Chapter 15
Parlor
Golden Daffodil Inn
Mrs. Gardiner’s prediction had proven accurate.
A few minutes after the party had returned to the inn, several servants had arrived with platters of food, and Elizabeth and Miss Darcy had quickly fallen on their nuncheon with enthusiasm.
Very little was now left of the cold chicken and cold beef, or the pickles in their seasoned vinegar; the delectable apple tart had disappeared entirely, and the bowl of fruit was half empty.
The Daffodil’s landlord could be content that his guests were satisfied with his hospitality.
The ladies were now sitting beside the window.
Sunlight was coming in through the glass, and a breeze through the open aperture.
Mrs. Gardiner had drawn back the lacy curtains, and the flowers in the garden outside nodded their brightly colored blossoms. It was a soothing scene, but its charm was having unfortunately little effect on the temperaments of the younger women.
Both were still perturbed from the events of that morning.
Elizabeth was tired, and she was grateful to sink into the sunny yellow cushions of a chair and settle her foot carefully on the accompanying stool.
Her ankle was throbbing, a reminder that, while it was greatly improved, it was also far from fully functional.
She had walked too much this morning. It was a relief to elevate it, and she leaned back into the chair, adjusting the light, lacy shawl around her shoulders.
Her eyes drifted across her aunt, over Miss Darcy seated across and adjacent to her, and then on to where Mr. Gardiner sat at the desk in the corner.
A letter was set in front of him, and he consulted it every so often as he dipped his pen before he resumed writing his response in swift, neat letters.
“It makes me so angry,” Miss Darcy said suddenly, her cheeks flushed. “It is terrible enough that Wickham tried to abduct me, but now he is pretending that we were writing letters back and forth, and that I had agreed … oh, it is disgusting!”
“As my husband remarked, he is desperate,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “Nor do I think he will succeed in fooling the judge and jury.”
Tears formed yet again in Miss Darcy’s eyes. “I just … I feel so frustrated! I wish I had done a better job of … of explaining the situation, but when he started asking me those questions, and in such a kindly voice, I did not know what to say. I am certain the jury thinks me an absolute fool!”
“I am certain they do not, my dear,” Mrs. Gardiner said warmly.
“Was it the same for you, Miss Bennet?” the younger lady asked, turning toward Elizabeth. “Did he ask peculiar questions, also?”
“Yes, but different ones. He asked about where I was sitting when I overheard him and suggested that I was too far away and distracted by other noise to hear clearly. He was trying to make the jury think that I misunderstood his words.”
“And the jury, did they believe him?” Miss Darcy asked timidly.
Elizabeth bit her lip and said, “I do not know. I was too busy thinking about what was happening to try to discern their reaction. As my aunt says, all we can do is trust God above to guide the judge and jury.”
***
Court Room
“Mr. D., according to these documents, you paid George Wickham three thousand pounds to give up a valuable church living,” Mr. Talbot said, slowly waving the papers in his hand.
“That is correct,” Darcy said simply from the witness chair, though he could not help but glower at Wickham in the box.
“Would you explain, for the benefit of the jury, why Mr. Wickham was considered for the living?”
Darcy turned toward the red-robed judge and the jury and said, “My father had a great kindness for Mr. Wickham and wished to set him up by awarding him the living, which was worth a full three hundred pounds a year. I, on the other hand, thought poorly of Wickham, and when my father died, while I intended to award Wickham the living to fulfill my father’s wishes, I was eager to accept an alternative when it was presented to me.
I knew he would not be a good clergyman and was glad to pay a substantial sum in order to set it aside for a worthier individual. ”
“So you paid him the three thousand…,” Talbot started.
“I paid him a total of four thousand,” Darcy interrupted and then flushed a little. “My apologies for interrupting, but my father had set aside one thousand pounds for Wickham in his will, and I gave him the entire amount three years ago.”
“When did you see Mr. Wickham next?” the barrister asked.
Darcy grimaced and said, “Today. Six months ago, the former rector at Kympton died. Wickham sent me a letter saying that his circumstances were exceedingly bad, and that he now wanted the church living, in spite of the fact that he had been paid to give it up and that he had not taken Holy Orders. I refused him, of course, and thought no more of him until he attempted to abduct my sister.”
“I have no further questions, Your Honor,” Mr. Talbot said, turning toward the judge.
“Mr. Wickham, do you have any questions?” the judge asked.
Wickham nodded, stood up, grimaced, and then sat down again slowly.
“I do not, Your Honor,” he said in a mournful tone. “I know that I am fighting for my name, not to mention my life, but I simply cannot bear to question my dear godfather’s son in such … an adversarial way. I have no questions.”
“You may step down, sir,” the judge said.
***
Library
Longbourn
Mr. Bennet had drawn his chair over to the southern-facing window, which was thrown wide. The breeze drifting in smelt of sunshine and leaves and carried the sounds of birdsong with it. The light was bright on his book and warm on his face, and Bennet was entirely comfortable and content.
The birds were the loudest sounds he could hear.
The house was blessedly quiet around him as his extremely noisy womenfolk were out for the day, along with the four Gardiner children who were currently staying with them.
The servants knew better than to disturb him in his library, and Mrs. Hill would never permit the maids to raise their voices or emit shrill giggles outside his door.
Bennet hoped devoutly that Mrs. Phillips would keep her sister and nieces and nephews with her until well after dinner.
The days when he was alone in the house were always his favorite, when he did not have to worry about being disturbed by Lydia’s tantrums or Kitty’s shrieking or Mrs. Bennet’s vapors and tears.
His women folk left him most often in the evenings, leaving him to read by candlelight and firelight.
To be left in solitude in sunlight was a welcome change of pace.
It was not that he did not love his family.
He was very fond of Jane, who was sweet and gentle and quiet by nature.
He also missed Lizzy, who was gallivanting about with the Gardiners in the Lake Country or some such place.
He would mourn his wife or his younger three daughters, if they were to die.
He did not enjoy their company even at the best of times.
He derived entertainment from it over meals, yes, but enjoyed it, no. He did not enjoy lightminded silliness.
The door opened, and Bennet turned a frowning look toward it. His butler entered with a card on a tray, which he presented to his master.
Bennet picked up the calling card and frowned even more deeply at the name on it. Mr. Amos Stirling, Esquire.
“Who is this Mr. Stirling?” he demanded of his butler, who said, “I do not know, sir. The man is dressed like a gentleman and is entirely unknown to me.”
Mr. Hill paused for a moment, coughed, and said, “I believe that he scribbled a short message on the other side of the card, sir.”
Bennet flipped over the card. There was, indeed, a short note scrawled in blue ink.
“Regarding your twelve thousand pound debt, which I currently hold.”
Bennet’s good cheer gave way to immediate horror.
“Sir?” the butler asked worriedly.
Bennet swallowed once, and then again, and then nodded. “Show Mr. Stirling in.”
***
Court Room
Derby
The bailiff’s hand on her elbow was so tight as to be nearly painful.
The man apparently disapproved, as any good man must, of anyone who assisted in the abduction of a young girl, but Dorothea Younge was more grateful for his support than otherwise.
She was not sure she could have made her way to the witness chair without assistance.
Her head was swimming with terror as the consequences of her actions loomed ever nearer, yet beneath the sick fear, her heart burned with indignation and betrayal.
Even as Wickham spun new webs of deceit, his old lies were collapsing around him like cobwebs swept down with the broom of the pitiless law.
She, like almost anyone Wickham encountered, had heard the sorry tale of the Kympton living, of how it had been his godfather’s expressly stated desire that the living be held for young Wickham, how young Mr. Darcy had cruelly withheld it when Wickham had gone humbly to ask for his legacy, how he had been turned away from Pemberley with nothing.
She now believed Mr. Darcy’s claim that he had, in fact, offered a princely sum to Wickham to give up all rights to the living.
If nothing else, such a claim would be easy to prove or disprove, and Wickham had not debated the assertion of the three thousand pounds, plus the thousand pounds left to him directly in his godfather’s will.
Four thousand pounds altogether! In the four percents, that would have provided an income of one hundred and sixty pounds a year, enough to sustain a prudent man for a lifetime.
And the profligate Wickham had run through it all in just a few years!