suffice. No need for new upholstery—”
“Heavens, I quite agree!” Mr. Dixon said. “Some simple coverings fitted over the seats were what I had in view. .. Though now that you mention it, new upholstery might be the very thing.” He was by now quite animated. “Yes! Why did I not suggest it at the outset? New upholstery — and draperies! Of course if we renew the wallpaper and upholstery, we simply must change out the draperies. And the carpet — there is no sense in refreshing everything else only to neglect what is underfoot. Harding and Howell, in Piccadilly — they will have everything we need!”
Emma appeared so delighted by the suggestion that one would think it was her sitting room about to be transformed. Miss Bates, however, paled.
“Draperies? Yes, they… I suppose these have served quite some time. But I beg you not to trouble yourself. These will do us nicely a while longer. The carpet, too. No need to change everything at once—”
“But there is every need, my dear lady! An utter transformation! What could be more pleasant?”
A tooth extraction, from the expression on Miss Bates’s countenance.
“But the—” Miss Bates’s expression beseeched her niece to put an end to the discussion. “The expense — we simply cannot…”
Jane glanced at Mr. Dixon, then reached over and took her aunt’s hand. “Perhaps we can.”
“One never does form a just idea of any body beforehand.”
“Good afternoon, sir. What do you seek today?”
Darcy hesitated. His natural impulse was to state his purpose and question the trader directly about his transactions with the Churchills and the gypsy remedies he had been selling. However, even a gentleman might dissemble when cornered, and Hiram Deal — a common peddler known to conduct business with gypsies, persons of disreputable character — was not by birth, circumstances, or association a gentleman. Neither his cooperation nor truthfulness could be assumed.
Though Mr. Knightley had never personally dealt with the peddler, he and Darcy agreed that Mr. Deal had been in the neighborhood long enough that he likely knew the magistrate’s identity. An honest man might hear the local authorities named in ordinary conversation as he went about his business; a dishonest one would make it his business to determine, upon arrival in any new village, those persons whose notice he should avoid.
And so Mr. Knightley stood some yards away, engaged in conversation with a tenant who had happened along at an opportune moment, while Darcy approached Mr. Deal. He would learn what he could through informal means before Mr. Knightley joined them, if necessary, for official questioning. Darcy wished Elizabeth were with him. He disdained idle chatter; she was much his superior in this sort of thing.
“An acquaintance of mine owns a very nice snuff box, and tells me he purchased it from you,” Darcy said. “His name is Frank Churchill. Do you recall selling it to him?”
“Indeed, yes! Mr. Churchill spent a considerable amount of time selecting it. I had two, and he liked them both so well that he could not quite make up his mind. I still have the other. Let me see—”
As Mr. Deal rummaged through his wares, Darcy noticed with surprise that the peddler had but one hand. In all the discussions pertaining to Mr. Deal, no one had ever mentioned the fact.
“Yes, here is the other snuff box,” Mr. Deal said. “I warrant you will not find a finer one outside London, and perhaps within.”
Darcy accepted the case and made a show of examining it, though his true object was examining the peddler. Mr. Deal’s countenance was open and his manner warm, yet as Darcy handled the snuff case, Deal’s gaze repeatedly darted past him to the street beyond. Darcy wondered whether he had spotted Mr. Knightley or merely canvassed the village for more potential customers.
“It is a very fine snuff case, though I prefer Mr. Churchill’s. It is a pity he discovered it first. When did you sell it to him?”
“The day before yesterday.”
“So recently? When next I see him, I shall have to commend him on his timing as well as his taste. Did he purchase anything else?”
“No, only the snuff box.”
Frank Churchill had been telling the truth about not having purchased any of the gypsy remedies. But had Edgar bought a fatal physic? Darcy did not want to appear too interested in the family’s affairs.
“My wife’s birthday rapidly approaches, and I have not yet settled upon a gift for her. I hope to find something unusual. Have you any jewelry — something out of the ordinary?”
“I have a few items. How much do you want to spend?”
“That depends upon what you have to offer.”
He began to open a small wooden box. “I have several necklaces that she might appreciate.”
“I had hoped to find a ring.”
Mr. Deal’s gaze took in the quality of Darcy’s attire beneath his open greatcoat, the gold fob chain dangling from his waistcoat pocket, his bearing. “I believe I can accommodate you. I recently acquired a gold ring. It is set with five small diamonds.”
Darcy’s hopes, briefly elevated, sank. “My wife is averse to diamonds.”
Mr. Deal’s lips curved in amusement. “A lady who would not welcome diamonds? I did not know such a creature existed.”
A twelvemonth previous, Darcy and Elizabeth had seen all they wanted of diamonds for a lifetime. “You do not know my wife.”
“Perhaps I could interest you in something else? Have a look about.”
Darcy had been hoping for just such an invitation, and seized upon it readily. Mr. Deal traveled with an eclectic inventory of tinware, trinkets, tools, and textiles. Though according to Mrs. Knightley he had been peddling in the neighborhood for a fortnight, he had no shortage of wares. “I have heard such tell of you in the neighborhood that I should have thought your stock nearly depleted, but your cart seems a veritable emporium.”
“I acquire new goods regularly. Customers offer me things in trade, or I buy them from local artisans in the villages through which I pass. I also visit London and other cities in the course of my travels.”
“Do you ever obtain goods from less conventional sources?”
Mr. Deal regarded Darcy warily. He walked around to the opposite side of his cart and adjusted several items. “If you refer to smuggling, no. The profits might be high, but so are the gallows.”
“I did not mean to suggest any such thing. My mind ran more toward gypsies.” Darcy had intended by indirections to find direction out, but paltering did not come smoothly or comfortably to him. Indeed, thus far he felt himself the deceiver in this interview, and the sensation did not sit well. He would engage in a more direct manner of questioning.
“Gypsies?” Deal picked up a copper teakettle and hung it for display. It caught a shaft of low afternoon sunlight penetrating the clouds and glowed as warmly as if it boiled on a hearth. The flash lasted but moments, however, before the clouds obscured the sun once more, shadowing the peddler’s countenance as well.
“The villagers say you sell gypsy wares.”
“From time to time, I meet gypsies in my journeys — it is inevitable that someone who travels as much as I do will cross paths with other wanderers. Gypsies are renowned tinkers and woodworkers, and so, yes, I engage in business with them when the opportunity arises.”
“I hear you sell remedies that rival anything the village apothecary can provide, and that you tout them as having been prepared by a gypsy.”
“Gypsies have traveled for centuries; their healers possess knowledge gained in the many lands their forebears passed through. I would trust a gypsy remedy above anything concocted by an English chemist.”
“Insofar as any gypsy can be trusted?”
