Martha Wickham erupted with vicious laughter. “How convenient for you, Amelia, letting me bear the blame for your crimes. But our bargain is void now, isn’t it? My son didn’t marry your precious heiress, so I no longer need to protect your reputation.”
Mrs. Bingley went rigid. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” Martha’s voice dripped with malice. “Tell them, Amelia. Tell them who was really at Rose Cottage that evening, making the tea. Tell them who watched John and Rose succumb to the poison while I saved the baby. Tell them who set the fire to cover the evidence before running back to the main house in time to take tea with Lady Anne, establishing her perfect alibi.”
The room erupted in shocked exclamations. Charles staggered backward while Caroline’s face drained of color.
Sir Thomas banged the gavel on the heavy table. “Order. Order. If we cannot speak civilly, the assembly is dismissed.”
A hush fell over the room, although Mrs. Bingley appeared to be overcome, slumped on the sofa next to Charles, panting and fluttering her fan.
“Sir Thomas.” Georgiana raised her hand. “Might I be permitted to give testimony? I have information that may clarify these conflicting accounts.”
Sir Thomas nodded gravely, pounding the gavel until all was quiet. “Miss Darcy, please proceed.”
Georgiana looked at her feet as she spoke, “Last evening, I disobeyed my brother’s instructions and attended the masquerade dressed as Diana the huntress—in a white silk gown identical to Elizabeth’s costume. During the evening, I followed Mrs. Wickham and Mrs. Bingley into the ladies’ retiring room. Mrs. Wickham approached me, mistaking me for Elizabeth,” Georgiana continued, her voice steady and clear. “She told me to meet her at Rose Cottage after midnight, claiming she had a surprise that would prove I was Elizabeth Darcy. I pretended to agree and left the retiring room, but instead, concealed myself behind the curtains to listen to their conversation.
“I heard them arguing about whose son should marry Elizabeth,” Georgiana said, “but the crucial moment came when Mrs. Bingley said shesawMrs. Wickham take the locket from Aunt Rose’s body after she died.”
A collective gasp arose from the assembled witnesses. Charles Bingley blurted in horror, “But then, Mother, that means youwerethere, with Martha.”
The accusation hung in the air like smoke from a funeral pyre. Mrs. Bingley’s carefully maintained composure shattered completely, her face crumpling. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. Benjamin was desperate to stop John from exposing our operations. I was only supposed to make the tea—Martha said it would just makehim ill, that we could reason with him while he was weakened. But when I arrived at the cottage…”
“Rose was already drinking the tea you had prepared,” Martha finished with cold satisfaction. “And John collapsed within minutes. You stood there watching them die, Amelia. Don’t pretend you were an innocent victim.”
“And you seized your opportunity,” Mrs. Bingley shot back with desperate fury. “Taking the baby and the locket, demanding payment, and setting the fire.”
“I provided a service,” Martha replied without remorse. “I removed the evidence—both the child and the proof of her identity.”
“But you grew greedy,” Mrs. Bingley accused. “Twenty years of payments weren’t enough. You wanted the entire inheritance by foisting your son on Elizabeth.”
“I was the one who contacted Elizabeth,” Martha crowed. “My son gave her five pounds traveling money. And then you swoop in with your son and threaten me with exposure, when I was the one who did the good deed.”
“You betrayed our bargain!” Mrs. Bingley snarled. “I paid you for years. Even had Mr. William Darcy pay you. My son deserved his reward!”
“Enough!” Sir Thomas’s voice cut through their mutual recriminations, pounding his gavel. “I have heard quite enough. Constables, arrest both women. Mrs. Bingley for murder and conspiracy to cover up a crime, and Mrs. Wickham for accessory to murder, arson, kidnapping, and extortion. And let us not forget,” he added grimly, “the additional charge of attempted murder—Mrs. Wickham’s effort to poison Mrs. Bingley last evening and the abduction of both Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Collins.”
With a strangled cry, Mrs. Bingley collapsed in a dead faint, saved from striking the carpet by her son, Charles.
“Mother! Someone fetch the smelling salts,” he cried. “She cannot bear much more of this shock.”
Martha Wickham’s bitter laugh cut through the moment. “And I would have gotten away with everything if not for those meddling girls in identical costumes.” She glared at Elizabeth and Georgiana with equal venom. “Twenty years of planning, undone by a masquerade ball.”
“Indeed, the mysterious workings of Providence…” Collins began, only to be interrupted by George Wickham’s indignant protest.
“I knew nothing of my mother’s crimes,” he insisted, struggling against the constable who held him. “I was a mere child when all this occurred.”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth acknowledged coolly, “but you were old enough last night to participate in my kidnapping and attempted forced marriage. A distinction the courts will no doubt consider when determining your sentence.”
George blanched visibly, his handsome features contorted with fear. Only Thomas Rumsey remained silent, studying the weave in the carpet.
Caroline Bingley erupted in hysteria. “This is preposterous. Our mother is not a common criminal. That woman,” she pointed a trembling finger at Martha, “is a proven liar and murderer. How can you trust anything she says?”
Mrs. Hurst joined her sister’s protests, her voice shrill. “Mother may have made errors in judgment, but she is no killer. This is all Martha Wickham’s doing—her lies and manipulations.”
Sir Thomas fixed both sisters with a stern gaze. “Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst, these matters will be properly adjudicated in court, where evidence and testimony will be examined with due legal process. Your concerns will be heard at the appropriate time and place.”
“The prisoners will be transported to Derby for trial,” Sir Thomas announced, his tone making it clear that the matter was settled.
