“—you have forgotten something.” Mr. Deal once more offered the pie tin.
Emma took the tin from Hiram Deal, handed it to Miss Bates, and nudged her toward Mr. Wallis. “Mr. Dixon’s errand at the Crown surely will not take long, and then he will escort Mrs. Churchill back to Randalls. It would be a shame if you returned with the apples only to discover that they departed in your absence.”
“Oh! I had not considered that! Dear me! We cannot risk Jane’s leaving before I return. Mr. Wallis, let us go at once. Thank you, Mr. Deal, for the tin. So generous! Indeed, I hardly know what to say. ..”
If the peddler responded, Emma missed his reply, so concentrated was her attention on Mrs. Elton.
“Pray, excuse me for a moment,” she said to Mrs. Darcy.
The Overton Scotchman has been kind enough to rid me of some of my money, in exchange for six shifts and four pair of stockings.
Left alone with Mr. Deal, Elizabeth scanned the contents of his cart. She most wanted information, but doubted she would find intelligence regarding Miss Jones and her own stolen goods on display amid the housewares and muslins. She had already determined, during the peddler’s exchange with Miss Bates, that her chest was not amongst the closed boxes and trunks visible in the back of the cart. Some of them, however, were of a size that could easily accommodate the christening clothes and ring. She gestured towards the cases. “You appear to have already begun putting away your wares for the day.”
“On the contrary, I am still setting up.”
“So late in the afternoon?” It could hardly be worth the trader’s while to arrange all his merchandise so close to the arrival of dusk. Almost as soon as he had everything in place, he would have to put it away again.
“I had other business to attend to this morning. If you do not see what you desire, simply name it, for I might indeed have it amongst my stock.”
“I find when dealing with peddlers that it is best not to come with a particular item in mind, for one never knows what treasure might be discovered quite by accident.”
“Then, madam, you are a customer after my own heart. May I therefore take the liberty of selecting a few items to show you?”
“I am a discriminating buyer. I should like to begin with the newest merchandise you have, rather than articles that have already been passed over by countless others.”
She hoped by this statement that he would produce her belongings if they had come into his possession. But such ease of recovery was not to be. Deal showed her many useful items and decorative objects, but neither the signet ring nor the christening set appeared. She endeavored to disguise her disappointment; after all, a woman who claimed to be seeking nothing specific could not very well appear dismayed at failing to find it.
Mr. Deal himself, she determined to be an amiable fellow — genial, considerate, warm. And he was handsome, though not so handsome as Darcy. Though it would have been a relief to recover her stolen possessions by discovering them amongst his wares, she found herself somehow glad of their absence, for she did not want to think him an accessory to robbery — or worse, himself one of the thieves. He was by turns amusing and instructive, and she quite enjoyed their conversation as he showcased his wide range of wares.
She selected a pair of patterned silk stockings, which she did not need — at least not for their usual purpose. Still hoping to obtain whatever information she could from the peddler, she sought to buy his goodwill along with the stockings.
She handed him her coins. “I had heard from one of your customers that I might obtain nearly anything imaginable from you, and I am begun to believe that is true.”
Mr. Deal removed a pouch from an inner pocket of his coat, set it on a shelf built into the side of the cart, and loosened the drawstring. “And whom might I thank for the praise?”
The source had been Mrs. Knightley, and Elizabeth nearly named her. But on impulse she said, “Miss Jones.”
It was a gamble, her attempt to lead him into revealing a relationship that might not in fact exist. Miss Jones had not, of course, said anything whatsoever about Hiram Deal. But if, as Elizabeth and Darcy speculated, she and her accomplices had approached the peddler to sell their stolen goods, he might inadvertently reveal their association.
“Indeed?” Deal counted out her change. “I do not believe I have met a Miss Jones since arriving in Highbury.”
“She is a young woman, perhaps sixteen. Petite. Blond hair, blue eyes?”
He smiled as he dropped three shillings into her palm. “You have just described half the girls in Britain. I am afraid I have no recollection of this particular one.”
“Are you certain? She was quite pretty.”
“Every English village boasts pretty young maids. And a few old maids. I am more likely to recall the latter, for too often, the former are all the same.”
Further conversation was disrupted by the reappearance of Mrs. Knightley, who returned with a self-satisfied expression on her face and Harry Simon in tow. Mrs. Elton looked on from a distance, and Elizabeth needed no closer proximity to feel the displeasure radiating from the vicar’s wife.
“Mr. Simon has business with my husband,” Mrs. Knightley said. “As there is no time like the present, I have suggested that he accompany us back to Donwell to speak with Mr. Knightley.”
Harry Simon was being whisked off to Donwell and away from Miss Bates. No wonder Mrs. Knightley was so pleased, and Mrs. Elton so vexed.
Mr. Simon glanced at the peddler’s inventory with eyes as wide as a child’s, his gaze lighting first on one item, then another. “I do not believe I have ever seen so — so — so many — what is that?”
Mr. Deal smiled. “A wooden flute.” He picked up the intricately carved instrument and offered it to Mr. Simon. “Would you like to try it?”
Mr. Simon looked as if he would like to try it very much indeed. However, Mrs. Knightley, with a glance in Mrs. Elton’s direction, gently drew Mr. Simon away.
“We have not time, Mr. Simon, if you want to speak with Mr. Knightley. You can peruse the peddler’s wares tomorrow.”
Before Mrs. Elton could waylay them with a manufactured excuse to retain Mr. Simon for her own purposes, they took leave of Mr. Deal and set forth for Donwell. As the shadows were grown long and the temperature falling, Elizabeth was grateful to be turning their steps towards the warmth of her temporary abode. She was also eager to see Darcy again, and hear whether he and Mr. Knightley had learned anything of use this afternoon.
“Mrs. Knightley, do you — do you think the peddler sells hair ribbons?”
“He does.” She regarded him curiously. “Why do you ask?”
“I want to buy one for Doris.”
“Doris?”
“Doris Cooper.”
“Mrs. Cooper’s eldest? Is she a friend?”
“She comes each day to cook and such. Been coming since she was twelve. The same year we bought our cow. She’s calved one, two — three times.” He paused. “The cow, not Doris.”
Both ladies smiled. “So I presumed,” Mrs. Knightley said.
“Lost her hair ribbon a few days ago. Doris, not the cow. I found it later all shredded by one of the chickens. I want to get her a new one. I saw a girl this morning about Doris’s age with a pretty pink ribbon in her hair. She was talking to the peddler, so I thought maybe she got it from him. Was going to ask him, but then we had to leave.”
“I think it is lovely that you want to replace her ribbon. If Mr. Deal does not have any more, you can certainly find one at Ford’s.”
