“Why?”
“Ravens are bad omens. They nearly always mean trouble. And they often mean death.”
A chill passed through Elizabeth, and she burrowed more deeply into her cloak. “Did you warn Mr. Churchill?”
She shook her head. “The true meanings of omens take time to reveal themselves. The raven could be seen as a portent for Hram, that Churchill meant to harm him as his wife had threatened. Until I was sure, I had my son to protect.”
Rawnie Zsófia’s shawl had slipped. She returned it to her shoulders and started to rise. “The clouds grow thicker, and I have a long walk back to the kumpania. I must go.”
Elizabeth offered to drive her, but Rawnie Zsófia declined. She allowed the footman to assist her out of the coach, then extended her basket toward Elizabeth.
“I brought my son food, and medicines to keep him well in that unhealthy staripen. Will your husband give this to Hram?”
Elizabeth accepted the basket. She could predict Darcy and Mr. Knightley’s response. Heaven only knew what the “medicines” might contain, and who they were really intended for. “Only with the magistrate’s approval. I will be truthful with you — I doubt Mr. Deal will be allowed to have the medicines. He is suspected of poisoning someone, after all.”
“My son is suspected of many things he has not done.” She nodded towards the basket. “Look you inside, Rawnie Darcy. You will see.” She closed the coach door.
Elizabeth leaned against the seat. The air inside the coach still held the scent of perfume, and her mind whirled with all she had just heard. A few minutes passed before she returned altogether to the present; still more time would be required to absorb what she had learned.
She pulled the basket onto her lap and drew back the cloth that covered its contents. Apples and other foodstuffs filled it, along with several stoppered phials. She removed the food and medicines, setting them on the seat beside her. Another cloth lined the bottom, apparently bunched to form a cushion. She lifted out the cloth and discovered that the fabric did not itself form the cushion, but covered something else.
In the bottom of the basket, carefully folded, lay the Fitzwilliam family christening garments. And on top of them, Lady Anne’s signet ring.
Thirty-One
“How animated, how suspicious, how busy their imaginations all are!”
— Emma Woodhouse, Emma
“Did we not agree that you would stay in the carriage?”
The set of Darcy’s jaw told Elizabeth that he was not furious. But he was not happy. An unkind thought regarding their servants passed through her mind as the coach lurched into motion. She could not believe they had betrayed her, however good their intentions. “Jeffrey told you?”
“Jeffrey? No. The gaolers saw fit to inform me. They are fine fellows — the very sort from whom one wants to hear reports about one’s wife.”
“I was in the carriage—” He gave her a hard look. “Well, in view of the carriage.”
“That is hardly the same thing.”
“You will be glad I took the liberty, when I tell you what occurred.”
The journey back to Highbury passed swiftly as Elizabeth recounted her conversation with Rawnie Zsófia. Thankfully, Darcy’s mood improved with each detail.
“So,” he said when she had done, “Edgar Churchill visited the gypsy camp on the day he died. I wager the other gentleman was Thomas Dixon. He was evasive when we asked him where he and Mr. Churchill walked that afternoon.”
“But why the secrecy? Does Mr. Dixon simply not want to bear the stigma of a person who associates with gypsies? Does he think he would appear foolish if it were known that he consulted a fortuneteller?” She paused, attempting to imagine the impeccably dressed Thomas Dixon in the midst of a roisterous gypsy camp. “Or did he lead Mr. Churchill there for some reason? Did they truly just happen upon the camp, or did one or both of them deliberately seek the caravan?”
“If either of them went there intentionally, I should think it would have been Edgar Churchill, seeking Mr. Deal.”
“Unless Mr. Dixon had intentions of his own. Rawnie Zsófia said that he was entirely willing to have his fortune told that day, yet he refused to let Loretta read his tea leaves two days ago at the Crown. Perhaps he was afraid that the second reading would reveal something about him that he does not want known.”
“Or he realized that the only revelation Miss Jones made at the camp was that she is an utter charlatan, and he was wise enough not to be taken in twice. Too, bear in mind that we have only Rawnie Zsófia’s account of what occurred in the camp, and she is not to be trusted.”
“Because she is a gypsy?”
“That alone is reason enough. But she is also Mr. Deal’s mother, and admitted that she protected her son at the expense of Edgar Churchill’s safety.”
“When did she say that?”
“In regards to the raven’s warning.”
Though it was dim inside the coach, Elizabeth beheld him with astonishment. “And when did Fitzwilliam Darcy start believing in omens?”
“I do not. But if Rawnie Zsófia does, then declining to act upon what she perceived as a warning bespeaks a less than honorable character. And if this renowned fortune-teller does not believe in portents, she is a greater fraud than Miss Jones. Either way, she is guilty of deceit and could be guilty of more. Indeed, she herself could very well be the poisoner. Of all the suspects, she alone possesses expert knowledge of herbs, and now we know she had the opportunity to administer the poison hours before Edgar Churchill died.”
“But she had no direct interaction with Mr. Churchill while he was at the camp.”
“So she claims. As I said, we have no reason to trust her.”
Though Elizabeth followed Darcy’s logic, she could not deny her own instincts. Darcy had not met Rawnie Zsófia; he had only cold reason and secondhand accounts to guide his interpretation of her. While Elizabeth remained cautious, she was not unwilling to believe that Zsófia’s words contained at least some truth. She considered the return of the baptismal clothes and signet ring an act of good faith — a development she had not yet shared with Darcy.
“We started discussing Edgar Churchill’s visit to the gypsy camp before I reached the most surprising part of my conversation with Rawnie Zsófia.”
“Did she tell your fortune?”
“No, she left this basket.” It remained beside her on the seat. Elizabeth had repacked it with the most interesting article on top, protected by the cloth cover.
“I just delivered Miss Bates’s. Are we starting a collection?”
“This one was also intended for Mr. Deal, but it contains something for us, as well.”
“Indeed?” He said no more, but the tone of his voice conveyed in that single word the full measure of his skepticism.
“See for yourself.”
Darcy grasped the basket by its handle and brought it beside him. Casting Elizabeth a dubious look, he lifted the cover.
And suddenly looked up at her again. “The christening set?”
“And your mother’s ring.” She removed her glove. “I put it on my finger for safekeeping.”
He leaned forward, took her hand, and examined the ring as best he could in the dismal light. “It appears undamaged.” Though done with his inspection, he retained her hand. His knees brushed against hers as the coach jostled. “What explanation did she give?”
“None. She was gone before I found them in the bottom of the basket. She said only that Mr. Deal was suspected of many things of which he is not guilty.”
“His mother had our stolen belongings in her possession. I would say that connects him rather strongly with the theft.”
“Unless she obtained them herself from the thieves in order to return them to us.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Perhaps to win our goodwill toward her son? To demonstrate that gypsies — some, at least — are acquainted with honor?”
“Or to distract us from
the more heinous crime of Edgar Churchill’s murder.”
“Or that,” she conceded. “Whatever her motive, we have recovered our possessions, which means that as soon as Edgar Churchill’s poisoner is identified, we can collect our daughter and Georgiana, and finally join Anne and Colonel Fitzwilliam at Brierwood.”
“You could go now. Jeffrey can drive you to London tomorrow to retrieve Lily-Anne and my sister, then take all of you to Brierwood whenever you wish. I will meet you there when this Churchill matter is resolved.”
She was tempted, but shook her head. Her place was with Darcy.
“Mrs. Knightley would never forgive me,” she said. “I would return in a month to find the case still unsolved, and you and Mr. Knightley discussing husbandry over spruce beer.”
“Thank goodness you have returned.”
Had Mrs. Knightley not said a word upon their arrival at Hartfield, Darcy would have seen in her face that something had changed. He and Elizabeth hastily removed their cloaks and followed her to the drawing room. She shut the doors.
“Mr. Perry was here earlier,” she said. “He came directly from Randalls, where one of the maids is ill. He suspects belladonna.”
“Will she recover?” Elizabeth asked.
“Mr. Perry is confident. He treated her as he did Frank Churchill, and she is already improved. Like Frank, she is young and of stronger constitution than Edgar Churchill was.”
“Who is she?” Darcy asked.
“One of the kitchen girls — Nellie.”
The maid Mrs. Bates had been talking about that morning. “Does Mr. Perry have any notion how she might have ingested the poison?”
“He says she imbibed a philtre she had obtained from Mr. Deal.”
Darcy could scarcely comprehend anybody’s being so foolish. “Why would she do that, knowing he had been arrested?”
“Young girls do unwise things,” Elizabeth said.
“Apparently, she meant to prove to some of the other servants that Mr. Deal is innocent of any wrongdoing,” Mrs. Knightley explained. “While in the village earlier today, she asked Miss Jones for a tea leaf reading, and when that failed to produce the ‘evidence’ she hoped for, she went back to Randalls and drank the whole phial.”
“Good heavens!” Elizabeth looked down at the signet ring on her finger. “I had wanted to believe him guiltless.”
So had Darcy. “Mr. Deal might not be the poisoner. It could be his mother. She shares at least some of the guilt — by Mr. Deal’s own admission, she was the one who prepared the remedies he sold.”
“I cannot believe that of her.” Elizabeth glanced at Mrs. Knightley. “I met Rawnie Zsófia, Mr. Deal’s gypsy mother, today, while Mr. Darcy was in conference with Mr. Deal.” At Mrs. Knightley’s expression of astonishment, she continued. “I will tell you more about our interview later, but she did not impress me as a capricious person.” Elizabeth turned back to Darcy. “Why would she poison people randomly? Edgar Churchill, I can understand, if she thought she was somehow protecting her son. Frank Churchill, I can understand — he grew up in the privilege that was by right Mr. Deal’s. But a naïve kitchen maid infatuated with a handsome peddler? I fail to comprehend why either Mr. Deal or his mother would harm her, or sell tainted physics to the village at large.”
“Perhaps the philtre was meant for someone else and accidentally found its way into her hands,” Darcy said. “Or it was unknowingly contaminated with belladonna while the poison was being prepared for the Churchills. Regardless, it implicates Mr. Deal, which means I will be making another trip to Guildford to question him. And this time I will travel alone.” He did not want to chance Elizabeth’s having another private encounter with Rawnie Zsófia. She might not survive it.
“Mr. Knightley might go with you,” Mrs. Knightley said. “As soon as Mr. Perry suspected that Nellie had been poisoned, we sent an express to London. If I know my husband, he will lose no time returning here to attend to this latest incident himself.”
Darcy would prefer Mr. Knightley’s companionship. In truth, he would prefer to not immediately climb back into the carriage for another journey to Guildford. He consulted his watch. “I do not want to delay too long. Among other questions, we need to ask Mr. Deal how many remedies he sold in Highbury and to whom. If Mr. Knightley has not returned in two hours, I shall go without him. Meanwhile, Mr. Perry should advise the villagers against trusting any preparations purchased from Mr. Deal, if they have not already used them.”
“We can stop at the apothecary shop to see him on our way to speak with Miss Jones,” Elizabeth said.
“He is not there,” Mrs. Knightley replied. “He has gone back to Randalls to check on his patient. However, he promised to stop here again with a report. I will convey your recommendation about warning the villagers.”
“We also need to talk to Thomas Dixon. Is he here?”
“No, he is gone to London to see about Miss Bates’s new furniture.”
Was nobody in Highbury today? “When he returns, try to keep him here until we have an opportunity to question him. It seems he knows more about Edgar Churchill’s final hours than he has admitted.”
As Darcy and Elizabeth waited for their cloaks, Mrs. Knightley suddenly recalled another matter for Darcy’s attention. “In all the business about Nellie, I nearly forgot — a letter arrived for you. Actually, it was addressed to both you and Mr. Knightley.” She went to retrieve it and returned directly.
Darcy knew the hand at once.
Gentlemen,
I am delighted to be of service in your investigation, particularly in regards to this most intriguing clue. I assure you of my discretion, as well as that of the young philologist to whom I referred your query. Mr. Atwell has a keen interest in lexicography; indeed, I believe he means to be the next Samuel Johnson. I enclose herewith his reply. You will see that although he offers several possible meanings for “unkind individual,” he decidedly favors one. Mr. Atwell believes the writer’s employment of the collective noun for crows to denote “murder” suggests the use of the same strategy in the earlier portion of the message. For my part, although I find it fascinating to learn that a group of ravens is called an “unkindness”—an altogether fitting term for the gloomy creatures — I fail to see how that information can possibly aid your quest. Shall I present the message to another connoisseur of language? I know a professor at Oxford who might be consulted. Consider me at your disposal. I am—
Yours sincerely,
Chatfield
Thirty-Two
It was the very event to engage those who talk most, the young and the low; and all the youth and the servants in the place were soon in the happiness of frightful news.
— Emma
“Perhaps a raven witnessed the murder of Churchill.”
The fully revealed message sent a shiver through Elizabeth as she spoke it aloud. “If the riddle is true, the raven did not merely portend Edgar Churchill’s death — the poisoning occurred at the camp.”
“I do not understand,” said Mrs. Knightley. “Do you speak of the bird that appeared during your robbery?”
“Yes, or one kept by the same individuals — Rawnie Zsófia said that the gypsies train them,” Elizabeth replied. “Regardless, Edgar Churchill and Thomas Dixon visited the gypsy camp several hours before your party, and while they were there, a raven took particular notice of Mr. Churchill.”
“Madam Zsófia must have found an opportunity to administer the poison to Edgar Churchill while he was there,” Darcy said. “Perhaps through one of her physics.”
“But Miss Jones said that while the gypsies camped outside of Highbury, no English came to Rawnie Zsófia for healing.”
“Since when have we considered Miss Jones a trustworthy source of information? Moreover, I believe she said that none had come to the camp for that purpose — which does not mean that no one came for a different purpose, and received treatment while there.”
The servant appeared with their cloaks. As Eliz
abeth donned hers, she pondered a point that had been troubling her. “We have neglected to consider the second poisoning — Frank’s, which occurred several days after the gypsies quit Highbury. Perhaps the poison was not given directly while Edgar Churchill was at the camp, but sent home with him and taken afterwards.”
“Self-administered?” Darcy asked.
“Or administered by Thomas Dixon.”
“I cannot believe that of him,” said Mrs. Knightley. “If Mr. Dixon is guilty of any crime, it is idleness. Or perhaps too great an attention to fashion.”
“Well, someone is guilty of murder,” Darcy said. “And someone else knows more than he or she has said, because the raven did not write that riddle. It is now even more critical that we talk to Miss Jones and Thomas Dixon about what occurred at the gypsy camp. Perhaps with three versions of events, we can begin to piece together what actually happened.”
The Darcys were very nearly deterred from interviewing Miss Jones by the sight of Miss Bates approaching Mrs. Todd’s house at the same time as they.
Darcy emitted a low groan. “If that lady takes hold of the conversation, we shall never get it back.”
Elizabeth feared the same thing. She had come to believe that Miss Bates could talk for an hour without pausing for breath. They did not have an hour to waste.
“I shall take care of Miss Bates.”
She deemed it best to seize the initiative. “Good afternoon to you, Miss Bates! How delightful to meet you again. Is your business with Mrs. Todd, I hope? For we were hoping for a private consultation with Miss Jones.”
“Oh! Mr. and Mrs. Darcy! You are returned from Guildford! I was—” She glanced at the door on which she had been about to knock, then back at them apologetically. “I came to see Miss Jones myself. I thought perhaps she could tell me about Mr. Deal — whether the terrible things I hear are true. Why, people are saying he poisoned poor Nellie, and probably Frank and Mr. Churchill. Oh, Mrs. Darcy! He cannot have poisoned Frank — or anybody — can he? I will not believe it of him. Not our Mr. Deal! I thought perhaps Miss Jones could read it in the tea leaves, or something. — It is nonsense, I know — fortune-telling — but I simply have not been able to stop thinking about it all. I found a note from Mr. Deal today. — Nothing improper, mind you. — Gracious, it is years since a note to me from any man might excite speculation! — He must have left it before all the unpleasantness.”
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