Chapter 19 #2
of being someone’s wife, of a life in the village. She never wanted to be in service.”
Darcy noted that Sally stood beside her grandmother, her expression stony. She didn’t appear shocked or dismayed by this revelation . . .
which meant that she’d likely known that George Oliver and her mother had carried on a relationship. Darcy thought back to
the day before, when they’d pored over the registers . . . how long ago exactly was Sally’s baptism?
“What happened?” Mr. Layne asked. “If he courted your daughter, and you weren’t pleased about it, and he ended up dead—”
“I tried to pay him off, all right?” Mr. Burton shouted.
“I knew he wasn’t good for my Amy, and I knew he didn’t really care for her.
He was using her, just as he was attempting to ingratiate himself with Mrs. Bingley.
We all knew the stories about Mrs. Bingley’s silver.
Only, Susannah and I actually knew where she kept it.
So I took some of it—yes, I stole it!—and I gave it to George Oliver and said, ‘Here, take what you came for and go. Don’t ever come back here.
’ And as far as I knew, he did—he just didn’t take his boy with him, either. ”
The room was shocked into silence by Mr. Burton’s confession, but Mr. Layne was unconvinced. “So how did George Oliver end
up dead?”
“I don’t know,” the old man replied, his voice breaking. “But you have to believe me—I only stole what I did to protect my
family from that snake of a man.”
“You killed him! You’re a liar, and I’ve always known it!” Mr. Oliver struggled against his restraints, shouting. “I’ll make
sure you hang!”
“I’m afraid this case is out of my hands,” Mr. Layne began to say. “For matters of murder, I must refer this to—”
“No!” Sally said sharply, stepping forward. “My grandparents didn’t kill George Oliver. They never knew the truth of what
happened that night.”
“And you do?” Mr. Layne asked doubtfully. “You’re hardly more than twenty yourself—”
“I’m twenty-two. And while I might not have witnessed what happened, I know. I’m the only person alive who knows.” Sally swallowed
hard, and Darcy saw for the first time a crack in the young woman’s careful mask of stoic indifference. “Mrs. Bingley told
me everything before she died.”
“And why would she do that?” Mr. Layne asked.
“Because she thought I ought to know what happened to my father.”
Of all the revelations that morning, this one stunned the audience into silence. Sally did not cry or become overwrought, but Darcy could see her chin tremble slightly as she turned to her grandparents. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“You knew?” her grandfather asked, incredulous. “But how?”
“Gran,” Sally said with a sigh. “She slipped up one day and mentioned how he tried to court Mum. I asked Mrs. Bingley about
it, and . . .”
“Sally,” Lizzie said gently, “the only way to clear your grandparents’ names is if you tell us what you know.”
Sally nodded, and when she first spoke, her sentences came haltingly. “Mrs. Bingley said it was late. George would come in
the late evening, when my grandparents had left and only my mother remained.”
Sally did not elaborate on what George Oliver and Amy Burton did during those late-night visits, but one could make the appropriate
assumptions.
“But this night, Mrs. Bingley thought she heard someone else rattling around in the house, and she went to find my mother.
Together they found George in the drawing room. Mrs. Bingley kept the silver close back then, locked in a box in the fireplace.
He was plundering it.”
“And then what happened, Sally?”
“I don’t know exactly, but Mrs. Bingley said an argument broke out. George raised his hand to my mother, and Mrs. Bingley
said she reacted without thinking. She grabbed the fire poker and hit him over the head.”
Sally didn’t elaborate, and Darcy cleared his throat. “That is consistent with what we observed of the body, Mr. Layne.”
“I see,” said the justice of the peace. “And then what did they do with the body?”
“They hid him,” Sally said. “In the fireplace. Mrs. Bingley said my mother was distraught. She wanted to tell her parents
the truth. But Mrs. Bingley thought the more people who knew, the more likely it was that my mother would get in trouble,
on account of George being the constable. She was also worried that the vicar at the time thought her mad—he’d been poking
about the place, and she knew if the crime was discovered, it would be bad for everyone. If Honoria was tried for murder,
she couldn’t employ my family, and Mum might have been accused as well. They decided to hide the body because they could hardly
dig a hole anywhere in the park without my grandfather noticing—he was the groundskeeper, after all. So they wrapped George
Oliver in one of the sheets covering the furniture, and they found a way to push him up into the chimney.”
“But what about the smell?” Mr. Layne asked.
“There was a smell, all right,” Mr. Burton cut in. “The winter before Sally came. Amy said she’d seen rats, and she put out
poison for them. Whenever we’d smell anything unpleasant, Amy would say it was the poison doing its job, and she’d go find
the corpses and dispose of them.”
“And did Mrs. Bingley ever express remorse for what she’d done?” Mr. Layne asked Sally, and Darcy held in a scoff. After everything Sally had just revealed, that was what he chose to ask?
“Honestly, no,” Sally said. “She only told me because I asked; otherwise I think she would have taken it to her grave. She
also told me where to find the coins she’d hidden after that night. She said she’d taken back what Mr. Oliver had stolen,
but I suppose she must have missed one in his pocket—and I suspect she never had any idea that my grandparents had attempted
to bribe George to go away.”
She said this last sentence with a glance to Mr. Oliver. Her brother, Darcy thought. Tom Oliver stared back at her in shock.
“And Mr. Oliver,” Lizzie said. “How is it that this coin came into your possession?”
Mr. Oliver stared at it, as if he didn’t fully understand the question. Mr. Layne cleared his throat. “Answer the question,
Mr. Oliver.”
“My . . . my father gave it to me. He said we’d be rich. He just needed . . . time.” Mr. Oliver swallowed hard. “He gave me
one of the coins and said he had to fetch the rest. Only, he never came back. And I spent years—two decades!—thinking he’d
left me! All because your mother—”
“That’s enough, Mr. Oliver,” Mr. Layne said.
Lizzie spoke up next. “Sir, in light of what has been revealed here today, I must ask that you release the Burtons. It is clear now that Mr. and Mrs. Burton had no idea what occurred in the house all those years ago, and the two people responsible for Mr. George Oliver’s death and concealing his body are dead themselves. ”
“I don’t believe them,” Mr. Oliver said. “They say it was rats, but if they knew my father had left—”
Emotion caught in Mr. Oliver’s throat, and Darcy felt a wave of pity for the man, who must not have been more than thirteen
years old on the night that his father had gone out into the dark to claim a fortune, only to never return.
Do we ever stop yearning for our fathers’ approval? he wondered. Even when they aren’t much of a father to begin with? One thing was clear to him: even if George Oliver hadn’t been much of a father, Honoria Bingley wasn’t the only one who’d
been robbed that night.
“Sir, we cannot hold the Burtons liable for a crime they were not reasonably aware of,” Darcy said. “The burden of providing
proof that they had knowledge of their daughter’s crime and covered it up would fall upon the accuser, and Mr. Oliver has
yet to produce a single shred of evidence—”
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Layne said with a heavy sigh. “I am aware of the duties of my office, Mr. Darcy, despite not being a London
solicitor.”
Darcy didn’t envy the decision before the justice of the peace.
Lizzie had made a convincing argument for releasing the Burtons, but Mr. Layne was charged with dispatching justice in this parish, and failure to hold someone accountable for a crime could have unforeseen consequences.
He looked at Lizzie. She was staring at Mr. Layne, shoulders thrown back and head held high.
He knew she was likely mentally composing a counterargument to a counterargument, preparing for the worst.
Finally, Mr. Layne spoke. “I’m inclined to agree with Miss Bennet.”
Mr. Oliver growled with anger and tried to push against the men holding him in place. The gathered villagers broke into applause,
and Darcy noticed that Mr. Layne appeared relieved at the approval of the audience.
“They’re liars!” Mr. Oliver shouted. That sobered the crowd, and Mr. Oliver continued. “How will you rest at night, knowing
they live among us? Don’t come crying to me when they’ve wronged you—you’ve been warned!”
Sally’s magnificent scowl did little to soften the harshness of Mr. Oliver’s accusation. “I’ve done more for this village
than you and your father ever have,” she said, the emphasis of her words leaving Darcy with no doubt as to what she thought of George Oliver.
“And these people—they won’t forget that.”
With that, Sally ushered her grandparents out of the assembly rooms, followed closely by Lizzie and a stream of villagers.
Darcy lingered, for he had an unanswered question of his own. He approached Mr. Oliver, who was glaring at him with pure hatred
in his eyes. Darcy knew that he and Lizzie had made another enemy today. Before Mr. Layne could order Mr. Oliver unbound,
Darcy leaned down and looked into the older man’s eyes. “Have you made unlawful entry into Netherfield Park recently?”
Mr. Oliver spat at his feet. “Why don’t you and that scheming shrew of yours go to hell?”
Darcy felt his fist curl, but he showed no other reaction. “Answer me honestly, or I’ll bring my own complaint before Mr.
Layne right now—have you trespassed onto Netherfield Park?”
“I’m not telling you a goddamn—”
Darcy straightened. “Mr. Layne?”
“No. I only went that night, when . . . when he was discovered . . .”
Darcy stared at him, considering. “All right,” he said finally. He withdrew a pocketknife from his jacket pocket and saw Mr.
Oliver’s eyes widen. But he didn’t struggle when Darcy grabbed his bound hands and cut through with the knife. Mr. Oliver
made to walk away, but Darcy snagged his sleeve. “Wait,” he said.
He withdrew his card from Pemberley & Associates, and held it out to the other man. “Take it.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Go to the address on the card. Ask for Mr. Edwards. Tell him I sent you. If you leave Meryton and promise never to come back,
I’ll pay for you to start a new life somewhere else.”
“Why would you do that?”
Darcy ignored the question. “Nothing extravagant, mind you. But a fresh start somewhere where no one knows your name—or your
father’s. You’ll be required to sign an agreement saying you won’t ask for more money, and you’ll never come back to Meryton
or have contact with Sally and her family ever again, do you understand?”
Mr. Oliver simply pocketed the card and walked away.
“The offer is only good for a week!” Darcy called out. The other man ignored him, and Darcy sighed, already mentally composing
the letter he’d have to send Edwards back in the London office. He wasn’t sure Mr. Oliver would take him up on it, but he
supposed after everything that had been revealed today, Sally and her grandparents deserved to live in the village without
worrying about him wanting retribution.
With a nod to the justice of the peace, Darcy went outside and looked about for Lizzie. He spotted her standing by the carriage
that had brought them to Meryton, speaking in a hushed tone to Sally and her grandparents as she gestured for them to step
inside. Sally seemed reluctant at first, but whatever Lizzie had said must have convinced her, for she finally nodded and
helped her grandparents into the carriage. Miss Jeffries got in with them as well, and Lizzie instructed the driver to take
off.
“It looks like we’re walking back to Netherfield,” Charlotte said.
Darcy turned to find her standing near the door, holding Guy’s leash. Mr. Thomas stood next to her. “That’s all right,” Darcy
said. “I think I’ll need a walk after all that excitement.”
“That was rather shocking,” Mr. Thomas confessed. “Of course, I never knew Amy Burton, but I did not expect . . . well.”
“Nor did I,” Darcy said. “And I doubt that we’d have been able to put any of it together if not for the coin.”
“I feel awful. I didn’t even think of Tom Oliver’s father when you came to the vicarage to ask about missing persons.”
Both Charlotte and Darcy turned to look at Mr. Thomas. “Oh?” Charlotte asked.
“I’d heard rumors that he ran off,” Mr. Thomas said. “But it was so long ago, and I think I’d only heard it once from Miss
Brewster and . . . well, she does like to gossip. But I never questioned it because Dr. Fellowes recorded the event in his
register.”
“He did?” Darcy asked. He flicked his gaze to Charlotte, who looked equally surprised. “I don’t recall reading that part.”
“I’m fairly positive he did,” Mr. Thomas said. “I seem to remember an entry about the boy—Tom, of course—being put in care
of another parish family on account of his father being unable to care for him and leaving the county.”
“I must have missed that,” Charlotte muttered.
“Oh, well. I suppose we know the truth of it now.”
“Yes,” Darcy said, watching as Lizzie slowly walked toward them. She looked tired, but when she saw the three of them standing
together, she offered up a small smile and leaned down to pet Guy.
“I’m having them taken home, and I told the driver to go on to Netherfield. Hello, Mr. Thomas.”
“A job well done, Miss Bennet,” he said. “The both of you, really. With all that sorted, perhaps you’ve now lifted the so-called
Netherfield curse.”
Charlotte laughed softly, and even Lizzie smiled. “Perhaps,” she said. “I suppose we shall see how well-attended Jane’s ball
is tomorrow night. I hope we’ll see you there?”
Mr. Thomas assured her they would, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics, but Darcy couldn’t smile or participate. It was true, the dead man’s identity had been revealed and a great deal about Netherfield’s past had been explained, but Mr. Thomas’s words grated at him.
The curse allegedly targeted anyone that spent a night beneath Netherfield’s roof, and while Darcy was of the opinion that
it was and always had been rumor and exaggeration, likely encouraged by Honoria Bingley to keep prying eyes away from Netherfield,
the strange occurrences and accidents of the last week bothered him.
They’d solved the mystery of the dead man in the flue, but their questions were far from answered.