The Intrigue at Highbury

“He did not say — I assumed he had brought them from elsewhere.” Mrs. Knightley turned to her husband. “If he had indicated that gypsies were again in the neighborhood, I certainly would have told you.”

“Did Edgar Churchill purchase anything from Mr. Deal?” Mr. Knightley asked.

“Not that I witnessed.” She sipped her tea. “I suppose he might have before I came upon them, but judging from his demeanor, I doubt it. He seemed impatient for Frank to finish his transaction, so he likely did not engage in one of his own.”

“Did Frank Churchill buy one of these elixirs?”

“Frank? No. Whatever would Frank Churchill need a remedy for? He is in excellent health. He could not even benefit from a potion that promises luck — he just wed a woman he adores, and stands to inherit a fine estate. Were it not for his uncle’s death, his life would be perfect.”

“Yes,” Mr. Knightley said. “Perfect.”

She set down her teacup. “Mr. Knightley, need I remind you that Frank Churchill is the stepson of my dearest friend?”

“Not at all. I am fully aware of that fact.”

Mrs. Knightley glanced at Elizabeth and Darcy. All felt the awkwardness of the little moment of marital discord.

“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Knightley said, “I have an errand in the village. Would you care to accompany me? I could show you Highbury, which is a charming little village when one is not being robbed by highwaymen, and the walk would provide an opportunity for us to have that discussion about Stuart’s theories.”

Darcy wanted to talk about gypsies, not husbandry. Nor, having just returned from tramping about the London road searching for evidence, and having scarcely finished his tea, did he particularly relish the notion of immediately reentering the chill November air. Perhaps, however, they could visit Broadway Lane and find the peddler. “I would be pleased to accompany you.”

“Mrs. Darcy, you are welcome to come with us,” Mr. Knightley offered.

Elizabeth looked as if she had much rather not. “It is most kind of you—”

Mrs. Knightley intervened. “Mrs. Darcy, do not feel obliged to subject yourself to discourse on crop rotation and livestock breeding merely because my husband invited you. Most people tire of those subjects long before he does. Let us take our own walk and become better acquainted.”

Ten

Though her nephew had had no particular reason to hasten back on her account, she had not lived above six-and-thirty hours after his return. A sudden seizure of a different nature from any thing foreboded by her general state, had carried her off after a short struggle.

— Emma

Darcy and Mr. Knightley were not thirty yards from the house when Mr. Knightley dropped all guise of initiating an agricultural discussion.

“Mr. Darcy, I hope you will forgive me. While I do need to call upon someone — and would enjoy discussing Stuart’s theories with you at some point — I have a more pressing issue upon which I wish to consult you.”

The confession intrigued Darcy. “Go on.”

Though reassured by this encouragement, Mr. Knightley yet seemed not altogether at ease. “I am hardly in the habit of imposing upon strangers, nor of confiding in gentlemen with whom I have so newly become acquainted. But finding myself in a complex and delicate situation, I am in need of disinterested aid, and after our conversation last night, I believed you might be the very man to help me. When I learned that we share a mutual friend, I wrote to Lord Chatfield and enquired whether my instincts were correct.” A cold gust of wind rustled the dry leaves of the apple trees they passed. The faint scent of apples yet hung about the orchard.

“The letter I received while we searched for evidence on the London road this morning was his lordship’s reply,” Mr. Knightley continued. “Chatfield not only attested to your character and reliability, but also encouraged me, given the circumstances, to indeed solicit your assistance.” He stopped to withdraw from his pocket a small sealed note, which he handed to Darcy. “The earl enclosed this for you.”

Darcy,

Did I not urge you to stay in town long enough to cross swords with me at Angelo’s before hastening off to Sussex? This is what comes of forgoing the pleasure of a fencing match. Now you are at the mercy of my friend Knightley. Despite the incident that brought you to his attention, however, fortune follows you, for you could not have found yourself in better company during a crisis. George Knightley is one of the most capable gentlemen I have the privilege of knowing — second only to you, of course. Had the two of you ever been in town at the same time, you would certainly have met in my drawing room. Depend upon it, he will do all he can to resolve your present difficulties, if you and your clever wife have not already settled the affair yourselves.

Meanwhile, I understand Knightley has a matter of his own which could benefit from your experience. Perhaps the fortune is all on his side, for you are the very man I would have recommended had you not presented yourself to him before I had the opportunity. I am still in your debt for the service you rendered me last year. Pray, aid Knightley if you can. Afterwards, you both must come to town and regale me with the tale of your success.

If I can be of assistance to either of you, know that you need only ask. I am—

Yours most sincerely,

Chatfield

The letter was classic Chatfield, full of good humor that to someone less well acquainted with the earl might disguise the keen intellect that lay beneath it.

Mr. Knightley watched him pocket the note. “In his letter to me, Chatfield alluded to a sensitive matter involving his wife’s brother. He did not disclose the particulars, but he credits you and Mrs. Darcy with resolving it with intelligence and discretion, qualities also essential in the matter on which I seek your assistance. It concerns Edgar Churchill.”

Darcy had suspected as much. The death had obviously been much on Mr. Knightley’s mind, and the magistrate had not been as reserved about discussing the subject in Darcy and Elizabeth’s presence as Darcy would have expected among casual acquaintances. “I shall hold in confidence any information you choose to divulge.”

“Thank you.” He and Darcy resumed walking along a path that wound through Donwell Park towards the main road. “As you know, Edgar Churchill’s death occurred under circumstances curious enough to warrant probing. His behavior before he took ill and the rapidity of his decline in themselves merit attention. But what most raises my concern is the timing of his death as it benefits one individual.”

“His heir?”

“Yes, Frank Churchill. Frank is the golden child of Highbury. He left the village as a toddler to be raised by his aunt and uncle after his mother’s death, and for two decades all Highbury — fueled by periodic reports by his father, Mr. Weston, on his advancement — eagerly awaited his return. When he finally came last winter, he was like a lost prince come home to claim his throne. This village adores him, and his recent marriage to another beloved resident, Jane Fairfax, secures him in the affections of everybody.”

“Everybody but yourself.”

He nodded. “I never thought Frank Churchill an inherently evil person, simply a self-absorbed gentleman lacking maturity, propriety, and a sense of duty. But now — where shall I begin? A year ago, he was an idle young man secretly engaged to a respectable but portionless young lady of whom his tyrannical aunt would have never approved. The sudden death of his aunt in June cleared the way for him to marry. And now, less than a se’nnight wed, the sudden death of his uncle awards him a substantial estate free and clear. The confluence of events strikes