Free There Must Be Murder by Margaret C. Sullivan

the
argument, and the door was closed with a stately finality that did
not bode well for Mr. Shaw. He turned away and looked around the
little square, as though wondering what to do next; the Tilneys had
already passed when they heard him shout, “Miss! Miss! Please,
miss!”
    He caught up to them and touched Catherine’s
arm. “It is you, is it not? Judith’s friend? I remember your
dog.”
    “Your dog, but not your name, apparently,” Henry
murmured.
    “Please, Miss, you must help me!” cried Mr. Shaw
in urgent tones. “I beg you! Be my friend, as you are hers, Miss—
Miss—”
    “Mrs. Tilney,” said Catherine. “Mr. Tilney, may
I present Mr. Shaw, Miss Beauclerk’s—” she cast about for the
proper word— “friend.”
    “Friend!” cried Mr. Shaw, raking his hands
through his handsome mop of hair and disarranging it sadly. “I
cannot even call myself that! Once so much to each other! Now so
cold to me! Dismissed without even a glimpse—I would think that her
mother or her cousin had intervened, but after my treatment at her
hands last night, I know not what to think. You must help me,
ma’am; intercede on my behalf. You must tell my angel what a
dreadful mistake she has made in casting me off!”
    “I think Miss Beauclerk must be left to make her
own choice,” said Catherine.
    “She made her choice, ma’am. She loved me, until
her mother turned her head with seasons in Bath and houses in
Laura-place, and a mere apothecary, even one of an ancient and
noble family, though a lesser branch of course, is no longer good
enough to be her husband.”
    “Mr. Shaw,” said Henry, “I have known Miss
Beauclerk and her family all my life. I assure you that if she
truly wanted to marry you, she would not let inconsequential things
such as duty and the honor of her family name stand in her way. She
has given you her answer, and I advise you to accept it as best you
can. I have rarely known Miss Beauclerk to turn from a path upon
which she was determined.”
    Mr. Shaw stared at him wildly. “You are one of
them!” he cried, tearing at his hair once again. “You are one of
the false friends who has contrived to separate us! You may fill my
angel’s head with false ideas, you may introduce her to men of
fortune and property who will shower her with riches, but you will
fail, sir. One day you will learn that no one will ever love her as
I do!” He turned on his heel, walked a few steps, and then stopped
and turned back. “And one day she will regret casting me off, when
she remembers the services I have performed for her!” He left them
with all the dignity he could muster, leaving the Tilneys staring
after him.
    “Upon my word, Cat,” said Henry. “Your
description of Mr. Shaw was very apt. He talks exactly like a hero
in a novel.”
    “That may do very well for Miss Beauclerk, but I
think I should not like it in a husband.”
    He smiled at her. “That is fortunate, for I
should not be up to the task.”
    MacGuffin, wearied of hard pavements and longing
for his dinner and a long sleep by the fire, pulled impatiently on
the lead, and they resumed their journey to Pulteney-street.
    They had put off their coats and the maidservant
had just left the tea things when Matthew appeared in the sitting
room, almost between one blink and another, springing up like a
hothouse plant.
    “Were you able to procure any intelligence?”
Henry asked him.
    “Yes, sir; quite what you wished to learn, I
believe.”
    “Come in, sit down. Will you take tea?” He
turned to Catherine. “I asked Matthew to take on the persona of a
common servant in order to gain the confidence of Lady Beauclerk’s
domestics and obtain what intelligence they were willing to
share.”
    Catherine passed Matthew a cup of tea. “I thank
you, Mrs. Tilney. I made the acquaintance of a young maidservant,
who has been in her ladyship’s service for some time. She also has
developed a habit of listening at closed doors.”
    “A valuable habit