Page 78 of A Matter of Murder

She said the words with far more confidence than she felt as she followed the other ladies into the assembly hall. Lizzie took note of the dark wood of the floors and walls, and the long benches that had been set up in the center of the room before focusing on a man sitting at the head of the gathering, where a table and a single straight-backed chair had been set up for him.

Mr. Layne, the justice of the peace, was a man in his early forties with thinning blond hair and a harried expression. He glanced up when the party entered the assembly room and took note of the murmuring that followed. Lizzie guessed that there were about thirty people in the audience, including Mr. Thomas, and to the right of the table stood Mr. and Mrs. Burton, alongwith Mr. Oliver, whose mouth turned down into a sour expression when he saw them.

“All those wishing to bring forward grievances must take a seat and wait their turn,” said Mr. Layne.

“Begging your pardon, sir,” Lizzie said, throwing her voice so it rang out throughout the hall. “But we are here on behalf of the Burtons.”

“You heard the man,” Mr. Oliver spat out. “Take a seat and wait your turn.”

Lizzie strode forward, ignoring the new round of whispers that went through the assembled audience. “I do apologize for my tardiness,” she said, addressing Mr. Layne politely. “We came as soon as we heard.”

“She can’t be speaking right now,” Mr. Oliver said, taking a step toward Lizzie.

Mr. Layne held up a hand. “What is your purpose, Miss...”

“Bennet,” Lizzie said. “I am a solicitor at Longbourn and Sons in London, sir. I am here to speak on the behalf of Mr. and Mrs. Burton.”

Mr. Layne sat up straighter. “Is this true?” he asked the couple.

Sally had rushed forward to join her grandparents and had an arm around her grandmother, whose agitation seemed to lessen now that Sally was present. Sally whispered something to her grandfather, and he said, “Yes, sir.”

Mr. Layne turned to look at Lizzie. “Well, Miss Bennet? What is it that you have to say?”

Lizzie took a steadying breath. She’d argued cases in court before—important cases. Bingley had been accused of murder, and she’d helped secure his freedom. But in that scenario, she’d known exactly who the killer was and had all the evidence in her arsenal to prove it. Now she had little more than her wits. “May I ask what the charges are?”

Mr. Layne raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Oliver has accused Mr. and Mrs. Burton of murder, and of concealing a death.”

Lizzie did some quick calculations. The charge for concealing a death was not nearly as serious as murder, which was a hanging offense. “And what evidence has Mr. Oliver presented to indicate that Mr. and Mrs. Burton are responsible for these crimes?”

“You know very well what I—”

“Mr. Oliver,” Mr. Layne interrupted. “You speak out of turn.”

The man shut his mouth, but Lizzie could see a large vein bulging in his neck. What was behind this rage?

“Mr. Oliver accuses the Burtons on the grounds that they were the caretakers at Netherfield Park these last fifty years, and they were responsible for the upkeep of the house and its security. A man whose body showed signs of being purposefully killed was found concealed on the property.”

Lizzie pressed her lips together so as not to smile. “I see,” she said. “And since when has proximity to a crime been grounds for guilt?”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Bennet?”

Lizzie stepped toward the Burtons. “Sir, I will not argue thefacts that you have stated—Mr. and Mrs. Burton have been the caretakers of Netherfield Park for many decades. They are the only ones among us who had regular access to the estate. But Mrs. Honoria Bingley also lived on the estate.”

“Are you implying that the late Mrs. Bingley is responsible for the murder of the man discovered in Netherfield?” Mr. Layne asked, which elicited shocked murmuring from the onlookers.

“I’m simply pointing out that Mr. and Mrs. Burton were not the only ones who could have put the body in the flue.”

“You think an elderly lady such as Mrs. Bingley was responsible?” Mr. Oliver demanded.

“Well, I wouldn’t presume to think that she was elderly when the death occurred. The body was in an advanced stage of decomposition.” She looked at Mr. Oliver. “It could have been placed in that flue when Mrs. Bingley was younger. It could have been placed there before she arrived. It could have been placed there sometime within the last decade.” She paused and then leveled her gaze back to Mr. Layne. “The point is, no one can say with any certainty when the murder occurred and who was around to conceal it. There is no evidence showing that the people standing before you are guilty.”

“They’ve been in that house—”

“So if a crime is committed in a house, is a servant liable simply because they happened to be there?”

Mr. Oliver was turning red. “Of course not, but—”

“Exactly. Furthermore, is it not true, Mr. Burton, that you and your wife did not spend your nights in Netherfield Park?”