Chapter 20 #2
“I understand,” Philips said, “Now that we have established your previous association with George Wickham, please describe what happened last Wednesday on the north border of the estate of Longbourn.”
Darcy turned to look at the jurors, struggling to keep his breathing even and his expression calm. “On the 27th of November, last Wednesday, I rose early and decided to ride my stallion Phoenix.”
“Was this a common activity for you, Mr. Darcy?” Philips interpolated.
“Yes, very common. Phoenix is but a few years old and requires regular exercise. I enjoy riding, especially early in the morning.”
“Have you always stayed exclusively on Netherfield land?”
“No, I sometimes rode into Meryton and have been on Longbourn land more than once.”
“On this occasion, you found yourself on Longbourn land, and...” Philips prompted.
“I came across George Wickham, who was on foot.”
“Was Mr. Wickham traveling away from Meryton, or towards Meryton?”
“He was traveling towards Meryton.”
“Were you surprised to see him?”
“I was very surprised, along with being displeased, of course. We were not on good terms.”
“That is reasonable enough, given his slander. So you exchanged words?”
“Yes,” Darcy agreed. “He said something vile about a female relation of mine. I swung down from my horse and attempted to hit him.”
“What did he say, in particular?” Mr. Philips asked gently.
Darcy shook his head decidedly, “I will not repeat it. It was a baseless, disgusting statement, and I will not have those words spoken aloud here.”
There was a soft rustle among both the jurors and spectators, but Mr. Philips merely nodded and said, “Very well. So you moved forward to hit him?”
“I did.”
“Were you intending to use your fists, or some kind of weapon?”
“My fists. I had no intention of doing him great harm, but I also could not allow him to say those ugly words without some punishment.”
“So you approached him with your fists raised and...?”
“He pulled a knife from somewhere, a sheath perhaps, and leaped forward to stab me. He was aiming for my chest, but I ducked to the side, and he cut me on the left arm.”
“Is this the knife?” Philips asked, gesturing at the weapon on the table in front of him.
“It looks like the one,” Darcy said carefully. “I would not wish to swear that it is exactly the same blade.”
“I understand. Did he cry out any sort of warning before stabbing you?”
“No, Mr. Philips.”
“Proceed, Mr. Darcy.”
“I retreated, of course. He was still holding the blade in his hand, and I was bleeding from my left arm. He kept moving forward and threatened to kill me.”
“He actually told you that he wished to kill you?”
“Yes, I told him he was mad, that he would hang, but he was beyond reason. I believe he was drunk, as he reeked of alcohol. He told me that I had ruined his life and he would see me dead.”
There were louder mutterings from the assembled onlookers and a cry of excitement from Mrs. Long, causing Mr. Philips to turn and say, “I must insist on silence! Anyone causing further disturbance will be required to leave.”
This subdued the audience and Philips turned back to Darcy and said, “Please continue, sir.”
“I retreated as Wickham advanced and then he fell to one side. The ground was quite muddy. He slashed the left foreleg of my horse, who was standing nearby, and Phoenix reared up and came down on Wickham’s head.”
“Did you try to pull the horse away from Wickham?” Philips asked.
Darcy shrugged helplessly and then winced as the movement caused a stab of pain. “I confess that I was so shocked that at first, I moved away from Wickham and the horse. I was bleeding rather heavily and was afraid that Phoenix would strike me in his maddened state.”
“And then?”
“After a minute or two, I began calling to Phoenix in a soothing voice, trying to get him to calm down. He was still rearing and snorting and he kept...”
He closed his eyes, gulped convulsively, and lifted his right hand cover his eyes. “Phoenix was enraged and in pain, and he had already struck Wickham several times with his hooves. It took me some time to calm him sufficiently that I was able to grasp the reins and pull him away.”
“Did you check Mr. Wickham to determine the extent of his injuries, Mr. Darcy?”
“I did,” Darcy confirmed, bowing his head. “Once I had Phoenix tied to a nearby tree, I checked Wickham to see if ... well, I knew once I saw him that he was almost certainly dead. His head, was...”
He trailed off, and drew in a deep breath, struggling to bring his riotous emotions under control.
He loathed Wickham and did not mourn his death, but the memory of that destroyed face, with one brown eye staring blankly at the sky, was a horrifying one.
He noted, distractedly, that several of the jury members were grimacing as well.
It was an unpleasant aspect of an inquest that the jury was required to observe the corpse.
“Mr. Jones will provide more details about the injuries to the body,” Philips said calmly. “What happened next?”
Darcy straightened his back, adjusted his sling slightly, and said, “Once I knew that Wickham was dead, I guided Phoenix to Longbourn. One of the stable hands saw me, and I told them that I was injured, and he summoned Mr. Bennet.”
“Why did you not ride to Longbourn? You would have been able to get there more quickly.”
Darcy explained, “I would have had difficulty swinging onto Phoenix’s back with my arm injured, and in any case, my stallion was wounded, though I did not know how badly.”
“We will ask Mr. Jones to describe your injuries in more detail, Mr. Darcy. You may step down.”
Darcy nodded obediently, rose to his feet, and took his place next to Richard Fitzwilliam.
“Mr. Bennet,” Philips said, “approach and take the stand.”