Who Murdered Mr Wickham

by Carol Hutchens

  ***

  Meanwhile, the men in the library barely heard the noise of the soft knock. Bingley noticed the sound and moved to open the door, but could hardly contain his reaction. Of all the people he might have suspected to be standing in the hallway, the murderer included, he was not prepared for the sight of his household cook.

  “Really, Mrs. Doud, whatever the matter is, I am quite certain Mrs. Bingley, or my sister will be happy to assist you.”

  “Mr. Bingley, begging your pardon, sir, but it is you that I must speak with.” The cook backed her rounded form away from the door, allowing room for Bingley to step into the hall.

  “Well, what is it? What is the matter? There are important issues—”

  “It concerns the Mistress, sir.”

  “My wife? What is it? What is wrong? Has something happened to her?”

  “No, sir, but Mrs. Bingley came to the kitchen a while back and requested I rouse the staff to cook food for the guests.” The cook paused, her ample bosom heaving as she fought for breath.

  “I can find no fault with that. My wife is quite conscious of the comfort of our guests.”

  “I agree, sir, and I did her bidding, but she said more.” The cook gulped and continued in hurried speech. “Mrs. Bingley said we must keep watch for anything out of place around the house.”

  “Good idea and I suggest you get on with it.”

  “That's the trouble, sir. We did as Mrs. Bingley asked and found this.” Mrs. Doud lifted her hand, revealing a napkin wrapped around a long slender object. She unfolded the cloth, exposing a bloody letter opener in the white folds of linen.”

  “Good heavens, woman.” Bingley reached for the napkin, but paused. “Better bring this inside and show the colonels what you have found.” Bingley shoved the door open and urged the reluctant woman to enter the library. “Gentlemen, look at this.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam and Colonel Forester stared at the cook as they came forward.

  Bingley said, “Mrs. Doud, reveal to them what you found.”

  “T’was not me that found it, sir.”

  Both colonels released an exclamation as they stared down at the brass blade covered in blood. From tip to handle, the blade was at least a hand’s length. Elaborate carvings covering the silver handle were filled with dried blood. All told, the item would reach from a man’s wrist to his elbow.

  Bingley had used the letter opener many times. In fact, if he remembered correctly, he had used it the day before the ball, so he was certain the letter opener had been in the library. “I believe we have the murder weapon, gentlemen. Where was this found, Mrs. Doud?”

  “When maid went to dust to the dining room first thing this morning, she spotted this thing in potted plant. She turned plumb lightheaded when she saw the blood, I can tell you.”

  “The discovery was a shock, I am certain.” Bingley turned to the other men. “Gentlemen, anything more you wish to ask of Mrs. Doud?”

  “Thank you,” Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded to the woman, “but that is all for the time being.”

  Mumbling as he stared at the letter opener in his hand, Colonel Forester returned to stand in front of the fireplace. “This would do the deed, no doubt, but uncovering the murder weapon seems somewhat convenient.”

  “Only to the uninformed, sir,” Bingley replied as he approached the colonel. “It seems my wife alerted the staff to be on lookout for any thing out of place in the house.” Bingley paused. “Do you doubt this sharp object, covered in blood, is the murder weapon, Colonel?”

  “But this is a county area, and the blood could be from a chicken or cow. The cook most likely has both on hand, and handled the letter opener after cleaning raw meat.” Colonel Forester mused as he continued to stare at the letter opener.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke into the persisting silence that followed. “The blood is dried. What reason is there to doubt this letter opener is the cause of Wickham’s injury? There is no possible reason the kitchen staff would have the item or bring the thing to our notice if it was not out of place.”

  “Unless one of the staff is the murderer,” Colonel Forester said as he met their questioning stares.

  “Sir, this is outrageous—”

  “Of course it is. I quite agree this is the murder weapon. I was only offering a suggestion before we leapt to a conclusion.” Colonel Forester laid the napkin and the letter opener on the desk, “Now, to find who hid this letter opener in the plant.”

  Suddenly the door swung open and banged against the wall.

  Mr. Hurst lurched into the room, with Louisa and Caroline on either side, holding his arms. “I am present as requested, gentlemen.” Mr. Hurst slurred the words as he stumbled to a wingback chair and fell into the seat with a thump.

  Mrs. Hurst let go his arm and turned to glare at Bingley. “I am not at all sure what you imagine you can learn from him, but I will not leave his side.”

  “Really, Charles, Louisa is quite correct. You are aware of his state when Hurst has a few nips.” Caroline glared at her brother, and then turned her glowering gaze on the colonels. “Would either of you gentlemen care for coffee?”

  “Not now. If you would depart, please, so we might speak with Mr. Hurst.” Colonel Forester’s tone left no doubt this was an order.

  “I am not leaving my husband.” Mrs. Hurst flounced to a near-by chair, plopped down, and turned a questioning gaze on her sister. “Caroline?”

  “Unlike you, Louisa, I am not Mr. Hurst’s keeper.” Miss Bingley swept to the door with a rustle of her silk gown. “Gentlemen, if you change your mind, Charles can ring for coffee.”

  The door closed with a click and silence filled the room as the occupants stared at one another. Only Mr. Hurst was unaware of the silent battle of wills going on around him.

  After one last glare at Mrs. Hurst, Colonel Forester shrugged his shoulders, then cleared his throat with a deep rumble. “Perhaps we should commence with the questions.”

  “I should hope you have no plans to dawdle about any longer than necessary after insisting we return to this room and the horrible odor. I must say, Colonel, I am not at all impressed with the way you have handled this affair.” Mrs. Hurst announced.

  “Begging your pardon, ma’am,” Colonel Forester bowed to Mrs. Hurst. “Now, Mr. Hurst, how well did you know Mr. Wickham?”

  “Um, ah, yes, Wickham,” Mr. Hurst blinked, “fine fellow. Fine fellow, indeed, and always up for a game of cards if no pretty ladies are about.”

  “Ah, so you played cards with him often?”

  “What say you? Often, nay, fellow's not around much, is he?”

  “Mr. Hurst, would you like some coffee?” Colonel Fitzwilliam offered.

  “Coffee? Nay, the wife poured a jug of that stuff down my throat. What I really need is—”

  “Hurst, pay attention to the Colonel’s questions.”

  Mr. Hurst leaned forward and wagged his finger at Colonel Forester. “She's sharp, that wife of mine. Nothing gets by her. What‘d you say, wife?”

  “Mr. Hurst, did you see Mr. Wickham while you were in the garden?” Colonel Forester’s voice was loud as he leaned toward Mr. Hurst.

  “Wickham in the garden? Why’d he go out there? It’s damned cold outside.” Mr. Hurst yawned. “Ah, I recall now, but he was alone when I talked to him.”

  “You spoke with Mr. Wickham? Was he waiting for someone?” Colonel Forester demanded.

  The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire and the rustling of Louisa’s skirts as she shifted in her chair. Seeing Louisa's strained expression, Bingley stood rigid, waiting for his brother-in-law to respond. He doubted Hurst would recall, but perhaps Louisa could give them some idea of the time Hurst and Wickham talked. If only...

  “Jovial fellow, that Wickham is, always genial. Sorry to speak harsh words to him, but a man has to protect his family.”

  Gasps filled the room, but other than the loud expulsion shock, no one made a sound. It was as if they were afraid of
startling Mr. Hurst into silence. They waited in silence for several loud ticks of the clock. However, they need not have bothered. Mr. Hurst opened his mouth wide in a mighty yawn, flung his head back against the chair, and closed his eyes. In two heartbeats, his snores filled the silence of the room.

  “Mr. Hurst? Can you hear me? Wake up, Mr. Hurst.” Colonel Forester raised his voice with each word, but to no avail. Mr. Hurst snored contentedly while the occupants of the room fidgeted with agitation. The colonel expelled a sound of disgust and turned to Mrs. Hurst. “What did he mean, Mrs. Hurst? Why was he speaking to Wickham? What is this about protecting his family?”

  Her head angled high, in her usual manner, Louisa replied, “I’m afraid I have no notion. Hurst goes on so, I rarely listen when he speaks.”

  With a sniff, she stuck her chin out and glared at them.

  It was a pose Bingley had observed times too numerous to count and his gut warned they would get not another word out of her. Yet he knew her too well to be deceived. The colonels might not notice the color tinting her cheeks, but Bingley knew Louisa was vexed and he was curious as to why. Had the questions or perhaps her husband’s inebriated state, offended her? On the other hand, perhaps there was a more serious reason. Perhaps she knew what Hurst referred to and wished for the matter to be kept silent. Whatever the cause, Bingley was aware that his sister was not telling the truth.

  “Mrs. Hurst, did you overhear the conversation between Mr. Wickham and your husband? Was Mr. Hurst angry when he approached Wickham?”

  “How can I respond if you disgorge questions with every breath, Colonel?” Though it seemed impossible, Louisa’s chin lifted even higher. “I walked with Caroline and heard nothing of the conversation. Though, if want my opinion, Hurst was making reference to a senseless custom of his family that he tries to maintain when he plays cards.”

  “What sort of custom? Would this be a matter that would vex him?”

  “Some rubbish about always winning the fifth game of cards.” Louisa turned a wide-eyed glance on Bingley. “You must remember the details, Charles. Perhaps you can explain.”

  Fighting to keep all expression from his face as her pleading gaze bored into his, Bingley shrugged. What was she asking of him? He could not be disloyal to his own sister, yet how could he proceed without further explanation. He needed to speak with Jane. “I know nothing of the rules of the game, Louisa. If you recall, I have no head for playing cards.” Louisa’s furious expression distorted the hours she had spent on her looks before the ball, and warned him of consequences to come. “It is as my sister said,” Bingley met the intense stares of both colonels, “when Hurst starts prattling, my thoughts wander.”

  “As you see, Colonel, the remark meant nothing.” Louisa gave an elegant shrug, drawing attention to the low cut neckline of her gown. “Same as most words that leave my husband’s mouth.”

  Colonel Forester exchanged glances with Fitzwilliam and expelled a heavy sigh. Then he turned back to Louisa. “Very well, madam, you may go.”

  “Charles, do assist me in getting Hurst to his room.” Louisa demanded as she rose from her chair.

  Not bothering to refuse her barely disguised order, Bingley helped her to wake Mr. Hurst and pull him upright to stand on his feet. Once he staggered out the door, with Louisa’s help, Bingley sent the colonels a questioning glance. “Gentlemen, what now?”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. “None of our questions have revealed suspicion of any of the guests.”

  “Ah, begging your pardon, Colonel, there is the matter of Mrs. Darcy and Miss King, if you recall.”

  “Colonel Forester, I beg to differ. Do you not recall we discharged claims against Mrs. Darcy?”

  “Perhaps we were too hasty in that matter. And there is still the King woman’s rejection by Mr. Wickham to contemplate.”

  “So, we have nothing to go on and the messenger should be close to London by now.” Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. “I had hoped we could have the crime solved by the time the authorities arrive in the morn, but here we are with no further clues. Perhaps we need some fresh air. Mrs. Hurst was correct. There is a foul stench in this room.”

  As one, they turned to stare at the bloodstain on the rug.

  “Is it such a bad thing if we don't solve the crime? Can the authorities not proceed with the information we present them?” Bingley asked as he turned away from the sight.

  “I see it as a matter of honor,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said in a thoughtful tone. “As the local magistrate put his faith in us, I feel honor bound to discover who committed this murder.”

  “I agree,” Colonel Forester nodded, “and we cannot keep your guests contained much longer.”

  “That is a growing difficulty and one reason Sir William turned to officers in the militia, not to mention that he admitted he had no stomach for such business.” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “I would not like it said we were incompetent, as well.”

  Bingley was the first to speak. “The officials should arrive soon after first light so there is still time to reach a conclusion. Perhaps you could do with some refreshment as the night grows long. Jane arranged a display of foodstuff for those who are hungry.”

  “Right,” Colonel Forester headed for the door, but turned back, “we shall take repast and return with questions for Miss King and Mrs. Darcy.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam marched past Bingley and murmured, “Will that man never stop?”

  Bingley followed after them, but his sister’s willingness to draw him into the fray cautioned him to keep his mouth closed.

  Chapter 11

  With caution ringing a warning in his head, Bingley recalled his sister’s demand and rushed past both colonels to hurry up the stairs. Just in time, half-way up, he grabbed hold of Mr. Hurst’s arm as he swayed, nearly tumbling he and Louisa backwards. After the colonels passed, giving room for them to stand three abreast, Bingley helped Louisa haul her husband up the stairs. Once in the ballroom, they eased Mr. Hurst’s sagging weight into a chair.

  Quiet descended all about them as Colonel Forester raised his voice and demanded attention. Reactions varied as the colonel announced everyone should remain in the ballroom until he and Colonel Fitzwilliam solved the murder.

  When guests started talking again, Bingley turned to his sister and in a low voice asked, “Louisa, why did you imply I knew of Hurst’s whereabouts?”

  “You are my brother, are you not?” Louisa muttered, flinging Mr. Hurst’s limp arm away from her. Straightening from his slouching form, she turned a glittering glare on Bingley. “Of course, I expected you to confirm my words.”

  Bingley took a deep breath and surprised himself almost as much as his older sister when he continued to question her. “Why were you in the garden?”

  “Really, Charles, what a senseless question.” Louisa stomped to a nearby chair and flounced down as she aimed another stinging glare at him. “What reason do I need other than the crowd and warmth in this room?”

  Bingley spared a moment to consider how happy Jane was to have the entire county attend her first ball. She had not stated as much, but he knew from the troubled expression in her usually calm eyes, she was greatly concerned for the success of this event. “Even so, why did you not ask Caroline to walk with you, or Hurst, even?”

  “Hurst? Walk anywhere?” Louisa emitted an unladylike snort. “Look at him, Charles. Do you suppose I want to spend more time in his company when he is in such a condition?”

  “Louisa, did you arrange to meet anyone in the garden?”

  “Assuming I was meeting someone, what business is it of yours, little brother? Married women have some freedoms, you know.” Louisa sniffed. “Now that you have married your precious Jane, you should be alert, Charles. She appears quiet, but she might hide an attraction to men exuding a sense of danger and excitement. Neither of which describes you, my dear.” Louisa heaved a sigh as her gaze roamed about the guests clustered around the room. “Marriage gets boring after a
while as you will find soon enough.”

  ***

  “Sorry, Will, but the news is not good.” Colonel Fitzwilliam glanced around the ballroom as he stood beside Darcy. The scene looked somewhat shabbier than when he arrived hours earlier, and now gave the impression of a wilted bouquet. Women’s gowns were crumpled. Men’s collars hung loose and they wore the glassy expression of too much drink. Even the light from the many candles seemed dim as tapers burned low and smoke hung like heavy fog over the guests. “Colonel Forester seems determined to accuse Lizzy or Miss King of the murder.”

  Standing a step away, Mary overheard the colonel's comments and went rigid with fear. She did not linger on the outskirts of the group around the Bennet family to learn more. With a quiet word to Lady Lucas, who was more interested in listening to Mrs. Bennet repeat the details of her last session in the library, Mary drifted away from the group.

  Not for the first time this evening, she was relieved the food and drink table was located at the far end of the room. Several strolls to the table, in pretense of securing a sip of punch, had given her time to consider the bits of conversation she had overheard from other guests.

  Yet none of those remarks was as troubling as Colonel Fitzwilliam’s latest comment. Did the colonels actually think she might have murdered Wickham? Filling two cups with lemonade, Mary made her way over to Georgiana’s side. “Miss Darcy, you have been so kind to sit with Miss Brown, my heart goes out to you. For I suspect you would like nothing more than the prospect of spending time with Mr. Darcy and his wife at a time such as this. Do allow me to sit with your companion while you reassure yourself in their presence, and perhaps discover the latest news.”

  “How thoughtful of you, Miss King, but I must not leave Maggie after the shock she has experienced.”