Darcy's Trial (22 page)

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.’

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.

As their hackney turned off Newgate Street towards the Old Bailey, the road was blocked by two stationary carriages, whose drivers were shouting at one another after nearly colliding. In frustration Elizabeth leaned out of the window and called to the cabbie, who responded by joining in the shouting match. Suddenly the road cleared and the hackney resumed its uneven progress.

She smiled reassuringly at Helena. ‘Almost there. I only hope we are in time.’

‘The clock struck four just after we reached Aldersgate,’ Harte said.

‘Then the court should still be in session.’ Elizabeth regarded the groom approvingly, grateful that he had agreed to accompany them all the way to London. Her party, including Bertha and Agnes as well as Helena, had set off in great haste at noon on the previous day, with the aim of meeting the southbound Union stagecoach at Market Harborough. By taking this route she hoped to minimise any chance of encountering Pritchett, who preferred the route from Rugby. The only suitable carriage was a phaeton, a tight fit for a party of five plus luggage, but at least it was light and fast, so that they made good time. In Market Harborough there was a tense two-hour wait before two coaches rolled in, and luckily there was just room. While they waited, there was a discussion over whether Abel Harte should accompany them to London, or drive the phaeton back to Wistham Court. Now very much in his debt Elizabeth was reluctant to make further demands on his time, but to her relief he insisted on leaving the phaeton at the carriage house of an inn, and coming with them. She saw that with no other man in the party, he felt it was his duty to take care of Helena, whom he had served for many years; and of course, he also had a particular interest in Agnes.

By evening they were past Northampton, where they stopped for the night at a coaching inn near Olney. Elizabeth, to her embarrassment, had no money left, but fortunately she had persuaded Helena to load her purse from Mrs Partridge’s housekeeping funds, so they could afford comfortable rooms. Early next morning the coaches left, finally reaching their destination at the Bull and Mouth inn, Aldersgate Street—providentially a mere ten-minute ride from the Old Bailey.

On arriving at the grand domed foyer Elizabeth quickly ascertained that the trial was still in progress, and after consulting Helena suggested that Harte should take Bertha and Agnes for a bite to eat, and return in an hour. The women then hastened to a cloakroom, where Elizabeth tried to relieve her tired eyes by splashing them with water, and arranged a black veil as best she could over the colourful welts and bruises on her face. A gulp of water, two deep breaths, and she felt as ready as she ever would be for the next encounter.

As they edged through the half-open door into the courtroom, Elizabeth immediately spotted Darcy in the witness box, with the jury regarding him coldly and the gallery listening in rapt attention. ‘
After that we both fell to the ground, and I must have passed out.
’ A sigh ran round the room, most people on the edge of their seats as they waited for the next question. Someone whispered loudly, ‘
Gut shot!
’ In her stomach she felt a lurch of fear: it was really happening, Darcy was on trial for murder, and the bespectacled gentleman on the bench might on the morrow sentence him to deportation or death by hanging. At least nobody had remarked their entry into the courtroom, and grateful for this, she identified Lord Harbury sitting near the front, told Helena to remain at the door, and with head bowed trod carefully down the aisle. The welcome sight of Colonel Fitzwilliam and Bingley distracted her for a moment, but neither of them sensed her approach.

Reaching Lord Harbury’s side, she whispered very softly: ‘Excuse me your lordship, but we must talk immediately, for I have evidence that will shame your family if I am forced to reveal it.’

He turned sharply, and said in bewilderment, ‘Madam, have I had the pleasure …’

‘We met at the theatre,’ she reminded him. ‘I am Miss Bennet, and I have come with your niece, who can confirm the accuracy of my story.’ She pointed to the back of the courtroom, and on throwing a glance over his shoulder he was visibly startled.

‘Helena? What is she doing here?’

‘We need …’ Elizabeth began again, but cut short her plea on seeing that he was already getting to his feet. As she retreated to give him room she glanced towards the witness box, and discovered to her horror that Darcy was observing her intently. She span round, blood rushing to her face as she heard him mutter her name, and with her eyes fixed to the floor strode back up the aisle.

In Lord Harbury’s company it was not difficult to find a meeting place, and before long they were seated in the luxurious privacy of the Lord Mayor’s Clerk’s Room, which boasted four leather chairs and a mahogany desk with prestigious prints and certificates adorning the walls. Shocked as he must have been by Elizabeth’s unexpected approach, Lord Harbury’s manners remained impeccable, as with calm courtesy he ordered for tea, sandwiches and cakes to be brought, reminding her that she was hungry as well as exhausted.

Deliberately, Elizabeth unlaced her bonnet and removed the attached veil, keeping her eye steadily on Lord Harbury.

His reaction did not disappoint. ‘Miss Bennet, have you met with an accident? I’m distressed to see your face so sorely bruised.’

‘You’re very kind.’ She sighed. ‘And your kindness redoubles my pain at the first piece of news that I have to recount.’ She pointed to her face. ‘I received these injuries not by accident, but by deliberate infliction, at the hands of your nephew Sir Arthur Kaye. Two days ago, after visiting Miss Kaye, I was forcibly detained by Sir Arthur’s gamekeeper at a remote cottage. When your nephew arrived, he ordered the gamekeeper
to hold me while he, ah, took his pleasure on my person. He was in the act
of removing my dress when I managed to free one of my hands and rake his
cheek with my nails. You may have noticed the injury, which fortunately
discouraged him from proceeding any further. In return he twice slapped my face, with the results you now see.’

He frowned. ‘I hope you are aware, Miss Bennet, of the very serious nature of such an accusation.’

‘Indeed I am, sir.’

‘Then you will pardon my incredulity. Why would Sir Arthur order your detention, let alone abuse you in such a manner? What could his motive possibly be?’

Elizabeth glanced at Helena, who was observing the exchange with curious impassivity, as if they were merely engaged in a routine discussion of the weather. ‘Sir Arthur had every reason to fear me, for with Miss Kaye’s help I was investigating the conduct of your late brother-in-law.’ She spread her arms, as if to signal that all would now be revealed. ‘You see, I am not a neutral party in his quarrel with Mr Darcy. I have known Mr Darcy for some time, and he has rendered great service to my family. I know him to be a decent and honourable man, who would never have engaged in such a quarrel without good cause. I think you well understand his motive in refusing to apologise to your brother-in-law. Sir Osborne was a cruel blackguard who shamelessly exploited his servants, some of them almost children, to satisfy his own sordid lusts. On meeting Helena, Miss Kaye, I discovered that a series of maids had been abused, some dismissed because they became pregnant, and some discarded in town, probably given or sold to bawdy houses. This is why I went to Wistham, and this is why Sir Arthur, on discovering my purpose, ordered for me to be kept under lock and key until the trial was over, and Mr Darcy safely removed from the scene.’