party consisted of three men, one of whom was armed. You also had Captain Denny’s gun, which might have been usable. You had no reason to suspect that Captain Denny had been killed some time before you found him. The murderer might well have been close and hiding. Why did you not mount a search?”
“It seemed to me that the first action necessary was to return as quickly as possible to Pemberley with the body of Captain Denny. It would have been almost impossible to detect someone hiding in the dense woodland and I assumed that the killer had made his escape.”
“Some people might think that your explanation is a little unconvincing. Surely the first reaction to finding a murdered man is to attempt to arrest his killer.”
“In the circumstances, sir, it did not occur to me.”
“No indeed, Mr Darcy. I can understand that it did not occur to you. You were already in the presence of the man who, despite your protestations, you believed to have been the murderer. Why indeed should it occur to you to go searching for anyone else?”
Before Darcy could respond, Simon Cartwright consolidated his triumph by speaking his final words. “I must congratulate you, Mr Darcy, on the acuity of your mind, which appears to have a remarkable facility for coherent thought even at moments when most of us would be shocked into a less cerebral response. It was, after all, a scene of unprecedented horror. I asked what was your reaction to the words of the defendant when you and your companions discovered him kneeling with bloodstained hands over the body of his murdered friend. You were able to deduce without a second’s delay that there must have been some disagreement which occasioned Captain Denny to leave the vehicle and escape into the woodland, recall to mind the difference in height and weight of the two men and its significance, and note that there were no weapons at the scene which could have been used to inflict either wound. It is certain that the murderer had not been so helpful as to leave them conveniently at hand. Thank you. You may now step down.”
Somewhat to Darcy’s surprise, Mr Mickledore did not again rise to cross-examine and he wondered whether this was because there was nothing the defence counsel could do to mitigate the damage he had done. He had no memory of returning to his seat. Once there he was filled with a despairing anger against himself. He cursed himself for an incompetent fool. Had not Alveston instructed him carefully how he should respond to examination? “Pause to think before you reply, but not so long that you appear calculating, answer the questions simply and accurately, say no more than has been asked, never embroider; if Cartwright wants more he can ask for it. Disaster in the witness box is usually the result of saying too much not too little.” He had said too much, and disastrously. No doubt the colonel would be wiser, but the damage had been done.
He felt Alveston’s hand on his shoulder. Darcy said miserably, “I have done the defence harm, have I not?”
“By no means. You, a prosecution witness, have made a very effective speech for the defence which Mickledore cannot do. The jury have heard it, which is the important thing, and Cartwright cannot wipe it from their minds.”
Witness after witness for the prosecution gave their evidence. Dr Belcher testified to the cause of death and the constables described in some detail their fruitless attempts to identify the actual weapons, although slabs of stone were discovered under the leaves in the woodland; despite exhaustive searches and inquiries, no evidence had been discovered of a deserter or other person in the woodland at the relevant time.
And now the call for Colonel the Viscount Hartlep to take the witness stand was followed by an immediate silence, and Darcy wondered why Simon Cartwright had decided that this important witness should be the last to give evidence for the prosecution. Was it perhaps that he hoped the impression made would be more lasting and effective if it were the final evidence the jury heard? The colonel was in uniform and Darcy remembered that he had an appointment later that day at the War Office. He walked to the witness stand as normally as if taking a morning stroll, gave a short bow to the judge, took the oath and stood waiting for Cartwright to begin the examination with, Darcy thought, the slightly impatient air of a professional soldier with a war to be won, who was prepared to show proper respect for the court while distancing himself from its presumptions. He stood in the dignity of his uniform, an officer who had been described as among the most handsome and gallant in the British Army. There was a whispering, quickly hushed, and Darcy saw that the rows of fashionable women were leaning intently forward – rather, Darcy thought, like beribboned lapdogs quivering at the smell of a tasty morsel.
The colonel was questioned minutely about every detail of events, from the time he returned from his evening ride to join the expedition until the arrival of Sir Selwyn Hardcastle to take over the investigation. He had ridden earlier to the King’s Arms inn at Lambton where he had been engaged in a private conversation with a visitor during the time Captain Denny was murdered. Cartwright then asked about the thirty pounds found in Wickham’s possession and the colonel said calmly that the money was given by him to enable the defendant to settle a debt of honour and that it was only the necessity to speak in court that had persuaded him to break a solemn promise between them that the transaction would be private. He did not intend to divulge the name of the intended benefactor, but it was not Captain Denny, nor had the money anything to do with Captain Denny’s death.
Here Mr Mickledore briefly rose. “Can you give the court an assurance, Colonel, that this loan or gift was not intended for Captain Denny or is in any way connected with the murder?”
“I can.”
And then Cartwright returned again to the meaning of Wickham’s words spoken over his friend’s body. What was the witness’s impression of their meaning?
The colonel paused for a few seconds before speaking. “I am not competent, sir, to look into another man’s mind, but I agree with the opinion given by Mr Darcy. For me it was a question of instinct rather than of immediate and detailed consideration of the evidence. I do not despise instinct; it has saved my life on several occasions, and instinct is, of course, based on an appreciation of all the salient facts, which is not necessarily wrong because it is subconscious.”
“And the decision not to leave Captain Denny’s body and immediately search for his murderer, was that ever considered? I take it that had it been, you, as a distinguished commander, would have taken the lead.”
“It was not considered by me, sir. I do not advance into hostile and unknown territory with an inadequate force, leaving my rear unprotected.”
There were no further questions and it was apparent that the evidence for the prosecution was now complete. Alveston whispered, “Mickledore has been brilliant. The colonel has validated your evidence and doubt has been cast on the reliability of Pratt’s. I am beginning to feel hopeful, but we still have Wickham’s speech in his own defence and the judge’s charge to the jury.”
8
It was evident from occasional snores that the heat of the courtroom had induced sleep, but now there was nudging and whispering and a stir of interest as Wickham at last stood up in the dock to speak. His voice was clear and steady but without emotion, almost, Darcy thought, as if he were reading, not speaking, the words which could save his life.
“I am here charged with the murder of Captain Martin Denny and to that charge I have pleaded not guilty. I am indeed totally innocent of his murder and here I stand having put myself on my country. I served with Captain Denny in the militia over six years ago when he became a close friend as well as a comrade-in-arms. That friendship continued and his life was as dear to me as my own. I would defend to the death any attack on him and would have done so had I been present when the cowardly attack which caused his death was carried out. It has been said in evidence that there was a quarrel between us when we were at the inn before setting out on that fatal journey. It was no more than a disagreement between friends, but it was my fault. Captain Denny, who was a man of honour and had deep human sympathies, thought that I had been wrong to resign my commission without having a sound profession and a settled home for my wife. In addition he thought that my plan to leave Mrs Wickham at Pemberley to spend the night there and to attend the ball the next day was both inconsiderate and would be inconvenient for Mrs Darcy. I believe that it was his increasing impatience with my conduct that made my company intolerable to him, and that it was this reason that led him to stop the chaise and run into the woodland. I went after him to urge him to return. It was a stormy night and the woodland is in places impenetrable and could be dangerous. I do not deny that I spoke the words attributed to me, but I meant that my friend’s death was my
