Carrie Bebris - The Intrigue at Highbury

A set of children’s alphabets on the table beside her caught her gaze. She had first noticed it this afternoon; Emma had explained that the Knightleys’ nephews and nieces often played with the box of letters while staying at Hartfield, and it had not yet been put away following their recent visit. She now removed a handful of tiles from the box. D, M, N, R. The letters had been drawn by a fine hand. She placed them one by one on the table.

“Actually, it was Thomas Dixon who preoccupied me.” She wished she could arrange her thoughts as easily as one could sort alphabet tiles into words. But they, too, defied order: there was not a vowel among the random few she had chosen.

“Mr. Dixon has been particularly attentive towards you?”

She did not need to look at her husband to know he frowned. She could hear the displeasure in his voice. “No, towards Jane Churchill.”

“Towards Mrs. Frank Churchill?”

Now she did look up. Darcy appeared to be pondering something. “Inappropriately attentive?” he asked.

“No.” She withdrew another tile from the box. “Well…” Elizabeth considered anew the conversations she had witnessed, the degree of accord between the married Mrs. Churchill and the bachelor Mr. Dixon: the pat on Jane’s hand in Miss Bates’s apartment; the freedom with which Thomas Dixon spent Jane’s money — Frank’s money, in point of fact, and he only having just come into it himself.

“It is difficult for me to say, based on such limited acquaintance with either of them,” she finally stated, “but I do think he is on unusually familiar terms with her.”

“How does she conduct herself with him?”

“Jane Churchill possesses a reserved nature. Her manner towards everybody, including Thomas Dixon, is restrained. She does not, however, appear averse to the liberties he takes.” She looked at the tile in her hand. X. That would be of no help.

Darcy was silent a moment. “Earlier today, Frank mentioned that his wife was already spending his inheritance, and that Thomas Dixon was helping her do it. Apparently, they have purchased new furnishings for her aunt and grandmother’s apartment?”

Elizabeth nodded. “Mr. Dixon insisted that the Bates ladies need to completely refurbish their rooms. In truth, they do, but even the most casual visitor can see that the pair lacks the means to institute even minor changes. So Jane Churchill authorized the expenditure. The news came as quite a surprise to Frank, especially since he heard it not from his wife, but from Thomas Dixon.”

Darcy’s frown deepened. “Mr. Knightley and I learned today that Frank Churchill is his uncle’s sole heir.” He recounted their meeting with Mr. Perry, including his colleague’s confirmation of the poisoning diagnosis, and the solicitor’s revelation that Edgar Churchill had requested a meeting before he died.

“All of this intelligence increased my suspicions about Frank’s role in the deaths of both Edgar and Agnes Churchill,” Darcy finished. “Frank, however, declares himself ignorant of his uncle’s desire for a meeting, and of other questionable circumstances surrounding their demises. Your information about Jane Churchill and Mr. Dixon leads me to wonder whether we have not considered broadly enough who else benefits from the two deaths.”

“I hardly think fresh draperies and wallpaper constitute sufficient motive for a double murder. At a minimum, new plate and silver ought to be included in the bargain.” She set the X upon the table and took up two more letters. Vowels at last: O and I . “Besides, neither Thomas Dixon nor Jane Churchill ultimately benefits from the purchases.”

“Do you yet discuss Mr. Dixon?” Mrs. Knightley and her husband reentered the drawing room. “Surely there must be more interesting subjects of discourse than his shopping on behalf of the Bates ladies.”

“What interests me is who financed it,” Darcy replied.

“Frank Churchill can well afford it now,” Mrs. Knightley said, “and I consider it an admirable gift to his bride, seeing to the comfort of her only family.”

“What of the Campbells?” Elizabeth set the two vowels upon the table with the consonants she had already spread out, but took no more letters from the box. “Are they not also her family, in a manner of speaking?”

“They might have raised her, but they are not blood relations. One cannot feel the same depth of affection as that between parent and child — or in the case of Mrs. Bates and Jane Churchill, between grandmother and grandchild.” Mrs. Knightley moved towards an empty chair, but paused as she passed the table with the alphabets. Disapproval clouded her features, and she scooped up the strewn tiles. “Has this silly children’s amusement not been put away yet?” She deposited the letters into the box and shut the lid. “I shall have to speak to the housemaid.”

The conversation turned to other subjects. By now, Elizabeth and Darcy had established a rapport with the Knightleys which, while still new, had achieved a degree of relative ease, and Elizabeth found it refreshing to talk about something besides robbery and suspected murder. Darcy seemed to particularly enjoy Mr. Knightley’s society. Just as tea was brought in, Thomas Dixon appeared.

“You return earlier than I anticipated,” Mrs. Knightley said. “How was Mrs. Elton’s party?”

“It began unexceptionally enough, until Frank Churchill’s disagreeable behavior put a damper on the evening.”

Mrs. Knightley poured tea and handed a cup to Mr. Dixon. “Indeed? Frank Churchill is usually so charming.”

“Not this evening. He could barely hold still while we waited to go in to dinner, and was hard-pressed to follow the conversation.” He sipped his tea, then gestured towards Mrs. Knightley with the cup. “Thank you. I had no tea at Mrs. Elton’s following dinner. The situation with Frank Churchill was so awkward that everybody found excuses to disperse before any was served.”

Concern overtook Mrs. Knightley’s features. “Do you think he was upset about something?”

“From the flush of his countenance, I think he was foxed. His father thought so too, I wager, for as dinner was concluding, Mr. Weston asked Mr. Churchill to leave the dining room with him on some pretext. When Frank Churchill stood up, he swayed and complained of dizziness. I pity Mr. Weston — he must rue the day he turned his son over to the Churchills.” He heaved a great sigh. “I hope for Jane Churchill’s sake that her husband learned something from his uncle’s death. I would hate to see him come to the same end. At least Frank Churchill held his liquor, which is more than Edgar Churchill proved able to do.”

Foreboding took hold of Elizabeth. There were similarities indeed between the accounts of Frank’s and Edgar’s recent dinner party behavior. But Edgar Churchill had not been drunk.

She looked toward Darcy and Mr. Knightley to see whether they shared her thoughts. The magistrate was already standing.

“Where is Frank Churchill now?”

Frank Churchill’s status as the favorite of fortune endured: unlike his uncle, he survived belladonna poisoning.

He owed to his stepmother his continuance as an inhabitant of this world. Mrs. Weston, though as embarrassed as her husband by Frank’s behavior, possessed that intuition peculiar to mothers that prompts them to seek medical counsel under circumstances in which others underrate the severity of signs. Such was the case on this occasion, and upon their hasty departure from the vicarage, she had insisted not merely that Mr. Perry be consulted, but consulted before they returned to Randalls.