Chapter Eleven #2
They first conversed with Mr. Lucas, who was much shocked and dismayed.
“I left Netherfield last night around ten, and arrived home before ten thirty,” he said.
“My mother and the servants will all attest to my presence at Lucas Lodge between that hour and the messenger’s arrival this morning, and the groom can further swear that no horse nor carriage was taken from our stables. ”
Mr. Darcy hastily said, “It is not that we suspect you, Mr. Lucas. Yet given that another murder has occurred, we cannot know whether you would wish us to continue the investigations or take over yourself.”
“Please do continue,” said Mr. Lucas, “for I should have little idea where to begin, and neither of you can be faulted for failing to predict that the killer had not finished this bloodthirsty work.”
Next they spoke to Mr. and Mrs. Bingley together.
Here, Juliet had little thought of guilt for the husband, and absolutely none for the wife, who wept more for her parlormaid than Mrs. Hurst had for her husband.
Yet, as master and mistress of the house, they would know more of what comings and goings, which sounds and sights, would be commonplace at Netherfield and which would merit further attention.
“Becky so hoped to improve her station in life,” Mrs. Bingley said as she dabbed her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief.
“I do not mean that she believed herself above her station—she was not at all an impudent girl, you must not think so—but she was eager to learn more, to do more, to move up within the household. I think it admirable when a young person shows such endeavor.”
“Indeed,” said Mr. Bingley. “I daresay she would have become a lady’s maid in time, and perhaps later in her life, she might even have become housekeeper at an estate.”
Juliet asked, “It would not have been unusual for her to have a wax candle?” This already seemed likely, but she wanted to be as certain as possible that the killer had not been the one who gave Becky the candle.
Mrs. Bingley shook her head. “The tallow ones smell so strong, and you know, the servants’ quarters are not very large. Only think what the odor of tallow must be in such confines!”
Few enough mistresses ever thought of this consideration; Juliet guiltily realized she never had herself. Her parents were kind to their servants, but she doubted any of their number had even once been given a candle of beeswax.
Mr. Darcy said, “You set the sash out to be dyed yesterday?”
“I set it out the night prior, for yesterday’s dyeing,” Mrs. Bingley said, unexpectedly precise. “But as you see, it was never dyed.”
Although Juliet still doubted the killer would be a servant, the death of a servant meant she situation downstairs had to be considered anew. “There were, so far as you know, no hard feelings between Becky and any of the other staff?”
“No, not to my knowledge, and I would wager not at all,” Mr. Bingley said. “She was always quick to help others, the better to learn more tasks. Again, as I say, Becky always thought of the future. Poor girl!”
“What about a former servant?” Mr. Darcy said.
This was apparently a new notion, but not a bad one, in Juliet’s opinion; a person recently departed from the household would have all necessary knowledge of the premises and its workings, and perhaps certain grudges as well.
“Did you recently let anyone go? Or did anyone give notice?”
The Bingleys looked at each other in apparent befuddlement. “We have not had occasion to dismiss anyone since—oh, four or five years ago, was it not?” Mr. Bingley asked.
“Five years at least,” Mrs. Bingley said.
Juliet said, “No one recently left their position?”
“Neither recently nor otherwise,” Mr. Bingley said. “Do you know, I do not think we have ever had a servant leave, either here or at our house in Staffordshire?”
“No, I do not believe we have,” Mrs. Bingley added, and Juliet could not wonder at it.
—
The Loftons came next, together as a pair. Though Juliet thought it better, as a rule, to speak to all suspects separately, she believed it might be interesting to see how the two of them acted with each other.
Furthermore, Mrs. Lofton seemed almost incapable of even remaining upright on her own, much less facing questioning.
She fanned herself, and sweat dampened her brow.
Mr. Lofton kept one arm around her shoulders, either through affection or the sense that propriety would be strained if his wife collapsed upon the floor.
“Had you interacted much at all with Becky?” Juliet asked.
“Why should I know anything of a parlormaid?” Mrs. Lofton asked in genuine bewilderment.
“You recall, dear, she served at breakfast yesterday,” Mr. Lofton said. “Always seemed ready to lend a hand. Even brought me my hat before I rode to Meryton.”
“Charles and his wife are so eccentric.” Mrs. Lofton waved her fan even harder. “I do remember a girl there, for strange it was to see, but until this moment, I did not even know it was she who had died.”
“And you, Mr. Lofton?” Mr. Darcy said.
Mr. Lofton shook his head vehemently. “I know there are some gentlemen, or so society calls them, for truly they are rascals and worse, who pester the maids in their own household or wherever they happen to be staying, but I assure you both, never have I so importuned a young woman.” The force of his assertion suggested to Juliet that he was honest—though she noted he could not imagine speaking to a young woman not of his class in any other circumstance.
Yet there was nothing very strange in that manner of thinking.
Juliet said, “Did either of you rise during the night and leave your bedroom? Did you hear anyone else doing so?”
The Loftons looked at each other. It was Mr. Lofton who said, “I think I did hear something in the the hall at one point, but I cannot even say what, much less when. Only that my slumber was slightly disturbed. It might not have had to do with the girl’s death at all.
And you, my dear, you were fast asleep throughout, were you not? ”
Mrs. Lofton nodded. “I sleep very deeply. Never before have I been sorry of it—but I can tell you nothing more. Which I suppose is nothing at all.”
After the Loftons left, Jonathan said, “We shall need to talk to every servant who helped with the dyeing, to see if they saw who took Aunt Jane’s sash. Furthermore, ought we not speak to the Brookses later? Though I can hardly imagine them making their way to Netherfield in the dead of night.”
“It is almost impossible to imagine any of the possible suspects committing this crime,” Miss Tilney replied, “yet one of them must have done so. Poor Becky! I keep thinking of her at breakfast yesterday. She was so cheerful, so very bright.”
Jonathan had indeed been struck by Becky’s smile the day before, but now even more so, as suspicions began to form in his mind. “She said it was a maid’s job, to do what was asked. Did she not?”
Miss Tilney frowned. “Yes, she did. But what of it?”
“Becky spoke with enthusiasm, even pleasure, of a maid’s obligations.
She had ambitions to improve her station.
” Jonathan wondered if he was being fantastical, but surely there was something to it.
“Miss Tilney, do not you think that Becky spoke like someone who did not expect to be a maid very much longer?”
Miss Tilney’s confusion remained a few moments longer, long enough for him to doubt this insight, but then she put her hand to her mouth.
“I do not know if we can assume that much…but she had some expectation, something that elated her and she thought would change her situation. You suggest that her killer had made some kind of promise to her?”
“Such a promise—whether of money or of some other advancement—could have lured her downstairs in the night, do not you think?”
“And I can think of only one inducement she could have offered to not only draw out the killer, but also persuade that individual to kill again,” Miss Tilney said. “I believe Becky knew who the murderer was. She elected not to tell us. Instead she played a very dangerous game…and lost her life.”
Jonathan knew it had been Becky’s choice not to speak, but had they been truly ready to listen? “I feel so wicked. Had we not been so—though we could hardly have been otherwise—yesterday, might we not—?”
“Shhh.” Miss Tilney lay her hand atop his, an intimacy too thrilling to be entirely lost even amid this extremity. “That was not until later.”
Their eyes met, and once again he felt almost overcome by her mere presence. They could not linger in the same romantic daydreams as yesterday, but their union remained constant. Today, they would attend fully to the investigation.
They did not attend to the far end of the hall, where Priscilla Allerdyce saw the two of them standing close, nor watch her eyes narrow as she realized they held each other’s hands.