Carrie Bebris - The Intrigue at Highbury

“I have not seen him downstairs yet this morning, which surprises me, as he seldom rises this late.” Emma gestured toward the sideboard, where the morning’s meal had been set out for the convenience of guests leaving at various times. “After the events of last night, you must be famished. I believe the rolls are still warm, and if you will indulge a bride’s boasting of her new husband’s strawberry fields, Donwell’s jam is the finest in Surrey.”

“You are but recently married?”

“Last month.” From Mrs. Knightley’s smile and the brightness of her eyes, Elizabeth was certain she had married for affection.

The rolls were indeed still warm, the tea hot, and the other offerings so appealing that Elizabeth realized just how hungry she was. She would have utterly failed as the heroine of a sentimental novel — far from being too traumatized to eat after an encounter with highwaymen, she was tantalized by the smell of the baked apples alone.

She and Darcy had just brought their plates to the table and taken seats across from Mrs. Knightley when her husband entered. Though he greeted them with cordiality equal to what he had shown the previous evening, his manner had an increased gravity about it. Elizabeth glanced at Mrs. Knightley, and read concern in her countenance as she, too, studied the magistrate.

“Do sit down,” Mrs. Knightley urged her husband. “Allow me to get your breakfast.”

He regarded her fondly, like a man unaccustomed but grateful to have a woman looking after him after years as a bachelor. “Do not interrupt your own meal.” He moved to the sideboard. “Have all of our other guests gone home?”

“All but the Dixons. Mrs. Dixon remains in Highbury to condole with Jane Churchill and be of whatever use she may until Edgar Churchill is laid to rest. However, now that Mr. Churchill no longer requires one of the spare bedchambers at Randalls, she and her husband have quit Donwell so that they can be closer at hand. That leaves only Thomas Dixon here.”

Despite Mr. Knightley’s assertion of competence in the task of obtaining his own breakfast, his wife went to the sideboard anyway. Under the guise of obtaining a second roll for herself, she spoke softly — though not quite low enough for Elizabeth to disregard their conversation. Elizabeth did, however, pretend not to hear it.

“Did you sleep at all?”

“Very little. I have just finished with Perry.”

“He was not here all night?”

“No. He returned again this morning after consulting some of his books.”

“And did he put your suspicions to rest?”

Mr. Knightley’s silence was answer enough.

Elizabeth met Darcy’s gaze and saw that he, too, had overheard the exchange. He busied himself cutting the cold pork on his plate. Darcy was uncomfortable with even accidental eavesdropping.

Mrs. Knightley cleared her throat and returned to her seat. “I am sure Mr. and Mrs. Darcy are wondering whether you learned anything overnight about the highwaymen.”

“I dispatched the parish constable to both of the Jones farms.” Mr. Knightley brought his breakfast to the table and sat down at its head, between his wife and Elizabeth. “Neither of the families have relations visiting, or knew anything of the woman you described. I believe we are safe in assuming that ‘Miss Jones’ was working with the thieves and fled with them after providing the distraction they required.”

“What is our next step, then?” Elizabeth asked.

“If your servants are sufficiently recovered, I should like to interview them. Perhaps they can recall something of use. I would also like to return with you and the constable to the location where the incident occurred, to look for evidence that might have been left behind.”

“We are at your disposal,” Darcy said. “Obviously, we want to resolve this matter as soon as possible.”

“So do I. Is there anything else you can tell me? You said the rear carriage lantern broke. How did that happen?”

“When we stopped to assist Miss Jones, a raven swooped down,” Elizabeth said. “I cannot imagine what brought it out, particularly after dark. I certainly have never seen one behave so aggressively. It flew behind the coach, we heard glass break, and the light went out.”

“The bird broke the glass?” Mrs. Knightley asked.

“Or someone took advantage of the bird’s appearance to break the glass at that moment,” Mr. Knightley suggested.

“The more I hear about these highwaymen, the more anxious I become.” Mrs. Knightley set down her roll, uneaten. “We must keep word of them from my father — he is still unnerved by the gypsies.”

“There are gypsies in the vicinity?” Darcy asked.

“A caravan passed through here last spring,” Mr. Knightley explained. “On that occasion, they camped along the Richmond road. They frightened a couple of girls, but moved on before they could be apprehended.”

“Frightened? They terrorized poor Harriet. If Frank Churchill had not come along at the critical moment, heaven only knows what might have befallen her.”

Mr. Knightley regarded his wife in silence for a moment, his expression contemplative. “I had forgotten about that. Yes, Frank Churchill did happen to arrive at just the right time, did he not? As I recall, he decided on some whim to send his horses ahead and walk a mile or two up the road?”

“It was not a whim — he said he was inspired by the fineness of the morning.”

“He was in too great a hurry that day to take proper leave of you, yet he had time to stroll toward Richmond at a pace so leisurely that no one noticed his approach until he was among them.” Mr. Knightley made a sound of disgust. “You are correct: that is not a whim. That is Frank Churchill to the core.”

“Mr. Knightley, you will prejudice our visitors against the gentleman before they even meet him.” Mrs. Knightley turned to the Darcys. “Frank Churchill is actually a charming fellow. My husband unfairly expects all young men to conform to his own exacting standards of behavior.”

“My standards are no more rigorous than what society expects of any well-bred gentleman.”

Mrs. Knightley smiled at the Darcys. “I look forward to introducing you should an opportunity present itself.”

“I take it that Frank Churchill is not the Mr. Churchill who passed away last night?” Elizabeth asked.

“Oh, dear. You learned of that already? No, it was Edgar Churchill who died. Frank is his nephew — adopted son, actually; Edgar’s only heir. It was Frank and his new wife, Jane, whom last night’s dinner was meant to honor.” She looked at her husband. “Truly, Mr. Knightley, could you not show a hint of compassion for him, just for today? Tomorrow you may return to being critical.”

“I feel his loss keenly. How is that?”

“Much better. Now, when do you propose taking the Darcys to the London road?”

Mr. Knightley, having finished his breakfast, swallowed a final sip of coffee. “We can proceed as soon as you are ready,” he said to the Darcys.

“Let us go now, then,” Darcy replied.

As Elizabeth and Darcy waited in the hall with Mr. Knightley for a servant to retrieve their cloaks, a gentleman arrived whom they recognized as one of the guests from the night before. Mr. Knightley introduced him as Mr. Frank Churchill.

“Mr. Darcy and I heard of your recent marriage and your uncle’s death,” Elizabeth said. “Please accept our congratulations on the former and condolences on the latter.”

“With gratitude. It has been a bewildering four-and-twenty hours, to go from a state of elation to one of grief. I hope by this call, however, to begin to put both my feelings and my uncle’s final affairs in order.”