Chapter 22
“He was very agitated, and Coachman Jack, who oversees the stables at Longbourn, had shut him in a stall so that he was less likely to injure himself by bucking and thrashing.”
“Was the horse injured?”
“Yes. We backed him out of the stall, and I investigated his front left foreleg, though with some difficulty. Phoenix is a large horse, and he was, as I said, excited. However, I was able to treat the wound.”
“Describe the horse’s injuries, Mr. Simon.”
“He had a long cut on his left foreleg, starting several inches above the hoof. It was approximately three inches long, but thankfully not deep.”
“But the horse would have felt it?”
“Definitely, Mr. Philips. It would have been most painful.”
“Based on your experience as a veterinarian, do you think Mr. Darcy’s description of the events last Wednesday match the expected behavior of a horse like Phoenix?”
Mr. Simon huffed and said, “Yes. The stallion is only a few years old and high strung; an injury of that kind would provoke a dramatic response.”
“Mr. Darcy said in testimony that he waited as much as two minutes to try to calm the horse...”
“Yes, and it is a testimony to the horse’s trust of his master that Mr. Darcy managed to pull the horse away within a few minutes. A stallion like Phoenix, injured, with the smell of blood in his nostrils, is a most dangerous creature.”
“Thank you, Mr. Simon. You may step down. Lieutenant Denny, come to the stand.”
The red coated officer did so, took the Bible in his hands, and said, “I swear by Almighty God to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”
“Thank you, Captain Denny,” Mr. Philips said with a benevolent smile at the militia officer.
He was pleased with the inquest proceedings thus far; no one had volunteered any unnerving information, and Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bennet had managed to answer questions truthfully without revealing the presence of Elizabeth at the scene of the assault.
“Mr. Denny, were you a close friend to Mr. Wickham?”
“No, sir,” Denny answered, lifting a hand to loosen his collar. “We knew each other as casual acquaintances in London, and when we encountered one another some weeks ago, he was interested in taking a commission with the regiment.”
“I see. Were you aware of any of his past interactions with Mr. Darcy?”
Denny’s usually genial expression hardened, and he shook his head, saying, “Wickham told me that Mr. Darcy cheated him out of a church living, but that has been exposed as a lie. It seems he was not a reputable fellow, and I only wish I had not run into him in London.”
This was said with unusual vehemence, and Philips allowed his eyebrows to rise. “You sound rather heated, Captain Denny. Is there a particular reason for that?”
Denny hesitated and then said, “I take pride in my position as an officer and a gentleman, sir. A liar like Wickham brings the entire regiment into disrepute.”
“I understand. Now, do you know why Mr. Wickham was walking on Longbourn land last Wednesday, the 27th of November?”
“He said he had business in London and was granted leave two nights previously,” Denny explained. “He intimated that he wished to avoid Mr. Darcy at the ball at Netherfield. I was expecting him to return by stage on Wednesday, so I do not know why he was on Longbourn land.”
“I understand. Now, do you observe this knife on the table?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you recognize it?”
“Yes, Mr. Philips. That is Wickham’s knife. He showed it to me and said he often carried it when traveling or when he was in London.”
“Did he say why?”
“Wickham said he carried it for protection; he did not wish to be robbed either on foot or on the stage.”
“Very well. You may step down.”
***
“My dear Jane, how happy you must be!” Mrs. Philips clucked. “Mr. Bingley is so fine a man, so handsome, and so very rich! Mr. Collins is a good match for Mary, without a doubt, but nothing compared to Mr. Bingley.”
Jane’s lips tightened and she said, “Yes, Charles is wonderful, Aunt. I am so fortunate to have found a man whom I love and who loves me.”
Mrs. Philips nodded enthusiastically and said, “Yes, I know your mother is very proud of you for capturing such a gentleman. Now, do you know the details of the marriage settlements?”
Jane shook her head repressively and looked at Elizabeth, who was staring out the front window of their aunt’s drawing room. “Lizzy, are you not cold? Should you not sit by the fire?”
Elizabeth sighed and walked over to her elder sister. She was perturbed and uneasy as she waited for the result of the inquest, but there was no purpose in staring out at an empty street.
“Jane does not care about the settlements, Aunt Philips,” she stated calmly. “But Jane’s fiancé is an honorable, kindly man, and I have no doubt the settlements will be generous. Now what do you plan to wear to the wedding?”
“Oh, my dear, it hardly matters about me, does it?” their aunt declared. “But you, Jane, must be dressed in the best finery that Meryton has to offer! Have you decided what you will wear?”
With the conversation now firmly shifted toward the sartorial, Elizabeth found herself thinking again of the inquest, which had started two hours previously. Would a verdict come soon?
***
Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley, shifted in his hard seat.
Ordinarily, he would not have noticed any discomfort, but he was tired and sore and impatient.
Some ten witnesses had been called as part of the inquest, and the jury had filed out to deliberate in what served as the card room during assemblies.
They had been gone for twenty minutes, and Darcy was finding it difficult to wait.
Lady Lucas squeaked softly behind him, and Darcy turned in his seat to observe the jury march back into the main room of the assembly room, whereupon all but the foreman took their seats.
“Have you, the jury, rendered a verdict?” Mr. Philips asked, straightening himself to his full, not very impressive height.
The foreman, a phlegmatic man by the name of Smythe, nodded and said, “Yes, Mr. Philips. We the jury rule that the death of George Wickham was Accidental.”
There were shrieks of excitement from the women in attendance, and to Darcy’s surprise, most of the audience burst into applause.
Mr. Philips, though he did not applaud, also did not reprove the spectators.
Though the coroner maintained a stolid expression, Darcy knew he was delighted that his niece’s name had been kept out of the affair.
Richard leaned over with a wide grin and said softly in his ear, “I told you all would be well.”
“And I know you relish being able to tell me that you were right,” Darcy countered, rising to his feet.
To his astonishment, various militia officers and local gentry crowded around him to shake his right hand, and Colonel Forster made a point of saying loudly, “Mr. Darcy, I am overjoyed at this most reasonable verdict and am thankful indeed that you were not injured more seriously by Wickham. It grieves me that such a rogue joined our regiment; the rest of my officers are fine men.”
“I am certain that they are,” Darcy agreed, casting a piteous eye toward the exit. Now that the inquest was over, he was even more aware of his aching arm and fatigue. All he wanted was to return to Netherfield and rest near the fire.
“Gentlemen,” Richard Fitzwilliam said, taking control of the situation, “my cousin is tired and needs to rest. Thank you for your support during this difficult time.”
With these words, Richard grasped Darcy’s good arm, and, using his own considerable bulk, forced his way through the chattering crowd. When they exited the building, Darcy was relieved to observe the Netherfield carriage waiting for him.
Within a minute, he and Richard were inside the carriage and the horses trotting toward Netherfield.
Darcy groaned and leaned back in the squabs, suddenly overcome with fatigue. He had, he realized, been more anxious about the inquest than he realized. But all was well. He was safe and so was Elizabeth Bennet.