by P. D. James
He looked at Darcy who, after a moment’s hesitation, replied, ‘Before his marriage to my wife’s younger sister we rarely met for many years and never afterwards. In the past I have found him ungrateful, envious, dishonest and deceitful. He has a handsome face and an agreeable manner in society, especially with ladies, which procure him general favour; whether this lasts on longer acquaintance is a different matter but I have never seen him violent or heard that he has been guilty of violence. His offences are of the meaner kind and I prefer not to discuss them; we all have the capacity to change. I can only say that I cannot believe that the Wickham I once knew, despite his faults, would be capable of the brutal murder of a former comrade and a friend. I would say that he was a man averse to violence and would avoid it when possible.’
Colonel Fitzwilliam said, ‘He confronted rebels in Ireland to some effect and his bravery has been recognised. We have to grant his physical courage.’
Alveston said, ‘No doubt if there is a choice between killing or being killed he would show ruthlessness. I do not mean to disparage his bravery, but surely war and a first-hand experience of the realities of battle could corrupt the sensitivities of even a normally peaceable man so that violence becomes less abhorrent? Should we not consider that possibility?’
Darcy saw that the colonel was having difficulty in controlling his temper. He said, ‘No man is corrupted by doing his duty to his King and country. If you had ever had experience of war, young man, I suggest you would be less disparaging in your reaction to acts of exceptional bravery.’
Darcy thought it wise to intervene. He said, ‘I read some of the accounts of the 1798 Irish rebellion in the paper, but they were only brief. I probably missed most of the reports. Wasn’t that when Wickham was wounded and earned a medal? What part exactly did he play?’
‘He was involved, as was I, in the battle on 21st June at Enniscorthy when we stormed the hill and drove the rebels into retreat. Then, on 8th August, General Jean Humbert landed with a thousand French troops and marched south towards Castlebar. The French general encouraged his rebel allies to set up the so-called Republic of Connaught and on 27th August he routed General Lake at Castlebar, a humiliating defeat for the British Army. It was then that Lord Cornwallis requested reinforcements. Cornwallis kept his forces between the French invaders and Dublin, trapping Humbert between General Lake and himself. That was the end for the French. The British dragoons charged the Irish flank and the French lines, at which point Humbert surrendered. Wickham took part in that charge and was then engaged in rounding up the rebels and breaking up the Republic of Connaught. This was bloody work as rebels were hunted down and punished.’
It was obvious to Darcy that the colonel had given this detailed account many times before and took some pleasure doing so.
Alveston said, ‘And George Wickham was part of that? We know what was involved in putting down a rebellion. Would not that be enough to give a man, if not a taste for violence, at least a familiarity with it? After all, what we are trying to do here is to arrive at some conclusion about the kind of man George Wickham had become.’
Colonel Fitzwilliam said, ‘He had become a good and brave soldier. I agree with Darcy, I can’t see him as a murderer. Do we know how he and his wife have lived since he left the army in 1800?’
Darcy said, ‘He has never been admitted to Pemberley and we have never communicated, but Mrs Wickham is received at Highmarten. They have not prospered. Wickham became something of a national hero after the Irish campaign and that ensured that he was usually successful in obtaining employment, but not in keeping it. Apparently the couple went to Longbourn when Mr Wickham was unemployed and money was scarce, and no doubt Mrs Wickham enjoyed visiting old friends and boasting about her husband’s achievements, but the visits seldom lasted beyond three weeks. Someone must have been helping them financially, and on a regular basis, but Mrs Wickham never explained further, and nor, of course, did Mrs Bingley ask. I am afraid that is all I know, or indeed wish to know.’
Alveston said, ‘As I have never met Mr Wickham before Friday night, my opinion of his guilt or innocence is based not on his personality or record, but solely on my assessment of the evidence as it is so far available. I think he has an excellent defence. The so-called confession could mean nothing more than his guilt at provoking his friend to leave the chaise. He was in liquor, and that kind of maudlin sentimentality after a shock is not uncommon when a man is drunk. But let us look at the physical evidence. The central mystery of this case is why Captain Denny plunged into the woodland. What had he to fear from Wickham? Denny was the larger and stronger man and he was armed. If it was his intention to walk back to the inn, why not take the road? Admittedly the chaise could have overtaken him, but as I said, he was hardly in danger. Wickham would not have attacked him with Mrs Wickham in the chaise. It will probably be argued that Denny felt constrained to leave Wickham’s company, and immediately, because of disgust for his companion’s plan to leave Mrs Wickham at Pemberley without her having been invited to the ball, and without giving Mrs Darcy notice. The plan was certainly ill mannered and inconsiderate, but hardly warranted Denny’s escape from the chaise in such a dramatic manner. The woodland was dark and he had no light; I find his action incomprehensible.
‘And there is stronger evidence. Where are the weapons? Surely there must be two. The first blow to the forehead produced little more than an effusion of blood which prevented Denny from seeing where he was and left him staggering. The wound on the back of the head was made with a different weapon, something heavy and smooth-edged, perhaps a stone. And from the account of those who have seen the wound, including you Mr Darcy, it is so deep and long that a superstitious man might well say that it was made by no human hand, certainly not by Wickham’s. I doubt whether he could easily have lifted a stone of that weight high enough to drop it precisely where aimed. And are we to suppose that by coincidence it lay conveniently close to hand? And there are those scratches on Wickham’s forehead and hands. They certainly suggest that he could have lost himself in the woodland after first coming across Captain Denny’s body.’
Colonel Fitzwilliam said, ‘So you think if it goes to the assize he will be acquitted?’
‘I believe on the evidence so far that he should be, but there is always a risk in cases where no other suspect is in question that the jury will ask themselves, if he did not do it, who did? It is difficult for a judge or defence counsel to warn a jury against this view without at the same time putting it into their minds. Wickham will need a good lawyer.’
Darcy said, ‘That must be my responsibility.’
‘I suggest that you try for Jeremiah Mickledore. He is brilliant with this kind of case and with a city jury, but he takes only cases in which he is interested and he hates leaving London.’
Darcy said, ‘Is there a chance that the case could be remitted to London? Otherwise it won’t be heard until it goes before the assize court at Derby next Lent or summer.’ He looked at Alveston. ‘Remind me of the procedure.’
Alveston said, ‘Generally the state prefers defendants to be tried at the local assize town. The argument is that the people can themselves see that justice is done. If cases are removed, it is normally only as far as the next county assize court and there would have to be a good reason, something so serious that a fair trial could not be obtained in the local town, questions regarding fairness, jurors who might be nobbled, judges whom it was thought could be bribed. On the other hand there might be such local hostility to the defendant that it would prejudice a fair hearing. It is the attorney general who has powers to take control and terminate criminal prosecutions, which means for our purposes that trials can be moved elsewhere on his authority.’
Darcy said, ‘So it will be in the hands of Spencer Perceval?’
‘Exactly. Perhaps it could be argued that since the crime was committed on the property of a local magistrate, he and his family might be unreasonably involved, or there could be local gossip
and innuendo about the relationship between Pemberley and the accused which could hamper the cause of justice. I do not think it would be easy to get the case transferred, but the fact that Wickham is related both to you and to Mr Bingley by marriage would be a complicating factor which might weigh with the Attorney General. His decision will be made not on any personal wishes, but on whether a transfer will best serve the cause of justice. Wherever the trial is held, I think it would certainly be worth trying to get Jeremiah Mickledore for the defence. I was his junior some two years ago and I think I may have some influence with him. I suggest you send an express setting out the facts and I follow this by discussing the case with him when I return to London, as I must after the inquest.’
Darcy said he was grateful and the proposal was agreed. Then Alveston said, ‘I think, gentlemen, we should remind ourselves of the evidence we shall give when asked what words Wickham spoke when we came upon him kneeling over the body. They will undoubtedly be crucial to the case. Obviously we shall speak the truth but it will be interesting to know whether our memories agree on Wickham’s exact words.’
Without waiting for either of the other two to speak, Colonel Fitzwilliam said, ‘Not unnaturally they made a distinct impression on me and I believe I can repeat them exactly. Wickham said, “He’s dead. Oh God, Denny’s dead. He was my friend, my only friend, and I’ve killed him. It’s my fault.” It is, of course, a matter of opinion what he meant by Denny’s death being his fault.’
Alveston said, ‘My memory is precisely the same as the colonel’s but, like him, I can attempt no interpretation of his words. So far we agree.’
It was Darcy’s turn. He said, ‘I cannot myself be as precise as to the exact order of his words, but I can with confidence state that Wickham said that he had killed his friend, his only friend, and that it was his fault. I too find those last words ambiguous and shall not attempt to explain them unless pressed, and possibly not then.’
Alveston said, ‘We are unlikely to be pressed by the coroner. If the question is asked, he may point out that none of us can be sure of what is passing through another’s mind. My own view, and it is speculative, is that he meant that Denny would not have gone into the woods and met his assailant had it not been for their quarrel, and that Wickham took responsibility for whatever it was that aroused Denny’s repugnance. The case will undoubtedly rest on what Wickham meant by those few words.’
It seemed that the conference could now be considered over, but before they rose from their chairs, Darcy said, ‘So Wickham’s fate, life or death, will depend on twelve men influenced as they must be by their own prejudices and by the power of the accused’s statement and the prosecuting counsel’s eloquence.’
The colonel said, ‘How else can it be dealt with? He will put himself on his countrymen and there can be no greater assurance of justice than the verdict of twelve honest Englishmen.’
Darcy said, ‘And with no appeal.’
‘How can there be? The decision of the jury has always been sacrosanct. What are you proposing, Darcy, a second jury, sworn in to agree or disagree with the first, and another jury after that? That would be the ultimate idiocy, and if carried on ad infinitum could presumably result in a foreign court trying English cases. And that would be the end of more than our legal system.’
Darcy said, ‘Could it not be possible to have an appeal court consisting of three, or perhaps five, judges to be convened if there were dissension over a difficult point of law?’
It was then that Alveston intervened. ‘I can well imagine the reaction of an English jury to the proposal that their decision should be challenged by three judges. It must be for the trial judge to decide on points of law, and if he is unable to do so, then he has no right to be a judge. And there is to some extent a court of appeal. The trial judge can initiate the process for the granting of a pardon when he is unhappy with the outcome and a verdict which seems to the general public to be unjust will always result in a public outcry and sometimes violent protest. I can assure you there is nothing more powerful than the English when seized with righteous indignation. But as you may know, I am a member of a group of lawyers concerned with examining the effectiveness of our legal criminal system and there is one reform which we would like to see: the right of the prosecuting counsel to make a final speech before the verdict should be extended to the defence. I can see no reason against such a change, and we are hopeful that it may come before the end of this century.’
Darcy asked, ‘What can be the objection to it?’
‘Mostly time. The London courts are already overworked and too many cases are rushed through with indecent speed. The English are not so fond of lawyers that they wish to sit through hours of additional speeches. It is thought sufficient that the accused should speak for himself and that the cross-examination of prosecution witnesses by his defence counsel will be enough to ensure justice. I do not find these arguments entirely convincing but they are sincerely held.’
The colonel said, ‘You sound like a radical, Darcy. I had not realised that you had such an interest in the law or were so dedicated to its reform.’
‘Nor had I, but when one is faced, as we are now, by the reality of what awaits George Wickham, and how narrow the gap between life and death, it is perhaps natural to be both interested and concerned.’ He paused, then said, ‘If there is nothing else to be said, perhaps we can prepare to join the ladies for dinner.’
2
Tuesday morning promised to be a pleasant day with even the hope of autumn sunshine. Wilkinson, the coachman, had a well-deserved reputation for forecasting the weather and two days ago had prophesied that the wind and rain would be followed by some sun and occasional showers. It was the day when Darcy was to meet his steward, John Wooller, who would lunch at Pemberley, and in the afternoon he would ride to Lambton to see Wickham, a duty which he could be confident had no expectation of pleasure on either side.
While he was absent Elizabeth planned to visit Woodland Cottage with Georgiana and Mr Alveston, to enquire after Will’s health and to carry wine and delicacies, which she and Mrs Reynolds hoped might tempt his appetite. She also wanted to satisfy herself that his mother and sister had not been made worried about being left alone when Bidwell was working at Pemberley. Georgiana had been eager to accompany her, and Henry Alveston had immediately offered to provide the male escort which Darcy thought essential and which he knew both ladies would find reassuring. Elizabeth was anxious to start as soon as possible after an early luncheon; the autumn sunshine was a benison which could not be expected to last, and Darcy had insisted that the party leave the woodland before the afternoon light began to fade.
But first there were letters to be written and, after an early breakfast, she settled to give some hours to this task. There were still replies outstanding to letters of sympathy and enquiry from friends who had been invited to the ball, and she knew that the family at Longbourn, who had received the news from Darcy by express post, would expect almost daily bulletins. There were also Bingley’s sisters, Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley, to be kept informed of progress, but here at least she could leave it to Bingley to write. They visited their brother and Jane twice a year but were so immersed in the delights of London that more than a month’s stay in the country was intolerable. While at Highmarten they condescended to be entertained at Pemberley. To be able to boast about their visits, their relationship with Mr Darcy and the splendours of his house and estate was too valuable an indulgence to be sacrificed to disappointed hopes or resentment, but actually to see Elizabeth in possession as mistress of Pemberley remained an affront which neither sister could tolerate without a painful exercise of self-control and, to Elizabeth’s relief, the visits were infrequent.
She knew that their brother would have tactfully discouraged them from visiting Pemberley during the present crisis and she had no doubt that they would stay away. A murder in the family can provide a frisson of excitement at fashionable dinner parties, but little social credi
t can be expected from the brutal despatch of an undistinguished captain of the infantry, without money or breeding to render him interesting. Since even the most fastidious among us can rarely escape hearing salacious local gossip, it is as well to enjoy what cannot be avoided, and it was generally known both in London and Derbyshire that Miss Bingley was particularly anxious at this time not to leave the capital. Her pursuit of a widowed peer of great wealth was entering a most hopeful phase. Admittedly without his peerage and his money he would have been regarded as the most boring man in London, but one cannot expect to be called ‘your grace’ without some inconvenience, and the competition for his wealth, title and anything else he cared to bestow was understandably keen. There were a couple of avaricious mamas, long-experienced in the matrimonial stakes, each working assiduously on her daughter’s behalf, and Miss Bingley had no intention of leaving London at such a delicate stage of the competition.
Elizabeth had just finished letters to her family at Longbourn and to her Aunt Gardiner when Darcy arrived with a letter delivered the previous evening by express, which he had only recently opened.
Handing it to her, he said, ‘Lady Catherine, as expected, has passed on the news to Mr Collins and Charlotte and has enclosed their letters with her own. I cannot suppose that they will give you either pleasure or surprise. I shall be in the business room with John Wooller but hope to see you at luncheon before I set out for Lambton.’
Lady Catherine had written:
