a different tale of your experience than the one that you related.”
“Hiram came and went. He was not with the caravan when I was taken — we met later.”
“And what was your relationship then?”
“Our friendship is… an unconventional one. We were the only two English living amongst the gypsies. Infer what you will.”
Until that moment, Elizabeth had contemplated only a business relationship between the two — Mr. Deal selling what Miss Jones and the other gypsies stole. Had there been a romantic liaison? Mr. Deal was easily old enough to be Loretta’s father, but more disparate unions occurred in all classes of society. The handsome peddler had attracted the interest of many a maid in Highbury.
“Mrs. Darcy! Good morning!”
Elizabeth turned at the familiar voice behind her. Miss Bates approached, carrying a basket covered by a checkered cloth.
“I see you have your carriage. It is a fine day for a drive, is it not? Though a bit cold — I am glad to see you have a blanket with you. We have not had rain for several days, so the roads are plenty dry — that makes such a difference when traveling — dry roads. Mr. Deal and I were just discussing that fact on Sunday, and he would know, traveling as much as he does. — But the most shocking rumor is circulating the village this morning. Our dear Mr. Deal has been taken to gaol!”
“Gaol?” Miss Jones appeared genuinely stricken. The defiance left her countenance. She looked to Darcy. “Is it true? Has Hiram been arrested?”
“He—”
“I learned it straight from Nellie Hopkins, who works in the kitchen at Randalls,” Miss Bates said. “I met her early this morning at the bakery. She was sent to fetch baked apples for Jane. — Dear Mrs. Weston! She has been sending her apples to Mr. Wallis for baking ever since I mentioned Jane was partial to them — he does them just right. But what was I saying? Oh, yes! Nellie told me about Mr. Deal. She had it from one of the Randalls housemaids — Hannah — her father is the coachman at Hartfield. An excellent driver, James — whenever Mr. Woodhouse invites my mother and me to Hartfield, James always collects us and brings us home. It was he who drove Mr. Deal to Guildford with Mr. Knightley and Mr. Cole. Nellie was half beside herself. I think she is sweet on Mr. Deal — calf love, you know — eyes big as moons whenever she sees him. She is such a pretty little thing, and says he is so charming towards her.”
“Indeed?” Miss Jones’s face bore an expression of annoyance. Even Elizabeth, who had more patience for Miss Bates’s chatter, wished the spinster could keep to her narrative without so much digression.
“Oh, he is charming towards everybody — even me,” Miss Bates continued. “He is such a nice man. I do not know what he was arrested for. If James knows, he did not tell Hannah — as he should not — a good servant keeps his master’s business to himself. He only said Hannah should not use a gypsy elixir Mr. Deal had given her. Nellie had one, too, that she bought from him — a love philtre, she said it was. Imagine, believing in such a thing! Oh, to be that young again. Nellie said she did not believe one word against Mr. Deal. Nor do I. This whole business must be a mistake. Yes, I am certain — simply some dreadful, unfortunate mistake that will be rectified as rapidly as possible. Surely Mr. Knightley is taking care of the matter even now. I saw him pass through town very early this morning, looking so businesslike. Doubtless, that was his errand. ..”
In truth, Mr. Knightley was gone to London in search of the nurse who had attended Hiram Deal’s birth. As nearly forty years had passed, he harbored little hope of determining her name, let alone finding her alive, but he needed to at least attempt to locate her. He planned to call upon the Churchills’ solicitor as a starting point, and engage the aid of his own brother, a lawyer, as well. Elizabeth wished he and Darcy had traded errands — she would have preferred to accompany Darcy to London, where she could spend time with Lily-Anne while Darcy did his detecting — but Mr. Knightley’s status as a magistrate lent him more authority to loosen unwilling tongues.
“… all most shocking. Why, mere hours before Mr. Cole took him, Mr. Deal was in our parlor — he has visited my mother and me three days this se’nnight. Had a spot of tea with us on Wednesday, and brought us each a rose. Roses in November! They were dried roses, of course, but still so fragrant! I was quite speechless. ..”
Elizabeth was amazed that anyone could render Miss Bates speechless. She met Darcy’s gaze; he looked eager to conclude their interview with Miss Jones and be on their way.
Miss Jones did not appear amused, either. Vexation continued to dominate her features as Miss Bates rattled on.
“… such an interesting man! I could listen to his tales for hours. He has started to call me ‘Bella’ when he relates them — it is a little joke between us, you see — instead of ‘Bates,’ he says ‘Bella’—It is Italian for ‘beautiful,’ he tells me. — ‘Miss Bella, I have another story for you today.’—I expect he would call my mother ‘Mrs. Bella’ but she would not quite hear him and it would only confuse her. Oh! Here is Mrs. Elton coming up the lane. I heard you told her fortune, Miss Jones. What an extraordinary hobby! My mother and I only knit. I do not know that I believe one can see the future in a teacup, but there seems no harm in trying.”
“A teacup can indeed hold one’s fate.” Miss Jones regarded Miss Bates appraisingly. “I would be happy to look into yours this morning.”
“Would you? Gracious! I cannot imagine you would see anything interesting.”
“You might be surprised.”
“Well, I — perhaps another morning? I do need to speak with Mrs. Elton. Who is that with her? Oh! I believe it is Mr. Simon. — Indeed, it is Mr. Simon. Poor fellow — there is something not altogether right with him, I think. Good day to you, Mrs. Elton! Look — she motions for me to come to her. Oh, I nearly forgot! This basket is for Mr. Deal — bread and a pork pie and a cheese. I simply could not stop thinking about the poor man, cold and hungry in that dreadful gaol. Can you give it to Mr. Knightley, to see that Mr. Deal receives it?”
“I will make sure that it reaches Mr. Deal,” Darcy said. Elizabeth, who stood closer, accepted the basket from her.
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy! So kind of you. Do tell him I pray that his health does not suffer while he is there. I understand that gaols are such ill places. Poor man! — Look, Mrs. Elton motions me again. I must go.”
“I will walk with you,” Miss Jones said.
“That would be lovely. Oh — there is Nellie, going into the Crown. What a list of errands she must have this morning! You can ask her more about Mr. Deal. Good day to you, Mrs. Darcy! Mr. Darcy!”
Miss Jones thus made her escape, and Darcy did not prevent her. They had a fourteen-mile drive to Guildford, and needed to be on their way. Darcy handed Elizabeth into the carriage and soon they were in motion.
Elizabeth set Miss Bates’s basket on the seat beside her, along with the blanket they had just purchased at Ford’s. “I expect Mr. Deal will appreciate Miss Bates’s thoughtfulness.”
“He will, indeed.”
Elizabeth heard the odd inflection in his tone. Darcy knew too well the conditions Mr. Deal presently suffered. A year ago he had been gaoled for two days on a false accusation. It was an experience he still avoided discussing. But the fact that it had been his idea to bring the blanket for a man who might have been complicit in robbing them, spoke volumes.
She was not sure, however, that even Darcy would do the same for a man he thought was a murderer. “Do you believe Mr. Deal’s story about the Churchills?”
He frowned. “I was just asking myself that very question.”
“And what was your self’s reply?”
“You interrupted at the very moment I was about to find out. Now we shall never know.”
The carriage increased its speed as it left the village. Darcy tilted his head back against the seat and let his gaze wander along the roof. “In the matter of his true parentage, all of the principals who could have corroborated his tale are dead, with the possible exception of the nurse — a circumstance rather convenient to Mr. Deal’s cause if he is lying.”
“Let us assume for the moment that he is indeed their son — that that much of his tale is true — the scarlet fever, the gypsy caravan — everything up to his confrontation with Mrs. Churchill. Do you think he is our poisoner? We have only his word that Edgar responded favorably to his revelation. Even if Mr. Deal truly had no interest in the Churchill fortune, people kill for reasons other than money. If Edgar Churchill rejected him, Mr. Deal might have killed him — and tried to kill Frank — out of revenge, or despair. And with an herbalist as his gypsy mother, he is the likeliest of anybody to have access to belladonna.”
