Carrie Bebris - The Intrigue at Highbury

“Did her education in gypsy ways include the art of fortune-telling?”

“She is dukkering for the gorgios , is she?” Rawnie Zsófia released a low chuckle. “Hai , she asked me to teach her, and I saw that she has the intelligence to learn. But she had not the patience. Learning to read leaves or the cards or a palm takes time. One must know what to look for, and then how to interpret what is seen, and this knowledge comes only through practice. But Loretta, she wanted this understanding instantly. By the gods, she wanted to begin her training with the crystal! She sulked when I said we would start with tea. It was the same when she asked to learn the healer’s art. We were not an hour gathering plants when she complained of boredom and went off to watch her young Rom train ravens.”

Trained ravens. Elizabeth had suspected that the bird which appeared so conveniently at the time of their robbery had been a party to the conspiracy. She now had confirmation.

Rawnie Zsófia continued. “I do not think Loretta wanted to gain the skill of a drabarni , so much as the mystique of one. She is not alone in this. There are many Romani who learn only enough to persuade gorgios to part with their money. Loretta found such a one in our kumpania to teach her, and was starting to earn a fair number of coins. But it will be luck, not prophecy, if any of her foretellings actually come to pass. When she told Edgar Churchill’s fortune, she made such a jumble of it that another drabarni had to help her.”

“She met Edgar Churchill? When?”

“He came to our camp one afternoon, the day after Hram revealed himself to his father. Another gentleman was with him. I do not know his name.”

“How did you know he was Mr. Churchill?”

“My son had told me about his meeting with Churchill the day before, and my tea leaves that morning had told me to expect a visitor named ‘C.’ But even without that sign, I would have known him for Hram’s father.”

That Edgar Churchill had visited the gypsy encampment was certainly an interesting turn of events. “Why did Mr. Churchill come?”

“They were not seeking our camp, but when they came upon it, Loretta and a Romani girl persuaded the other gentleman to have his fortune told. Churchill looked uneasy, but also curious. He kept glancing about — maybe he hoped to see Hram, who was away in the village, or maybe he simply feared someone else would pass by and see him talking with gypsies. The girl and Loretta took them aside, and I busied myself nearby so I could observe the man my son had so long yearned to meet.

“Loretta made tea while her friend read the gentleman’s palm. After telling that fortune, the girl invited Churchill to give her his palm, but he refused. Loretta encouraged him to drink his tea, and talked very prettily to him, and by the time he finished the tea she had persuaded him to let her read the leaves.” Rawnie Zsófia rolled her eyes skyward and shook her head. “Of course, she had no idea what she was looking for. She uttered such nonsense that her friend took the cup from her and added her own forecast, so Churchill would feel that he got something for his coin. But even she seemed unsure. As Churchill and the other gentleman rose to go, one of the ravens flew over to them. It landed beside Churchill and let out a cry that sounded almost like a laugh. The other gentleman was amused, but the bird made Churchill even more uneasy, and they hurried away. I cannot blame him.”

“Why?”

“Ravens are bad omens. They nearly always mean trouble. And they often mean death.”

A chill passed through Elizabeth, and she burrowed more deeply into her cloak. “Did you warn Mr. Churchill?”

She shook her head. “The true meanings of omens take time to reveal themselves. The raven could be seen as a portent for Hram, that Churchill meant to harm him as his wife had threatened. Until I was sure, I had my son to protect.”

Rawnie Zsófia’s shawl had slipped. She returned it to her shoulders and started to rise. “The clouds grow thicker, and I have a long walk back to the kumpania . I must go.”

Elizabeth offered to drive her, but Rawnie Zsófia declined. She allowed the footman to assist her out of the coach, then extended her basket toward Elizabeth.

“I brought my son food, and medicines to keep him well in that unhealthy staripen . Will your husband give this to Hram?”

Elizabeth accepted the basket. She could predict Darcy and Mr. Knightley’s response. Heaven only knew what the “medicines” might contain, and who they were really intended for. “Only with the magistrate’s approval. I will be truthful with you — I doubt Mr. Deal will be allowed to have the medicines. He is suspected of poisoning someone, after all.”

“My son is suspected of many things he has not done.” She nodded towards the basket. “Look you inside, Rawnie Darcy. You will see.” She closed the coach door.

Elizabeth leaned against the seat. The air inside the coach still held the scent of perfume, and her mind whirled with all she had just heard. A few minutes passed before she returned altogether to the present; still more time would be required to absorb what she had learned.

She pulled the basket onto her lap and drew back the cloth that covered its contents. Apples and other foodstuffs filled it, along with several stoppered phials. She removed the food and medicines, setting them on the seat beside her. Another cloth lined the bottom, apparently bunched to form a cushion. She lifted out the cloth and discovered that the fabric did not itself form the cushion, but covered something else.

In the bottom of the basket, carefully folded, lay the Fitzwilliam family christening garments. And on top of them, Lady Anne’s signet ring.

“Did we not agree that you would stay in the carriage?”

The set of Darcy’s jaw told Elizabeth that he was not furious. But he was not happy. An unkind thought regarding their servants passed through her mind as the coach lurched into motion. She could not believe they had betrayed her, however good their intentions. “Jeffrey told you?”

“Jeffrey? No. The gaolers saw fit to inform me. They are fine fellows — the very sort from whom one wants to hear reports about one’s wife.”

“I was in the carriage—” He gave her a hard look. “Well, in view of the carriage.”

“That is hardly the same thing.”

“You will be glad I took the liberty, when I tell you what occurred.”

The journey back to Highbury passed swiftly as Elizabeth recounted her conversation with Rawnie Zsófia. Thankfully, Darcy’s mood improved with each detail.

“So,” he said when she had done, “Edgar Churchill visited the gypsy camp on the day he died. I wager the other gentleman was Thomas Dixon. He was evasive when we asked him where he and Mr. Churchill walked that afternoon.”

“But why the secrecy? Does Mr. Dixon simply not want to bear the stigma of a person who associates with gypsies? Does he think he would appear foolish if it were known that he consulted a fortuneteller?” She paused, attempting to imagine the impeccably dressed Thomas Dixon in the midst of a roisterous gypsy camp. “Or did he lead Mr. Churchill there for some reason? Did they truly just happen upon the camp, or did one or both of them deliberately seek the caravan?”

“If either of them went there intentionally, I should think it would have been Edgar Churchill, seeking Mr. Deal.”

“Unless Mr. Dixon had intentions of his own. Rawnie Zsófia said that he was entirely willing to have his fortune told that day, yet he refused to let Loretta read his tea leaves two days ago at the Crown. Perhaps he was afraid that the second reading would reveal something about him that he does not want known.”