Chapter 35 The Birthday Verdict #2
Caroline Bingley and her sister had positioned themselves strategically near the refreshments, maintaining the fiction that they were hostesses rather than witnesses.
Mrs. Amelia Bingley sat nearby, pale but composed, sipping a cup of coffee, still battling the effects of her unexpected sedation.
Charles hovered anxiously at her side, his usual amiability subdued by the gravity of the situation.
Georgiana entered last, her quiet dignity unmistakable as she made her way directly to Elizabeth’s side. Her eyes briefly sought her brother’s across the room, sharing a look of understanding before turning to Elizabeth with warmth.
“Elizabeth,” she said softly, her voice carrying just enough volume to be private yet audible to those nearby, “how perfectly lovely that locket looks on you. Fitzwilliam commissioned it weeks ago, you know, when he first discovered the family portraits in the gallery. He spent considerable time with the miniaturist, ensuring every detail was captured just so.” Her smile held both affection and knowing mischief.
“I believe he had hopes even then, though he would never have admitted it.”
Elizabeth’s hand instinctively rose to touch the delicate gold chain at her throat, her heart warming at this evidence of Darcy’s early thoughtfulness. “He mentioned nothing of commissioning it so long ago,” she murmured, touched by the revelation.
“My brother,” Georgiana replied with fond exasperation, “has always been better at grand gestures than small declarations. Though I suspect that particular failing may improve with practice.”
Elizabeth’s heart twinged at how thoroughly she had misjudged his character in those early days, mistaking his reserve for arrogance and his careful consideration for coldness.
He’d commissioned this locket for her, even when she was a stranger challenging his inheritance.
He’d known that if she proved to be Elizabeth Rose Darcy, she would have wanted these miniatures of her parents.
This revelation of his true nature only deepened her love as she smiled at him across the room.
“This inquiry shall now commence,” Sir Thomas announced. “We are gathered to determine the facts surrounding the deaths of John and Rose Darcy in the year 1791, as well as the events of last evening.”
Mr. Blythewood opened the proceedings with a methodical presentation of documentation: the marriage certificate of John Darcy and Rose Bennet, the baptismal record of Elizabeth Rose Darcy, and the legal settlement establishing the fee tail female provision.
“Most unusual, this inheritance arrangement,” Sir Thomas commented, examining the document. “Though perfectly legal, provided the signatures are verified.”
“They are, Your Honor,” Blythewood confirmed. “Authenticated by three separate witnesses, all of whom have provided sworn statements.”
The servants’ testimonies followed, each adding another piece to the puzzle Elizabeth had been assembling for weeks.
Hodge recalled the missing carriage the night after the fire and Martha Wickham’s unexplained absence.
Mrs. Winters described John Darcy’s growing concern about his brother’s business dealings with Benjamin Bingley.
Molly confirmed that only two bodies had been recovered from the fire, despite the official report claiming three.
Each testimony, each document, each reluctant admission added to her understanding not only of what had happened, but of who her parents had been—their principles, their love for each other, and their hopes for her future.
“And now,” Sir Thomas said, turning his attention to Martha Wickham, “we come to the matter of your role in these events. Multiple witnesses place you at the center of both the original tragedy and last night’s abduction.”
Martha’s face remained impassive, though her eyes darted occasionally toward the exits as though calculating escape routes.
“I saved the child,” she declared, her chin lifting with defiance. “Whatever else is alleged, that fact remains. Elizabeth Rose Darcy would have perished in that fire if not for me.”
“After you poisoned my parents with foxglove in their tea,” Elizabeth observed.
“I never admitted to poisoning anyone,” Martha said.
“Actually,” Sir Thomas interjected, “we have your testimony as witnessed by Mr. Collins during last night’s events.”
Mr. Collins preened importantly. “Indeed, sir, it is as you say. Most shocking declarations were made, completely inappropriate for a lady’s ears, though Miss Elizabeth was regrettably present for the entirety.
Mrs. Wickham spoke in the most alarming terms about ‘special tea’ prepared for Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, containing—” he shuddered delicately, “—foxglove. A most unchristian act, if I may say so.”
“Did she explain her motives for this poisoning?” Sir Thomas queried.
“She indicated that a Mr. Benjamin Bingley had compelled her to—how did she phrase it—eliminate Mr. John Darcy, who had discovered certain business arrangements that were, shall we say, not entirely in keeping with the law.”
“I never said that,” Martha squawked, glaring at Mrs. Bingley significantly. “Benjamin Bingley wanted to eliminate Mr. John Darcy, but it wasn’t me who did the deed.”
Mrs. Amelia Bingley’s cup rattled against its saucer. “My husband was a businessman, not a murderer.”
“And yet,” Elizabeth said, her voice carrying in the sudden silence, “you knew enough about his arrangements with Martha Wickham to threaten her with exposure last night, did you not?”
Mrs. Bingley’s lips tightened, but she did not deny the accusation.
“Fess up, Amelia,” Mrs. Wickham snapped with a snarl. “You cannot hide from the facts.”
“The facts being that you accused a gentleman, not my husband, but another one of the killing.” Amelia rose on her shaky feet, propped up by Charles. “Mr. William Darcy paid you for your services. Twenty years. The ledgers prove it.”
Darcy’s face paled as the assembly gasped, turning their attention to him. Beside her, Georgiana seemed to shrink, her shoulders sagging as she looked at Elizabeth with troubled eyes.
“Show us the ledgers,” someone shouted.
“Payment for services is not proof of murder,” someone else intervened.
“Mrs. Wickham, you have no credibility,” Caroline spoke, pointing a thin finger at Mrs. Wickham. “No one believes a word from your mouth, and any accusation you make is suspect.”
“Mr. Bennet might know,” Elizabeth said. “He claims that Mrs. Wickham warned him that there are those who might seek my life. He didn’t tell me who, but he’s not here to testify.”
“Wait! I know!” Lydia’s voice suddenly pierced the tension. “I have the note. The one in this book.”
All eyes turned to Elizabeth’s youngest sister, who had risen to her feet, brandishing a leather-bound volume that Elizabeth recognized as one of the Gothic novels Mr. Bennet claimed to despise.
“I found it in Papa’s library,” Lydia explained, her voice suddenly serious. “It was stuck between pages 108 and 109, where the heroine discovers her true identity as the long-lost daughter of a duke.”
She approached Sir Thomas, presenting both the book and a folded piece of yellowed paper. “I brought it because I thought it might be important, and Lizzy always says Papa hides important things in books he pretends not to read.”
Elizabeth felt a surge of unexpected affection for her impulsive sister, whose frivolity occasionally gave way to surprising moments of insight.
Sir Thomas unfolded the paper carefully, his bushy eyebrows rising as he read its contents aloud: “William Darcy threatens the life of this infant. Hide her well.”
“That proves nothing,” Darcy spoke coldly. “Only that Martha Wickham attempted to implicate William Darcy in a crime she committed.”
Still, murmurs rose, and Sir Thomas was forced to bang his gavel on the hardwood table.
“We are only here to determine grounds to detain the three involved in last night’s abduction of Elizabeth Bennet and the attempted poisoning of Mrs. Amelia Bingley. Any additional evidence will be considered by the courts.”
“How about Rose’s locket?” Elizabeth asked, pointing to Blythewood. “It was left with me, around my neck, when my parents found me in the basket.”
“Mr. Blythewood,” Sir Thomas said, “please present the locket evidence.”
Blythewood rose, producing the ornate family locket from a silk pouch.
“This locket, bearing miniatures of John and Rose Darcy, was discovered in Mrs. Bennet’s possession.
She claims it accompanied the infant Elizabeth when she was brought to Longbourn.
The question is, who placed it in the basket? ”
Mrs. Bingley observed the proceedings with cold calculation. “It was Mrs. Wickham, obviously. Her accusations against my late husband are slanderous nonsense designed to deflect attention from her own crimes.”
“You dare!” Martha snarled.
“I dare speak truth,” Mrs. Bingley replied with icy dignity. “You poisoned John and Rose Darcy and set the fire to conceal your crime. You took that locket from poor Rose’s body.”
“Mrs. Bingley,” Sir Thomas said carefully, “you observed Mrs. Wickham remove this locket from the deceased?”
Mrs. Bingley’s composure flickered as she realized her slip. “Who else could it be? Mrs. Wickham admitted to saving the baby.”
“However, not the detail that the locket had been around my mother’s neck when she died.” Elizabeth’s voice carried clearly even though it broke with a sob. “Which means… you, Mrs. Bingley, were there.”
“I… I only know what was told to me.” Mrs. Bingley blinked, looking around the assembly for support.
“The servants gossip… Isn’t it clear? Martha Wickham orchestrated the entire situation.
She committed the murders, covered up the crime with a fire, abducted the baby, and last night, she tried to poison me when I decided to testify on Miss Bennet’s behalf. ”