P. James - Death Comes to Pemberley

Georgiana returned to the pianoforte with Alveston standing turning the pages, and for a time the lively tunes had their effect. Then, when the music ended, they made desultory conversation, exchanging views which had been expressed many times before and family news, none of which was new. Half an hour later, Georgiana made the first move and said her goodnights, and when she had pulled the bell-rope to summon her maid, Alveston lit and handed her a candle and escorted her to the door. After she had left, it seemed to Elizabeth that the rest of the party were all tired but lacked the energy actually to get up and say their goodnights. It was Jane who next made a move and, looking at her husband, murmured that it was time for bed. Elizabeth, grateful, soon followed her example. A footman was summoned to bring in and light the night candles, those on the pianoforte were blown out, and they were making their way to the door when Darcy, who was standing by the window, gave a sudden exclamation.

“My God! What does that fool of a coachman think he’s doing? He’ll have the whole chaise over! This is madness. And who on earth are they? Elizabeth, is anyone else expected tonight?”

“No one.”

Elizabeth and the rest of the company crowded to the window and there in the distance saw a chaise, lurching and swaying down the woodland road towards the house, its two sidelights blazing like small flames. Imagination provided what was too distant to be seen – the manes of the horses tossed by the wind, their wild eyes and straining shoulders, the postilion heaving at the reins. It was too distant for the wheels to be heard and it seemed to Elizabeth that she was seeing a spectral coach of legend flying soundlessly through the moonlit night, the dreaded harbinger of death.

Darcy said, “Bingley, stay here with the ladies and I’ll see what this is about.”

But his words were lost in a renewed howling of the wind in the chimney and the company followed him out of the music room, down the main staircase and into the hall. Stoughton and Mrs Reynolds were already there. At a gesture from Darcy, Stoughton opened the door. The wind rushed in immediately, a cold, irresistible force seeming to take possession of the whole house, extinguishing in one blow all the candles except those in the high chandelier.

The coach was still coming at speed, rocking round the corner at the end of the woodland road to approach the house. Elizabeth thought that it would surely rattle past the door. But now she could hear the shouts of the coachman and see him struggling with the reins. The horses were pulled to a halt and stood there, restless and neighing. Immediately, and before he could dismount, the coach door was opened and in the shaft of light from Pemberley they saw a woman almost falling out and shrieking into the wind. With her hat hanging by its ribbons round her neck and her loose hair blowing about her face, she seemed like some wild creature of the night, or a mad woman escaped from captivity. For a moment Elizabeth stood rooted, incapable of action or thought. And then she recognised that this wild shrieking apparition was Lydia and ran forward to help. But Lydia pushed her aside and, still screaming, thrust herself into Jane’s arms, nearly toppling her. Bingley stepped forward to assist his wife and together they half-carried Lydia to the door. She was still howling and struggling as if unaware of who was supporting her, but once inside, protected from the wind, they could hear her harsh broken words.

“Wickham’s dead! Denny has shot him! Why don’t you find him? They’re up there in the woodland. Why don’t you do something? Oh God, I know he’s dead!”

And then the sobs became moans and she slumped in Jane’s and Bingley’s arms as together they urged her gently towards the nearest chair.

Instinctively Elizabeth had moved forward to help but Lydia thrust her aside with surprising strength, crying, “Not you, not you.” Jane took over, kneeling beside the chair and holding both Lydia’s hands in hers, gently murmuring reassurance and sympathy, while Bingley, distressed, stood impotently by. And now Lydia’s tears changed to an unnatural whooping as if she were fighting for breath, a disturbing sound which seemed hardly human.

Stoughton had left the front door slightly ajar. The postilion, standing by the horses, seemed too shocked to move and Alveston and Stoughton dragged Lydia’s trunk from the chaise and carried it into the hall. Stoughton turned to Darcy. “What about the two other pieces of luggage, sir?”

“Leave them in the chaise. Mr Wickham and Captain Denny will presumably be travelling on when we find them so there is no point in leaving their baggage here. Get Wilkinson, will you Stoughton. Rouse him if he’s in bed. Tell him to fetch Dr McFee. He had better take the chaise; I don’t want the doctor riding through this wind. Tell him to give Dr McFee my compliments and explain that Mrs Wickham is here at Pemberley and requires his attention.”

Leaving the women to cope with Lydia, Darcy moved quickly to where the coachman was standing by the horses’ heads. He had been gazing anxiously at the door but, at the approach of Darcy, drew himself up and stood stiffly to attention. His relief on seeing the master of the house was almost palpable. He had done his best in an emergency and now normal life had returned and he was doing his job: standing by his horses and awaiting instructions.

Darcy said, “Who are you? Do I know you?”

“I’m George Pratt, sir, from the Green Man.”

“Of course. You are Mr Piggott’s coachman. Tell me what happened in the woodland. Make it clear and concise, but I want to know the whole story, and quickly.”

Pratt was obviously anxious to tell it and immediately broke into rapid speech. “Mr Wickham and his lady and Captain Denny came to the inn this afternoon but I wasn’t there when they arrived. Come eight o’clock or thereabouts this evening Mr Piggott told me I was to drive Mr and Mrs Wickham and the captain to Pemberley when the lady was ready, using the back road through the woodland. I was to leave Mrs Wickham at the house to go to the ball, or so she was saying earlier to Mrs Piggott. After that my orders was to take the two gentlemen to the King’s Arms at Lambton and then return with the chaise to the inn. I heard Mrs Wickham saying to Mrs Piggott that the gentlemen would be travelling on to London the next day and that Mr Wickham was hopeful of getting employment.”

“Where are Mr Wickham and Captain Denny?”

“I don’t rightly know, sir. When we was about halfway into the woodland Captain Denny knocked to stop the chaise and got out. He shouted something like, “I’m finished with it and with you. I’ll have no part in it,” and ran off into the woodland. Then Mr Wickham went after him, shouting to him to come back and not be a fool, and Mrs Wickham started screaming for him not to leave her and made to follow, but after she got down from the coach, she thought better of it and got back in. She was hollering something dreadful and making the horses nervous so that I could hardly hold them, and then we heard the shots.”

“How many?”

“I couldn’t rightly say, sir, things being all awry with the captain making off and Mr Wickham running after him and the lady yelling, but I heard one shot for certain, sir, and maybe one or two more.”

“How long after the gentlemen left did you hear the shots?”

“Could be fifteen minutes, sir, maybe longer. I know we was standing there an awful long time expecting the gentlemen to come back. But I heard shots all right. It was then Mrs Wickham started screaming that we’d all be murdered and ordered me to drive at speed to Pemberley. It seemed the best thing to do, sir, seeing as how the gentlemen were not there to give orders. I thought they was lost in the woodland but I couldn’t go looking for them, sir, not with Mrs Wickham screaming murder and the horses in a right state.”

“No, of course not. Were the shots close?”

“Close enough, sir. I reckon someone was shooting maybe within a hundred yards.”

“Right. Well, I’ll need you to take a party of us back to where the gentlemen went into the woodland and we’ll go in search.”

It was apparent that this plan was so deeply unwelcome to Pratt that he ventured an objection. “I was to go on to the King’s Arms in Lambton, sir, and then back to the Green Man. Those was my clear orders, sir. And the horses will be sore afeared of going back into the woodland.”

“Obviously there is no point in going on to Lambton without Mr Wickham and Captain Denny. From now on you take your orders from me. They will be clear enough. It is your job to control the horses. Wait here, and keep them quiet. I will settle matters later with Mr Piggott. You will not be in any trouble if you do what I say.”

Inside Pemberley, Elizabeth turned to Mrs Reynolds and spoke quietly. “We need to get Mrs Wickham to bed. Is there one made up in the south guest room on the second floor?”

“Yes madam, and a fire has already been lit. This room and two others are always prepared for Lady Anne’s ball in case we get another October night like the one in ’97 when the snow was four inches deep and some guests who had made a long journey could not get home. Shall we take Mrs Wickham there?”

Elizabeth said, “Yes that would be best, but in her present state she cannot be left alone. Someone will have to sleep in the same room.”

Mrs Reynolds said, “There is a comfortable sofa as well as a single bed in the dressing room next door, madam. I can get the sofa moved in with blankets and pillows. And I expect Belton is still up and waiting for you. She must be aware that something is wrong and she is utterly discreet. I suggest that at present she and I take turns at sleeping on the sofa in Mrs Wickham’s room.”