Carrie Bebris - The Intrigue at Highbury

“If he did, my cousin has superior bluffing skills to even the gypsies, for he has betrayed no hint that he knows me as anything but a peddler.”

“You must have suffered quite a shock when your father died,” Mr. Knightley said.

“Indeed, yes.” He emptied the wineglass again, but declined Mr. Knightley’s offer of a third. “I grieved at the news. I grieve still.”

Mr. Deal rose and returned his wineglass to the side table from which Mr. Knightley had taken it. Elizabeth slipped out of the room. As she did so, Darcy caught sight of Mr. Cole in the hall.

“It sounds as if you learned a considerable amount about Edgar Churchill in a short period of time.” Mr. Knightley left his seat and approached him. “As you have no doubt heard, the coroner’s inquest ruled his death a case of poisoning, though whether accidental or deliberate remains undetermined. Can you think of anybody who might have wished him harm?”

The table rested beside a window, and Mr. Deal gazed into the gathering darkness. “I certainly did not. For me, his death could not have come at a worse time.” Bitterness tinged his voice. “I no sooner found my father than lost him.”

He turned to face Darcy and Mr. Knightley. “I have given you a full accounting of my dealings with the Churchills,” he said to the magistrate. “Am I free to leave?”

Mr. Knightley and Darcy exchanged glances. Mr. Knightley stepped forward.

“I am afraid not.”

Pending verification of his story and further enquiry into his gypsy associations, Hiram Deal was committed to the county gaol. Mr. Knightley could not risk such an experienced itinerant fleeing. After thirty years of wandering with a gypsy caravan, the peddler surely knew every cove and corner of England, and Mr. Knightley and Darcy had no doubt of Mr. Deal’s success should he take it into his mind to disappear.

As the Darcys crossed Broadway Lane toward their waiting carriage the following morning, Elizabeth recalled her first meeting with the peddler. Though she presumed he possessed a colorful history, she had never imagined it so extraordinary. God forgive her, she was almost glad Mrs. Churchill had met her demise. It was fitting retribution, unjust only in that she died of natural causes while her guiltless husband had been poisoned.

“Are you quite certain you wish to accompany me to Guildford?” Darcy asked. “I should think you could find any number of more pleasant ways to occupy the day.”

The street was busy, Highbury already abuzz with word of Hiram Deal’s arrest. Elizabeth would just as soon escape the small village for a time.

“None superior to enjoying your companionship en route; we have had precious little time to ourselves since arriving here. Too, as much as I esteem the Knightleys, I do not mind absenting myself from Hartfield for a considerable portion of the day.” She smiled. “If Mr. Woodhouse orders me one more basin of gruel, I fear I shall choke on it.” The old gentleman meant well; she had come to realize that his gruel-mongering was a sign of regard. The two of them had developed an odd but congenial rapport. “But explain to me why you need to see Hiram Deal straightaway this morning, when he was just taken to gaol last night.”

It had required no small effort to persuade Darcy to allow her to ride with him to Guildford. Gaols were filthy places, breeding chambers for typhus, lice, and all manner of other plague and pestilence. By agreement, she would remain in the carriage while he met with Mr. Deal.

“Mr. Knightley and I did not complete our interrogation. By the time Mr. Deal explained his connexion to the Churchills and Mr. Cole returned, dusk was approaching, and Mr. Knightley wanted Mr. Deal on his way to Guildford before the hour grew late in case any of his gypsy familia lurked along the road with notions of liberating him.”

Darcy’s tone held a shade of derision as he pronounced the gypsy word. Though Elizabeth had been fascinated by Mr. Deal’s experience among the Roma and his friendship with Rawnie Zsófia, Darcy was more cynical.

“What else do you wish to ask him?”

When Darcy did not reply, she followed his gaze. Miss Jones had just emerged from Mrs. Todd’s house, apparently headed for the Crown Inn to ply her fortune-telling trade. She saw the Darcys, paused, and glanced towards her destination. They stood directly in her path to the Crown; there was no way to avoid them.

Miss Jones straightened her shoulders and continued towards them. “Good day to you,” she said in passing.

“Miss Jones — a word, if you please,” Darcy said. It was not a request.

Miss Jones stopped. She considered Darcy in silence for a moment. “And if I do not please?”

“I am confident that is not the case.”

“Then pray, be quick, for I have business this morning. There are those who will not begin their day until I have looked into their teacups.”

“I, too, have business this morning,” Darcy said, “with a man who I believe is a mutual acquaintance. How well do you know Hiram Deal?”

“The peddler? Perhaps hardly at all.” She tilted her head to one side and regarded Darcy brazenly. “Perhaps very well. Why do you wish to know?”

“I understand he travels with the same gypsy caravan that you claim kidnapped you. I wonder if he might tell a different tale of your experience than the one that you related.”

“Hiram came and went. He was not with the caravan when I was taken — we met later.”

“And what was your relationship then?”

“Our friendship is… an unconventional one. We were the only two English living amongst the gypsies. Infer what you will.”

Until that moment, Elizabeth had contemplated only a business relationship between the two — Mr. Deal selling what Miss Jones and the other gypsies stole. Had there been a romantic liaison? Mr. Deal was easily old enough to be Loretta’s father, but more disparate unions occurred in all classes of society. The handsome peddler had attracted the interest of many a maid in Highbury.

“Mrs. Darcy! Good morning!”

Elizabeth turned at the familiar voice behind her. Miss Bates approached, carrying a basket covered by a checkered cloth.

“I see you have your carriage. It is a fine day for a drive, is it not? Though a bit cold — I am glad to see you have a blanket with you. We have not had rain for several days, so the roads are plenty dry — that makes such a difference when traveling — dry roads. Mr. Deal and I were just discussing that fact on Sunday, and he would know, traveling as much as he does. — But the most shocking rumor is circulating the village this morning. Our dear Mr. Deal has been taken to gaol!”

“Gaol?” Miss Jones appeared genuinely stricken. The defiance left her countenance. She looked to Darcy. “Is it true? Has Hiram been arrested?”

“He—”

“I learned it straight from Nellie Hopkins, who works in the kitchen at Randalls,” Miss Bates said. “I met her early this morning at the bakery. She was sent to fetch baked apples for Jane. — Dear Mrs. Weston! She has been sending her apples to Mr. Wallis for baking ever since I mentioned Jane was partial to them — he does them just right. But what was I saying? Oh, yes! Nellie told me about Mr. Deal. She had it from one of the Randalls housemaids — Hannah — her father is the coachman at Hartfield. An excellent driver, James — whenever Mr. Woodhouse invites my mother and me to Hartfield, James always collects us and brings us home. It was he who drove Mr. Deal to Guildford with Mr. Knightley and Mr. Cole. Nellie was half beside herself. I think she is sweet on Mr. Deal — calf love, you know — eyes big as moons whenever she sees him. She is such a pretty little thing, and says he is so charming towards her.”