Darcy said, ‘That is an old superstition. Apparently, as we later heard, the girls were there as a result of a dare and Hardcastle did not take it seriously. I thought at the time that they were telling the truth and that there could have been a woman in the woodland that night.’
Clitheroe said, ‘Headborough Brownrigg has spoken to them in Mrs Reynolds’s presence. They were remarkably persistent in affirming that they had seen a dark woman in the woods two days before the murder, and that she made a threatening gesture before disappearing among the trees. They are adamant that this apparition was neither of the two women at Woodland Cottage, although it is difficult to see how they can assert this so confidently since the woman was in black and faded away as soon as one of the girls screamed. If there was a woman in the woodland it is hardly of much importance. This was not a woman’s crime.’
Darcy asked, ‘Is Wickham co-operating with Hardcastle and the police?’
‘I gather that he is erratic; sometimes he will answer the questions reasonably and at other times begins protesting that he, an innocent man, is being badgered by the police. You know, of course, that thirty pounds in notes was found in his jacket pocket; he remains resolutely uncommunicative about how this sum came into his possession, except to say that it was a loan to enable him to discharge a debt of honour and that he has solemnly sworn he will reveal nothing more. Hardcastle, as might be expected, thought that he could have stolen the money from Captain Denny’s body, but in that case it would hardly have been clean of any bloodstains, considering the blood on Wickham’s hands; nor, I imagine, would it be folded so neatly in Wickham’s notecase. I have been shown the notes and they are freshly minted. Apparently, Captain Denny told the landlord at the inn that he had no money.’
There was a moment in which neither spoke, then Clitheroe said, ‘I can understand that Hardcastle feels some reluctance to share information with you, as much for your protection as his, but since he is satisfied that all the family, visitors and servants at Pemberley have satisfactory alibis, it seems unnecessarily discreet to keep you in ignorance of important developments. I have to tell you, therefore, that he thinks the police have found the weapon, a large smooth-edged stone slab which was discovered under some leaves about fifty yards from the glade where Denny’s body was discovered.’
Darcy managed to conceal his surprise and, looking straight ahead, spoke in a low voice. ‘What evidence is there that this was in fact the weapon?’
‘Nothing definite since there were no incriminating marks either of blood or hair on the stone but that is hardly surprising. Later that night, as you will remember, the wind gave way to heavy rain and the ground and leaves must have been sodden, but I have seen the slab and it is certainly of the size and type to have produced the wound.’
Darcy kept his voice low. ‘The woodland has been placed out of bounds to everyone on the Pemberley estate but I know that the police have been searching assiduously for the weapons. Do you know which officer made the discovery?’
‘Not Brownrigg or Mason. They needed additional manpower so engaged petty constables from the next parish, including Joseph Joseph. Apparently his parents were so enamoured of their surname that they gave it to him also in baptism. He seems a conscientious and reliable man, but not, I surmise, particularly intelligent. He should have left the stone in place and called the other police as witnesses. Instead he carried it in triumph over to Headborough Brownrigg.’
‘So there can be no proof that it was where he said it was found?’
‘None, I imagine. There were, I am informed, a number of stones of different size at the site, all half-buried in the soil and under leaves, but no proof that this particular stone slab was among them. Someone years ago could have tipped out the contents of a barrow or accidently overturned it, probably as long ago as the building by your great-grandfather of Woodland Cottage when the building materials would have been carried through the woodland.’
‘Will Hardcastle or the police be producing the stone slab this morning?’
‘I understand not. Makepeace is adamant that, since it cannot be proved to be the weapon, it should not be part of the evidence. The jury will merely be informed that a stone has been found, and even this may not be mentioned; Makepeace is anxious that the inquest should not degenerate into a trial. He will make the duty of the jury plain, and it does not include usurping the powers of the assize court.’
‘So you think they will commit him?’
‘Undoubtedly, given what they will see as a confession. It would be remarkable if they did not. Ah, I see that Mr Wickham has arrived, looking surprisingly at ease for one in his invidious situation.’
Darcy had noticed that close to the platform there were three empty chairs guarded by petty constables, and Wickham, walking between two prison officers and with gyves on his wrists, was escorted to the middle chair and the two warders took their seats. His composure almost amounted to nonchalance as he surveyed his potential audience with little apparent interest, not fixing his eyes on any single face. The baggage containing his clothes had been delivered to the prison after Hardcastle had released it and he was wearing what was obviously his best jacket, while what could be seen of his linen bore witness to the care and skill of the Highmarten laundry maid. Smiling, he turned to one of the prison officers who responded with a nod. Glancing at him, Darcy could believe that he was seeing something of the handsome and charming young officer who had so enchanted the young ladies of Meryton.
Someone barked a command, the babble of conversation was hushed and the coroner, Jonah Makepeace, entered with Sir Selwyn Hardcastle and, after bowing to the jury, took his seat, inviting Sir Selwyn to take the one on his right. Makepeace was a slight man with a waxen face which in others might have been thought to denote illness. He had served now for twenty years as coroner and it was his pride that, at sixty, there had been no inquest, either in Lambton or at the King’s Arms, at which he had not presided. He had a long thin nose and a curiously formed mouth with a very full upper lip, and his eyes, under eyebrows which were as thin as lines drawn by a pencil, were as keen as they had been at twenty. He was highly regarded as a lawyer with a successful practice in Lambton and beyond, and with increasing prosperity and with anxious private clients awaiting his counsel he was never indulgent to witnesses who could not give their evidence clearly and concisely. There was a wall-mounted clock at the far end of the room at which he now directed a long, intimidating stare.
At his entrance all present had risen to their feet, then seated themselves when he had taken the chair. Hardcastle was on his right and the two policemen in the front row beneath the dais. The jury, who had been chattering together in a group, took their chairs then immediately rose. As a magistrate Darcy had been present at a number of inquests and he saw that the usual group of local worthies had been collected for the jury: George Wainwright the apothecary, Frank Stirling who kept the general store in Lambton, Bill Mullins the blacksmith at Pemberley village and John Simpson the undertaker, dressed as usual in a suit of funeral black said to be inherited from his father. The rest were all farmers and most had arrived at the last minute looking flustered and over-heated. It was never a good time to leave their farms.
The coroner turned to the prison officer. ‘You may remove the fetters from Mr Wickham. No prisoner has ever absconded from my jurisdiction.’
This was done in silence and Wickham, after massaging his wrists, stood quietly, his eyes occasionally scouring the room as if seeking a familiar face. The oath was administered, during which Makepeace regarded the jury with the sceptical intensity of a man contemplating the purchase of an obviously dubious horse before making his usual preliminary announcement. ‘We have met before, gentlemen, and I think you know your duty. It is to listen to the evidence carefully and pronounce on the cause of death of Captain Martin Denny, whose body was found in the woodland of Pemberley on or about ten of the clock on the night of Friday 14th October. You are not here to take part i
n a criminal trial nor to teach the police how to conduct their inquiry. Of the options before you, you may well consider that neither death by accident nor misadventure is appropriate, and a man does not commit suicide by striking a vicious blow to the back of his neck. That may logically lead you to the conclusion that this death was homicide and you will then consider two possible verdicts. If there is no evidence to indicate who was responsible, you will return a verdict of wilful murder by a person or persons unknown. I have put the options before you but I must emphasise that the verdict on the cause of death is entirely for you. If the evidence leads you to the conclusion that you know the identity of the killer, you should then name him or her, and as with all felonies, the perpetrator will be held in custody and committed for trial at the next assize at Derby. If you have any questions to put to a witness, please raise your hand and speak clearly. We will now get started, and I propose to call first Nathaniel Piggott, landlord of the Green Man inn, who will give evidence about the beginning of this unfortunate gentleman’s last journey.’
After that, to Darcy’s relief, the inquest proceeded at considerable speed. Mr Piggott had obviously been advised that it was wise in court to say as little as possible and, having taken the oath, merely confirmed that Mr and Mrs Wickham and Captain Denny had arrived at the inn on Friday afternoon by hack-chaise shortly after four and had ordered the chaise which he kept at the inn to take the party to Pemberley that evening, where they would leave Mrs Wickham, and then to proceed with the two gentlemen to the King’s Arms at Lambton. He had heard no quarrel between any of the party either during the afternoon or when they entered the chaise. Captain Denny had been quiet – he seemed a quiet gentleman – and Mr Wickham had been drinking steadily, but in his opinion could not be said to be drunk and incapable.
He was followed by George Pratt, the coachman, whose evidence was obviously keenly awaited and recounted at some length, always with reference to the behaviour of the horses, Betty and Millie. They had been working well until they entered the woodland, when they became so nervous that he had difficulty getting them to move. Horses always hated going into the woodland when there was a full moon because of the ghost of Mrs Reilly. The gentlemen might have been quarrelling inside the coach but he did not hear because he was controlling the horses. It was Captain Denny who had put his head out of the window and ordered him to stop, and who then left the chaise. He heard the captain say that Mr Wickham was now on his own and that he would have no part in it – or something like that. And then Captain Denny ran into the woods and Mr Wickham after him. It was sometime after that they heard shots, he could not be sure when, and Mrs Wickham, who was in a proper state, screamed to him to drive on to Pemberley, which he did. The horses by then were in such terror that he could hardly hold them and he was afeared that the chaise would be overturned before he got to Pemberley. He then described what had happened on the return journey, including the stopping of the coach so that Colonel Fitzwilliam could check on the family in Woodland Cottage. He reckoned the colonel was away about ten minutes.
Darcy gained the impression that Pratt’s story was already known to the jury, and probably to the whole of Lambton and Pemberley village and beyond, and his evidence was given with a back-ground of sympathetic groans and sighs, particularly when he dwelt on the distress of Betty and Millie. There were no questions.
Colonel the Viscount Hartlep was then called and the oath administered with impressive authority. The colonel briefly but firmly recounted his part in the events of the evening, including the finding of the body, evidence which was later repeated, also without emotion or embellishment, by Alveston, and lastly by Darcy. All three were asked by the coroner whether Wickham had spoken, and his damaging admission was repeated.
Before anyone else had a chance to speak, Makepeace asked the vital question. ‘Mr Wickham, you are resolutely maintaining your innocence of Captain Denny’s murder. Why then, when found kneeling over his body, did you say more than once that you killed him and that his death was your fault?’
The answer came without hesitation. ‘Because, sir, Captain Denny left the chaise out of disgust with my plan to leave Mrs Wickham at Pemberley uninvited and unexpected. I also felt that, had I not been drunk, I might have prevented him leaving the chaise and charging into the woodland.’
Clitheroe whispered to Darcy, ‘Totally unconvincing, the fool is overconfident. He will need to do better than this at the assizes if he is to save his neck. And how drunk was he?’
No questions were, however, asked, and it appeared that Makepeace was content to let the jury come to their opinion without his comments and was wary of encouraging the witnesses to speculate at length on what, precisely, Wickham had meant by his words. Headborough Brownrigg followed and had obvious pleasure in taking his time over his account of the police activity, including the search of the woodland. No information had been received of any strangers in the vicinity, the occupants of Pemberley House and of all the cottages on the estate had alibis and the investigation was still proceeding. Dr Belcher gave his evidence largely in medical terms, to which his audience listened with respect and the coroner with obvious irritation, before delivering his opinion in plain English that the cause of death was a heavy blow to the back of the head and that Captain Denny could not have survived such an injury for more than a few minutes, if that, although it was impossible to give an accurate estimate of the time of death. A slab of stone which could have been used by the assailant had been discovered and which, in his view, could in size and weight have produced such a wound if delivered by force, but there was no evidence to link this particular stone with the crime. Only one hand was raised before he left the witness box.
Makepeace said, ‘Well Frank Stirling, we usually hear from you. What is it you want to ask?’
‘Just this, sir. We understand that Mrs Wickham was to be left at Pemberley House to attend the ball the next night, but not with her husband. I take it that Mr Wickham would not be received as a guest by his brother and Mrs Darcy.’
‘And what is the relevance of Mrs Darcy’s guest list for Lady Anne’s ball to the death of Captain Denny, or indeed to the evidence just given by Dr Belcher?’
‘Only this, sir, that if relations was so bad between Mr Darcy and Mr Wickham, and it might be that Mr Wickham was not a proper person to be received at Pemberley, then that would have some bearing on his character, as I see it. It is a powerful strange thing for a man to forbid his house to a brother unless it might be that the brother was a violent man or given to quarrelling.’
Makepeace appeared briefly to consider his words before replying that the relationship between Mr Darcy and Mr Wickham, whether or not it was the usual one between brothers, could have no relevance to the death of Captain Denny. It was Captain Denny not Mr Darcy who had been murdered. ‘Let us try to keep to the relevant facts. You should have raised the question when Mr Darcy was giving evidence if you thought it relevant. However, Mr Darcy can be recalled to the witness stand and asked whether Mr Wickham was in general a violent man.’
This was immediately done and in reply to Makepeace’s question, Darcy, after being reminded that he was still on oath, said that, as far as he knew, Mr Wickham had never had that reputation and that he personally had never seen him violent. They had not met for some years but at that time Mr Wickham had been generally known as a peaceable and socially affable man.
‘I take it that satisfies you, Mr Stirling. A peaceable and affable man. Are there any further questions? No? Then I suggest that the jury now consider their verdict.’
After some conferring they decided to do this in private and, being dissuaded from entering their choice of venue, the bar, disappeared into the yard and stood for ten minutes at a distance in a whispering group. On their return they were formally asked for their verdict. Frank Stirling then stood up and read from a small notebook, obviously determined to deliver the words with the necessary accuracy and confidence. ‘We find, sir, that Captain Denny died fr
om a blow to the back of the skull and that this fatal blow was delivered by George Wickham and, accordingly, Captain Denny was murdered by the said George Wickham.’
Makepeace said, ‘And that is the verdict of you all?’
‘It is, sir.’
Makepeace took off his spectacles after glaring at the clock and replaced them in their case. He said, ‘After the necessary formalities Mr Wickham will be committed for trial at the next Derby assize. Thank you, gentlemen, you are dismissed.’
Darcy reflected that a process he had expected to be fraught with linguistic pitfalls and embarrassment had proved almost as much a matter of routine as the monthly parish meeting. There had been interest and commitment but no obvious excitement or moments of high drama, and he had to accept that Clitheroe was right, the outcome had been inevitable. Even if the jury had decided for murder by a person or persons unknown, Wickham would still be in custody as prime suspect and the police inquiries, centred on him, would have continued with almost certainly the same result.
Clitheroe’s servant now reappeared to take control of the wheelchair. Consulting his watch, Clitheroe said, ‘Three-quarters of an hour from start to finish. I imagine it went exactly as Makepeace planned, and the verdict could hardly be otherwise.’
Darcy said, ‘And the verdict at the trial will be the same?’
‘By no means, Darcy, by no means. I could mount a very effective defence. I suggest you find him a good lawyer and if possible get the case transferred to London. Henry Alveston will be able to advise you on the appropriate procedure, my information is probably out of date. That young man is something of a radical, I hear, despite being heir to an ancient barony, but he is undoubtedly a clever and successful lawyer, although it is time he found himself a wife and settled on his estate. The peace and security of England depends on gentlemen living in their houses as good landlords and masters, considerate to their servants, charitable to the poor, and ready, as justices of the peace, to take a full part in promoting peace and order in their communities. If the aristocrats of France had lived thus, there would never have been a revolution. But this case is interesting and the result will depend on the answers to two questions: why did Captain Denny run into the woodland, and what did George Wickham mean when he said it was all his fault? I shall watch further developments with interest. Fiat justitia ruat caelum. I wish you good day.’