Chapter 13
Wickham’s Cell
Jail
Derby
Dawn
Two Days Later
Saturday, 22nd June 1811
“Your case is coming up today, Wickham.”
George Wickham, who was lying on his bed, sat up and turned to look at the man on the other side of the bars. “Are you certain, Reynolds?”
“I am,” the jailer said stolidly. “Your case will start within half an hour of noon, either way, depending on the earlier cases.”
“I will need water and soap, then,” Wickham said, standing up and pulling a penny out of his pocket, “and if you can arrange to have my coat brushed and my shoes shined, I would be most grateful.”
Reynolds reached through the bars to take the money and said, “I will have the wench bring down soap and water, Wickham, and she can brush your coat afterwards.”
“Thank you, my good man,” Wickham said, bestowing a smile on the jailer.
The man grunted and departed, and Wickham walked over to where his coat was hanging on the lone chair in the room.
It was a trifle dirty, but would clean up well enough.
He was wearing his shirt, and thought it unlikely that it could be washed and dried before the trial.
He would shake it and his trousers out as best as possible, but it was the coat that mattered the most.
It was, he mused, fortunate that the local jailer was amenable to the occasional bribe in favor of better food, a glass of ale and, more importantly, luxuries like water and soap.
He had a plan for the upcoming trial that would, he thought, save all their necks, but it was important that he look like the gentleman he was, in which case he needed a clean face and hair, and a well-brushed coat and shiny shoes.
***
Side Room
Court House
Derby
Noon
There was not much in the small waiting room to distract witnesses from their upcoming testimony, and the chairs, hard wooden ones with stiff backs, were not comfortable. The fireplace was dark and cold, rendered superfluous by the summer heat.
Elizabeth sat with her gloved hands clasped nervously on her knees as she stared at the door which led into the courtroom.
It was thick and heavy, crafted of good, solid oak.
Sonorous voices just murmured through, but no word could be discerned.
Elizabeth's pulse fluttered with a most unaccustomed anxiety.
She was not given to nerves, but the prospect of giving testimony in court and perhaps being a key factor in the death of one or several people was an unsettling one.
Then she would think of Miss Darcy, shy and sweet, frightened in her own home because of the perfidy of the conspirators, and her determination to see the trio punished rose anew.
Elizabeth's aunt and uncle, seated beside her, evinced no signs of perturbation, which was reassuring.
Mrs. Gardiner was as serene as an unruffled sea, and her husband was examining the wood paneling of the walls with every sign of sincere interest. He did not display the slightest bit of concern about the result of the trial, and after all, why should he?
If ever there were a clear-cut case, it was this one.
Due to Elizabeth's intervention, there had been a number of individuals who had observed Mrs. Young and Wickham attempting to stuff Miss Darcy into the carriage.
Elizabeth rehearsed her testimony over in her head, practicing what she would say.
She was glad that the case did not rest on her evidence alone, and that the others who had witnessed the whole contretemps would outline what they had seen.
She was glad, too, that she did not have to stay to listen to them, that she could describe her own part in the affair and depart the court.
The miscreants indubitably deserved whatever fate the judge and jury might decide for them, but Elizabeth would take no pleasure in it.
There were only so many times Elizabeth could say her testimony over to herself, and she found herself in need of another distraction.
The walls of the room did not provide one, and she looked instead down at her dress.
It fit well with her surroundings; a dark, sober navy blue without trim except for a tiny ruffle at the yoke.
Mrs. Gardiner had picked it out of the dresses Elizabeth had brought, saying that it made her look older and mature and grave.
Mr. Gardiner had concurred, expressing the opinion that the jury would take her more seriously if she did not appear too youthful.
Elizabeth had thought of her youngest sisters and their flightiness and had agreed without demur.
Of course, her face was still bruised, and she quivered a trifle at being seen in public looking a fright, but her uncle had pointed out, correctly, that the bruise would be indicative of the violence involved in Miss Darcy’s attempted abduction.
There was a sharp sound beyond the heavy door, and the murmur of voices stopped.
Elizabeth looked up, sharing glances with her aunt and uncle, and sat stiff and straight, waiting.
The latch clicked, and the door swung open.
Georgiana Darcy stood in the doorway, having finished testifying, looking very sweet and innocent in pale blue.
Her face was reddened and blotchy, her eyes swimming with tears, her breaths short and hiccupy as she stepped into the room, and Elizabeth stared at her in dismayed sympathy.
“Miss B.,” a stolid, dark-clothed man said from behind Miss Darcy, “come with me, please.”
Elizabeth rose and shook her skirts to remove the wrinkles.
She cast an anxious look at Miss Darcy, but Mrs. Gardiner had already pulled the young lady into her arms, and Elizabeth, after taking a deep breath, followed the man into the courtroom.
She was thankful that her ankle was substantially better today, and thus she could walk without crutches, though she hobbled to reduce how much weight she put on it.
It was a large room and very full of people.
It was also, oddly enough, full of bouquets of flowers, including roses and irises and honeysuckle and sweet peas.
It took but a few seconds for her to understand the reason for such a profusion of blossoms. The room was warm and brimming with humanity, and the fragrance mitigated the earthy smells of unwashed individuals.
As she followed her guide toward the witness box, she glanced around the room, firstly at the judge, dressed in scarlet robes, with the powdered wig of his office on his head. To the judge’s left sat twelve men, the jury.
In the middle of the room were two tables.
At the first sat Mr. Darcy and a silver-haired man who was almost certainly the barrister, Mr. Talbot.
Two yards beyond was another table, but this one was surrounded by railings.
The three prisoners sat behind that table, with two husky men standing beyond them as guards.
Elizabeth had by now reached the box to the left of the judge. She took her seat as directed and allowed herself a moment to gaze at the threesome on trial for their very lives.
She found herself startled by how grimy Mr. Zimmer and Mrs. Younge appeared. The former’s hair was greasy and his clothing dirty, while Mrs. Younge seemed ten years older than when last Elizabeth had seen her, and her right cheek was smudged with something.
The third member of the group, and the ringleader, was of course George Wickham, and he looked surprisingly debonair. His hair was neatly washed and combed, and his garments had been brushed well. He was positively distinguished compared to his conspirators.
He also, unlike the others, gave the impression that he was entirely at ease, and his eyes met Elizabeth’s with such confidence that she felt a strange trickle of anxiety in her stomach.
“Miss B.?”
She turned to where the officer of the court was waiting.
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” he asked.
“I do,” she vowed.
The man next to Darcy rose from the seat and walked over to her.
“Miss B., I am Mr. Talbot, the barrister arguing this case,” he said. “Were you in Lambton the day of the abduction attempt?”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Please explain to the jury why you were in Lambton that day.”
“I was in Lambton because my uncle and aunt, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, were kind enough to invite me on a trip north from my family’s estate in Hertfordshire.
My aunt Gardiner grew up in Lambton, and on the morning in question, she and my uncle were visiting friends while I read letters from home that I had just received. ”
“How did you come to learn of the plot against Miss D.?”
“I was seated by the open window in our sitting room on the upper floor of the inn, and I overheard a male voice say, ‘If we are caught, it is a hanging matter.’” This naturally enough drew my attention, and I listened as another man said that they would not be caught, and that Miss D.
would be drugged with laudanum, and carried to Scotland, and forcibly married over the anvil.
The man said, moreover, that ‘her brother’ would not find out in time to rescue Miss D. ”
“Did you see the two men at this point?”
“I did not, as the angle from the window did not allow me to see them. I immediately put on my bonnet and gloves and hurried down to the side door of the inn in the hopes of setting eyes on them.”
“Why did you not go to the innkeeper and explain what you had overheard?”
Elizabeth hesitated, glanced at Wickham, who was gazing at her intently, and then turned back to the barrister.
“I thought of that, but I was a stranger in the area, and I feared that if I went to the innkeeper, it would take too long for me to explain the situation. I needed to see who was talking, and if possible, intervene.”
“Intervene, you say? That seems an odd decision for a young lady.”
Elizabeth straightened her back and said, “I suppose it does, but I have sisters, Mr. Talbot. The thought of one of them being forced into marriage to a rogue is appalling to me, and I resolved to help if I could. I also hoped that I would, perhaps, come across my uncle in the town, though that regrettably did not happen.”
Her eyes landed on Mr. Darcy, who smiled at her approvingly.
“Did you leave the inn to find who was speaking?” Mr. Talbot asked.
“I did. I left through a side door and walked into the alley outside my window, where two men, a carriage, and four horses were waiting.”
“Do you see the two men in this courtroom, Miss B.?”
“I do.”
“Where are they?”
She pointed at Mr. Zimmer and Mr. Wickham. “They are right there.”
“Thank you, Miss B. What happened next?”
“I exchanged a few words with them, pretending to be a visitor who needed help finding the main street. I found my way using their directions, and I lingered by a milliner until I spied Mr. Wickham. Then I followed him to the Tea Emporium. Again, I was not certain what to do, but there was a bookstore next to the Emporium, and I waited there until Miss D. appeared with Mrs. Younge and Mr. Wickham. I then attempted to warn her that this was an abduction attempt.”
“What happened then?”
“Miss D., naturally enough, was confused. Her female companion, whom I now know to be Mrs. Younge, the one in the dock, told her that I was insane, but I would not be silenced. Indeed, I started shouting, which naturally attracted attention. At this point, Wickham ordered Mrs. Younge to bundle Miss D. into the carriage. I jumped on Wickham in order to distract him, and Miss D. fought Mrs. Younge, and then two nearby men came to assist. In the middle of the brouhaha, the carriage drove away.”
“I observed, as you entered this room, that you were limping, and that your face is bruised. Was that due to the fracas involving Miss D.?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “When I tried to intervene to keep Miss D. from being shoved into the carriage, Wickham hit me once in the face, and then threw me to the ground, causing an injury to my ankle.”
She glanced at the jury and noted the look of anger on more than a few faces.
“And what happened next?” Mr. Talbot asked gently.
“Mr. Wickham shouted angrily at the carriage driver who had started to drive off, and then he told Mrs. Younge to run away, and he ran off down an alley. Mrs. Younge tried to escape, but the two men stopped her and took her into custody.”
“And then?”
“We went into the Tea Emporium, and the mistress of the establishment kindly opened up a parlor for me and Miss D. We summoned my uncle and aunt, and Mr. D., and a doctor.”
“Did you see Mr. Wickham, Mr. Zimmer, or Mrs. Younge after that?”
“Not until a few minutes ago, in this courtroom,” Elizabeth said.
“Thank you. I have no further questions.”
Elizabeth bobbed her head in relief and prepared to stand.
“Mr. Wickham, do you wish to question the witness?” the judge asked.
Elizabeth blinked and turned startled eyes on Wickham.
“Yes, Your Honor,” the man said smoothly and rose to his feet.