The first part of the interrogation was straightforward. In answer to questions he described the evening of the dinner party, who was present, the departure of Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Darcy, the arrival of the chaise with a distraught Mrs Wickham, and finally the decision to take the chaise back to the woodland path to discover what had happened and whether Mr Wickham and Captain Denny were in need of any assistance.
Simon Cartwright said, “You were anticipating danger, perhaps tragedy?”
“By no means, sir. I had hoped, even expected, that the worst that had befallen the gentlemen would be that one had met with some minor but disabling accident in the woodland and that we should meet both Mr Wickham and Captain Denny making their slow way to Pemberley or back to the inn, one helping the other. It was the report by Mrs Wickham and subsequently confirmed by Pratt that there had been shooting which convinced me that it would be prudent to mount a rescue expedition. Colonel Fitzwilliam had returned in time to be part of the expedition and was armed.”
“The Viscount Hartlep will, of course, be giving his evidence later. Shall we continue? Will you please describe now the course of the journey into the woodland and the events leading to the discovery of Captain Denny’s body.”
Darcy had had no need to rehearse this but had nevertheless spent some time selecting the actual words which he should use and the tone in which he would speak. He had told himself that he would be in a court of law, not recounting a story to a circle of friends. To dwell on the silence, unbroken except for their trudging feet and the creaking of the wheels, would be a dangerous indulgence; all that would be needed were facts, baldly and convincingly stated. He recounted now that the colonel had briefly left the party in order to warn Mrs Bidwell, her dying son and her daughter that there might be trouble and to instruct them to keep the door locked.
“Did Viscount Hartlep, in going to the cottage, inform you that that was his intention?”
“He did.”
“And for how long was he absent?”
“No more, I think, than fifteen or twenty minutes, but it seemed somewhat longer at the time.”
“And you then proceeded?”
“We did. Pratt was able with some certainty to indicate where Captain Denny had entered the woodland and my companions and I then did the same and attempted to discover the path that either one or both might have taken. After some minutes, perhaps as many as ten, we came upon the glade and found the body of Captain Denny with Mr Wickham bending over him and weeping. It was immediately apparent to me that Captain Denny was dead.”
“In what condition was Mr Wickham?”
“He was greatly distressed and I think from his speech and the smell on his breath that he had been drinking and probably heavily. Captain Denny’s face was smeared with blood and there was blood on Mr Wickham’s hands and face – probably, I thought, from touching his friend.”
“Did Mr Wickham speak?”
“He did.”
“And what did he say?”
So here at last was the dreaded question and for a few appalling seconds his mind was a blank. Then he looked at Cartwright and said, “I think, sir, that I can recall the words with accuracy if not the precise order. As I remember, he said, “I have killed him. It is my fault. He was my friend, my only friend, and I have killed him.” Then he repeated, “It is my fault.”
“And what at the time did you think his words meant?”
Darcy was aware that the whole court was waiting for his answer. He shifted his gaze to the judge who now slowly opened his eyes and looked at him. “Answer the question, Mr Darcy.”
It was only then that he realised with horror that he must have remained silent for seconds. He said, speaking to the judge, “I was looking at a man in the greatest distress, kneeling over the body of his friend. I took Mr Wickham to mean that, had there not been some disagreement between them which caused Captain Denny to leave the chaise and run into the woods, his friend would not have been murdered. That was my immediate impression. I saw no weapons. I knew that Captain Denny was the heavier man and had been armed. It would have been the height of folly for Mr Wickham to follow his friend into the woodland without a light or a weapon with the intention of doing him to death. He could not even be sure that he would find Captain Denny in the dense bushes and trees with only moonlight to guide him. It seemed to me that this could not have been murder on Mr Wickham’s part, either on impulse or premeditated.”
“Did you see or hear any person other than Lord Hartlep or Mr Alveston either when you were entering the woodland or at the scene of the murder?”
“No sir.”
“So you are saying on oath that you found the body of Captain Denny with a bloodstained Mr Wickham leaning over him and saying, not once but twice, that he was responsible for his friend’s murder.”
And now the silence was longer. Darcy felt himself for the first time like a baited animal. At last he said, “Those are the facts, sir. You asked me what I thought at the time those facts meant. I told you what I believed then and I believe now, that Mr Wickham was not confessing to murder but speaking what was in fact the truth, that had Captain Denny not left the chaise and entered the woodland he would not have met his murderer.”
But Cartwright had not finished. Changing his tack, he said, “Had Mrs Wickham arrived at Pemberley House unexpectedly and without notice, would she have been admitted?”
“She would.”
“She, of course, is the sister of Mrs Darcy. Would Mr Wickham also be welcomed if he arrived in the same circumstances? Were he and Mrs Wickham invited to the ball?”
“That, sir, is a hypothetical question. There was no reason why they should be. We had not been in touch for some time and I did not know their address.”
“I suggest, Mr Darcy, that your answer is somewhat disingenuous. Would you have invited them had you known their address?”
It was then that Jeremiah Mickledore got up and addressed the judge. “My lord, what relevance can Mrs Darcy’s invitation list have to the murder of Captain Denny? We are surely all entitled to invite whom we wish into our homes, whether or not they are relations, without the necessity of explaining our reasons to a court of law in circumstances in which the invitation can have no possible relevance.”
The judge stirred himself, his voice unexpectedly firm. “You have a reason for this line of questioning, Mr Cartwright?”
“I have, my lord: to throw some light on the possible relationship of Mr Darcy to his brother and therefore indirectly to give the jury some insight into Mr Wickham’s character.”
The judge said, “I doubt whether the absence of an invitation to a ball can give much insight into the man’s essential nature.”
And now Jeremiah Mickledore rose. He turned to Darcy. “You know something of Mr Wickham’s conduct in the campaign in Ireland in August 1798?”
“I do, sir. I know he was decorated as a brave soldier and was wounded.”
“As far as you know, has he ever been imprisoned for a felony or, indeed, been in trouble with the police?”
“As far as I know he has not, sir.”
“And as he is married to Mrs Darcy’s sister you would presumably know these things?”
“If they were serious or frequent I think I would.”
“Wickham has been described as being under the influence of drink. What steps were taken to control him when you arrived at Pemberley?”
“He was put to bed and Dr McFee was sent for, to help both Mrs Wickham and her husband.”
“But he was not locked up or guarded?”
“His door was not locked but there were two watchers.”
“Was that necessary since you believed him innocent?”
“He was drunk, sir, and could not be left to roam round the house, particularly as I have children. I was also uneasy about his physical condition. I am a magistrate, sir, and I knew that everyone who was concerned in this matter should be available for questioning when Sir Selwyn Hardcastle arrived.”
Mr Mickledore sat and Simon Cartwright resumed his examination. “One last question, Mr Darcy. The search
