Pride and Premeditation (Jane Austen Murder Mystery #1)(80)

“Mr. Bingley, it’s rare for me to find a solicitor from one firm and a barrister from a competitor at the same table—which one is in your employ?”

“Both?” Bingley answered.

The prosecutor was indignant. “Sir, I object—Mr. Bingley is making a mockery—”

“We take these charges very seriously, sir,” Darcy began, flustered, just as Mr. Bennet cut in with a polite:

“If I may—”

The judge banged his gavel once more, until the only sound was a breathy, self-indulgent laugh. Lizzie didn’t need to turn to know it was Collins. The judge looked to the witness bench and said, “I’m warning you, sir, you’re very close to being held in contempt.”

No one dared speak. Weatherford’s irritation at this break in decorum was palpable, and Lizzie forced herself to wait in silent agony. It was embarrassing to think that the court was looking to them with disgust, but their disorganization was due only to the fact that they’d been busy apprehending the real culprit.

Weatherford glowered at them. “It’s been years since anyone has walked into my courtroom in such disarray, and I confess, Mr. Bingley, I’m of half a mind to remand you into custody and postpone your court appearance. Perhaps another three months in jail would give you sufficient time to confer with your counsel?”

Lizzie’s heart plummeted. If the trial was postponed, that would mean they would be obligated to release Collins—and he would disappear, just as Lady Catherine had. She looked to Darcy and found him staring back. He seemed to wish to communicate wordlessly with her, except she had no idea what he was saying. Then, he mouthed one word.

Speak.

Lizzie turned back to the judge as he grumbled, “I have a full docket today, and I’ve already wasted enough time discovering who’s who in this case, and still haven’t learned the names of everyone at the defense table.”

This was Lizzie’s moment. With a hammering heart she stood, drawing everyone’s attention. “I’m Miss Elizabeth Bennet, sir. My father is Mr. Bennet, and I’ve had the privilege of consulting on this case with Mr. Darcy. Please accept our sincerest apologies for our apparent disorganization—we’ve had a trying morning, but we are prepared to proceed, if you will allow.”

The court didn’t make a sound. Weatherford stared down at Lizzie, and she didn’t falter. “How does a young lady come to address this court?”

She brought out her most polite society smile. “I’m afraid the story would rather detract from our purpose here, and as you have already pointed out, there have been enough delays as it is. But if you will allow me to proceed, I believe I can prove to you that we are indeed prepared, and furthermore, Mr. Bingley is innocent of all charges.”

Talking in court was like a social call, Lizzie realized suddenly. Certain words were spoken in a certain order, the appropriate inquiries and responses must be made, and everything unfolded according to unspoken rules. She believed that her father’s education had been preparing her for this moment, but she was surprised to learn that her mother had an equal hand in providing Lizzie the tools she needed for this day.

Weatherford considered Lizzie for a long moment, then said, “With your permission, Mr. Bennet, I will allow your daughter to continue.”

“It is given,” Mr. Bennet said, “for I believe that of all the people in this court, my daughter is the only one with a full understanding of the crime and its subsequent events.”

The judge nodded. “Very well. Continue, Miss Bennet.”

Lizzie took another steadying breath, but her words flowed smoothly. “Sir, the charges against Mr. Bingley are that he unlawfully entered the house of Mr. Hurst, then proceeded to stab him to death. However, I believe that if you question the butler, you will find that Mr. Bingley was admitted to the house when he brought Mr. Hurst home from his club, and the butler helped carry Mr. Hurst to bed. Then, Mr. Bingley left. By his own admission, he went straight home and retired, and did not leave until he went to the Hurst residence the following morning, where he was again let in by the butler. He grew impatient with Mr. Hurst and went straight to his bedchamber, where he discovered Mr. Hurst dead. Moments later, the valet walked in, and the Runners and coroner were called.”

Lizzie paused, and when no one objected, she continued, “Mr. Hurst’s butler and valet immediately cast suspicions on Mr. Bingley. However, they do not account for a length of time between Mr. Bingley’s departure and his return, during which none of the household saw Hurst. A space of eight hours, which offered the murderer ample time to slip inside, find Mr. Hurst, and stab him to death. What I aim to prove before you today is that the murderer is not Mr. Bingley.” She paused for effect. “But it is in fact Mr. William Collins.”

The audience in the gallery gasped, as if they were at the theater. “Lies!” Collins spat out, and even the prosecutor joined in.

“Why are we letting a lady dictate the procedures of this court?” he bellowed. “We are a court of law, not a society tea.”

The judge banged his gavel and returned his attention to Lizzie. “These are serious charges, Miss Bennet.”

“I have evidence,” Lizzie declared over the protests, “and I should hope that any court would respect truth above sex, so it should not matter who presents in this case.”