Chapter Seventeen
Juliet, left to her own endeavors at Netherfield, began her inquiries as soon as Jonathan had ridden away. Besides her desire to find definite answers for the sake of the Bingleys, she required no more time alone with her thoughts, which at present were not easy company.
First she spoke to Mr. Bingley, who remained as cordial as ever.
“Poor Becky! Yes, I suppose I would have spoken to her at some point during those days. You must not think it a slight on Mrs. Mulgrew that I sometimes speak with the parlormaids, the kitchen maids, and the like. She is an excellent housekeeper and well able to manage on her own. Yet when I have a minor thought or request, I find it more expedient and more natural to simply speak directly with the servant at hand.”
General Tilney, Juliet felt certain, had never spoken to any but the most senior staff at Northanger Abbey even once in his life. “Of course, sir. Do you remember what you asked Becky about in particular?”
Mr. Bingley had to consider. “I believe I asked her how she liked being a lady’s maid, if it was still an ambition of hers.
My idea was that, if she did, I would see whether she might assist Miss Allerdyce or Miss Priscilla during their stay.
The Allerdyces generally only travel with one maid for both girls, you see. Alas, it was not to be.”
Can he possibly be as kindly a man as he seems to be? Juliet wondered. Is anyone so truly and wholly good?
Mrs. Lofton came next. She, more than most persons at Netherfield, had become only more anxious over time rather than less.
(Although all others in the house possessed some uneasiness, each day without an additional poisoning or other violence no doubt reassured them that they did not seem to be among the murderer’s targets.) When asked about her confrontation with Becky, Mrs. Lofton was much offended.
“How can it be any of your business how I speak to the servants in the house of my brother? When you are just a guest, and at that—but there, it is best to be silent.”
Such a minor jab as this no longer counted for much with Juliet. “It is your brother who has charged me with discovering who murdered Becky, and all those who spoke with her in the days before her death might have valuable insights to share.”
Unfortunately, Mrs. Lofton was little mollified by being thought valuable or insightful.
“The girl was too familiar. She spoke to her betters as though they were her equals. In particular, I caught her speaking to my husband, and near our bedchamber! Many a servant girl has sought to entrap a wealthy man, Miss Tilney. You are no longer too innocent to learn that.”
This information was not new to Juliet. Furthermore, she understood that more often it was wealthy men who “entrapped” young women who relied on them for their livelihoods.
Yet Juliet sensed that this was not a problem Becky had suffered, bright and cheery as she had been; certainly she had not been oppressed during the final few days of her life.
“So you were objecting to her behavior, no more?”
Mrs. Lofton scoffed. “What else could there be to say to such a creature? I saw the game she was playing and put a stop to it.”
That could have been done in more than one way, Juliet realized. Had Mrs. Lofton simply chosen her words unwisely, or had that been a telling slip of the tongue?
Mr. Lofton’s reaction to being asked was gentler and more rueful. “I remember speaking with the girl on two occasions in particular—anything beyond that would have been too commonplace to recall. Once, I asked her to take a note to Mrs. Brooks.”
Although married men and women might, with propriety, correspond with persons of the opposite sex not their spouse, it was generally understood that such communication must be of the most respectable nature: a mother eager for news from her son’s tutor, perhaps, or a man giving family news to his brother’s wife, or other messages of that nature.
Juliet knew no such pretext existed between Mr. Lofton and Mrs. Brooks.
“Will you tell me the subject of your letter, sir?”
“It was a letter of apology,” Mr. Lofton confessed.
“My wife had been rather sharp with her—she is sharp with many, as you will have noted.” Juliet had very recent proof that this was true.
“I felt that I ought to have interceded on the night in question, curbed Mrs. Lofton’s excesses, taken her up that we might retire early.
Instead I did not, and I believed Mrs. Brooks to be very much wounded.
I apologized for both my wife’s behavior and my own negligence. ”
A letter of apology was perfectly respectable, though Juliet thought that might more easily have been sent through the post, or simply handed to Mrs. Brooks with discretion while all the family was together.
This, however, she kept to herself. “On what other particular occasion did you speak with Becky?”
“Well.” Mr. Lofton appeared even more sheepish than before.
“It seems my wife saw me hand the note to Becky and drew the wrong inference. She scolded the poor girl within an inch of her life. For this, too, I felt obliged to apologize. That was the day before she died—small a thing as it was, Miss Tilney, I am glad I spoke. I should not like to have left that apology unsaid.”
Last came Mrs. Hurst, whose sentiments regarding the interrogations were not improving with practice. “Why would you not ask all your questions at once, instead of bothering everyone all the time?”
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Hurst, but we cannot ask questions about events before we have learned of them. We only very recently heard that you had been in conversation with Becky shortly before her death.”
“She took down some of my things to be dyed black,” said Mrs. Hurst, who evidently still very much resented the dark garb she would be obliged to wear for an entire year more.
“I gave her very specific instructions, in case Mrs. Mulgrew should forget. And little good it did! Did I tell you what became of my lace cap?”
“You have indeed mentioned it, ma’am.”
Jonathan returned in somewhat better spirits than when he had left, for he had learned at least one fact of value. To judge by Juliet’s brighter smile, she had as well. Though, perhaps, this might be attributed primarily to the pleasure of the reunion alone.
Yet their discussion was not to be a private one, for Jonathan had no sooner dismounted than Mr. Isaac Lucas was seen to be approaching Netherfield as well.
He of course greeted Miss Allerdyce with great affection, but he had not come primarily to visit her.
“I am sure you understand why I have been so distracted, these past several days,” he said, all smiles. “Indeed, I am very certain of it.”
Has he guessed? Jonathan thought with alarm—before realizing that Mr. Lucas did not allude to the actual secret engagement to Juliet, only their evident affection for each other.
Mr. Lucas continued, “Yet my happiness cannot erase my duty. Let us discuss the investigations, as I am sure you have made much progress.”
So it was that Jonathan, Juliet, and Mr. Lucas gathered in the study.
He spoke first, explaining that all errands in town seemed to hold true, including the fact that Mr. Lofton had bought a few things from Mrs. Mount.
“Mrs. Nancy Mount,” he said, with a significance only Juliet would understand, “is a widow almost seventy years of age, who has continued running the shop her husband founded. This she has done mostly on the strength of her renown as a mantua maker, from which flows dealing in fabric, ribbons, gloves, and the like.”
Juliet sighed with evident relief, which Jonathan shared. Whatever truth lay behind his uncle’s secretive behavior, they need fear no indiscretion with the elderly dressmaker.
“Yes, Mrs. Mount manages quite capably,” Mr. Lucas said. “Strange though it may seem to have a woman in charge of a business, both she and the shop are so familiar in Meryton that no one thinks much of it, here.”
“Many dressmakers and milliners are women who govern their own concerns,” said Juliet, “but I digress. Now let me tell you of what I have learned.”
Jonathan listened to Juliet’s report alongside Mr. Lucas. When she had told all, he agreed. “It is strange that Mr. Lofton should send a letter to Aunt Kitty via a servant or, at least, a servant who would not generally be tasked with delivering notes and such to other houses.”
“I thought of this,” Juliet said, “but I also know that here at Netherfield, servants may trade certain tasks once in a while. Perhaps it was no more than that.”
Mr. Lucas cleared his throat. “May I interject?”
“Of course, Mr. Lucas,” Jonathan said. “As magistrate, you have granted us authority to investigate, but you have not surrendered your own.”
“I should not say this, as a man so recently and happily engaged,” Mr. Lucas said, “but it seems to me from my reading of the London and Manchester papers that in most cases, where violence is done to a person by someone of their acquaintance—the nearer the acquaintance, the greater the danger. In other words, no one is so likely to murder a husband than his wife. Vice versa, of course, but that is not the situation at hand.”
Juliet said, “You mean that, in your opinion, our suspicion should first go to Mrs. Hurst.”
Little as Jonathan liked Mrs. Hurst, and knowing as he did that it was his duty to be as open with Mr. Lucas, he nonetheless found it difficult to say the next aloud: “She seems to have some manner of connection with Mr. Brooks that cannot be spoken of openly, and about which she has gone to some efforts to be secretive.”
“Presumably Mr. Brooks has been secretive as well,” said Juliet, “but if so, he is much better suited to deception.”