Who Murdered Mr Wickham

by Carol Hutchens

  Dismayed as she was, Mary skipped to keep pace with him. “Captain, I am so sorry for I fear the cause of your summons falls on my head.” Captain Carter paused in mid-step and Mary rushed to explain. “You see, the colonels accused me of murdering Mr. Wickham. Well, to be perfectly clear, it was Colonel Forester who made the declaration. But in my rush to prove my innocence, I mentioned you said Wickham owed money to all his friends.”

  “Miss King, do not concern yourself on my behalf,” Captain Carter gave a polite bow, “for you have only spoken the truth.”

  ***

  As soon as Captain Carter closed the library door behind him, Colonel Forester launched into speech. “Captain, I am most disappointed in you.”

  At the same time, Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “Captain Carter, tell us more about Mr. Wickham’s debts.”

  Choosing to respond only to the comment he had cause to defend, Captain Carter turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam. “Colonel, considering what I have recently heard about Wickham’s relationship with Mr. Darcy, I am confident Wickham’s debt to all his acquaintances is no shock to you.”

  “Be that as it may, Captain,” Colonel Fitzwilliam gave a nod of assent as he continued, “but the question remains as to why you did not see fit to mention this debt at our first conversation?”

  Captain Carter straightened to his full height, making him as tall as Colonel Fitzwilliam and half-a-head taller than Bingley. “Wickham’s death at a ball, instead of in the midst of battle, came as a shock, Colonel. Considering Mrs. Wickham’s distress, I had no wish to speak ill of Wickham.”

  “Your sentiments are duly respected, Captain. Now, kindly enlighten us—”

  “Stop this sentimental nonsense at once, Captain. Who did Wickham owe money, and why did an officer in my command fail to reveal relevant information about a former member of the regiment?”

  Captain Carter kept his stance and stared straight ahead. “I am not in possession of that information, Colonel.”

  “This is not a damned national secret, Captain,” Colonel Forester barked. “Tell us of what you are aware.”

  “Sir, I am not—”

  “Captain,” Colonel Fitzwilliam kept his voice low as he interrupted Carter, “Could you reveal the extent of Wickham’s debt to Mr. Denny?”

  “I would rather—”

  “Are you refusing to cooperate, Captain?” Colonel Forester demanded.

  “I would prefer you to ask Denny about the matter, Colonel.”

  “A man of honor,” Colonel Fitzwilliam gave Captain Carter a nod of approval, “very well, I suggest we speak with Mr. Denny.”

  Chapter 15

  After Captain Carter left the ballroom, Mary King allowed her gaze to roam over the guests. After the long night and with dawn approaching, the sparkle and shine had worn off even the most calculated expressions. Neck cloths drooped under chins of men looking more disheveled by the hour. And the women faired no better, as their gowns now looked wrinkled beyond repair. Their hair, so carefully styled upon arrival, now hung in forlorn tumbles. Their faces looked drawn by lines of fatigue, telling of the long night of tension and no sleep.

  Mary’s gaze settled on Maggie, who now looked more composed as she attended to Miss Darcy’s needs. Comfort seemed in short supply while they were obliged to remain in this room to avoid risk of being murdered in their beds. Mary made an effort to renew her own energy, but she needed little effort as she was still reacting to her narrow escape from being charged with murder. Still, as she glanced about the room, she felt the need to discover a solution to this crime.

  What frightened her now that she had narrowly escape a charge of murder, was her worry over how the colonels would react if they discovered she and Maggie were cousins. Her fear increased as she imagined both she and Maggie being blamed for the murder. It seemed that now, more than ever, her freedom relied on finding who had murdered Wickham. Yet to this point, all she had discovered was more questions.

  Why had Caroline Bingley snapped at Maggie earlier in the evening in the hallway and then again in the library? Mary was convinced she was missing something important as she searched faces of the guests. After confirming Miss Bingley's location in the opposite end of the room, she turned her attention to her cousin. Had Maggie angered Miss Bingley in some way when Mr. Bingley and his sisters were visiting Mr. Darcy? But how? She must find the answer.

  “Are you asleep on your feet, Miss Darcy?” Mary tried to appear as if she had drifted aimlessly toward the chairs where Maggie and Georgiana sat in a corner. Miss Darcy seemed exhausted and Mary regretted she must endure these events. She was too young for exposure to the harsh realities of a murder, and truthfully, Maggie seemed in little better shape. She had suffered the misfortune of discovering Wickham’s body, and Mary knew better than anyone how much that incident pained her cousin. “Perhaps a cup of tea would revive you, Miss Darcy. Shall I fetch it for you?”

  “You are most kind, Miss King,” Georgiana offered a shy smile, “but what I would like more than tea is to hear your news. As you just returned from talking with the colonels, you can tell us all that is happening.” Georgiana sent a doubtful glance toward Maggie, “Or perhaps good manners should have prevented me from referring to your ordeal.”

  To refuse a timid request in that sweet tone would take more effort than Mary could manage at such an early hour before day. How was it that dancing the night away was not as exhausting as sitting around waiting for a murderer to be discovered? Settling in a chair facing Maggie and Georgiana, Mary smiled at Miss Darcy. “Manners are somewhat in conflict with the situation we find ourselves in, do you not agree?”

  “Oh, indeed, Miss King, I have broken many of Miss Brown’s rules this night and yet,” Georgiana smiled at her companion, “she has not complained to my brother, once.”

  “Then let us distract your Miss Brown yet again,” Mary returned the girl’s smile, “and I will tell you of my time in the library. Though I fear you will be disappointed, for I have no new revelations to add to the questions put forth by the colonels.”

  Georgiana leaned forward. “Do tell who you think committed this deed, Miss King.”

  “Miss Georgiana—”

  “It is quite all right, Miss Brown, for I have asked myself the same question.” Mary tapped her chin as she considered her response. “Actually, Miss Darcy, you know the people here tonight better than do I. Who do you think committed the murder?” Mary ignored Maggie’s gasp and kept her gaze on Georgiana’s expressive face. Perhaps this young girl’s outlook could give a different account of the events.

  Georgiana sat straighter and looked about the room. When she turned back to Mary, her eyes held a glow despite her lack of sleep. “I cannot select one person I would credit with such a crime. It is my guess that a highwayman slipped into the house and did the deed. He could have followed the coaches and entered the library when we were in the ballroom. Mr. Wickham danced for quite a while, you know.”

  Not even trying to conceal her surprise, Mary replied, “What a splendid thought, Miss Darcy. I wonder if the colonels have considered such a possibility.”

  “I have heard no such account from my brother, but I will inform Colonel Fitzwilliam of my opinion when next he comes for sustenance.” Georgiana turned a cheerful gaze toward Maggie. “At the mention of food, I find I suddenly feel quite famished. I could use some refreshment if you would be so kind as to collect it for me, Miss Brown.” Miss Darcy turned to Mary and smiled. “I could get my own plate, but I do not care to do so with everyone watching.”

  “Oh, my dear, I know the feeling. You cannot make a move without feeling as if daggers are piercing your back. Though I suppose we can place no blame when we all wonder who the murderer is,” Mary smiled at the young girl. “In fact, I believe I will accompany Miss Brown. She only has two hands and I feel quite thirsty after answering all the questions asked by the colonels.”

  “Oh, Miss King, I am so sorry—”

  “I did not mind your que
ries, Miss Darcy, for I take pleasure in conversing with you. Your Colonel Fitzwilliam, however, is quite demanding.”

  “He is indeed, Miss King, you cannot imagine how exacting he is as a guardian.”

  “We will return shortly, my dear. Pray do not fall asleep while we are gone.” Maggie said to her charge as they stood and straightened their gowns. But once they were out of earshot of Miss Darcy, Maggie hissed for Mary’s hearing alone. “How could you discuss the murder in such a manner in front of Miss Darcy?”

  “Wickham’s murder is known by all present in this room, and Miss Darcy was made aware of the realities of life, as we all were on this eve. I understand how she must feel, but is it not better to speak of events than to allow them to weigh on our mind?” Mary cast a glance about to assure they were out of hearing for others as she said. “What are you hiding from me, Maggie?”

  Color filled Maggie’s cheeks. Looking flustered, she grabbed a plate and stared unseeingly at the table loaded with food. “Whatever do you mean, Mary? Why would I keep secrets from my own cousin?”

  “I asked myself the same question each time I encounter glares from the colonels. Surely you are aware that I want only to help you in any way I can. Please, can you not tell me what I have overlooked?”

  “Mary, you are weary from discovering the man you had once promised to marry was murdered and answering all the questions from the colonels. And so you should be. But pray do not concern yourself any more on my behalf.”

  Mary laid her hand on Maggie’s arm and forced her cousin to meet her gaze. “Say what you will, Maggie, but Wickham was also the man who fathered your child.”

  Maggie gasped in alarm and jerked a serving spoon out of a bowl of cooked apples, forcing Mary to let go her arm. “Mary, I beg you not to say such words in this room. The harm done by the wrong person overhearing such matters is not to be considered.”

  “Then you must tell me all, Maggie. For I am the person in this house who knows you almost as well as I know myself, yet I cannot understand the animosity between you and Caroline Bingley.”

  For long heartbeats, Maggie turned her attention to filling Georgiana’s plate and remained silent. Finally, with a swift look about the room to make certain they were alone, she mumbled, “Miss Bingley happened upon us in one of the corridors at Pemberley.” Maggie cast Mary an imploring glance. “Pray, do not say the words I see written on your face. It should never have happened. But of all the people in this room, Mary, you are more aware than most of the charm Wickham possessed, and I could not resist him.”

  ***

  Mary finished her tea in the company of Miss Darcy and Maggie then took her leave. To pretend all was as it should be, after hearing Maggie’s words, put a strain on her conversation. She excused herself from their company, with claims that she needed to walk to stay awake. But in truth, she could not endure mindless chatter when her head was filled with questions about Maggie’s guilt in Wickham’s death.

  It was time she spoke with Caroline Bingley. Though the intent seemed simple enough, managing such a conversation would be difficult, for Mary was quite reserved in her manner. Nevertheless, her future and the safety of her cousin and the infant were at risk, leaving Mary with no other choice.

  She approached Mr. Bingley’s sisters and the sleeping form of Mr. Hurst with a polite smile on her face. “Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley, are you as weary of this night’s events as am I?”

  Caroline Bingley was so startled by Mary’s approach she jerked around and almost fell off her chair. However, Mrs. Hurst sent Mary a glare so scathing it would sear a slab of bacon. Nevertheless, Mary could not allow their reaction to discourage her and kept her attention on the younger sister.

  Caroline snickered as she sent Louisa a glance. “My dear Miss King, I sincerely doubt we share your state of fatigue, as you have been up and down the stairs to the library repeatedly to answer questions.”

  “Oh, but climbing stairs is good for the constitution, do you not agree, Miss Bingley? Speaking of which, as we are closed in this ballroom,” Mary struggled for an innocent expression, “I wonder if you would accompany me on a stroll around the room? At this late hour, not yet day or night, it is difficult to keep one’s senses alert, do you not agree?”

  Arching her brows, Caroline sent Mrs. Hurst a speaking glance before responding. “Perhaps you have a point, Miss King. Let us move about the room, if you so wish.”

  ***

  Mr. Bingley entered the ballroom and went straight to Jane’s side. Before he could say a word, however, Jane said. “Oh, my dear, did you observe of what is happening?”

  Frowning, Bingley turned his gaze upon the room to find the cause of Jane’s unease. “I notice no cause for alarm, my dear. This night has gone on too long. You must be weary.”

  “It is Caroline and Miss King. They are strolling about the room together. Miss King approached Caroline after sitting with Miss Darcy and Miss Brown. I wonder why.” Jane glanced toward the far end of the room at Caroline’s tall slender form beside the slight figure of Miss King. In other circumstances, Jane might have smiled at the contrast in their appearances, but on this night a sense of dread filled her. “Do you suppose Miss King discovered some clue to the identity of the murderer and thinks Caroline is involved?”

  “I know not,” Bingley studied the two women with a frown, “but I must take the opportunity to ask Louisa some questions while Caroline is out of hearing.” With a look of regret, Bingley left his wife and joined Louisa. Taking the chair Caroline had recently vacated, he ignored Louisa’s glare as he spoke. “Hurst has slept through the night, then?”

  Louisa snorted. “So would you if you emptied the punch bowl with no assist from other guests.”

  “Is marriage to Hurst so tiresome, Louisa? You have never said as much, but since acquiring a wife, I am aware of how the habits of another can affect you on a daily basis.”

  “Are you quite well, Charles?” Louisa demanded. “I am married to Hurst these many years, yet this is the first time you paid notice to such matters.”

  “As I said, my recent marriage opened my eyes to your situation. Has your married state been a disappointment to you?”

  “Not as much as you assume,” Louisa sounded weary, but Bingley noticed rigid way she held herself as she said, “When Hurst is in his cups, I do much as I please.”

  “Does that mean involving yourself in indiscretions, Louisa?”

  “Charles, I am astounded you would ask such a thing.” Louisa said. She leaned close and peered in his face. “Are you brought to flush, brother dear?” Then with a familiar roll of her eyes, she tossed her head and sniffed. “Do not concern yourself in my affairs, Charles. If my husband has no complaint, neither should you.”

  “I insist you take my question seriously, Louisa. We are searching for a murderer.”

  “You believe I am capable of such an act, Charles? What inspired you with that thought?”

  “I did not—”

  “I have a less than alert husband, Charles, but I control my emotions and no man has yet to drive me to the heights of passion needed to commit murder.”

  “You consider Wickham’s death an act of passion?” Bingley frowned. “Why would such a thought occur to you?”

  “Really, Charles, you are such a pleasant sort,” Louisa sniffed, “but did you never notice Wickham’s manner?” Louisa rolled her eyes again and laughed. “Can you name one man who exhibits the amount of charm and the easy manner Wickham did? I think not. Look about this room. Did you notice the women in tears at the news of Wickham’s demise? How can his death be anything but the result of passion?”

  ***

  After Mr. Bingley left the ballroom with Denny, Jane joined her family.

  “Lizzy,” Jane put a hand on Lizzy’s arm and urged her away from the group around the Bennets, “we must have a conversation with Lydia.”

  “What is the matter, Jane? You are as pale as a nightdress.”

  “Lizzy, I fear I must s
peak with Lydia on an unpleasant topic and I need your help.”

  “I am not certain I can be of assistance, Jane. I tried to speak with Lydia earlier tonight, in the garden, and my comments were not received very well at all.” Lizzy glanced toward their younger sister. “If anything, she seems more stubborn now than before her marriage.”

  “Perhaps she has good reason for her attitude.” Jane sighed and then relayed the results of Bingley's conversation with Mrs. Hurst.

  “Come, Jane,” Lizzy frowned, “surely you cannot think Wickham would stoop so low in the short time since they married.”

  “It is not a pleasant thought, but you must admit he showed no steadfastness in any of his previous relationships.” Jane sighed and turning from Lizzy, went to call Lydia to their side.

  “So what is this matter of such great importance, Jane?” Lydia glared at Lizzy. “Has Lizzy told you of our conversation in the garden? Well, I stand by every word, especially now. With my dear Wickham dead, I must depend on support from my family more than ever.”

  “Lydia, this is another matter, entirely.” Jane sighed. “I wish I need not ask, but I must if we are to discover who killed Wickham.” Jane looked in Lydia’s eyes and said, “Do you believe Wickham was faithful to you?”

  Lydia’s mouth dropped open. Then she gave a snort and stomped her foot. “How can you say such a thing now of all times?”

  “Please believe it was not easy for me to do so,” Jane said. She glanced at Lizzy, wondering at her silence, and then a thought occurred to her. Lydia was still jealous of Wickham’s attention to Lizzy, so perhaps that was why Lizzy was keeping quiet. “However, things have been said during the questioning in the library. The colonels think this might be a crime of passion. For that is the reason I must ask you to recall events and tell us of anyone you think Wickham might have been involved with recently.”

  Lydia’s wailing response expressed enough pain to break even the hardest of hearts.