The Intrigue at Highbury

“But you have been to Bath?”

“Indeed, yes.”

“Then you understand the standards for which I strive when entertaining. Although our village is small, those of us with connexions and resources can bring touches of elegance to the neighborhood.”

Mrs. Elton had provided the very opening Elizabeth sought. “I am sure your recent soiree was an affair no one will soon forget,” she said. “You must have spent hours simply drawing up the menu. Did your housekeeper prepare the entire dinner herself?”

“Heavens, no. For a party that size, Wright brought in two girls to help her.”

“Of course. Does she do that often — bring in additional help?”

“Mr. E. and I receive so many invitations that we dine out more often than not. But when we entertain, we do so in the proper style.”

“Well-trained servants must be difficult to find in such a small village. Were they local girls?”

“I assume so. I am too busy to attend to those sorts of matters. Wright hired them, and she knows what she is about.”

But did Wright know what the girls had been about on that night? If they had not themselves slipped Frank Churchill the poison, perhaps they had observed something that could lead Darcy and Mr. Knightley to the person who had.

“Mrs. Knightley, does Hartfield ever want additional help?” Elizabeth asked. “Perhaps you might ask the housekeeper — with your approval, of course, Mrs. Elton — for these girls’ names and characters in case you ever have need.”

The expression of Mrs. Knightley’s eyes, visible only to Elizabeth from the angles at which the three of them were seated, said that she would rather go to work as a kitchen maid herself than solicit references from Mrs. Elton or anybody in her employ. Mrs. Knightley, however, kept her features in check as she turned to Mrs. Elton. “I would welcome any such recommendations you are willing to extend.”

The housekeeper was summoned, the names given, and Mrs. Elton’s vanity satisfied. To have been placed in the position of offering domestic guidance to Mrs. Knightley was a coup beyond any she could have anticipated at the start of the call. She radiated triumph as Mrs. Knightley conveyed her gratitude.

“I must thank you also for the word puzzles you recently sent to me,” Mrs. Knightley added.

Mrs. Elton carefully held her expression, but the exultant light in her eyes dimmed. “Puzzles?”

“Yes — the charade that arrived the day we returned to Hartfield. And the enigma last night.”

Mrs. Elton rearranged her skirts, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from them. “I am afraid I have not the slightest idea what you refer to.”

“Indeed?” Mrs. Knightley affected perplexity. “We had just been talking of such entertainments at Abbey Mill Farm, you recall. So when these puzzles arrived, the lines were so clever I thought they certainly must have been penned by you.”

A fleeting look of gratification flickered across Mrs. Elton’s countenance. “I — well — perhaps I might have been inspired to exercise my intellectual resources. But—”

They were interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Elton, who seemed as surprised to discover Mrs. Knightley in his home as his wife had been. “Forgive my intrusion,” he said. “I did not realize you had visitors, Augusta.”

“We were just come to thank Mrs. Elton for the puzzles she sent to Hartfield,” Mrs. Knightley said. “We found them most diverting, particularly the charade.”

“But I never said I—”

“You sent our charade to Hartfield?” Mr. Elton turned his head towards Mrs. Knightley, but his incredulous gaze remained on his wife. “It was an innocent little ditty — meaningless — composed as a private amusement.” At last, he looked at Mrs. Knightley. “I entreat you to destroy it and forget it ever found its way into your hands.”

Though Mrs. Knightley affected indifference, Elizabeth knew she must feel vindicated. “Shall I destroy the second puzzle as well?”

“Second puzzle?” He turned back to his wife. “You wrote another?” Though restrained, his tone held an icy edge.

“No! Indeed, my caro sposo, I certainly did not! You know I do not profess to be a wit. I do not know what she is talking about.”

Both Mr. Elton and Mrs. Knightley appeared in doubt as to the truth of this statement. Elizabeth, too, was inclined to skepticism. But there was in Mrs. Elton’s tone and manner a note of desperation, a need to be believed by her husband, that rang more genuine than the falsetto performance she had given to Elizabeth and Mrs. Knightley earlier. In any event, it was clear that Mr. Elton, at least, had been entirely ignorant of the second puzzle until Mrs. Knightley mentioned it.

The overstuffed parlor contracted with tension, but Mr. Elton was too conscious of himself and his audience to say more to his wife. “The other puzzle must have come from Mrs. Martin, then,” he said to Mrs. Knightley. “She is the only person besides ourselves who was there discussing charades.”

“Yes!” Mrs. Elton exclaimed. “The enigma must have been written by Harriet. It is she, after all, who finds such diversion in these silly little word games.”

The visit soon concluded, and yielded no more. Mrs. Knightley came away still convinced that Mrs. Elton had authored both messages. “She did not even ask what the second one said,” she offered as evidence to Elizabeth. “Who, after sending the first puzzle, would not express even the slightest curiosity about the one that followed? Someone who already knew its content.”

Elizabeth remained less certain, though she considered Mrs. Elton a far likelier author than Harriet Martin. She was more satisfied with the results of her own enquiry, and intended to seek directly the two village girls whose names Mrs. Wright had supplied.

The ladies walked down Vicarage Lane again, passing the same children still occupied by the same diversion. The crows, though nearly done with their feast, yet vied for the remaining morsels. Apparently, one had seized upon a particularly coveted tidbit, provoking the jealousy of its fellow diners. They cawed their outrage, flapping their wings and snapping their beaks in an attempt to steal the delicacy. The offender flew off into a nearby tree, where it continued to loudly boast its triumph — in the process, dropping its prize.

“Apparently, this part of the village attracts all manner of braggarts,” Elizabeth said. “Though I cannot say who is more obnoxious — the Eltons, or the crows.”

“Are they not one and the same? Mrs. Elton crows at every opportunity.”

“You truly dislike her.”

“I have no patience for her conceit and presumption. She believes herself superior, but in truth she is no better — in fact, altogether more vulgar — than many of those whom she purports to eclipse. She is like the bird that flew into the tree just now, so busy proclaiming her superiority that she fails to realize how ridiculous she appears when she proves herself merely one of the flock.”

They followed the lane to Broadway. Mrs. Wright had said one of the girls lived just past the Crown, and it was to her house that they headed. However, as they passed the inn, a different girl caught Elizabeth’s attention.

The last person in England who she expected to see casually strolling the streets of Highbury.

Miss Jones.

Twenty-Three

“A very pretty trick you have been playing me, upon my word!”

— Emma Woodhouse, Emma

Elizabeth was all astonishment.

So was Miss Jones.

Elizabeth recovered herself first. She took a step toward the Crown Inn, whence the girl had just emerged. The movement, however, penetrated Miss Jones’s own shock, and she instantly fled down the lane.