“Fitzwilliam!” Darcy looked up from his contemplation of golden liquid in his glass. “You cannot mean to say you suspect Anne killed—”
“Why not? She had every opportunity. She had every motive. She had more hatred of Lady Catherine than any other.”
“For the love we hold for each other I will not call you out for making such a suggestion. I am entirely certain that Anne did not, and would not, and could not act in such a manner. Among other considerations, I saw the wound in our aunt’s throat. It was a very good blow.”
“Then who?”
“Just drink. It does not matter.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Elizabeth anxiously paced back and forth trying to force away her terror of the next day. Darcy always exuded confidence, but she could tell each day he hid more fear. Last night he had been scared. Darcy had desperately pressed into her during their lovemaking, and then he’d held her tightly and whispered into her ear, “I swear they will not have you.”
That had not reassured her. The uneasiness curdled in her body, like a worm eating through her stomach. Her husband was scared. She was scared.
I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.
Her desperate plea repeated in her mind to the drumbeat coming up the road.
Drumbeat?
Elizabeth looked out of her room at the dusty road bordered by trees that stretched away towards the seacoast ten miles distant.
A column of soldiers marched up the road. Two abreast, red coated with wide handsome white belts. The sound of the drum drifted softly through the open windows along with the smell of flowers. It was a group of forty or fifty men.
An officer on horseback led them. He had a handsome bearing and his cap was cocked at a jaunty angle. Elizabeth smiled at the distraction the troops caused. She remembered when the regiment of the militia had marched into Meryton. Despite the trouble they had caused her family, a man looked very well in uniform.
The column marched up to the prison and the officer slowed his horse and looked up at her. Their eyes met. He scowled and looked away. With his arms, the officer ordered several men to run out of the column and stand along the side of the building. Then he rode around to the front entrance of the prison and out of Elizabeth’s sight as the rest of the men followed. The door below was loudly thrown open. Dozens of footsteps sounded beneath her, and a rising hum of chatter.
Elizabeth’s throat was tight.
What was happening?
No one came to her room for a half hour. The soldiers posted outside watched the woods and down the road, shifting from side to side and leaning on their tall muskets.
Darcy would be here soon, and she feared for him. The sun was growing dimmer. Elizabeth rang the bell so she could call the maid to ask her what was afoot. She knew in her gut that it was about her.
The maid brought the bailiff and the young officer. He had an aristocratic face with a long firm nose and thinly pressed scowling lips.
Elizabeth adopted a light voice, but it was thin and tinny, and she could hear the falsity of her calmness. “I do wonder what all of these soldiers are doing here. You did not need to come; I just am curious.”
The bailiff said, “They are here to protect you.”
“Protect me?” Elizabeth raised her eyes and smiled as though the statement was absurd. She felt her knees weaken.
The bailiff stammered, “That is not quite correct — there is a report certain people will try to remove you by force from the prison if the verdict tomorrow goes against you.”
“You mean my husband.” Elizabeth’s voice sounded odd in her ears.
“Yes, Mrs. Darcy.”
Darcy believed she would be found guilty. He’d meant last night that he would break the law for her. But they had found out, and he would fail and be killed if he tried.
She was going to die.
In two days they would hang her.
She had known too much happiness to be hanged now. What would Emma do?
“Darcy — you must send for my husband, I must speak to him.”
She needed to convince him not to try. He needed to live on.
No. No. No. I don’t want to die.
The bailiff shook his head. “I am sorry, Mrs. Darcy.”
“Please. Please. Let me see him. Just for a minute. Just let me.”
“Mrs. Darcy, we cannot allow him in here. He may be spying out the positions, or engaged in some plan to rescue you. It cannot be allowed.”
“But… No. No. Not that. I was to see him again. You must let me see him. I need him to promise me… I need him.”
“This is the scheming murderess?” The officer snapped with a sneer. “Do not believe her tears. She is a right pretty girl to be hanged. But with such a black heart. Madam, your husband is as much a criminal as you are. If I had my will, we’d throw him in the gaol with you for conspiracy. But such things are not in my control. Alas, so much is not. But this is: He’ll not scheme with you again.”
“I must see him. He might do something — I only want to see him. If you are going to hang me… I just need to see him.”
“I know your character. You have no concern for that fool. Do not pretend it.” A soldier was behind them. The officer pointed into the room. “Seize all her lamps and candles and board up the window. We must ensure she cannot pass messages by signal.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Darcy had decided to walk back to the prison when he finished a last meeting with his lawyer.
His nerves had worsened. He knew what his lawyer said. He knew the evidence. He knew Elizabeth was innocent. He knew the witnesses would confirm it.
But he was scared. Anne might make things difficult.
One more night with Elizabeth in that room. The next day one way or another she would be freed. It had been difficult the previous night to hide his fear from Elizabeth, but he would not let her feel it. She bravely faced the next day, but Darcy knew his wife well enough to see that she was so scared as well.
Darcy’s thoughts came to a sick thudding stop when he turned the corner to the gaol. A dozen red coated soldiers stood or sat around the building. All of the windows blazed with light. Except for Elizabeth’s which was black.
Darcy slowly walked across the yard towards the now familiar entrance to the prison.
“Halt!” a young soldier shouted at Darcy. “Who are you? What business have you here?”
Darcy stared at the young man. How many were there? Did he have any chance of taking them by force? Would the people he had brought together even help him to attack a group of trained soldiers?
“What is your business here? Off with you. This area is banned.”
“I am Fitzwilliam Darcy. Call the bailiff here. I must speak with him — my wife is within.”
Instead of the bailiff a young officer trotted out of the building and up to the sentry. He had an arrogant mocking tilt to his head. “So you are that man.” He turned to the two men standing next to the door. “Keep your weapons trained on him. The rest of you look sharp to make sure no one approaches from any side. You shan’t see her again until the trial tomorrow. Though if you want to try, I’ll gleefully end you.”
Darcy felt sick inside at the realization that he would not be able to rescue Elizabeth from the hangman’s noose if she was convicted. The two young men pointed their wavering muskets at him. The officer smiled coldly and walked back into the gaol.
The bailiff came out and walked up to Darcy.
“What is the meaning of this? Who are these men?”
He shook his head, sadly.
“Tell me!”
“Mr. Darcy. You know I am an officer of the law. I…I suppose I am not surprised. I should have considered that a man like you would take such an action.”
“What are you talking about?”
He stamped his feet and looked to the side. “I have received a report that there is a plan to rescue one of the prisoners afoot, should she be convicted by the jury tomo
rrow.” He then looked at Darcy. “I thought you truly believed in her innocence.”
“What has that to do with anything?”
“If you truly believed she was innocent, you would have seen no need to make such preparations to undercut the law. I am sworn to uphold the laws of this kingdom. When I heard about these plans, I called in a company of regulars. There are forty men here, trained soldiers. We shall be ready for you. Justice will be done.”
“Who! Where did you get this information! Where?”
“I cannot tell you that.”
A sudden image came to Darcy’s mind. His cousin Anne exclaiming, “I shall watch her hang.” His stomach ran cold. She had said she knew his preparations. He had not thought to hide them from his family. “Anne. Mrs. Fitzwilliam. My cousin sent you a message.”
The way the bailiff flinched before he stammered that he could give no information was enough.
Darcy’s face went both hot and cold. He felt a terrifying rage.
“May I go in and see my wife at least?”
The bailiff shook his head. “The lieutenant absolutely insists you shall not be allowed near the prisoner again. He thinks you could be spying on their preparations, or have some other game.”
“In other words, if they hang her, I shall not be allowed to kiss my wife goodbye. I will… I am glad to know England’s laws are defended by such a man as you.”
Darcy turned furiously.
The fury grew as he raged towards Rosings.
Anne and Richard sat at the dinner table with their elbows on the table and holding hands. The next moments were a blur. Darcy had thrown the table on its side, the dishes breaking as they flew against the floor in a massive clatter. “If they murder her, I will kill you.”
He then had a fragment of memory before he was pressed into a chair by two footmen while Richard rubbed his hand. Darcy could not feel where he had been punched yet, even though it had been hard enough to knock him over.
Darcy gasped for breath, unable to speak. Richard incoherently demanded an explanation. Anne looked at him with knowing eyes as she stood.
Anne said calmly, “I made arrangements to ensure my mother’s murderer would receive her punishment. Darcy has collected men so that he could remove her by force after the trial goes against our little governess. I will see justice for my mother’s death. I informed the bailiff, and I understand he has collected a company of soldiers to ensure the hanging is carried out.”
“Anne. How…how could you?” Richard had turned sheet white.
“It was my mother! I need to see some punishment! I may have hated her, but she was my mother!”
“Impressive act.” Darcy spat on the ground. “A fine bit of theater.”
Richard looked between them. “You saw the men. Darcy, how many are there?”
“At least ten were outside the building. The bailiff said a full company. There is no hope. None—”
“Good god! Anne, she is Darcy’s wife. She—”
“I’ll see the murderess hanged!”
Darcy spat on the ground again. “Anne did it. Your wife killed her mother. I always wanted to see her show some spirit, and she at last showed it. A fine bride you have for yourself.”
Anne turned away, her color high.
“Do not worry though. She will not be your wife for long. I swear, I may be a gentleman, but you are no woman. If they kill my wife, I’ll kill you. Your mother’s murder will not go unpunished.”
Richard held his hand held over his mouth.
Anne gestured to one of the footmen. “Take him away. He is never again to be given admission to this house.”
Darcy did not struggle, but instead calmly walked out. He did not attempt to free himself from the servant’s grasp until he was deposited on the front porch.
He looked at the red sun in the distance, the clouds gathering above, and the wide open park around Rosings, with the trees Elizabeth loved so bedecked heavily with green. He walked back towards the gaol. He would stay as close to Elizabeth tonight as they allowed him.
Darcy walked all night around the building in great winding circles, unable to sleep in the slightest. Even though he knew that the trial was still to come, and even though he knew the jury might realize the weakness of the evidence against Elizabeth, he still felt as though he’d heard her death knell in Anne’s action to protect herself.
Would he actually be able to kill his cousin?
When they hanged Elizabeth, he would.
Chapter Twenty-five
Because the window had been boarded up so efficiently, Elizabeth had seen no light even after the sun rose. She flinched from the brightness when she was brought downstairs and helped by the bailiff into the carriage that would bring her to the building where the assize court was held.
She unresistingly did everything she was told. She was too numb to cry, or to think, or even to feel. The road had an odd wavering aspect in her eyes. It was odd. She could not feel the seat beneath her unless she concentrated on it.
What would death feel like?
The journey ended.
Elizabeth was pulled from the carriage. She smelled the town. Fish and meat from the markets. Roasted meat fragrantly floated from the cooking stalls. There was an undertone of human waste, perfumes, dust. Elizabeth was pushed into a large structure with a façade of marble columns, built to look like those famous buildings of the Romans.
Pamela had not been allowed to come to her that morning, but she had done her best job to make herself look demure and quiet. The opposite of a woman who would murder Lady Catherine. As she was marched into the courtroom, Elizabeth’s feet pinched strangely, and her balance was awkward. She looked down and saw that she had put her light summer slippers on the wrong feet. Elizabeth paused, wanting to switch them.
The officer who guarded her with a knot of eight soldiers, looked back at the slowing and then grabbed her arm and roughly pulled her up the stairs of the courthouse. “None of your games. You’ll see justice today.”
Elizabeth stumbled along with him. Her arm hurt. The bailiff protested. “Mrs. Darcy is a gentlewoman.”
The officer ignored this.
As she was marched into the courtroom, Elizabeth saw that a large crowd had packed all of the open seats in the building.
Darcy.
He was at the front of the room. Their eyes met. His eyes were red, as though he’d been crying, or as if he had not slept. There were large bags under his eyes. He looked terrible.
She wanted to shout to him some warning to not take any desperate actions. But she couldn’t. She tried to speak to him through her eyes, but she was pulled away and pushed into the seat for the accused.
Elizabeth turned her eyes back towards Darcy. He stared at her desperately, but she could not read his thoughts.
As the justice of the peace, Mr. Hawdry had chosen to serve as the prosecutor for the crown. Once Elizabeth was pushed into the chair, he stood and looked at the jurors so that he could open the case. “We are here to see justice done. To see that woman hang for the murder of our dearest friend, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”
“Incorrect. Incorrect.” The barrister that Darcy had hired stood from where he was seated next to Darcy. “This is prejudicial. It is the place of the prosecution merely to place the facts the crown has gathered against Mrs. Darcy. It is the jury’s duty to assess whether these facts suggest that she is in fact guilty of the profound sin claimed against her.”
The judge sighed. “Mr. Hawdry, you wished to lead the prosecution, so you must follow the rules established for the proceeding. Mr. Godfrey is correct. Just state the facts.”
Hawdry looked rattled. Elizabeth knew he was not used to having his position questioned.
She remembered how certain Darcy had been that she would be acquitted. But when she looked at his paleness, and saw the tremor in his hand when he brought it to his coat to smooth the fabric down the line of his arm, she knew she would hang.
I don’t want to di
e. I don’t want to die.
The only question was how Hawdry would convince the jury to ignore the truth and the words of Mr. Godfrey.
Hawdry said, “I saw this woman, Miss Elizabeth, show flashes of rage in her eyes when her patron, when the woman who had given her everything, when our dear friend Lady Catherine gave her a fitting order. Then as the witnesses will tell you, the next day she entered a physical fight with Lady Catherine, in which she wrenched away with violent force the cane used by that sainted elderly lady to support herself. These are the simple facts of the case. Lady Catherine had ordered her to leave the premises, and she maligned Lady Catherine to the staff who were witness to the confrontation. This will be established by the witnesses. The next day after Lady Catherine was found murdered, she had disappeared from the house with the child in her care, leaving behind a bloody garment. These are the simple facts, and they have an equally simple explanation.”
Elizabeth didn’t look at Mr. Hawdry at all. In fact she barely heard the damning argument. She watched Darcy intently stare at Mr. Hawdry. The lawyer next to him calmly listened, and every so often he jotted down a note in pencil on a pad he had next to him.
Mr. Hawdry continued, “There also are facts of motivation which will be established. This woman has since her arrest changed her name to one of the most illustrious in the land. She has married the nephew of Lady Catherine. This scheming woman made such a connection, made such a second victim. The former Miss Bennet knew that Lady Catherine would prevent any such marriage, and that her death was necessary to fulfill her wish of becoming one of the wealthiest women in the land.”
Mr. Hawdry put his hand on the table in front of him and leaned forward, like an overweight raptor. “Look at me, men of the jury. We are all citizens of this county. We knew the good name of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. We felt her goodness and ceaseless activity on our behalf. We loved her. We know what is right in this land. We do not need a lawyer hired by the money Miss Bennet killed to acquire to tell us what is inadmissible.”
The Trials: A Pride and Prejudice Story Page 21
