Chapter Twenty #2
After a few such moments, they broke apart. Jonathan’s breath came quickly, and Juliet’s cheeks were flushed. He said the only words his mind could fix upon: “We must marry soon. Very soon.”
Juliet laughed, ducking her head as she whispered, “I should like that very much.”
The Meryton vicarage remained as cheerless as Jonathan recalled it, and Aunt Kitty admitted them warily.
He wondered whether she saw him more as nephew or as investigator.
Furthermore, he suspected Aunt Kitty might see Juliet as a young woman angling for the kind of marriage that she herself had failed to make.
His first question seemed to be answered when Aunt Kitty said, “If you come with a message from Jane, tell her none is necessary. She could not scold me any worse than I have scolded myself.”
Jonathan could only remember Aunt Jane scolding one person, her youngest daughter, Martha Elizabeth, who had climbed a tall tree and could well have hurt herself. Even that had ended with a tender embrace. “I do not think she would be harsh with you. Regardless, we come on our own business.”
When Juliet put the question to her, Aunt Kitty’s initial reaction surprised him: She looked almost pleased. Had she been waiting to be asked her opinion about this? Perhaps she had been waiting, in vain, for anyone to ask her opinion about anything.
“I have thought about this a great deal,” she said, “as one can scarcely hope to do otherwise, in the circumstances. Of course I do not know, and I would not wish anyone else to take my thoughts for mere gossip.”
Jonathan assured her, “We will ask everyone, and their answers will never be heard by any ears but our own.”
Aunt Kitty folded her hands in her lap slowly, as though with care. “My suspicion is all for Mrs. Lofton.”
“Mrs. Lofton?” Juliet said, a note of surprise in her voice. “Why should you think so?”
“I could not say what did or did not pass between herself and Mr. Hurst, but I know that ever since the murder of Becky, Mrs. Lofton has been behaving very strangely. Perhaps even since Mr. Hurst’s death, but we were all in such a shock then that I would say we were none of us entirely ourselves.
She has been highly inquisitive about the behavior of all involved, yet very secretive regarding her own. ”
Jonathan had not forgotten that Mrs. Lofton had been the only one to refuse to answer their question, and upon consideration, he realized that his aunt was correct about the lady’s behavior having changed following Becky’s death.
He ought to have noted for himself that Mrs. Lofton had become quieter and more nervous.
Yet was that not a natural consequence, not only of guilt but also of sharing a house with a murderer?
“This is the sole basis for your suspicions?”
“It is suspicious enough,” Aunt Kitty said, “but I have noticed that Mr. Lofton seems eager to…observe her movements, to question her whereabouts. I believe he suspects her, too.”
In fact, Mr. Lofton had claimed he suspected Mr. Brooks. Could this have been a falsehood? Merely a way to divert their attention from his wife?
Jonathan had expected more resistance when they went to the church office to speak to Mr. Brooks, but he alone seemed to have been expecting such a question.
“It is a great puzzle. I can well imagine that you have not yet worked it out. You have a fine mathematical mind, Mr. Darcy; the equations will be solvable in time.”
Juliet said, “Yet we wish to know what you think.”
Mr. Brooks steepled his hands before him upon his desk. “I think that Mr. Lofton is the cleverest among them. I think Mrs. Lofton the most excitable, the most unsteady. I think Mrs. Hurst had the most to conceal.”
“She conceals one truth no longer,” Jonathan replied. “She has admitted the extremity of the debt she owes you.”
“Extraordinary, is it not? Yet she is the one who always asks to play again, to bet again, to risk once more.” Ever mild, Mr. Brooks shrugged. “If she insists upon losing money, why should I not be the one to win it?”
“Forgive the indelicacy,” Juliet replied, “yet we have noticed, and Mrs. Brooks has confirmed, that you live on very little money, only half of what you are paid. You have also spoken of investments, and now we have learned of your considerable winnings at cards. How are we to reconcile this discrepancy?”
Mr. Brooks remained unbothered. “There is no discrepancy. Between my savings, my investments, and money I have won from Mrs. Hurst and a handful of Mr. Bingley’s other acquaintances from afar, I have amassed a fortune of almost twenty-five thousand pounds.”
This was a staggering amount. Jonathan found himself unwillingly impressed. Juliet did not seem to be. “Does Mrs. Brooks know of this?” she asked.
“It is I who oversee the household accounts, so she does not know the precise details, but she understands the principle, the general result, of my efforts. When we were first married, she would so often importune me, asking for frippery such as dresses and hats or luxuries like extra servants, that I found I could have no peace until I explained the importance of my investments.”
“Investments do not preclude leading an ordinary life, one in which your wife might live in comfort,” Juliet replied. “Why do you begrudge her nearly every pleasantry of living?”
At once Mr. Brooks became cold. “My house is my own, as is my money and my family, and I will thank you not to comment upon matters that are none of your concern. Or do you believe that my housekeeping could have anything to do with these deaths?”
In the coach, on the way back, Juliet said, “He is miserly, capable of taking joy only in the hoarding of money, none in the many small comforts and satisfactions that can be purchased with it. No wonder Mrs. Brooks has so many resentments! She might not begrudge her sister a good fortune that seemed entirely beyond reach—but to have a fortune at hand that one is forbidden to use? That must be vexing indeed.”
“It must be very hard on Aunt Kitty,” Jonathan agreed.
His hand entangled again with Juliet’s, and they caressed fingers and palms. She murmured, “We must remain cautious.”
“Of course.” He understood her reluctance to kiss again, as much as they had both enjoyed it, for now he realized how very difficult it could be to stop.
The various upsets of the previous day had led to another withdrawal of companionship, similar to that which had immediately followed the death of Mr. Hurst. Once again, dinners were mostly to be sent up on trays, and the only person lingering in the drawing room was Mr. Allerdyce—and this, Juliet suspected, mostly to avoid being in the same room as his wife.
She wished Frederica Allerdyce at least were here to speak with, once Jonathan had returned to Longbourn, but both sisters were attending a dinner at Lucas Lodge, where Frederica was becoming more acquainted with those who would become her new family.
Juliet wondered how long it would be before Frederica would be obliged to host Charlotte Collins, and her husband Mr. Collins, whom they had come to know in Kent—and, when the time came, how much Frederica would be able to endure hearing the many virtues of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
The quiet evening allowed Juliet to retire early. Alone in her bed, her thoughts returned again and again to the kisses she and Jonathan had shared. Her skin seemed to tingle at the memory, and she twisted and turned restlessly, longing for she knew not what.
Well. She knew a little of what it was she longed for.
Like any other child of the countryside, she had watched the horses; like any other person who had ever seen a satirical cartoon posted in the city or published in the newspaper, she understood some of the common postures.
When younger, she had always thought it all very strange.
Upon reaching adolescence, she had begun to understand some of the appeal, though the practice still seemed quite rude.
From the instant of their first kiss, however, Juliet felt transformed.
She could not dismiss such images and thoughts from her mind, nor did she wish to.
So this was what it meant, the longing to become a bride!
When at last Juliet drifted into slumber, she did so hoping against hope that Mrs. Darcy might convince Mr. Darcy to approve the match soon.
Having fallen asleep so late, Juliet slept late as well.
Only when a shaft of warm sunlight warmed her face did she begin to stir.
A glance at the clock revealed she had nearly entirely missed her opportunity for breakfast, but she would simply ring the bell and have a few pastries sent up along with some tea.
Tea was translucent. One could see poison in tea.
(Juliet did not specifically fear for her life, but caution seemed called for.)
She rose from her bed, put on her wrapper—then heard a low moan from one of the other bedrooms nearby. This was followed by the words, “Oh, no—oh no, no, no, it cannot be—”
The voice was Mrs. Bingley’s. Juliet dashed into the hallway and down the hall, knocking against one of the little decorative tables and tipping over the peacock ornament with a thunk.
The very next door belonged, she knew, to the Loftons, and Mrs. Bingley stood in the doorway, one hand pressed to her mouth.
To Juliet’s horror, she could make out the shape of Mrs. Lofton, hanging from a noose, quite dead.