Chapter Six #2
Happy to be thought obliging, Mr. Bingley took himself off, much relieved.
Though Juliet thought it likely that the murderer would prove to be someone staying at Netherfield, and knew Mr. Darcy to agree with her, they could not neglect those persons often present who would therefore be familiar with the house, its routines, and the late Mr. Hurst. The Bingleys had undertaken the difficult task of inviting these individuals to Netherfield that day for questioning, and the first two to appear were Mr. and Mrs. Brooks.
Mrs. Brooks entered the room first. As she was not a direct relation of Mr. Hurst, mourning attire was not expected, but she had shown delicacy in wearing a simple gray dress with minimal trimming.
Yet as Juliet took in the cheapness of Mrs. Brooks’s dress, its few trimmings some years out of date, it had to be wondered whether this modesty was truly thoughtful or merely necessary.
Several small signs—the lack of any jewelry, the wear on her shoes—suggested that the financial situation of the Brooks family, although not impoverished, did not come near that of any of those currently staying at Netherfield, nor of Juliet herself.
This was to be expected from a clergyman who had but a small parish and who presumably possessed no family wealth to augment his coffers.
No ready resemblance could at first found between Mrs. Brooks and the two of her sisters whom Juliet had come to know, namely Mrs. Bingley and of course Mrs. Darcy.
Yet a moment’s study allowed the recognition that Mrs. Brooks’s heart-shaped face was very like that of Mrs. Darcy; furthermore, Mrs. Brooks’s pale blue eyes and delicate chin were very like that of Mrs. Bingley.
So why had the recognition of these similarities been so difficult to achieve?
Juliet realized, Both Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Bingley are happy women. Even when engaging with them at times of turmoil, I can detect in each woman a faith in herself, in her husband, and in her situation that is somehow whispered within every gesture, every expression.
This faith, Mrs. Brooks does not possess.
“Thank you for agreeing to assist us in our endeavors, Aunt Kitty,” said Mr. Darcy. His tone suggested warmth toward his relation but no true intimacy with her.
“Of course,” Mrs. Brooks said. “I am always ready to do what I can for my family.”
Juliet began, “Let me see if I understand rightly. You are the younger sister of Mrs. Bingley, yes?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Brooks said, looking down at the hands she kept folded in her lap. “I am the fourth daughter of five.”
“Mrs. Darcy is known to me, and of course we are both the guests of Mrs. Bingley,” Juliet said. She knew a bit of the rest, but found herself interested to hear how Mrs. Brooks would put things. “Your other sisters?”
“Mrs. Wheelwright is the wife of the Dean of Tunbridge Wells.” Mrs. Brooks sounded unaccountably sharp as she said this, but then a flicker of true grief became apparent upon her face.
“My younger sister, Mrs. Wickham, passed away some years ago. Did not you learn as much when looking into the murder of her late husband?”
Mr. Darcy said, “Forgive my speaking of such personal matters, but I had always felt that Aunt Lydia was more your particular companion than my mother or your other sisters.”
“Very much so.” Mrs. Brooks tucked one of her curls beneath her cap, an unnecessary gesture that hinted at disquiet. “The elder two—Jane and Elizabeth—they had little enough time for those of us who were younger.”
“That is not so uncommon, I think,” said Juliet, “for the siblings closest in age to be nearer in temperament and confidence. Yet I note that you seem to have become much more intimate with Mrs. Bingley in adult life, for it is said that you and your husband dine here at Netherfield a few times a week.”
Mrs. Brooks did not smile, nor betray any other sign of fond remembrance.
“The Bingleys returned to Netherfield in order that they might be more in attendance upon my parents, when required by their age and ill health. It was more than Mr. Brooks and I could manage alone, as he has the needs of his parish to attend to and our children were yet young.”
Yet Mrs. Brooks does not dine with her parents nearly so often as she does here at Netherfield, Juliet noted.
Mr. Darcy had cocked his head, studying his aunt with a newly sharpened gaze.
Had he, too, noted that Mrs. Brooks had not actually answered her question?
He said only, “Aunt Kitty, your time spent here at Netherfield would have made you better acquainted with the Hursts, no doubt. Had they become particular friends of yours?”
A small twitch at the corner of Mrs. Brooks’s mouth might have been amusement—or was she, perhaps, flinching?
“I would not say that. Certainly we had become much better known to one another, but not intimately so. Mostly we play cards together. Mrs. Hurst is an enthusiastic cardplayer, you know. As I remember you once were, Jonathan. Is that still the case?”
“My aptitude is unchanged,” said Mr. Darcy, forthright as ever. “But I play seldom. People do not like to lose, nor do they care for the company of those they lose to very often.”
She endeavors to distract him, Juliet thought. Or am I grown overly suspicious? “Mrs. Brooks,” she said, “I understand the Meryton vicarage is not far from this house. Did you return to Netherfield either later on the night before Mr. Hurst’s death or earlier on the morning of the day he died?”
“Indeed not.” Mrs. Brooks’s tone was sharp. “Why should I ever do such a thing? What purpose could there be for it?”
The purpose was of course entirely clear—to poison Mr. Hurst—but although Juliet found Mrs. Brooks to be overly cautious in her responses, nothing she had said tended to suggest any motive for that murder. “Thank you, Mrs. Brooks,” Juliet said. “I believe we need not trouble you further today.”
Mr. Brooks followed, giving both Jonathan and Miss Tilney the same polite nod of greeting, despite the fact that he had been Jonathan’s uncle for nearly fifteen years.
They knew each other scarcely at all, a fact that had never before struck Jonathan so forcibly.
Even the late, unmourned Mr. Wickham had from time to time taken Jonathan riding during his boyhood.
Mr. Brooks, on the other hand, he could scarcely remember at any occasion beyond weddings, funerals, and some hazily recalled dinners.
Card games were the only amusement they had ever shared, and seldom at that.
Indeed, at no prior point had Jonathan realized that he always addressed Mr. Bingley as uncle… but almost never Mr. Brooks.
“You wish to know of my doings around the time of Mr. Hurst’s death, I surmise,” said Mr. Brooks, not waiting to be asked.
“We dined here at Netherfield that night, as often we do, and played cards and listened to music afterward, which is also our custom. You had gone to bed at this point, I believe, Mr. Darcy. All of Mr. Bingley’s sisters are accomplished at the pianoforte, and Mrs. Lofton is in addition a fine singer.
She gave us a few Irish airs between rounds of whist. All ended at the usual hour, at which time my wife and I returned home.
Neither of us had left the vicarage again before word came of Mr. Hurst’s death. ”
This was all summarized very neatly, which pleased Jonathan’s instinct for order—yet also allowed Mr. Brooks to be more cautious with his words.
Miss Tilney never took her gaze from Mr. Brooks; but merely from the set of her shoulders, and the quality of her silence, Jonathan knew she shared his instinct about his uncle’s pointed clarity.
“Thank you, Mr. Brooks,” he said simply.
“Did you speak in particular with Mrs. Hurst that evening?”
“Briefly, as we were departing, but only about her strategies at the card table. As you know, whist is not at all a game of chance.” Mr. Brooks did not alter either his tone or expression as he continued, “I fear that Mr. Hurst was apt to miss church many Sundays, yet I feel sure that his immortal soul is now in the keeping of our Savior.”
How difficult it was to follow such a pronouncement with any comment remotely to the purpose!
Jonathan struggled for a moment before Miss Tilney managed, “Thank you, Mr. Brooks.” They watched him go, and as soon as he had departed, she whispered to Jonathan, “He is remarkably unmoved, is he not? To be in constant companionship with a person for weeks on end, year after year, and yet to be so blithe upon his passing!”
“Indeed,” Jonathan said. “Yet I cannot but think that this tends to exculpate Mr. Brooks, rather than the reverse. We have seen murderers successfully feign surprise, grief, and even fear. To feign nonchalance is, I should believe, far more difficult, at least to do so as thoroughly as Mr. Brooks has done.”
“True. Nor can I conceive of a motive for Mr. Brooks to harm Mr. Hurst. Yet he did forestall our questions so readily, so firmly!” Miss Tilney had become livelier, more engaging—more herself at last. Jonathan knew that to mention this would damage the very thing that had so benefited her, namely her interest in the mystery before them.
So he simply nodded as she continued: “The Brookses have no fortune to equal that of the Bingleys, I take it? Or the Hursts, or the Loftons?”
Jonathan said, “Not at all. That said, while their situation is not exceedingly prosperous, I believe the Brookses’ income to be steady, and a reasonable support for a small family.
Meryton vicarage is not grand—nor is its parish—but nor would it be found deficient.
In size and aspect it is not much smaller than Longbourn, my mother’s family home. ”
“The difference in prosperity is felt, I think,” Miss Tilney mused. “Yet, I cannot see how it would signify in this matter. Mr. Hurst’s demise cannot add to the prosperity of Mr. and Mrs. Brooks.”