The Intrigue at Highbury

writer of the latter two? Was it not a simple thank-you, but another word puzzle?

Darcy drew Mr. Knightley aside. In a low voice, he shared his conjecture. Mr. Deal watched them with open interest, making no attempt to pretend he was not trying to hear their conversation.

“We need to see that note,” Darcy finished.

“We will call upon her tomorrow as early as possible.”

“I think you should go now,” Mr. Deal said.

The peddler’s impertinence took Darcy aback. “I do not recall our having solicited your opinion.”

“I give it to you freely.” He leaned towards them on the rickety chair. “Gentlemen, someone has murdered my father, attempted to kill my cousin, and poisoned an innocent young girl. Now a fraudulent letter bearing my name has appeared at the home of one of the few people in Highbury who has extended friendship — honest, disinterested friendship — towards me. This letter concerns you enough that you suspended your interrogation of me to discuss it between yourselves. I have told you that I am not the criminal you seek, told you in so many ways that I do not think there is another manner of expressing it. Yet you waste your time here with me while Miss Bates might even now be in danger. I beg you — set off without delay for Broadway Lane to examine the note and ensure that good lady’s safety. If you insist on continuing this interview, we can do so another time.” He motioned towards the stone walls with a defeated shrug. “I am not going anywhere.”

Mr. Knightley turned to Darcy and nodded. “He speaks sense. We can finish this tomorrow, after we have determined more about the letter and taken steps to protect Miss Bates, if necessary.”

Much as Darcy hesitated to trust the peddler, any threat he posed was contained by prison bars — while if the poisoner yet roamed free, Miss Bates was not the only person at risk. “Let us go directly.”

Mr. Knightley approached the door to signal the guard. Mr. Deal rose.

“Mr. Knightley—”

He turned back to the peddler. “Yes?”

“I do not suppose, sir, that you would contemplate taking me with you?”

At the magistrate’s startled gasp, Mr. Deal held up his palm. “Pray, do not dismiss the idea yet. Only consider — I might be able to help. That letter allegedly came from me; it was almost certainly written by someone familiar with my movements. If I were to examine it, I might find something in it that you cannot.”

Mr. Deal also might use the opportunity to lead their investigation further astray. Or to escape. Or worse. “We can bring the letter back with us if we believe his perspective would prove useful,” Darcy said to Mr. Knightley.

“How many trips to Guildford do you want to make?” Mr. Deal responded. “At the expense of valuable time?”

“Is it not rather late to be calling upon the Bates ladies unanticipated?” Elizabeth asked as she and Mrs. Knightley negotiated the dark staircase that led to the apartment. She was anxious herself to see Mr. Deal’s letter, cherishing faint hope that it might somehow illuminate larger questions about the peddler, but she did not want to incommode or intrude upon the older women.

“Trust me, they will be grateful for the company.”

Mrs. Knightley knocked upon the door. Voices within indicated that at least one other visitor was with the ladies. She and Mrs. Knightley were not only intruding, Elizabeth thought ruefully, but also unlikely to obtain a glimpse of the letter depending upon who was present.

Miss Bates was delighted by their arrival. “Oh, do come in! Mother, look who has come! It is Mrs. Knightley and Mrs. Darcy. You remember Mrs. Darcy? Darcy. What an impromptu little party we are forming! Mrs. Darcy, can you guess who else is here?” She moved aside to allow them passage into the apartment.

At the tea table sat Miss Jones.

Elizabeth endeavored to disguise her chagrin. Loretta Jones was the last person before whom she wanted to broach the subject of Mr. Deal’s letter. She still did not know quite what to make of the relationship between the young woman and the peddler. Though Rawnie Zsofia had refuted any romantic attraction on Mr. Deal’s part, Loretta’s words this morning suggested a rather proprietary interest in the man.

Miss Jones seemed equally discomposed by Elizabeth and Mrs. Knightley’s appearance in the apartment. She forced a laugh. “How very unexpected, Mrs. Darcy, to see you again today.”

“Indeed. I had no idea you were a friend of Miss Bates.”

“My mother and I were just getting better acquainted with Miss Jones,” Miss Bates said. “Do sit down.”

The parlor looked much the same as it had upon Elizabeth’s last visit, right down to old Mrs. Bates knitting in her customary place. Apparently, Thomas Dixon had not yet implemented any of his grand plans for the room. Elizabeth wondered whether the elderly lady was among the few furnishings he would allow Miss Bates to keep.

Miss Bates adjusted her mother’s lap blanket. “Are you warm enough, Mother? To me it feels quite warm over here by the fire, but I know you are often cold. Do you need your shawl? Your shawl? No? Do but say the word if you change your mind.” She drifted back towards the tea table, where a pair of cups, one overturned onto its saucer, rested near a small pot. “Miss Jones has come to tell my fortune. You have arrived just in time to hear it.”

Elizabeth supposed the fortune-telling trade was not as lucrative as Miss Jones had hoped, if she was going door to door attempting to increase business. “I did not realize, Miss Jones, that fortune-tellers make house calls.”

“For particular persons, I do.” She smiled at her hostess. “As Miss Bates said, we are getting better acquainted.”

“I am so glad you came by, Miss Jones! Indeed, at first I declined to have my fortune read, did I not? But afterwards, I said to myself, ‘Now, Hetty, what is the harm?’ I hoped perhaps Miss Jones could read Mr. Deal’s fortune for me, that I might learn how long he will be consigned to that horrible gaol. But she says that is not the way such things work — he is not here to drink his own tea, which is required. — Do I have it right, Miss Jones? — I have been learning all about fortune-telling this evening! One must drink one’s tea and then swirl the leaves to get a proper reading, she tells me. I cannot do it on Mr. Deal’s behalf. Though, in a sense, it would be Mr. Deal’s tea, as it came from him. Is that not sad, that his tea should be here but not him?”

“Whatever do you mean, Miss Bates?” asked Mrs. Knightley.

“Why, the tea was a gift from Mr. Deal! He took tea with my mother and me yesterday, and afterwards he left us a lovely note expressing his thanks, and a small parcel of tea. Oh! Now where did that note go? I showed it to Miss Jones, and now I cannot remember where I placed it. Do you recall, Miss Jones?”

Miss Jones glanced about, her brow furrowed. “I do not. But surely it will turn up.”

“I regret you have misplaced it,” Mrs. Knightley said. “I should like to see what sort of letter a peddler writes.”

“Oh, Mr. Deal writes a fine letter! Do you not agree, Miss Jones?”

“Yes, very fine.”

“When did you find the parcel?” Elizabeth asked.

“I went out around noon today, and there it was, just inside the door at the base of the stairs. Such a surprise! I do not know how I overlooked it earlier. And so thoughtful of Mr. Deal! I was going to save the tea for his next visit, but when I told Miss Jones of it, she encouraged me to use it tonight for the fortune-reading. She said if I used Mr. Deal’s tea and concentrated on a question pertaining to him while I drank it, the leaves might reveal the answer.”

“As there is much in question about Mr. Deal at present, I am sure you will have no trouble,” Mrs. Knightley said. “Except, perhaps, limiting the experiment to a single query.”

Elizabeth did not think Miss Bates ought to consume anything provided by Mr. Deal until the poisoning matter was resolved. “It seems a shame not to save the tea to enjoy with Mr. Deal. Maybe you should reconsider.”

Miss Bates laughed. “Oh, it is too late to reconsider now! The tea is already made. Would either of you care for some? There is plenty. My mother does not drink tea this late when we are at home — she says it keeps her awake — and Miss Jones declined. I have already drunk mine and swirled the leaves. Miss Jones was about to read them when I heard your knock. Why do not both of you take some, too, and we can all have our fortunes read