Carrie Bebris - The Intrigue at Highbury

By luck or by grace, they had found the apothecary at home. Mr. Perry had immediately recognized Frank Churchill’s danger and administered a mustard emetic, followed by a purgative to eliminate as much of the poison as possible from his system. Since Frank’s symptoms were fewer and less pronounced than Edgar’s had been, Mr. Perry was of the opinion that he had taken in a smaller amount of belladonna than had his uncle. The treatment was successful; Mr. Perry predicted a full recovery.

How Frank came to ingest the toxin was a subject that occupied the Knightleys and Darcys long after the victim himself had improved. After hearing the apothecary’s report, Mr. Knightley and Mr. Darcy spent the following afternoon interviewing those who had been present at the Eltons’ dinner. The Westons and Jane, Mr. Perry had spoken to the night before while treating Frank; the Patrick Dixons he questioned when he transferred his patient to Randalls after breakfast. In the interest of expediency, Mr. Knightley and Mr. Darcy divided the remaining calls and agreed to meet Mr. Perry later at Randalls, where the apothecary monitored his patient. Together they would quiz Frank Churchill more thoroughly than Mr. Perry had been able to while his patient suffered agitation and confusion.

The interviews yielded nothing valuable. No one had observed anything irregular regarding Frank Churchill during dinner, save symptoms they had ascribed to intoxication. The Eltons’ discourse on the subject was all self-interest; Frank’s brush with death was nothing to the insult they believed themselves to have suffered by his behavior. To protect their ability to investigate effectively, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Knightley did not contradict anyone’s assumption that drink had been the sole cause of Frank’s indisposition.

“I pray we learn something useful from Frank Churchill himself,” Mr. Knightley said as he and Emma walked to Randalls with the Darcys. Emma wanted to check on Frank Churchill as much as the gentlemen wanted to interrogate him, and Mrs. Darcy had said she would welcome the exercise. Emma feared that Mrs. Darcy also sought respite from her father’s concern for her health. Though Mrs. Darcy appeared to find Mr. Woodhouse’s crotchets more amusing than vexing, she had already submitted to one basin of gruel that day and ought not be subjected to another, however kindly intended.

“With our chief suspect now a victim, we need to learn something soon,” Mr. Darcy replied, “before the poisoner eliminates all of the Churchills.”

“I am glad the pair of you have finally realized that the idea of Frank Churchill’s having killed his uncle is ludicrous,” Emma said, “though I am sorry it required his own life becoming endangered. Do you believe Jane Churchill is also at risk?”

The path through the shrubbery became uneven, and Mr. Knightley offered Emma his arm. “That depends upon the murderer’s motive,” he said. “If he is driven by revenge, the perceived wrong might or might not encompass her, as she but very recently joined the family. If the killer seeks more worldly gain, however, I expect she may indeed be threatened. We need to learn who stands to benefit from Frank Churchill’s death.”

“Beginning with Jane Churchill,” Mr. Darcy said.

Emma gasped. “You cannot be serious! Jane Fairfax Churchill, a murderess? If you knew her as we do, you would realize how absurd a notion that is. Mr. Knightley, assure Mr. Darcy that Jane Churchill cannot possibly have committed such sordid acts.”

Mr. Knightley, however, had halted his strides and regarded Mr. Darcy in startlement. “Jane Churchill. I had not considered her.”

“Oh, come, now!” Emma exclaimed. “Mr. Knightley!”

But Mr. Knightley was all rapid deduction, new hypotheses developing in his mind. “I agree that Jane Churchill’s involvement is highly improbable. Yet it is not impossible. Consider, Emma, that six months ago she was a portionless orphan on the verge of hiring herself out as a governess to support herself — a fate so abhorrent to her that she likened it to the slave trade. Now she is mistress of a large estate, and last night almost became a wealthy widow. Do I think her guilty? No. I have admired her character too long — even defending it to you — to believe her capable of premeditated murder. As her friend, I am convinced of her innocence. But as the parish magistrate, I cannot eliminate her entirely from the list of suspects, however far down on it she might appear. Not at present, with so few other candidates and motives.”

“But she has no cause to kill Frank Churchill. His aunt and uncle, perhaps — as far-fetched as that seems — but not her husband. As Frank’s wife, she already has the Churchill fortune at her disposal. And she loves him.”

“Does she?” Mrs. Darcy asked. “You would know better than we. The couple is barely one week wed, yet I have seen her only in the company of Thomas Dixon — never with her husband.”

“The Churchills are very much in love,” Emma insisted. The observation about Mr. Dixon, she did not address. Jane Churchill’s friendship with Thomas Dixon forwarded Emma’s own plan for the gentleman, by advancing his intimacy with Miss Bates. She shook her head emphatically. “Depend upon it,” she said to them all, “Jane Churchill is not the person you seek.”

Mrs. Weston rejoiced at the arrival of her friend and, after allowing Mrs. Knightley ample time to ascertain for herself the state of Frank’s health, invited Emma to accompany her to another room to see a muffler she was knitting for Mr. Woodhouse. She included Elizabeth in the invitation, but Elizabeth, noting the lines in Mrs. Weston’s countenance that evidenced the anxiety of a long night just past, supposed the muffler merely a pretext for a much-needed tête-à-tête between old friends. She declined to intrude, and instead remained with Darcy, Mr. Knightley, Mr. Perry, and the Churchills.

Frank Churchill’s own account of the evening offered little more information than had the others. It differed, however, in his insistence that he had not come to the vicarage drunk; in fact, he had not consumed any wine or liquor all day. When Darcy suggested that perhaps something he had eaten disagreed with him, he repeated what he had told Mr. Perry: at dinner, he had eaten only what everyone else had. And nobody else had become ill.

“What about before dinner — before you went to the Eltons’?” Mr. Knightley asked. “What did you consume earlier in the day?”

“I breakfasted at Randalls. In the afternoon, I had cake at Hartfield while waiting to speak with you. And tea. A cup — no, two cups of tea.”

Elizabeth did not recall anyone’s having enjoyed a second cup of tea before the arrival of Mrs. Elton’s antagonistic charade, probably because such an indulgence would have sent Mr. Woodhouse into paroxysms. Mrs. Knightley must have somehow poured it for him when nobody else was looking.

“Are you certain, Frank?” Jane Churchill, sitting beside him, covered his hand with hers. Apparently, at least fondness existed between them. “When you went into the village, you did not stop at the Crown?” She turned to Darcy and Mr. Knightley. “After calling on you at Hartfield, he met us at the vicarage rather than return to Randalls.”

Frank Churchill withdrew his hand from hers. “I was not drunk at dinner. Will my own wife not believe me?”

Jane stiffened. The fleeting moment of affection was gone, replaced by what Elizabeth sensed was not the newlywed couple’s first experience of discord.

“Of course I believe you. It is only that Thomas Dixon mentioned that he saw you near the inn—”

“Did he? And is that Irishman my keeper now? Or does he merely consider himself the keeper of my accounts? He certainly feels at liberty to spend them.”