Chapter Ten #2
Jonathan frowned. “You think she did not kill him because she does not mourn him?”
“Consider, gentlemen. Had Mrs. Hurst done it, would she not be at pains to demonstrate her innocence? What better demonstration of this could there be besides her grief? Would she not be the first to weep, the loudest to wail? Instead, she behaves in a way that draws attention, and to me it seems that no person guilty of murder would wish more attention paid them, rather than less.”
“Your point is well-made,” Jonathan conceded. “Yet other explanations are possible.”
She raised one eyebrow, a familiar and tantalizing challenge. “What would one of these explanations be?”
How could this be tactfully put? “Mrs. Hurst has never struck me as a particularly insightful person, either regarding herself or others,” Jonathan replied.
“She lacks curiosity about those around her, and insofar as she thinks of them, in my experience, she tends to regard them as universally lesser than herself—both in class and in understanding.”
Miss Tilney took a sip of coffee as she weighed his words. “You mean, she may not be considering the opinions of others because they do not matter to her, and she does not consider them intelligent enough to deduce much from her actions.”
“Precisely.”
“Very well. And there is the possibility of the…connection we had discussed.”
“What connection is this?” Mr. Lucas asked. Jonathan whispered the words, to his listener’s evident surprise. “You cannot mean it? Truly?”
“I remain dubious in that regard,” said Jonathan, “as it would seem to suggest a depth of feeling neither has much evidenced.”
“Yet they have had occasion to speak in confidence, a confidence they apparently wish to maintain even amid the mystery regarding Mr. Hurst’s death,” Miss Tilney said. “It may or may not be illicit, but we cannot know that until we discover what it is.”
This seemed both reasonable and intriguing to Jonathan. “Then there we will press.”
Miss Tilney tapped at his uncle’s name upon the list. “No motive suggests itself for Mr. Bingley, save that Mr. Hurst did not appear to be an especially attentive husband, which could, I suppose, lead a brother to feel protective of his sister. Yet we have heard nothing of Mr. Hurst that would suggest he was cruel, nor that Mrs. Hurst felt oppressed by him in any respect. I should not think Mr. Bingley a man to interfere in such a situation unless his sister’s situation was terrible indeed. ”
“Agreed,” Jonathan said. “Yet he is keeping some manner of secret from my aunt. I overheard him giving instructions to his steward regarding the sending of a check, I know not to whom, but he stressed that Aunt Jane must not know.”
“The mysterious ‘Nancy’?” Miss Tilney murmured. She appeared nearly as dismayed by the idea as Jonathan felt. “Mr. Lucas, do you know of a ‘Nancy’ particularly attached to this house?”
“It is a common name,” Lucas replied, “and there are many so called in Meryton, but I cannot name one I know to have connections to this house or family.”
Miss Tilney shook her head. “This is not one of our main points of curiosity, for we have nothing to link this secret to Mr. Hurst’s death. Nor can I think of any reason that, in such a case, Mr. Bingley should speak freely of the matter to his steward.”
This was well reasoned, Jonathan felt. “As to the Loftons—Mrs. Lofton overhears much, which has been of a benefit to us. Yet could this not, in its own way, be a kind of concealment?” He was particularly proud of this last insight.
“Perhaps? Though it seems more artful than I would think her capable of being. Yet I fear we must learn from her example.” When Miss Tilney became amused, she wrinkled her nose slightly, which Jonathan found charming. “Mr. Darcy, I fear we shall have to become quite nosy.”
Jonathan smiled back at her. He disliked looking into the eyes of others for more than an instant, but with Miss Tilney, this lifelong aversion often melted away. “We so often do.”
Then she seemed to catch herself, or to remember Mr. Lucas, sitting up straighter and attending to the list once more. She turned her attention to the servant girl Becky, who still stood near the sideboard. “I fear we are keeping you rather late. Breakfast hours must be over.”
“The job’s to stay as long as anyone wants to eat, miss.” Becky did not seem dismayed. If anything, Jonathan thought, the girl seemed happy. “A servant does as she’s bid.”
“Nonetheless,” Miss Tilney said as she rose, “we can move our conversation elsewhere.”
Becky’s wide smile remained bright. “As you like, miss.”
Jonathan hastily gathered list and pencil to follow Miss Tilney from the breakfast room.
Mr. Lucas, having attended to his duty, now felt free to find Miss Allerdyce elsewhere in the house.
After excusing him, Jonathan told Miss Tilney, “I suppose our discussion was very nearly at an end regardless, for that is everyone we need to consider.”
Miss Tilney stopped in the hallway to face him. “Not at all, for we have not spoken of Mrs. Brooks.”
“Aunt Kitty?”
His consternation must have been clear, because Miss Tilney became firm. “I know you are fond of all your family, but—”
“That is not the source of my objection,” Jonathan insisted.
“In truth, I do not know my aunt Kitty very well at all. Yet she is not a guest in this house, there is no reason to believe she entered it on the morning of the murder, and most importantly, she lacks any possible motive for Mr. Hurst’s death. ”
“Your first two points I concede,” she replied, “and I am not even certain of the third. All I am certain of is that Mrs. Brooks is very, very angry. So much so that she bites back almost every word she wishes to say. Knowing, as we do, that her husband may be tied to this matter in ways that are not yet revealed, we cannot discount that the wife could be as well.”
Jonathan could scarcely credit this. “I trust your impressions,” he said carefully, “as you often possess an insight I lack into certain subtleties. Yet what do you believe to be the source of my aunt’s anger?”
“Envy,” Miss Tilney said. “She envies your aunt Jane so much she can hardly bear to look at her. Truly, have you not seen it?”
He had not. “Do you mean that she envies the wealth the Bingleys possess? A clergyman with a small parish necessarily lives a more modest existence than that of an independent gentleman, but the Brookses are hardly impoverished.”
“Wealth may be a part of it, but not the most important part. I cannot be sure—but I feel so strongly—Mr. Darcy, it is not Mrs. Bingley’s fortune that Mrs. Brooks envies.
It is her happiness.” Miss Tilney spoke more softly with every word, conscious that they stood in a broad Netherfield hallway, their voices capable of carrying almost anywhere, though in truth Jonathan suspected the regular thunk and tick of the nearby longcase clock erased their words for any but a near and avid eavesdropper.
“Mrs. Bingley married well in every sense. Yes, Mr. Bingley is a gentleman of property, but he is also warm, generous, affectionate. These are all qualities Mr. Brooks appears to lack.”
“Not every person’s behavior is the same in company as it is at home,” Jonathan pointed out. “Though of course, many behave better when observed, not worse.”
“For a woman, the question of who to marry is perhaps the most vital of her life. We are given fewer choices. So much of our fate must lie in the hands of our future husband, and to have one’s hopes thwarted—to live, always, with the knowledge of what might have been—”
She caught herself again, and the silence between them seemed to yawn wide, as if to swallow them both.
Jonathan did not know whether this was danger or opportunity, but he would not let any chance go.
Stepping closer to her, his voice low, he said, “My dearest hope is that you will never face such a difficulty, Miss Tilney.”
“You have not heard me at all, Mr. Darcy.” With that, she turned to leave.
If only it were seemly to run! Juliet stalked away across the back garden.
She wanted to run with all her strength and might to the edge of the grounds, into the fields, to find some patch of shrubbery or trees that would allow her to hide from every person in the world.
But to be seen running as a grown woman was—
Then again, she was already shamed beyond redemption, was she not? Who cared if she ran? Indeed, Juliet would have broken into a sprint the very next instant had Mr. Darcy not come running out of the house after her. “Miss Tilney! Please, we must speak.”
Juliet might have braved herself to run despite disapproval, but her nerves were not up to creating such a spectacle as being chased. Instead she diverted her steps toward the Grecian folly, where they would at least have some small measure of privacy.
She ascended its steps, then rested her hands against two of the pillars, refusing to look back at Mr. Darcy. “You insist upon tormenting me.”
“It is you who insists upon torment, both for yourself and for me,” he replied with uncommon spirit.
“How long do you intend to let a mere painting dictate our fortunes? How much more time will you spend on this pretense that either of us cares what the rest of the world has to say, so long as we are together?”
“I—” Juliet knew not what to say. “You know there is no hope.”
“I agree,” Mr. Darcy said. “I agree that there is no hope, for ‘hope’ suggests uncertainty, and I possess none. I have known—I believe, truly, that we have known for years that between us lies an…an uncommon affinity. We possess such candor, such understanding, and such harmony in each other’s company that it is unthinkable to me that we should ever part. ”
How this wrenched Juliet’s heart! “You have come very close to saying what you must not.”