Darcy's Redemption

by M. A. Sandiford

  Soames had warned that the opening statement would be offensive. Flynn wheeled as he spoke, appealing sometimes to the judge, but mostly to the jury, in a voice dripping with righteous indignation.

  ‘We will show, milord, that this lady, to all appearances well-bred and decorous, is nothing of the kind. Wit, beauty and charm are her weapons, but they conceal a calculating mind and heart of stone. Coming from a disgraced family, and offering a meagre dowry, she enticed Frederick Sibley into a union that was disastrous both personally and professionally. On realising her true nature he strove to protect their children, so becoming an obstacle, to be removed by any means necessary.’

  While attending this speech Elizabeth noticed that the onlookers were focussed not on Flynn but herself—the monster. She tried to keep her expression impassive as he completed his portrait of her character.

  ‘Another gentleman had caught her eye.’ Flynn looked up at the gallery, where Darcy was seated. ‘A widower, far wealthier than her husband. Inside that calculating mind, a plan took shape. After eliminating Mr Sibley she would remarry, and regain control over her unfortunate children. And so she conspired, with her ex-convict sister and her sister’s lover, to dispose of her husband in the hallowed grounds of the cathedral he had served so well.’

  Soames rose, calm as ever. ‘Milord, we will prove that this accusation is not merely false but absurd. As this becomes clear we hope the Sibleys will make peace with my client, so that her children grow up in a family not riven by conflict.’

  A difficulty for the prosecution was that the only witnesses to the stabbing were the accused. Flynn drew however on the court records of Lydia’s trial in 1813, and also on the coroner’s report. After entering these in evidence, he called Sir Nicholas Sibley.

  ‘Milord, we refer first to the trial of Lydia Bennet, now Mrs Cobb. Sir Nicholas, how did you learn of this?’

  ‘From my brother Frederick, when he returned from Italy in late 1823, having married Lydia Bennet’s sister.’

  ‘How did you react?’

  ‘I thought the marriage unwise. Frederick was besotted with his wife. I remained sceptical.’

  ‘May I ask your initial impression of Mrs Sibley?’

  ‘I found her flippant, opinionated, and argumentative, although possessed of a charm that might easily captivate a gentleman as unworldly as my brother.’

  ‘Did you express these doubts?’

  ‘I did. Frederick agreed that his wife sometimes spoke out of turn, and put it down to liveliness. But as the years passed, he began to view her more clearly.’

  ‘Let us proceed to the inquest. Were you convinced by Mrs Sibley’s account of what transpired?’

  ‘I judged it unlikely in the extreme.’

  ‘Do you have a more plausible explanation?’

  ‘Is it not obvious? Mrs Sibley wants rid of her husband so that she may remarry. She arranges to meet my brother in a secluded courtyard outside the cathedral, and brings as accomplices her convict sister and their disreputable friend Wickham. Mrs Cobb hides by the gate as lookout. Mrs Sibley distracts my brother while Wickham sneaks up with the knife. The scuffle attracts the attention of passers-by, so they invent a cock-and-bull tale of a theft gone awry.’

  As the questioning moved on to the supposed motive for the crime, Elizabeth’s attention wandered, so shocked was she by Sir Nicholas’s compelling interpretation of the stabbing. Perhaps there was more to this than sheer spite. The Sibleys might sincerely believe what they alleged.

  Soames rose to cross-examine.

  ‘Sir Nicholas, your theory has some plausibility up to the moment of the stabbing. But thereafter? Why did Mrs Cobb raise the alarm, then return and prevent Mr Wickham from escaping? Is this not odd behaviour from an accomplice?’

  Sir Nicholas threw up his hands. ‘Villains fall out.’

  ‘Meanwhile, Mrs Sibley makes no attempt to flee, but remains in tears at her husband’s side?’

  ‘All part of their cover story.’

  Soames paused, allowing this feeble reply to hang in the air. ‘Let us turn to the question of Mrs Sibley’s character. You thought her a liability to your brother’s career?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Yet he achieved eminence, both as a prebendary at St Paul’s, and a theologian.’

  ‘If so, it was in spite of her disobedience and improper conduct.’

  ‘Thank you.’ And Soames left it at that.

  The judge turned to Flynn, who jumped to his feet.

  ‘Milord, I call Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.’

  As Darcy was sworn in, Elizabeth recalled a conversation at Carter Lane when they had discussed how to act under interrogation. From Wickham’s testimony at the inquest, the Sibleys knew that Elizabeth had been a frequent visitor at Darcy House; they knew also that Darcy was a rich widower. Probably they would pull at this thread and try to brand Elizabeth as Darcy’s chère-amie—unfortunately, a claim close to the truth. But Darcy refused to lie. If asked a direct question he would answer it, whatever the consequences for his reputation.

  Flynn went straight to the point. ‘How would you describe your relationship with Mrs Sibley?’

  ‘She is a close friend of myself and my family.’

  ‘You have met often these last months?’

  ‘Two or three times a week, when we were neighbours in Mayfair.’

  Elizabeth wondered whether Flynn would ask for how long Darcy had known her, in which case the proposal at Hunsford might come to light. But the Sibleys appeared unaware of this history.

  ‘You have spent time alone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And in these encounters, have you been intimate?’

  Darcy raised his eyebrows and spoke to the judge. ‘Milord, does this bear on the case?’

  Flynn approached the judge’s pedestal. ‘We aim to establish motive, milord.’

  The judge sighed. ‘I allow the question.’

  Darcy nodded. ‘It would depend what you mean by intimate.’

  ‘Did you embrace? Kiss?’

  ‘On one occasion we became aware of strong feelings and I kissed her. Afterwards, we decided that despite these feelings, we would respect her marital status.’

  ‘And now? Do you love her?’

  ‘My feelings are unchanged.’

  ‘Are they returned?’

  Soames raised a hand. ‘Milord, the witness should not be asked to read my client’s mind.’

  Flynn shrugged. ‘Now that Mrs Sibley is free, will you marry her?’

  Darcy drew himself up tall. ‘With respect, sir, it would be in poor taste to contemplate remarriage at such a time.’

  ‘That is not an answer.’

  The judge sniffed. ‘You have pursued this line of enquiry quite far enough, Mr Flynn. Mr Soames, have you questions?’

  ‘No milord.’

  Elizabeth sighed as Darcy passed near her, with a glare at Wickham. At least they need not fear discovery any more. By tomorrow, everyone would know.

  ‘The prosecution’s case rests on two assertions.’ Soames opened the defence. ‘First, that they have a more plausible explanation of what took place in the churchyard—a view we have already refuted. Second, that my client Mrs Elizabeth Sibley is a diabolical woman who held back her husband’s career. On this point, I call David Neville, Professor of Theology at Oxford University.’

  Elizabeth looked up: this was unexpected. A man she had never met descended from the gallery: fortyish, she judged, with greying beard and penetrating eyes.

  ‘Professor Neville, can you describe your relationship with Frederick Sibley?’

  ‘Collegial.’ Neville spoke vibrantly as if lecturing to the gallery. ‘Sibley belonged to an academic circle based at my university.’

  Flynn rose. ‘Milord, how can this bear on the matter?’

  Soames remained poker-faced. ‘The relevance will become clear.’

  The judge waved his hand. ‘Get on with it.’

  ‘Professor, I have he
re a manuscript entitled Addendum on Prayers for the Dead, written in summer of this year. Do you recognise the handwriting?’

  ‘Certainly. It belongs to Frederick Sibley.’

  ‘Milord, I enter this document as Exhibit A, and wish to compare it with a second manuscript, Exhibit B. Do you recognise Exhibit B, Professor?’

  ‘Yes, it is a revision in the handwriting of Mrs Sibley.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Sibley’s wife copy-edited his work. In fact, every draft that Sibley circulated was in her handwriting, with the exception of exhibit A.’

  ‘Are there other differences between the versions?’

  ‘Yes.’ Neville addressed the whole court again. ‘The version in Mr Sibley’s hand, Exhibit A, is a mediocre essay which hints at various ideas but fails to expound them clearly. Basically unpublishable. Exhibit B is superior not only in style but in accuracy and coherence. It could have been written only by someone who combined literary excellence with deep understanding.’

  ‘Did this discovery surprise you?’

  ‘Exceedingly. You see, every other draft circulated by Sibley had already been rewritten by his wife. Only in this one case did he send his original text—I assume, because Mrs Sibley was unavailable.’

  ‘In summary, could Frederick Sibley have built a reputation as a theologian without his wife’s assistance?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘And yet …’ Soames extended a hand towards Flynn. ‘It has been alleged that my client was not a help to her husband but an embarrassing hindrance.’

  Soames ceded the floor to Flynn, who floundered for a moment before declaring he had no questions.

  ‘Very well,’ Soames continued. ‘I call the Countess of Ballytore.’

  Elizabeth watched uneasily as Julia descended to the witness chair: another friend harangued on her behalf. But Julia seemed calm, and threw her the hint of a smile.

  ‘Countess, how long have you known Mrs Sibley?’

  ‘Since she became my companion 15 years ago.’

  ‘We have been told she is a scheming murderer with a heart of stone. Do you recognise this portrait?’

  ‘You might as well ask whether she is a Gorgon with snakes wriggling out the top of her head.’

  ‘During your long association, did you ever witness her commit violence, say by beating a child or an animal?’

  ‘To children and pets she was gentle. I saw her swat a mosquito once, in Florence.’

  This drew laughter, lightening the torrid atmosphere in the court. Flynn rose with a scowl.

  ‘I remind your ladyship that this is a serious case.’

  Julia made no reply, and Flynn continued: ‘So Mrs Sibley is a paragon?’

  ‘She is lively and inclined to tease. But when offence is taken, she is quick to apologise.’

  ‘Of course you are Mrs Sibley’s friend …’

  Julia sighed. ‘Do you really believe I would have lived for so many years with the she-devil you describe?’

  Flynn turned to face Sir Nicholas Sibley, shrugged, and sat down.

  ‘Milord.’ Soames approached the judge. ‘I was intending to call my client, Mrs Sibley. However, I am reluctant to expose this good lady to further abuse with the prosecution case already discredited.’

  A faint nod suggested that the judge shared this view. He looked at Sir Nicholas. ‘Well? Shall we draw a line under this episode and seek an amicable conclusion?’

  ‘Most certainly not!’

  As Sir Nicholas bellowed this retort, Elizabeth glanced at Martha Sibley and Lady Beatrice. The sister was obdurate. But Lady Beatrice looked upset.

  ‘Very well,’ Soames said. ‘I call Mrs Elizabeth Sibley.’

  29

  A hum of anticipation sounded from the gallery as Elizabeth walked to the witness chair.

  ‘Mrs Sibley,’ Soames began. ‘Is there any validity in the prosecution’s account of events outside St Paul’s?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘And in their description of your character?’

  ‘I think of myself as a normal woman. I can recall instances when I have been foolish or inconsiderate. But to murder the father of my children is an idea so bizarre and abhorrent that it never entered my mind.’

  Soames sat down.

  As the prosecutor wasted time playing with his notes, perhaps to disconcert her, Elizabeth recalled Darcy’s example. She would not spar with Flynn, try to score points. Truth was on her side.

  ‘So Mrs Sibley.’ Flynn met her eye. ‘Did you love your husband?’

  ‘I always thought him a good and conscientious man, and still do. My affection waned in later years when I became a focus for his disapproval.’

  ‘You will forgive me if I detect an absence of passion. You were in love with him, I suppose, when you accepted his proposal?’

  ‘I felt affection, and hoped that passion would develop in time.’

  A raise of the eyebrows. ‘And did it?’

  Soames frowned, but let her answer the question.

  ‘We were well-intentioned, but it turned out, not ideally suited.’

  Flynn looked surprised, as if she were playing into his hands. ‘Yet you are capable of passion with a man who is not your husband.’

  ‘If you refer to Mr Darcy’s testimony, then yes.’

  ‘Do you view infidelity as proper conduct for the wife of a clergyman?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yet you make no attempt to hide it.’ Flynn pivoted to the jury. ‘You admit it brazenly, as if proud of yourself.’

  ‘I admit it because I am under oath.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Flynn returned to his notes. ‘You accuse your husband of disapproving. Surely that is hardly surprising, if this is a sample of your loyalty.’

  ‘His reasons had nothing to do with Mr Darcy. He was angered by my magazine writing, and my wish to help my sister Lydia.’

  ‘And on both points you refused to obey him?’

  ‘On the first I relented. But you are correct in identifying obedience as an issue.’

  ‘You thought your judgement superior,’ Flynn sneered. ‘But then you are an outstandingly clever woman.’

  Elizabeth remained silent.

  ‘Well?’ he insisted.

  Soames stood up. ‘Milord, I hear no question.’

  ‘Nor I.’ The judge glared at Flynn.

  ‘Do you agree?’ Flynn asked Elizabeth.

  ‘I think a wife should be allowed to advance an opinion without being accused of intellectual arrogance.’

  ‘So the blame for your rift lies with your husband?’

  ‘I felt he undervalued my efforts. But I wish that I had appreciated his abilities more.’

  ‘Have we not heard from the professor that any merit in Sibley’s writings was due to you?’

  Elizabeth hesitated. She knew why Soames had gone to such lengths to highlight her contribution. But in doing so, he had undermined Fredo’s reputation.

  ‘Well?’ Flynn pressed.

  ‘What I believe, on reflection, is that these works were a collaboration in which both of us played a necessary part. I could never have written them on my own. You see …’ She looked into the distance, lost in her memories. ‘My husband was one of those rare people with a transcendental purpose. He saw our church split into conflicting doctrines, and sought to reinstate a common tradition. His method was to review divisive issues—transubstantiation, purgatory, and so forth—and separate the original insight from later distortions. I hope I added accuracy and grace to the writing. But never in a hundred years could I have rivalled his strength of purpose or breadth of knowledge.’

  There was a hush in the courtroom. She became aware of people leaning forward, engrossed in this tribute.

  Flynn looked nonplussed. He peered uncomfortably at his notes, and sat down.

  The prosecutor kept his closing statement brief under the judge’s impatient glare. Soames made a further appeal to Sir Nicholas to withdraw.

  ‘
Well?’ The judge echoed. ‘Can we settle this amicably or must I trouble the jury?’

  Flynn turned to face Sir Nicholas Sibley, who scowled and shook his head.

  The judge turned to the jury foreman. ‘Do you need to deliberate in private?’

  ‘No, milord.’ There was a short whispered conference and the foreman rose. ‘We are agreed.’

  ‘The charge is conspiracy to murder Reverend Frederick Sibley. As to Mrs Elizabeth Sibley, how do you find?’

  ‘Not guilty, milord.’

  ‘And Mrs Lydia Cobb?’

  ‘Not guilty.’

  ‘Mr George Wickham?’

  ‘Not guilty of murder. As to extortion …’

  The judge raised a palm. ‘We will deal with that next.’

  Soames stood up. ‘I trust, milord, that having failed in this accusation, Sir Nicholas and his family will hasten to return Frederick Sibley’s children to my client.’

  ‘It is not the business of this court to issue an injunction, but custody obviously goes to the mother, and I see no grounds for dispute. Adjourn five minutes.’

  Dazed, Elizabeth looked to the gallery, where the Sibleys were leaving. She wanted to discuss arrangements to pick up Grace and Robert. But she would be needed as a witness in the case against Wickham.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Soames said. ‘Sir Nicholas has no alternative except to comply.’

  Elizabeth exchanged a sad smile with Lydia. They had overcome the first hurdle, but at what a cost.

  The public prosecutor had accumulated such a long list of accusations against Wickham that he hardly needed Elizabeth’s or Lydia’s testimony. Observing Wickham, Elizabeth was amused at his insouciance. He listened with a faint smile, and no malice; it was as if he enjoyed the piquancy of the reunion.

  They stayed, to hear the outcome. Constable Milligan repeated his evidence. Then other victims came forward having seen drawings of Wickham in the newspapers. His method was always the same. He would approach a lady or gentleman in a deserted alley, bring out his knife, and suggest that they might be so kind as to hand over their purse. Three women had done so, upon which he had doffed his hat, wished them good-day, and gone on his way. A man had pushed him aside and run off. Wickham had let him go, unharmed.