The Intrigue at Highbury

Churchills here,” Mr. Knightley said as he moved towards the door.

“But who is the ‘he’?” Darcy asked. “Frank, who had been our primary suspect, lived in Richmond with his aunt and uncle.”

“And our other suspect, Thomas Dixon, has spent his life dwelling with wealthy relations,” Elizabeth added.

“Yes, hardly criminals — Oh! Here you are, Emma. I was just coming for you. Mrs. Darcy has solved the cipher.”

“Indeed?” Mrs. Knightley turned to Elizabeth in amazement. She held up a slip of paper. “So have I.”

“That is hardly surprising, given your talent for word puzzles,” Elizabeth said. “After all, the message was simply written backwards, with the word spaces altered randomly and the groupings rearranged.”

Mrs. Knightley looked at Elizabeth oddly as she accepted the piece of paper Mr. Knightley offered her. “The spellings were not backwards. Nor were the word spaces at all random. They were the key to sorting out the letters — which were entirely rearranged.” She glanced down at the paper she had just received. “He dwelled amongst thieves’?”

Now Elizabeth was all confusion. “Well — yes. Did you not work out that part?”

Mrs. Knightley glanced at her husband, then crossed to Elizabeth. Her face was troubled as she handed over the writing she had brought with her to the study. “I worked out an altogether different solution.”

CLEVER LYING GIRL. DEAL HAD HIDDEN MOTIVES. NOT WHAT HE SEEMS.

Twenty-Seven

To guess what all this meant, was impossible even for Emma.

— Emma

Minutes elapsed before all overcame their astonishment. That a single group of letters could yield two complete messages, both with disturbing implications, was extraordinary. Though Elizabeth had worked out one of them herself, she now regarded both in wonder.

Darcy was the first to recover. “If the puzzle’s two solutions are to be taken as a single message, our peddler does not merely trade with the gypsies — he is a member of their band.”

“Or was,” Elizabeth countered. “The message says ‘dwelled,’ and he remains here in Highbury despite the rest of the caravan’s having moved on.”

“Even so, it implies more than a business relationship between Mr. Deal and the gypsies — and between Mr. Deal and Miss Jones, whom I presume is the girl referenced. If his contact with the gypsies was sporadic and minimal, as he would have us believe, they could have kept her hidden from him during her period of alleged captivity. In fact, they likely would have gone to considerable trouble to keep an Englishwoman out of his sight. But if he lived amongst them, he surely knows her; moreover, he did nothing to help her escape the caravan. Which means that either Miss Jones is lying about having been held against her will, or Mr. Deal’s allegiance to the gypsies surpasses his loyalty to his own people.”

Elizabeth preferred believing Miss Jones a liar to discovering the amiable peddler capable of dishonor towards a distressed young woman of any race. If they in fact had been living together amongst the gypsies, she found it curious that Mr. Deal had been the person who prevented Miss Jones from fleeing when Elizabeth had first sighted her in Highbury. Had he wanted to help Elizabeth, win her trust and favor? See Miss Jones brought to justice for theft? Return Miss Jones to the gypsies for some reward, only to have been thwarted by the intercession of Mr. Elton and Mrs. Todd? Hidden motives, indeed.

“Whatever Mr. Deal’s actions — or lack thereof — by Miss Jones, the author has drawn our attention to him in some connection to Richmond,” Mr. Knightley said. “We know that Mr. Deal does business there, for Richmond is where he obtains his sling bullets. We need to determine whether he was there at the same time as the Churchills, and what, if any, contact he had with them.”

“Mrs. Weston’s housekeeper has a sister in Richmond,” Mrs. Knightley said. “She wrote of doing business with Hiram Deal this past summer.”

“Did not Mrs. Churchill die during the summer?” Darcy asked.

“Yes,” Mr. Knightley said. “On the twenty-sixth of June.”

“Perhaps Mr. Deal is the unkind individual who witnessed the murder of Churchill— Agnes Churchill.” Darcy paused. “Or perhaps he committed it.”

“I thought her physician determined that she died of an apoplectic seizure,” Mrs. Knightley said.

“It is in his professional interest for that to be the case. It might not be in the interest of justice for us to accept the diagnosis without question,” Mr. Knightley replied.

“Let us begin by ascertaining whether Mr. Deal’s time in Richmond coincides with that of the Churchills,” Darcy said. “We should speak to the Churchills’ servants and learn whether he ever called at their house. If we are fortunate, the attendants who accompanied Frank and Edgar Churchill to Randalls will be able to help us.”

Mr. Knightley nodded. “If not, we shall have to track down the staff who served them while they leased the house.”

“Should a journey to Richmond prove necessary, I can depart as soon as a horse is readied,” Darcy offered.

“I hope it is not needed,” Mr. Knightley said. “The afternoon is already half gone, and I want to confront Mr. Deal himself by day’s end.”

Thanks to the recollective powers of a footman who had served the Churchill family for twoscore years, Darcy was spared a hasty ride to Richmond. He instead spent the evening with Mr. Knightley and Hiram Deal. It had been Mr. Knightley’s idea to host the intimate little gathering in his small study at Hartfield, which afforded more privacy than the Crown, his usual venue for magisterial business.

It had not been Mr. Deal’s idea to attend it.

The peddler arrived in the escort of Mr. Cole. Though Mr. Deal labored to maintain his customary affability, there was wariness in his manner as he greeted Mr. Knightley and Darcy.

At Mr. Knightley’s nod, Mr. Cole left the study. The constable would wait in the drawing room with the ladies and Mr. Woodhouse, near at hand should he be wanted. As far as Mr. Woodhouse knew, Mr. Cole — and his waiting carriage — were at Hartfield to visit Mr. Woodhouse. Mrs. Knightley’s father need not know that a suspected murderer was presently under his roof.

With brusque civility, Mr. Knightley invited Mr. Deal to take a seat opposite himself, the large writing table between them. Mr. Deal sat on the edge of the chair, leaning slightly forward like a man ready to engage in conversation — or poised to flee. Darcy remained standing off to one side.

The magistrate did not waste time on pleasantries. “Mr. Deal, have you any notion why I asked you to come here this evening?”

“None, sir. Though I suspect you do not wish to see my inventory of brandy.”

The attempt at levity failed to elicit a smile from Mr. Knightley. “Tell us about your business with the Churchills.”

“The Churchills?” The peddler, clearly perplexed, glanced from Mr. Knightley to Darcy and back. “I thought I had — when we spoke some days ago, Mr. Darcy — but certainly, I can repeat it for you. I sold the younger Mr. Churchill a snuff box.”

“We mean your previous business with the family,” Darcy said. “In Richmond.”

The peddler blinked. “Richmond? I never met either of the misters Churchill in Richmond.”

“But you did visit their house. On June twenty-sixth.”

“I visited many homes in Richmond last June. Usually I deal with the servants or the lady of the house. Rarely gentlemen. As to whether I stopped at the home of a family named Churchill specifically on the twenty-sixth, I cannot say. Surely you do not expect me to remember with such clarity the calls I made five months ago?”

Darcy stepped closer, forcing the peddler to tilt his head up to look at him. “You recall the history of every item you hawk from your cart. I indeed presume you capable of recollecting a meeting on the twenty-sixth of June