Chapter 57
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Elizabeth marvelled at Darcy’s calm. She wanted to scream, to beg, to run. Instead, she attempted to mirror his composure.
Goulding, who had entertained them thoroughly as they grudgingly shoved morsels of food into their mouths, wished them well and bowed. Then Darcy let go of her hand to take his seat, and the emptiness she felt as his departure was profound.
She could not lose him.
Mr Brown called the proceedings to order. “Without further evidence to discuss, there will be a period of deliberation, so the jury shall remain here. Gentlemen, it is your duty—”
There was a commotion at the door. Five men entered. They passed by her seat, and Elizabeth recognised Mr Jeb Thompson, the farmhand and husband of Mrs Thompson who had spoken at the inquest, and his brother Jack, whom she said had also run off.
“This is the man you sent us to collect, sir,” said a rough-looking man, pointing to Mr Thompson. “He was on the road to London with these others, and when we questioned them, it turns out the night of the murder, they were all gambling with Mr Wickham.”
Mr Brown gestured for the men to come forward.
“Have you information on the death of Mr Wickham?”
One of the finer-dressed men nodded. “The gentleman who employs us sent us to find Mr Wickham.”
“Who do you work for?”
“Mr Raggett.”
A murmur went through the crowd, but Elizabeth did not know why. Then she recalled hearing of unsavoury clubs in London, and wondered if he might be the owner of one such establishment.
“Why were you sent for him?” asked Mr Brown.
The dark-haired man said, “Mr Wickham owed one of the patrons of White’s a large sum and left town to escape payment.”
“How were you able to locate him?”
“Mr Wickham was not one to be discreet.”
“Nah,” said his companion. “He’d bragged to the men at the table that he could cover all debts as soon as he found a Mr Darcy.
Some of the men were friends with Mr Darcy—he’s not a patron of White’s, mind, but the name we remembered, what with it being repeated that night and other nights after—and these friends knew Mr Darcy did not like this Mr Wickham.
They told him so, doubting he could get the required fortune owed from an enemy, but Mr Wickham assured them he could, having fleeced Mr Darcy on several occasions in the past.”
Darcy’s fists clenched, and he pressed his eyes shut momentarily. Elizabeth wished she could go to him.
“How did you find Mr Wickham here in Hertfordshire?”
The dark-haired one said, “We knew Mr Darcy had a house in Grosvenor Square and paid a visit. He wasn’t there.”
“So the servants told you he was here, in Meryton?”
The men from White’s looked at each other. “Not the respectable ones, mind. But if you hang at the back door of a great house long enough, someone’s bound to talk.”
At this, Darcy looked up, likely calculating how to root out the servant who deigned to share his whereabouts. She suddenly understood his mistrust of most people.
The lighter haired one rocked back on his heels. “We figured Wickham would come to the inn eventually. They usually do.”
“They?” ask Mr Brown.
The dark-haired one lifted his chin, confident in his knowledge of the doings of men. “Gamblers. Cheaters. Anyone hiding from the law.”
“And you found Mr Wickham here?” asked Mr Brown, and he, like most of the jury, had leaned forward, anxious to hear each detail.
The dark-haired one nodded. “He caught sight of us through the window, so we went around the back, thinking he might attempt to steal away, and right we were. We followed him and caught him.”
“Then what?” asked Mr Brown, his brow lowering in suspicion.
“We gave him a beating. He owed money. He got what he deserved.”
Mr Jeb Thompson piped up. “To be clear, I was nowhere near the hitting! I just told them where the inn was.”
Mr Brown narrowed his eyes. “And who are you?”
“Mr Thompson. A farmhand.”
Mr Brown nodded. “The man I sent for. Where were you during the events of the night in question?”
Mr Thompson shifted. “Er—”
“He was gambling up at Cavendish’s,” announced Mrs Thompson, rising to her feet and pointing a crooked finger at her husband. “We’ve hardly enough food to feed our children and he’s jumping into a game. And then you disappeared!”
“These men,” he said, gesturing to the two from White’s, “came in later to play cards. Near dawn, Frank Jones ran in saying there had been a murder. These men took fright and decided they’d best leave for London, and I, thinking I might be a suspect, went with them.”
Mrs Thompson, face red with fury, said, “I bet they told you where the good gambling places were in town and your brother followed you.”
The brothers exchanged glances and looked to the floor.
Mr Brown cleared his throat. He said to the men from White’s, “So you hit Mr Wickham.”
The light-haired one said, “Told him he had a month to settle his debt. Those were Mr Raggett’s instructions.”
Mr Brown asked, “Did you kill him?”
The men looked at each other, then the dark-haired one said, “No. Can’t get money from a dead man, so what purpose would that serve?”
The light-haired one added, “He was hurt, that’s sure. He was stumbling about and fell near the water, by that stream out back there.”
“He might have hit his head on some rocks,” said his companion, sounding almost convincing.
“There was lots of rocks,” added the other.
“But we didn’t hit him with nothin’ but our fists.”
“When we left, he was alive.”
“Alive as you or me.”
“No one could say different.” He looked about the crowd as if daring anyone to try. “And, like I said, the dead can’t pay and Mr Raggett wanted that money.”
The jurors exchanged glances.
Did Elizabeth believe this? Did it matter? No. She held her breath.
Mr Brown narrowed his eyes and studied the men, then Mr Darcy. He looked to Elizabeth and the crowd, and finally the jury. “In light of this testimony, there appears no cause to detain Mr Darcy further.”
Elizabeth leapt from her chair, clasping her hands together in joy.
The crowd around her began to stand, to cheer, to grumble, and to shuffle out, speaking of the outcome.
While some might have enjoyed the scandal of a conviction, the talk was generally of relief.
The jurors looked pleased, most especially Sir William Lucas and Mr Goulding.
Mr Darcy, however, remained seated.