The Intrigue at Highbury

“Good heavens!” Elizabeth looked down at the signet ring on her finger. “I had wanted to believe him guiltless.”

So had Darcy. “Mr. Deal might not be the poisoner. It could be his mother. She shares at least some of the guilt — by Mr. Deal’s own admission, she was the one who prepared the remedies he sold.”

“I cannot believe that of her.” Elizabeth glanced at Mrs. Knightley. “I met Rawnie Zsofia, Mr. Deal’s gypsy mother, today, while Mr. Darcy was in conference with Mr. Deal.” At Mrs. Knightley’s expression of astonishment, she continued. “I will tell you more about our interview later, but she did not impress me as a capricious person.” Elizabeth turned back to Darcy. “Why would she poison people randomly? Edgar Churchill, I can understand, if she thought she was somehow protecting her son. Frank Churchill, I can understand — he grew up in the privilege that was by right Mr. Deal’s. But a naive kitchen maid infatuated with a handsome peddler? I fail to comprehend why either Mr. Deal or his mother would harm her, or sell tainted physics to the village at large.”

“Perhaps the philtre was meant for someone else and accidentally found its way into her hands,” Darcy said. “Or it was unknowingly contaminated with belladonna while the poison was being prepared for the Churchills. Regardless, it implicates Mr. Deal, which means I will be making another trip to Guildford to question him. And this time I will travel alone.” He did not want to chance Elizabeth’s having another private encounter with Rawnie Zsofia. She might not survive it.

“Mr. Knightley might go with you,” Mrs. Knightley said. “As soon as Mr. Perry suspected that Nellie had been poisoned, we sent an express to London. If I know my husband, he will lose no time returning here to attend to this latest incident himself.”

Darcy would prefer Mr. Knightley’s companionship. In truth, he would prefer to not immediately climb back into the carriage for another journey to Guildford. He consulted his watch. “I do not want to delay too long. Among other questions, we need to ask Mr. Deal how many remedies he sold in Highbury and to whom. If Mr. Knightley has not returned in two hours, I shall go without him. Meanwhile, Mr. Perry should advise the villagers against trusting any preparations purchased from Mr. Deal, if they have not already used them.”

“We can stop at the apothecary shop to see him on our way to speak with Miss Jones,” Elizabeth said.

“He is not there,” Mrs. Knightley replied. “He has gone back to Randalls to check on his patient. However, he promised to stop here again with a report. I will convey your recommendation about warning the villagers.”

“We also need to talk to Thomas Dixon. Is he here?”

“No, he is gone to London to see about Miss Bates’s new furniture.”

Was nobody in Highbury today? “When he returns, try to keep him here until we have an opportunity to question him. It seems he knows more about Edgar Churchill’s final hours than he has admitted.”

As Darcy and Elizabeth waited for their cloaks, Mrs. Knightley suddenly recalled another matter for Darcy’s attention. “In all the business about Nellie, I nearly forgot — a letter arrived for you. Actually, it was addressed to both you and Mr. Knightley.” She went to retrieve it and returned directly.

Darcy knew the hand at once.

Gentlemen,

I am delighted to be of service in your investigation, particularly in regards to this most intriguing clue. I assure you of my discretion, as well as that of the young philologist to whom I referred your query. Mr. Atwell has a keen interest in lexicography; indeed, I believe he means to be the next Samuel Johnson. I enclose herewith his reply. You will see that although he offers several possible meanings for “unkind individual,” he decidedly favors one. Mr. Atwell believes the writer’s employment of the collective noun for crows to denote “murder” suggests the use of the same strategy in the earlier portion of the message. For my part, although I find it fascinating to learn that a group of ravens is called an “unkindness”—an altogether fitting term for the gloomy creatures — I fail to see how that information can possibly aid your quest. Shall I present the message to another connoisseur of language? I know a professor at Oxford who might be consulted. Consider me at your disposal. I am—

Yours sincerely,

Chatfield

Thirty-Two

It was the very event to engage those who talk most, the young and the low; and all the youth and the servants in the place were soon in the happiness of frightful news.

— Emma

“Perhaps a raven witnessed the murder of Churchill.”

The fully revealed message sent a shiver through Elizabeth as she spoke it aloud. “If the riddle is true, the raven did not merely portend Edgar Churchill’s death — the poisoning occurred at the camp.”

“I do not understand,” said Mrs. Knightley. “Do you speak of the bird that appeared during your robbery?”

“Yes, or one kept by the same individuals — Rawnie Zsofia said that the gypsies train them,” Elizabeth replied. “Regardless, Edgar Churchill and Thomas Dixon visited the gypsy camp several hours before your party, and while they were there, a raven took particular notice of Mr. Churchill.”

“Madam Zsofia must have found an opportunity to administer the poison to Edgar Churchill while he was there,” Darcy said. “Perhaps through one of her physics.”

“But Miss Jones said that while the gypsies camped outside of Highbury, no English came to Rawnie Zsofia for healing.”

“Since when have we considered Miss Jones a trustworthy source of information? Moreover, I believe she said that none had come to the camp for that purpose — which does not mean that no one came for a different purpose, and received treatment while there.”

The servant appeared with their cloaks. As Elizabeth donned hers, she pondered a point that had been troubling her. “We have neglected to consider the second poisoning — Frank’s, which occurred several days after the gypsies quit Highbury. Perhaps the poison was not given directly while Edgar Churchill was at the camp, but sent home with him and taken afterwards.”

“Self-administered?” Darcy asked.

“Or administered by Thomas Dixon.”

“I cannot believe that of him,” said Mrs. Knightley. “If Mr. Dixon is guilty of any crime, it is idleness. Or perhaps too great an attention to fashion.”

“Well, someone is guilty of murder,” Darcy said. “And someone else knows more than he or she has said, because the raven did not write that riddle. It is now even more critical that we talk to Miss Jones and Thomas Dixon about what occurred at the gypsy camp. Perhaps with three versions of events, we can begin to piece together what actually happened.”

The Darcys were very nearly deterred from interviewing Miss Jones by the sight of Miss Bates approaching Mrs. Todd’s house at the same time as they.

Darcy emitted a low groan. “If that lady takes hold of the conversation, we shall never get it back.”

Elizabeth feared the same thing. She had come to believe that Miss Bates could talk for an hour without pausing for breath. They did not have an hour to waste.

“I shall take care of Miss Bates.”

She deemed it best to seize the initiative. “Good afternoon to you, Miss Bates! How delightful to meet you again. Is your business with Mrs. Todd, I hope? For we were hoping for a private consultation with Miss Jones.”

“Oh! Mr. and Mrs. Darcy! You are returned from Guildford! I was—” She glanced at the door on which she had been about to knock, then back at them apologetically. “I came to see Miss Jones myself. I thought perhaps she could tell me about Mr. Deal — whether the terrible things I hear are true. Why, people are saying he poisoned poor Nellie, and probably Frank and Mr. Churchill. Oh, Mrs. Darcy! He cannot have poisoned Frank — or anybody —