr. Hurst could be argumentative with the gentlemen of the party,” she said. “Even belligerent, at times. Was he not so with you?”
“Oh, from time to time. But only over trivialities. I never took much note of that, for I knew that come the next morning, Hurst would have forgotten the matter entirely.” This corresponded to what Mrs. Bingley had told them.
Mr. Darcy continued. “On the morning of Mr. Hurst’s death, or the evening before, did you see any person in a place you would not have expected them to be? Behaving in a manner that struck you as unusual?”
Mr. Lofton considered this. “I must think—Hurst’s death overshadows all else in my mind regarding those days. But you were there, too, Mr. Darcy, so perhaps you can aid my recollection. Was that the night that Mrs. Hurst and Mr. Brooks were so much in conversation in the front hall?”
“I did not note that, and I believe I would have done so,” Mr. Darcy said.
“Ah, well. That must have been another recent evening.” Mr. Lofton shrugged.
Juliet, however, was not inclined to ignore this. She said, “Will you tell us more of this conversation between Mrs. Hurst and Mr. Brooks?”
“I know nothing of its substance,” Mr. Lofton said, “and in all honesty, I regret having mentioned the matter, as I cannot see what bearing it would have upon this tragedy.”
“We will not place undue importance upon it,” Mr. Darcy promised, “but any detail you have noticed could prove useful to us. If nothing else, it may tell us what else Mr. Brooks and Mrs. Hurst were in a position to see or hear.”
Mr. Lofton did not seem convinced, but he spoke: “One evening very recently—perhaps the night before your arrival, Mr. Darcy, certainly no more than a day or two prior to that—as all made ready to go upstairs, Mrs. Brooks and I were speaking of a book we had both read. Then Mrs. Brooks became much confused upon realizing that her husband had slipped from the room without saying anything to her. She walked from the drawing room, and I followed, and so I saw that she found Mr. Brooks and Mrs. Hurst whispering together.”
Juliet glanced at Mr. Darcy, who seemed as avidly interested in this matter as she was herself. He asked, “What were they whispering about?”
“I do not know,” Mr. Lofton said. “Indeed, Mrs. Brooks did not even ask. Many wives would turn shrewish upon seeing their husband talking with another woman so clandestinely! However, Mrs. Brooks is of a finer character. She simply said that they should return to their home, and though Mr. Brooks seemed displeased at the interruption, he agreed.”
“How did Mrs. Hurst react to this?” Mr. Darcy asked.
“She appeared startled, perhaps even flustered, at having been seen in private conversation,” Mr. Lofton replied, “but beyond that, I could not speculate. It might be that she simply felt the need to speak to a clergyman on a matter dear to her.”
All that Juliet knew thus far of Mrs. Hurst made this possibility seem remote. Still, she had to admit that Mr. Lofton’s idea was, if not persuasive, at least plausible.
“Thank you, Mr. Lofton,” Mr. Darcy said. “That will be all for now.”
—
Mrs. Lofton immediately followed her husband into the study.
Wisps of curly hair, barely touched with gray, peeked from her ornate lace cap.
Her dress was in the latest style, with layers of ruffles at cuff and hem, and longer sleeves.
So eager did Mrs. Lofton appear to be for the conversation that one might have thought her the investigator.
It was Juliet’s turn to lead the questioning. “Mrs. Lofton, can you describe your relationship with Mr. Hurst?”
This was met with a scoff. “What ‘relationship’ can there be, with a man who never once remained sober after four in the afternoon? We were often in the same room together, and he was rarely in enough sobriety to know I was there. That is as much as can be said on the matter. It a shameful thing, to be so taken with drink. One almost thinks the Baptists have the correct idea.”
Though a clergyman’s daughter, Juliet was not to be distracted by doctrine. “It sounds as though you were not very fond of him.”
“Indeed I was not.” Mrs. Lofton spoke freely, so much so that it seemed she had no thought of being considered as guilty of the murder.
“Though it would be most correct to say, I did not care for him at all—for beyond irritation with his habits, what was there in him to like or dislike? My sister could have done much better, and indeed I tried to tell her so when the match was being made, but would she listen? Mr. Hurst had money and a fine house, and she cared for nothing else. I do not believe she ever did care.” Mrs. Lofton showed some feeling in this, at least, as she went on, “Yet, one would wish to talk with one’s husband occasionally, would one not?
To have some manner of conversation, warmth, fellow feeling? What is a marriage, without this?”
Juliet was in agreement, but she knew better than to say so. They needed to remain on the topic at hand. “You said, Mrs. Lofton, that Mrs. Hurst placed a high value on her husband’s property and fortune,” said Juliet. “Do you think she disregarded his drinking entirely? Or did it pain her?”
“I never saw her take the slightest notice of it, beyond some momentary irritation,” Mrs. Lofton said. “Whatever pain she might ever have felt upon the subject surely died many years ago, as they were married for nigh three decades.”
This was a good point, yet Juliet felt as though surely there must be more to the matter.
If Mr. Hurst were only a drunkard, one every other person had learned to ignore, then why should anyone have decided to murder him?
She asked, “Did you ever get the sense—Mrs. Lofton, did you ever think that Mr. Hurst’s drinking was affected by some other factor in his life?
Some pain or difficulty that he wished to forget? ”