Who Murdered Mr Wickham

by Carol Hutchens

  “Oh, please go converse with your dear brother, Miss Georgiana.” Maggie Brown smiled at her charge. “I am certain you will soon feel restored from being in his presence and I feel much more myself after my time of rest.”

  “Do take a leave from your task, Miss Darcy.” Mary smiled at the young woman. “Miss Brown was so kind to me when I arrived, I wish to show my appreciation and keep her company, now.”

  “If you are quite certain, Miss King.” Miss Darcy cast a longing glance toward her brother and his wife. They were standing where Mary left them, talking with Colonel Fitzwilliam. “I will not be long.”

  “Do not rush your visit on my account.” Mary said as she perched on the edge of the chair Miss Darcy had vacated. “Truthfully, I am happy for a chance to sit. I fear we have not yet heard the end of this night’s events.”

  As Miss Darcy walked away, Mary passed a cup to Maggie. For a startled moment, as she watched the girl's light step, Mary longed to again be as young and unburdened as Miss Darcy. However, she knew all was not as it seemed for Maggie had made her aware that Miss Darcy’s life was not lacking in unrest. She now knew Wickham had tried to ruin Miss Darcy’s life as well, and turned to her cousin with renewed determination. “Maggie, why did you not did tell me you were to meet Wickham in the garden?”

  Maggie’s hand froze with the cup halfway to her mouth as she returned Mary's gaze. “How did you learn of my plan?”

  “I tried to follow you. I had no choice if I intended to keep you free from harm.”

  “It was not me.” Maggie lowered the cup with a trembling hand and looked into Mary’s eyes. “I went only as far as the library.”

  “Do you mean to say you arranged a meeting with Wickham in the garden and backed out? When I think of all the pricks and scrapes I obtained from trying to remain close to the figure I thought was you, and not bump into some other guest, I could...”

  Mary paused. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at her cousin. A new and very frightening thought occurred to her and she managed to say. “Pray tell me you did not arrange to meet Wickham in the library.”

  Chewing her lip, Maggie gave a nod. “It is true. That is why I stayed in the library after Miss Bingley pounced on me for using the room so freely.”

  “Upon my word, Maggie, how could you!” Memory of the evening’s events chased through Mary’s head. Colonel Forester’s questions, Miss Bingley’s knowing glances, and Lydia Wickham’s accusations. Staring into Maggie's eyes, Mary whispered urgently. “I beg you not to reveal this information to anyone. Colonel Forester believes I am the one guilty of this murder. It would do us both a great deal of harm if your meeting was discovered.”

  “I did not murder him.” Maggie’s whisper was so low Mary could barely hear the words, but Maggie’s tone was too intense to ignore. “I could never—”

  “I know, but gather yourself, please.” Mary gave Maggie’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Some good came from my outing, for I met Captain Carter in the dark.” Mary sent Maggie a smile but her cousin’s lips wobbled. “Please do not trouble yourself, Maggie. You must maintain your composure. We cannot have guests asking how I upset you. It would not do for them to think I asked you about the murder.”

  “Did you, Miss King?” Colonel Fitzwilliam demanded, giving both of the women a start as he stopped beside their chairs.

  “I beg your pardon, Colonel Fitzwilliam.” Mary brushed at the lemonade she sloshed on her skirt when she jumped and frowned. “You appeared so suddenly, I spilled my drink. Now, you were asking if I did what?”

  “I made reference to your last words as I approached.” Colonel Fitzwilliam watched as Mary and Maggie tried to dry the punch from their laps. “My apologies for startling you, but I fear you were speaking to Miss Brown of the murder.”

  Mary managed to gather her wits and send him an innocent look. “Why would you suggest such a thing, Colonel?”

  “Very simple, Miss King. As I approached, I clearly heard the word murder.”

  “Oh, now I understand.” Mary waved a graceful hand. “Colonel, surely you must know the more you strive to avoid mention of a subject, the more it seems to fall from your tongue.” Mary glanced at Maggie. “I urged Miss Brown to drink her lemonade and try to keep her spirits up. I think my words were, ‘If you do not, people will think I am asking you about the murder.’ Of course, that is what everyone is speaking of, but I was only trying to distract Miss Brown, not revive her memory of those terrible moments.”

  “As you say, the recent murder is the topic of discussion, but I would prefer you not speak of the matter to Miss Brown.”

  Chin high, Mary straightened in her chair, and sent him a guileless stare. “Why ever not, Colonel, if it would make Miss Brown feel better to talk about the event.”

  “Does this mean you were asking her questions?”

  “Now you are putting words in my mouth. I am merely stating a fact. Speaking of the event might rid Miss Brown of the horror of her recollections.” Mary arched a brow and sent him a challenging glance.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam was not intimidated. “More to the point, Miss King, when we next question Miss Brown, I would rather her answers be fresh, and not something rehearsed from numerous telling.”

  Maggie stiffened to alert and found her voice. “Must I answer more questions?”

  It was a good thing Maggie spoke, because Mary’s mouth went so dry she could not move her tongue. More questions for Maggie must mean the colonels intended to start the questioning over again. Would this night never end? How many more hours must they wait before the murderer was discovered? Or the London authorities arrived?

  ***

  After his intense discussion with Louisa, Bingley shared his concerns with Jane and urged her to seek other suspects as she circulated among the guests. His plan was to distract Jane from worrying over the blame aimed at her sister, Lizzy, but after his exchange of words with Louisa, he worried his own sister was as much at risk as Jane’s. The only way he could prove members of their family were innocent was to discover who murdered Mr. Wickham.

  “Jane, as hostess of this ball nothing will appear unusual if you move about the guests. They will assume you are concerned with their comfort, and perhaps, by doing so, you will overhear some remark that might reveal the person guilty of this crime.”

  “But Charles,” Jane turned a wide, concerned glance on her husband, “I have been doing that very thing all evening and I have yet to hear a word worth repeating.”

  “We must try, Jane. Colonel Forester is convinced the murderer is one of the guests. And now, my sisters and Lizzy are suspects.” Bingley frowned. He found it hard to imagine Caroline or Louisa capable of such violence. In truth, before this night’s events, he was not aware they had more than a passing acquaintance with Wickham. Had Jane known his sisters were familiar with the man? He dared not think how would Jane react if she learned his sisters were carrying on a flirtation with Lydia’s husband.

  Come to that, he had never contemplated that Louisa might seek amusement outside her marriage. He was aware married women in London frequently had secret liaisons, but here in the county, where the society was closely connected, he never imagined such occurrences. Nor had he considered that Louisa would stop looking down her nose at people in the county long enough to allow such an attraction to take place.

  What other secrets might this night reveal?

  ***

  “Jane,” Lizzy clasped Jane’s arm tightly and urged her to step away from Bingley, “what am I to do?” Lizzy glanced back at her husband. “Darcy insists I not get involved, but how can I twiddle my thumbs and wait to be accused of murder?”

  “Lizzy, we settled this earlier.” Jane cast a worried glance in Bingley’s direction, and recalled his concerns for their sisters, “It is not your usual response to leave matters of other to settle, but I fear in this instance you must heed Mr. Darcy’s wishes.” Bingley was in deep conversation with Darcy, and Jane drew in a breath to settle her wits as
she turned back to her sister. “Mr. Darcy is right. Anything you do now might make you look guilty. You must trust us to find the solution—”

  “But Jane—”

  “Lizzy, prove what you often when I delay reacting is true. You must not act first and regret it later, this time. Please, heed what Mr. Darcy says.” For once, Jane was the sister with the firm tone. She found she liked the assurance such an attitude gave her. “He cares for you. How can you not adhere to his advice?”

  “I know—”

  “Did I not promise you I would find the answer?” Jane managed a slight smile. Bingley’s recent comments made her question her ability to keep her word, but for Lizzy’s sake, she must. “After all, my instructions alerted the staff to search for the weapon. I will not fail you, Lizzy, though I fear I failed my expectations for this ball.”

  “Oh, Jane, you had no cause to expect Wickham would be murdered at your ball.”

  Jane expelled a deep sigh. “I must confess, I was thinking of my failure to find our sisters and Caroline a love match, not of Wickham’s demise.”

  “Oh, Jane,” for the first time in hours, humorous lights danced in Lizzy’s eyes, “do you mean to say you planned this ball to find Kitty and Mary a match? Our Mary? My dear, Jane, your heart is too good for the rest of us to measure. Pray, do not berate yourself for this eve. You and Bingley made a match on the first meeting, but Darcy and I took much longer to attract each other. Surely you of all people realize matching Kitty and Mary will take time?”

  ***

  Lydia, with her usual fluctuating emotions, seemed to have overcome her shock, but not her need for attention. “Oh, why are the colonels taking so long to eat? I am tired of sitting here with nothing to do.”

  “It is said—”

  “Mary Bennet, if you share one more of your quotes, I will—”

  “Girls, do watch your tone.” Mrs. Bennet raised her voice over Lydia’s. “Can you not see everyone is looking at us.” Mrs. Bennet fluttered her handkerchief better than any female could a fan, and stared at her offspring. “Do you not realize that after events of this night, there are three of you. You must not sit here quarreling.”

  “I am not quarreling, Mamma,” Kitty offered brightly. “I have said not a word.”

  “I cannot believe Wickham is dead.” Lydia wailed as if suddenly reminded that she should be sad. “What will I do without him?”

  “When I was your age,” Mrs. Bennet rolled her eyes, “if anything had happened to your father, I know what I would have done.”

  “Then we are fortunate you are not Lydia’s age, are we not my dears?” Mr. Bennet said. He sat two chairs away, yet, he peeped over the top of his book with a bright-eyed glance to join the conversation. “For we would have none of the daughters we have now, if my numbers are correct, because we were not even married when you were Lydia’s age.”

  “Oh, Mr. Bennet, if you are trying to vex me—”

  “Why would I do so, my dear? After all, you have just reminded our daughters that we are the focus of all attention this night. Why would I take the chance you might suffer a fit of your nerves?” Mr. Bennet cast a calm glance at his wife, not bothering to hide the twinkle in his eyes.

  “Oh, you know what I mean.” Mrs. Bennet fluttered her handkerchief and huffed. “Before tonight, we had three married daughters, and now I must start the search all over again.”

  “Not for me,” Mary replied, “for it is said—”

  “Oh, Mary, do be quiet.” Mrs. Bennet snapped.

  “Not for me, either” Lydia sniffed.

  “Come, child, it is early yet. You cannot mean what you say. Come the morrow, you will have a change of heart.” Mrs. Bennet’s tone softened as she studied her youngest daughter. “Did you not enjoy being married to Mr. Wickham?”

  “Of course I did, but now I think I shall enjoy being a merry widow as well.” Lydia’s emotions took another turn. “Just imagine all the things I can do now, and there is no one to tell me I cannot.”

  Mrs. Bennet’s eyes widened as she stared at her favorite daughter. Indeed, she understood Lydia’s words better than most people might. Before she could respond, however, Colonel Fitzwilliam joined them.

  “It sounds as though you plan to enjoy widowhood, Mrs. Wickham.”

  “I must amuse myself somehow, Colonel.” Lydia stood, “Can you not find who killed my husband?”

  “After the comments I just heard, perhaps we need look no further than his wife,” Colonel Fitzwilliam murmured as he studied Lydia.

  Lydia stomped her foot. “Oh, do be serious, Colonel. I want this night to be over so I can leave. I must purchase widow’s weeds if I am to look decent when I appear in public.”

  “Fashion is not our priority, Mrs. Wickham, and I must caution you to appear less happy and more distraught if you expect people to think you actually miss your husband.” Colonel Fitzwilliam glanced at each of the Bennets and turned back to Lydia. “I came to check on how you are holding up in the circumstances, but I see I need not be concerned.”

  Lydia stomped her foot again as Colonel Fitzwilliam gave a slight bow and walked away. He was not as good looking as Darcy or as wealthy, but his father was an earl. He would be a good catch for any woman wanting a husband, and she was accustomed to being married to a man in uniform. Yet he sent her only a cool glance as he departed. Oh, bother him. Just when she needed to practice acting like a widow, she slipped into old habits and, clearly, Colonel Fitzwilliam was not impressed.

  Flopping back in her chair, Lydia wailed, “If we are not to dance, why can we not just go to bed?”

  “We must stay together because, Colonel Fitzwilliam said the murderer could be in the house.” Kitty offered helpfully.

  “I have heard it said that we are safer in a group than in separate rooms.” Mary replied.

  Lydia turned a glare on her sisters and silently challenged them to utter another word. It was only the first night, and she had already failed to be a charming widow, and they were not helping. Oh well, Colonel Fitzwilliam was not the only eligible man here tonight. Denny and Captain Carter were still available. She glanced around the room and almost ground her teeth at what she observed.

  Captain Carter was in deep conversation with that redheaded Mary King. Surely he did not find her attractive. Wickham had chased after her once, but after they were married, he assured Lydia he was only interested in Miss King’s inheritance.

  Nevertheless, Carter’s interest in Mary King did not trouble Lydia nearly as much as the sight of Denny standing with that...oh! She could not even say the woman’s name. Denny looked quite content as he conversed with Colonel Forester and that wife of his. She had heard rumors when she and Wickham were in Brighton and she knew Harriet Forester better than most. Had she not learned a trick or two from the woman?

  Still, even with Harriet’s skill at luring men to her side, Denny need not appear so willing to do Harriet’s bidding. After they moved north Wickham had received missives from friends informing him such happenings were going on in Brighton, but she had not believed it was true. Surely Denny would not give Harriet a second glance. Yet the evidence before her eyes proved it was true and she shuddered with rising anger. She could not lose Denny to that woman’s grasp.

  She would take steps to see it did not happen.

  When she next she was questioned by Colonel Fitzwilliam, she would tell all she knew. Her brow wrinkled. Colonel Forester would be present and undoubtedly he would dispute her words, but she tossed her head at the imagined slight. Well, let the colonel deny what was fact. She knew what Wickham had told her, and the colonel might as well face the truth. She had been forced to do so, for her Wickham truly was dead.

  ***

  “How are you holding up, my dear?” Colonel Forester passed a plate of food to his wife. “Do you have someone to talk with, for I imagine Lydia and the Bennets are engaged with other matters?”

  “Oh, stuff,” Mrs. Forester snapped. “As if Lydia is the only one who
will miss Wickham.” She sniffed into a scrap of lace. “He was my friend, too, and I did not imagine Lydia could be so cold to me. But it is her loss.” She peered at her husband through her lashes. “Would it not be droll if she was found to be Wickham’s murderer?”

  “You must have something to eat my dear, for you must maintain your strength.”

  “Why,” Mrs. Forester moaned, “a ball without music and dancing is too boring to discuss.”

  “You did not say who you keep company with while I am away.”

  “Oh, this one and that,” Mrs. Forester said as she chewed. “People are friendly until they learn I know no more about what you are doing than they do.”

  “Patience, my dear,” Colonel Forester cautioned. “All questions will be answered in good time.”

  “Tell me, husband, who do you think did this deed?”

  “My dear, I must not—”

  “Oh, do tell me, husband.” Mrs. Forester turned pouting lips for his to see. “You are off with the men and I am stuck with nothing to do.”

  “Has no one talked with you the whole night?” He asked again.

  “Well, Miss King conversed with me for a time, and so did Miss Bingley. But that sister of hers looked at me as if I were something stuck on her shoe.” Mrs. Forester paused for another bite. “Mrs. Bingley is nice, much nicer than Lydia ever was. Oh, and Denny and Captain Carter came over to talk, as well.”

  “My dear, you do not sound lonely, but you best be aware of men in the militia.”

  “We cannot dance, husband. All we are left to do is talk. And since we are all staying at Lucas Lodge, it is only natural that we share our thoughts.”

  “Fear not, my dear. This will soon be over and you shall have your entertainment restored.”

  “Too bad Wickham had to get himself killed and ruin the party.” Mrs. Forester sighed. “Tell me, husband, who do you think did the deed?”

  “Now, my dear—”

  “Oh, stop ‘my dearing’ me, husband,” Mrs. Forester snapped. “I am your wife. Surely, you can tell me what you think. Who would I repeat your words to since I have broken with Lydia?” But she gasped and whirled to face him so fast she almost upturned the plate of food she held. “Is that why you keep silent? You say nothing because you suspect Lydia murdered poor Wickham. Oh, how could she? That wicked girl, I knew she was trouble when she came to stay with us, but this is beyond repair. Poor, charming Wickham did not deserve to die.”