Chapter Five #3
“So far as I could ever see, he drank when times were good, when times were bad, when it rained, when the sun shone.” Mrs. Lofton had become nearly gleeful in her disapproval.
Mr. Darcy interjected: “Mrs. Lofton, had you noticed any particular conversation between Mrs. Hurst and Mr. Brooks?”
How puzzled Mrs. Lofton then appeared! “Whatever would those two have to say to each other? My sister is not an especially pious woman. For that matter, I do not believe Mr. Brooks is an especially pious clergyman, though he is strict on proper language.” A lack of piety in a clergyman was not very unusual, Juliet knew; many younger sons in the gentry took clerical orders merely because it was one of the few professions suitable for a gentleman.
“To answer your question, Miss Tilney, no, I had not noticed any such thing. Though—well, it had seemed to me that Mrs. Brooks had some anxiety on this point. She was often asking where her husband was when he was but briefly absent from the room. So very nervous about where he might be! Do not you wonder why?”
Her tone was most pointed. Juliet again exchanged glances with Mr. Darcy, and she saw he too had noticed Mrs. Lofton’s insistence. But did she mean to incriminate Mrs. Brooks, who seemed an unlikely culprit?
Or was there some other matter to which she wished their attention to be drawn?
Juliet decided that the next question should be broader—and, if she understood Mrs. Lofton’s character correctly, nigh irresistible to her: “To speak more generally, Mrs. Lofton, in the days prior to Mr. Hurst’s murder, had you overheard or observed any behavior you found especially…curious?”
She had hit her target, as surely as though she were back at Rosings Park with bow and arrow in hand.
Mrs. Lofton brightened. “Indeed, there is much that I have thought of greatly, very greatly, since the terrible event! For briefly, at the beginning of our stay, there was some strife between Charles and the Hursts.”
“Both of the Hursts?” Mr. Darcy asked. Yes, he had caught it, too!—for Juliet had noted the difference between this and what they had recently been told. “Not only Mr. Hurst?”
“Indeed, both of them made some pointed remarks about, oh, what was ‘due’—something of that nature. It cannot be money, of course, for none of our family has any need of that nature, so whatever could it be?” Mrs. Lofton’s glee continued to increase.
There are few greater pleasures for a busybody than the arrival of a fresh audience to hear all.
“Then Mrs. Bingley—only the day before you came, Mr. Darcy—I heard her speaking to my brother in a very sad tone, truly mournful, as though someone had died.” Mrs. Lofton caught herself at the awkward turn of phrase, but this would not be enough to dismay her.
“Well. I could not overhear what it was all about, save for one phrase she spoke. Mrs. Bingley said that nothing had been the same ‘since Nancy.’ ”
At this Mrs. Lofton looked triumphant, probably due to the surprise on Mr. Darcy’s face, which was no doubt reflected on Juliet’s own.
Already she had come so to believe in the fabled goodness of the Bingleys that she felt nearly wounded by the implication that Mr. Bingley might have been unfaithful.
But this Nancy—whoever she was—was not necessarily a mistress. Juliet rallied. “How was that connected to Mr. Hurst?”
Mrs. Lofton looked confused. “I would not assume it connected to him at all. But it is curious, is it not?”
Of all the ludicrous charades! Mrs. Hurst could scarcely believe that she was expected to submit to impertinent questions from two young persons.
She would have thought it obvious that no widow should be troubled with poking and prying so soon after a husband’s death.
What had become of manners? Of common decency?
If she was obliged to endure this, she determined to do so on her own terms. So Mrs. Hurst swept into her brother’s study—a room she had been familiar with since before either of these two had been born—wearing her best day dress and a necklace she would normally have reserved for a more elegant occasion.
Let them see whom they had dared to summon like a servant!
“Mrs. Hurst,” said Jonathan Darcy. “Thank you for coming.”
“I suppose it must be done,” Mrs. Hurst replied, as civilly as she could. It would not do to offend the heir to Pemberley, regardless of his impolite behavior. “What would you wish to know?”
Then the Tilney girl, the one who had no place even showing herself in decent society, had the effrontery to ask the questions herself. “Our sympathies upon the death of your husband, ma’am. I take it you were very happy together?”
“We were as happy as any husband and wife,” said Mrs. Hurst, who had given little thought to the foundations of marital intimacy. For many years, she had existed in the same house as Mr. Hurst without being unduly troubled by him; this she considered the limit of reasonable matrimonial expectation.
Miss Tilney pressed. “Had he any habits or tendencies you regretted?”
“Why should I regret anything that was his action alone? I do not see that his behavior should reflect upon me. That would be very unjust.”
“Forgive me, Mrs. Hurst, but the way that you phrase this—” Miss Tilney hesitated, as she should have done, yet continued with her rudeness: “It sounds as though there was indeed some aspect of your husband’s behavior that you were unhappy with.”
Mrs. Hurst could scarcely believe this was happening. “No person is ever entirely happy at all times with the actions of another, no matter how near their relation. Though I expect you know little of matrimony and are unlikely to learn.”
That did the trick: Miss Tilney’s cheeks flushed scarlet as she understood the allusion to her own infamy.
Mrs. Hurst would have taken greater pleasure in this had Mr. Darcy not then become unaccountably sharp with her.
“I shall speak plainly, Mrs. Hurst; we have been told, and I have myself observed in the past, that Mr. Hurst regularly drank to excess. Would you agree that this was so?”
“He drank nothing that his hosts did not offer him.” Mrs. Hurst pursed her lips. “A fine thing, to judge a man for accepting that which is offered.”
Mr. Darcy continued to press. “You have not yet assumed mourning attire, nor withdrawn from company.”
“I have not ventured beyond my brother’s home,” cried Mrs. Hurst, “where all know my widowed state, so there is no need yet of donning black. And I have sought no company beyond this house, nor shall I for some time to come. Do you demand that I suffer more for your satisfaction? For we do not bury wives with their dead husbands in the manner of some ancient potentate of Babylon.”
“Of course not, Mrs. Hurst,” said Miss Tilney, who had forgotten her rebuke so swiftly that she felt free to resume her impertinence. “Will you tell us the nature of your acquaintance with Mr. Brooks?”
“He is the clergyman of the parish,” Mrs. Hurst replied. “His wife is Mrs. Bingley’s sister. Therefore it is entirely natural to see much of them when visiting Netherfield.”
Miss Tilney said, “Have you had private conversations with Mr. Brooks at any time, away from the rest of the party?”
“No conversations of any moment. I am sure that once or twice we have spoken apart from the others, either because they had gone on ahead or because we had, but no occasion was significant enough for me to recall it.”
Still Miss Tilney went on unchecked. “We had heard there was some dispute between you, your husband, and Mr. Bingley shortly after your arrival here. A matter of something ‘due.’ Can you explain to us what that meant?”
“That?” Sputtering with laughter, Mrs. Hurst replied, “We teased each other about the money we won and lost at our nightly card games. Charles will never play for more than sixpence, you know! I do believe the teasing went on a bit too long, though. Mr. Hurst became irritated. It is possible to tell a joke once too often.”
Mr. Darcy seemed to find his tongue once more. “Did you leave your room at any point after retiring the night before your husband’s death or earlier that morning?”
“Why would I have any cause to do so? No, no, of course I did not.” Mrs. Hurst very much hoped that would be all—and it proved to be so. Within but moments she was free to leave the study.
As soon as she was sufficiently far along the hallway to be certain of remaining unseen, Mrs. Hurst paused and put one hand against the way, as if to steady herself.
They do not know, she thought. They do not know, and they never shall.