Carrie Bebris - The Intrigue at Highbury

“The villagers say you sell gypsy wares.”

“From time to time, I meet gypsies in my journeys — it is inevitable that someone who travels as much as I do will cross paths with other wanderers. Gypsies are renowned tinkers and woodworkers, and so, yes, I engage in business with them when the opportunity arises.”

“I hear you sell remedies that rival anything the village apothecary can provide, and that you tout them as having been prepared by a gypsy.”

“Gypsies have traveled for centuries; their healers possess knowledge gained in the many lands their forebears passed through. I would trust a gypsy remedy above anything concocted by an English chemist.”

“Insofar as any gypsy can be trusted?”

Deal made no reply as he hung two pie tins next to the teakettle.

“When did you obtain the cures you have been selling in Highbury?” Darcy pressed.

“I met with a gypsy party not long before arriving in the village.”

“So near? Are they still about?”

“I believe they have moved on.”

“Do you know in which direction? My wife and I will be traveling, and we would not want to encounter such a group.”

“I cannot say, for the Roma are as predictable as the wind. But should you happen upon them, you have nothing to fear. It was a band I have done business with before, and they will not trouble you if you do not trouble them. Indeed, if one of them offers to tell your fortune, the meeting might bring you luck.”

Darcy had little interest in that sort of nonsense. “Are gypsy predictions more or less reliable than their remedies?”

“It depends upon the fortune-teller. There is one among that band who is both a seer and a healer, who earned my respect years ago. Indeed, I cannot say with certainty that I would be standing here now were it not for her. It was she from whom I acquired the remedies.”

“Have you any remaining?”

“A few. Do you need something in particular?”

“I should like to see what you have.”

Mr. Deal moved to the opposite side of the cart, where several wooden cases of different sizes rested in a corner. As he rearranged them to gain access to the one he wanted, Darcy marveled at the smoothness with which he handled the task, not in the least slowed or hampered by the lack of one hand. He had learned to compensate well for the missing appendage — a necessity, no doubt, for a man whose profession required constant travel and brought him into contact with individuals from all walks of life, including ruffians only too eager to take advantage of any perceived weakness.

Mr. Deal also had much to gain from such individuals, were he a man of few scruples.

“Do you ever acquire items from gypsies that they did not produce themselves?” Darcy asked.

“Whenever a person, be he English or otherwise, offers me something of interest, I accept it if I believe it worth the price.”

“With no questions?”

“On the contrary. An object’s history adds to its value. If an item has a story, I ask to hear it.” He lifted a medium-sized wooden chest and rested it atop another, then opened it to reveal two vials and a packet. “These are all the remedies I have remaining. You do not happen to suffer from dropsy or gout?”

Darcy enjoyed perfect health, but he wanted Mr. Perry to have a look at the preparations. “I will take them all.”

“The third is for female complaints.”

Darcy cleared his throat, declining to enquire into the particular complaints the concoction purported to cure. “My wife may find it of use. I shall purchase it while I have the opportunity.”

“Very good, sir.” Mr. Deal smiled. “Though I suspect it is hardly the birthday gift you had in mind.” He gestured toward the cart. “Have you spotted anything else that might delight her? Is she musical? I have the most unusual wooden flute—”

Darcy shook his head and scanned the cart once more. Nowhere amid the coffers and cases lay the chest he had hoped to discover. If his stolen possessions were amongst the peddler’s wares, they were well hidden.

A small doll, however, caught his notice. It reminded him of Lily-Anne, and the hope that he would see her again before much more time passed. Though Darcy had no intention of purchasing the doll, Mr. Deal noticed that it had momentarily captured his gaze.

“Ah — are there little ones at home? I have some colorful glass beads that children adore. Where did I put that sack?” He moved to another side of the wagon in search of it.

Darcy spied a cloth bag with rounded bulges protruding from its sides. “Is this it?” He untied the drawstring.

“No, no. I remember stowing it over here. Those are—”

Sling bullets. Darcy kept his countenance neutral as he glanced at the peddler.

“… not what you are looking for.” Mr. Deal smiled, but the expression appeared forced. “Those would hardly delight a little girl now, would they? Just set those down — what you want is over here.”

Darcy did not set them aside. Instead, he removed one of the bullets from the sack. The missile appeared to be the same shape and weight as the one found at the robbery scene that morning. Mr. Knightley, however, had retained that bullet, and presently remained some yards distant engaged in conversation with his tenant.

“Yes, here are the beads.” Mr. Deal came back to Darcy’s side of the cart with a sack tucked under his left arm and several beads in the palm of his single hand. “Little girls love to play with them, and governesses use them to teach counting and simple arithmetic.”

“I will take them. And these as well.” Darcy pulled the drawstring shut and lifted the sack. The one sling bullet, however, he retained in his palm, not wanting to let it leave his grasp.

“Oh, I see — you must also have a son. Of course you cannot remember one child without remembering them all, if you want to keep peace. But hardly anybody uses slings — perhaps your boy would be more interested in something else. How old is he? Does he practice archery? I have some arrows with colorful fletching.”

“No, the bullets will suffice. Do they have a story?”

The peddler looked ruefully at the bag and shrugged. “Not a very interesting one. I obtain them from a man in Richmond.”

Darcy noted Mr. Deal’s use of the present tense. “These were not a one-time acquisition — he supplies you regularly?”

“When I have need.”

“As you said, slings are not a weapon in common use. I wager there are few people who possess the throwing skill to make purchasing molded ammunition worthwhile. Have you regular customers for the bullets?”

“They are yours if you want them — you will not leave me short.”

That was not what Darcy had asked. “Have you slings for sale, as well?”

“No, only the bullets.”

Darcy nodded. “Well, then, I believe I have done for today. How much do I owe you for the merchandise?”

Mr. Deal stated the total. Darcy took money from his purse and handed it to the peddler. Then he withdrew an additional coin.

“Do you accept commissions?”

Mr. Deal’s gaze rested for several seconds on the silver, then rose to meet Darcy’s. His eyes reflected interest — but also caution. “What do you seek?”

“Two things: a small chest, and information. The chest contains a set of christening clothes and a woman’s signet ring with the initials A.F. Should anyone approach you with these items for sale or trade, I would make it worth your trouble to see that they reach me.” Darcy studied Mr. Deal’s countenance as he said this, but the peddler betrayed no indication that he was already familiar with the stolen articles. “I am also willing to pay for intelligence regarding the identities or whereabouts of the persons from whom you acquired them.”