Chapter 51
Chapter Fifty-One
Aknock at the door startled the Bennets. Elizabeth rose, hoping it was Darcy come to tell them it had been a terrible mistake, and that the last three hours she had spent in agony were for naught.
Instead, a letter was delivered asking for the entire Bennet family, save Mary, to make their way to the inn where the inquest was being held to give evidence. The younger Bennet girls were aflutter, while Elizabeth’s stomach felt as if she had swallowed a stone.
Too soon, the five Bennets were in the carriage trundling towards the inn, a place none of them frequented.
“La!” said Lydia. “Such unexpected excitement. And to think, we assumed today would be simply sitting about watching Lizzy and Mr Darcy looking moon-eyed at one another in the sitting room.”
Kitty’s eyes flew wide. “If Mr Darcy is found guilty and hanged, Lizzy will not benefit from his fortune.”
“Cease this talk,” hissed Elizabeth, feeling ill.
When at last they arrived in the village, Papa opened the door to the inn, and they were ushered through and into a large common room.
Twelve local men were seated together opposite the entrance—the baker, the miller, the haberdasher, Sir William Lucas, as well as several of the town’s principal gentleman, including Mr Goulding.
Darcy sat to the side looking miserable.
Elizabeth desired to go to him, to hold him, to take his hand and run with him from the inn and out of Meryton, never to return. But of course, she could not.
The Bennet ladies were given chairs, but, as none were left, Papa stood against the wall.
A tall, slight man with an angular face and kind eyes rose and bowed. “I am Mr Brown, the coroner. I happened to be in the next town over when I was called to view the body.”
Lydia and Kitty gasped as if they had not been aware that a murder had occurred, and Elizabeth sighed with irritation at them. Would the entire proceeding be this way with them? She feared it would.
“Mr Wickham was found in the stream behind the tavern just before dawn this morning, and it appears he had been there for some hours.” Mr Brown shifted. “We received word that an altercation occurred yesterday at Longbourn, so we have called you all to share what you witnessed.”
Lydia rose, and Elizabeth’s eyes flew wide. “Well,” said Lydia, her chin in the air, “a charming man named Mr Wickham met us on the road.”
Kitty stood, as well. “Handsome, too. He said he was seeking Mr Darcy.”
Elizabeth turned and locked eyes with her father, but Mr Bennet merely shrugged. She supposed it was their duty to tell the truth, but she did not trust her sisters to be wise or discreet.
Lydia said, “And then Mr Darcy said, ‘I told you, Wickham, that if I saw you again, I would kill you.’”
The jurors looked at one another.
“Oh yes,” offered Kitty, bouncing on her toes. “He also said, ‘Get out of this town and the county!’ And he shoved Mr Wickham and said, ‘Leave the entire country, for all I care!’”
“He did say that,” said Lydia, voice all amazement, eyes wide.
Elizabeth clenched her fists so hard she felt her nails cut into her palms. “Stop,” she hissed.
“What was that?” asked Mr Brown. He was looking at Elizabeth, but when she did not speak, he said, “Miss Bennet?”
“I…I said ‘Stop.’”
“To whom?”
“To my sisters.”
Mr Brown leaned forward. “It is their duty to share what they know, Miss Bennet.”
The girls each offered a smirk, and, despite the warning, Elizabeth glared at them, and whispered, “Shameful.”
“Miss Bennet,” said Mr Brown, “do not interfere with the proceedings. Have you anything to add?”
Elizabeth locked eyes with Mr Darcy. “I suspect Mr Darcy had reason to dislike Mr Wickham.”
“Why is that?”
Darcy gave no indication of what she should or should not say, so she searched for the right words. “They…have a long history together. Much of it, from what I understand, is not of a friendly nature.”
“Such as?”
“I cannot say, sir.” She laced her fingers together and lowered her head.
Her heart was pounding, as she realised the seriousness of her testimony.
Should she misspeak, she could harm his defence.
Should she tell the truth, she could ruin his reputation, and Georgiana’s. “Mr Darcy can share as he chooses.”
Mr Brown narrowed his eyes. “You are engaged to Mr Darcy?”
She nodded. Was it only one day since she had accepted him?
Would he break the agreement given her sisters’ interference in these proceedings?
Mr Brown was right that they were compelled to share what they knew, but it pained her that they did it with such relish.
If Georgiana had betrayed her in such a fashion, she thought she might never forgive her.
Mr Brown said, “Your situation, Miss Bennet, leads me to believe you will protect Mr Darcy and not necessarily be truthful. Let us move on to Mr Wright, the proprietor of the inn.”
“But,” interrupted Elizabeth, “I know how it might appear, with Mr Darcy striking and yelling at Mr Wickham, but there have been events—there are reasons for Mr Darcy’s justified fury.
” Words were tumbling from her now, and she could not stop them.
“And the truth is that Mr Darcy is honourable and kind and in control of his actions. He might have hated Mr Wickham, but he would not risk his future or that of his sister, his ward, over such as a dishonest man.”
“So he hated Mr Wickham?” asked Mr Brown.
Elizabeth felt foolish. Why did she speak? “It does not mean he killed him.” She could not bear to look at Mr Darcy, and so smoothed the fabric of her skirt as she sat.
There was a murmur and a rustling nearby as someone rose. “Mr Wright, you are the proprietor of this inn. What did you hear in the taproom last night?”
Elizabeth looked at Mr Wright, who had known her for her entire life, and prayed he would not betray the man she loved.
“Mr Darcy, uh…” Mr Wright looked to Elizabeth and then Darcy, and then Mr Goulding, who was amongst the men sitting in judgement.
“He was with Mr Goulding, and they were drinking. Mr Wickham had been with Mr Goulding, but he left, and then Mr Darcy came in. He’s a fine man.
Serious. Not necessarily friendly, but reserved.
Respectable, though, and a true gentleman. ”
“Sir,” said Mr Brown, “what did you hear?”
“He said…” Mr Wright cleared his throat. “Mr Darcy said, ‘We would all be better off with that man dead.’”
Elizabeth’s eyes shot up to meet Darcy’s but Darcy was looking at his lap. Had he said such a thing? Apparently he had. Could he have attacked—No. No! She would not believe Darcy could commit murder. She could not, would not believe it.
Elizabeth looked to Sir William Lucas, and wished Charlotte had been with her so she might be held by her friend and reassured that Charlotte’s father would not harm the man she loved.
“Anything else?”
Mr Wright shook his head, then added, “That Mr Wickham seemed like trouble. He kept looking about the entire time he was drinking with Mr Goulding, and ran out like he was being chased just before Mr Darcy entered. Didn’t even pay.
Left Mr Goulding to do that. Mr Wickham and Mr Darcy, they never saw one another, and Mr Darcy settled his own bill and said good night and told Mr Goulding that he was going straight to Netherfield where his sister was staying.
I recall because Mr Goulding sent his regards to Miss Darcy. ”
Mr Brown turned to Mr Goulding. “Is this true?”
Mr Goulding nodded. “Every word.” Mr Goulding rose. “Mr Wickham was a blackguard.”
Mr Brown raised his brows. “Why, sir, were you drinking with a man with such a reputation?”
Mr Goulding shrugged. “A man’s reputation does not necessarily make him a poor drinking companion. In fact, sometimes it makes him better.”
Most in the room laughed, but Elizabeth did not. Nor did Darcy, who looked unwell.
“Do you know whom Mr Wickham was avoiding?”
Mr Goulding shook his head. “He had gambling debts, sir. He lived beyond his means and fell in with a rough crowd, according to Mr Darcy.”
“Mr Darcy? The man suspected of harming him would have every reason to speak poorly of Mr Wickham.”
“He has shared this fact often over the years.”
Mr Brown nodded. “Mr Wright, do you know what men he might have been gambling with from this region?”
Mr Wright shook his head. “I’d never seen these men before. Jeb Thompson might know.”
Jeb Thompson was a farmhand known to engage in unsavoury dealings and to gamble too often.
“It seems we ought to pause the proceedings to find this man.”
Everyone rose, then a woman spoke from the back of the room, “He run off.” All heads turned, and Mrs Thompson came forward. “He ain’t come home. His brother went with him. And good riddance to them both.”
“We must speak with him, madam. Murder is a capital offence, and if we are to discover the truth of the matter, it is imperative we speak with him.”
“It is imperative,” she said with a sneer, “that someone pay the rent, but that don’t look like it’ll be happening with him gone, either.”
“We cannot determine Mr Darcy’s guilt or innocence without more information. Cleaves, send someone to locate the gentleman.”
“Gentleman?” asked Mrs Thompson with a hearty chuckle. “First and last time those words will be used to speak of my husband.”
Mr Brown straightened the papers before him officiously. “Well, we shall pause until tomorrow morning while we attempt to locate Mr Thompson. Until then, Mr Darcy, do not leave the county.”
Elizabeth rushed towards Darcy.
He held up a hand, his face twisted with bitterness. “You ought not to have come.”
“We were sent for. It was required.”
Darcy turned his head away. “Do not come tomorrow. And certainly do not allow your family to attend the proceedings.”
The bitterness in his words cut through Elizabeth.
Darcy rose, and his head nearly touched the beam of this low-ceilinged room, giving the impression of a man already in a cage, a thought that made her shiver. “That man has found a way to torment me, even in death.”
“I shall come to Netherfield and pass the evening with you and Georgiana.”
“No, go with your family.”
Just as her heart sank farther than she thought possible, he took her hand and kissed it. “It was lovely to see your face here. It helped me to believe there is still good in the world.”
She resisted the urge to hold him tight and reassure him that all would be well or to beg the panel of men brought together to decide upon Mr Darcy’s fate to have mercy. Instead, she squeezed his hand, bobbed a curtsey, and departed with her family.
Once outside, she rounded on her sisters. “I shall never forgive you for your testimony.”
“We had to speak,” said Lydia, nose in the air. “It was out duty.”
“Yes, our duty!” Kitty added, crossing her arms with a harumph.
Elizabeth felt murderous. “Did you need to do so with such relish? I wonder at you both. You are the most foolish, selfish, thoughtless—”
“Lizzy!” barked her father. “We are within the hearing of others.”
Elizabeth looked about and saw townspeople, those who had known her since her infancy, pausing to gape.
Was it because her intended was on trial or because of her outburst?
Likely both. She wanted to speak to each of them, to defend Mr Darcy, to remind them of her sisters’ inability to treat any matter with seriousness.
She wanted to clout her sisters, to rail, to scream, but instead, she marched away from them.
She heard her father call for her but pretended she did not, and began to walk home on her own.