her name and address and took the oath in a clear voice and confirmed her husband’s account of the arrival of the Wickhams and Captain Denny.
Darcy whispered to Alveston, “She was not called to give evidence at the inquest. Is this something new?”
Alveston said, “Yes, and it could be dangerous.”
Simon Cartwright asked, “What was the general atmosphere in the inn between Mr and Mrs Wickham and Captain Denny? Would you say, Mrs Piggott, that this was a happy party?”
“I would not, sir. Mrs Wickham was in good spirits and laughing. She is a free-speaking and pleasant lady, sir, and it was she who told me and Mr Piggott when we were in the bar that she was going to Lady Anne’s ball and it was going to be a great lark because Mr and Mrs Darcy never even knew she was arriving and wouldn’t be able to turn her away, not on a stormy night. Captain Denny was very quiet, but Mr Wickham was restless as if he wanted to be off.”
“And did you hear any quarrel, any words between them?”
Mr Mickledore was immediately on his feet to complain that the prosecution was leading the witness and the question was rephrased. “Did you hear any of the conversation between Captain Denny and Mr Wickham?”
Mrs Piggott quickly grasped what was wanted. “Not while they were in the inn, sir, but after they had had their cold meat and drink Mrs Wickham asked for her trunk to be carried upstairs so that she could change her clothes before they set off for Pemberley. Not into her ball dress, she said, but something nice to arrive in. I sent Sally, my general maid, to help. After that I had occasion to go to the privy in the yard and when I opened the door – quietly like – to come out, I saw Mr Wickham and Captain Denny talking together.”
“Did you hear what they were saying?”
“I did sir. They were no more than a few feet away. I could see that Captain Denny’s face was very white. He said, “It’s been deceit from start to finish. You are utterly selfish. You have no idea how a woman feels.” ”
“You are certain about those words?”
Mrs Piggott hesitated. “Well, sir, it could be that I got the order a bit mixed, but Captain Denny definitely said that Mr Wickham was selfish and didn’t understand how women feel and that there had been deceit from start to finish.”
“And what happened then?”
“So, not wanting the gentlemen to see me leaving the privy, I closed the door until it was almost shut and kept watch through the gap until they went off.”
“And you are willing to swear that you heard those words?”
“Well, I am sworn, sir. I am giving evidence under oath.”
“So you are, Mrs Piggott, and I am glad you recognise the importance of that fact. What happened after you went back inside the inn?”
“The gentlemen came in soon after, sir, and Mr Wickham went up to the room I set aside for his wife. Mrs Wickham must have changed by then as he came down and said that the trunk had been re-strapped and was ready to be lifted into the chaise. The gentlemen put on their coats and hats and Mr Piggott called for Pratt to bring round the chaise.”
“What condition was Mr Wickham in then?”
There was a silence as if Mrs Piggott was uncertain of his meaning. He said a little impatiently, “Was he sober or were there signs of drink in him?”
“I knew, of course, that he had been drinking, sir, and he looked as though he’d had more than enough. I thought his voice was slurred when he said goodbye. But he was still on his feet and got into the chaise without any help, and they were off.”
There was a silence. Prosecuting counsel studied his papers then said, “Thank you, Mrs Piggott. Will you stay where you are for the moment, please?”
Jeremiah Mickledore rose to his feet. “So, if there was this unfriendly talk between Mr Wickham and Captain Denny – let us call it a disagreement – it did not end in shouting or violence. Did either of the gentlemen touch the other during the conversation you overheard in the yard?”
“No sir, not that I saw. Mr Wickham would be foolish to challenge Captain Denny to a fight. Captain Denny was taller than him by a couple of inches, I would say, and much the heavier man.”
“And did you see when they entered the coach whether either of them was armed?”
“Captain Denny was, sir.”
“So as far as you can say, Captain Denny, whatever his opinion of his companion’s behaviour, could travel in the chaise with him without anxiety of any physical assault? He was the taller and heavier man and was armed. As far as you can remember, was that the situation?”
“I suppose it was, sir.”
“It is not what you suppose, Mrs Piggott. Did you see both gentlemen enter the chaise and Captain Denny, the taller of the two, with a firearm?”
“I did, sir.”
“So even if they had quarrelled, the fact that they were travelling together would have occasioned you no anxiety?”
“They had Mrs Wickham with them, sir. They wouldn’t be starting a fight with a lady in the chaise. And Pratt is no fool. As like as not, if he had trouble, he would have whipped up the horses and come back to the inn.”
Jeremiah Mickledore rose with one last question. “Why did you not give this evidence at the inquest, Mrs Piggott? Did you not realise its importance?”
“I wasn’t asked, sir. Mr Brownrigg came to the inn after the inquest and asked me then.”
“But surely you realised before Mr Brownrigg’s talk with you that you had evidence which should be given at the inquest?”
“I thought, sir, that if they needed me to speak, they would have come and asked, and I wasn’t going to have the whole of Lambton sniggering about me. It’s a proper disgrace if a lady can’t go to the privy without people asking in public about it. Put yourself in my position, Mr Mickledore.”
There was a small burst of quickly suppressed laughter. Mr Mickledore said he had no further questions and Mrs Piggott, clamping her hat more firmly on her head, stomped back to her seat in barely concealed satisfaction amid the congratulatory whispers of her supporters.
6
Simon Cartwright’s management of the prosecution was now apparent and Darcy could appreciate its cleverness. The story would be told scene by scene, imposing both coherence and credibility on the narrative and producing in court as it unfolded something of the excited expectancy of a theatre. But what else, thought Darcy, but public entertainment was a trial for murder? The actors clothed for the parts assigned for them to play, the buzz of happy comment and anticipation before the character assigned to the next scene appeared, and then the moment of high drama when the chief actor entered the dock from which no escape was possible before facing the final scene: life or death. This was English law in practice, a law respected throughout Europe, and how else could such a decision be made, in all its terrible finality, with more justice? He had been subpoenaed to be present but, gazing round at the crowded courtroom, the bright colours and waving headdresses of the fashionable and the drabness of the poor, he felt ashamed to be one of them.
George Pratt was now called to give evidence. In the dock he looked older than Darcy had remembered. His clothes were clean but not new and his hair had obviously been recently washed and now stood up stiffly in pale spikes round his face, giving him the petrified look of a clown. He took the oath slowly, his eyes fixed on the paper as if the language were foreign to him, then gazed at Cartwright with something of the entreaty of a delinquent child.
The prosecution counsel had obviously decided that kindness would here be the most effective tool. He said, “You have taken the oath, Mr Pratt, which means that you have sworn to tell the truth to this court both in reply to my questions and in anything you may say. I want you now to tell the court in your own words what happened on the night of Friday 14th October.”
