Page 59 of A Matter of Murder

It was Lizzie who asked the next question. “Mr. Oliver, you seem highly impassioned—do you know who the man is?”

He was sweating profusely, and his cheeks were reddened. The man swung his glare at Lizzie. “No! But I’m the constable, aren’t I? And I know how this village is—how you all are!” He turned around, pointing wildly at the crowd. Not a single person was rushing away. They were all too entertained by the spectacle unfolding. “But when I uncover the truth, you’ll all be sorry!”

“Mr. Oliver, I cannot have you threatening others in this churchyard,” Mr. Thomas said, stepping in “Let me accompany you home, and—”

“He needs to pay!”

Mr. Oliver pointed at Bingley, and for a chilling momentDarcy thought he meant that Bingley ought to pay for the crime committed against the unidentified man. From the way Bingley’s face went ashen, Bingley clearly thought the same thing. But then Mr. Oliver added, “For a stone. A man died in his manor, and he gets a pauper’s grave!”

Darcy hadn’t noticed this beforehand, but the grave that had just been dug was in a nondescript row toward the back of the churchyard. The row was marked only by a series of weatherworn crosses, not stones. Apparently, Bingley had paid for the burial service, but not for a choice spot among the other well-to-do deceased of Meryton.

“Of course,” Bingley agreed quickly. “Mr. Thomas, I am glad to pay for a stone as well—”

“That’s right, toss your money at the problem!”

“Sir, I don’t know what you want from me,” Bingley said, starting to sound heated himself. This was unusual, for Bingley had the patience of most saints.

“I don’t think a churchyard is the appropriate place to discuss this,” Darcy said severely, stepping between them. “And Mr. Oliver is in no state to—”

“Don’t you tell me what state I’m in!” Mr. Oliver shouted. “He needs to pay! I want to be assured, as constable of this parish, that he pays!”

“Perhaps we ought to step into the rectory, and—”

“Gentlemen, there is no need!” Mr. Thomas said, raising his voice. They all turned to look at him. “There’s no need for Mr. Bingley to pay for a stone.”

“Why not?” Lizzie asked.

“Because this morning when I stepped out of the rectory, I found a coin purse with enough funds to cover the man’s burial and a stone,” Mr. Thomas said. “There was a note with it that said, ‘For today.’”

“You didn’t think to mention this until now?” Darcy asked.

“I was going to tell you all after the service.” Mr. Thomas sounded thoroughly irritated. “Not like this. Mr. Bingley, given the generosity of this anonymous donor, I am happy to return your funds. What was left is more than sufficient for today’s service, burial, and yes, Mr. Oliver, a proper stone.”

“Keep the money,” Bingley said, sounding resigned. “Help another family with it.”

“Aye, that’s right—you’ve got money to spare, don’t you?”

“Mr. Oliver—” Darcy started to say, but was shocked when Mr. Thomas interrupted them.

“Enough! We have just buried a man. You disrespect the souls who have been laid to rest here by carrying on this way. Now go home, all of you. Mr. Oliver, I will call on you later this week to consult about what sort of stone you think is proper, but I will hear no more about it today.”

Mr. Thomas’s voice had iron in it now. Mr. Oliver glared at the vicar, then spat at Bingley’s and Jane’s feet, drawing shocked gasps from the crowd. He stormed off, pushing past those unfortunate enough to be standing in his way.

It was Jane who asked, “Should someone see that he makes it home all right?”

Beside him, Lizzie let out a small snort. Darcy pressed his mouth shut.

“I’ll call on him later,” said Mr. Thomas with a sigh. “Now, everyone, go home.”

The crowd began to disperse, the Netherfield party along with them. Up ahead, Darcy could hear Mrs. Bennet muttering not quite under her breath about the rudeness of some people as she shooed her youngest daughters along. Darcy leaned in to Lizzie and whispered, “Well? I imagine that was not the outcome you were hoping for.”

“Is it just me, or does he seem far more invested in this matter than he ought to be?” Lizzie asked.

“Perhaps it’s jealousy,” Darcy said. Mr. Oliver’s constant references to the treasure seemed to be a sticking point—and money could turn people sour. “If he thinks they might have killed to protect a fortune, perhaps that would explain the force of his ire.”

“I don’t think we’ll get any more out of him, even sober, unless we stumble upon new information,” Lizzie murmured.

“Oh? What do you propose?”