Chapter 14 #2
reflected the sunny day, and no movement could be detected. He hadn’t imagined it, had he?
He brought his gaze downward and spotted Sally Burton, all but forgotten off to the side, holding Guy’s leash. She wasn’t
looking at any of them. Her hand shielded her eyes, and her gaze was tilted upward.
Given that no one had laid claim to the body of the unknown man, it was rather surprising to find his funeral nearly as well-attended
as an Easter service.
Bingley was shown directly to the very front pew, along with the rest of his guests, and so Darcy and Lizzie were unable to
get a decent view of the attendees during the service. Mr. Thomas’s service was respectful, but understandably short, given
that virtually nothing was known about the man.
“Although his name goes unspoken, we mourn nonetheless,” he said, his strong voice reaching all the way to the back of the
church, “as we mourn all loss of life. My prayer is that whoever this man may be, his loved ones might find comfort in the
Lord.”
The mention of the man’s loved ones had Darcy wishing he could turn to survey the church, peering into faces. Had the man had any loved ones? Were they in attendance? And if so, why not come forward?
The service concluded with a graveside liturgy. The funeralgoers processed outside, where it was sunny and cheerful, a contrast
to the somber funeral service. Lizzie and Darcy held back once they were out of doors, as if by some unspoken agreement, and
watched as the attendees drifted to the freshly dug gravesite. Darcy tried to catalog each and every face that passed, but
very few of them beyond Clara Jeffries, who nodded at them as she passed, were recognizable to him. No one seemed overly distraught
or upset, so unless they were very good actors, it didn’t seem that there were any mourners in the crowd who’d known the man
personally.
In the distance, they could hear Mr. Thomas’s voice rise, and Darcy turned and raised a brow to Lizzie. But she wasn’t paying
any attention—she was looking past the gathered attendees, toward the edge of the churchyard. He followed her gaze and saw
Mr. Oliver leaning on the stone wall, hands shoved into his pockets, glaring at the gathering. Darcy was fairly certain he’d
not been inside the church.
“He looks displeased,” Darcy whispered. “Does he not think the man worthy of a good Christian burial?”
“Good question. Shall we ask?”
“Lizzie. It’s a funeral.”
“I think Mr. Oliver appreciates a direct approach.”
Darcy had to work at not sighing. Lizzie had told him yesterday of her attempt at questioning Miss Jeffries—and how Miss Jeffries had boldly lied to Lizzie’s face. He knew that Lizzie was growing more frustrated. But approaching Mr. Oliver right now didn’t feel strategic—it felt desperate.
The man himself looked about, and noticed Lizzie and Darcy, their heads bent in whispered conversation, looking right at him.
He sneered.
Lizzie shook free of Darcy’s grasp and began to march over to him.
All Darcy could do was follow.
“Oh, here they come,” Mr. Oliver said as they grew close. “The fancy solicitors from London. Have you cracked the mystery
yet, then?”
Lizzie stopped short a few paces away, as if not wanting to get too close. And after a moment, Darcy could see why—he could
smell the alcohol on Mr. Oliver, even from this distance.
“Good day, Mr. Oliver,” Lizzie said. She was speaking in a low tone, so as not to disrupt Mr. Thomas’s final words over the
plain pine box.
The man ignored her niceties. “What do you want?”
“The truth,” she said, and Darcy’s heart twinged. She was so earnest in her pursuit of a case. He couldn’t help but love her
for it. “No one seems to have come forward to claim any knowledge of the poor man.”
“Why would they?” he asked. “They all know where he died. Either Honoria Bingley killed him herself, or the Burtons did it.
They had to know—” He stopped and burped. Yes, he was most certainly drunk.
Even though Bingley, and not his great-aunt, was Darcy’s client, he couldn’t help but ask, “What proof do you have?”
“Proof? I’ve common sense, lad. Don’t tell me that there’s any way neither of them knew what was in that flue.”
It was difficult to argue with Mr. Oliver on this point when he and Lizzie struggled with the same question. “Is that what
you discussed with Sally Burton yesterday?”
“Sally’s just like them,” Mr. Oliver hissed, leaning in closer. Darcy instinctively stepped forward to shield Lizzie, but
she stayed him with a hand on his arm and did not back down. “She lies and covers things up.”
“What things?” Darcy had to admire the steadiness in Lizzie’s voice.
“The Burtons know exactly where the treasure is. And they’ve been stealing from the Bingleys for years!”
His voice rose with the accusation, and at least half of the funeral attendees turned to look at them. Darcy winced when he
saw Bingley’s questioning look, but when he turned back to Lizzie, she just looked thoughtful. “What an interesting theory,
Mr. Oliver,” she said. “But again, I’ll ask, where is your evidence?”
“I don’t need proof. I know it to be true!”
“Unfortunately, the law would disagree with you,” Darcy said, “and making a false accusation could lead to charges of slander.”
“Solicitors!” Mr. Oliver spat. “Always hiding behind your fancy words. Do you think I give a damn?”
He pushed past them both, stumbling a little as he did so, and went barreling toward the open grave.
The pine box had been lowered into the hole, and Mr. Thomas appeared to have finished the final prayer as people began to disperse—but not with much haste.
It seemed they anticipated some sort of scandalous display, and Darcy could tell that Mr. Oliver intended to fulfill their expectations.
“Bingley!” the man shouted.
Darcy went after the constable, hoping to intervene. Bingley looked up in surprise from where he’d been speaking with Jane
and an unfamiliar couple of about thirty or thirty-five. “Please excuse me,” he said to them, and turned. “Mr. Oliver, what
can I do for you?”
“That man just lowered into the ground was found on your estate,” Oliver said, jabbing his hand toward Bingley. “His head
was bashed in, and he’d been left to rot. Your great-aunt lived in that house for fifty years, and you’re telling me she didn’t
know she had a dead man in her drawing room all that time?”
“I—I can’t say,” Bingley said. His wide eyes found Darcy’s, and Darcy shook his head. Say nothing more, he thought.
“Oh, you can’t say, can you? What can you say about his death?”
“Mr. Oliver, please,” Mr. Thomas interceded. “We are on church grounds.”
“I know that! And isn’t it a sin to lie in church?”
“It’s a sin to lie at all,” Mr. Thomas said patiently. “Now why don’t we—”
“You hear that? It’s a sin to lie! So why don’t you tell everyone what your family did!”
“Mr. Oliver, I have no knowledge of what transpired before—”
“Someone killed that man, and the options are limited. Your great-aunt, or the caretakers of Netherfield. Allan Burton was
a strong man in his day. You’re telling me that he didn’t know? That none of them knew?”
Darcy stepped between them. “Mr. Oliver, this is neither the time nor the place for such discussions. Mr. Bingley has no knowledge
of what may or may not have occurred in Netherfield Park before he inherited the estate. Any questions about what might have
happened ought to be directed to the parties who know—”
“Oh, I asked Allan Burton—he denies all knowledge. Everyone here—you all deny it! You all lie, lie, lie—” Mr. Oliver belched,
stopping his parade of words.
It was Lizzie who asked the next question. “Mr. Oliver, you seem highly impassioned—do you know who the man is?”
He was sweating profusely, and his cheeks were reddened. The man swung his glare at Lizzie. “No! But I’m the constable, aren’t
I? And I know how this village is—how you all are!” He turned around, pointing wildly at the crowd. Not a single person was
rushing away. They were all too entertained by the spectacle unfolding. “But when I uncover the truth, you’ll all be sorry!”
“Mr. Oliver, I cannot have you threatening others in this churchyard,” Mr. Thomas said, stepping in “Let me accompany you
home, and—”
“He needs to pay!”
Mr. Oliver pointed at Bingley, and for a chilling moment Darcy thought he meant that Bingley ought to pay for the crime committed against the unidentified man.
From the way Bingley’s face went ashen, Bingley clearly thought the same thing.
But then Mr. Oliver added, “For a stone. A man died in his manor, and he gets a pauper’s grave! ”
Darcy hadn’t noticed this beforehand, but the grave that had just been dug was in a nondescript row toward the back of the
churchyard. The row was marked only by a series of weatherworn crosses, not stones. Apparently, Bingley had paid for the burial
service, but not for a choice spot among the other well-to-do deceased of Meryton.
“Of course,” Bingley agreed quickly. “Mr. Thomas, I am glad to pay for a stone as well—”
“That’s right, toss your money at the problem!”
“Sir, I don’t know what you want from me,” Bingley said, starting to sound heated himself. This was unusual, for Bingley had
the patience of most saints.
“I don’t think a churchyard is the appropriate place to discuss this,” Darcy said severely, stepping between them. “And Mr.
Oliver is in no state to—”
“Don’t you tell me what state I’m in!” Mr. Oliver shouted. “He needs to pay! I want to be assured, as constable of this parish,
that he pays!”
“Perhaps we ought to step into the rectory, and—”
“Gentlemen, there is no need!” Mr. Thomas said, raising his voice. They all turned to look at him. “There’s no need for Mr.
Bingley to pay for a stone.”
“Why not?” Lizzie asked.
“Because this morning when I stepped out of the rectory, I found a coin purse with enough funds to cover the man’s burial
and a stone,” Mr. Thomas said. “There was a note with it that said, ‘For today.’”
“You didn’t think to mention this until now?” Darcy asked.
“I was going to tell you all after the service.” Mr. Thomas sounded thoroughly irritated. “Not like this. Mr. Bingley, given
the generosity of this anonymous donor, I am happy to return your funds. What was left is more than sufficient for today’s
service, burial, and yes, Mr. Oliver, a proper stone.”
“Keep the money,” Bingley said, sounding resigned. “Help another family with it.”
“Aye, that’s right—you’ve got money to spare, don’t you?”
“Mr. Oliver—” Darcy started to say, but was shocked when Mr. Thomas interrupted them.
“Enough! We have just buried a man. You disrespect the souls who have been laid to rest here by carrying on this way. Now
go home, all of you. Mr. Oliver, I will call on you later this week to consult about what sort of stone you think is proper,
but I will hear no more about it today.”
Mr. Thomas’s voice had iron in it now. Mr. Oliver glared at the vicar, then spat at Bingley’s and Jane’s feet, drawing shocked
gasps from the crowd. He stormed off, pushing past those unfortunate enough to be standing in his way.
It was Jane who asked, “Should someone see that he makes it home all right?”
Beside him, Lizzie let out a small snort. Darcy pressed his mouth shut.
“I’ll call on him later,” said Mr. Thomas with a sigh. “Now, everyone, go home.”
The crowd began to disperse, the Netherfield party along with them. Up ahead, Darcy could hear Mrs. Bennet muttering not quite
under her breath about the rudeness of some people as she shooed her youngest daughters along. Darcy leaned in to Lizzie and
whispered, “Well? I imagine that was not the outcome you were hoping for.”
“Is it just me, or does he seem far more invested in this matter than he ought to be?” Lizzie asked.
“Perhaps it’s jealousy,” Darcy said. Mr. Oliver’s constant references to the treasure seemed to be a sticking point—and money
could turn people sour. “If he thinks they might have killed to protect a fortune, perhaps that would explain the force of
his ire.”
“I don’t think we’ll get any more out of him, even sober, unless we stumble upon new information,” Lizzie murmured.
“Oh? What do you propose?”
“I have to find a way to convince Sally to talk. Not only that, I have to find a way to convince her to tell us something
true.” Lizzie paused, then added, “And I can’t make any missteps.”
“Right,” Darcy said, thinking of the stubborn set of Sally’s jaw every time they’d spoken to her. “Sounds simple enough.”