Chapter Ten
Louisa Hurst had never troubled herself overmuch regarding housekeeping.
When Mr. Hurst had inherited his estate, more than two decades into their marriage, she had simply accepted the existing housekeeper, a Mrs. Russ.
In the general way of things, this action would have been both practical and considerate; however, as Mrs. Russ had been hoping for a small bequest in the late owner’s will, and was reaching an advanced age, the choice was a careless one.
Having had time enough to assess her new mistress, Russ had promptly begun skimming small amounts from the household funds to create her own nest egg, generally by hiring new servants at even lower wages than the disgraceful ones the Hursts believed they paid.
This meant that all in their home was done poorly, which irritated Mrs. Hurst, which meant she spent even less time thinking about the house and arranged for more months away visiting family—almost always Charles and Jane Bingley.
The state of affairs worked well for no one save Mrs. Russ, for whom it functioned so smoothly that she planned to retire within a year’s time.
So it was no very great wonder that, when Mrs. Hurst awoke the next morning, she did not at first recognize the acrid scent drifting through her open window.
A momentary fear of fire roused her thoroughly, when she saw (to her mingled relief and dismay) that the servants were, at long last, preparing the vats of black dye that awaited nearly all her clothes for transformation later that day.
Mourning must be worn, of course. This was society’s rule, and Mrs. Hurst was not one who questioned such rules.
Yet she could hardly stifle a cry of dismay at the thought of her pretty dresses being made funereal.
It was not as though wearing black would ease her mourning; if anything, she thought, the inconvenience and ugliness of it all would make her sadder rather than happier. So what could be the point of that?
(Remembrance, it will be seen, was not one of Mrs. Hurst’s virtues.)
Already she had given the maids instructions for the proper handling of her clothes, but Mrs. Hurst felt the need to ensure nothing had been forgotten.
She rang the bell and commanded her maid to dress her in the brightest day dress she owned—an apple-green one trimmed with dark gold embroidery—in order to spare that, at least. Emerging from her room, she almost immediately came upon her favorite sister in the hallway.
“Well, Caroline, the stench will have told you that my mourning is to begin tomorrow,” Mrs. Hurst cried.
“Like as not, the servants will ruin every garment they touch. If I did not know better, I would think Jane meant to shame me for not having had the foresight to pack all my black things in case Mr. Hurst were to die.”
Mrs. Allerdyce frowned. “That is not very like Jane.” Yet that could be only morning disagreeableness, for she swiftly took on a more becoming smile.
“Within the family circle, I think it rather mean to pay undue attention to such strictures. Of course you would never be seen beyond this estate without donning mourning, and what can your clothing signify while you are in the company of those who know your sorrow!”
Mrs. Hurst had ventured past Netherfield a few mornings prior—but that had been nothing with which to trouble her sister. More pertinent news had already presented itself. “I believe the eager suitor is already on his way, Caroline. And breakfast hardly even set out!”
Yet the sight of Jonathan Darcy riding toward Netherfield did not brighten Mrs. Allerdyce’s spirits as might have been expected.
Surely she did not think the disgraced Tilney girl to be an obstacle in Priscilla’s path—but as Mrs. Hurst looked further, she understood.
Not a quarter of a mile behind Mr. Darcy rode Mr. Isaac Lucas.
Laughing gaily, Mrs. Hurst said, “Do not fret about him, Caroline! To imagine, that either of your girls would ever be tempted to become mistress of Lucas Lodge!”
At that Caroline’s smile became real, and they went down to breakfast arm in arm as they had in days gone by. There was no need to think further upon black garb until tomorrow, and no need ever again to consider the errand that had taken Mrs. Hurst into Meryton, none at all.
Through the lace curtain at her window, Juliet watched the arrival of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Lucas. She intended to come down to breakfast as late as possible, so that she might have more time to finish a letter.
Dinner with the Bennets had given her many thoughts regarding the investigation, but one lesson shone brightest among them all: To marry without love was not only a mistake, one destined to cast shadows over one’s whole life (poor Kitty Brooks!), but in truth, a sin.
Thus she had resolved to act immediately.
Returning to her desk, Juliet prepared to conclude the letter to her grandfather she had begun shortly after daybreak.
Within it she had already written the usual conversational niceties and an extremely vague summation of their investigative efforts thus far, in which she knew he would have no interest. The conclusion was all that remained, and it was this that frightened her.
When I received the Bingleys’ invitation to Netherfield, Grandfather, you suggested that this visit might spark the renewal of any addresses Mr. Jonathan Darcy might have been inclined to pay me.
Though I have been here but a few days, I am already very certain that Mr. Darcy’s family will never consent to our engagement.
My hopes were long dead; I must now put an end to yours. It is quite impossible, even if—
Juliet paused, quill in hand, remembering the tone of Mr. Darcy’s voice when he had spoken to her of hope. Then she shook her head.
even if one person within that family were to agree to the match, total acceptance will not be forthcoming. Mr. Darcy is a loving and devoted son, and he would never countenance an engagement under such circumstances.
Despite this, I must also decline the proposal of Mr. Follett.
Ours would be a match without either love or fortune to recommend it; it could only begin in folly and end in misery.
Nor do I believe that the marriage would achieve even its most modest aims, as the scandal attached to us both through his cruel trick with the portrait would be aired anew at our marriage.
Nowhere we went, at no point in our lives, would we be introduced to new acquaintances without the tale being told to them almost immediately after.
Thus the disgrace of the entire affair would be renewed in perpetuity.
I write this fully understanding that Mr. Follett’s may be the only proposal I shall ever receive.
My material well-being will surely be damaged by it, as for a woman there is no surer preserver from want than marriage.
Yet I do not hold with the raillery that decries old maids as meaningless persons, the fit subjects of ridicule.
If I end my days as aunt and caretaker to the children Theodosia will someday have—or living in one of the favor cottages near Northanger upon the charity of either my brother or a future cousin—then I am satisfied that I shall nonetheless lead a respectable life, one of service to the family I cherish so dearly.
Would this be sufficient to end her grandfather’s demands? Juliet knew him too well to believe that he would receive her missive with anything but the bitterest anger—yet he was not an unintelligent man. He had served in the wars; surely a soldier should understand when a battle had been lost.
Jonathan had resolved to keep drinking coffee, extending his time at breakfast, until Miss Tilney arrived. By the time she descended, he felt as though he might leap out of his own skin; indeed, he startled at the sight of her.
“Mr. Darcy?” she said. “Are you quite well?”
“Entirely, Miss Tilney.” If the words came out too quickly, he trusted no one else would take note.
“We have much to discuss. There has been a great deal of change and tumult these past few days—I felt we should review all from the very beginning, and this is as good a time as any to speak with the magistrate of our efforts so far.”
This same magistrate, Mr. Isaac Lucas, happened to be at breakfast, but his attention was much for Miss Allerdyce at present.
However, he recollected his duty once Miss Allerdyce had gone, and joined them on their side of the table, sitting on the other side of Miss Tilney.
“Is this a good time for us to review what you have already learned?”
Miss Tilney nodded. “Indeed, sir, we are even now preparing to do so.”
Thus Jonathan felt encouraged to bring out the piece of paper and sketching pencil he had tucked into one pocket.
As the others had finished eating and were exiting, he, Mr. Lucas, and Miss Tilney could now be quite alone (save for Becky, obediently standing in the corner), and so he could share the notes he had already taken.
Those suspected in the death of Mr. Hurst
Mrs. Hurst
Mr. Lofton
Mrs. Lofton
Mr. Brooks
Mrs. Brooks
Mr. Bingley
“I note you have not included your aunt Jane,” Miss Tilney said, but before Jonathan could protest, she smiled. “Although I believe we should be prepared to defend our reasoning, I must admit that I, too, have come to believe it impossible that Mrs. Bingley could be guilty of murder.”
“Good—we need waste no more time there.” Jonathan took up the pencil. “Now, let us consider these in turn. Mrs. Hurst is, I think you would agree, the person whose potential motive could most easily be guessed.”
“An unhappy marriage has driven many to terrible acts,” Mr. Lucas agreed.
Miss Tilney interjected, “Yet Mrs. Hurst’s behavior—so thoughtless, even callous regarding the loss of her husband—must be said to be a point against her being the guilty person.”