by Jennifer Joy
Elizabeth pointed at the mangled necklace being kicked around on the floor. “It is mine! I am telling the truth. Mr. Wickham stole it along with Mr. Darcy’s pocket watch. He is the murderer and traitor, not Mr. Darcy.”
Quieting the crowd with the help of his associates, the magistrate picked up the necklace and examined it. It was only a seed of doubt, but maybe it would be enough to be heard.
Wickham was not so confident now. He shouted, “That is hardly proof when these traitors have the audacity to accuse me. Take them away!”
Chapter 37
At that moment, Colonel Fitzwilliam finally entered the tavern, followed by Lord Matlock and Mrs. Holton.
William seethed, “It is about time.” He looked like he wanted to strangle his cousin. Elizabeth might have helped him.
The colonel, impervious to the tension in the room and William’s clenched fists, said coolly, “I apologize for our late arrival. The traffic is appalling.”
Elizabeth suppressed her grin. Humor had seen her and William through the past few days, and she welcomed it.
The colonel continued, “We came across Mrs. Holton along the way, and I persuaded her to allow us to offer her our protection.” Looking directly at Wickham, the colonel added, “There are murderous scoundrels about.”
Mrs. Holton stepped forward. “You have the wrong man,” she said. Pointing her finger at Mr. Wickham, she added, “That man, Mr. Wickham, is a murderer, a thief, and a traitor. He shot Mr. Darcy’s coachman in cold blood, brutally beat Mr. Darcy and my employer, and stole all the occupants’ possessions before leaving them to freeze in the snowstorm. I am certain he is also responsible for the death of the man who helped him with the highway robbery.”
Wickham rolled his eyes. “How tiresome. All of these accusations and not one ounce of proof.” He stood up from the table as if he had all the time in the world. “If no proof can be provided, there is no reason for me to continue here.” He waited, looking at William, then Elizabeth, then Mrs. Holton for a reply.
Elizabeth wanted to claw at his smug face … but outside their word and the word of other witnesses they could provide, they had no physical proof. Nothing like a pocket watch with William’s initials beside Marquess Malbrooke’s body.
“Nothing? Then I bid you a good evening. I know it has been a good evening for me,” Wickham cackled.
Mrs. Holton insisted, “I was present. I witnessed the entire thing.” Looking at the constables and magistrates present, she implored, “Certainly you cannot let him go?”
Wickham crossed his arms and looked down at her. “If you are to be believed, then you are no better than the thief you claim me to be. Obviously, you did nothing to protect your master and his guests in the carriage, which would lead us to suppose you were the thief’s accomplice. How are these good people to trust your word?”
He was right. If Mrs. Holton told her side of the story, she would give every reason for the crowd to doubt her.
Darcy asked, “You are a regimental officer stationed in Meryton, and yet you are not with your regiment. Have you abandoned your post?”
Elizabeth had not noticed the absence of Wickham’s uniform. Hope rose her spirits.
Wickham leaned forward, speaking articulately. “I am currently on leave. I am certain Colonel Fitzwilliam will confirm that even lowly lieutenants in the regiment are allowed some time away from their duties to mix with the civilians they strive to protect from traitors such as you. Now, I feel I am being overly generous with you, Darcy, but have you any proof at all against me? Other than your word, of course. We all know what that is worth.”
Elizabeth looked at the authorities present. “My necklace is not enough?”
The elegantly dressed man who had huddled beside the counter with them asked, “Is there an engraving on it — something to mark it as yours? Something I might have missed?”
Elizabeth’s spirits crashed down around her. “No. There is not.”
Another magistrate standing beside Lord Matlock said, “I am sorry, but without solid evidence, I speak for myself when I say I will not make such a grave accusation as the one of treason against any man.”
Elizabeth was so frustrated, she could scream. Why was it acceptable to arrest a man with false evidence and let the real culprit go free? She could not keep the sarcasm from her tone. “When Mr. Darcy was accused because of a pocket watch that had been stolen from him? Where was the justice in that?”
Lord Matlock answered. “There is nothing just about it, Miss Elizabeth.”
The magistrate next to him said, “The Prince Regent himself has put a price on Mr. Darcy’s head. Unless you have been able to discern who is to blame and can provide adequate proof of it, then there is little chance we can make a different arrest tonight.”
Elizabeth pointed at Wickham. “It was him!”
Wickham did not say it, but Elizabeth could see the taunt all over his smug face. Where is your proof?
She did not blame William for punching Wickham in the face when they had entered the tavern. She wished he would do it again.
The magistrates turned to William. They had been called forth to arrest a man who had already been convicted of a crime by public opinion.
Downing his drink and slamming his tankard against the table, Wickham strutted across the floor. Elizabeth wished somebody would trip him. Anything to keep Wickham from leaving the room. They would never find him again.
The owner of the tavern stopped Mr. Wickham, holding his hand out. “Not before you settle your account, Mr. Wickham.”
Elizabeth could have kissed the tavern owner.
Plastering a smile on his face, Wickham pulled out a leather pouch, placing several coins in the tavern owner’s open palm.
Elizabeth’s nerves rivaled those of her mother’s when she saw the proof in Wickham’s greedy hands. They wanted physical proof? They wanted marked evidence? Well, she would give it to them!
Loudly, so as to draw as much attention as she could, Elizabeth asked, “Mr. Wickham, when was the last time you were in Mr. Darcy’s company?” She would lead Wickham on, giving him enough rope for him to hang himself.
He smiled confidently, tightening the pouch strings and tossing it between his hands. “I have seen Darcy several times since my regiment was assigned to Meryton. But it is not my custom to befriend traitors or enjoy their association.”
“Then you have avoided him for several months? You have exchanged nothing, not even a letter?” she asked. She had him right where she wanted him. William knew it, too. The pride in his face gave her wings.
Wickham scoffed. “What is the purpose of this questioning? I have not conversed with Mr. Darcy or been in his company since last summer when our paths most unfortunately crossed.”
It was Elizabeth’s turn to smile. Turning to the men who would not hear reason or raise their voices for justice, she said cheerfully, “You asked for proof, and I will give it to you.”
The tavern fell so quiet, Elizabeth could hear the remains of her glass pearl crunching under a boot.
She turned to Wickham, who was now sweating and shuffling his feet. When she looked pointedly at the coin pouch and he tried to tuck it into his coat pocket, she knew she had him.
“I have seen a coin pouch similar to that before, Mr. Wickham. I know a gentleman who has a funny habit of having his initials embroidered inside the lining. I have never heard of a gentleman doing such a thing, have you, Mr. Wickham?”
He did not answer, but his eyes widened. Evidently, he did not know as much about William as he had presumed. He would not have thought the pouch belonged to William since she had been the one to hand it over at the robbery.
Lord Matlock ordered, “Hand over the purse, Wickham. Let us see it.”
Elizabeth pointed out, so there was no room for doubt, “By your own admission, you have not been in Mr. Darcy’s company. If that is Mr. Darcy’s coin pouch, then I wonder how it came to be in your possession?”
Slowl
y, Wickham had the insolence to empty the contents of the pouch into his pocket. “It is a coin pouch like any other,” he said.
Losing patience, Colonel Fitzwilliam grabbed the pouch out of his hands and pulled out the lining. In small, white thread along the side were stitched the letters FD.
“That proves nothing,” Wickham squealed.
Elizabeth looked at the magistrates. “If Mr. Wickham is in possession of Mr. Darcy’s coin pouch, then it is entirely possible he was also in possession of Mr. Darcy’s pocket watch. Mr. Wickham stole both items from Mr. Darcy when he intercepted our coach the morning of the marquess’ murder, just as we have stated from the beginning. Mr. Darcy was stuck in the storm, but Mr. Wickham continued on to London where he murdered Marquess Malbrooke.”
As she spoke, William produced the coin pouch Bates had sent for him, showing the authorities the identical embroidered letters in the lining.
“See the initials? Is that proof enough for you?” she asked the magistrate who had not accepted her mangled necklace as evidence.
He replied by asking the tavern owner if there was a private room they might occupy. They had several questions for Mr. Wickham.
Elizabeth would not let those men out of her sight before she accomplished what she had set out to do. But William was one step ahead of her.
Blocking their path to the private room, he said, “Pray, send for Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet. They are imprisoned in Newgate because of this wicked man.”
With a dismissive wave of his hand, the magistrate said, “I will see to it once we have spoken with Mr. Wickham.”
William did not budge. Crossing his arms over his chest in all of his stubborn glory, he said, “I could make a good many people here miserable for years to come by demanding justice and remuneration for the libelous charges brought against me and encouraged by those who are honor bound to stand for truth. Were you present at the marquess’ inquiry? Am I to hold you responsible for this muddled investigation?”
The magistrate’s face reddened. He asked the tavern owner for paper and a quill. On the top of the tap counter, the magistrate scribbled a message and sealed it with his ring. Handing it to a constable, the one with the irons, he said, “Take this immediately to Newgate. Do not leave until you have secured Mr. Bingley and Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth tried to follow the constables.
“Where do you think you are going, young lady?” the magistrate called after her.
“I wish to see my sister.”
“You may see her after the inquiry. You must stay here and answer our questions. This is a grave matter, and it must be handled properly this time, or we all run the risk of angering the Prince Regent.”
To Elizabeth’s immense relief, Lord Matlock offered to accompany the constable. Mr. Bingley and Jane would be taken to Matlock House where his personal physician would ensure they received the care they required.
In parting, Lord Matlock said to Elizabeth, “I expect you and my nephew to join us as soon as everything is adequately resolved. We will be honored to have you.”
For a moment, Elizabeth thought Lord Matlock would embrace her. Instead, he kissed her hand and grinned, saying in a tone meant only for her ears, “If Darcy has not proposed, I hope you consider Richard.”
Elizabeth giggled, whispering, “He did propose, and I accepted.”
Lord Matlock pretended to be disappointed, snapping his fingers and attempting to frown. But his smile was too wide, and he did not fool Elizabeth. With a wink at William, he said, “Welcome to the family, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth watched him leave, wishing she accompany him to see Jane.
Before the door closed behind Lord Matlock and the constables, Elizabeth she saw a thin man with spectacles enter the tavern. The curious man walked straight up to William and bowed. “Mr. Darcy, please forgive me for presuming to approach you without introduction. I am Dr. John Stoddart. I am here on behalf of my newspaper, The Times. One of my informants spotted you in front of a bookshop and followed you here. He sent word to me, and I arrived in time to overhear everything. I should very much like to print your story in tomorrow’s paper. It promises to be a fascinating read.”
Elizabeth looked toward the door in time to see the boy who had attempted to sell them a paper at the bookshop — the boy who would make his way in the world. He wore a large grin, but not nearly so large as William’s and hers.
Chapter 38
Darcy was ready to tie and gag Richard by the time they reached Matlock House.
After hours of interviews where he and Elizabeth told their stories, answered repetitive questions, and endured the long-winded observation of a magistrate intent on appearing intelligent before his peers, Darcy’s patience had surpassed its limit.
The hope of having Elizabeth to himself for a few precious moments — to hold her in his arms, to lose himself in her expressive eyes, to rid his senses of the overpowering smells of ale, unwashed bodies, and toilet water with the sweet scent of her hair… That hope had been the only thing to prevent Darcy from storming out of the tavern long before they were dismissed.
Richard had insisted on accompanying them. He sat beside Darcy and opposite Elizabeth. The only contact Darcy was allowed with her was the occasional touch of their knees in the carriage.
“That is your greatest flaw, Darcy,” Richard prattled.
Darcy groaned. Would his impertinent cousin never shut his mouth?
Richard continued, “You incite others to envy with your extreme happiness and good fortune. If only I could love so easily, then there might be hope for me yet, but I require too much.”
Elizabeth laughed. “What do you require besides a fortune, Colonel?”
“Love, Miss Elizabeth. Of course, I hope to have sense enough not to fall in love with a lady without a fortune unless she is willing to travel with me in the army. My needs are dictated by my order of birth, I fear.”
She reached her fingers up to her collarbone. “I used to be envious of Jane and Mr. Bingley. I wished I could fall in love so easily, and I despaired to think I would spend my years alone, a spinster who would teach my nieces to embroider cushions poorly and read aloud to my cats. Little did I know I would fall in love with a man who far exceeded my most imaginative dreams.”
Darcy wanted to kiss her. He burst to kiss her. But Richard was like a wet blanket over Darcy’s ardent desire.
Richard poked his thumb toward Darcy. “Who? This fellow? He is often given to grumpy fits and sullen temperaments.”
“Only when you are around,” Darcy mumbled.
Elizabeth laughed heartily. The minx tormented him with flirtatious crooked smiles to the point that Darcy became fascinated with the plumpness and curves of her lips. The longer he looked at them, the more she chewed on them.
Richard jostled Darcy in the arm and wiggled his eyebrows.
Perhaps once they reached Matlock House, the pest would go away.
The evening was made for disappointment. Richard decided to spend the night, creeping stealthily up the steps to his bedchamber when he saw his mother ready to receive them in the entrance hall. There would be no kisses in quiet hallways under Aunt Helen’s watchful eye. Not so much as a squeeze of Elizabeth’s hand was permitted Darcy, though he was alert for any opportunity — no matter how brief.
Aunt Helen stroked Elizabeth’s cheek as she often did Georgiana’s, saying, “You have had a long and eventful week. I am happy you are here now. I will take you to your sister, then you will enjoy a light repast, a hot bath, and a good night’s rest. My husband sent his card to Mr. Gardiner, and we expect him to call on the morrow. Perhaps he will agree to join us for dinner along with his family.”
Elizabeth sighed. “Thank you so much. I have a great deal to explain to my uncle. On one hand, I am pleased he was unaware of this past week’s events. It will be shocking for him to hear about them. My father only reads The Times, so I doubt my family knows anything at all about what has happened.”
“William!” An excited squeal from the top of the steps resounded below. Georgiana ran down to them, and Darcy hurried to the base of the steps to catch her.
Wrapping his arms around his little sister, he kissed the top of her head and twirled her in circles just as he had done when she was a child.
Setting her down before they both grew too dizzy to continue, Darcy saw Miss Bennet descending the stairs too. She and Elizabeth embraced, holding each other and crying while Georgiana burrowed her head in Darcy’s chest, her sobs and laughter mixing to sound like hiccups.
It felt so good to hold Georgiana. Darcy stroked her plaited hair and spoke softly to her. “I should have told you long ago how proud I am of the young lady you have become, and how much I love you. I am honored to have you as my sister.”
Tears clung to Georgiana lashes as she blinked up at him. “Faults and all?”
Darcy would no sooner burden her with the futile striving for perfection than he would take on that yoke again. “Especially with your faults. I would not have you change when I am far from perfect and hardly fit to criticize anyone — much less my own, dear sister. If you only knew how my own excessive pride and lack of sympathy put me, my friends, and the woman I love more than life itself in peril, you would not speak to me of your faults.”
Elizabeth’s smile set his heart aflutter. She said to him, “I would not have you change, either. Our conversation would suffer without our shortcomings to debate.”
They laughed together, and Darcy truly relaxed for the first time since … well, since he could not remember when.
Elizabeth stood between her sister and his aunt Helen, and Darcy loved how well she fitted. She stood in the entrance hall of his uncle's opulent home as if she had been born to be there.
