Darcy's Trial

by M. A. Sandiford

  Chapter 29

  For a moment the two women regarded each other, frozen in disbelief, as within the cell there was a furious shouting and banging on the door. Impulsively Elizabeth embraced Agnes, and they did a little jig around the room before collapsing in giggles on the divan. The language from the cell became quite colourful, causing them to giggle some more in a mixture of exhilaration and fear. Were the men strong enough to break down the door? Having experienced its rock-like sturdiness, Elizabeth doubted that they were. The danger was that they might be discovered by someone else—Pritchett, perhaps, or the footman Baines, who seemed to enjoy the steward’s trust.

  She noticed her reticule still hanging over a chair, and a quick search confirmed that her notebook and the ill-fated letter to Darcy were both missing—presumably retained by Arthur Kaye. Her bonnet turned up on the seat of the same chair, and was undamaged. In a corner she also found the carpet bag, which had been searched, and the clothes crumpled, although nothing had been taken. Peeping through the cottage door she was relieved to see nobody in view, only a small cart of the kind used to move wood or farm produce, with two horses in harness.

  She called Agnes. ‘Time to go!’

  The maid came from the kitchen, carrying two bread rolls which she had filled with cheese. She handed one to Elizabeth. ‘Are you not hungry, ma’am?’

  ‘You’re a treasure,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Are you also good with horses?’

  In reply Agnes mounted the rough seat at the front of the cart, and after throwing the carpet bag into the back, Elizabeth joined her. A minute later they were well away from the cottage, following the road back to the village, and for a while Elizabeth was silent as she planned their next move.

  ‘Agnes, I want to leave Wistham as soon as possible and return to London,’ she said eventually. ‘Would you like to come with me? I’m not sure what the future holds, but I’ll do my best to make sure you come to no harm.’

  ‘Thank you madam. I’d be glad to, for I can’t stay here now.’

  ‘There’s a complication. I need to see your mistress Miss Kaye, if at all possible, and persuade her to come with us to London.’ She held up a hand to forestall Agnes’s objection. ‘I know she is being held at the Court. But Pritchett should still be away, correct?’

  Agnes considered. ‘He was carrying the master half-way to London yesterday, so he will have passed the night at Aylesbury, if they follow their usual road, and won’t be back until late afternoon.’

  ‘So who will be guarding Miss Kaye? Mr Baines, perhaps one or two servants under his command. Anyone else?’

  ‘The groom Harry Perkins is close to Mr Pritchett, ma’am. He will have been promoted, now that Abel, I mean Mr Harte, has been dismissed.’

  Elizabeth noticed her face fall, and asked: ‘Are you friendly with Mr Harte?’

  Agnes reddened and nodded. ‘We’ve been courting, like, a few weeks.’

  They came to a turning, and Elizabeth pointed right. ‘This is the way Pritchett brought me. It leads through a wood to a crossroads where we can turn left into the village. We can’t go to the Court yet. First we need reinforcements.’

  Frowning, Agnes pulled the horses round to the right. ‘Pardon, ma’am?’

  ‘More people. I think it’s best if we go to the Dobbs’s cottage. Do you know the family?’

  Agnes brightened. ‘Oh yes, ma’am. I knew Bertha before she left, and her brother Joe often goes fishing with Abel. They’ve been good mates for years.’

  ‘Ah.’ Elizabeth too smiled, as a plan began to take shape.

  An hour or so later, Elizabeth sat on the same cart but with different companions, ready for her assault on Wistham Court. Holding the reins beside her was Abel Harte, who had been helping Joe Dobbs with a thatching repair. Joe himself was sitting on a sack in the back, next to Abel’s brother Robbie, who had fortuitously been part of the repair team.

  They had found Bertha helping her mother in the vegetable garden. Agnes and Bertha went into a huddle like old friends, while Mrs Dobbs, upset by Elizabeth’s bruised face, persuaded her to apply a remedy of raw meat coated with black pepper and baking soda. A small mirror in the cottage allowed Elizabeth to view the damage for the first time, and she could scarcely believe her eyes at the dark purple and grey-green swellings that now disfigured her complexion.

  While Elizabeth submitted to these ministrations, the girls had been sent to find Joe, who was working on a cottage just a few hundred yards away. They returned accompanied by three young men eager for the mission. Abel had accepted his dismissal in his usual phlegmatic way, but after hearing Agnes’s report he was furious with the master, and agreed immediately to help. Robbie, built on a larger scale than his younger brother, insisted on coming too, as did Joe.

  After a brief council of war it was decided that the girls should remain behind at the Dobbs’s cottage. Since the main aim was to persuade Helena to come to London, it would have been useful to have Agnes’s and Bertha’s support, but Abel and Joe would not hear of it, and Elizabeth agreed it was too risky.

  As they pulled up in the forecourt, they met a stable-lad leading a horse. The boy greeted Abel, and after a quick interrogation Abel and Robbie left immediately for the stables, leaving Joe to protect Elizabeth. The operation, she realised, was slipping out of her control; but she trusted Abel Harte and was relieved that at least some decisions were now in his hands. In a couple of minutes the men were back, having located Pritchett’s confidant Harry Perkins, tied his wrists, and roped them to a crossbeam. Threatened with similar treatment, two stable-boys agreed to leave him there until lunchtime, and Abel decided to leave them free, judging that their word was good.

  By now their party was attracting attention in the house. Flanked by her guards, Elizabeth walked directly up the steps to the main entrance, where the reception committee included Mrs Partridge, with Mr Baines and another footman.

  ‘Miss Bennet!’ Mrs Partridge stepped forward. ‘We thought you’d left with Mr Pritchett. Your poor face, have you met with an accident?’

  Elizabeth wondered how much the housekeeper knew. ‘Good day, Mrs Partridge. I would like to speak with Miss Kaye.’

  Baines moved to Mrs Partridge’s side, his expression betraying his astonishment that Elizabeth was at liberty. ‘I’m afraid Miss Kaye is unavailable, Miss Bennet. Another day, perhaps.’

  ‘How strange, I was informed that Miss Kaye was detained at the Court and not allowed to leave. Is she not at home?’

  ‘She is—sick,’ Baines replied feebly, looking to Mrs Partridge for support.

  ‘In that case I insist on seeing her straight away. It would comfort her to have the company of a friend, don’t you agree?’

  Baines reddened as he searched for a reply, and his gaze flickered to her protectors. ‘Why are these men here?’

  ‘It seems the roads of Wistham abound with dangers for the traveller,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Did not Mr Pritchett himself warn me of the ne’er-do-wells who have been spotted in the area?’

  She stood aside as Abel and his imposing brother stepped forward and confronted Baines, who retreated stiffly into the foyer.

  Turning to Mrs Partridge, Elizabeth asked softly: ‘Where is Miss Kaye?’

  The housekeeper looked nervously from Elizabeth to Joe. ‘I really cannot say …’

  ‘You will tell me immediately, or I’ll search the house.’

  Mrs Partridge whispered, as if afraid that Baines would hear. ‘She might be in her chamber.’

  ‘Please follow, Joe.’ Elizabeth swept past Baines with Joe in her wake, and made for the main stairs. In the foyer the men eyed each other in an uneasy standoff, but without any fisticuffs. Were there other servants loyal to Sir Arthur? If so Joe would have to deal with them. She found the family wing where she had slept just two nights before. There, outside Helena’s room, sat a matronly-looking woman with her grey hair tied in a bun, darning a stocking. She raised her eyes in alarm as Elizabeth approached, then stood up as the
y recognised one another.

  ‘Madam, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Good day, Mrs …’

  ‘Baines, madam.’

  Elizabeth had seen the servant before, but without realising she was married to the footman. ‘I’m visiting Miss Kaye.’

  ‘I’m sorry ma’am, but we have orders …’

  Elizabeth tried the door, which was locked. ‘Give me the key.’

  The woman glanced at the pocket of her black skirt, looking up sheepishly when she realised what she had betrayed. She sighed, and with a wary glance at Joe delivered a bunch of keys to Elizabeth’s outstretched hand.

  Helena was standing facing the doorway, and when Elizabeth entered alone, she advanced quickly with outstretched arms before exclaiming suddenly: ‘Elizabeth! Your face!’

  Elizabeth put a finger to her lips, then took Helena’s hands and drew her to the other end of the room, where an armchair and footrest had been set up beside the window. ‘Have you been reading?’

  ‘Troilus and Cressida.’ Helena turned Elizabeth towards the sunlight and examined her bruises tenderly. ‘How did this happen?’

  ‘A man struck me.’

  ‘Why are you here? How did you get in?’ Helena’s eyes blinked repeatedly with confusion. ‘My brother left instructions …’

  Elizabeth guided her to the bed, where they sat side by side. ‘Helena, I must relate some things that may distress you. But first let me assure you that we are safe here. I brought Harte and some other men who are watching Mr and Mrs Baines. Agnes is safe in the village at the Dobbs’s cottage. She has told me what happened when Arthur returned.’

  Helena’s voice trembled so much that she could scarcely speak. ‘He said you were working for Mr Darcy and that I’d stupidly fallen into your trap. That’s why I’ve been detained. To stop me doing more harm.’

  Elizabeth sighed. The truth had to be spoken, and she had no idea how Helena would react. ‘Helena, I confess I do know Mr Darcy. We are not intimate, but I have known him for some months and respect him as an honourable man. I’m afraid I cannot say the same for your father and brother. We have already seen how your father treated Lucy, Bertha, and the others. As for your brother …’ She pointed to her cheek. ‘It was he who assaulted me.’

  Helena gasped. ‘No!’

  ‘I’m afraid so. When I left yesterday, Mr Pritchett took me prisoner in a remote cottage on the estate, where I was guarded by Mr McGill and another man. Your brother visited yesterday and tried to …’ She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Tumble me in a sty, as Shakespeare might have it. Fortunately I managed to dissuade him by scratching his face, upon which he lost his temper and struck me here’—she pointed to her cheek, then her lip—‘and here.’

  Helena froze, as if paralysed by shock, then whimpered: ‘This cannot be.’

  ‘Would I lie about such a matter?’

  Helena grasped Elizabeth’s wrist in alarm. ‘No, I believe you. It must be as you say. It is just …’ Her hands flew to her face and she burst into tears. ‘I thought it was over, after—you know. My father’s death. But then they took Agnes, and now even you …’

  ‘I was a special case, Helena. Your brother fears me because I have been collecting evidence of your father’s mistreatment of the servants, for use at Mr Darcy’s trial. I’m sorry to have deceived you over this.’

  ‘So when we met at the theatre …’

  Elizabeth nodded. ‘I was interested in getting close to your family.’

  Helena’s body slumped in defeat. ‘I should have realised that you would not be interested in me.’

  This is the moment, Elizabeth thought. She took Helena’s hand. ‘Yes, at first I was concerned only in supporting Mr Darcy. You must understand that he is a good man, much loved by his sister and other family. He had no personal interest in rescuing Bertha from your father’s abuse. He did so from kindness, and stood firm when your father threatened him. He fought the duel because he did not wish to be bullied into an apology when it was your father who had been in the wrong. Yes, I admit I have inflitrated your family under false pretences, but can you not see that I acted from urgent necessity?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Helena whispered, still looking down.

  Elizabeth squeezed her hand again. ‘Now listen. When we met, it is true that I had no interest in you personally. After all, I knew nothing about you. However, very soon I realised that you and your father were as different as chalk and cheese. While he was cruel and selfish, you were kind and considerate. While he was vulgar and boorish, you were a person of refinement and taste, with a knowledge of literature that puts us all to shame. I came to appreciate you not only as the white sheep in a black family, but as a good friend and companion.’ She took a deep breath and spread her arms. ‘If this dreadful quarrel with Mr Darcy is by some miracle settled, do you imagine that I will drop you as if you had never existed? Absolutely I will not. If you forgive me, I will be delighted to meet and spend time with you, and we will go to the theatre together as often as may be.’

  She stopped, having run out of breath as well as things to say. A small smile appeared on Helena’s face, and Elizabeth instantly understood why. She had been praised. There was a long silence, and then Helena looked up and said: ‘I would like that.’

  ‘To spend time together and go to the theatre?’

  ‘Yes.’ A shadow crossed her face. ‘But my brother …’

  ‘Your brother is dangerous and must be brought under control.’ Elizabeth took her hand again. ‘Helena, I have little time. I’m going now to London, with Agnes and Bertha. I hope to arrive soon enough to persuade your brother to drop the charges. If he refuses, I will produce evidence of your father’s mistreatment of his servants, and also accuse Arthur of a similar attempt against myself. I would be infinitely grateful if you would come with us. Without your support, I fear that Agnes and Bertha will be dismissed as disloyal servants who have accepted bribes to lie on my behalf. I’m sorry to press you to take sides against your brother, but in view of what has happened, I see no alternative. We cannot both be good. Either I have been lying to you, or he is a blackguard like his father. You must choose, one or the other.’

  Helena took a deep breath, and her shoulders straightened. She stood up and walked to the window, looking into the distance, before turning and meeting Elizabeth’s eyes with calm determination. ‘I choose you.’

  Intermission

  Darcy kneeled to open his pistol case. His weapon was one of a matched pair, which he had selected after trying them out the previous day. It was 16 inches long from butt to muzzle, with a wooden handle and carefully crafted flintlock mechanism, designed to avoid misfiring even in damp conditions. Before leaving he had loaded it with black powder and a round ball of lead, and primed the flash pan. At present the cock holding the flint was set to half-cock; he would have to release the safety lock by rotating it to full-cock when preparing to fire. He had known these basics since childhood, but pistols had never been his weapon of choice, and the correct movements were not habitual, especially in the stress of an impending exchange of fire.

  Two stations were set up twelve paces apart, and marked by lines that Fortescue gouged with his boot from the grass. The mediator retreated to the side and produced a white handkerchief from his breeches, waving it so that it was clearly visible. ‘Gentlemen, you will stand behind the lines I have marked, with your pistols pointing downward. I will hold out the handkerchief, and drop it at an unpredictable moment. On this signal, you may raise your weapons and fire at will.’ He looked first at Sir Osborne, then at Darcy. ‘It is not too late for a peaceful resolution of this quarrel, if you are both so minded.’

  Without even glancing at Darcy, Sir Osborne turned and stomped towards his station, growling: ‘Let’s get on with it.’

  Darcy met Fortescue’s eye, grateful for this last attempt, and they both shrugged. Observing Sir Osborne’s haste, he realised that his opponent was afraid; perhaps he was used to getting his way
by threats, and was shocked to find himself taken to the point of actual combat, with no way of saving face except to go through with it.

  Proceeding also to his station, Darcy released the safety lock and carefully took up the recommended sideways stance, with his right shoulder facing his opponent, and the right arm twisted into an uncomfortable position so that the elbow covered his chest, and so protected his heart. It crossed his mind that in a minute he might be dead. A memory of Elizabeth Bennet surfaced, her face alive with amusement and intelligence as she engaged him in teasing conversation in the drawing room at Netherfield. He would never see her again. He rechecked his pistol, and in imagination rehearsed a movement through which he would aim at Sir Osborne’s chest. In doing so, he noticed that his opponent had also adopted a sideways stance but with his front leg slightly bent at the knee, as if he planned to leap aside while releasing his shot.

  ‘Wait!’ Fortescue held out the handkerchief, and after a last glance at Colonel Fitzwilliam Darcy glued his eyes to the white cloth, fluttering in the breeze. With every movement of the handkerchief, or twitch of Fortescue’s hand, he feared that Sir Osborne might infer that the moment of release was imminent, and take his shot early. Pushing this fear to the back of his mind, Darcy tried to concentrate on firing at exactly the right time. He had to blink, and as he did so, was fearful that that handkerchief would drop at that instant, so losing him a vital fraction of a second. The moment passed, and he took a deep breath, and concentrated again.

  Without warning Fortescue’s fingers opened, and Darcy quickly raised his pistol and took aim. While in the act of squeezing the trigger, he felt a shocking impact in his right arm and ribs, causing a reflex movement of his arm that deflected his shot to the lower left. He staggered forward, struggling to keep his feet, and saw that Sir Osborne had jumped sideways after taking his shot, which had come astonishingly early, and was now on his knees clutching his abdomen. There were sounds of running footsteps, and he heard Colonel Fitzwilliam call his name and ask whether he was all right. A searing wave of pain from his ribs caused him to topple over, and he was vaguely aware of his cousin’s hands gently inspecting the damage before he passed out.