Darcy's Trial (13 page)

Mrs Gardiner moved closer, and replied gently: ‘Mr Darcy, any debt is the other way around, and you are welcome in our house any time.’

He thanked her awkwardly, looking suddenly vulnerable, and when her aunt left them alone Elizabeth impulsively took his arm. ‘Come, let us get you seated comfortably again. I’m so glad you are staying for dinner.’

He flinched, but seemed to realize that her support was more symbolic than practical, and let her help him back to his armchair.

‘So to resume, you can guess the rest,’ Darcy said. ‘A few days later I received a written challenge stipulating pistols …’

‘Which you felt honour-bound to accept,’ Elizabeth interrupted, with a grimace. ‘Why could you not have swallowed your pride and granted the stupid man his apology?’

As soon as these words were out she regretted them, fearing an acid response leading to the inevitable quarrel; but instead Darcy remained calm and thoughtful. ‘I have asked myself that same question many times, Miss Bennet, and in truth I am not sure why. Perhaps as you suggest I am over-proud, but I think it goes deeper than that. I believe that on principle, a man should not give in to blackmail. Every concession to the bully increases his propensity to repeat such methods in the future. In an ideal world, the administration of justice could be left to the authorities, but we live in a flawed world in which laws are routinely flouted by men of wealth and position, so that ultimately justice depends on the willingness of individuals to stand up to the bully, and say: thus far, and no further.’

Elizabeth was silent for a long time, before responding, in a much gentler voice: ‘I will have to think about that. But I am grateful to you for confiding in me.’

He smiled wrily. ‘And thus disobeying my lawyer.’

Elizabeth leaned forward. ‘Then we may as well disobey him a little further. What is your strategy? I assume you are seeking some means of persuading the Kayes to drop the prosecution. How exactly?’

‘Since Sir Arthur Kaye is young and inexperienced, our main hope is that he might be open to advice from more senior men in his social circle.’

‘Lord Harbury?’

‘Yes, Harbury most particularly.’ He regarded her attentively. ‘What impression did you form of their relationship?’

‘I found Lord Harbury courteous and correct. He was the only member of the party that greeted me in a pleasant and appropriate way. His wife and her companion ignored me; Arthur Kaye was downright offensive. So I can see some promise in working on Lord Harbury, except that I sense he draws clear lines of responsibility, and is reluctant to press his viewpoint in an issue that does not concern him directly.’ She looked up teasingly. ‘Unlike certain other gentlemen I could mention.’

Darcy waved this aside. ‘Anything else?’

Elizabeth frowned as she tried to recall the exact words she had overheard at the theatre. ‘He advised Arthur to
take care
. Assuming he was referring to the prosecution, I think these words are significant. They suggest unease, even fear, of what might come into public view if the case came to court.’ She paused, before continuing emphatically: ‘I don’t believe you will succeed by appealing to Lord Harbury’s good nature or sense of justice. He must be threatened. You must discover something that, if made public, would profoundly damage the reputation of his family. Then, and only then, will he bring Arthur to heel.’

She reddened as Darcy returned an admiring grin. ‘Decidedly, Miss Bennet, I am relieved to find you on my side in this affair. You remind me of a tigress in defence of her cubs.’

Elizabeth harrumphed. ‘You in no way resemble a tiger cub, Mr Darcy, except for the small size of your brain.’

He held up both palms. ‘Forgive me! To be serious, I think you are probably correct. About Lord Harbury, I mean, not the size of my brain. But unfortunately we know of no secret that might inspire the necessary alarm. Yes, we can show that Sir Osborne was a philanderer in the habit of preying on young women. I could cite as an instance the girl whom I found tied to the bedstead. However, Sir Osborne’s predelictions in this area were already well-known in the
ton
—and by no means uncommon. Nor would it help my cause to produce the girl as a witness. Her word would not necessarily be believed, and in inflicting such an ordeal on her I would lose rather than gain credibility with the jury.’

‘I understand.’ Elizabeth rested her head in her hands, thinking intently. ‘Then we must probe further, and whether you like it or not, the obvious line of attack is through my new friendship with Miss Kaye.’

Darcy shook his head firmly. ‘We have discussed this already, and it is out of the question.’

‘That is your view, Mr Darcy. I have not assented.’ She raised a finger. ‘But have you tried talking further with the victim? You took her to her aunt’s house, did you not?’

‘I did note the address in Spitalfields. But I doubt the poor girl—her name was Bertha—will know anything of value. It is hardly likely that Sir Osborne engaged her in conversation.’

‘Did you speak with Bertha in the carriage?’

‘Only to reassure her. She was still too traumatised to offer very much in return.’

‘Suppose we called together at the aunt’s house. Bertha might be less intimidated if I were present.’

He sighed. ‘At the risk of incurring your wrath, I must repeat the warning I gave earlier. We should not be seen together.’

‘Then I can go alone, or with a servant.’

‘Your uncle will disapprove. It is not a salubrious area of London.’

She sighed, and was framing a suitably contemptuous reply when their conversation was interrupted by another tap at the door. With a final glare at Darcy, Elizabeth rose from her chair to greet her aunt, who informed them graciously that if they were ready, dinner could now be served.

Left both excited and frustrated by this intense exchange with Darcy, Elizabeth remained unusually quiet at the dinner table. Darcy, fortunately, proved more forthcoming, and was quick to compliment Mrs Gardiner on the excellence of the Irish stew—a dish only recently come into fashion. A discussion ensued on whether such a stew should properly contain only mutton, potatoes and onions, or whether carrots and turnips were also admissible. Lacking a strong opinion, Elizabeth made only a pretence at following the conversation, while her mind was really engaged elsewhere.

Like it or not, a bridge had been crossed in her relationship with Darcy. In the heat of the moment, she had admitted that she cared for him. From such a declaration there could be no going back, and yet she was left with the uneasy sense that these words had slipped out against her wishes, as if some part of her mind were conspiring to undermine her. Certainly she had made no plan to reveal such a change in her feelings, which rationally she could not account for. Having once simply disliked him, she now loved and detested him in equal measure—an improvement, perhaps, but hardly a sound basis for matrimony. At least she had recovered some lost ground by disclaiming any wish to marry him.

These reflections had eventually to be dropped when, after the preparation of Irish stew had been explored from all angles, the conversation returned to more serious matters. With Elizabeth still disinclined to talk, it fell to Darcy to favour the Gardiners with his reading of the situation, which was that Elizabeth had provided valuable information about the Kayes and the Harburys, and could now withdraw from the field with her head held high, and no risk to her safety or reputation. This view was enthusiastically seconded by her uncle and aunt, leaving Elizabeth in a silent minority of one.

Next day, the afternoon post brought a letter from Jane which Elizabeth opened in her room, almost ripping the paper in her haste. From the first sentence she understood that all was well, and anxiety gave way to a glow of pleasure. Reading between the lines, Elizabeth guessed that her sister had not submitted easily to the renewal of Bingley’s attentions. Jane still felt keenly the pain of his earlier inconstancy, which in her view, as in Elizabeth’s, could not be excused entirely by the machinations of Darcy and Miss Bingley. To win her respect as well as her love, Bingley had needed to demonstrate strength and determination as well as affection; still, a week had apparently sufficed for this purpose, and now the couple were fully reconciled, with a wedding planned for late autumn.

After passing the good news to Mrs Gardiner, Elizabeth was composing an immediate reply when a servant knocked to inform her that a certain Miss Bertha Dobbs had arrived and was awaiting her in the drawing room.

Before descending, Elizabeth took a few minutes to collect her thoughts. Last night, over dinner, she had pressed her uncle, as strongly as she dared, to allow her to visit Spitalfields, in the hope that Sir Osborne Kaye’s victim was still to be found there, and able to provide information that might assist Darcy’s defence. Mr Gardiner, as predicted by Darcy, had vetoed the idea directly, but as so often, his wife had spotted a possible route round the obstacle. It transpired that her kitchen maid Polly was planning to leave, having accepted a proposal of marriage from a cobbler who lived the other side of London; if Bertha was willing, why should she not be interviewed for the vacant post?

Downstairs in the hallway, Elizabeth found Mrs Gardiner in conversation with a footman from Darcy House—not Burgess, but a small cheerful lad named Simpson. As planned, Simpson had called on Bertha’s aunt in Spitalfields to check that Bertha was well, and to find out whether she was interested in the position in Gracechurch Street; on receiving an affirmative answer, he had brought her directly.

In the drawing room Elizabeth found a thin fair-haired girl, neatly dressed in a pinafore and cap, talking in whispers to a servant who had been given charge of her. After dismissing the servant, she sat opposite the girl, and asked some questions about the journey to put her at her ease. So far as she could discern, Bertha had recovered well. There was still the suggestion of a bruise on her cheek, but otherwise her pretty face was unmarked, and her eyes were alert.

‘Did you work in the kitchen in your previous job?’ Elizabeth asked.

‘I began at Wistham Court as kitchen maid, madam. Last year I was promoted to a position above stairs as chamber maid, and also filled in for a while as ladies maid to Miss Kaye after Maggie …had to leave.’

Elizabeth noticed Bertha colour as she said this, but decided not to probe the matter yet. ‘How old you are now?’

After a pause, Bertha answered, ‘I’ll be fourteen in December.’

‘I see.’ Elizabeth shivered, imagining how her own thirteen-year-old self would have been traumatised by such abuse. ‘Are you happy living in London, or would you prefer to return to Wistham?’

The girl frowned. ‘I’m happy here, madam …’

‘You miss your mother, perhaps?’

‘We don’t always get on, but I’d like to see her and let her know I’m alright.’

Elizabeth nodded. ‘Now Bertha, I’m sorry to bring this up, but we have been told of the mistreatment you suffered in your previous position. I hope you understand that nothing of the sort will occur here. In this house you will be treated kindly and with respect. We ask in return only that you are honest and hardworking.’

Bertha stiffened, and in a strangled voice said, ‘I’m sorry for what happened, madam. I’m not usually a bad girl, promise.’

Elizabeth leaned forward and touched her arm. ‘Do not be distressed. There is no suggestion that any of this is your fault. May I ask …’ She took a deep breath. ‘Was this the first time you were mistreated?’

‘It was the only time, honest, madam. Master sent me to help with cleaning at another gentleman’s house because they were short of staff. I was doing an upstairs room when there was a bang on the door, and suddenly—there he was.’

Seeing that Bertha was near to tears, Elizabeth held up a hand. ‘There’s no need to explain further. You’ve done nothing wrong, Bertha, do you understand? Nothing wrong at all.’

She moved back into her chair and waited for Bertha to calm down before continuing: ‘You mentioned a housemaid at Wistham called Maggie. Were you friends?’

Bertha brightened. ‘Oh yes madam, Maggie taught me ever so much about hairdressing, removing stains from clothes, and suchlike.’

‘What a pity she had to leave.’

‘It was quite common.’ Bertha looked away, suddenly fighting back tears again. ‘They said she had disgraced herself, being in the family way, but it wasn’t fair …’

‘You mean that Maggie was also subjected to—mistreatment,’ Elizabeth suggested softly.

Bertha nodded, too upset to speak.

‘By the same man? Sir Osborne Kaye?’

Another nod.

‘And you said this was quite common. Other girls were mistreated and forced to leave?’

‘I shouldn’t say,’ Bertha whispered.

‘Don’t be alarmed. I won’t tell anyone, and you won’t get into trouble.’

Leaving Bertha to recover, Elizabeth walked to the window to collect her thoughts, before returning and asking softly: ‘Would you like to work here, Bertha?’

‘I think so, madam, but …’

‘Yes?’

Bertha reddened. ‘I have no references, because of—what happened. That’s why I haven’t been able to find another position.’

‘That won’t be a problem. Now Bertha, my aunt Mrs Gardiner would like to talk to you, and she can tell you about conditions and pay. I wonder …’ She took a deep breath. ‘Maggie and the other girls, did they also come from Wistham?’

‘Either Wistham or nearby villages. Maggie’s family are two miles away in Midhurst.’

‘Can you remember their names and addresses?’

Bertha stared at her in puzzlement. ‘I don’t know about addresses, madam. But I could show you where they live.’

Elizabeth decided to press no further, and after one or two reassuringly routine enquiries passed her on to Mrs Gardiner.

‘I have news,’ Bridget said, leading Elizabeth to the parlour at Cavendish Square. ‘Possibly unwelcome news from your perspective, but exciting for Thomas and Georgie. We are invited for a month to Sir George Beaumont’s country home at Coleorton Hall. Thomas has finished his business here in town, so we are leaving at the weekend.’