Chapter 18 #2
“What are you doing?” Sally demanded when she took note of Lizzie following.
“If Mr. Oliver has evidence against your grandparents, I want to hear it.”
“I’m not going to slow down for you,” Sally warned. She was not quite running anymore, but she was moving much faster than
a brisk walk.
“I wouldn’t expect you to.”
The village was two miles away, too far to run the entire way in their long skirts, but Lizzie had to concentrate to keep
up with Sally’s grueling pace, and it wasn’t long before sweat began to pour down her back and the sides of her face. Her
shin hadn’t been injured very badly when her leg fell through the floorboards in the east wing, but it wasn’t long before
she felt the scrape and the soreness in her every step as she trailed just a bit behind Sally, unwilling to let her get too
far ahead. Sally led her off the estate grounds through a track in the woods, which fed directly into the path that ran parallel
to the lane, the same one Lizzie and Darcy had spotted her on just a few days earlier.
All the while, questions swirled. Had Mr. Oliver uncovered new evidence?
Everything he had now was circumstantial .
. . but people had been known to hang for less.
When they were more than halfway there and Lizzie’s feet were screaming in protest, she heard the familiar rumble of a gig not too far away.
She turned and saw a carriage with Bingley’s crest rolling down the lane toward them from the direction of Netherfield.
“Sally, look,” she said, pointing at the carriage. “Come on.”
Sally shook her head, not wanting to deviate from her path, but Lizzie surged forward to take her by the arm and dragged her
to the lane. “It’ll be faster this way, trust me. Besides, you don’t want to arrive so out of breath that you can barely speak.”
The carriage rolled to an abrupt stop in the lane, and Sally relented. They cut through the long grass, and the carriage door
was flung open. Darcy leaned out and simply offered a hand, and Lizzie felt a pang of love for him just then that was altogether
inappropriate considering the urgency of the situation.
“You’re a savior,” she said with a sigh, allowing Sally to go first. He simply shook his head, but there was a small smile
there, too, as he pulled her in next, and she found that Charlotte and Miss Jeffries were already inside, Guy perched on Charlotte’s
lap.
The carriage lurched into motion the moment Darcy closed the door after himself. He and Lizzie sat across from the other ladies.
“What do we know?” he asked them.
“Mr. Oliver intends to bring Sally’s grandparents before Mr. Layne,” Miss Jeffries said. “He wants to formally accuse them
of murdering that man and putting him in a flue at Netherfield Park.”
“They didn’t do it,” Sally said fiercely. “He has no right—”
“He has every right, I’m afraid,” Darcy said. Sally leveled a fierce glare at him and opened her mouth, but Lizzie interrupted.
“What he means to say is that as constable, Mr. Oliver has the right to bring anyone he thinks has committed a crime to a
justice of the peace. But a justice of the peace is very unlikely to make a decision in a matter of murder.”
“Really?” Sally asked, sounding hopeful.
Lizzie cringed and said, “That is to say, if Mr. Layne believes the accusation has merit, he won’t decide on it himself. He’s
likely to refer the case to the court of assizes.”
“What’s that?”
“A higher court that is in session twice a year, in Hertford.”
“Hertford!” Miss Jeffries exclaimed.
“Twice a year?” Sally repeated. She looked between them all. “And what will happen to my grandparents until then?”
“Jail,” Darcy said grimly. Lizzie bit her lip. For all she badgered Darcy about his bluntness when dealing with clients, she
wasn’t certain there was a softer way to say this. “All accused will be housed in the nearest jail until the next session
can be called.”
Sally’s distress settled into something harder, more steely. Her blue eyes flashed dangerously. “My grandparents can’t go
to jail.”
Lizzie had had the misfortune of seeing the inside of Newgate, and on this point she agreed with Sally. Elderly, confused
Mrs. Burton would not do well in such an environment. “We’ll do all we can to prevent that.”
Darcy cleared his throat. “Well.”
She looked at him, raising her eyebrows.
“Lizzie,” he muttered.
“What?”
He darted a look at Sally, who was glaring at him, and then said to Lizzie, “We cannot promise to keep her grandparents out
of jail if they are guilty.”
“They aren’t!” Sally protested.
Lizzie bit her lip as she considered. Solicitors represented guilty people all the time. In fact, Lizzie estimated that the
solicitors of Pemberley & Associates represented many less-than-scrupulous clients simply because they could afford to pay
for the service. Lizzie herself had been hired by Jack Mullins, who had revealed himself to be not so truthful about his motivations.
Lizzie didn’t like making a habit of this practice—helping people avoid the consequences of their own bad behavior because
they had money left a sour taste in her mouth.
But this felt different somehow. Sally’s fierceness held a ring of truth.
“Sally, look at me,” Lizzie said. The other girl pinned her in place with defiant blue eyes. “I can likely talk the justice
of peace out of pursuing this case with your grandparents. But if I do, you need to tell me what you know. The entire truth,
so no one else gets hurt. I promise that we will help in whatever way we can, no matter how bad it may be.”
“Lizzie,” Darcy said, but Lizzie didn’t tear her gaze away from Sally. The other girl was clearly weighing something. Her
jaw was clenched, and she was breathing heavily.
“Why?” Sally demanded. “Why would you help me?”
It was a fair question. A dozen answers flitted through Lizzie’s mind, but she discarded each and every one, settling on something that she felt Sally would understand. “You helped me find my dog. I think I owe you this.”
Sally nodded. “Fine. But save them first.”
The carriage slowed, and Lizzie peeked out the window and saw that they were pulling into Meryton. The driver directed the
carriage to the assembly hall and came to a stop. Sally was the first one out, and Miss Jeffries followed, along with Charlotte
and Guy. Darcy held Lizzie back a moment. “How do you intend to exonerate the Burtons from the charges?” he hissed.
Lizzie squared her shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know! Lizzie—”
“Come along!” Sally called.
Lizzie squeezed Darcy’s hand quickly. “Don’t worry. I’ll come up with something.”
She said the words with far more confidence than she felt as she followed the other ladies into the assembly hall. Lizzie
took note of the dark wood of the floors and walls, and the long benches that had been set up in the center of the room before
focusing on a man sitting at the head of the gathering, where a table and a single straight-backed chair had been set up for
him.
Mr. Layne, the justice of the peace, was a man in his early forties with thinning blond hair and a harried expression.
He glanced up when the party entered the assembly room and took note of the murmuring that followed.
Lizzie guessed that there were about thirty people in the audience, including Mr. Thomas, and to the right of the table stood Mr. and Mrs. Burton, along with Mr. Oliver, whose mouth turned down into a sour expression when he saw them.
“All those wishing to bring forward grievances must take a seat and wait their turn,” said Mr. Layne.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” Lizzie said, throwing her voice so it rang out throughout the hall. “But we are here on behalf
of the Burtons.”
“You heard the man,” Mr. Oliver spat out. “Take a seat and wait your turn.”
Lizzie strode forward, ignoring the new round of whispers that went through the assembled audience. “I do apologize for my
tardiness,” she said, addressing Mr. Layne politely. “We came as soon as we heard.”
“She can’t be speaking right now,” Mr. Oliver said, taking a step toward Lizzie.
Mr. Layne held up a hand. “What is your purpose, Miss . . .”
“Bennet,” Lizzie said. “I am a solicitor at Longbourn and Sons in London, sir. I am here to speak on the behalf of Mr. and
Mrs. Burton.”
Mr. Layne sat up straighter. “Is this true?” he asked the couple.
Sally had rushed forward to join her grandparents and had an arm around her grandmother, whose agitation seemed to lessen
now that Sally was present. Sally whispered something to her grandfather, and he said, “Yes, sir.”
Mr. Layne turned to look at Lizzie. “Well, Miss Bennet? What is it that you have to say?”
Lizzie took a steadying breath. She’d argued cases in court before—important cases.
Bingley had been accused of murder, and she’d helped secure his freedom.
But in that scenario, she’d known exactly who the killer was and had all the evidence in her arsenal to prove it.
Now she had little more than her wits. “May I ask what the charges are?”
Mr. Layne raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Oliver has accused Mr. and Mrs. Burton of murder, and of concealing a death.”
Lizzie did some quick calculations. The charge for concealing a death was not nearly as serious as murder, which was a hanging
offense. “And what evidence has Mr. Oliver presented to indicate that Mr. and Mrs. Burton are responsible for these crimes?”
“You know very well what I—”
“Mr. Oliver,” Mr. Layne interrupted. “You speak out of turn.”
The man shut his mouth, but Lizzie could see a large vein bulging in his neck. What was behind this rage?
“Mr. Oliver accuses the Burtons on the grounds that they were the caretakers at Netherfield Park these last fifty years, and
they were responsible for the upkeep of the house and its security. A man whose body showed signs of being purposefully killed
was found concealed on the property.”