Carrie Bebris - The Intrigue at Highbury

Only half full, the common room was not bustling at the moment. It did, however, hold an atmosphere of anticipation. Miss Jones held court among her new passel of admirers at one of the two long tables that dominated the room’s center. Smaller tables dotted the perimeter, their occupants also taking interest in the proceedings. Though the vicar did his best to exert an authoritative presence, this was clearly Loretta’s show.

Elizabeth and Mrs. Knightley quietly took seats on the bench at the table’s far end. Miss Jones noted their arrival but was too much occupied in regaling her audience with tales of her captivity among the gypsies to acknowledge the two ladies with more than a glance — a glance which, to Elizabeth’s perception, seemed rather smug.

The serving girl brought out a steaming bowl and a hunk of bread, which she placed before Miss Jones, along with a pint of stout. As Loretta started on the stew, the server glanced pointedly round the table and asked what she could bring the rest of them. Elizabeth wanted nothing, but feeling compelled to order, requested tea.

Miss Jones’s tales slowed as she ate. Whatever lies she might be weaving — and Elizabeth was sure they numbered many — her hunger was real. She had already emptied her bowl when Elizabeth’s tea arrived.

“What do you intend to do now that you are free of the gypsies?” Mr. Elton asked.

“I–I don’t know. I do not even know where I shall sleep tonight.”

“Poor lamb! You must stay with me!” said Mrs. Todd.

“I could not trouble you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all! I’ve taken in boarders since Mr. Todd died, and I’ve a room that has been vacant since old Mrs. Fisher passed on at Michaelmas. We would love for you to stay with us — wouldn’t we, Alice?”

“But I have no means to pay rent.”

“We can discuss the rent later. Where else have you to go, child? We are a quiet pair, now that my two older boys have joined the militia. Come keep a poor widow and her daughter company.”

“I shall, then — but only until I earn enough money to return to Northumberland.”

“Have you skills to earn a living?” Mr. Elton asked.

Miss Jones certainly had the ability to support herself, Elizabeth mused, though it was a matter of debate whether “earn” was the proper term for how the girl went about it. Her dramatic talents, which so recently won her the Darcys’ possessions, had just procured her free bed and board.

“I learned many things from the gypsies — from weaving to singing. In fact”—a gleam lit her eyes—“I even learned how to tell fortunes.”

“Truly?” Mrs. Todd exclaimed.

“Indeed, yes — shall I tell yours?”

Mrs. Todd looked as if she very much wanted to have her fortune told. But she shook her head. “Dear me, no — I don’t hold with such nonsense. Telling fortunes! Mr. Todd would roll in his grave to hear it.”

“Oh, it is not nonsense! The old gypsy woman I learned from was a talented seer — it was astonishing the things she could tell about a person. Do allow me. You have been so kind — it is the least I can do.”

“I… I suppose. Go on, then. But I can’t say as I’ll believe anything I hear. What do I need to do?”

“Simply give me your hand.”

Mrs. Todd extended her arm. Loretta took the woman’s hand in hers and lightly stroked the palm. “You will remember all your years what I tell you this day.”

Mrs. Todd laughed self-consciously. “That, I shall!”

Loretta studied the lines of Mrs. Todd’s palm, tracing. “I see a long life for you. There is much happiness. Sadness too, but in smaller amounts. You lost your husband recently?”

“My goodness, yes! Not quite a year ago.”

“Your grief has begun to heal. Oh! What is this? A stranger will cross your path.”

“Well, that must be you.”

“No, I think the stranger will be a man — a new husband, perhaps.”

“Ha! Indeed? Mr. Todd surely must be spinning in his grave now.”

Loretta next read Alice’s palm, declaring that the child was bright, and artistic, and would live to see the next century. She then turned to Mr. Elton.

“Reverend, do you care to have your palm read?”

Mr. Elton looked startled by the suggestion — and, fleetingly, not entirely opposed to it. But then he shrouded his countenance in inflated dignity. “I do not think it would be seemly for a minister to engage in such an activity.”

“Even as a harmless diversion?”

“I am afraid not.”

Loretta’s gaze continued round the table until it landed on Elizabeth. “Mrs. Darcy?”

Elizabeth suspected that if she extended even an empty hand toward Loretta, the beguiler would somehow manage to take something from her. “I thank you for my share of the favor, but no.”

Loretta nodded toward Elizabeth’s cup. “Allow me to read your tea leaves, then?”

The girl was a charlatan, likely hard-pressed to read a primer, let alone portents. But, curious about what sort of flummery she would concoct, Elizabeth consented to the leaf-reading.

“Have you finished your tea?” Loretta asked.

“Not quite.”

“Drink all but the tiniest amount. And if you want a particular question answered, concentrate upon it while you drink.”

Though Elizabeth had one very simple question — whether she would ever see her belongings again — she did not dwell upon it as she sipped the last of her tea. She would allow destiny — or, rather, Loretta — to determine what the leaves would reveal.

“Now,” Loretta said, “take the handle and swirl the remainder around — yes, just that way. Then overturn the cup onto the saucer.”

Elizabeth inverted the cup. When the small amount of remaining liquid had drained out, Loretta instructed her to right the cup. Dark brown leaves and stems were randomly scattered and clumped against the pale china. Most of the clusters were on the bottom; a few clung to the sides, along with a fine trail of tea dust. One grouping was almost at the rim. Elizabeth saw nothing prophetic in the arrangement — save a vision of the serving girl washing out the cup when they had done with this game.

Loretta took the cup from her and studied the leaves. “A bouquet — that is always a good sign. It means a happy marriage. The lines reflect that you are on a journey, one that will eventually bring you back home.” She offered Elizabeth a smile, but Elizabeth did not return it. So far Loretta had divined nothing, only stated information she could easily have observed or guessed from their encounter on the highway.

The would-be seer rotated the cup a quarter-turn. “A letter will arrive soon, from someone named ‘D.’ ”

Again, not a startling proclamation. Their surname was Darcy; it was no great hazard to suppose that some family member might contact them. In fact, they anticipated letters from Darcy’s sister, who wrote them daily with news of Lily-Anne.

Loretta seemed put out that Elizabeth was not issuing exclamations of amazement as Mrs. Todd had done. She rotated the cup another quarter-turn, so that the handle was now at the top. “There is a cat near the rim…”

“And what does that portend?”

“Difficulties.” Loretta set the cup down.

Aha. Elizabeth would not play her assigned role in this performance, and so her fortune was becoming more dire. The prediction did not intimidate her; she had already experienced trouble aplenty on this journey. “What sort of difficulties?”

“How am I to know?”

“I thought you were a fortune-teller,” Elizabeth said.

Alice squirmed. “Mama—”

Loretta pushed away the cup. “I have seen all I can.”

“Mama, I don’t think that is a cat. It looks like a wolf. Do you not think it looks like a wolf?”