Who Murdered Mr Wickham

by Carol Hutchens

  “Oh, Denny, there you are,” Lydia squealed as she rushed past them to grab Denny’s hand, as he returned to the ballroom. “Why have you been gone so long and why do you look so ruffled after a sedate stroll in the garden?”

  Denny’s face filled with color as he saw that Jane and Mary were gazing at him as was Lydia. “Come dance, Lydia and I will tell you of my tussle with a wild hedge.”

  Giggling carefree as a girl, Lydia clasped her arm in his and skipped so she and Denny quickly joined the other couples on the dance floor.

  “I had hoped marriage would improve Lydia’s behavior,” Lizzy murmured to Jane as she joined them at the edge of the dance floor, “but I fear she is not much changed.”

  “Lizzy, do you remember Miss King?”

  “Yes, of course,” Lizzy gave a nod to Jane’s companion. “How do you do this evening, Miss King?”

  “Very well, thank you, Mrs. Darcy. May I offer my congratulations on your marriage?”

  “Thank you. I am most happy.”

  “Then can I hope you do not bear me the same grudge as your sister, Lydia, because of my earlier association with Mr. Wickham.”

  “On the contrary—”

  “Did I hear someone mention Mr. Wickham?” Mrs. Forester joined them and stretched to her tip-toes to scan the room. “I have not yet had a chance to regain his acquaintance since he moved north. Has anyone seen him? He was taking air in the garden, but it was so crowded I did not have a chance to converse with him for more than two words.”

  “I am afraid I have not seen him.” Jane was quick to respond as she put a calming hand on Lizzy’s arm. The summer before, Lizzy’s tour of Derbyshire with their Aunt and Uncle Gardiner had ended with news of Lydia’s elopement with Wickham, leaving Lizzy’s acquaintance with Mr. Darcy greatly strained. Considering Lizzy’s strong feelings about Lydia’s lack of supervision on the trip to Brighton in the company of Colonel and Mrs. Forester, Jane was convinced Lizzy would regret any show of her disregard for the couple. “How are you enjoying the ball, Mrs. Forester?”

  “Oh, it is quite splendid, thank you. I feared we were in for a dull visit to Lucas Lodge, after our social life in Brighton, but you rescued us from boredom, Mrs. Bingley, and I am most appreciative.”

  “It is good you could attend this evening, Mrs. Forester. Are you enjoying your return to our district?”

  “Colonel Forester needed a rest from his duties, but, for my part, I am as happy in Brighton as I have ever been in my life." Mrs. Forester acknowledged, adding very quietly, almost to herself “except for one difference.” She then looped her arm with Mary King’s. “Come, Miss King, let us find you a partner to dance with while you tell me how well you knew Mr. Wickham.”

  “I wonder, does she mean she missed female companionship,” Lizzy breathed as she and Jane watched Mrs. Forester tug Mary King across the floor toward Lydia and Denny, “or Wickham’s company.”

  “Lizzy,” Jane admonished with a half laugh. “I am certain she means she missed our dear Lydia’s company.”

  “Dear Jane, must you always insist on thinking the best in everyone?” Lizzy’s smile was affectionate as she hooked arms with Jane. “I am certain Mrs. Forester meant a little of both. How do you suppose she acquired all those twigs stuck in the back of her gown?”

  “Lizzy,” Jane exclaimed on a smothered laugh, “do be serious. You know how overgrown the hedges are. I am quite certain Mrs. Forester has a perfectly respectable explanation for looking so ruffled.” Jane glanced about the room and almost choked on a laugh, “Same as Mrs. Hurst has. Now, let us forget the guests. Do tell me how much you like being Mrs. Darcy.”

  “I am certain that no matter how those ladies acquired enough branches in their gowns to inspire speculation, you, my dear Jane, will come up with a perfectly reasonable and very kind explanation.”

  “I do wonder why Mrs. Hurst remained outside so much longer than her husband. Mr. Hurst returned some time ago.” Jane turned to look at her sister. “Lizzy, do you suppose he might have caused her to fall as he staggered back inside?”

  “There, Jane, this is exactly what I expected. You can think of only the best of people, while I, on the other hand, suspect Mrs. Hurst was not alone after her husband returned to the house.”

  “Lizzy, please,” Jane struggled for she was near to collapse with laughter, “this is why I have missed you so much. You know my faults and yet you turn them into a source of amusement.”

  “My dear Jane, someone as sweet and accommodating as you has no faults. I, on the other hand, have a talent for doubting that people speak the truth or act innocently all the time. I am convinced Mrs. Forester’s gown was not so wrinkled before she went to the garden.” Lizzy laughed and tugged on Jane’s arm in an effort to remove the frown forming on her sister’s face. “Now, tell me about being Mrs. Bingley.”

  Chapter 4

  Sometime later, Jane rushed into speech as her husband approached. “Oh, Mr. Bingley, it is a success, do you not think.”

  Bestowing a satisfied smile on him, Jane turned to survey the groups of guests trying to converse over the noise of the music and couples swirling about the floor. Yet, not all guests seemed to be enjoying themselves. Across the room, Mrs. Hurst seemed in serious conversation with Caroline, and Jane recalled her rushed return to the ballroom.

  Bingley’s eldest sister had quickly joined a chattering group of women, though Jane had observed Mrs. Hurst rarely had time for female company. Something about the speed of her return to the ballroom puzzled Jane. Louisa and Caroline usually made a point to enter a room slowly to gain the most attention. Much as she was reluctant to admit it Lizzy’s comments could be right, Jane knew Louisa usually only paid attention to other women long enough to sneer at their mode of dress.

  Jane drew a deep breath. “With the exception of your sisters, everyone seems to be enjoying the ball.”

  “My dear Jane, you must disregard my entire family.” Bingley glanced to where Mr. Hurst was standing near the drinks table, before he turned to smile down at his wife. “You are the one I want to make happy. My sisters must make their own entertainment.”

  “Dear Charles,” Jane frowned as her gaze returned to Mrs. Hurst, “I have no wish to offend you, but is it possible Louisa might have a previous acquaintance with Mr. Wickham?”

  “I cannot know, dear wife.” Bingley glanced about the room. “They have met at Pemberley and at our wedding, I suppose.”

  “But Charles, Lydia and Wickham were not at the wedding.”

  “Perhaps they met when we visited Darcy. Other than that, I cannot say. Is it important, my dear?”

  “Not at all,” Jane’s cheeks warmed as she returned the intimate look in her husband’s gaze. She loved the way his eyes caressed her with only a glance, and made her skin feel warm. Her mother would not approve if she but knew how much Jane enjoyed marriage relations with her husband. Yet, Jane wanted none of the marriage arrange endured by her parents, but one filled with love. She had dreamed of marrying for love, yet there were times when she was at a loss as to how to handle the deep emotions her husband aroused. “Mr. Bingley, I’m so happy—”

  “Help! Come quickly, help!” cried a woman standing in the doorway. “Please, come. I think he is dead.”

  “Who the dickens is that?” Bingley demanded as he rushed toward the woman.

  “Miss Darcy’s companion,” Jane gasped as she tried to keep pace with his long stride. By the time they reached the sobbing woman, Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Bennet were by their side. Jane turned to look for Wickham, surely as a member of the family, he would rush to their aide as well, but she could find no glimpse of him in the ballroom.

  “Try to calm yourself, Madame,” Bingley urged as he approached the distraught woman. “What is the problem?”

  “He is dead,” she screeched. “I know he is dead.”

  “Woman, who are you?” demanded Mr. Bennet. His brow wrinkled, showing his displeasure that someone would u
pset the calm routine of his evening.

  “I am Maggie,” she sobbed, “Maggie Brown, sir.” She twisted her hands in the dull grey of her modest dress. Her face was the color of clotted milk. Her red streaked eyes were wide with fear.

  “She is Georgiana’s companion,” Mr. Darcy said as he approached the distraught female. “Miss Brown, try to regain your calm and tell us what the matter is.”

  “I found him. On the floor in the library,” Miss Brown’s words ended in a loud sob. “He is dead. I know he is dead.”

  “Who is dead?” Bingley held out a protective arm to shield Jane from the response, as if the deceased man might reach to grab her. “Who did you find?”

  Eyes wide, brown hair bobbing loosely above her death white face, Miss Brown gasped. “It is Wickham. Wickham is dead.”

  Jane shuddered and slumped against Bingley.

  A scream sounded. The guests gathered around to hear Maggie Brown turned as Lydia let out another screech. “It can’t be Wickham,” she cried. “Why would he be in the library?”

  “It is Wickham.” Miss Brown held her head high under the shocked gazes turned in her direction. “There is no doubt. It is Wickham’s body on the floor.” Then she gasped, but in the shock, no one seemed to notice she left off the ‘mister’ or her sudden confidence of his identity.

  Lydia whirled toward her sister. “You did this, Lizzy,” she finger was shaking as she cried, “you wanted him and he chose me. You killed him. I know you did.”

  “Lydia, please,” Lizzy ignored gasps from guests. “You have suffered a shock—”

  “Daughter, watch your tongue,” Mr. Bennet spoke in a strained tone as he sent an impatient glare at his wife.

  “Oh, my poor, dear Lydia,” Mrs. Bennet ignored Mr. Bennet’s accusing glare and rushed to Lydia’s side. “No one understands how she feels. It is her nerves making her say such things. I know well the results of being controlled by emotions.” She cast a stinging glare in Lizzy’s direction, “Though I must say some people are not content until they ruin things for those around them.”

  “Mamma, please,” Jane cried as she rushed to her mother’s side. She understood the look of pain on Lizzy’s face. They had heard these critical remarks since Lydia was born. Nevertheless, she could not understand the mean twist to Lydia’s mouth. If Lydia had burst into tears, it would make more sense. “We can not know for certain—”

  “Correct you are, Mrs. Bingley. Best everyone hold your tongues until we know more,” Mr. Darcy said. He took a protective step toward Lizzy, but she lifted her chin and shook her head. Mr. Darcy held her gaze then turning to Bingley he continued, “We must check the body.”

  “I am not certain that is a good idea, Will.” Colonel Fitzwilliam sent Mr. Darcy a warning glance. He sensed his cousin was ready to rush to the scene, but Darcy needed to keep his distance. Especially with the victim’s wife accusing Mrs. Darcy of the murder. “Who is the local authority in charge of this district?”

  “We need to confirm there is a body before we send for the authorities,” Mr. Darcy insisted. He needed to do something to keep from shaking Lydia to force her to take back the words she said about his wife. How could even a wife as young and spoiled as Lydia imagine Lizzy wanted Wickham after all this time?

  Darcy knew better. When he first met Lizzy, she had been fond of Wickham, but things changed after Wickham ran off with her youngest sister. It was then that Darcy explained how Wickham had tried to ruin Georgiana’s life. He apologized to Lizzy for keeping the facts quiet when he might have prevented Lydia's downfall. However, the people here knew nothing of that incident. From their expressions, they might believe the careless words Lydia spoke in her shocked reaction at learning of her husband’s death.

  “Darcy, you must listen to Colonel Fitzwilliam.” Mr. Bingley stepped away from Jane and straightened his shoulders. “This is my house. I will check on the body.”

  “One minute if you please, Mr. Bingley,” a voice sounded from the back of the group. All heads turned as guests moved aside to make room for Sir William to push to the front of the group. “I am the local magistrate. I will check the body first.”

  “Mmm, are you quite certain?” Mr. Bennet said, knowing Sir William’s reluctance to face unpleasant circumstances. After a pensive look at Sir William’s face, and in complete understanding of his friend's wish to avoid such incidences, Mr. Bennet continued. “Right you are, Sir William, but I suggest we need several eyes upon the scene.” He glanced at his youngest son-in-law. “Bingley, I believe you are correct. You should assist Sir William.”

  “Right,” Mr. Bingley paused for a second, and turned to his friend. “Darcy will accompany us. We will check the library with Sir William and report back directly.”

  “I would be most grateful for the assistance.” Sir William gave a quick nod.

  “He is dead, I tell you. He is dead.” Miss Brown insisted on another sob.

  Lydia’s cries added to the noise of whispers and murmurs from the guests. “No, he cannot be dead. Not Wickham.” She turned to stare at the people gathered around her and seemed to gather her temper. Hands on her hips, she glared at them. “What do any of you care? You chased us away.”

  Gasps escaped from watching guests and shocked expressions covered their faces.

  Lydia pointed a trembling finger at Mary King. “Did you kill him because he ended your engagement and married me?”

  Miss King squared her chin and held Lydia’s accusing stare. “It was not I. If you must know, I was pleased when Mr. Wickham lost his regard for me.”

  “I doubt that,” Lydia gave a snort and her furious gaze settled on Kitty. “Was it you, Kitty? You were infatuated with Wickham and tried to attract his attention just because I wanted him.”

  “Mamma,” Kitty whimpered, “I could never hurt Wickham.”

  “Hush, Kitty,” Mrs. Bennet snapped. “Leave the poor girl alone.”

  Still furious, Lydia turned and her glare settled on her former friend. “Harriet Forester, was it you? From your first arrived in Meryton, you flirted with Wickham, and you a married woman.”

  “Of course I was friendly to dear Mr. Wickham. You were both my friends,” Mrs. Forester clasped her husband's arm as she returned Lydia’s glare, but her voice faltered. "I could never hurt him."

  Lydia’s gaze flickered and darted about again, “Don’t look down your nose at me, Caroline Bingley. I watched you flutter your eyes at Wickham this very night. Your sister made eyes at him too.” Lydia raised her voice, glaring at the guests as she voiced accusations. “Any one of you could have killed my poor, dear Wickham.”

  “Lydia, please, you do not know what you are saying. Mamma, please help me get Lydia—”

  “Not this time, Jane. I will speak.” Lydia jerked her arm away from Jane’s grasp. “Do not act the sweet big sister tonight. My husband is dead and you cannot know my pain.” Lydia whirled and rushed down the stairs toward the library.

  After a horrified breath, Jane followed. This was her house. Her ball and her sister suffered pain she could not imagine. There was no way she could stand by and allow Lydia to rush into danger. Nor could she wait for the men to give their approval to move about the house, after Lydia plunged down the stairs alone. If a murderer was in the building, Lydia was in danger, and not thinking straight.

  In fact, after Lydia’s display of emotions, Jane feared her entire family would be suspected of murder. She must do something. Calming Lydia seemed the best option. At the bottom of the stairs, Jane caught up with her sister. “Lydia, please wait. Seeing the body will only distress you more.”

  “I have to see him. Can you not understand?” Lydia cried. She whirled away from the library door and turned tortured eyes on her elder sister as tears rolled down her face. “I am but sixteen years old, and they are saying my husband is dead. What am I to do? Where will I go if my poor Wickham is dead? Can you imagine going back to our parents’ house, and acting the dutiful daughter after I have been married
and lived on my own? Oh, Jane, please tell me what must I do?”

  Gathering Lydia in her arms, Jane hugged her sister tight, but she had no words of advice to calm Lydia’s pain.

  ***

  Mary King watched Lydia’s headlong flight down the staircase, with Jane following on her heels, and turned to study expressions on faces around her. She had been blamed with murder same as other guests, and she dare not ignore the accusations. Her position in this county was fragile at best. One hint of unacceptable behavior could exclude her from polite society completely. She must find a way to remove all suspicion from her name before local gossip put an end to all she hoped to achieve. Unlike many guests around her, some standing rigid, barely turning their heads as they glanced around avoiding all eye contact, she had the prospects of two other people to consider. However, before she could form a plan, Mrs. Bennet’s loud sobbing filled the air.

  “My poor Lydia and dear Wickham. He was charm itself and did not deserve to die so young. Oh, my poor girl. What will become of her without dear Wickham?” Mrs. Bennet fanned her face frantically with her handkerchief and gasped. “My poor nerves, I feel one of my spells coming on. Lizzy, make yourself useful. Fetch my smelling salts.”

  Mary King heard snickers and turned to see Miss Bingley and her sister exchange glances. The extreme pallor of Mrs. Hurst’s complexion caught Mary’s attention, but before she could gather her thoughts as to why Mrs. Hurst looked the color of old sheets, Mrs. Bennet whirled to confront Colonel and Mrs. Forester.

  “You,” Mrs. Bennet pointed a shaking finger toward Colonel Forester, “the entire fault of this event rests with you. You lured my poor dear Lydia away from home to be your wife’s special companion, and failed to protect her innocence. Instead of treating Lydia as the young girl she is, you allowed her to copy your wife’s loose relations with members of the militia while she was in Brighton, and now look what has happened.”

  “I say, madam, I respect that you are overwrought because of the shock of this sad occasion, but I must insist you not speak of my wife in such a manner.” Colonel Forester put a protective hand on his wife’s arm.