Darcy's Trial

by M. A. Sandiford

  Elizabeth, realising what she had let slip, inched back in her seat in embarrassment. ‘I admit that my feelings are somewhat altered since our encounter at Hunsford. However …’

  He seemed to sense her unease, and released her hand gently before self-consciously checking the door and, with a wince of pain, returning to his chair.

  ‘I had hoped you thought less ill of me, after reading my letter.’ He sighed. ‘Yet you pronounce me insufferable.’

  Elizabeth snorted. ‘I do, and you are.’

  ‘Does this mean …’ Darcy leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘If my present circumstances were different …’

  ‘I am not hoping or expecting to marry you, if that is what you are asking. After treating you so abominably in the past, I hardly deserve a second chance. In any case, I am unsure I want be anyone’s wife, let alone yours. At present I am merely trying to save your miserable carcass from the hangman.’

  Darcy thought awhile. ‘So you approached Miss Kaye deliberately, in the hope of obtaining intelligence that might benefit my cause.’

  ‘And with some success. In fact I would have communicated with you already, had I not been obligated by my promise to Mr Gardiner.’

  ‘I am humbled by your concern.’ He raised his palms in a gesture of helplessness. ‘But this cannot continue, Miss Bennet. Leaving aside my own reservations, your family will never permit it, and rightly so. I have dug my own pit, and must extract myself as best I can without dragging others down as well.’ He paused. ‘Do you wish to call your uncle now?’

  ‘Not yet.’ She faced him very seriously. ‘I would like to tell you what I know of the Kayes. After which, if you feel I can be trusted, you might be willing to add your half of the story.’

  Intermission

  Leaving his carriage in Cavendish Square, Darcy hurried on foot to Edward Street and rapped with his cane on the door. After a few seconds he was rewarded by the sound of a bolt sliding and the fleeting appearance of a face he knew all too well.

  ‘Mrs Younge?’

  She gasped and tried to slam the door, but having anticipated such a reception Darcy held it steady. ‘You have no grounds for fear, Mrs Younge. I wish only to talk.’

  Eventually the pressure eased and she faced him haughtily. ‘I’m sure you can have no business that concerns me.’

  ‘I am trying to locate a certain, ah, friend of yours. No doubt you can guess to whom I am referring.’

  ‘He’s not here!’

  Unconvinced, Darcy gently but firmly widened the gap and stepped inside. ‘Then perhaps you have an address?’

  ‘I could make enquries, although I am at present somewhat busy with other demands on my time …’

  Darcy reached for his purse, but paused on noticing a suspicious relaxation in her manner. ‘In that case you will have no objection if I make a quick tour of the upstairs rooms, to confirm that the gentleman in question is not on the premises.’

  ‘No!’ With unmistakeable alarm, Mrs Younge skittered across the hall carpet and placed herself between Darcy and the stairs. Seeing no value in further discussion, Darcy took a firm grip on her shoulders, turned her aside, and ascended two steps at a time to the first floor landing, which gave access to two rooms and a further staircase. The near door was unlocked, and after a light tap he took a step inside, finding a non-descript single bedroom with a table and one or two chairs; a pair of boots and smell of cigar smoke suggested a male tenant, but given the general orderliness, not Wickham.

  ‘This is highly improper, sir!’ hissed Mrs Younge, who had caught up with him on the landing. ‘I tell you, he is not here.’

  ‘With respect, madam, I must insist …’ There was a sudden cry, quickly muffled, from the floor above. Darcy froze, noting immediately Mrs Younge’s expression of horror, then ran up to the second floor landing, where it was now evident that some kind of altercation was taking place in the far room.

  He tried the door, which was locked, then rapped the panel sharply with his knuckles.

  ‘Be off with you!’ a man cried from within.

  The voice, although faintly familiar, was not Wickham’s.

  Mrs Younge, who had again caught up, grabbed Darcy’s sleeve and tried to drag him away, shaking her head frantically. He retreated a few steps, and was about to leave when he heard again a cry, this time in the voice of a young woman or perhaps a child, immediately stifled with a growled warning.

  There was no time to deliberate on the wisest course of action. Responding instinctively, Darcy broke away from Mrs Younge and applied his shoulder to the door. With a splintering sound the lock gave, revealing a shocking scene. Beyond the bed, red-faced with fury, stood a gentleman of some 50 years, awkwardly trying to pull up his breeches. To his disquiet, Darcy recognised the man as Sir Osborne Kaye, a baronet with a reputation in the ton for indulging in prolonged quarrels, often connected with gambling. On the bed, whimpering, lay a girl of perhaps 14 years, or even younger, with her wrists bound to the bars of the bedstead, and her body naked except for a shift pulled up nearly to her armpits.

  Having fastened his belt, Kaye faced up to Darcy with his fists balled and his chest thrust out. ‘Sir, this is an outrage!’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ Darcy returned, with forced composure. ‘But before discussing the matter, we should attend to this child.’ Taking pains to avert his gaze, he covered the girl’s body with a blanket and struggled to unpick her bonds, while at the doorway Kaye turned his anger on Mrs Younge. Initially agitated, the girl became stiller as she began to trust Darcy, and he frowned as he noticed fresh scratches on her thin upper arms.

  With a reassuring whisper to the girl, Darcy turned to face Kaye, who accosted him anew. ‘Darcy, is it not? What account, pray, can you give of your behaviour?’

  ‘I had no idea you were here,’ Darcy replied coldly. ‘I heard a cry of distress, apparently from a child or young girl, and saw no alternative to interceding, as I would expect you or any other gentleman to do in like circumstances.’

  Kaye sniffed in contempt. ‘Well, having interceded in this affair that is none of your business, I assume you will wish to apologize for your invasion of my privacy, and proceed on your way.’

  Darcy sighed, and shook his head. ‘I would suggest, rather, that you withdraw now, and terminate whatever association you have had with this, ah, young lady. In return, I give you my word that I will treat in confidence the events that I have, unfortunately, witnessed.’

  Kaye fixed him in a look of cold hatred. ‘Just the kind of sanctimonious response that I should expect from a Darcy. Like father, like son.’ He gathered his coat and made ready to leave, brushing off with disdain Mrs Younge’s repeated exculpations and apologies. ‘You will hear from me in due course, sir.’

  Left uncomfortably alone with the girl, Darcy observed her from the safe distance of the doorway. ‘What is your name, child?’

  ‘Bertha, sir.’

  ‘Have you family or friends who can care for you?’

  ‘I have an aunt in Spitalfields, sir.’

  ‘I need to speak with Mrs Younge now. While I am away, get dressed and collect your things. I will then take you to your aunt.’

  With a sigh, Darcy left her and descended in search of Mrs Younge. The episode had left him almost physically sick, not only with disgust but with unease, for Sir Osborne Kaye was hardly a man one wanted to provoke. The only crumb of compensation was that with this extra leverage, he might now obtain Mrs Younge’s cooperation more cheaply in the matter of Wickham’s address.

  Chapter 15

  As Darcy concluded his story, there was a tap on the door and Mrs Gardiner entered.

  Elizabeth, seeing Darcy grit his teeth as he prepared to rise, held up her hands to forestall him, but he forced himself up anyway and bowed. ‘I should apologise, madam, for detaining your niece so long.’

  Mrs Gardiner advanced a few steps, and with a reassuring smile replied: ‘There is no apology in the case, sir. Provided Lizzy is agreeab
le, you should take whatever time you need. I am intruding only to enquire whether you would like to stay for dinner, so that I can instruct cook to prepare an extra portion. We usually eat at half past six.’

  Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, who nodded enthusiastically, gratified that he had seen fit to consult her.

  ‘You are most kind,’ he said to Mrs Gardiner. ‘Yes, it would be convenient if we could continue awhile, and then discuss the matter further with Mr Gardiner and yourself.’ He coloured a little before continuing: ‘I am well aware, madam, that through my actions I have placed your family in an unpleasant predicament. I am very much in your debt.’

  Mrs Gardiner moved closer, and replied gently: ‘Mr Darcy, any debt is the other way around, and you are welcome in our house any time.’

  He thanked her awkwardly, looking suddenly vulnerable, and when her aunt left them alone Elizabeth impulsively took his arm. ‘Come, let us get you seated comfortably again. I’m so glad you are staying for dinner.’

  He flinched, but seemed to realize that her support was more symbolic than practical, and let her help him back to his armchair.

  ‘So to resume, you can guess the rest,’ Darcy said. ‘A few days later I received a written challenge stipulating pistols …’

  ‘Which you felt honour-bound to accept,’ Elizabeth interrupted, with a grimace. ‘Why could you not have swallowed your pride and granted the stupid man his apology?’

  As soon as these words were out she regretted them, fearing an acid response leading to the inevitable quarrel; but instead Darcy remained calm and thoughtful. ‘I have asked myself that same question many times, Miss Bennet, and in truth I am not sure why. Perhaps as you suggest I am over-proud, but I think it goes deeper than that. I believe that on principle, a man should not give in to blackmail. Every concession to the bully increases his propensity to repeat such methods in the future. In an ideal world, the administration of justice could be left to the authorities, but we live in a flawed world in which laws are routinely flouted by men of wealth and position, so that ultimately justice depends on the willingness of individuals to stand up to the bully, and say: thus far, and no further.’

  Elizabeth was silent for a long time, before responding, in a much gentler voice: ‘I will have to think about that. But I am grateful to you for confiding in me.’

  He smiled wrily. ‘And thus disobeying my lawyer.’

  Elizabeth leaned forward. ‘Then we may as well disobey him a little further. What is your strategy? I assume you are seeking some means of persuading the Kayes to drop the prosecution. How exactly?’

  ‘Since Sir Arthur Kaye is young and inexperienced, our main hope is that he might be open to advice from more senior men in his social circle.’

  ‘Lord Harbury?’

  ‘Yes, Harbury most particularly.’ He regarded her attentively. ‘What impression did you form of their relationship?’

  ‘I found Lord Harbury courteous and correct. He was the only member of the party that greeted me in a pleasant and appropriate way. His wife and her companion ignored me; Arthur Kaye was downright offensive. So I can see some promise in working on Lord Harbury, except that I sense he draws clear lines of responsibility, and is reluctant to press his viewpoint in an issue that does not concern him directly.’ She looked up teasingly. ‘Unlike certain other gentlemen I could mention.’

  Darcy waved this aside. ‘Anything else?’

  Elizabeth frowned as she tried to recall the exact words she had overheard at the theatre. ‘He advised Arthur to take care. Assuming he was referring to the prosecution, I think these words are significant. They suggest unease, even fear, of what might come into public view if the case came to court.’ She paused, before continuing emphatically: ‘I don’t believe you will succeed by appealing to Lord Harbury’s good nature or sense of justice. He must be threatened. You must discover something that, if made public, would profoundly damage the reputation of his family. Then, and only then, will he bring Arthur to heel.’

  She reddened as Darcy returned an admiring grin. ‘Decidedly, Miss Bennet, I am relieved to find you on my side in this affair. You remind me of a tigress in defence of her cubs.’

  Elizabeth harrumphed. ‘You in no way resemble a tiger cub, Mr Darcy, except for the small size of your brain.’

  He held up both palms. ‘Forgive me! To be serious, I think you are probably correct. About Lord Harbury, I mean, not the size of my brain. But unfortunately we know of no secret that might inspire the necessary alarm. Yes, we can show that Sir Osborne was a philanderer in the habit of preying on young women. I could cite as an instance the girl whom I found tied to the bedstead. However, Sir Osborne’s predelictions in this area were already well-known in the ton—and by no means uncommon. Nor would it help my cause to produce the girl as a witness. Her word would not necessarily be believed, and in inflicting such an ordeal on her I would lose rather than gain credibility with the jury.’

  ‘I understand.’ Elizabeth rested her head in her hands, thinking intently. ‘Then we must probe further, and whether you like it or not, the obvious line of attack is through my new friendship with Miss Kaye.’

  Darcy shook his head firmly. ‘We have discussed this already, and it is out of the question.’

  ‘That is your view, Mr Darcy. I have not assented.’ She raised a finger. ‘But have you tried talking further with the victim? You took her to her aunt’s house, did you not?’

  ‘I did note the address in Spitalfields. But I doubt the poor girl—her name was Bertha—will know anything of value. It is hardly likely that Sir Osborne engaged her in conversation.’

  ‘Did you speak with Bertha in the carriage?’

  ‘Only to reassure her. She was still too traumatised to offer very much in return.’

  ‘Suppose we called together at the aunt’s house. Bertha might be less intimidated if I were present.’

  He sighed. ‘At the risk of incurring your wrath, I must repeat the warning I gave earlier. We should not be seen together.’

  ‘Then I can go alone, or with a servant.’

  ‘Your uncle will disapprove. It is not a salubrious area of London.’

  She sighed, and was framing a suitably contemptuous reply when their conversation was interrupted by another tap at the door. With a final glare at Darcy, Elizabeth rose from her chair to greet her aunt, who informed them graciously that if they were ready, dinner could now be served.

  Chapter 16

  Left both excited and frustrated by this intense exchange with Darcy, Elizabeth remained unusually quiet at the dinner table. Darcy, fortunately, proved more forthcoming, and was quick to compliment Mrs Gardiner on the excellence of the Irish stew—a dish only recently come into fashion. A discussion ensued on whether such a stew should properly contain only mutton, potatoes and onions, or whether carrots and turnips were also admissible. Lacking a strong opinion, Elizabeth made only a pretence at following the conversation, while her mind was really engaged elsewhere.

  Like it or not, a bridge had been crossed in her relationship with Darcy. In the heat of the moment, she had admitted that she cared for him. From such a declaration there could be no going back, and yet she was left with the uneasy sense that these words had slipped out against her wishes, as if some part of her mind were conspiring to undermine her. Certainly she had made no plan to reveal such a change in her feelings, which rationally she could not account for. Having once simply disliked him, she now loved and detested him in equal measure—an improvement, perhaps, but hardly a sound basis for matrimony. At least she had recovered some lost ground by disclaiming any wish to marry him.

  These reflections had eventually to be dropped when, after the preparation of Irish stew had been explored from all angles, the conversation returned to more serious matters. With Elizabeth still disinclined to talk, it fell to Darcy to favour the Gardiners with his reading of the situation, which was that Elizabeth had provided valuable information about the Kayes and the Harburys, and could now wit
hdraw from the field with her head held high, and no risk to her safety or reputation. This view was enthusiastically seconded by her uncle and aunt, leaving Elizabeth in a silent minority of one.

  Next day, the afternoon post brought a letter from Jane which Elizabeth opened in her room, almost ripping the paper in her haste. From the first sentence she understood that all was well, and anxiety gave way to a glow of pleasure. Reading between the lines, Elizabeth guessed that her sister had not submitted easily to the renewal of Bingley’s attentions. Jane still felt keenly the pain of his earlier inconstancy, which in her view, as in Elizabeth’s, could not be excused entirely by the machinations of Darcy and Miss Bingley. To win her respect as well as her love, Bingley had needed to demonstrate strength and determination as well as affection; still, a week had apparently sufficed for this purpose, and now the couple were fully reconciled, with a wedding planned for late autumn.

  After passing the good news to Mrs Gardiner, Elizabeth was composing an immediate reply when a servant knocked to inform her that a certain Miss Bertha Dobbs had arrived and was awaiting her in the drawing room.

  Before descending, Elizabeth took a few minutes to collect her thoughts. Last night, over dinner, she had pressed her uncle, as strongly as she dared, to allow her to visit Spitalfields, in the hope that Sir Osborne Kaye’s victim was still to be found there, and able to provide information that might assist Darcy’s defence. Mr Gardiner, as predicted by Darcy, had vetoed the idea directly, but as so often, his wife had spotted a possible route round the obstacle. It transpired that her kitchen maid Polly was planning to leave, having accepted a proposal of marriage from a cobbler who lived the other side of London; if Bertha was willing, why should she not be interviewed for the vacant post?

  Downstairs in the hallway, Elizabeth found Mrs Gardiner in conversation with a footman from Darcy House—not Burgess, but a small cheerful lad named Simpson. As planned, Simpson had called on Bertha’s aunt in Spitalfields to check that Bertha was well, and to find out whether she was interested in the position in Gracechurch Street; on receiving an affirmative answer, he had brought her directly.