“Here, however, it is
“I rue the ring’s disappearance,” she said, “but the christening garments distress me most.” The set had been worn by three generations of Darcy’s family: first, Hugh Fitzwilliam, the Ninth Earl of Southwell, and his two sisters, Lady Catherine and Lady Anne, Darcy’s mother. In time, their children had worn it: Hugh’s three sons, including James — now Colonel — Fitzwilliam; Darcy and his sister, Georgiana; and Lady Catherine’s daughter, Anne de Bourgh. Most recently, Darcy’s daughter, Lily-Anne, had been baptized in the set. “We cannot replace a christening gown worn by yourself and your daughter, and so many of your other relations. I had hoped to see more children of ours wear it after Anne and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s child is christened.”
“I do not intend to leave Highbury until we have exhausted all possible avenues for recovering our belongings. Mr. Knightley might already have learned something about the thieves during the night.” He dripped melted wax onto the letter and sealed it. “Though doubtless he is more occupied with Mr. Churchill.”
“It would be unnatural if he were not. To have a guest die during dinner — what a dreadful event! And then two strangers arrive in the midst of it to report a robbery. I think it speaks well of Mr. Knightley’s character and sense of duty that he gave us any of his time at all.”
“If highwaymen indeed threaten the village, their presence requires his attention even while he investigates the Churchill matter.” Darcy rose, the letter in one hand. The other he offered to Elizabeth and led her to the door.
“The question he posed to us at parting — do you suppose he suspects Mr. Churchill’s death was not accidental?”
“We do not know enough about the circumstances, or our host, to speculate. Nor is it our concern.”
“It most certainly is,” she replied as they stepped into the corridor. “For if we are still at Donwell for dinner, I hear we should avoid the bisque.”
Mrs. Knightley was younger than Elizabeth had expected. Given Mr. Knightley’s age, she had thought the magistrate’s wife would be closer in years to her husband’s, but instead the mistress of Donwell Abbey appeared to be within a year or two of Elizabeth’s own. Elizabeth recognized her as the lady whose father had left Donwell in dread of leftover syllabub the previous night. She was a beautiful young woman with a slender figure, flawless complexion, and intelligent hazel eyes. Her manners were graceful and her demeanor amiable, though the strain of the previous evening’s events was apparent in the smile she offered upon introducing herself.
Their hostess had been alone at table when the Darcys entered the breakfast room, the duty of seeing off numerous departing guests having prevented her from breaking her own fast until now. “Pray forgive my not having received you last night,” she said. “I did not know of your arrival until after you had retired. I am sorry to learn of the incident that brought you to us. Mr. Knightley assures me that neither of you came to harm?”
“We did not, but two of our servants were rendered unconscious for a time.”
“They have been attended to. Mr. Perry determined that they suffered no serious injury, but did advise a day of rest before they resume their duties.”
Elizabeth was relieved for the health of their servants, both loyal employees who had served the Darcy family for years. “I daresay we shall not be continuing our journey for at least that long, as your husband wanted to speak with us more today. Is Mr. Knightley about?”
“I have not seen him downstairs yet this morning, which surprises me, as he seldom rises this late.” Emma gestured toward the sideboard, where the morning’s meal had been set out for the convenience of guests leaving at various times. “After the events of last night, you must be famished. I believe the rolls are still warm, and if you will indulge a bride’s boasting of her new husband’s strawberry fields, Donwell’s jam is the finest in Surrey.”
“You are but recently married?”
“Last month.” From Mrs. Knightley’s smile and the brightness of her eyes, Elizabeth was certain she had married for affection.
The rolls were indeed still warm, the tea hot, and the other offerings so appealing that Elizabeth realized just how hungry she was. She would have utterly failed as the heroine of a sentimental novel — far from being too traumatized to eat after an encounter with highwaymen, she was tantalized by the smell of the baked apples alone.
She and Darcy had just brought their plates to the table and taken seats across from Mrs. Knightley when her husband entered. Though he greeted them with cordiality equal to what he had shown the previous evening, his manner had an increased gravity about it. Elizabeth glanced at Mrs. Knightley, and read concern in her countenance as she, too, studied the magistrate.
“Do sit down,” Mrs. Knightley urged her husband. “Allow me to get your breakfast.”
He regarded her fondly, like a man unaccustomed but grateful to have a woman looking after him after years as a bachelor. “Do not interrupt your own meal.” He moved to the sideboard. “Have all of our other guests gone home?”
“All but the Dixons. Mrs. Dixon remains in Highbury to condole with Jane Churchill and be of whatever use she may until Edgar Churchill is laid to rest. However, now that Mr. Churchill no longer requires one of the spare bedchambers at Randalls, she and her husband have quit Donwell so that they can be closer at hand. That leaves only Thomas Dixon here.”
Despite Mr. Knightley’s assertion of competence in the task of obtaining his own breakfast, his wife went to the sideboard anyway. Under the guise of obtaining a second roll for herself, she spoke softly — though not quite low enough for Elizabeth to disregard their conversation. Elizabeth did, however, pretend not to hear it.
“Did you sleep at all?”
“Very little. I have just finished with Perry.”
“He was not here all night?”
“No. He returned again this morning after consulting some of his books.”
“And did he put your suspicions to rest?”
Mr. Knightley’s silence was answer enough.
Elizabeth met Darcy’s gaze and saw that he, too, had overheard the exchange. He busied himself cutting the cold pork on his plate. Darcy was uncomfortable with even accidental eavesdropping.
Mrs. Knightley cleared her throat and returned to her seat. “I am sure Mr. and Mrs. Darcy are wondering whether you learned anything overnight about the highwaymen.”
“I dispatched the parish constable to both of the Jones farms.” Mr. Knightley brought his breakfast to the table and sat down at its head, between his wife and Elizabeth. “Neither of the families have relations visiting, or knew anything of the woman you described. I believe we are safe in assuming that ‘Miss Jones’ was working with the thieves and fled with them after providing the distraction they required.”
“What is our next step, then?” Elizabeth asked.
“If your servants are sufficiently recovered, I should like to interview them. Perhaps they can recall something of use. I would also like to return with you and the constable to the location where the incident occurred, to look for evidence that might have been left behind.”
“We are at your disposal,” Darcy said. “Obviously, we want to resolve this matter as soon as possible.”
“So do I. Is there anything else you can tell me? You said the rear carriage lantern broke. How did that happen?”
“When we stopped to assist Miss Jones, a raven swooped down,” Elizabeth said. “I cannot imagine what brought it out, particularly after dark. I certainly have never seen one behave so aggressively. It flew behind the coach, we heard glass break, and the light went out.”
“The bird broke the glass?” Mrs. Knightley asked.
“Or someone took advantage of the bird’s appearance to break the glass at that moment,” Mr. Knightley suggested.
“The more I hear about these highwaymen, the more anxious I become.” Mrs. Knightley set down her roll, uneaten. “We must keep word of them from my father — he is still unnerved by the gypsies.”
“There are gypsies in the vicinity?” Darcy asked.
“A caravan passed through here last spring,” Mr. Knightley explained. “On that occasion, they camped along the Richmond road. They frightened a couple of girls, but moved on before they could be apprehended.”
“Frightened? They terrorized poor Harriet. If Frank Churchill had not come along at the critical moment, heaven only knows what might have befallen her.”
Mr. Knightley regarded his wife in silence for a moment, his expression contemplative. “I had forgotten about
