Page 81 of A Matter of Murder

Darcy didn’t understand at first. He thought Mrs. Burton was speaking nonsense once more, but Sally’s sharp intake of breath and her whispered, “Granny!” said otherwise. He looked to Lizzie and saw that her eyes were narrowed as she looked back and forth between Sally... and Mr. Oliver?

Understanding began to dawn.

“What’s she talking about? What do you know?” Mr. Oliver struggled against the men restraining him, managing to break free of one of them. He lunged forward. “You know something! What did you do?”

The men holding on to Darcy abandoned him to insert themselves between Mr. Oliver and the Burtons. Mrs. Burton cried out in alarm, and Darcy took this opportunity to join Lizzie’s side, shaking out his hands. It had been a long time since he’d hit anyone outside the boxing ring, and fortunately no one called for him to be restrained once more, although Mr. Layne did shout for someone to bring a rope.

“I expect all of you to conduct yourselves with decorum!” heshouted at the room, which was filled with shouts from the audience. “Mr. Oliver, there will be no more outbursts from you!”

Mr. Oliver didn’t stop struggling until the rope was fetched and he was restrained. Mrs. Burton began to cry, and her family tried to comfort her as best they could. In all the commotion, Darcy looked down at Lizzie. “What are you thinking?”

“I have a theory of what might have happened,” she whispered. “But I’m not sure if he’ll be all that cooperative. Follow my lead?”

“Always,” Darcy said.

She cleared her throat when Mr. Oliver was finally tied up and swearing up a storm. “Mr. Oliver. How long has it been since you last saw your father?”

The man simply glared at her. “I won’t answer any of your questions!”

“Now we really are getting rather far afield,” Mr. Layne said.

“Sir, I must ask that you allow the question,” Darcy said. “Mr. Oliver is the one who has accused the Burtons and brought us all together today. The least he can do is answer Miss Bennet.”

The justice of the peace sighed. “Answer them, Mr. Oliver.”

Something seemed to break in his expression, and Darcy recognized the anger for what it truly was—a mask for grief. “Twenty-two years ago,” he said, voice rasping. “It’ll be twenty-three years in November that he last walked out the door to patrol and never returned home.”

How had they missed that? He glanced behind him towardCharlotte, who sat in a chair next to Mr. Thomas, holding Guy. Her forehead was creased, and he knew she was thinking about the parish registers, which hadn’t mentioned Mr. George Oliver disappearing from the village more than twenty years earlier. Perhaps his disappearance wouldn’t have warranted a mention in the registers—it wouldn’t do for vicars to be perceived as gossiping—but if he had left behind a child, surely there would have been record of a parish family taking him in, and funds from the church to support him?

“I see,” Lizzie said, her voice soft and sympathetic. “And is it your belief that the body we discovered in the flue is that of your father?”

Darcy had foreseen where Lizzie was going, but her question still drew gasps.

Tears streamed down Mr. Oliver’s face even as he glared at her. “I knew it the moment I saw the coin. They killed him! They killed him, and I won’t let them get away with it!”

Everyone was in an uproar, shouting questions and chattering at a louder and louder volume. The justice of the peace banged ineffectually at the table, and it wasn’t until Mr. Thomas got up and went to the front of the room and placed two fingers between his lips, letting out a piercing whistle, that everyone fell into silence once more.

“Thank you,” Darcy said. “Now, Mr. Oliver—”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about!” Mr. Burton said, stepping forward to address Mr. Layne. “Honestly, sir—we had no idea there was a body in the flue, let alone that it was GeorgeOliver. We all thought he’d taken off, abandoned his child—he was prone to drink...”

“’Tis true!” someone from the crowd added.

“And he did beat that boy,” added another.

“I heard he went to debtor’s prison.”

“He owed me!”

“And me!”

“QUIET!” Mr. Layne shouted. The crowd hushed, and Darcy had the feeling that whatever had led Mr. Layne to becoming justice of the peace, he deeply regretted it. “Mr. Burton, I appreciate that you and your wife have proclaimed your innocence, but I find this difficult to believe. If George Oliver did in fact lurk about Netherfield Park with the intent of—what, robbing the place?—then how did he end up dead in a flue?”

“I swear on my life, I don’t know,” Mr. Burton said, eyes wide with panic.

“Well, I’m afraid that’s just not good enough—”

“Mr. Layne, if I may,” Lizzie said. “I believe I might have a satisfactory answer for you.”