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Part Eight

Posted on Tuesday, 18 June 2002, at 8:21 a.m.

The reception accorded to Elizabeth and Lydia when they arrived at the Fitton residence was, initially at least, precisely what the former had apprehended. Mrs. Wickham was met by the elder Miss Fitton, who was alone as her sister was engaged in visiting a friend, with cool though polite civility, which however did nothing to diminish Lydia's inclination to indulge in the style of behaviour which she favoured. She gushed, she giggled and, when Elizabeth almost determined to make their excuses and depart before Miss Fitton's opinions were irrevocably tarnished towards herself as well as her sister, she introduced Elizabeth to their host with exaggerated solemnity, as though bestowing a favour of considerable condescension. Elizabeth, angered and chagrined by Lydia's manner, spent the following five minutes repairing the damage that had been wrought thus far by expressing sincere pleasure in Miss Fitton's acquaintance, inquiring politely after her absent sister and, more particularly, her father -- which Lydia had signally failed to do -- and responding with deprecation to Lydia's interruptions, which sought to emphasize Elizabeth's stature and affluence. Miss Fitton at first thawed only slightly, but as Elizabeth continued to display her genuineness and pleasant manners, accentuated as they were by the contrast to Lydia's childish and petty interjections, she warmed to Elizabeth quickly and bestowed on her the first genuine smile they had received since their arrival. She invited them to sit and called for refreshments.

Elizabeth breathed an inaudible sigh of relief as she sat down, gratified that she had succeeded in showing Miss Fitton that not all the Bennet family were as foolish as Lydia would lead one to suspect. As Miss Fitton made some polite enquiries of her sister about her condition, she studied the former discreetly. In one respect, she reflected, Lydia had been totally correct in her information during their journey. Miss Amelia Fitton was decidedly pretty, with masses of chestnut hair piled on her head in a becoming style and deep, hazel eyes. She was tall, Elizabeth had noticed, with a slim figure and was dressed in a flattering dark green gown and adorned with the minimum of jewellery. She observed, however, that the gown was not new and surmised that her host was forced to manage as best she could on limited resources, in which she appeared to succeed with some distinction. Some moments spent studying the morning room in which they were sitting confirmed these suspicions. The furniture was of very good quality, but the faded fabric on chair and sofa, the carpet slightly worn near the centre of the room and the yellowing of the cream paint-work bespoke a diminution in income which prevented the Fittons maintaining their previous lifestyle.

Her manners were quiet and unassuming, and she tolerated Lydia's conduct with a patient and indulgent air which, while without being sufficiently insincere to convey any great pleasure in her society, never betrayed any impatience or irritation at her self-centred and insensitive disposition. Elizabeth could appreciate the level of forbearance and self-control this response demanded and her opinion of their hostess grew appreciably as she witnessed it, while further consideration led her to conjecture that Amelia was better able to countenance Lydia's behaviour because life had dealt her misfortunes which had formed a character which accepted the hardships this entailed if not with resignation, then at least with endurance.

The arrival of the tea, brought by a middle aged woman who appeared to be a valued family retainer, judging by Miss Fitton's demeanour towards her, brought about a slight change in the progress of the conversation as Lydia began to find the prospect of continuing her discourse and eating the inordinate number of biscuits and pieces of cake she crammed into her mouth more difficult in practise than in theory. Miss Fitton turned to Elizabeth and made some polite enquiries about her home, this time unencumbered by any interference from Lydia. Elizabeth answered readily and the two were soon engaged in a debate on all aspects of running a household, Miss Fitton's longer experience in this activity balancing Elizabeth's greater responsibilities, she being accountable for two houses, both of them rather large. Elizabeth confessed that as far as their London house went, she had only spent a few days there immediately after the wedding and two weeks at Easter, when she had accompanied her husband to town on business. She intimated that she would have the task of taking a more active role when they went to town for her new sister Georgiana's first season and coming-out ball. Miss Fitton responded with interest to her frank and unselfconscious confessions and within minutes they were getting on famously, their conversation lively and interspersed with laughter and keen observation.

"And how long have you been married, Mrs. Darcy?" Miss Fitton had gone on to ask, though she already knew the answer from Lydia, who had boasted to all who would listen of her sister's good fortune in securing Mr. Darcy; though she had added that he was a proud, disagreeable man.

"For just above six months," Elizabeth had replied, smiling.

Miss Fitton, who knew Lydia well enough to mistrust the veracity of her assertions and was beginning to feel she knew Elizabeth well enough to doubt she would willingly marry anyone as disagreeable as Lydia described, continued with, "And how do you find it?"

Elizabeth looked at her keenly. She had not quite managed to keep her voice steady as she made the inquiry and when Elizabeth studied her more closely she noticed a tension in her face which betrayed some strong emotion. Anxiety perhaps? Remembering Lydia's information about Miss Fitton's recent betrothal, and surmising that like most women about to enter the married state she was apprehensive about the future, she attempted to reassure her with, "Well, it is a major change, of course, to leave one's home and family behind. But with the right person, I am sure, there is no greater felicity."

"And you have found the right person?"

"Oh, yes. I could not wish for a better," stated Elizabeth sincerely, bestowing on Miss Fitton a look of openness and sympathy, causing her to smile, though a little tentatively. This small exchange was, however, rather spoilt by a loud, unladylike snort from Lydia. The other two looked at her with expressions that displayed surprize and displeasure and, uncharacteristically abashed, she was silent for a moment under their gaze, before taking another biscuit and crunching it noisily. Elizabeth rolled her eyes at their hostess and Miss Fitton relaxed visibly and appeared to be suppressing laughter.

"I understand, Miss Fitton, that..." said Elizabeth, before that lady interrupted with, "Please, call me Amelia, or Amy if you prefer." Lydia looked astonished and huffed in annoyance. She had known Amelia Fitton for nearly six months and it had taken almost three of them before she had been allowed the privilege of calling her by her first name. Fortunately, her display went quite unnoticed by the other two, as Elizabeth was answering.

"Of course," said she, pleased by the overture of friendship this request signalled, "and please call me Elizabeth, or Lizzy."

"Thank you. Oh, I am sorry, I interrupted you."

"I was going to say that I understand that you have recently become engaged yourself."

Amelia appeared disconcerted by this declaration, though her discomposure was well disguised, and she shot Lydia a look which was not altogether friendly, before answering briefly, "Yes, though it has not been announced publicly yet."

Elizabeth, seeing this reaction, surmised that Lydia had once again allowed her proclivity for gossip to override her discretion. Obviously she had been told in confidence and Amelia was not happy that news of her engagement was being broadcast. She was about to offer some apology for her lapse when Amelia turned to Lydia and said in the same coldly civil tone that she had first received them, "You did not tell me, when you were here the other day, how you knew about it, Lydia. I suspected Bella was your informant, but she later denied it. Pray, how did you know, for I am sure you did not hear it from her."

"No," Lydia replied, completely unconcerned, "Wickham told me."

Worse and worse. Elizabeth felt her face flush, at her own embarrassment over her faux pas and vexation at Lydia's indiscretion. She stole a glance at Miss Fitton and saw for the first time that her air of forbearance had slipped and there was anger in her eyes; though her observation went unnoticed, as Amelia was regarding Lydia fixedly.

"Really?" responded Amelia in the same tone, "and how does Mr. Wickham know?" She said the name with an undertone of contempt.

Lydia shrugged. "I don't know, he did not tell me."

Elizabeth, at first rendered mute and immobile by this exchange, had by now determined that she must take action before proceedings deteriorated still further. She had just steeled herself to interject when she was forestalled by the door opening suddenly and a young woman entering. She halted at the sight of the three of them sitting there, two betraying evidence of the tension in the atmosphere and one apparently unaware of it, before coming forward hesitantly. Her eyes swept quickly over each in turn, bestowing on Lydia a look which betrayed some disapproval.

"Ahh, Bella," Amelia greeted her in a return to her more relaxed tone, then added with a hint of sarcasm and a glance at Lydia, "what fortunate timing."

"Sutton? Do you mean the attorney?" asked Sir Thomas. He moved back to the body and scanned the features again, from closer proximity than previously and with more attention. "By God, so it is!" he exclaimed after a few seconds thus engaged, "I did not recognise him at first. The face is turned towards the ground and the blood has settled in it." He shuddered.

Darcy, who had heard Perry's revelation as to the identity of the corpse with a mind that was becoming more immune by the hour to unpleasant disclosures, which was hardly surprizing given the practise it had received in the last two days, nevertheless started and stood dumbly, staring at Perry for several seconds after his disclosure. The Captain's gaze was fixed on the corpse in a look of shock which was soon replaced by one of confusion and disbelief and, sensing Darcy's eyes on him, he looked up. Their eyes met; Darcy's dark and unreadable and Perry's, open wide and perplexed, his raised brow conveying his inability to comprehend this turn of events.

Darcy, who just a few moments earlier had been willing to dismiss this mysterious death as totally unconnected with their investigations, now felt the full force of how mistaken that assumption had been. He scolded himself as he realized that as soon as he had established that the dead man was not Wickham he had been less attentive than necessary, a misjudgement he vowed not to repeat. He turned his attention back to the corpse, but whereas before he had only studied to establish its identity, this time his eyes registered all the details he had previously overlooked. The dark hair, neatly barbered. The broad, powerful shoulders and deep chest. The well-manicured and shapely hands, one finger adorned with a large seal ring. The expensive and well-cut coat, spotless breeches and stockings and highly polished black boots. The fine malacca walking stick which lay by its side and, a couple of feet from the head lying crown upwards, the well-brushed hat. But all these details were overshadowed by the silver handle of the knife which protruded from Sutton's back, to which his gaze returned again and again. There was very little blood around the wound and it was the only disturbance in the broad back of Sutton's light blue coat, suggesting he had been killed almost instantaneously by a single blow. He shook his head in bewilderment and, recalling the magistrate's last exclamation, asked, "Did you know him, Sir Thomas?"

Sir Thomas pursed his lips, contemplating Darcy shrewdly and, after cogitating for a moment, answered slowly, "Well, our paths did not cross in any professional capacity, you understand. But I have heard the odd whisper; that he was said to sail a little close to the wind in his business dealings, for instance. He has never appeared before me, neither as advocate or, erm, for any other reason, which is unusual. I have never been introduced to him, though I have seen him at one of my clubs two or three times, where I believe he was a guest of another member. The only time his name emerged in any case that came before me was when he was mentioned as one of the creditors of a chap charged with debt, though the action was brought by another man." He paused a moment as though he would say something more, then appeared to change his mind and finished lamely, "That's all I can say, really."

Darcy nodded. This seemed to fit in with what Perry had told General Ashe and himself during their conference earlier that morning. Perry has said that Sutton was too wily to risk bringing himself to the official notice of someone like Sir Thomas, though it was clear that the local grapevine had performed with its customary efficiency and Sir Thomas had heard enough to pique his interest, probably -- judging by his uncertain manner -- more than he was willing to disclose. Darcy wondered at the reason for what appeared to be some reticence on the magistrate's part to be completely candid about what he knew or suspected, though he reflected that this may be due to Sir Thomas wishing to protect the sources of his information. It then struck Darcy that he was unaware exactly what details of Wickham's recent activities General Ashe had imparted to Sir Thomas when requesting his aid -- though a moments reflection reassured him that nothing pertaining to Sutton could have passed between the two, since the general was unaware of his dealings with Wickham until that morning's conference. He wondered how much further Sir Thomas could be taken into their confidence. Perry, who knew as much as he did, had seen the possibility immediately, as revealed by his choice of words before. Had Wickham passed in one moment from the role of victim to that of perpetrator? Was his disappearance the result of flight following a deadly encounter with his chief creditor, the man who could have him incarcerated should Wickham dishonour his debts? Darcy found himself torn. He had thanked the general when he had been informed that Sir Thomas' help had been obtained, as he had then been concerned only to discover Wickham's whereabouts; but now he contemplated the possibility that once Sir Thomas knew the nature of Wickham's connection with Sutton, he would raise the hue and cry for Wickham and any attempt to prevent all they had learned becoming public would be utterly futile. His disappearance, coinciding as it appeared to do with the tragedy, would be seen as an extremely suspicious circumstance, and he was sure that Sir Thomas would accept the obvious solution rather than view the evidence with the scepticism a truly impartial investigation should demand. Darcy would have no qualms, should Wickham prove to be responsible, to see him pay the price for the crime, but he felt they should tread warily before jumping to conclusions, which was what he feared Sir Thomas might do. He decided that he would ensure every aspect of this was investigated thoroughly. He would provide Sir Thomas with any relevant facts, should he request them, but not any speculations. He considered that, given what they knew of Sutton's activities, Wickham was likely to be but one of many who could have reason to rejoice at the prospect of Sutton being unable to continue them, and this thought eased the slight guilt he felt at having decided to be less open with Sir Thomas.

Darcy felt the first thing he needed to do was consult with Perry in order to obtain his support in this regard, and he was just formulating a plan to achieve this when Sir Thomas, who had been looking around somewhat distractedly, exclaimed, "Ahh, here comes Tredgold." Darcy and Perry turned in time to see the doctor, accompanied by Constable Hood, approaching from the gate in the churchyard wall, where the constable had been standing sentinel in anticipation of the doctor's arrival. Sir Thomas advanced towards them and greeted Tredgold with familiarity, turning back with him and explaining the situation on the way. He introduced Darcy and Perry to the doctor when they arrived back at the body, and Tredgold bowed and greeted them courteously. He was a man of fifty years or so, short and dapper in appearance with a shock of almost pure white hair and bright eyes that communicated intelligence. The hand he offered to Darcy was small and as perfectly formed as a craftsman's, but his grip was firm and all his movements were precise and exact, giving him an air of competence and control which impressed the others immediately. He responded to their greetings economically, before turning his attention to the corpse.

"Well, well, and what have you done to yourself then?" he said to the inert form in front of him, as though talking to a child who had been brought to him with a scraped knee.

"I would have thought that was fairly obvious, even to you, Tredgold." Sir Thomas said with dry humour.

"Never take anything for granted," was the calm response, "you know I don't like to jump to conclusions."

"Jump?" snorted Sir Thomas in amused exasperation. "You don't even crawl towards them."

Tredgold grinned wickedly. "No, I leave that to you."

Darcy supressed a smile at this good-natured banter and, seizing the opportunity to achieve two objectives at once, suggested to Sir Thomas, "Perhaps while the doctor is making his examination, Perry and I should reconnoitre the rest of the ground. I particularly want to look at that place the sexton mentioned."

"Oh, yes, the other way in," Sir Thomas replied. "Good idea. The constable and I will stay here and assist the doctor."

Darcy nodded, and he and Perry moved away together slowly. The breach in the wall that the sexton had described, which had been hidden by the trees which adjoined it from their view whilst they stood at the gate, was now visible from their position in the centre of the clearing in a gap between two evergreens, and they moved towards it deliberately. They began by examining the area close to the body and were rewarded almost instantly when both noticed some small disturbances of the ground, which was unevenly covered with grass. The marks were not distinct enough to yield very definite evidence, except on the barer patches of soil, and both contemplated them for a moment in silence.

"These look like the traces of two or more persons," offered Perry after a while, "though they do not seem to point in any direction."

"Yes," Darcy agreed, "I would suggest they are the traces of two, or more, people who had an interview of some kind. They seemed to have moved about while they stayed in this general area." They continued on a few more yards further in the direction of the gap in the trees, scanning the ground as they went.

"Ahh, here is a bare patch. The marks are more easily recognisable," Darcy indicated. Perry approached closer and studied the area he had pointed out. The traces here were more clearly defined and actual footprints could be made out in the soil. The two studied them with interest. "Two people, and they were definitely here at the same time," said Darcy.

"How do you know that?"

"See here," Darcy pointed with his stick, "one of them, who has the smaller boots by the way, has trodden in the other's footprint. Whereas here," he pointed again, "the opposite has occurred. Therefore they were here together. I would say that it was two persons, no more. I cannot see evidence of a third. Come, let us look at the entrance in the wall, the traces may be more revealing."

Perry acquiesed and they moved on, following what traces they could see, a task which became more difficult as they were less evident in this area. As they passed under the shade of the trees, the wall came clearly into view and they saw that they were on a bee-line for the place the sexton had described to them, as the fallen section was visible directly in front of them, its condition explained by a large elm tree which stood close to the wall on the opposite side and sent its large boughs in all directions.

"Well, it would seem there is little doubt where they came from," Perry said.

Darcy nodded. "Yes, though given the traces at the gate in the churchyard wall, it was to be expected. It appears to be the only other way in, unless one jumps over the wall or climbs through the hedge."

"True," Perry concurred, "which, considering there is easy access through the gap in the wall, would be unnecessarily energetic."

"Hmm. Well, let us hope the ground nearby can afford us more material for consideration."

The introduction of a fourth into the company in the Fitton's sitting room had initially at least the benefit of requiring only one of the sisters to suffer Lydia's ill-conceived and imprudent disclosures. Unfortunately for that lady, the task fell at the outset to Miss Amelia, who undertook it with stoical fortitude. Miss Bella, having assessed the situation quickly on entering, had diffused the chilly atmosphere somewhat by smiling warmly and embracing her sister and welcoming Lydia, though this time emotionlessly. Amelia introduced her to Elizabeth and Bella greeted her with more warmth than Elizabeth would have expected given the look she had bestowed on Lydia on entering, and engaged her in conversation. Before long they were conversing like old acquaintances.

Elizabeth studied the younger sister as they discoursed and at first it was the similarities between Miss Bella and Amelia that struck her. The same chestnut hair and hazel eyes, though this time tinged with green, the same tall figure and the same pleasant, melodious voice -- they were very much alike she concluded. After several minutes more observation, however, she began to notice some differences that she had at first overlooked. There was a tenaciousness about Bella's manner of conversing, which prevented any dissembling, and she had a determined, almost obstinate cast to her features which, Elizabeth noticed with surprize, did not detract from her beauty but rather amplified it. Elizabeth felt that if Amy's character and air seemed to indicate reserve, complaisance and a willingness to accept life's hardships and endure them as well as possible, Bella's indicated an inquisitive, single-minded and resolute disposition which would fight against injustice with a strong will. She decided that she had met a kindred spirit, and joined in the conversation eagerly.

While they were thus engaged, the other two were faring less well. Amy was disinclined to continue speaking to Lydia, though she was willing to listen as politely as possible, but after a few attempts by the latter to interest her in the latest fashions and the scandalous rumours that Mrs. Tatley wore a wig, which were met with strained tolerance but without response, they relapsed into silence and attended to the conversation between Bella and Elizabeth.

"What brings you to Newcastle, Mrs. Darcy?" Bella was asking.

Elizabeth, sensing the others' attention, answered diplomatically, "My husband had business in the area, so I accompanied him as I knew it would give me an opportunity to visit Mrs. Wickham."

"So you are staying at your sister's home?"

Elizabeth suppressed a smile at the prospect. "No, there was not time to forewarn her we were coming, and we would not want to inconvenience her. Mr. Darcy and I are staying with General Ashe and his wife," Elizabeth glanced over just in time to see the look of alarm which overspread Lydia's face at this disclosure. Since Lydia had not had the courtesy to ask her where she was staying earlier, she at first felt little sympathy for her hearing the news in this manner. However, a brief rumination persuaded her that Lydia had probably assumed they were merely staying at an inn, and the realization that their being at the Ashe's might cause suspicion about the real reasons for their journey compelled her to add, almost without pause, "The General is an acquaintance of Mr. Darcy's cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and he and his wife have been most kind." Lydia appeared to be soothed a little by this explanation.

"Oh, I am sure," Bella replied. "Catherine Ashe is a very pleasant woman indeed."

Elizabeth concurred. "Yes, she has been most hospitable. You are acquainted with her then?"

"Yes, though not very closely. Although we have no connection with the ---shire, we do know a number of the officers, and their friends. There are not so many people here as London, or even Edinburgh, and our community is more like a towns' -- everyone knows everyone else, and their business."

"I can appreciate -- and sympathise with -- that," smiled Elizabeth, "for Mrs. Wickham and myself come from such a place; near Meryton, in Hertfordshire. There you could not order an extra duck for supper without it being the principal topic of discussion in every parlour for three miles." Miss Bella responded with a gesture of amused comprehension, and Elizabeth continued in the same playful tone, "Tell me, what do you think of the officers -- are they the fine, upright body of men that all army men are reputed to be?"

"Well," responded Bella, a little of her gaiety disappearing, "they are, I suspect, like any other group of men. Some are very gentlemanly, several are rather handsome, no doubt -- though perhaps one or two are rather too well aware of the fact -- and some are rather plain but still pleasant enough company." She paused there, as though she would say more but was unsure whether to proceed.

"Indeed?" said Elizabeth. "This is a testimonial! Even the ones not blessed with handsome looks agreeable company? I wonder, Miss Amy, you did not choose your fiance from among the officers, especially one of the gentlemanly, handsome ones."

"No, I assure you," that lady supplied, "I have never considered any of the officers in that light." The tone of her voice was sincere as she said this, and Elizabeth had no difficulty believing her, but something about her eyes and the surreptitious glance that passed between herself and her sister piqued her curiosity. She docketed the impression away for future consideration and turned back to Bella.

"This accounts for the good among them. But what of that which is less estimable?" she probed, teasingly.

"Ahh, there we pass into the bounds of hearsay, for surely you could not expect me to have personal knowledge of any ungentlemanly behaviour?" Bella rejoindered in a similar tone, making Elizabeth like her all the more. "But I suppose," she continued less assuredly, when she saw from Elizabeth's raised brow and fixed gaze that she would not be able to avoid an answer, "there are a few whose acquaintance I would be happy to forgo."

"And why pray? ...Oh, do not worry," she assured her, as she sensed some discomfiture at her scrutiny, "I will not demand you name the miscreants."

"That is considerate of you," replied Bella with a little emphasis. "Very well, there are a few I suppose who think too well of themselves, as I said, who are perhaps a little too familiar. There are some who are perhaps more interested in the social opportunities that their positions enable them to enjoy. Cards and billiards -- often for money I am told -- are a favourite pastime, I believe. As to their relations with those of the other sex, well I can only conjecture from what else I know of their characters, which is not a great deal -- but as much as I want, I assure you."

"I see," said Elizabeth. She had observed Bella's eyes darting around the room as she made this speech and noticed with interest the way she seemed to struggle -- albeit successfully -- to avoid looking at Lydia. Aware that Lydia's presence was a hindrance to any further confidences and thankful that Bella had been as forthright as possible while maintaining such diplomatic language, she decided to abandon any further enquiries on the subject until a more advantageous juncture.

"I believe," Amy ventured, rejoining the conversation, and stealing a glance at Lydia, "that you will get an opportunity to form your own conclusions about the officers during your time here."

"Yes," agreed Bella archly. "No doubt you will be attending Mr. Nash's gathering in two days time. The General and Mrs. Ashe are usually present and I'm sure Mr. Nash will extend the invitation to include Mr. Darcy and yourself. There you can judge if my opinions are accurate." She smiled at Elizabeth to suggest that she was confident they would be.

"I have not heard of Mr. Nash," confessed Elizabeth, "or any such invitation, but I will be pleased to attend if Mr. Darcy is favourable to us doing so. I'm sure..."

"Ohh nonsense!" Lydia interrupted rudely, determined to have a share in the conversation, "you must certainly come, Lizzy, with or without Mr. Darcy. Why, I dare say if he does deign to go he'll only stand silently in a corner staring at everyone in disapproval." She laughed like a hyena at her own wit, until Elizabeth eyes turned on her with a look that would have stopped a runaway horse.

A look of acute embarrassment passed between Amy and Bella at Lydia's undignified and improper exclamation. Both marvelled anew that the other two could be related and Bella could only manage an encouraging, "Yes, you must certainly come, Amy and I would greatly appreciate some agreeable company." The last was emphasized by a cold look at Lydia.

"Thank you," Elizabeth responded with apparent calm, though she was seething, "You may be assured that if the invitation is extended we will do all in our power to attend." The sisters smiled their approbation at this promise and the manner in which it was delivered. "But tell me," Elizabeth continued, desperate to move the conversation on, "I know nothing about this Mr. Nash. I assume he is familiar with the officers, as you say they will be in attendance, but what is he like?"

"What is he like?!" exclaimed Lydia, as though amazed at her sisters ignorance, "why he is only the most eligible bachelor for twenty miles around! Every unmarried woman under forty is madly in love with him!"

"Not every one, Mrs Wickham," Bella replied, with emphasis and a small glance at her sister.

Part 9

Posted on Wednesday, 26 June 2002, at 8:34 a.m.

Darcy and Captain Perry approached the breach in the wall carefully, the former slightly in front, stepping gingerly over the ground in order to avoid destroying any traces that might be discernible, his head bent over in close scrutiny of the area immediately before him. When they had approached to within fifteen feet of the wall, Darcy straightened up abruptly and said in a voice of false calm, "We are in luck."

He gestured towards the ground in front of the wall, where a strip of earth, which had been largely denuded of its grassy covering by the traffic of feet and shade -- leaving behind a strip of mud above ten feet deep and covering the whole width of the gap -- revealed the most distinct traces they had hitherto seen. Perry joined him and they stood side by side, contemplating the ground with attention from the position they occupied, without drawing any closer. After a few moments thus engaged, Darcy edged along the side of the strip, leaning forward occasionally to enable himself to better scrutinize the impressions. At one point he laid his stick on the ground and studied the marks attentively, before recommencing his previous activity. When he had almost reached the wall he turned back and, after passing Perry, who still stood unmoving, alternately watching Darcy and studying the ground, he approached the wall along the other side of the strip. Having again gone almost to the wall, he turned back and approached the captain, who was now looking exclusively at the marks with concentration again. Darcy remained silent, allowing Perry time to observe and cogitate, and glanced back in the direction from which they had approached.

"What do you make of it?" Perry's voice interrupted his train of thought. He turned his attention back to his companion.

"I should be interested to hear your own observations," Darcy replied. "What do you see?"

Perry regarded the ground again and answered slowly, "I see the tracks of what appear to be three lines of footprints. Two travel in the direction of the body, that is they are pointing into the clearing. One is travelling in the opposite direction, outwards."

"Yes," agreed Darcy, "that's the way I read it too. These," he pointed with his stick to one of the lines of impressions, "are Sutton's."

"How can you infer that?"

Darcy shrugged modestly. "Well, the person who made them entered the clearing, but there is no corresponding line of footsteps to show him leaving. Also, more specifically, they match his boots, which I took a good look at when we were examining the body. See the maker's mark -- that symbol which looks rather like a five-pointed star; I saw it on his soles. You can also see the impressions made by his stick, which we saw beside the body and which he carried in his left hand. The other had no stick, or if he did he possibly carried it by the middle, since he left no such marks with it. How tall was Sutton?"

The captain considered. "Oh, about five feet and nine inches, though as you saw he was a powerfully built man."

"Then the stride would appear about right as well; it is a good three inches shorter than my own and seems a little deeper than the others, suggesting his extra weight, though the last is a little conjectural."

"What of the other tracks?" asked Perry, impressed.

Darcy smiled. "I understood that we were going to hear your own conclusions."

Perry returned the smile mischievously. "Well, you seem to be making enough deductions to suffice for both of us. Do carry on." He waved his hand in invitation and raised his brow in a manner that bespoke amusement alloyed with keen interest.

"Very well," rejoined Darcy readily, "though it is important to remember that we must separate what is fact from what is inference. We may have to testify to what we have seen before a judge, so it is important that you make your own observations, in order to verify any inferences I make with your own eyes."

Perry nodded his understanding of this point, and Darcy began by beckoning him towards the wall on the left of the gap.

"Look here." He indicated with his stick. "What can you see?"

"It appears," replied the captain, after studying the footprints for a moment, "as though Sutton, if we assume this track is his, which I think we can given the individuality of the maker's mark, has stepped in one of the prints belonging to the other person."

"Yes," Darcy concurred. "Now look here." He pointed to some marks further along.

Perry looked again. "Ahh, I think I see where you are leading. The opposite has occurred, as we saw in the clearing. The other person had trodden in one of Sutton's footsteps."

"And which direction are the other person's steps travelling?" probed Darcy, eyeing him shrewdly.

"Well, here they are leaving the clearing," Perry answered. He considered for a moment, then returned to the place Darcy had first indicated with increased attention. "In the other, they are entering," he said with suppressed excitement.

"Yes, we have confirmation of what we saw in the clearing. Both of them were here at the same time, though this tells us more then the other traces did. It shows us the order of events."

"Yes, I see," said Perry. He began to pace in excitement, as the realization of what the traces appeared to indicate struck him forcibly. "It would seem that the other person entered the clearing first. Then a little later, Sutton comes on the scene and treads in the other's footprints. Later still, the first person leaves, stepping in Sutton's track. Sutton is left behind, and is dead."

Darcy nodded appreciatively at this exposition, though he added cautiously, "The last is not deductible from the footmarks alone, though it is a reasonable conjecture. We can not tell how long passed between the arrival of the first person and Sutton, nor before the former left. However, since the traces at the gate in the churchyard wall show no one except the sexton went that way and it is far fetched in the extreme to imagine Sutton stabbed himself in the back, you are probably correct. It would appear that it comes to this -- either some other person whom we have no knowledge of entered the clearing another way, perhaps as we suggested over the wall or through some gap in the hedge, or the person who left those two lines of footprints murdered Sutton."

"Then we have only to identify the person who left those marks and we have our murderer," stated Perry firmly, as though the idea of another trespasser could be dismissed.

"Hmm," Darcy replied non-committally, his eyes fixed on the ground.

"What can we tell about him?" the captain persisted.

Darcy considered. "Not a great deal, I am afraid. There is no individuality in the footprints as there is in Sutton's to make identification easy should we wish to incorporate or eliminate anyone from our enquiries. But, let us catalogue what information we can in the hope that it will give us some indication, or serve as corroboration if we have reason to suspect anyone in particular."

The unspoken implication of the last of this speech caused Perry to look at him keenly, since there was but one person they had knowledge of who might have a motive for Sutton's elimination, given the right circumstances, and his name had not been uttered by either of them. Darcy, who did not feel inclined at that moment to pursue the idea, noticed the look but ignored it, and Perry refrained from direct comment, as he was eager to hear Darcy's interpretation of the tracks and was convinced they would be obliged to discuss the other matter before too long.

They both studied the trails in silence for a time, each moving over the whole area and pausing to closely examine any particularly distinct impressions. After a few minutes, during which no words were spoken, Perry saw Darcy again lay his stick on the ground beside one line of footprints and enquired, "You did that before, what is the object?"

Darcy looked up. "I am measuring the length of the stride. My stick is thirty three inches in length, and the distance between these two prints twenty-nine or thirty inches, about the same as my own stride. He was a tall man."

"He could not have been running or hurrying in some way which would increase the length of his stride and give a false impression?" Perry enquired.

His companion regarded him with undisguised respect. "Good point, but no I do not believe so. The impression of his boots is even. If he had been running the toes would be deep and we would hardly see the heels in the ground. The same applies to a lesser extent if he was hurrying, but I can see no indication of it."

Perry nodded. "Anything else?"

"I would suggest he was a young, active man." Darcy offered.

"How do you reach that conclusion?"

For answer Darcy beckoned him near the wall on the right hand side of the gap. "Look here."

The captain studied the ground for a moment then shook his head, "I am sorry, I do not see..."

"Well, rather than walk straight through the middle of the breach in the wall, our man seems to have stepped onto the stones on this side. They are only a foot or so high at that point, but he has taken a large stride from the top into the clearing. The first print is above forty inches from the wall, and deeper than the rest, which suggests he is young and fit, for an older man would have walked through the middle. They also suggest he came towards the gap from the direction of the village, as he was on that side, which we should verify by taking a look at any impressions on the other side of the wall when we have finished here."

Perry nodded in appreciation, "Yes, I see. You are very observant, sir."

Darcy felt a small surge of gratification at this praise, but a moments self-reflection enabled him to quash it effectively. "Not always," said he wryly, thinking of one or two occasions when had been less successful in his inferences concerning two sisters from Hertfordshire. He shook this thought off and suggested, "The man who could really tell us about all these tracks is my groom, Farrow. That man could track a deer for miles through the forest when the autumn leaves are down. His father was head-keeper to my father and myself before his death and he taught me some of his tracking skills; and his son has inherited his talent, as well as his knowledge. I think it would be advantageous to have his opinion on all of this; and he is by far the best person to look over the rest of the ground for any other traces we may have missed -- someone climbing over the wall or through the hedge as we postulated before. I believe I will send a note off to summon him when we rejoin Sir Thomas and Doctor Tredgold, provided there is no objection."

"I can not believe there will be. But, pardon me, sir, you do not really believe that he will find evidence of any other person do you?"

Darcy considered this carefully, then shook his head. "No, I do not," he admitted. "It is just...some parts of this seem quite clear, others not so."

"Yes," Perry agreed, "there are one or two things which puzzle me as well."

His companion eyed him with interest. "Such as?"

"Well, firstly," ventured Perry, "how came Sutton and... well, the other man, to be here at all? I would not have thought it a likely spot for a private conference. And when they do get here, they walk into the middle of the clearing, where they can be seen clearly by any passing stranger. They did not even move out of sight of the gap in the wall. I do not understand that."

Darcy smiled tolerantly. "You believe they would have done better to have hidden themselves behind the wall or amongst the trees?"

"Yes, it would seem more discreet."

"More discreet, but also more dangerous," countered Darcy promptly. "If they had done so, they would have been far more susceptible to anyone intent on eavesdropping on their discourse. No, if you want to discuss something privately, the centre of a field -- or anywhere where you can have forewarning of any approach -- is an excellent place to choose."

Perry's eyebrows rose in surprize. "I had not thought of it that way, no doubt you are correct."

"Also the risk of being observed may be less than we think. The chances of anyone passing the gap are small, especially if we consider the likely time they were here," Darcy continued.

"How can we deduce that?"

"Remember what the sexton told us," Darcy reminded him. "He told us he looked into the field an hour or so before sunset yesterday and it was empty, yet when he reached the body this morning it was cold and stiff. That suggests it happened last evening, possibly around sunset as it would be hazardous to be here after dark, when a light might be necessary; and you would want enough light to observe your counterpart in a business meeting, which we must assume it was, given what we know of Sutton." He pondered for a moment, then apparently struck by a thought added ruminatively, "Though if it was after dusk, it may explain one of the things which is unclear to me."

"Which is?" quizzed the captain, intrigued.

Darcy raised his arms wide in indication. "Look at those marks. If you had come here, met a man, murdered him by stabbing him in the back and then walked calmly away, would you leave those tell-tale footprints behind you?"

Perry smiled grimly. "Your point is a good one, sir," he responded after some consideration. "but I am by no means convinced that any particular attention would have been paid to these traces had you not been one of the party. Sir Thomas obviously did not grasp the significance of the evidence at the churchyard gate and though he may have made it his business to check this area, I find it hard to believe he would have extracted as much information as you have out of what traces there are. There does not appear to be any individuality to the footmarks of the second man as there are in Sutton's with their maker's mark, so we have only your surmises as to his height and age -- not conclusive evidence in itself."

"True," Darcy acknowledged, unconvinced, "but it was still a risk."

"Perhaps the choice of location was not within the murderer's control?" suggested Perry.

"In what way?"

"If Sutton and... well, whoever is responsible met by appointment..."

"Which they must have, surely," Darcy interjected, "to be in so secluded a place, far from Sutton's -- and probably the murderer's -- usual locale."

"Yes, then perhaps it was Sutton who chose the place and the murderer was forced to take advantage of the opportunity presented, without considering the risk too closely. He could be fairly confident that the body would not be discovered until at least this morning, ample time to get away if that was his intention."

This conjecture, matching as it did the assumed activities of the gentleman they had both avoided mentioning thus far, was received less than enthusiastically, though Darcy was forced to concede its plausibility. "Yes," he replied heavily and pondered again.

After a few moments silence, Perry broke into his reverie again by asking him to elucidate what other aspects of the situation were unclear to him and Darcy responded with a wry grimace. "One, I am sure, has occurred to you. You said before that one or two things puzzled you."

"Yes, the location of their tête-à-tête was one. The other was the wound."

"Exactly, that struck me as soon as we saw the body." Darcy paused a moment to gather his thoughts, then turned to Perry and continued in the manner of an advocate cross-questioning a witness. "You are Alfred Sutton, lawyer and money-lender. Your business is often conducted with desperate and insecure people who do not look upon you with a friendly eye. You make an appointment to meet one of your business associates in a secluded spot at a quiet time of day, obviously with the intention of ensuring that you will not be observed or interrupted. You arrive as arranged and your appointee is already here waiting and you engage in the interview that brought you hither. Do you then conveniently turn your back on the other person, giving him the perfect opportunity to dispatch you? It beggars belief!"

"Yes," the captain agreed, "Sutton was altogether too downy a bird to do such a thing. It is most confusing. I can not imagine what caused him to let down his guard in such a manner, he always struck me as a careful man who could see well ahead. I have never heard of anyone getting the better of him in a battle of wits."

"Well, someone got the better of him this time, and the consequences were fatal," Darcy supplied grimly. He considered for a moment, then suggested, "Perhaps we should confine ourselves to gathering intelligence for the present and leave the exercise of trying to interpret it until later."

Perry agreed, and Darcy suggested that they take at look at the ground on the other side of the wall, as he had proposed earlier, a scheme which Perry accepted readily. They passed through the gap by climbing over the low stones that remained on the left hand side, thus avoiding disturbing any traces as well as they could. A few moments on the other side enabled them to gather what information they required, since although there was evidence that the pathway which stood some feet away running parallel to the wall was quite well used, again only three tracks ran between it and the gap.

Perry was the first to break the silence. "It appears that you were correct, sir. The other man did come from the direction of the village, and seems to have returned that way too."

"Yes, the knowledge may prove useful. It would be worthwhile to have enquiries made there to see if anyone saw a stranger pass through yesterday afternoon or evening, though if he came with the intention to commit murder he would have attempted to keep out of sight as much as possible."

"That is true enough, and if he was returning to Newcastle there may be a way to return there that does not require him to pass through the village at all. The sexton may be able to help us with the local topography."

Darcy nodded. "Sutton came from the same direction, which suggests he came here from Newcastle, though his movements will have to be examined and verified if possible. I wonder if he kept a pocketbook or some other record of his appointments? It would be too much to hope that he kept any details of his 'clients' on him, though a thorough search of his chambers may reveal some information."

"A good idea," said Perry, "and, speaking of pocketbooks, do you think it would be helpful for me to make some notes and simple drawings of these traces? It will not take more than a few minutes and would make it easier to describe the situation to anyone else, later on."

"It is an excellent idea, I was going to suggest something similar to Sir Thomas when we rejoined him and the doctor." They passed back into the clearing in the same manner they had departed it and, after looking over in the direction of the aforementioned doctor and magistrate, who along with the constable were still gathered around the prostrate form on the ground, Darcy continued, "They seem to be still engaged in their examinations, so why do not you proceed?"

Perry nodded and fell to work on the task immediately, drawing a simple diagram of the area to illustrate the way the tracks interacted with each other, and then began to make some notes to clarify any details the sketch could not depict. As he worked, Darcy initially remained silent, taking the opportunity to again study the ground and glancing up from time to time at the party in the centre of the clearing. He broke the silence only once during these occupations, to enquire of Perry, "What would you estimate the distance from here to where the body lies to be?"

The captain looked up and cogitated for a moment, his eyes travelling back and forth between the two locations. "Somewhere between two and three chains*, but nearer two, I would hazard," offered he tentatively. When Darcy made no response beyond a non-committal nod, he returned his attention to his note-taking.

After a few minutes, Perry indicated that his undertaking was complete and suggested that they rejoin the doctor and Sir Thomas. Darcy, realising that now was the last chance to accomplish his earlier resolution regarding the latter, acquiesced but did not immediately make any movement towards the other party, instead turning to his companion and beginning hesitantly, "Captain, before we do, I must confer with you on a somewhat delicate matter."

Perry nodded, indicating his readiness to listen, but offering no other encouragement, and Darcy meditated on the best method to convey his apprehension at the way Sir Thomas might view their suspicions regarding Wickham's dealings with Sutton. After a short deliberation, he said, "Captain, I have no desire to cast aspersions on Sir Thomas' ability to fulfil his duty as magistrate, nor on his impartiality in carrying out that office. I am sure he would not want to see any innocent person convicted of this terrible crime. However, my intention in coming here was to clear up this Wickham business as quickly and inconspicuously as possible -- with the minimum of publicity. No doubt, viewing the matter from the standpoint of a superior officer in his regiment, you can appreciate this desire."

"Certainly, sir," answered Perry readily, "as I mentioned in my express, the reputation of the regiment is a great concern to myself, and to the general of course. I am convinced he would want to protect it from any damage that might result from Mr. Wickham's activities. But what are you suggesting, sir?"

"Certainly not concealment," Darcy assured him promptly. "Merely that we adopt some caution in relating information that might cause Sir Thomas to raise a public hue and cry for Wickham -- that we confine ourselves to facts and not conjectures in our communications. Otherwise, whether Wickham is involved in this or not, his recent activities will be known all over Newcastle by sunset."

"Agreed," the captain concurred, "if Wickham is not involved, then nothing would be gained by broadcasting his connection with Sutton."

"I am glad we see this the same way."

"Yes, but..." Perry hesitated.

"What is it?"

"What if he is responsible?" asked Perry apprehensively.

"Then he can take what's coming to him," replied Darcy grimly. "Come, let us rejoin the others."

Elizabeth was rather surprized, considering the manner in which their visit had proceeded thus far, when Amelia extended an invitation to the visitors to join them for luncheon. Her sister Bella seconded this invitation with enthusiasm, adding the further proposal that they take a walk in the neighbouring park beforehand. Elizabeth, having spent two days in the confined space of the Darcy carriage -- and then having been compelled by circumstance and her husband's attentiveness to use it again so far that day -- would have been delighted by the prospect merely for the sake of her health, notwithstanding the opportunity it might offer to effect a separation from Lydia; so she could converse with one of the sisters without the hindrance that her presence occasioned.

Lydia seemed delighted by Amelia's suggestion, though rather less so by the other, if her facial expressions were any indication, but Elizabeth was in no mood to subjugate her wishes to her sister's preferences after her immature and tactless display to date. Consequently, she accepted both the invitations with alacrity and -- since Lydia was determined that she should be a party to all the interaction between her sister and her 'friends' -- ten minutes later saw the four young women strolling together in the pleasant though rather confined space of the local gardens. Once again the misfortune fell upon Miss Amelia, as she was the one who found herself walking beside Lydia, since the path was too narrow to admit them all. However, as this arrangement suited the latter -- since she was not insensible to Miss Bella's lack of warmth toward her and felt sure Miss Amelia would desire her advice on her forthcoming nuptials -- and Amelia was becoming inured to Lydia's behaviour, they each managed to bear it with fortitude.

Elizabeth and Bella strolled in front and at first, aware of the dangers of being overheard, limited their conversation to safe topics. Elizabeth took the opportunity to enquire more particularly about Mr. Fitton, and her companion thanked her expressively for her concern.

"Indeed," continued she, "as you can imagine, it has been a very trying experience for us to see him as he is -- a shadow of the strong, self-reliant man he was formerly. Our mothers death, twelve years ago, was a major blow, of course, but our aunt was a great help to him in raising Amelia and myself and I must say -- though I accept I am hardly an impartial witness -- I believe was as good a father as anyone could wish for. Since my aunt's death, however, the situation has become difficult. First, his health began to fail and that naturally had an effect on his business, which he has always conducted with vigour and integrity. Unfortunately, the state of his affairs has put further strain on his constitution and that is the very thing that must be avoided at all costs."

"How distressing for you," exclaimed Elizabeth sympathetically. "Pray, if I am not intruding on you private concerns, what does the doctor say? Has he told you the exact nature of your father's condition? What is his prognosis?"

"Of course you are not intruding Mrs. Darcy, please do not imagine so." Bella took Elizabeth's hand briefly and pressed it in a gesture of reassurance. "In fact I am glad to speak of it. The doctor informs us that although there has been a general decline in my father's condition, due to some organic disease, the most serious problem is a disorder of the heart -- an aneurysm is the precise term, I understand. The doctor was at first reticent to go into any more detailed explanation, but I would not rest until I knew all the particulars and so he finally admitted that there is no hope of recovery. He communicated that a sudden shock or any physical overexertion could prove fatal, and though he told us that if he was careful my father could live for several years yet, he admitted that the end could be sudden and unexpected. That is the most difficult part of our current situation -- the uncertainty of what tomorrow might bring."

"So serious? I had not realized," said Elizabeth. She glanced back to observe that the other two had by this time fallen behind far enough to enable her to venture further. "And how is he contending with the news of your sisters engagement? Do you not worry if the prospect of losing his eldest daughter might be detrimental to his well-being?"

Bella looked at her keenly for a moment. "I was not aware you knew of that," she said in surprize, then after a few seconds contemplation her expression changed to one of understanding. "Of course," she added almost to herself, "Mrs Wickham must have communicated our news to you; but, indeed, you need have no concern on that score; my father is very much in favour of the match."

"I am glad to hear it, for it would be most distressing to your sister, I am sure, should her choice not be acceptable to your father with his health in a fragile state. Especially as he must in any case be rather wary of any possible suitor for yourself or your sister, considering your aunt's generous provision for you both."

Elizabeth thought she saw Bella's eyes flicker again in shock at this speech, but the expression was so fleeting she could not be certain that her own eyes had not deceived her. Almost before she had even begun contemplating what she thought she had seen, Bella turned and regarded her openly, and her look conveyed both intelligence and candour. She smiled warmly.

"Yes, that is why we have been reticent to broadcast the information too widely. However," she glanced back to Lydia and her sister, who were by now fully fifty yards behind them, and her smile faded, "sometimes it is not possible to keep these things quiet -- especially if the intelligence is of interest to certain people."

Though she was convinced it was not Bella's intention, this disclosure caused Elizabeth to begin to feel a distinct discomfort at the role she had adopted in order to gather knowledge about the Wickhams' situation. She had set out to accumulate any facts that seemed relevant indiscriminately, but felt a twinge of guilt at prying into the Fittons' affairs -- especially by utilizing information Lydia should not have been communicating. Perhaps, if she had been feeling slightly less generous, she would have told herself that the Fittons should have known better than to tell Lydia anything they did not want all of Newcastle to know within hours -- even allowing for the fact they were relatively new acquaintances unaware of her lack of tact -- and must accept the consequences. But reflecting that as regards Amelia's engagement they had not done so, and her source had informed her about their dowries without their knowledge or consent, she could not but feel some qualms about her methods. This feeling was intensified by the fact that she had taken an instant liking to both of the sisters. Amelia's placid and pragmatic manner reminded her a little of Charlotte Collins' -- she would have said her sister Jane had not Amelia obviously experienced enough to convince her the world could not be viewed through rose-tinted spectacles -- and Bella's forthright and open manner, which she combined to such effect with her good-humour, could not fail to make anyone warm to her. She stopped and turned to her companion.

"I am sorry, Miss Fitton," said she sincerely, "if my sister's lack of discretion has caused your family any difficulty. Please forgive me for mentioning the subject -- it is none of my concern." She turned to resume her stroll, her face averted in embarrassment when a hand on her elbow stilled her. She looked up to see Bella regarding her with a combination of alarm and sympathy.

"Mrs. Darcy, please...did I not say just a moment ago that you were not intruding and that I was thankful of the opportunity to talk to you?" Elizabeth nodded. "Do you have some reason to doubt my sincerity?" Bella asked.

"No, certainly not, but you were speaking of your father, not your sisters engagement or your monetary expectations," replied Elizabeth in an expressionless voice.

"So we were," acknowledged Bella with a grin, after a moments contemplation. "But please put your mind at ease." She glanced back again to regard the others, who had closed the gap on them but still lagged some distance behind, and, keeping her eyes fixed on them, said earnestly, "Whatever Mrs. Wickham's faults you are not responsible for her. I am sure that you could be trusted to keep any private communication to yourself, if requested."

"Thank you."

"And anyway...." continued Bella, turning back to look directly at Elizabeth, "now my sister is engaged there is no longer any need for concealment, is there?"

"Not in her case, perhaps," answered Elizabeth, her equilibrium somewhat restored, "but what about yourself? You will no doubt not be too long behind Amelia in entering the state of matrimony. You can not wish the details of your aunt's will to become general knowledge, surely? You would be the subject of so much attention -- much of it unwelcome, I daresay"

Bella laughed heartily, a musical sound that dispersed any remnants of uneasiness between the two women. "Do you distrust my ability to handle myself in such a situation, Mrs. Darcy?" she teased. "Perhaps you think I will fall for the first handsome man with a sad story that comes into my path?"

Elizabeth flinched involuntarily at that question, though she was sure it was asked without any intention to inflict pain, although the slight emphasis in Bella's address and the completely unguarded look which accompanied it gave her pause. "No, indeed," was all the response she could manage.

"Or perhaps you believe that the choice might be so great that I will be incapable of making any decision at all, and spend my days encouraging so many suitors that I shall earn a reputation as a tease and my character will be forever tainted?" She glanced back briefly at Lydia and her sister as she said this and raised her brow.

Elizabeth, sensing that far more was being communicated than Bella's words might imply, decided that her best response was to adopt the same attitude. She followed Bella's gaze and replied, "No, I am convinced -- given your appraisal of the men of the regiment -- that you can be decided enough when the occasion demands. As for the other, I am sure you can recognise insincerity when you come across it -- even if some others are taken in by it." She turned her eyes from Lydia back to her companion and quirked her brow in return.

Bella laughed again, took her arm, and resumed a rapid pace down the path. "I am glad to see we are in agreement," said she, her light tone belied by the expressive look in her eye, which convinced Elizabeth that she had not imagined the subtext of their discussion. They walked in silence for a short time, till Bella slowed their pace and said, "But, to return to our original subject, you have no cause for alarm where I am concerned. The knowledge of my dowry can not harm me, as I have no intention of getting married."

"Ahh, you say that now," Elizabeth retorted playfully, "but that is probably because you have not yet met the right person. One day, I am sure, the right man will come along, and then..."

"I don't think so," said Bella, her tone tinged with only the merest trace of wistfulness, to Elizabeth's surprize.

"I can understand," said she, unsure of the correct response to this rather fatalistic attitude, uncharacteristic as it appeared to be, and groping slightly in the dark to determine its origin, "that if a persons experiences in....that area are at first not successful they might convince themselves that they have no chance of finding happiness. But I am sure it will happen. And, with your dowry, at least you should not have any monetary considerations to interfere in your choice."

"Perhaps," Bella replied as if unconvinced. "But," she added in a brighter tone, "at least I am not completely dependent on marriage to ensure my future security."

"Oh?"

"Did your sister not tell you?" asked Bella mischievously. "Do not worry, I believe she was unaware of all the particulars. You see, the money comes to me on my twenty fifth birthday, if I am not married."

"I did not know," said Elizabeth simply.

"So you see," continued Bella, "in seven years or so I will be able to do what I please, within reason of course."

"And until then...?" The question hung in the air for a few moments.

"Yes," Bella said, in the most sombre tone she had used thus far, "as you say. Until then I am dependent on others."

"I am sure," Elizabeth assured her, hoping to address her unspoken fear, "that should anything happen to your father, your sister and her new husband will do all they can for you, Miss Fitton."

"Yes," Bella said as though her mind were elsewhere, "I am sure."

She squeezed Elizabeth's arm as if she were thanking her for her sympathy and appeared to emerge from her reverie. "And please," she added, "call me Bella?"

*Chain - Old English measure of distance equal to 66 feet (22 yards) i.e. approximately equal to twenty metres.

Part 10

Posted on Tuesday, 30 July 2002, at 12:18 p.m.

Mr Darcy might have succeeded in obtaining Sir Thomas' permission to dispatch a message summoning Farrow to the murder scene, but until required he had given no thought to the question of how he was actually to arrange the note's delivery to the Wickham house, if that indeed was still his groom's location. Fortunately, Mr Reeve the sexton, when applied to for any suggestion as to how the deed might be accomplished, replied with promptitude that his own son Edward, who had arrived shortly before and was at that moment waiting in the vestry in case his assistance was required, would be happy to deliver the message himself. A horse could be commandeered from a friend in the village and the note could be in Farrow's hands within twenty minutes, or slightly longer if the Darcy coach had returned to General Ashe's house.

Since writing materials were also readily available in the vestry, Darcy closed on the sexton's offer forthwith and five minutes later saw him handing over a short note sealed with the Darcy crest -- along with two sovereigns, should the friend with the horse prove to be recalcitrant -- to Edward, who, seemingly delighted to be of use to the gentlemen, was on his way with remarkable celerity.

Having achieved the most pressing order of business, Darcy and the Captain proceeded to the second, making their way -- via the gate in the churchyard wall that gave access to the lane -- towards the small group of buildings which comprised the actual village of Woolsington. They were received with some curiosity but no lack of curtesy by the proprietor of the 'Black Bull', whom the sign above the door informed them was called Mr Larkin. He communicated, when applied to, that his wife would be happy to supply them with a choice of victuals and drew them two foaming tankards of his best ale to while away the time as they awaited the viands.

As he and Perry supped their beer, Darcy felt satisfied that so far they had not overlooked any item of importance, and once they had investigated Sutton's chambers he felt sure they would be further along the path of discovery. Before leaving for that location, of course, he had instructions to impart to Farrow and he contemplated the prospect that they might begin the examination of the remaining area together, if time would permit it before he had to depart with Sir Thomas and the captain. Darcy felt confident that, assuming the groom were still at the Wickham house or nearby, and given the time it would take him to return Elizabeth to the General's -- as he assumed he would be obliged to -- he would see his trusted assistant within the hour.

Farrow was, of course, in reality still at the Fitton residence at that moment, seated in the kitchen applying the skills he had used earlier on the Wickhams' domestic staff on the limited number of servants that were still employed in that house. Mr. Fitton had been well enough to attend to his business for a couple of hours that day, and since the ladies of the house had requested a cold collation, from which they could serve themselves, he was surrounded by all the indoor staff -- relating with gusto the story of how he had been required to transport an unconscious Colonel Fitzwilliam face down over his horse back to Netherfield during one particularly heavy night of celebration shortly before Mr Darcy's marriage -- when a loud knock on the door broke up the gathering, to the dismay of many present, who had been captivated by his narrative.

When he was informed that the disturbance had been caused by a messenger with a communication for him from Mr Darcy, he requested and was granted permission to meet with the man in private; a small ante-chamber off the hall being allotted him for the purpose. Edward Reeve entered directly, flushed from the excitement of his commission and the exercise of the ride, and handed him the note, explaining that he had been directed thither by the Wickhams' maid, Clara.

Farrow thanked him and broke the seal deliberately, perusing the note avidly. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, it did not suffer from the prolixity of Mr Darcy's usual communications -- there was not a single word of more than two syllables, he noticed with amusement -- and it generated as many questions as it answered. It merely requested that he make his way with due haste to Darcy's current location, that he bring the carriage with him, if it was available, in case extra transport were required and directed that he not reveal the existence of the note nor its content to anyone -- except the mistress, should it prove necessary.

This was hardly sufficient information for a man of Farrow's inquisitiveness and Edward was subjected to several minutes of intense questioning, during which time he recounted all that he knew; which amounted only to the fact that a man had been murdered -- though Edward did not know his identity -- and some details that his father had communicated about the discovery of the body. Farrow, once he was satisfied he had obtained all the information he could in that quarter, procured detailed directions to Woolsington, and, since he had to attend to returning Mrs Wickham and Mrs Darcy to their respective accommodations, thanked Edward and sent him on his way, with the request that he inform Mr Darcy that he would follow directly.

Having seen Edward off the premises, the better to ensure no word of the reason for his appearance found its way to the ear of any of the Fittons' domestic staff, he arranged the preparation of the carriage and then commissioned the Fitton's housemaid to inform Elizabeth that he had some news to convey to her, requesting that she do so without exciting any undue interest. It was only in the interval between dispatching her on her errand and Elizabeth's arrival in the ante-room, where he had returned to await her, that he began to comprehend the full import of what he had been told. A man had been murdered. Like his master before him, Farrow's immediate suspicion was that the man was none other than the one they were in quest of. Unlike Darcy, however, he felt no ambivalence about how the news affected him. He had no reason to consider it anything other than justifiable retribution for all the misery that Wickham had caused over the years in his selfish pursuit of pleasure, without any consideration for other people's feelings or any avoidable exertion; such as serious study or work. He had to quash the hope that within an hour he could be looking on the corpse of a man he despised, which he knew was contrary to all his Christian principles.

His reverie was interrupted by Elizabeth's arrival, the curiosity aroused by the unusual manner of her summons evident in her countenance, and a couple of minutes were sufficient to acquaint her with the arrival of the note and the news it contained. Farrow did not repeat the further information he had obtained from Edward -- nor the suspicion which had been a natural consequence to it -- since it was not critical to the discharge of his commission and the note had requested reticence, and he was also convinced that suspicion as to the identity of the dead man would make it impossible for her to act with any degree of normality with Mrs Wickham. He could discern her inquisitiveness had been exited, however, and he felt sure it was only her understanding of the urgency of the summons which prevented him being subjected to a similar interrogation to the one Edward had suffered at his own hands minutes before.

Having informed her, in answer to her inquiry, that the coach was already being prepared, she said, "Very well, I will inform the Miss Fitton and her sister that we are obliged to cut short our visit. I am afraid that, since we conveyed Mrs. Wickham here, we must offer to return her to her home -- she has no other means of transport -- but the delay will not be too long, I trust. Then we can take the carriage on to where Mr Darcy is waiting."

Farrow was a little disconcerted by this last sentence. That 'we' implied that Elizabeth was intent on accompanying him to the murder scene and he was at first inclined to attempt to persuade her that her presence was not necessary. However, several objections to that course of action struck him the moment it was formulated. He doubted he would be able to accomplish it without having to reveal all that Edward had told him, which he was reluctant to do -- especially while Mrs Wickham were still nearby. Mr Darcy's note had made no mention of whether or not he expected Elizabeth to be one of the party -- indeed the assumption that Elizabeth would return to General Ashe's residence had been Farrow's own entirely -- and he suspected, given what he had heard among the staff at Pemberley and his own observation of the way the master looked at her -- that her appearance when unexpected would be received far better than her absence when she was desired. She was the mistress, and he could hardly venture to counsel her on appropriate behaviour. Since he anticipated that debating the issue was likely to be time consuming, and -- if his estimation of her character were any guide -- totally futile, he replied with a calm, "Yes, ma'am," and departed to await with the carriage, deciding as he went that his best course would be to relate all he knew as soon as they left the Wickham residence, as it would allow Elizabeth to make a more informed judgement as to whether her presence would be of benefit.

Elizabeth returned to the dining room and related the news to the others without exciting any undue curiosity, expressing her regrets to the Fitton sisters, who reciprocated the sentiment with feeling. Lydia appeared at first as though she were about to object to their removal, but one look at Elizabeth's resolute expression convinced her that she would have to leave immediately or be compelled to walk home, and she rose reluctantly to make her adieus.

It was during the confusion of these farewells that Bella drew Elizabeth aside slightly and made a whispered request that she might be allowed to call on her at Elizabeth's earliest convenience. Elizabeth, slightly surprized but intruigued by the petition, answered that she would be happy to see her at General Ashe's the following day, suggesting -- after consideration that she had to make arrangements to deal with Lydia's request for help with her household accounts -- that the afternoon might be convenient to both of them. Bella seemed delighted at her proposal and closed on the offer immediately, squeezing Elizabeth's hand while conveying her thanks in an undertone designed to ensure neither of their respective sisters could overhear the arrangement.

Having completed their farewells, Elizabeth and Lydia were soon ensconced once again in the Darcy carriage as it travelled at breakneck speed back to the Wickham house. As might be expected, Lydia spent the first minute or two in a tirade against the circumstances that had forced them to curtail their visit, which was ignored with a countenance that expressed disdain at her conduct; as were her attempts to obtain any more precise information as to the reason for the curtailment. Fortunately for her sanity and future relations with her sister, Elizabeth was able to change the subject, by introducing the topic of their proposed perusal of Lydia's household accounts to channel her sister's thoughts into a more productive direction. An arrangement was quickly made that, unless Lydia heard further from Elizabeth that day, they would begin the task the following morning after breakfast. Elizabeth declined Lydia's invitation to take that meal with her, barely managing to say without betraying her feelings on that prospect that she would be expected to eat with the Ashes and her husband, and promised to travel directly to the Wickhams' afterwards.

Before she was aware of it, the carriage was stopped outside Lydia's destination and Farrow was opening the door and lowering the step with practised formality for her sister. Elizabeth bade her farewell with brevity and without any effusion of warmth, reiterating her appointment for the morrow. Farrow, observing this interaction discreetly, surmised that the journey had not been an easy one for the mistress and contemplated whether it would be preferable to avoid discomposing her further by repeating all Edward had related to him, as he had earlier decided. A few moments reflection while he stood there immobile did not aid him in settling the matter, and he was beginning to raise the step in order to disguise his struggles when he was forestalled by Elizabeth turning to eye him shrewdly and addressing him.

"Does Parker know the direction?" she asked.

A confused, "Yes, ma'am," was all he could manage in reply, surprize and curiosity at her question robbing him of his usual acuity.

"Good. I should like you to travel inside."

If her preceding question had caused minor damage to his powers of reasoning, this statement was like a hammer-blow. Several theories as to the reason for this request flashed through his mind -- one or two of them highly improper for a man in his situation -- and he was at a loss. He steeled his face into a mask, however, as he grappled to recover his wits. He considered an attempt to construct a plausible reason why it would be better for him to remain with the driver, but none occurred to him. He had had little interaction with the new mistress, but he knew enough from all he heard among the staff that she was considered a virtuous young woman and usually got what she wanted; and one look at the calm but tenacious aspect of her countenance convinced him that the consequences of acceding to the request would be insignificant in comparison with a refusal. If the irony of his reticence to adopt a course of action which five minutes earlier he would have welcomed -- since it made it all the more easy for him to relate the details he had obtained from Edward -- struck him as humourous, he made no sign.

"Certainly, ma'am," said he, almost without pause.

He conveyed the change in arrangements to the driver, ignoring the way Parker's eyebrows rose when he heard the news, then got in gingerly, sitting in the farthest corner from Elizabeth in an uncomfortably stiff manner, resisting the urge to sit on his hands before realising that, if he had done so, he would at least not have to worry where to put them. He clasped them in his lap awkwardly and waited apprehensively.

Elizabeth regarded him with curiosity when she observed his manner, and tried to determine what possible reason he could have to feel unnerved in her presence. Several possible answers presented themselves but were dismissed quickly, although one or two may have struck another woman as gratifying or humourous and the result might have been flirtation or teasing, depending on her temperament. However, her mind was fixed on one object as she decided on the course of action which would best enable her to broach the subject that had fascinated her since that interview in the ante-room. Not being familiar enough with her companion to know what kind of method would be most successful, she decided to try a direct approach.

"Well then," said she without further prevarication as the carriage resumed its journey, "will you not tell me now all I have not heard?" Her tone was encouraging and sympathetic and Farrow was at first of a mind to dissemble, but was soon convinced any attempt would prove utterly futile, as one look at the determined countenance and shrewd eyes before him testified. He therefore decided to carry out his original plan and apprise her of all that he knew, and a couple of minutes were sufficient to acquaint her with all the information he was in possession of that he had hitherto concealed. He found himself bombarded with questions in an uncannily similar manner to his own examination of Edward at the Fitton house, except that he was convinced he had not been quite so thorough.

"Wickham?" she said, as though ruminating aloud, when she was sure she had heard everything Farrow knew.

"That possibility crossed my mind too, ma'am," Farrow admitted, "but Mr Darcy does not mention the dead man in his note, and the messenger had no clue to his identity."

Elizabeth nodded her understanding that further cogitation on that subject was pointless and was in part relieved, since after the morning she had spent with Lydia she was almost of a mind to wish the dead man were Wickham. She had noticed that Farrow's tone betrayed no great sense of loss at the idea of Wickham's death and, given the fact that they must have known each other before Wickham left Derbyshire, she wondered at the reason.

"Tell me, do you know Mr Wickham?" she asked tentatively.

The effect of the question was immediate. Farrow, who had appeared to regain his composure during the course of their conversation, started and an expression crossed his features which was so intense the sight almost alarmed her. She tried to identify it but was unable, though a combination of anger and pain seemed to be the closest she could venture. He remained totally immobile for several seconds, before turning to her and saying in a dangerously flat tone, "Yes, ma'am, I know him." He paused and after a moment of silence his countenance changed to one of wonder and curiosity. "Has Mr Darcy never told you the story, ma'am?" he asked hesitantly.

"No," replied Elizabeth, surprized. "We did talk a little of you. He told me of your father, who was gamekeeper at Pemberley, I understand, and whom he obviously held in high esteem."

"Yes," agreed Farrow with a smile which mingled sadness and pride. "My father used to take the young Mr Darcy with him occasionally when he was on his rounds and taught him a good deal about the birds and beasts that were under his care, as well as all the other skills he had learned over the years. When my father died, Mr Darcy was very kind to my mother, and I believe that he allows me some leeway to continue to care for her and my sisters because of my father's kindness to him. It is a consideration I am very grateful for, but I confess that I feel a little uncomfortable with it sometimes, as our family is already so much in his debt."

"I am sure that he is only rewarding you for the service you and your father have given to his family," Elizabeth responded kindly.

Farrow contemplated her for a few moments, as though debating his response to this. Finally, he appeared to make up his mind, for he shook his head decidedly and answered, "No, ma'am. We are more in his debt than can ever be repaid by any service my father and I may have given. I am sure his reticence to acquaint you with the particulars is because of his modesty, as well as his wish to spare my family any pain consequent on the story becoming more widely known."

"Well, then I will ask no more," said Elizabeth sympathetically. "Please forgive my curiosity."

"Ma'am," said Farrow firmly, "please do not misunderstand me. I would be happy to relate to you the full details, any diffidence on my part is more on account of your relationship to Mrs Wickham. I would not... that is, I am sure your discretion can be relied on without..." he halted and sighed, shaking his head. "No, I have said too much, you must know all. Forgive me if what I am about to relate to you causes you pain or raises concerns for your sister, but if you doubt my veracity then you can apply to Mr Darcy, though he will probably deny that, given the circumstances, he did anything to warrant our thanks. I am sure when you hear all you will agree with me that this is not the case."

He paused and gazed out of the window for a moment, appearing to marshall his thoughts, and all traces of his former unease had vanished when he turned to Elizabeth and began in a slow but steady tone, "The kindness I spoke of was not bestowed directly on my father or myself, but on the family of my father's sister, Mrs Jeffries. She married a young man who became curate of the church at Woodside, which as you know is close to Lambton, on the edge of the peak country. They were a very devoted couple and planned to have a large family, but unfortunately my aunt had great difficulty carrying a child to a full term and after many years of trying, including several miscarriages, they had only one child, my cousin....Edith." He said the name in a whisper and the look of pain which had crossed his feature before returned momentarily, before he schooled his face into an impassive mask.

"She was a year my junior," he continued, his voice husky with emotion, "an open-hearted and earnest young girl, not flighty or small-minded like some young women I have met. She was also very beautiful, with the red hair that comes from my families Celtic ancestors and a graceful, womanly figure. Because of her upbringing and her lack of brothers and sisters she was also ignorant of some of the less respectable ways of the world, an intelligent but rather innocent young lady who promised to grow into a fine women and loving wife." He had stared at the seat opposite him as he made this speech, his eyes unfocused, as though the task of telling his story would be more difficult if he acknowledged the presence of any listener; as though he could convince himself that he was alone and was not opening a part of himself he had suppressed unyieldingly, and to a relative stranger. He felt compelled to glance up and saw Elizabeth regarding him steadily, her expression one of compassion and affinity. There was no prurience in her curiosity, as he had dreaded seeing, and he felt emboldened to continue and to hold nothing back.

"The events I speak of occurred about six years ago, shortly after the death of the late Mr Darcy, your husband's father. I was nearly eighteen years of age and Edy, as I called her, was just seventeen. Our family had known your brother-in-law Mr Wickham for some time, though not very intimately, especially in recent times; as you know he had been away to Cambridge and we had not heard much of him during those years. My father perhaps knew him the best of any of us, as he had often joined your husband when my father took him around the estate and passed on his knowledge in his younger days, but when they both returned from university the young Mr Darcy did not seem inclined to continue his friendship with Wickham, though he never voiced his reasons for this change of behaviour to anyone. If he had, perhaps... but he was concerned about hurting his own father, who cared for Wickham in respect for the service Wickham's father had given to him as steward of Pemberley. Well, as you may imagine, Wickham was not so reticent about narrating the reasons for the coldness between himself and the young Mr Darcy, though he made it his business never to show any open antipathy towards his guardian's son. This did not prevent him, however, from telling any who would listen -- most of who were his drinking pals or those he felt would assist him if he informed them of his 'misfortunes' -- that Mr Darcy's behaviour was motivated by jealousy of Wickham's favour with his father and his easy manners."

"I have heard something of this," admitted Elizabeth, interrupting for the first time, "though Mr Darcy has been rather reserved about revealing all that occurred during that period of his life."

"I can believe that, ma'am. And if I may say so, I am rather surprized that you have not heard all of this before. I believe that if anyone can help him to finally exorcize the burden of guilt he feels for his reluctance to expose Mr Wickham, then it is you. Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but I know a little of what occurred last year, when he believed it had happened again -- that his decision to protect Miss Georgiana's reputation had resulted in your sister falling under Wickham's spell, when it would have been prevented by his informing his acquaintance in Hertfordshire."

"You know of what transpired at Ramsgate?" asked Elizabeth in shock.

"I was with Mr Darcy when he travelled there to visit Miss Georgiana, ma'am," replied Farrow calmly, "and later when he went to London to locate Wickham after he had fled Brighton."

"I see."

"Fortunately, I did not see him face to face on either occasion. Had I done so... well, you may judge for yourself when I have related the rest." He drew a deep breath. "I believe you can conjecture what happened next."

Elizabeth nodded. "I am aware that Mr Wickham involved himself in several... unsavoury situations at that time."

Farrow responded with a short, derisive laugh. "Yes, as we discovered later, though we knew nothing of those lecherous activities at the time. About a year before the death of the elder Mr Darcy, Wickham began to show some interest in my cousin Edith. It was never anything too obvious or public, he was careful to ensure they were never a subject of speculation or rumour to the local people, but he courted her quietly and gave the impression of an honourable man. As you may know, he was promised a living by the late Mr Darcy and so you may imagine that to my family, and especially to Edith's father the curate, the prospect of a son-in-law who would be rector of Kympton and could provide more than adequately for Edith was regarded with much satisfaction. Mr Wickham had benefited from a University education, was well-spoken and affable and was well practised in presenting a façade of goodness to the world, and my uncle favoured and encouraged the match in a quiet way. Well, what followed would come as little surprize to any who are aware of the real character of Mr Wickham. It was not my cousin's hand in marriage that he desired, but something else, which would have led to her ruination and disgrace. When he attempted to try to become too familiar with Edith and persuade her to engage in immorality, she rejected his advances and tried her best to avoid him; luckily they were not formally affianced. You may envisage the effect of such a situation on a young women with Edith's sensibilities; she spoke to no one about what had happened, as her father had forwarded the match, and she was loath to reveal what would hurt him; she did not want him to feel that he had failed her. At first her family were unable to account for her change of behaviour towards Wickham; on one or two occasions they even chided her on her lack of warmth to him when he called, as he continued to do. They still only observed the pleasant manners and handsome countenance, not the degenerate man that lay beneath the surface, but that soon changed when Wickham, his patience worn thin by Edith's continued refusal to grant his libidinous wishes, decided on revenge." He paused again and passed his hand over his face. "No one knew when or how the stories began, but before anything could be done they were all over the parish. That my cousin was a woman without virtue, that more than one man.... When they began, of course, Edith was overwhelmed with shame and distress, but she suspected their source and went to her father and told him all. He was devastated by what had occurred and how he had failed to prevent it, and by now it was too late to do anything to stop the rumours and whispers, any attempt to explain that the stories were an effort to gain revenge, fabricated by a scorned man, appeared to be a feeble venture at rescuing Edith's reputation; there is no smoke without fire, I am sure you are familiar with the old adage."

Elizabeth sat in stunned silence, trying to comprehend the shame and mortification that must have descended on the Jeffries family as a result of Wickham's conduct. A faint and toneless, "How terrible," was all she could manage in response.

"It was, ma'am," said Farrow, as though remembering back to some dark memory, "and when we thought that things could not get worse, the rumours began to affect the lives of people around Edith. There was talk, for instance, of her father being stripped of his curacy, which would have meant poverty for their family, as they had no other means on which to live; her mother was suddenly friendless, persona non grata in the homes of those she had known for years. You can comprehend that even though many gave no credence to the rumours, they would not risk allying themselves with a family in such a position."

"Yes," replied Elizabeth, remembering the events of the previous summer and the manner in which her own family had been treated when the news of Lydia's elopement became common knowledge in Meryton.

Farrow closed his eyes, as though the effort of controlling his feelings would prove beyond him, and he remained thus for some time before reopening them and staring at the opposite seat, his eyes unseeing. "One day," he said haltingly, his voice hoarse with emotion, "Edith decided that enough pain had been inflicted on those she loved and so, after telling her mother she was intending to take a solitary walk, she purloined her father's keys from his study and, using them to gain access, she climbed to the top of the church tower at Woodside, and... jumped."

Had Elizabeth been able to muster sufficient breath she would undoubtedly have gasped at Farrow's revelation. As it was, such an expression of shock and distress was completely beyond her and she merely sat mute and transfixed, attempting to convey her empathy to her companion by her countenance, a task which was not aided by his seeming inability to observe her directly. She felt she could comprehend his unwillingness to meet her gaze; to do so and discover he was being regarded with condescension or pity would, she was convinced, be inexpressibly painful to him. Feeling her best response would be to allow him to continue or not as he saw fit and not prompt him with questions, she awaited patiently.

"I shall never forget that day as long as I live." He passed his hand through his hair, ruffling it and giving him a dishevelled air which seemed strangely congruous with the pain evident in his face. "It was my uncle, her father, who found her, having been alerted by discovering his keys missing when he went to find them so he could open the tower for bell-ringing practice. He carried her body into the vestry and staggered back home, totally incapable of thought. I happened to be with my father, looking over Mr Darcy's gun collection with the master, to ensure that all were in order for the hunting season, when a note arrived, brought by a neighbour's son. Mr Darcy's own father had passed away just a few weeks earlier and I believe he was immersing himself in the minutiae of keeping the estate functioning in order to get over the loss. Naturally, when he discovered that some sort of tragedy had occurred, he insisted on accompanying us back to Woodside, and we could hardly demur. When we arrived, the house was in uproar; my aunt practically insensible with grief and my uncle in shock, alternately cursing Wickham and reproaching himself with the most severe imprecations I have ever heard." He paused. "Your husband took charge of the situation. Within minutes, it seemed, the whole machinery of the Pemberley estate seemed to swing into action at Mr Darcy's behest. A doctor arrived to see to my aunt's comfort, Edy's body was removed to the Darcy's private chapel, the vicar was apprised of the situation and his co-operation secured, the bell-ringers were sent on their way with a plausible story; and all done with the involvement of a small number of trusted and discreet staff, before news of what had happened could spread through the local populous."

Farrow stole a brief glance at his companion to observe how she was reacting to his disclosures. She was contemplating him with sympathy and a little wonder, and he felt he could discern what precipitated the latter.

"I believe you can begin to comprehend my assertion that my family is very much in the master's debt," he said in response to her look, "but his actions in the immediate aftermath of the tragedy pale in comparison with what followed. You must know what the reaction of the local congregation would have been to the prospect of a curate whose daughter had committed such a grievous sin continuing in his office, especially after the rumours that had been circulating previously about her immoral behaviour. Those who had countenanced the rumours would no doubt argue that guilt had been the motive for what occurred, and even those who had dismissed them could not be expected to overlook an action that went so explicitly against all Christian teaching. It seemed that should the truth be known, my uncle and aunt could look forward to no better prospect than being forced to leave the neighbourhood that they had known all their lives, perhaps without the chance of obtaining any employment elsewhere. Should that have proved to be the case, I am sure Mr Darcy would have found them a situation and kept an eye on them to ensure they did not want for anything, but he was determined that they should not be made to suffer in consequence of Mr Wickham's licentiousness or Edith's actions when she was hardly of a right mind. Since only a small number of people were aware of what had occurred, most of them trusted members of his staff, he saw to it that an alternative story began to be circulated. The vicar, the doctor and the local coroner were all roped in to ensure that the official story was that Edith had died accidentally as the result of a fall, while walking on the nearby peaks, and he worked with such effectiveness that to this day only those originally involved know the real truth; and no one else has dared contradict the story. I know he had to use his influence to a great degree; he has the living of Woodside in his patronage, as you may know, so that perhaps explains the vicar's willingness to co-operate. But he did not rely solely on his influence with others to prevent our ostracism from the local populous. He also made a point, which he scrupled not to ensure was well known locally, of setting an example in maintaining his association with and support of our family -- at Pemberley and at our home. Following this forthright example I believe no one dared to voice any doubts they may have harboured as to the real events of that day and, of course, they also served to begin turning the tide of opinion that had previously condemned Edith without proof or second thought. When news of Wickham's other activities began to emerge over the following months -- his profligacy and...well, immorality is the only acceptable phrase I can use -- people began to view the original rumours quite differently. Edith was now considered as 'that unfortunate girl who Wickham had attempted to ruin'. Even those that still harboured some small belief in the tales could not but now allot Wickham with the vast majority of the guilt, given what became known of his other activities. There was even a report that Wickham himself had begun the rumours because his advances had been rejected, though how that truth became known I have never discovered. I have often speculated, however, that the master had something to do with it, perhaps utilizing one of his most trusted servants to talk a little unguardedly in one of the local inns. Like many of these stories, it was spread widely before it became possible to trace its source, but as Mr Darcy knew all and I can not believe one of Wickham's close pals would have allowed the truth to emerge -- despite what had been revealed about him they were for the most part unrepentant for the misery he caused -- I am left to hazard a guess.

"The first few months after the tragedy were a time I wish never to live through again as our family struggled to come to terms with what had happened. My uncle was a broken man from that day onward, never recovering and passing away some six months later. As the master no doubt told you, my own father died some three years ago, though that was unconnected with the events of which I have been speaking. In the whole of that time, and since, Mr Darcy has supported us unwaveringly, finding my aunt a comfortable cottage on the estate when my uncle died and ensuring that she never has need for food or fuel, and more importantly, his and Miss Georgiana's time when they are at Pemberley. As I said before, he is more than liberal with my time when I am required to be at home helping my mother and sisters.

"I have thought often over the years how I would react were I ever to meet Mr Wickham again. It appeared it might happen at Ramsgate -- and what he had attempted to do there to another innocent did nothing to ease my enmity towards him as you can appreciate -- but Mr Darcy wrote to him and he fled before a face to face meeting could take place. Then again last year in London, I thought it might occur, but I believe Mr Darcy kept me away from him for fear of the consequences." He paused and an unreadable expression crossed his features. "I caught sight of him once, leaving the house after a meeting with the attorneys to arrange the marriage settlement with your sister." He seemed incapable of continuing and for some moments struggled to maintain his composure before turning to Elizabeth and demanding forcibly, "Tell me, ma'am, am I wrong to harbour such resentment towards him? Does not our scripture and clergy tell us to forgive even the most serious offences? Judge not lest ye be judged?" He closed his eyes and shook his head determinedly, "I can not. I still cling to it as if to let it go would be to disgrace Edith's memory. I shall never forget, or forgive. Why can I not?"

There was silence in the carriage, broken only by the sounds that permeated from without until Elizabeth's calm voice penetrated the silence between them.

"You loved her." It was neither question nor answer, and uttered in a tone of quiet revelation.

Farrow's head jerked up suddenly, his eyes wide. He opened his mouth as though about to contradict her statement, then appeared to crumple into himself, overcome by emotion. "Yes," he said defeated, as if admitting for the first time, and turned his face to gaze blankly out of the window, not attempting to disguise the tears that stole down his cheeks.

Part Eleven

Posted on Monday, 23 September 2002, at 1:20 p.m.

Since Sir Thomas had made an arrangement to meet the gentlemen at 'The Black Bull' in one hour, and had much to organise in the interim, it was with no small measure of surprize that Darcy and Captain Perry observed his entrance into the private room they had engaged at the inn after the passage of barely half that interval. He explained in answer to their inquisitive expressions at his unexpected appearance that Mr Bilbrough, the coroner for that district, was not presently available, as he was conducting some business in Newcastle; though he was expected back at his home, which lay between Woolsington and the city, in an hour or so. The magistrate had therefore determined to avail himself of the opportunity to break his fast and proposed to call on the coroner later, when his carriage had returned from conveying the body to the mortuary, before going on with the other gentlemen to examine Sutton's chambers. In the meantime he had dispatched Constable Hood to make inquiries, along the lines suggested by Darcy earlier, to see if any strangers had been observed in the neighbourhood of the village around sunset the day before, this being the time the doctor had estimated that death had occurred. Since this change of plan meant he could not convey Darcy and Perry directly to Sutton's chambers -- though they were more then welcome to accompany him to the coroner's and await him there, he stated -- or far enough into the city to allow them to return on foot to their accommodations to pass the time until their raid on the dead man's abode, Sir Thomas was about to suggest they might enquire into the possibility of obtaining some other means of transport, if the prospect of cooling their heels at Mr Bilbrough's did not appeal, when he was forestalled by Darcy informing him that, fortunately, he had requested that Farrow, his groom, bring the Darcy carriage with him in response to the summons he had sent, and that he hoped it would arrive within the half-hour. Sir Thomas seemed both relieved and gratified that this foresight had prevented any complication in their plans and further suggested that they therefore separate when they were finished with their repast and agree to meet at Sutton's chambers later, three o' clock being suggested as a time which would give all the opportunity to complete any other business; Darcy to brief Farrow on the investigations required at the scene of the tragedy, Perry to return and make a report to General Ashe and Sir Thomas to confer with Bilbrough.

It was when the discussion had reached this point that the door opened and Edward Reeve entered, directed thither by his father's information as to the gentlemen's whereabouts. He conveyed Farrow's message to Darcy, informing him that his groom could be expected to arrive directly. Darcy thanked him for his efforts, rewarding him generously, and was about to dismiss him when a thought struck him. Since their advent at Sutton's was to be delayed and the news of his death may have begun circulating, he suggested to Sir Thomas that Edward might be utilized to convey a message to one of the constable's under the magistrate's command, to ensure a watch was made on Sutton's rooms until their arrival later in the day. Sir Thomas, though perhaps inwardly contemplating that this course of action denoted an excess of caution which was unnecessary, agreed it would be better to err on the side of vigilance rather than leave anything to chance and, with the aid of writing materials supplied by the landlord, Mr Larkin, he wrote a short note to one of his men, entrusting it to Edward, who left forthwith to deliver it to its destination.

This done, the gentlemen set about finishing their meal, Darcy and Perry accomplishing the task more promptly than Sir Thomas, principally due to the earlier start they had enjoyed. Conversation was confined to a minimum, in part by the difficulties imposed on successful discourse by mouths that were full of ham, cheese, bread &c., and therefore not free to engage in dialogue; but even when the first two gentlemen were leaning back in their chairs replete and satisfied, supping a final tankard of the very fine ale with which the landlord had supplied them, the silence was punctuated only by the occasional remark, mostly of an inconsequential nature. Perry was conscious of the agreement he and Darcy had formed to tread warily in their communications to Sir Thomas, who continued to eat with voracity and so was fortunately unable to instigate any attempt at consultation, and felt they had disseminated all the information which they could; any further discussion would merely be idle speculation or unconstructive theorising, whereas Darcy was engaged in an internal bout of just such theorising and speculation, suspicious that things could be quite as simple as they appeared to the others. Perry had suggested that they were only required to discover who had left that tell-tale line of footprints and they had their murderer, which seemed incontrovertible if no other traces were discovered, and Sir Thomas was convinced the said murderer had given Sutton the 200l they had found on the body, but Darcy found great difficulty in reconciling these two statements. He contemplated several scenarios in his head which might enable them to resolve the apparent dichotomy of a murderer who handed over 200l and then walked away without retrieving it, some more memorable for their outlandishness than the possibility of their being anything akin to the actions of any sane person, and after some time engaged in this ultimately fruitless pursuit, during which time the captain and Sir Thomas exchanged the occasional inconsequential comment, he gave up the exercise as futile. Had there been more then two sets of footprints -- or no indications one way or another -- he could have readily believed that Sutton had come by that money in some other manner than from the man who stabbed him, but he was forced to concur with Sir Thomas that Sutton would not have carried such a sum around for any length of time. One thing alone emerged from this confusion of conjectures -- and it not an original conviction since it had been created the moment they had seen the traces by the wall. This was the absolutely imperative necessity of discovering who had met Sutton and left that line of footprints, and interrogating that person and their connection with the dead man thoroughly. Darcy considered the likelihood of their ascertaining who that person was and realised with trepidation that if Constable Hood's enquiries locally failed to uncover any witness who had seen the man, then they only had Farrow's skill to depend on. If both were unsuccessful, then it seemed quite possible that, unless they could decipher Sutton's pocket-book and found some reference to the meeting, then the unknown man would escape being identified, let alone convicted. He sent a silent prayer that one, or both, of the two would uncover something that would further their understanding of events.

Mr Darcy's supplication may or may not have had any provable effect on the success of Hood's investigations among the local community, but he would have been most gratified -- and even perhaps just a little discomposed if he thought his exhortations were responsible -- to discover that at that very moment the constable was making some marked progress. His beginning had not been particularly auspicious; the landlord -- whom he made his first point of contact when commencing his task, for obvious reasons -- and patrons of the public bar of the 'Black Bull', who had numbered four in total and all of whom were cautious but appeared perfectly honest in their responses to his questions, being unable to help with his enquiries.

He thanked them all and escaped with celerity, before he was required to satisfy their curiosity as to the reason for his queries, but as he departed he observed the curiosity he had piqued betrayed in their countenances, and apprehended that it would not be long before they uncovered the explanation -- indeed, as he was leaving he perceived a couple of them watching his retreat from the doorway with unfeigned interest, before heading off in opposite directions with purpose. Since he could not prevent news of the tragedy from becoming known indefinitely -- and he considered the fact that they had succeeded so far was due more to good fortune and the sense shown by the sexton and the vicar -- and the removal of the body meant there was no longer anything to see which would attract a crowd -- and he had more pressing business to attend to than attempting to forestall them -- he continued on his way.

From the inn he progressed to the small cluster of nearby houses, where initially he had no better fortune. Two had been occupied only by the womenfolk at the time, the men being busy in the nearby fields, and they had been more than occupied by the preparations for supper and, as one informed him, "didn't 'ave no time to be watching for strange men". Since the lady in question was sixty if she was a day and faintly resembled the illustrations one might see of a witch in a children's book of fairy-tales, he readily believed her and, thanking her politely, left in disappointment. The possibility that the unknown man had not approached by the lane which ran through the village was beginning to seem more and more probable, and he made the resolution that if he had no better success at any of the other houses he had still to visit, he would have to return later and question all the menfolk, in order to establish if any had noticed the man making his way towards the church by one of the field paths, or even across open country.

This undertaking, however, proved to be unnecessary, as he discovered at the last house which was part of the small group located close to the inn. The elderly gentleman who resided there informed him that he had been in conversation with one of the local farm workers the previous evening at the 'Bull', and that this man, who with his fellow workers had been engaged in attending to the hay-making the previous day -- an activity which had been slightly delayed this year by the wetness of spring and early summer -- had mentioned seeing an unknown gentleman on one of the lesser-used paths which ran alongside the fields on the same side of the lane as the church.

This was all the constable could have wished for, and a few further inquiries enabled him to obtain details of the man's name and probable current whereabouts. Thanking his informant sincerely, he made his way with promptitude, and the aid of the directions he had obtained, to the area the men had been working the previous day, which lay some quarter-mile distant from the village, across the fields. Fortunately, they were still engaged in the same activity as before, and a few succinct questions, once he had overcome their surprize at his approach, enabled him to identify the man that he was seeking. Five minutes in his company assured Hood that he had important information to impart and, after gaining the permission of the foreman -- though Hood was quite ready to use his authority to insist the man accompany him should it prove necessary -- they both headed back to the inn at a brisk pace; one mildly alarmed at the appearance of this stranger asking questions, and wondering what awaited him, and one gratified he had succeeded with some distinction in carrying out his commission.

In rather shorter time then Elizabeth had anticipated, Farrow had regained his composure, and his recovery was further expedited by the appearance of the village as they approached Woolsington. They had passed the last few minutes predominately in silence, which if it was not enjoyable was at least quite comfortable. Farrow occupied himself while they were traversing the final few hundred yards in rectifying his slightly dishevelled appearance, smoothing his hair and wiping his face on his kerchief, while Elizabeth gave him a look of encouragement and nodded when he was finished to indicate that he was presentable.

The carriage stopped outside the church of St Thomas and Farrow alighted, suggesting that Elizabeth might continue to wait inside a moment while he discovered Mr Darcy's exact whereabouts. To this proposal she demurred, however, stating that she would prefer to wait outside, the need to stretch her legs and feel the sun on her face quite strong after the harrowing disclosures of the last half-hour. Insisting she would stay close by, she stepped down with Farrow's assistance and began to promenade back and forth a little way along the lane while he went away in search of the gentlemen.

As he approached the church door, a man could be observed coming to meet him, no doubt forewarned of their arrival by the noise of the carriage, and a few seconds conversation enabled him to ascertain that this was Edward's father, the sexton, and also to establish his own bona fides. They continued to the vestry, where Mr Reeve, in response to Farrow's questions, related an account of the discovery of the body and subsequent events, including his interrogation at the hands of Mr Darcy, before communicating that the gentlemen's current location was the inn they had passed in the village proper.

Farrow thanked him and left him in the vestry, making his way back down the churchyard path towards the lane. Halfway down he paused and struck off into the path which ran towards the wall in which was located the gate the sexton had described to him. He surveyed the area through the gate with interest, although the body had been removed, but did not enter, standing there for some moments cogitating on what the sexton had disclosed. The questions Darcy had asked Reeve gave him some indication of what was in the master's mind; obviously he had been attempting to eliminate the gate as the means of access by the murderer, and the sexton's answers seemed to confirm that the man had not passed that way. This left Farrow with a fairly good indication of what Darcy's intention had been in summoning him, and he turned away slowly, utilising the time as he made his way back to the waiting carriage in emptying his mind of all the remaining pain and distraction the recitation of his family history to the mistress had occasioned.

By the time he reached the lane and saw Elizabeth, sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree which stood a few yards away, with her face turned to sun and eyes closed, he was fully in control of his reasoning and he approached with purpose. She opened her eyes when she heard the sounds of his advance and he informed her of the need to return they way they had come, to the inn which could be seen about a furlong from where they stood. He gestured toward the waiting carriage but, since the distance was not great and their arrival in such state might invite unnecessary interest, she forestalled him by making a suggestion.

"Would it not be better to leave the carriage here, where there is more room for it to stand? I have no wish to make so ceremonious an entrance, and Mr Darcy may prefer us to exercise some discretion in our arrival, especially if the news of the tragedy has not yet spread and he is engaged in making enquiries."

Farrow, who had experience of some young ladies who would regard the idea of walking half such a distance on a warm summers day as beneath their dignity -- one of whom who had a predilection for orange and had made no secret of her ambition to become Mistress of Pemberley -- was pleasantly surprized. "Of course, ma'am, if the walk is not too much, that would be an excellent precaution," he replied with alacrity, and they set off, Farrow thanking providence as they went that the lady he had been contemplating had never got her wish.

As the gentlemen emerged from the inn, happily oblivious of the two parties that were approaching them unawares, they finalised the arrangements for later that afternoon. Sir Thomas had only to await the return of his carriage before departing for his conference with the coroner, Darcy likewise awaiting the arrival of his so he could set Farrow to work. Captain Perry, who felt that he should make some report to General Ashe before their descent upon Sutton's chambers, was considering the most opportune method of making his way back to the city, the choice lying between accompanying Sir Thomas -- who was going about half the distance -- and then walking or trying to obtain a hired conveyance from there, and making his own arrangements from their current location -- perhaps by borrowing a horse as Edward had done.

They stood outside the inn discussing the various alternatives, without getting so far as to reach a definite conclusion, when the sound of distant footfalls echoing down the lane caught their attention. Looking in the direction of the village, they observed Constable Hood approaching with purpose from a distance, accompanied by a burly young man attired in the simple manner of one of the locals, evidently a farm labourer or crofter. The contrast in the men's bearing was quite distinct, the constable's gait and countenance conveying suppressed excitement and satisfaction, the other a peculiar mixture of intense curiosity and tentative apprehension.

"It would appear Hood has found himself a witness," commented Darcy under his breath to the captain, as the men bore down on their location. "One of the local farm workers, to judge by his appearance."

Perry, who stood at his right, turned as he spoke and seemed about to respond when something in his line of vision made him pause, and a look of amusement crossed his face. "It would appear," said he, "that Constable Hood is not the only one with company. If you will look to your left, you will observe another party approaching. It seems we are caught in a classic pincer movement."

Darcy shot him a look of confusion before turning and glancing up the lane in the direction of the church. There, two further figures were visible, at an even closer distance than the constable and his companion, approaching steadily towards them. Perry heard the sharp inhalation of breath and sensed the slight stiffening of Darcy's posture, though whether they were signs of pleasure or disapproval he could not judge. "Your groom was obviously obliged to bring Mrs Darcy with him," Perry temporized in a louder voice, stealing a covert glance at Sir Thomas and wondering how the magistrate would react to her appearance and possible inclusion in their activities.

Darcy did not react beyond a nod of non-commital, aware that Perry's observation had been prompted by uncertainty at Sir Thomas response to Elizabeth's presence, which echoed the second thought that had struck him when he had observed Elizabeth and Perry bearing down on them. The first, however, had been purely instinctual and was provoked by the sight that had met his eyes when he had turned in their direction. They were walking between the lines of trees, the sunlight passing through the leaves, which swayed and danced in the light wind, dappling the light that struck them like reflections off water or mottled glass. He had caught sight of Elizabeth immediately and everything else seemed to dissolve from his field of vision until she was the sole object in his view, like an apparition emerging down an indistinct and mystical tunnel of light and shade. She had been looking directly at him, having observed the gentlemen standing together, and she was smiling. Darcy wondered if he had died and some goddess had been sent to convey him to the hereafter.

He stifled the groan that threatened to break free from him throat and cursed at the fates that would place him in the position of seeing her like that when he was surrounded by a magistrate, an army captain, a constable and some nameless local -- not to mention his own groom -- and his mind should be occupied on other things. In her eyes there was a look he had difficulty endeavouring to decipher, though he suspected that she was trying to convey something important to him, whilst also allowing him to see something else which tempted him to approach and embrace her, regardless of propriety. As he continued to watch, he saw that she seemed to sense his difficulties and her smile became at once both more demure and more impish at the same time, aggravating his self control still further.

Since he was convinced that the longer he stood there immobile and silent the more difficult the upcoming situation might become; and because he was faintly aware of Sir Thomas' and Perry's scrutiny -- though the latter was more discreet in his observation -- he gathered his wits and prepared to make the introductions. Fortunately, the prospect of Hood and his companion bearing down on them at the same time foreshortened the slightly strained exchange, and Perry's previous acquaintance with both Elizabeth and Farrow allowed that gentleman to greet them both warmly, thereby deflecting any possible discomfort felt by Darcy or displeasure felt by Sir Thomas. When Darcy observed the magistrate during these exchanges, he was gratified to see that he could discern no obvious antipathy towards Elizabeth's presence, only what appeared to be a combination of surprize and wariness, and he was thankful for Perry's good sense and aid. The short interlude was brought to an end by the arrival of the constable and his charge and Darcy breathed a silent sigh of relief, whilst Elizabeth and Farrow retreated backwards a few feet unobtrusively, remaining close enough to discreetly overhear the following exchanges but far enough removed to give the impression of tactful disinterest.

The gentlemen drew slightly further away from the door of the inn, where they had remained whilst the introductions had been made, and Hood strode directly over and greeted the magistrate. "Sir Thomas," said he, nodding a greeting to the other two gentlemen, "how fortunate we caught you before you left for Mr Bilbrough's."

"Just waiting for the carriage to return," the magistrate informed him. "You have discovered something of interest?"

"I believe so, sir," Hood responded. "This, gentlemen," continued he, indicating his companion, who stood by in unaffected nervousness, "is Mr John McMahon, one of the labourers on the farm belonging to a Mr Tremlett, which comprises most of the land to the east of the village for a distance in either direction. He informs me that he saw a stranger passing by while he was at his work yesterday, and I brought him here to tell you his story first-hand."

"Good work, Hood," Sir Thomas complimented the constable placidly. Hood, however, seemed well pleased by the magistrate's understated approval, leading the other two gentlemen to suspect that this was as expressive as he allowed himself to become in praise of his subordinates. They exchanged an amused look before Sir Thomas introduced them to the newcomer. "Mr McMahon," he continued when the formalities had concluded, "please tell us your story and, I beg you, spare no detail that you can remember."

"Aye, sir." The large-set man considered for a moment, as though the magistrate's entreaty for thoroughness left him in some confusion as to the appropriate starting point for his narrative, but this perplexity was only momentary, and he began the recitation of his tale with concentration. "Well, it were yesterday afternoon, as the constable 'ere said, me and four of the other lads were working in the nine-acre field. It were late afternoon, oh mebbe an hour or just a little more before sunset, when I went over to the cart we had sitting in the corner to fetch something. I heard someone coming up the field path which runs nearby and I wondered if Mr Tremlett 'ad sent someone with a message for us, so I went over to the fence to see who it were."

"Where does the path lead?" interjected Darcy.

"It runs from the lane we're now standing on, sir, about half a mile from the village. From there it goes across country, with a few twists and turns, then rejoins the lane a quarter mile or so past the church."

"I see. And is the path which runs by the back of the church part of it?"

"No, sir, though that branches off from it."

Darcy considered this. "And is the church path easy to distinguish? Would a stranger be able to find his way along there, if he were hoping to approach the church without going via the lane that runs through the village?"

"He would," McMahon confirmed. "Where the path separates is quite close to the church, sir, and you can clearly see it where the paths diverge. Even a stranger could see that the path would take him that way."

"Thank you, that seems clear enough, please continue."

"Aye, sir. Well, I were standing by the fence waiting to see who it were coming when a gentlemen came round the corner."

"A gentleman?" queried Sir Thomas.

"Aye, not a local, and dressed like one of you, sirs."

"Did you see him clearly?"

"I did. He were not more than twenty feet away and he seemed mighty surprized to see anyone so close. He stopped dead in his tracks for a few seconds, then just nodded and went on his way."

"Towards the church path?" inquired Darcy.

"Aye."

"Can you describe him?" prompted Sir Thomas.

For the first time, McMahon hesitated, considering his response carefully. "He were a youngish chap, maybe your age, sir." He indicated Darcy. "He were fairly tall and dark-haired."

"Clean shaven?"

"Aye, sir."

"Anything else? What about his clothes?" asked Darcy.

McMahon paused a moment. "I didn't notice them too particularly, sir," he admitted. "I noticed his face more, because he had that look of surprize on him and he stared straight at me, but he were well turned out, with a dark coat -- mebbe black or dark green -- and black hat." The gentlemen cogitated on this response for a moment, each aware that some parts of this description could be said to apply to Sutton, although Sutton's coat could not really be described as green, since it was clearly blue, and the age seemed wrong too.

"What was his build like?" prompted Darcy after a short pause.

"He were a slim man." The reply was assured.

"And his age could not have been forty or forty-five?"

"Oh no, sir," said the local with certainty.

"Did he have a stick?"

McMahon ruminated for a moment, as if searching his memory to remember details. "Aye, I believe he did, sir, but he was carrying it by the middle, not using it."

"I see." It was not Sutton, then, but almost certainly the man he had met; the one who had left that tell-tale line of footprints when he had entered and left the clearing.

"Did you notice if he wore gloves?" asked Perry, breaking into the conversation for the first time.

McMahon paused again, and his face betrayed an intense struggle as he appeared to try to remember minor details he had barely noted. "I can't be sure, sir," he answered at length, "though my impression, and it may only be an impression, is that he did." Perry nodded, as if accepting that they could not expect more from such a brief encounter.

"Did you see him again?" asked Sir Thomas.

"I did, sir. Just as we were getting ready to finish work for the day. We worked right up till sunset, because the hay-making is a little late this year on account of the weather, sir. He came back along the path, though we were all in the middle of the field, and the light was going fast, so I didn't see him close up and plain, like I did the first time."

"So, he had been about an hour about his business?"

"Aye."

"How long would it take him to walk from where you saw him to the church."

"Oh, about ten minutes, I would say. He seemed a sound enough young man."

Darcy cogitated a moment, then asked, "Can you describe his demeanour when he returned? Was he in a hurry, for instance, or looking unduly nervous?"

"No, sir, I wouldn't say that," replied McMahon after some thought, "although he did seem a little nervous when I met him before, though that may have been due to coming upon me without warning. If anything, I would describe him as troubled, as though he had recieved distressing news. His shoulders seemed a little slumped and he walked a little aimlessly. He didn't appear in any hurry. Perhaps you could ask the others what they thought, sir, we all saw him that time."

"Thank you, we may do that," replied Sir Thomas. "Tell me, now, would you know the man you saw if you met him again?"

"I believe I would, sir. I saw him clear enough, and though there are some details of his clothes that I can't remember, I saw his face plain."

The magistrate seemed well pleased with this response. "Good, then if we can lay our hands on him, we will be able to rely on you to identify him," said he with satisfaction. He looked at the other gentlemen to enquire if they had any further questions but when they demurred he turned back to McMahon. "We shall require you to make your statement officially. The constable can take it down and you must sign it. You may also be required to give evidence at any proceedings which result."

This prospect did not appear to be too attractive to the labourer and a look of alarm crossed his features. Sensing that Sir Thomas' rather abrupt phrasing had not aided matters, and that an informal setting might make the task more palatable, Darcy volunteered persuasively, "Perhaps, as it is the hour for luncheon, Constable Hood and Mr McMahon might avail themselves of Mr Larkin's hospitality, then Hood can take the statement. I am sure that after working all morning in this heat that Mr McMahon would appreciate some liquid refreshment at least."

This eminently suitable suggestion seemed to have the desired effect and the labourer visibly relaxed and expressed his satisfaction with the arrangement. Sir Thomas gave Hood some last minute instructions, requesting him to meet the others at Sutton's chambers at the appointed time and the gentlemen turned away to confer on the new information they had obtained from McMahon's encounter with the mystery gentleman.

They had just begun this discourse -- which Sir Thomas and Perry entered into with enthusiasm -- when Darcy, who was rather apt to find his eye wandering to Elizabeth at the best of times, caught some movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning discreetly, so as not alert the others, he observed the constable and his charge had been waylaid on their way into the inn by Elizabeth and Farrow. He saw the latter engage the constable's attention before guiding him a few feet away from the others with such practised ease that he was sure Hood had not registered the separation, or the subtle manner in which it was effected; but Darcy knew that his groom was not inclined to indulge himself in needless curiosity or meaningless conversation and his curiosity was piqued. Continuing to sporadically contribute to the discussion between the magistrate and captain and moving his position slightly to bring the events into his line of sight and keep the others' backs to them in order to ensure that they did not become aware of what was transpiring behind them, he unobtrusively watched events unfolding.

The first revelation which struck him was that he had been observing the wrong pair. Although he could not overhear their conversation, Farrow and Hood's expressions suggested that nothing of real importance was being communicated -- indeed Farrow's whole demeanour suggested to Darcy, who knew him well, that his object was to keep Hood occupied -- and he turned his attention to Elizabeth and McMahon. Elizabeth had her back to him and he could not see her expression, but the labourer stood sideways and his countenance suggested he was quite comfortable, smiling once or twice and responding to her without any sign of discomfort. Since he was convinced she must have some definite purpose in view, he concluded she was utilising her charm to prepare the way for something that was to follow, and he pondered with anticipation -- and a little apprehension -- what it might be.

He did not have long to wait to discover. As he watched the pair he observed Elizabeth take something from the reticule she carried on her left arm and show it to the farm worker, though he was unable to ascertain what the object was because her body blocked his line of sight. The effect was immediate. McMahon straightened in shock and for the first time his voice was loud enough to carry to where Darcy stood, though fortunately not to attract the attention of his companions.

"My god...how... how did you know?" He heard the local man utter incredulously. Elizabeth seemed to say something in reply, though Darcy could not discern her response. "Yes, without a doubt, ma'am," McMahon continued. He saw Elizabeth nod, presumably in thanks, and then return the item to her reticule. A few moments more conversation between the two and the whole incident was over, Farrow and Hood rejoined them and, after the exchange of some civilities, the constable and the farm worker disappeared through the door to the inn. Elizabeth and Farrow remained just outside and made no attempt to approach the gentlemen, conducting a short conversation in low tones which Darcy could not hear. When Elizabeth finally looked up and caught his eye, what he saw convinced him that it was imperative they converse immediately, her face betraying a combination of eagerness, satisfaction and more than a little disquiet.

Sir Thomas and Perry, who had been totally oblivious to these occurrences, were still engaged in animated discussion about McMahon's revelations, their current debate being concerned with how to widen the search in order to pick up traces of the man either before or after he had been observed making his way towards the churchyard, Sir Thomas arguing for public notices and maximum publicity and Perry countering with the opinion that the man would surely flee if he discovered he was being sought in such a manner. He reminded the magistrate that they had no evidence to connect the stranger with Sutton's death except his being in the vicinity and opined they should proceed more cautiously, treating the man as a potential witness until the evidence suggested otherwise.

Darcy, recognising they were quite happy to continue debating the issue and not wishing to be obliged to give his own opinion -- which he was certain was about to be elicited as a factor in settling the matter -- until he had first spoken to Elizabeth, took the opportunity offered during a brief interregnum, which occurred whilst both men were drawing breath preparatory to entering the fray again, to interpose with, "Excuse me one moment, gentlemen." Without awaiting their response he strode off swiftly towards the inn door, nodded to Farrow, took Elizabeth gently but firmly by the arm, and guided her around the side of the inn, out of sight and hearing of the others.

When they were at a safe enough distance to ensure they could not be overheard and Darcy had glanced around to ascertain they would have sufficient notice of anyone's approach, he turned to Elizabeth and began thus;

"Elizabeth, whilst under other circumstances I would make it my first priority to inform you how much I have missed your company and am delighted to see you," he emphasised his point by reverently touching the lock of hair which hung at her temple, "I hope you will forgive me if I defer my raptures for a more appropriate time, as I must confess to an overwhelming curiosity as to what just transpired. What was it that you showed to McMahon just now that caused such a reaction?"

Elizabeth regarded him quizzically for a few seconds as though surprized by the question. Gathering her thoughts, which had been slightly disarranged by the fleeting touch of his hand, which had been in marked contrast to his formal tone, she began by addressing his opening remarks, replying simply, "I have missed you too," and grinning at him mischievously.

That had the desired effect and Darcy relaxed, a half smile forming on his lips. He shook his head slightly in amusement at her answer, which had both conveyed acknowledgement and reciprocation of the sentiments he had not expressed terribly eloquently, and awaited her explanation; certain it would be more forthcoming if he allowed her to lead the conversation without prompting. Her next words, however, caught him slightly off guard.

"You do not know?" she asked surprized.

He looked at her in confusion, his brow furrowed. "Should I know?"

She smirked slightly. "You said that you would 'take the trouble' to discover what it was, the last time we discussed it," she informed him.

A look of perplexity crossed his features as he regarded her uncertainly, while she returned his gaze steadily. He opened his mouth in preparation to begin demanding further details when her choice of words struck him, triggering a memory from the day they had departed Pemberley. He countenance changed to one of shock and he began to pace.

"Are we discussing the object you went back to fetch from the house the morning we left Derbyshire?" he supplied.

Elizabeth nodded. "I believed it may come in useful under certain circumstances, though I did not comprehend that the efficacy of bringing it would be proven in such a prompt and decided manner. Did you give any thought to what it was?"

"No," admitted Darcy, "I confess that I have not had the opportunity, other events having rather preoccupied my attention."

"You had the evening we spent at the inn at York to cogitate on it," suggested Elizabeth.

"If I recall correctly, Madam," rejoined Darcy immediately, "you were rather distracting that evening."

Given the veracity of that statement, Elizabeth was unable to form a response beyond an abashed but unrepentant smile and nod of her head.

"However," continued Darcy more sombrely, after a few moments of contemplation, "given McMahon's reaction, I believe I can venture a conjecture as to what it might be." He turned to face her and asked with some trepidation, "Tell me, did you remove this object from above the mantleshelf in my late father's room?"

Elizabeth looked surprized at the speed of his deduction and gave him a look of admiration, though a brief nod was the only response to his enquiry.

"Oh, Elizabeth!" he cried in dismay. "Do you have any comprehension of what this could mean?"

"I am unsure as to all the possible implications, I freely admit, not being in possession of all the information you have managed to gather, which is why I decided to make the enquiry as discreetly as possible. However, there can be no doubt of one thing." She opened her reticule and, reaching in, retrieved the item which had been the subject of their discourse, passing it to Darcy. "Mr McMahon identified this as the man he encountered on the field path yesterday evening. He was quite adamant."

Darcy looked down at the likeness of George Wickham which lay in his palm and groaned.