“Could be,” Jensen admitted. “Yet, if I were to take a maul”—he held one up to the wheel, just where the wood had given way—“and gave it a whack . . .” he simulated hitting the top of the maul with his hammer, and Darcy could see that it would cause just such damage as had been done.
“It dinna do nothing,” he said, “in the end. The iron held it together. But it set me to thinking about why the wheel gave way. Which led me to the lynchpin.”
Lynchpins held the wheels to the axle. “May we see the lynchpin?”
Jensen shook his head. “Nay.”
“And why is that?” Fitzwilliam asked calmly, though Darcy could hear something dangerous in his words.
“Because it’s not ’ere. It might’ve fell out where the coach tipped, but maybe it weren’t there to begin with.” Jensen removed a penknife from his pocket and extracted something shaped like part of a lynchpin but was not made of iron.
“What is that?” Darcy asked, holding out his hand.
“Pine,” Jensen said, dropping the broken piece into his hand. “The wood’s not near strong enough to hold the wheel for long, jest . . .”
“Long enough so that no one would immediately assume it had been tampered with.”
Jensen nodded. “One good sharp turn, maybe two, would do er. Cheap work at best.” He did not give voice to what might be the worst.
Darcy and Fitzwilliam stepped away from Jensen to speak privately.
“There might be some men who would make a temporary repair to save his blunt,” Fitzwilliam murmured, “but we both know Bennet is not among them.”
“Perhaps his man could not be bothered and meant to fix it properly at a later time.” Darcy did not like what his cousin was insinuating, though it was no different from his own thoughts. “When the foxes startled the horses and the driver naturally responded with a sharper turn than normal, it took them onto the crumbling edge of the slope. When you add the sharp turn to the collapse, it could easily have bent the wheel and caused the axle to break.”
Fitzwilliam frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “Darcy, Bennet meant to take the carriage that night. It was only available for Miss Bennet because he decided to join us and ride.”
Darcy nodded. He had been thinking the same. “It is possible that someone wishes Bennet harm. But why? And who would be close enough to the family to make such a repair without raising questions?”
They glanced over at Jensen.
“Don’t give me a look like that,” Jensen said. “I never touched this coach afore now.” He removed his hat to swipe at his brow. “It’ll take about eight weeks to finish the carriage new. Will you tell ’im so?”
Fitzwilliam spoke up. “We will, Jensen. Bennet will want to speak with you himself, but we will pass your message along.”
Jensen replaced the hat on his head, and soon Darcy found himself back on the street with his cousin.
“It makes no sense,” Darcy claimed. “Bennet does not take on airs, he pays his accounts, he is honest in all his dealings, and I have heard not a word against him or his daughters in all the time we have been here. Why would someone tamper with his carriage? Someone close to him, too?”
“Sometimes there is no rational reason, Darcy. Men can be jealous or vengeful without cause. You know that as well as I. And yet . . .”
“What is it, cousin?” Darcy asked when Fitzwilliam paused.
“Darcy, we do know someone who would gain materially from Bennet’s untimely demise and who might be witless enough to think that a wheel falling off his carriage on a sedate ride into Meryton would do him in.”
“Collins?” Darcy asked, incredulous. He glanced about to make sure they would not be overheard. “I might have more faith in such a theory were the man able to find his own arse without help.”
Fitzwilliam grimaced. “I know, it is a wild supposition. Still, he did arrive just after the accident, and as we have seen, he is very aware of his status as the heir presumptive.”
Darcy sighed. “Very well, if we must play this game, I will add that Collins must also know that were Bennet to wed again, he might not inherit at all.”
“We should speak of it to Bennet.”
“Of course we will. I still say the man is not capable. It may yet be that we are entirely mistaken, and the lynchpin was lost when the carriage tipped over.”
“It would not explain why there was a broken piece of pine in its place.”
“No,” Darcy agreed, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. “It would not.”