Carrie Bebris - The Intrigue at Highbury

“It is not a wolf,” Loretta snapped.

“It is a wolf,” the child persisted. “Next to a big hammer.”

Loretta smiled at Alice, but it was a tight smile that did not reach her eyes. “That is not a hammer, sweeting.”

“What is it then?” the child asked.

Loretta looked at Elizabeth sharply. “A snake.”

She offered no further explanation, evidently waiting for Elizabeth to ask. Loath to indulge her but out of patience, Elizabeth submitted.

“And what does a snake signify?”

Loretta reached for her stout, raised the glass to her lips, and drained it.

“Snakes are always bad omens.”

Darcy assessed Miss Jones in the dim light of the Crown. “If you wanted to escape the gypsies, why did you not ask us for assistance while you had the opportunity to speak to us alone on the road that night?”

Miss Jones glanced at Mr. Elton, one of her few supporters who remained. Mrs. Todd now sat at a nearby table, diverting her daughter as she waited to see whether Loretta would be enjoying her hospitality or that of the county gaol tonight. Mr. Knightley had dismissed Loretta’s other hangers-on from the inn, and the absence of an appreciative audience had diminished her dramatics significantly. So, too, had Mr. Knightley’s advisement that the Darcys’ stolen goods were of sufficient value to warrant deportation or hanging. At this news, Miss Jones had paled.

Mr. Elton apparently knew better than to interfere with the magistrate’s business. He offered Miss Jones a sympathetic look, but no more. Miss Jones turned back to Darcy, who towered over her. Though Miss Jones remained seated where they had found her, Darcy had not sat down at the table. He was reluctant to so relax his guard.

“I did not think you would believe me. And I was afraid of what they would do to me if I was unsuccessful.”

Mr. Knightley crossed his arms in front of his chest. He, too, remained standing, and regarded Miss Jones with the stern expression of a parent admonishing a wayward child. “So instead of soliciting the Darcys’ aid, you helped your captors rob them.”

“I robbed no one. While the gypsies stole their belongings, I stole away — into the woods, where I prayed they would not come looking for me when I did not meet them back at the camp as I had been instructed. It was my hope that having robbed a gentleman’s carriage so near the village, they would not dare linger in the neighborhood to collect me.” She addressed Darcy and Elizabeth. “I am sorry that your things were taken. But they are things. This was my chance to escape, and I took it. You may criticize the manner in which I went about it, but you have not lived my life these several months.”

On the surface, Darcy conceded, her explanation held credence. He doubted that every word of it was true, but there were parts that might be, or close to it. However, having once been deceived by this girl, he would not be twice duped. “Did you never attempt escape before?”

“I never had the opportunity.”

“In all those months?”

“They kept a close watch on me. It was only because they thought I had at last accepted their ways that they trusted me to participate in their scheme.”

Elizabeth shifted in her seat. She was relenting; Darcy could read it in her countenance.

“Miss Jones, if you but return the gown to us, we will drop this matter,” Elizabeth offered.

“What gown?”

The contents of the missing chest had not been mentioned to Miss Jones before now. Darcy wondered whether Elizabeth’s direct reference to the christening set had been a test.

“There was a gown among our stolen possessions that I am particularly impatient to have restored to me,” Elizabeth said.

“I know nothing about your belongings, for I never saw them. I did not meet the gypsies after the robbery — I was moving as fast and far as I could in the opposite direction.”

“Do you know where the band was next journeying?” Mr. Knightley asked.

“My captors were not in the habit of discussing their plans with me.”

“What were their habits, then?”

Mr. Knightley enquired into the particulars of how the gypsies lived, how they worked, how they traveled — how they might dispatch stolen goods. Unfortunately, Miss Jones’s replies offered little intelligence to aid their present purpose.

“I understand gypsy parties often include women skilled in herbalism,” Mr. Knightley continued. “Was there any such practitioner among your band?”

“Pray, do not call it ‘my’ band, for I want no part of it and never did,” Miss Jones said. “But yes, there was an old woman who provided most of their healing. Madam Zsófia. She was also what in the North Country we would call a ‘spaewife’—a seer.” She looked at Elizabeth. “It was she who taught me to read tea leaves, though there were others in the caravan who also practiced the art.”

“Did any English ever consult her?” Mr. Knightley asked.

“For healing or fortune-telling?”

“Either.”

“From time to time when we passed through a town, several of the women would earn coin by studying palms or turning cards… or reading leaves. ‘Dukkering,’ they called it. Sometimes Madam Zsófia would dukker, but more often than not she left it to the younger women. She did not like to interact with English. She rarely practiced her healing skills on them directly. She believed most English dishonorable.”

Darcy scoffed. “A gypsy thinks the English dishonorable?”

“She said that a people who could treat their own so heartlessly was capable of treachery toward anyone, and they were not to be trusted.”

“Yet she trained you.”

Miss Jones shrugged. “Madam Zsófia is a woman of contradictions. I cannot attempt to explain her.”

“Have you been in this neighborhood before?” Mr. Knightley asked.

“Once. We did not stay long.”

“How long have you been here this time?”

“A se’nnight, perhaps a day or two more.”

The gypsies had been in Highbury, then, since before either of the Churchill gentlemen were poisoned — long enough for the murderer, whomever he was, to have obtained his belladonna from the herb-woman. “Did any English visit the gypsy camp during that se’nnight?” Darcy asked. “Perhaps in want of a remedy from Madam Zsófia?”

“I know of none who came with such a purpose.”

Mr. Knightley studied her. His own countenance was inscrutable; Darcy could not tell how much of the girl’s story the magistrate believed.

“Miss Jones, does the name Churchill mean anything to you?” Mr. Knightley finally asked.

“Should it?”

“You tell me.”

“The only ‘church hill’ I know is the one I passed coming into the village, with the church and cemetery upon it.”

After a few additional questions, Darcy and Mr. Knightley had done with Loretta Jones. Mr. Knightley, who knew Mrs. Todd, dismissed the young woman into the widow’s care, with a request — phrased and delivered so as to leave no doubt of its in fact being a command — that Miss Jones not leave the village.

As they all entered the street, Alice spied Mr. Deal’s cart and dashed toward it, ignoring her mother’s call. Mrs. Todd huffed her frustration. “That child…”

“I will retrieve her,” Miss Jones offered. Without waiting for a reply, she followed Alice. Mrs. Todd started toward the cart as well, but Mr. Knightley stayed her.

“A word, Mrs. Todd.”

She stopped immediately. “Of course, sir.”

“It is generous of you to take Miss Jones into your home, but I caution you to beware. Though the gypsies have left, they could return.”