Chapter Six #3
“He claimed he and Mrs. Hurst spoke only of cards. Do you believe him?”
Miss Tilney tapped her lips with one finger, as she sometimes did when deep in thought.
Jonathan had not forgotten this detail about her, but had not called it to mind in months.
Yet he could not let his joy in her presence prove distracting!
She, seemingly more disciplined, kept to the topic.
“It seems unlikely, does it not? Even so, whatever else might they have to say to each other?”
In point of fact, Juliet Tilney was not without her own moments of distraction regarding Jonathan Darcy.
However, her fascination with the case animated her in its own right.
Her mind had been freed from the confines of remorse and shame, as sure a liberation as any prisoner has ever felt walking away from gaol.
It was in such fine spirits that she awaited the entry of the final person they were to question upon that day.
Mr. Isaac Lucas, a gentleman of roughly the same age as Mr. Darcy, proved pleasing in both his person and his address; if he knew of the scandal attached to Juliet (and how could he not?), he showed not the slightest sign.
So open and artless was his manner that she found herself speaking to him far more frankly than she had intended.
“You must know, Mr. Lucas, that you are not very high on our list of suspects, having no particular tie to the family or the house beyond having attended the final dinner of Mr. Hurst’s life.
Yet you are also the local magistrate, and therefore, a meeting between us is important, as it is by you we must be directed. ”
“I have been the magistrate for but a few months,” Mr. Lucas replied, “and in that time, there has been but one investigation, regarding the theft of old Mrs. Philips’s lace shawl, and that was resolved upon its being found in the hedge of her own home, where the wind had blown it.
So you see, Miss Tilney, I am thus entirely without the sort of experience of which you and Mr. Darcy have so much.
Given that, and my uncomfortable proximity to the time and place of Mr. Hurst’s murder, I would be grateful were the two of you to conduct all necessary inquiries.
We should take care to gather every few days, however often is necessary to see that I remain informed of your progress.
Thus it can be said that all is proceeding under the aegis of the law. ”
Mr. Darcy’s relief was evident, and the match of that within Juliet herself. She even saw him smile as he said to Mr. Lucas, “That would be ideal, sir, and I thank you on Miss Tilney’s behalf as well as my own.”
It appeared that Mr. Lucas was the most relieved of all persons present.
How odd, Juliet thought, that one should not be interested in investigating a murder!
—before recollecting that she herself would have responded in much the same fashion before having experienced it for herself.
She said, “I do beg your pardon, Mr. Lucas, but still, we must ask you what you noted on the night before the murder. Did any conversations or actions strike you as out of the ordinary? Think carefully, for the oddest details are sometimes clues to more than you might imagine.”
“I have thought of little else since word first came that Mr. Hurst’s death might prove to be murder,” Mr. Lucas said.
“Yet try though I might, I can recall nothing that could not have been seen on any other evening. Mrs. Lofton was at times a shade…waspish, shall we say? But not with Mr. Hurst in particular. She occasionally had a sharp tongue with almost all in attendance, from her husband to both the Hursts, both the Brookses, and once or twice even with Mr. Bingley.”
Juliet, intrigued, forgot entirely the agreement between herself and Mr. Darcy regarding the questioning of persons of the same sex. “So Mrs. Lofton was difficult with everyone?”
“Everyone save Mrs. Bingley, and I cannot imagine the creature wicked enough to speak harshly to so sweet a lady as she.” Mr. Lucas smiled at a portrait upon the wall, one that Juliet now recognized as the young Mrs. Bingley.
How worshipful everyone seemed of Mrs. Bingley!
Juliet could not but wonder at it, even having observed her hostess’s kindness for herself.
“Yet these were but stray comments—I cannot remember the particulars of any of them—and most of her behavior was ordinary. Certainly none of her momentary irritations would have seemed likely to presage a turn toward the murderous.”
—
“So we are left not much better off than when we began, Mr. Darcy,” Juliet said once Mr. Lucas had left.
The afternoon sun, low in the sky, slanted through the window at the perfect angle to form a sort of halo around the head of Mrs. Bingley’s portrait.
“We know that Mrs. Hurst enjoys cards. That Mrs. Lofton was in an ill temper, but not remarkably so. And that almost none of these persons who spend so much time together truly know one another intimately—that, or many of them are unwilling to speak the full truth.”
“My supposition is the latter,” Jonathan replied, “but it seems clear that while many may be concealing much, only one is concealing the guilt we wish to discover. The difficulty will lie in determining which one that may be.”
“I agree that there is no conspiracy afoot.” Juliet sighed. “It is hard enough to discern even one motive for the murder of Mr. Hurst, so it beggars belief to posit that multiple people should possess such.”
“Tomorrow, we must go through all anew, and look further into the operations of the household,” said Mr. Darcy. “As for tonight—my grandmother will certainly expect me to dine with them, and they dine at an early hour. But I could return to Netherfield, perhaps, without causing undue offense.”
She felt her cheeks flush with warmth. “We could scarcely excuse ourselves from the activities of the house, even on such business as this.”
“Then we need not.” Mr. Darcy stepped somewhat closer to her, enough for Juliet’s breath to catch. “Let us play the pianoforte for each other, or join Mrs. Hurst in her card games—let us even read books side by side—that alone would be such a—”
“Mr. Darcy.” Juliet rose to her feet, even as she lowered her gaze to the floor. “I am allowed in this house for one purpose only. You must go. You must.”
She hurried toward the study doorway, wondering how she could be both relieved and disappointed that Mr. Darcy made no move to follow. Yet as she went through it, he said, “You underestimate my family, Miss Tilney, and you underestimate me.”
“You underestimate my grandfather,” Juliet said, hating the words she spoke for their truth, “for he will see me wed before you can hope to do so.”
Mr. Darcy’s consternation was great, as well it might be. “What can you mean?”
“I mean, Mr. Darcy, that Mr. Follett has sought to repair our reputations—and, more significantly to him, his painting career—by proposing marriage.”
“You would not.” How horrified Mr. Darcy appeared! “You could not bear it!”
Juliet struggled for composure. “It is not my wish, but it is that of my grandfather. I do not think my parents would ever consent, but both Mr. Follett and General Tilney speak truth when they say it may be the only means of escaping my current predicament.”
“It shall not stand,” said Mr. Darcy. “It must not be.”
As much as his feelings in the matter resembled Juliet’s own, she could scarcely bear to hear him speak them aloud. The trap of hope was too near being sprung. “We should talk of it no further. The investigation is our main concern, and that we will speak of tomorrow.”
Mr. Darcy seemed as though he would like to talk more on the matter, much more, but he accepted her dismissal with grace. “Until tomorrow.”
Why must the tone of his voice pierce her so? But Juliet kept her resolve, neither pausing nor looking back until she was up the stairs and in her own bedchamber. Only then did she allow herself the relief of tears.