“It is.”
He inspected the grip, then twisted the cinquefoil band. To Darcy’s astonishment, the cane separated into two pieces.
With a smug glance at Darcy, Mr. Chase set aside the grip, inserted two fingers into the shaft, and withdrew a long, narrow bundle wrapped in cloth. He set the shaft on the table beside the grip and, as Darcy watched in dread, unfolded the muslin.
“Well, now, Mr. Darcy.”
The constable held up Mrs. Tilney’s diamond necklace. Sunlight bounced off its many facets, splaying the walls with damning brilliance.
“What have we here?”
My hearing nothing of you makes me apprehensive that you, your fellow travellers and all your effects, might be seized by the bailiffs. .
— Jane Austen, letter to Cassandra
Darcy stared at the two pieces of the cane in disbelief. He had owned the walking stick for a decade. How could he never have noticed that it held a hidden compartment?
The still more obvious question — how the diamond necklace, bracelet, and eardrops had come to be inside it — he could not begin to contemplate.
Mr. Chase sent a servant to fetch the magistrate, who arrived quite put out that his hunting party had been disrupted. But a case of this magnitude, with defendants of the Darcys’ social status, warranted immediate attention. Mr. Melbourne would determine whether sufficient evidence existed to commit Darcy and Elizabeth to gaol pending trial at the next assizes.
The magistrate held the proceedings in the common room of the Golden Crown before an audience of local tradesmen, merchants, and yeomen.
“Could we not discuss this matter in private?” Darcy said.
“Justice is a matter of public interest, Mr. Darcy,” the magistrate responded. “I conduct all my hearings in full view of His Majesty’s lawabiding subjects.”
Though called in from the hunt to perform his duties this afternoon, Mr. Melbourne had taken meticulous care with his person before arriving at the Golden Crown. His clothes looked so freshly donned and his dark hair so neatly combed that one could scarcely believe he had traveled to the inn on horseback. Apparently, he ran his legal proceedings in the same exacting manner he applied to his appearance. Darcy actually found a degree of reassurance in this; he would rather deal with a justice of the peace who regarded his responsibilities seriously than one who approached them so sloppily as to not deserve the office.
“Mr. Chase, present the evidence against the Darcys,” said Mr. Melbourne.
The constable strutted forward. “Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy and his wife have committed theft against Captain Frederick Tilney of Northanger Abbey. After passing Tuesday night as guests in his home, they repaid his hospitality by stealing a set of diamonds from his late mother’s chamber. I found the couple right here in this inn, with the diamonds in their possession.”
Darcy rose. “Mr. Melbourne, we—”
“I shall inform you when it is your turn to speak, Mr. Darcy.”
Mr. Melbourne asked to see the diamonds, and Mr. Chase readily produced them. The sight of the jewels raised a murmur in the crowd, which seemed to grow by the minute. Apparently, the arrest of a gentleman and his wife formed the most interesting event the village had seen in some time.
“They secreted them in a cane with a hidden compartment,” the constable said as he handed the cane to Mr. Melbourne for inspection. “See here? The grip twists off like this. Someone less observant would have missed it altogether, but I figured it out.” His chest swelled. “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy took the diamonds, hid them in the cane, and smuggled them out of the house.”
The magistrate examined the pieces, then regarded Darcy coldly. “Is this true?”
“It is not, sir. My wife and I are victims of deceit. I assure you, we did not steal those diamonds.” Darcy longed to inspect the cane himself. Mr. Chase had not allowed him to handle it since the diamonds were discovered.
“Do you admit to owning this walking stick?”
“I do, but I had no notion of its harboring a hidden compartment.” He gestured toward the cane. “Might I?”
Mr. Melbourne considered a moment, then nodded his consent.
Darcy took up the two pieces. He tilted the opening of the shaft toward the light and determined that the hollow extended about twelve inches. Threads at the top and in the cinquefoil band enabled the shaft to screw into the grip. He fitted these together; when joined, they formed a smooth line that betrayed no evidence of the secret compartment within. He weighed the cane across his hands, then gripped it by the head. It felt familiar in his palm. How could he not have known?
He traced his finger along the length of the cane. And found his answer.
The slight imperfection in the wood was not there. The grain ran evenly down to the tip.
“This walking stick is not mine,” he declared.
“Not two minutes ago you identified it as yours.”
“It appears very much like mine — resembles it so closely, in fact, that I carried it out of Northanger Abbey and into this inn without realizing the difference. But my cane has a slight imperfection in the wood about halfway down its length, a widening of the grain barely noticeable unless one seeks it. This cane displays no such mark.”
“How very convenient.” Mr. Melbourne’s countenance indicated that he did not believe a syllable Darcy had just uttered.
Darcy was not accustomed to having his word doubted. “My wife can attest to the marking on my cane.”
“As your wife is also implicated in the theft, her confirmation means little. Further, you have now just admitted that you left Northanger with this cane, and the diamonds it contained, in your possession. If the cane does not belong to you, then you have stolen it, too.”
“This is absurd! We did not steal the diamonds, and we did not put them in this cane.”
“Then how do you account for Mr. Chase’s having found them in your custody?”
“Someone else must have placed them in the walking stick.”
“Someone else gave you these diamonds, and neglected to inform you of it? That is preposterous.”
“Not nearly as preposterous as the notion that we stole them. I am a gentleman. I own an estate in Derbyshire larger than Northanger Abbey. If I wanted diamonds, I would purchase them myself.”
“I have been practicing law and maintaining order in this county a long time, Mr. Darcy, and if there is one thing I have learned about human nature, it is that people often do not act according to sense. You are not the first gentleman I have encountered who stole something he could well afford to buy. Nor does England lack gentlemen who, through mismanagement or dissipation, have exhausted their own coffers and might find themselves unable to resist the temptation of an easy opportunity to refill them.”
“I am neither of those sorts of gentlemen. I did not steal anything.”
“I have a hollow cane and a handful of diamonds that suggest you did.”
Darcy took a deep breath, attempting to cool his ire. He was beginning to wish that Mr. Melbourne were one of those more careless magistrates after all. Continuing the current line of argument would prove futile; he needed another tactic.
He wished he knew who had written the anonymous letter. Should he not have an opportunity to face his accuser? From the little Mr. Chase had revealed, the note must have come from someone at Northanger. A servant — the housekeeper, perhaps? Surely if Captain Tilney himself had thought they were departing his home with the family jewels, he would have stopped them. Or at least signed his name to the letter.
“Mr. Melbourne, does not a crime require a victim? If Mrs. Tilney once owned these diamonds, they now belong to her son. Let us go to Northanger Abbey and talk to the captain. Doubtless, he will assure you that this is all an enormous error.”
The magistrate pondered the proposal. “All right,” he said finally. “The jewels must be returned anyway. I might as well deliver them myself and allow you to accompany me.”
“Thank you, sir—”