Mrs. Forester peeped up at him with what Mary King could only describe as a guilty look, but said nothing. In fact, she did not have a chance, for now that Mrs. Bennet had everyone’s attention, she seemed determined to hold court on all the issues rambling around in her head.
“It is true. My poor nerves trouble me more than most people understand.” Mrs. Bennet sniffed a pitiful sound and angled a glance at her audience. “But you sir, have not explained your actions, nor the behavior of you wife.”
“Mamma, please,” Lizzy pulled at her mother’s arm, “Kitty has gone to fetch your salts. Do come and have something to drink to calm yourself. We must think of Lydia.”
“Well, of course, I am thinking of Lydia. I know not what will happen to my poor girl now that she is without a husband. Lydia was right, you know. You saw it with your own eyes if you will but admit the truth. That Miss King wanted dear Wickham, just as you did at one time, Lizzy, and you know what I say is true.”
“Mamma, please,” Lizzy grasped her mother’s arm and tugged her toward the ballroom, “all that happened a long time ago.”
Mrs. Bennet pulled away from Lizzy’s grasp and reared back to glare at her. Twin patches of red filled her cheeks. Her eyes glared with temper. “It was not all that long ago, missy, and pray do stop any pretense that you were not interested in dear Wickham. Why, you and half the women in this room vied for his attention.” Mrs. Bennet glanced around as Lizzy urged her toward the refreshment table. “Why, even that Mrs. Hurst was making eyes at Wickham earlier this very night, and her a much married woman.”
“Sister, sister,” Mr. Gardiner moved to Mrs. Bennet’s other side, and took her arm, “I fear your nerves are at risk if you continue these worrisome observations. Come, have some food while Kitty attends to your salts.”
“Oh, Brother, my nerves do visit me so when I am unsettled at times like this,” Mrs. Bennet cast an accusing glare about her, “especially when someone at Jane’s ball wanted poor Lydia’s husband dead.”
“Come, sister,” Mr. Gardiner urged Mrs. Bennet toward the chairs on the far side of the ballroom from the guests now staring at her with open distaste.
As Mr. Gardiner led Mrs. Bennet away, Mary King heard sighs escape from the group around her. No doubt, they were all glad Mr. Gardiner had taken control, before Mrs. Bennet accused everyone in the room of murder. Yet, how much of what Mrs. Bennet said was true? Moreover, what was Mrs. Hurst’s connection to Wickham? For that matter, how well did Caroline Bingley know Mr. Wickham?
The few times Mary had crossed paths with Miss Bingley, she learned Caroline had little time for anyone she considered her social inferior. Would that include Mr. Wickham? Mary had to admit Wickham’s charm had overcome her own good sense. Perhaps Miss Bingley could say the same. Whatever the explanation, she was determined to clear her name and intended to listen for any mention of Caroline Bingley, or Mrs. Hurst’s dealings with the late George Wickham.
***
In the library, things were not going well.
George Wickham was indeed, dead.
His body lay face down on the rug. Closer inspection revealed a stab wound in his back, but there was no weapon in view.
“Charles,” Darcy turned to Bingley after the men stepped away from the body, “before we commence further, do you notice anything out of order in the room?”
Glad for the opportunity to remove his gaze from the body stretched on the floor, Bingley surveyed the room.
The library was long and narrow. Three walls were filled with shelves of books broken only by the door to the hallway on one long wall, and the fireplace dividing the room in half on the opposite wall. The fourth wall was broken by windows, the dark hangings closed against the night. The affect from walls of books and the dark green velvet drapes left the room darkened by shadows, except for the flames blazing in the fireplace and light from candles burning about the room. Chairs and sofas were spread around the room, inviting occupants to sit and read. Jane declared the library perfect, her favorite place to spend a cold winter day. What would she think now, if she saw Wickham’s body on the rug to the left of the fireplace?
Forcing his attention back to the events at hand, Bingley examined the room for anything pointing to the identity of Wickham’s killer. Who would do such a thing? Knowing the worry and unrest Wickham had caused Jane’s family, he could not claim a liking for the man, but who wanted Wickham dead? In Bingley's opinion, Wickham did not have a confrontational bone in his body.
Wickham could look a person in the eye and charm the last coin from their pocket, and they would never notice. He won his battles with smooth charm and the ability to converse in such a manner that made one think he was telling the truth, no matter what he said.
Bingley walked about the room, studied objects on tables and position of the furniture. Finally, he admitted that the servants could better answer Darcy’s question as to anything being out of place. Taking care not to step on any object that might be on the floor, he considered how Jane would deal with this unpleasantness. Not as her mother would, of that he was certain. Most likely, his mother-in-law had the entire ballroom in an uproar by this time, but he suspected Jane would contain her emotions.
Early in their acquaintance, Jane's quiet control almost caused him to lose any hope he might win her heart. He had moved to London and contemplated giving up this residence completely. However, a chance word from Darcy sent him on a wild ride, which ended in a double wedding with the Darcys.
An familiar scent twitched at his nostrils. Bingley stared through the shadows as he approached a table next to an armchair in the corner near the windows. Situated so it was not immediately obvious to anyone entering the room, the nook offered a quiet refuge for one weary of events going on in other parts of the house. He often sat here when he needed to escape the demands of Caroline and Louisa. Someone else had done so not long past, for as he leaned to examine the table he found the source of the odor attracting his attention.
“Darcy, someone has left a pipe, still warm and smoldering.”
Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam crossed the room to Bingley’s side. “Leave it as it is,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “authorities might find the position useful.”
“I say, Colonel, you sound very knowledgeable on the subject of solving crimes.” Bingley eyed his guest curiously.
“Indeed you do, Cousin.” Darcy studied the colonel, as well. “Perhaps you should lead the charge to discover who committed this deed.”
“I am flattered by your confidence in me, Will, but this matter is best left to the local authorities,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. As cousins and constant playmates in their youth, both men called the other by names even their own parents did not use. Mr. Darcy was Will to his cousin, and Colonel Fitzwilliam became Fitz.
“I agree with Darcy,” Bingley responded as he eyed the cousins, so alike and yet different in his opinion. “You seem to know the subject, Colonel.”
“How did you acquire a skill such as this, Fitz?” Darcy stopped his contemplation of the pipe’s location and turned to study his cousin.
Colonel Fitzwilliam responded with a slow grin. “Long nights with time to read after hours of exhausting duty can add knowledge on many topics.”
“My word, Fitz, have you been reading Samuel Johnson’s book of words, again?” Darcy’s voice rose. “How will you ever claim a wife if all you do is read in your spare time?”
“I don’t have time to engage in social events, Cousin. The war keeps me occupied if you recall.”
“Here, here, I say, gentlemen, Mr. Bennett and I have a solution to our problem.” Sir William regarded the three men expectantly as he joined them. “As Mr. Wickham was in uniform, and Colonel Fitzwilliam and Colonel Forester are commanding officers, we believe it is they who should take charge and start the investigation immediately.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head and held up both hands. “I cannot agree, Sir William. We should send to London for the authoriti
es if you are not up to the task.”
Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Sir William shuttered, and then attempted to regain his good nature. “Not at all, Colonel Fitzwilliam. However, I have no wish to intrude in military issues. As Mr. Wickham was in neither of your regiments, it seems only proper for men of the rank of colonel to take charge of investigating a military man’s murder.”
“Sir William has a point, Fitz.” Darcy sent his cousin a speaking glance. “With a murderer in our midst, time is of the essence.” Darcy surveyed the other men in the room. “What say you, Charles?”
Bingley squared his shoulders as he glanced at the men waiting for his response. “I agree with Darcy. We should handle this matter with the utmost haste. Since the colonels are on hand, we should allow them to solve the case.”
“Of course we would need to confirm that both of you are free of any suspicion as to your own involvement in the murder.” Sir William rubbed his hands together as his voice boomed in the silence of the room. “As the person responsible for this deed could be one of the guests in this house, it seems sensible to confirm that the two men in charge of solving the murder are absolved of any suspicion.”
The library door banged open. Lydia Wickham burst in the room in a whirl of skirts, followed by Jane, and demanded in a loud voice, “Is it true? Is my poor Wickham dead?”
The men standing in the corner, turned toward the body on the floor.
Lydia rushed to stand beside Wickham’s body, fell to her knees and sobbed as she laid her cheek against his. “Who would do this to my husband? Who would kill my dear Wickham?”
Despite the arched brows, indicating the men gathered in the room could think of many reasons for this crime, Jane’s heart poured out at the sound of her sister's pain. She moved to Lydia’s side but her father and Bingley were there first.
Mr. Bennet clasped hold of Lydia’s arm and urged her to her feet. “There, there, child. Time for tears later. For now you must not spoil the space around the body for there might be signs lying about to give hints of who did this.”
“But he is dead. My poor Wickham is dead.” Lydia sobbed broken heartedly as they steered her away from the body. Then mid-sob, she jerked her arms free and stomped her foot as she glared at the men in the room. “Not one of you cares. You stand around when someone did this to my poor Wickham.” Her fierce glare landed on Darcy. “You did this to him, Darcy. I am sure you did.” She gulped air. “You could not forgive him for thinking your precious Georgiana really cared for him, and now you have killed him.”
”Hush child,” Mr. Bennet gave Lydia’s arm a firm shake, “you are like your mother. When your nerves overtake your good sense, your tongue flaps out of control, and you give no thought to what you say. Darcy is a member of this family. He has no need to wish harm on Wickham.”
“Someone wanted to hurt my husband. You must find who did this.” Lydia’s accusing stare stabbed each man in turn. “My Wickham did not deserve to die like this.”
Observing the anguish on Jane’s face, Bingley stepped close to Lydia and spoke, though his good sense warned his words were better left until later. Yet time was of great importance and Lydia did not act the usual grieving widow. Her temper was in fine form, and he needed to ease the concern from Jane’s face. She could chide him later if she believed him insensitive to Lydia’s situation. “Mrs. Wickham, can you think of anyone who wished your husband ill?”
“Oh, no,” Lydia wailed with renewed sobs, “I will never really be Mrs. Wickham again. My husband will not be here to hold me at night to keep me warm—”
“Lydia—”
“Child,” Mr. Bennet spoke over Jane’s attempt to steer Lydia’s comments to appropriate matters. “Control yourself. Have you any response for Mr. Bingley? Can you think of anyone who wished to harm Wickham?”
Lydia seemed to gather herself up to meet the occasion as she observed the men from tear- drenched eyes. “Half the people at this ball were vexed with Wickham.” She sent Mr. Darcy a glare. “My sister’s husband is a good place to start. Or Colonel Forester.”
“Lydia, please,” Jane said as she stepped forward. Then she caught sight of Wickham’s body stretched full length on the rug and her head started reeling. What distress Lydia must feel. Jane clenched her fists and turned away. She needed to help her younger sister. “After this shock, you cannot know what you are saying.”
Lydia whirled about to face Jane. “It is easy for you to say I should stay calm. You still have Bingley. What am I to do without Wickham? Who did this to me? Who wanted my husband dead?”
Jane kept her eyes away from the body on the floor and took hold of her sister’s arm. “Come, Lydia, let us depart so questions can be asked.”
Chapter 5
After Jane steered a sobbing Lydia from the room, Bingley closed the door and turned to his guests. “Gentlemen, we must solve this matter without delay for the sake of all concerned. Much as it pains me to admit such a fact, the murderer could be in our midst. No one should leave this house until the issue is settled.”
“Right you are, Bingley,” Darcy turned to the colonels, both looking official in their red and uniforms, “which of you wants to answer questions first?”
“I fear I must speak with my wife without delay,” Colonel Forester said. “When Sir William asked me to accompany him to the library, he did not explain why my presence was required immediately. I would be remiss if I did not speak with my wife as this investigation is likely to take some time. News of Wickham’s death was most distressing for Harriet as the Wickhams were particular friends of hers.”
“Of course you should speak with her, Colonel Forester. Please send our sympathies to her.” Bingley gave a slight bow as he held the door for the colonel to depart. “We will send for you directly, when we finish speaking with Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
When the door closed behind Colonel Forester, all eyes turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Shoulders squared, chin angled, he met their questioning stares. “Gentlemen, I am aware of your concerns on this matter, and agree to assist you in any way that I might. What questions do you wish to ask?”
Bingley spared a glance in Darcy's direction, then stepped forward to assume his role as host. “Sir William, as the local magistrate perhaps you will question the officers.”
“Oh, um, quite right, Mr. Bingley, quite right,” Sir William said as he moved his portly figure forward to join them in front of the fireplace. “Um, Colonel Fitzwilliam, perhaps you will enlighten us as to how well acquainted you were with Mr. Wickham.”
“Of course, Sir William. Unlike many of the guests, I have known Wickham since we were in knee pants.” Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at each of them. “When my family visited the Darcys at Pemberley, Wickham was always there because his father worked for the estate. The three of us played together, roaming the woods and enjoying our youth.”
Sir William cleared his throat with a loud rumbling sound. “You must be distressed, sir. I am sure his murder came as a shock. So, you have always been friends with Mr. Wickham?”
Bingley prepared to endure the dull ramblings of Sir William just as the magistrate asked a very pointed question. Bingley exchanged a startled glance with Darcy as Fitzwilliam answered.
“In all honesty, Sir William, I cannot claim as much. After we reached our majority, our paths went in different directions. Darcy and Wickham went to university and I joined the militia. Our lives changed.”
“Ah, I see,” Sir William arched bushy brows, his mild mannered expression suddenly alert, “Colonel, am I correct in assuming that you had not the funds to attend university?”
“Sir William, I must protest such questions. What does Fitzwilliam’s monetary status have to do with Wickham’s murder?” Darcy demanded as he faced Sir William.
Sir William hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets, and studied Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam for several long ticks of the clock. “Am I correct in assuming Mr. Wickham lived on the estate, and that he was t
he son of an employee?”
“Yes, of course, but Fitz explained as much,” Darcy said as he nodded toward Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I cannot see how such facts have any connection with Wickham’s death.”
“I merely inquire on such matters to discover if Colonel Fitzwilliam might foster any ill will toward Mr. Wickham since, obviously, your family funded Wickham’s education. Yet Colonel Fitzwilliam, a close relation by your own admission, did not receive the same benefits.”
“That is a ridiculous assumption, Sir,” Darcy turned away, only to stop abruptly and turn back to face the magistrate again. “But pray, do continue so we might discover the person guilty of this murder and be rid of these ridiculous claims.”
“Right,” said the mild mannered Sir William as he turned back to the colonel, “now where was I? Ah, yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam, did you hold any resentment toward Mr. Wickham for his good fortune at having the opportunity to attend university?”
“Not in the least, Sir William. As the second son of an earl, I was aware I needed to make a living for myself. University seemed a waste of time when I could establish a career. Wickham and I grew up as friends, and, though it is true we were less so in the recent past, I had no reason to wish him dead.”
“Am I correct to assume you were not on good terms at his death?”
“You are not mistaken, Sir. In fact, we have not been on amicable terms for some years past.”
“Yet, you both wear the uniform and serve to protect your country. How did this parting of ways happen? Did Mr. Wickham resent your rank even though he attended university?”
“Why should Wickham resent my position? He had the opportunity to acquire an education, and claim a post as a clergyman if he chose. His refusal of the position led to his need to join the militia as a means to survive.”
“Perhaps you harbor ill will towards Mr. Wickham on a personal level, Colonel?” Sir William’s raised brows seemed to indicate he knew of Wickham’s hapless past, and a loud gasp echoed in the room.
Who Murdered Mr Wickham Page 7
