Mr Cartwright said, “So there was no suggestion at that time that Mr Wickham should also stay at Pemberley?”

“Not that I heard, sir, it wasn’t to be expected. Mr Wickham, as some of us know, is never received at Pemberley.”

There was a murmur in the court. Instinctively Darcy stiffened in his seat. They were venturing earlier than he had expected on dangerous ground. He kept his eyes on the prosecuting counsel but knew that those of the jury were fixed on him. But after a pause Simon Cartwright changed tack. “Did Mr Wickham pay you for the food and wine, and for the hire of the chaise?”

“He did, sir, while they were in the bar. Captain Denny said to Mr Wickham, “It’s your show, you will have to pay. I have only enough to last me in London.” ”

“Did you see them leave in the chaise?”

“I did sir. It was about eight forty-five of the clock.”

“And when they set out, did you notice what humour they were in, the relationship between the two gentlemen?”

“I can’t say that I noticed, sir. I was giving instructions to Pratt, the coachman. The lady was warning him to be careful putting her trunk into the chaise because it held her dress for the ball. I could see that Captain Denny was very quiet like he was when they was drinking in the inn.”

“Had either gentleman been drinking heavily?”

“Captain Denny only drank ale and no more than a pint. Mr Wickham had a couple of pints and then went on to whisky. By the time they set off he was red of face and none too steady on his feet, but he spoke clear enough, although loud, and got into the chaise without help.”

“Did you hear any conversation between them when they got into the chaise?”

“No sir, none as far as I remember. It was Mrs Piggott that heard the gentlemen quarrelling, as she told me, but that was earlier.”

“We shall be hearing from your wife. That is all I have to ask you, Mr Piggott, you may stand down unless Mr Mickledore has anything to ask you.”

Nathaniel Piggott turned to face the defence counsel with confidence, as Mr Mickledore rose. “So neither gentleman was in a mood for conversation. Did you get the impression that they were content to be travelling together?”

“They never said they weren’t, sir, and there was no argumenting between them when they set out on the journey.”

“No sign of a quarrel?”

“None sir, that I noticed.”

There was no further cross-examination and Nathaniel Piggott left with the satisfied air of a man who is confident he has made a favourable impression.

Martha Piggott was then called and there was a small commotion in the far corner of the courtroom where a stout little woman disentangled herself from a crowd of supporters murmuring encouragement and strutted her way to the stand. She was wearing a hat heavily trimmed with crisp pink ribbons which looked new, bought no doubt as a tribute to the importance of the occasion. It would have been more impressive had it not sat atop a bush of bright yellow hair and from time to time she touched it as if unsure whether it was still on her head. She fixed her eyes on the judge until the prosecuting counsel rose to address her, after bestowing on him an encouraging nod. She gave 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.