Chapter Fifteen
Miss Tilney—
You have, through your misconduct, your lack of discretion, and above all through your obstinate disobedience, forfeited the right to call yourself my granddaughter—to visit Northanger Abbey or the parish I have allowed your father to have—to be considered as any member of the family.
As you are so certain of yourself in Hertfordshire, remain there, or go elsewhere, but you shall not return here. Nevermore shall you be admitted to our presence, and if you or your parents attempt to defy me in this matter, it will go all the worse for them.
May your regrets be as bitter as are mine for putting trust in a faithless child.
General Tilney
Juliet had ever known her grandfather to be an unkind, uncharitable man.
He had not been good to her mother during the courtship of Juliet’s parents, and he oversaw his holdings with all the dictatorial arrogance of a lord of the realm, though in truth many lords were far better behaved.
Yet never had she foreseen such a consequence as this.
If only she could write back to her grandfather, tell him that she was engaged to Jonathan Darcy!
Once he knew this, she was certain all would be forgiven—for even though she felt she had done nothing wrong to forgive, even though she knew her grandfather’s reversal would arise from purely selfish motives, it was impossible to read evidence of such anger and not wish it gone.
However, this she could not write, for their engagement remained secret, and to judge by Mr. Darcy’s demeanor at Netherfield, the secret would have to be kept far longer.
What frightened her most was the strong hint that, if her parents attempted to support her in her refusal of Mr. Follet’s offer, they, too, would be punished.
Her father’s parish was one over which her grandfather’s influence ruled; if General Tilney wished another minister to be appointed there, then this would occur, and Henry Tilney would lose his living.
This would not be a fatal blow to the family, for Catherine Tilney made more income from her books than could ever be decently acknowledged—but it would materially hurt their circumstances, as well as those of Theodosia and Albion.
Juliet did not doubt that her parents would nonetheless choose her. Yet she could not bear the thought of this sacrifice. If her mother and father could but be assured of her well-being elsewhere, they might not defy General Tilney to such an extent that they would share Juliet’s fate.
But where should such a place be?
—
“Miss Tilney?”
She startled from her place in Mr. Bingley’s study—though she had read the letter many hours before, after a long and sleepless night, its words remained before her, a shadowy screen through which the entire world had been made unclear. “Oh. Yes, Mr. Darcy?”
“Are you quite well? You have not been attending very closely this morning.” Jonathan had been attempting to review and align what was known of various suspects, but she had proved unable to assist in any meaningful way. “Forgive me—you seem quite pale—”
“My grandfather’s letter was difficult to read,” she said, but no further would she yet speak.
To pressure Jonathan into telling his father of their engagement immediately, when they could have no chance of success—it would not improve her circumstances.
He would only be made as unhappy as she, a fate Juliet would have wished on no person.
“I did not sleep much. What were you saying, of the staircase?”
Jonathan gazed at her, clearly unsure that he had heard the whole truth, but he did her the honor of taking her at her word.
“My thought was that tripping a person upon a stair, though very dangerous and as we have seen sometimes fatal, is by no means an assured method of committing murder. It would have been equally likely—nay, more so—that Becky would have tripped and been injured, yet survived. Given this, does it not strike you as an extraordinary risk for the murderer to have taken?”
Juliet considered this carefully. “It may be,” she said slowly, “that the murderer’s purpose might have been fulfilled by injury equally as well as by death.
If, as we speculate, Becky knew who the guilty party was, and hoped to obtain money from them—such a fall would have done more than hurt her.
It would have frightened her badly and made it clear that the murderer was more than willing to kill again. ”
“Very possible,” Jonathan agreed, “though I confess, my thought was yet more disturbing: that the killer might have gone downstairs after Becky’s fall to ensure that she was dead. Had the tumble not broken her neck, he could then have dispatched her by other means.”
“How terrible!” Juliet shuddered. “I am glad for her sake that, if she had to die, it was by the fall. That at least was swift.”
Jonathan touched her arm briefly. “If the incident upon the staircase was as much warning as murder, then I fear we cannot be certain we shall not receive such warnings ourselves.”
Meanwhile, during a stroll through the garden but a few minutes’ steps away, another young woman was enjoying a far happier morning, and a far more conventional courtship.
And courtship it most definitely was, as Frederica Allerdyce was learning to her delight.
“We have always been friends to each other,” said Isaac Lucas, his expression open with artless hope.
“I have always admired your strength of character, your goodness, and your loveliness. We value the same principles, the same sorts of people, I believe; we wish for the same good life. So I ask you, my dear Miss Allerdyce, will you share that life with me?”
“Yes,” whispered Frederica, a brilliant smile illuminating her face more brightly than the weak October sun. “Yes, Mr. Lucas, I should be so very happy to become your wife.”
Mr. Lucas took Frederica’s hand, a thrilling touch. “Then let me go to your father at once.”
“When you do, tell him that you have my entire heart,” Frederica said. “Then he will not be able to refuse you.”
Very daringly, Mr. Lucas stole a kiss upon her cheek, then hurried inside the house, unwilling to wait even one moment longer than necessary before making their engagement entirely official.
Frederica spun about in place amid the goldenrod and gentian, laughing out loud for pure delight. It was then that Priscilla—who had been following her sister and spying from a distance—dared to approach.
“You are very giddy this morning,” said she as she came up to Frederica, who remained flushed with happiness. “Is Mr. Lucas paying you court?”
“He has already done so, and we are to be married. As soon as he speaks to Papa, which he has already gone to do. Oh, Priss, I have never been so happy!”
“Have you always liked him, then?”
Frederica nodded. “Though I never gave the notion serious thought, so clear did it seem that the match would be entirely impossible. Now that he has inherited his house and fortune, however, nothing should stand between us.”
Priscilla was of two minds about this news.
Her mother’s snobbery had formed enough of her character for her to think Isaac Lucas of Meryton less than her sister deserved; also she had a better notion than did Frederica of Mrs. Allerdyce’s likely reaction to this news.
However, she liked her sister well enough to take some pleasure in her happiness.
Furthermore, it was always said that talk of one wedding brought on another.
Would the announcement of this match perhaps make Jonathan Darcy think more seriously about his own future?
Or had the Darcy heir already made a very grave mistake?
“You cannot have allowed it,” said Caroline Allerdyce, whose husband had drawn her into their Netherfield bedroom to share what he had believed to be excellent news. “Tell me you sent him away. Tell me you refused him!”
“By no means did I refuse him.” Mr. Allerdyce possessed as strong a will as his wife when he chose to exercise it, as he did now. “Isaac Lucas is a likable, intelligent young man with an income of almost three thousand a year and a fine estate.”
“Not even three thousand a year? For a girl with a dowry of ten thousand pounds?” Caroline paced the length of the room, which was not so long as to keep her from turning and turning and turning again. “You cannot think that a sensible match. To go from a member of the nobility to this!”
“To go from a baronet Frederica could not respect to a young man closer to her age, who cares for her as deeply as we could wish, of whom we know only good? To me, Caroline, that seems an excellent change.”
She had rarely felt so at odds with her husband as she did at this moment. “If it must be, it must be,” Caroline said. “To think, my daughter to be mistress of Lucas Lodge—oh, Louisa will never cease laughing at it.”
“Is it Mrs. Hurst’s good opinion we should be seeking above all else?
” Mr. Allerdyce, though an even-tempered man by nature, had begun finally to anger.
“I listen to my own reason, which tells me this match will make our daughter happy without depriving her materially. If you are sensible, you will keep your own counsel as well, instead of listening to Mrs. Hurst.”
Caroline was not even truly listening to him, so outdone was she. “I suppose our greatest hopes have always been for Priscilla. When she weds Jonathan Darcy, any wagging tongues mocking us for Frederica’s match will be well and truly silenced.”
Mr. Allerdyce’s surprise on this point was great indeed. “Whatever can you mean? The young Mr. Darcy shows no particular attachment to Priscilla that I have seen. It is the Tilney girl to whom he attends.”
“The Darcys will never consent to that match. Mr. Darcy’s appearance here proves that at least.”
“Because of the rumors surrounding the girl,” said Mr. Allerdyce. “But we know whence these rumors spring, Caroline—from an incident that you yourself brought about.”