“Perhaps,” Mr. Deal said quietly, “the powers you mocked by engaging in false prophecy caused you to reveal more than you intended.”
Loretta looked as if she were about to mock that suggestion as well, but then appeared to think better of it.
“Did you author the previous puzzle, too?” Elizabeth asked.
“The one Mrs. Elton spoke of? No. But hearing her talk about it at the Crown gave me the idea of writing my own message as a puzzle, and I sent it to the post office with Alice when she took Mrs. Todd’s letters so that no one would know it came from me. I hoped you would assume the two puzzles were written by the same person — and I see that I was successful.” She turned back to Mr. Deal. “Hiram, do you understand now how I planned for us? When the caravan moved on and you stayed behind, I remained as well — to help you avenge yourself on your father, and clear the way for you to claim your rightful inheritance.”
Mr. Deal turned away, unable to look at her any longer. He crossed to the window and stared through the rain-spattered glass into the night. Darcy could only imagine his thoughts.
“When did you poison Frank Churchill?” Mr. Knightley asked Miss Jones.
“At the Crown. I had been lingering round the village since leaving the caravan, eavesdropping for news that Edgar Churchill had in fact died, and watching for an opportunity to punish Frank. I followed him to the inn. It was very busy — a stagecoach had just arrived, and the kitchen was in disorder trying to serve all the passengers quickly to get them back on the coach. When the serving girl left his tea unattended before bringing it to him, I added my own ingredient.”
“Nobody noticed you?”
“I learned a few things from the gypsies.” She took obvious pride in her acts.
“I suppose that is how you poisoned Nellie, too — tainting her tea when she had her fortune read at the Crown,” Elizabeth said.
“That was a bit more difficult, but I managed. Edgar Churchill was the easiest of all, as I made his tea and served it myself.”
Mr. Deal cast her a look of utter revulsion. “I am going to check on Miss Bates.”
“Hiram—”
He did not look at her as he passed, but went straight to the bedroom and shut the door.
“Did not Thomas Dixon become suspicious, once Edgar Churchill had died?” Darcy asked.
“Thomas Dixon knows enough to leave other people’s secrets alone, if he wants to keep his own.”
“What secrets would those be?”
“Nothing that pertains to the Churchills or anybody else in Highbury. But my gypsy friend told me his palm was rather revealing, to one who knows how to read them. If you want to learn more, you shall have to ask him.”
Footsteps on the staircase announced the arrival of another visitor. As nobody was expected, they all waited in some suspense as Mr. Knightley answered the knock.
Thomas Dixon appeared, his arms laden with parcels. “Where is Miss Bates? I come bearing new draperies! And her carpet will be delivered tomorrow.”
He paused, taking in the scene around him — most particularly the great brown stain on the rug. He stepped aside to avoid soiling his shoes. “Well! It seems I am just in time!”
“Oh! If you knew how much I love every thing that is decided and open!”
Miss Jones took Hiram Deal’s place in the Guildford gaol pending trial. Had she read her own tea leaves before embarking on her murderous plan, she might have foreseen where it would end. Then again, given her competence as a fortune-teller, perhaps not. As it was, she managed to attain at least tolerable conditions for herself by plying her dubious soothsaying talents (supplemented by considerable theatrics) among her fellow prisoners, earning enough coppers to secure small comforts while she awaited the spring assizes.
Thomas Dixon, when questioned, admitted to having authored the raven riddle. Following Edgar Churchill’s death, he had thought perhaps the poison had been administered at the gypsy camp, but had not wanted to betray his own presence there for fear of implicating himself in the crime. The appearance of the first charade had inspired him with a means of aiding the investigation anonymously through a puzzle of his own, and it was an easy matter to leave the letter on the post office counter as the aged postmaster snored in his chair. As for the secret to which Miss Jones had alluded, no one ever asked him about it, and he never told.
Eventually, as his fortune had predicted, Mr. Dixon indeed came into money as a result of a death — just not that of a Churchill. Years after the Highbury intrigue was resolved, his friend Ridley passed out of this life while defending his honor in a duel. A lifelong bachelor estranged from his relations, the gentleman bequeathed his fortune and London townhouse to Thomas Dixon. Mr. Dixon assuaged his grief and memorialized his friend by immediately embarking on a comprehensive redecorating scheme. He was last seen engaged in a spirited debate with his favorite upholsterer over the virtues of paisleys versus stripes.
Hiram Deal was proved to indeed be the son of Edgar and Agnes Churchill. The discovery of the nurse who had attended his birth, combined with the testimony of a superannuated servant, corroborated his story, and the court officially recognized him as Edgar Churchill’s legal heir. The events in Highbury having left him feeling his age and weary of wandering, Mr. Deal exchanged his itinerant lifestyle for a more settled existence. His years amongst the gypsies, however, forever influenced his perspective. He rejected the considerable estate of Enscombe and the responsibility — and values — it represented. He signed over his inheritance to his cousin, Frank, reserving for himself only enough money to open a respectable shop and live a comfortable existence with his new wife: a woman of maturity, of gentle, even temperament, of cheerful disposition, and of open heart.
Miss Henrietta Bates became Mrs. Hiram Deal in a simple ceremony performed by Mr. Elton in the village church. Mrs. Elton pronounced the wedding entirely devoid of elegance or fashion, citing in particular the insufficient quantities of lace and beadwork adorning the bride’s dress. Her opinion of the new Mrs. Deal’s exotic mother-in-law, who attended the nuptials in full
The rest of Highbury, however, rejoiced that the spinster whose prospects had so long appeared hopeless (particularly to the Eltons) made so happy a marriage, one of affection, esteem, and companionship. Mrs. Deal, at last sharing her life and home with someone who both heard and responded to her, was no longer dependent solely upon the sound of her own voice to fill the silence, and gradually came to better govern her own discourse. Mr. Deal, in turn, at last enjoyed the felicity and contentment of ending each day in comfortable conversation with an intimate audience before his own hearth. Both considered themselves to have come into wealth — true wealth — beyond any they expected to know in this life.
The newlyweds took up residence in a larger house, appointed in a discordant combination of plain English style and eclectic foreign embellishments that would have given Thomas Dixon seizures had he known. Frank and Jane Churchill were delighted to see both Bates ladies established in the new home, which included old Mrs. Bates’s familiar chair by the fire and a room for her that no longer required the elderly lady to hazard a dark, narrow stair. What Mrs. Bates thought of her new son’s history was anybody’s guess, but she welcomed him into her family with warmth, and the expressions on her countenance as she attended the conversations between him and her daughter on winter evenings led one to believe that she actually heard them.
Emma, who had first introduced Mr. Deal to Miss Bates — as peddler to customer — took credit for the match. Or at least, consolation in the fact that Mrs. Elton’s matchmaking efforts did not succeed. Once Mr. Deal’s legitimacy was confirmed and it became known that he was a Churchill, she deemed the union suitable. She took greater pleasure in her new friendship with the Darcys, a pleasure shared by her husband, who at last had a peer with whom he could discuss agricultural issues to his heart’s content. Upon parting, the two gentlemen made plans to meet again in London, and to include Lord Chatfield among the party.
