The Journey (31 page)

Only Jane stayed behind. She took my hand in hers. “Dearest, try not to think on it. What is done is done. Can you not put it behind you?”

“What was done? What was said? I must know!”

“But why? It will only distress you, and have not Father and our uncle said you were defended, that awful man’s lies disputed? No one could believe him, Lizzy, no one!”

I hung my head, chewing my lip.
Ah, Jane, console yourself with such a delusion,
I thought but did not say aloud.

Even Mr. Bingley refused to tell me what had been said at the trial when I questioned him that evening. He appeared chastened and sober, his normally cheerful countenance subdued, his manner quieter than usual.

The only joyful moment during his visit was an invitation he extended from Mr. and Mrs. Hurst for all of us to dine at their townhouse on Thursday evening of next week. He said it was to celebrate the betrothal and that his sisters had delayed the event only because of the strain of the present week. I had my doubts about that, imagining the horror Mr. Bingley’s announcement had caused among his relations. The difficult task of fitting into that family awaited my sister, but if anyone could win them over, it would be Jane.

After our guest departed, I hurried upstairs with my sister, doing my best to join in her excitement about next week’s upcoming dinner. I listened patiently as she surveyed her wardrobe, already in quest of a suitable gown for the evening.

At last, I could bear it no longer and returned to the subject of that day’s trial, questioning her as to anything Mr. Bingley might have said privately.

“He did not share any details of the trial,” Jane said. “He simply said it was far better not to speak of it.”

I knew then whatever had come forth from Sneyd’s mouth had been vile indeed.

* * *

The following day I rose early, and as soon as my father and uncle left the house, I snatched the newspaper and locked myself away in my room. There I planned to pore over each page, searching for every word written covering the trial. I did not have to look far — it glared forth from the front page for all to see.

THIRD HIGHWAYMAN FOUND GUILTY

Mortimer Sneyd was found guilty last evening on all counts of kidnapping, highway robbery, extortion, and attempted murder of the ringleader of the scandalous gang, Nathanael Morgan.

A heated defence for Sneyd was attempted by calling each of the highwaymen as witnesses. His account was corroborated by the two men previously convicted, except when he asserted that he was the rightful leader of the highwaymen instead of Morgan. He sealed his fate with his conceit, for he insisted that it was his idea to kidnap passengers and hold them for ransom.

Morgan, the alleged ringleader, refused to answer any question or confirm any statement made by Sneyd. Neither would Morgan answer any of the prosecutor’s questions, even when threatened by the judge with a stricter sentence for failure to cooperate. The only occasions upon which Morgan spoke were to shout down Sneyd’s accusations against Miss Bennet, one of the kidnapped victims.

“That hussy lied to us!” Sneyd declared. “She and Darcy made out they was married. We’d never have forced them to sleep together if the truth be known! Besides that, she claimed she carried his child!”

He continued to accuse Miss Bennet of actions not befitting a lady. He said she used her “flirty ways” to lure him away from his loyalty to Morgan. He then declared that she had turned her wiles on Morgan when they dined alone.

Each time Sneyd invoked Miss Bennet’s name in these scurrilous attacks, Morgan and Mr. Darcy both denounced him with loud and heated denials. Their outcry became so loud that the judge ordered a halt to the proceedings and demanded that the defendant desist such defamatory accusations. He also cautioned both Mr. Darcy and Morgan that they could not engage in shouting in his court, even if it was in defence of a lady’s honour.

I lay back upon the pillows on my bed, my face flaming, my stomach burning from the emotions churned up by this public exposure. No wonder my father and uncle had refused to reveal the day’s proceedings!

Although Sneyd had been convicted of his crimes, he had succeeded in blackening my reputation beyond my bleakest fears. Yes, his account had been denied by Mr. Darcy and Morgan, but I knew human nature — how once something was read in print, it remained in one’s memory. Given time, rumours often blurred with facts until they were believed as truth, no matter how false.

I scanned the remainder of the article. It contained nothing more than notice of Morgan’s trial to commence on the morrow.

Why I do not know, but I re-read the entire account once again, unable to tear myself from its ugly statements. Sneyd was defeated. Knowing he could not extricate himself from his crimes, he endeavoured to ruin all those he held responsible, blamed them for his own guilt, and yet convicted himself with his attempt to portray himself as ringleader.

What caused a person to be consumed by such hatred? I could not fathom it.

I looked over the report a third time. The only redeeming part of it was that Mr. Darcy and Morgan had at last agreed upon something — my defence. For that I was grateful. I thought of how often Mr. Darcy had protected me — how unselfishly he had acted on my behalf time and again.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I thought of the expression upon his handsome face when he had offered himself for ransom to shield the ladies with whom he travelled. I recalled the kind manner in which he had held and comforted me in the cabin in the woods, how he rescued me from the opera, and of course, I could not erase from my memory how he had huddled with me that cold night in the cave and what transpired the following morn. If only he loved me! If only —

Much of the day, I remained in seclusion. I had lost my appetite and refused to join my aunt’s table for tea. Jane looked in on me several times, and I implored her to make my excuses to my mother and aunt. She must have been successful, for they did not intrude upon my solitude. I was left to wallow in misery for several hours.

That evening I washed my face and put on a fresh gown. I wished to be waiting below stairs when my father and uncle returned from Morgan’s trial. I had not the slightest hope that the outcome would prove any different from the previous days, but still I wished to hear the particulars. Sometimes I wondered whether I was developing an unnatural desire to be punished, so great was my curiosity about these trials.

My sisters, Mamá, and I joined my aunt in the drawing room to await the men’s return. Mamá had grown weary of the week’s distressful events, and she determined that we were to celebrate the end of the trials that night. No unhappy thoughts would be allowed. We would concentrate on Jane’s fortunate alliance with Mr. Bingley instead.

“Leave it to Mamá to stick her head in the sand,” I whispered to Jane.

“Lizzy, I am speaking to you in particular,” Mamá declared. “You have moped about this house far too long.” She walked over and pinched my cheeks. “Collect yourself! How do you ever expect to secure a husband when you appear on the verge of tears? Men do not like an unhopeful countenance, you know. Just look at Jane. Do you think she would have caught Mr. Bingley if she had gone about the house down in the mouth like you?”

“Yes, Mamá,” I answered, but as soon as she turned her back, I closed my eyes in dismay.

A few moments later, Mr. Gardiner and Papá walked in. How surprised we all were to see Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy follow them!

My aunt and mother both exclaimed over their presence and welcomed them warmly. By that time, my mother had overcome her earlier disapproval of Mr. Darcy, especially since he had offered to marry me. She was still somewhat in awe of him, but she did her best to make him comfortable. Sometimes I wondered if she thought she might match him with Mary or Kitty.

“Jane, Lizzy, Kitty, Mary,” she rattled off our names as though we were children, “greet the gentlemen.”

We curtseyed and spoke to them. Mr. Bingley joined Jane, of course, while Mr. Darcy stood off to the side somewhat stiffly. One glance at his face showed me the strain he had endured that week. His eyes appeared tired, his usual, striking stare somewhat glazed, as though he had not slept adequately.

“Well, my dear,” my uncle said, addressing me. “It is over. Morgan was found guilty of everything except attempted murder of Sneyd and, thanks to Mr. Darcy, he was also exonerated of the previous murder charge against him.”

I sat down, unable to respond. Before looking up, I could feel Mr. Darcy’s eyes upon me. When I raised my head, I was proven correct. His gaze did not waver.

“I am sure the newspapers will have a to-do over today’s events, sir,” my father said, looking in Mr. Darcy’s direction. “The judge himself found it unusual for the prosecutor to produce witnesses in defence of the defendant.”

“I do not understand,” my aunt said.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam took the stand. He presented the court written, witnessed statements from servants at an estate near Jonah’s Village, testifying that Morgan killed the owner, some Frenchman, in self-defence and to protect his sister from the man’s attack. The sister herself testified to the same thing. She also witnessed the altercation between Sneyd and Morgan and swore that Sneyd fired the first shot. In addition, she told how Morgan had given her the keys to the room in which Mr. Darcy and Lizzy were held prisoners and instructed her to release them once the highwaymen had gone.”

“Does that mean he may receive a more lenient sentence?” I asked.

My father and uncle shrugged, and Mr. Bingley looked in the direction of Mr. Darcy. “There is no guarantee,” Mr. Darcy said. “The sentencing is set for Monday.”

“Very well,” my mother announced, rising and causing the gentlemen who were sitting to do so. “Let us have no more talk of trials or sentences or criminals this evening. Let us rejoice that it is over and turn our minds to happier times. Mr. Bingley, I found the loveliest piece of lace for Jane’s wedding veil yesterday. I declare she shall be the most beautiful bride in the county.”

“No doubt, ma’am,” Mr. Bingley responded, and shortly thereafter, Firkin announced that dinner was served.

My aunt had placed Mr. Darcy beside me at the table. That night he was even quieter than usual, and I could think of little to speak of other than the trial, the topic forbidden by my mother. He did not encourage my attempts at dinner conversation, and at last I resigned myself to eating in silence.

As the final course was served, I was surprised when he spoke to me in a low voice, as though he did not wish others to hear.

“I hope you have not read the newspaper accounts of the trial. Reporters seek lurid details that provide sensational appeal. They care little whom they harm, nor whether accounts are truthful, as long as their readership is entertained.”

“I confess I have seen them,” I said, blushing at the remembrance of the terrible things that had been said about me.

He frowned and appeared quite distressed. Placing his knife and fork across his plate, he sat back in his chair and sighed.

“Then take relief on one account of which we have previously spoken. Sneyd testified that it was his idea to take hostages for ransom. Whether his statement is true or false, I care not. What is of importance is that I did not plant the idea in the minds of the highwaymen, and my need to protect you did not in any way cause an escalation of their crimes. They had planned a kidnapping before they chose us as their victims. You never should have felt responsibility for their misdeeds, and I am now absolved from any misguided guilt I took upon myself.”

I had read that statement in the paper, but I was so caught up in Sneyd’s evil statements about me I had overlooked its significance. I confessed that to Mr. Darcy, and he said much the same, that in the heat of the moment, during the horror of all that transpired when we were first held up, he had subsequently forgotten that Sneyd had raised the idea of ransom before he offered himself.

Our guests did not stay long after dinner. They both acknowledged that all of us needed to rest after such a troublesome week. Jane and I walked to the door with the gentlemen, and while Mr. Bingley bade Jane a somewhat prolonged farewell, I took the opportunity to speak to Mr. Darcy again.

“Thank you for your efforts this week, sir,” I said. “I confess I was surprised to see you attend upon my family tonight, for I know you must be exhausted.”

“I came for you,” he said softly. “I wanted you to know that I did all I could for Morgan.”

“That is considerate of you, but I fail to understand what you mean. I never doubted that you would do everything you could to see that justice was served.”

“You do fail to understand. I did it for you.”

“For me? I think your actions reflect that of an honourable man, and they have nothing to do with me. You would have worked to ensure the highwayman received a fair trial regardless of whether I was involved or not.”

His eyes held mine so steadily it was almost as though he wished for me to look into his soul. “I hope I am that kind of man, that what you say is true, but I cannot be certain. I know only that Morgan’s fate matters to you.”