Page 79 of A Matter of Murder

Mr. Burton seemed surprised to suddenly be addressed, but at Mr. Layne’s nod, he swallowed and answered. “Yes, miss. We never spent a night in that house. Not in nearly fifty years of service.”

“And why is that?” Mr. Layne asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“Mrs. Bingley believed that bad things come to anyone who spends a night under that roof.”

Lizzie was not immune to the foreboding of those words, even if she didn’t believe in the curse. She felt a shiver run down her spine as the audience nodded and someone said, “That’s right.”

Lizzie knew she could use this to her advantage. “Ask anyone in this village, and they’ll tell you all about the so-called Netherfield curse. I’ve heard more than a few stories myself. No one in this village would risk spending a night there if Mr. Burton himself would not. I wager that for as many hours as he spent on the grounds and within the walls, he also spent the same amount, if not more, away from Netherfield Park.”

“They’re responsible,” Mr. Oliver began to shout. “They’re the most likely—”

“Are they responsible because you think they’re the most likely suspects, or because you have proof, Mr. Oliver?” Lizzie looked the man in the eye. “Because for a charge as serious as murder, I for one would like to see some proof.”

The gathered crowd began to murmur, the sound of their voices rising behind her. Lizzie knew that the tide had beenturned. She turned to Mr. Layne, for it was his judgment now that mattered. He was considering her carefully, and Lizzie forced herself not to twitch. She breathed slowly and began to count the tapestries that hung behind him, trying to keep her nerves steady.

“As would I,” Mr. Layne said finally. “Oliver, what proof do you have?”

“They were there—”

“Means are hardly solid evidence—”

“Thank you, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Layne interrupted. “I’ll ask the questions now. Mr. Oliver?”

“There was a coin found on the body. A coin that came from Netherfield Park.”

Now it wasn’t even whispers that erupted, but a cacophony of voices and questions. Mr. Layne began banging on the table before him for order.

“The coin proves nothing,” Lizzie said.

“It proves that the Netherfield treasure is real!” Mr. Oliver commanded the audience’s entire attention. “We all know the rumors, and we’ve all seen evidence of Mrs. Bingley’s peculiar ways. She hid a fortune in that house, and do you truly believe that the Burtons wouldn’t know? They killed the man to hide the truth!”

He pointed dramatically at the Burtons. Sally was glaring at Mr. Oliver, and Mrs. Burton didn’t appear to understand what was going on. “Is he talking about the silver?”

“Granny, hush,” Sally said. “It’s all a misunderstanding.”

But Mr. Layne had heard her, and now he turned the questions on to her. “Mrs. Burton, do you have a response to the accusation that you knew of a fortune hidden in Netherfield Park, and you and your husband killed a man to keep the secret?”

Lizzie gritted her teeth. That was an awfully leading question, and one that no judge or magistrate in London would be so sloppy as to ask... but this was not London, and she didn’t want to risk Mr. Layne’s ire by objecting.

Mrs. Burton looked at Sally. “What is he talking about, Amy?”

“Granny, it’s me, Sally. Remember?” When Mrs. Burton didn’t respond, Sally implored Mr. Layne, “Please, she’s confused. She thinks I’m my mother. She doesn’t know—”

“Answer the question, Mrs. Burton,” Mr. Layne said.

The entire room was looking at Mrs. Burton, who suddenly seemed very small and old. She felt the weight of their gaze upon them, and her mouth wobbled. “I don’t like this,” she said, looking at her husband. “Allan, I don’t like this!”

“Answer the question!” Mr. Oliver shouted, banging his fist on the table.

Mrs. Burton visibly recoiled from his outburst, but then something in her seemed to want to fight back. She stood up straight and glowered at him. “Don’t you raise your voice at me, George Oliver! I know what you’re about, sneaking around at all hours! Do you think I haven’t noticed?”

Lizzie glanced at Charlotte and Darcy in confusion—she’d thought Mr. Oliver’s given name was Tom, not George.

“Leave her alone!” called someone from among the spectators. “She’s addled—she thinks Tom is his father!”

There were a few calls of agreement, but before Mr. Layne could call for order, Mrs. Burton continued. “Don’t think I don’t know what you get up to after dark! Allan and I have seen you, and we’ve told Mrs. Bingley.”

Real fear flashed in Mr. Oliver’s face, but it was replaced in an instant by fury. “You shut your mouth, you old crone. If you don’t admit to what you did, I’ll—”