No? Would they like a bit of cake? The fire screen must be adjusted. Were they quite sure they did not want cake? Perhaps toast spread with the Donwell apple butter? There was a note she had written for Mrs. Knightley that now she could hand-deliver.
“It is a charade, actually.” Harriet seemed almost shy as she handed it to Mrs. Knightley. “I showed Robert the book of charades and other riddles I compiled last year. Do you remember what pleasure we had in collecting them? Why, even Mr. Elton contributed an original one. Robert asked whether I had written any of them myself, and when I said I had not, he encouraged me to try my hand at one.”
Mrs. Knightley unfolded the paper and read the lines to herself. After a moment, she smiled.
“What do you think, Miss Woodhouse — I mean, Mrs. Knightley? Have you solved it already? Oh, I can see that you have! You are always so clever at working out puzzles.”
“It is an excellent first attempt, Harriet. The meter in the last line wants refinement, but otherwise it is at least as good as some of the others in your book. Have you shown it to your husband?”
“Not yet. I wanted your opinion of it first.”
“I am sure it will please him very much. Shall we share it with Mrs. Darcy and see whether she can solve it?”
Harriet looked at Elizabeth hopefully. “If you are interested?”
“Indeed, yes.” Elizabeth accepted the page from Mrs. Knightley.
Elizabeth read it through twice. The third line came easily. From there, once she recalled the name of the Martins’ home, it was a facile effort to solve the charade. “Abbey Mill Farm?”
“You guessed! Is it too simple?”
“Not at all. Had Mrs. Knightley not told me the name of your home just as we approached, I would have been altogether at a loss.” Elizabeth handed the note back to Mrs. Knightley.
“The charade will be a worthy addition to your collection, Harriet.” Mrs. Knightley set it on a small table beside her. “It is interesting that you should be thinking of days past, for I wish to ask you about something that occurred last spring — the day you and Miss Bickerton encountered the gypsies on the Richmond road.”
“Oh.” Harriet sank into her seat and at last appeared likely to remain still for two minutes together. “Why ever do you want to talk about that? I thought they were long gone.”
“Mr. Knightley wishes to ensure that they remain so.”
“Oh! Well, it is as I told you. We — Miss Bickerton and I — were walking along, never imagining such persons were about. When we reached that very shady stretch — you know, past the bend — we slowed our pace. The morning was warm, so the shade felt refreshing, and we were happily conversing when we noticed the gypsy camp just ahead, on the greensward. They must have noticed us at the same time, for within moments a girl came running towards us and begged for a shilling.”
“How old was the girl?”
“Eight or nine. She had long, dark hair all tumbled about her.”
Elizabeth heard this with disappointment. The gypsy girl could not possibly be Miss Jones.
“Remind me what happened next,” Mrs. Knightley said.
“Miss Bickerton screamed and ran up an embankment to escape. I tried to follow her but a cramp in my leg stopped me. At least half a dozen more gypsy children rushed forward and surrounded me, all of them demanding money. And then a woman and a large boy appeared. I hoped they would tell the children to leave me in peace but instead they spoke gypsy-talk to them and the children begged all the more insistently. I have never been so frightened in my life. Look at me — I tremble even now to speak of it.”
“How very alarming,” Elizabeth said. “The woman — how old was she?”
“Oh, who can tell with such people? Fifty or sixty? Her hair was covered in a kerchief and her dress was wildly colored. Her eyes were even darker than the children’s — so dark I thought she could stare right through me.” Harriet shuddered. “She carried a basket of plants and had a charm around her neck, like some sort of witch- woman. I was terrified that she would give me the Evil Eye and throw a curse upon me, or worse! They say that is what gypsies do, you know. I offered them a shilling, and still they would not go away.”
“And this is when Frank Churchill happened along?” Mrs. Knightley asked.
“Yes, thank heaven! I do not know what would have become of me had he not been traveling to Richmond that day. I was in such terror that I did not even see him approach. Nor did the gypsies, for they were quite surprised when he suddenly appeared.”
Elizabeth recalled Mr. Knightley’s having said that Frank arrived at the scene on foot. “How did Mr. Churchill rescue you from the gypsies? What, precisely, did he do?”
“He gave a shout to draw their attention, then ordered them to leave me be.”
“And they immediately ceased harassing you?”
“Yes. He said he was going to summon the authorities and have them all arrested. I believe he quite frightened them. Even the woman looked at him in astonishment and hurried away.”
“They disbanded the camp quickly,” Mrs. Knightley added. “The entire party was gone by the time I told Mr. Knightley of the incident.”
“Did you see any English among the gypsies?” Elizabeth asked. “Female or male?”
“Oh, believe me, Mrs. Darcy, I wish I had! I would have begged their aid.”
A knock sounded on the door. It was not an unwelcome noise — Elizabeth hoped the arrival of a new visitor would enable her and Mrs. Knightley to exit gracefully. While she appreciated the opportunity to hear Harriet’s account firsthand, Elizabeth by this point despaired of obtaining any useful information. Harriet Martin was a sweet girl, but not exceedingly clever.
“Oh, my! I am spoiled for company today.” Harriet rose to answer the knock but continued talking over her shoulder. “No, the only English face I saw was Frank Churchill’s, and I was grateful for the sight of him. When he interceded, the beggars all scattered. Even the bird flew away.”
Elizabeth suddenly wished the new visitors away.
“Bird?”
Frank Churchill had just emerged from Ford’s mercantile when Darcy caught sight of him.
“Apparently, Frank Churchill’s grief does not run so deep as to prevent his spending the afternoon shopping,” Mr. Knightley muttered as he raised his hand to hail him. “Though meeting him here is fortuitous, as we can question him alone. Had we been obliged to call upon him at Randalls, it might have been an awkward business to separate him from his new wife or the Westons for a private conversation.”
Frank Churchill crossed the lane and greeted the gentlemen. Unfortunately, Darcy and Mr. Knightley were not the only persons who had seen him exit the shop, nor did they alone seek his conversation. Several villagers approached him to express their condolences on the loss of his uncle, and some minutes elapsed before he managed to disengage himself.
“Mr. Churchill, I wonder whether you might be able to assist us,” Mr. Knightley said when they at last had Frank’s attention.
“I shall if I can,” he replied. “Does this concern my uncle?”
“Another matter entirely. My friend Mr. Darcy had an unpleasant encounter with some highwaymen recently, and we are hoping the incident does not herald the return of the gypsies from whom you rescued Harriet Smith last May. You were in such a hurry to reach London that day that I never had an opportunity to receive a firsthand account from you, but we would like to hear the particulars now.”
“I shall tell you all I can remember. I was walking along the road toward Richmond. As I approached a bend, I heard voices ahead. Children’s voices, primarily, but two women’s voices, as well. One of them, of course, was Harriet Smith’s, though hysteria raised her pitch so high that I did not recognize it before I laid eyes on her. The other voice belonged to an older woman who spoke in a language I could not comprehend.”
Frank paused, momentarily distracted by activity down the lane. The mail coach had arrived at the Crown, and passengers hurried inside to obtain a quick meal in the brief time allowed whilst the horses were changed. Fortunately, Frank did not appear to have noticed Mr. Perry leaving on horseback from the inn’s livery with his portmanteau — else he might have wondered where the apothecary was traveling whilst Edgar Churchill’s corpse
