“For a share of the stolen goods?”
“Our robbers were practiced criminals, and Mr. Deal is in a perfect position to profit from their crimes. Whatever they steal in one town, he can sell in the next. He could even be one of the thieves himself.”
“He has but one hand.”
“Mr. Deal, I am sure you observed, is extraordinarily adept. And a cord-sling can be wielded by a one-handed man. Were it not for the fact that we found two sets of footprints, I would say that he and Miss Jones could have comprised the entire conspiracy.”
Elizabeth considered the man she had met only a couple hours earlier, and tried to reconcile the person who had treated a spinster and a simpleton with kindness, with the image of him as a conspirator in a robbery ring. He had seemed so agreeable. But then, experience had taught her that outward appearances could not be trusted. She had known — or thought she knew — other individuals whose amiable veneer had hidden a less-than-honorable heart. A man persuasive enough to sell a sack full of colored beads to Darcy could sell anything — including himself.
“There was at least one other conspirator besides the slinger and Miss Jones,” she said, “for we saw him with our own eyes.”
“Whom?”
“The raven.”
“Its appearance was indeed timely, but I doubt the bird plotted robbery.”
“No, but perhaps its trainer did.”
Darcy looked at her in surprise. “A trained bird — I had not considered that possibility.”
“The raven startles and distracts potential victims, then its master presses the advantage.”
“I have to concede, it is a good stratagem. What led you to think of it?”
“I met Mrs. Martin today — the young woman Frank Churchill rescued from the gypsies last spring. When she described the incident, she said that a large black bird had swooped around while the beggars harried her. How many such birds can there be in Highbury, appearing so conveniently?”
“So, our thieves are indeed gypsies, almost certainly the same ones Frank Churchill encountered. Did Mrs. Martin spy Miss Jones or Hiram Deal among the band?”
“She said she saw no English. It sounds, however, as if she was too much terrorized to notice anything beyond her immediate situation. We shall have to ask Mr. Churchill whether he saw Miss Jones or the peddler that day.”
“Frank Churchill might not be forthcoming on that point.”
“Why not?”
“It is increasingly possible that his appearance on the scene was even less coincidental than that of the bird. Mr. Knightley and I suspect he might have deliberately sought out the gypsies. Mr. Deal says there is an herbalist among them who makes up the physics he sells, and Frank might have gone to her for a specially prepared one.”
“Whatever for?”
“To poison his aunt.”
She stared at him. “I discerned from Mr. Knightley’s earlier manner that he harbored doubt towards Frank in the matter of his uncle’s death. But in the aunt’s as well?”
“Mr. Perry has determined that Edgar Churchill most likely died of belladonna poisoning. Agnes Churchill died of a suspicious seizure within a month of Frank’s allegedly chance meeting with the gypsies.” Darcy explained how old Mrs. Churchill’s death had enabled Frank’s marriage to Jane, and how the uncle’s death now secured Frank’s independence.
“Good heavens,” she said when he finished. “That is quite the cold-blooded scheme, if these suspicions about Frank Churchill prove accurate. I wonder, however, that Mr. Knightley shared them with you, a near-stranger. He impressed me as a more discreet gentleman, particularly regarding a matter yet under investigation.”
Darcy cleared his throat. “The investigation is the reason he took me into his confidence. Frank Churchill’s status within the village, coupled with Mr. Knightley’s admitted bias against him, render it necessary to have a more objective individual probe the affair. Upon Lord Chatfield’s recommendation, Mr. Knightley solicited my assistance.” He paused. “And upon Chatfield’s request, I agreed.”
At the mention of the earl, Darcy’s willingness to involve himself became more understandable. Elizabeth could not, however, help feeling her spirits sink at the realization that Darcy’s participation in a murder enquiry would necessitate an extension of their unplanned stop in Highbury. She wanted to reach Brierwood. And she missed her daughter. “Should we send for Lily-Anne?”
“It is my hope that we will not be here overlong. Mr. Perry has gone to London to consult a colleague more knowledgeable about belladonna, and travels home by way of Richmond to learn more about Agnes Churchill’s seizure from her physician. We also await information from the Churchills’ solicitor. If all goes well, this matter should be resolved within days. If you wish, however, I can take you to the townhouse and return here. Your continuance in Highbury is not required merely because I am committed.”
“Indeed? So you do not want to hear what I know of the gypsy herbalist?”
That commanded his attention. “How came you by information regarding the herbalist?”
“From Mrs. Martin. She said one of the gypsies who accosted her was an older woman — a ‘witch-woman,’ Mrs. Martin called her — gathering plants. I would wager that she is your healer.”
“Did she appear to know Frank Churchill?”
“She appeared startled by his appearance and fled with the rest of them, so whether she knew him or not is a subject for further speculation. I suppose it certainly would have been surprising to be chased off in such a manner by a gentleman to whom one just sold poison, if that was Frank Churchill’s true purpose for being there. Do you and Mr. Knightley believe, then, that Frank obtained from this same gypsy the belladonna that killed his uncle?”
“Directly or indirectly. He possibly acquired it through Mr. Deal.”
“Surely the peddler would not trade poison so openly?”
“The poison could be passed off as one of the remedies he sells. Or belladonna could be a component of some of the physics, added intentionally or in error. Mr. Perry says that in small amounts it has legitimate medicinal value, and that the berries are sometimes mistaken for edible ones. I suspect, however, that if this gypsy herbalist incorporated deadly nightshade into one of her concoctions, she knew precisely what she was doing.”
“If she were accidentally poisoning people, Mr. Knightley would have heard by now of other customers who had suffered ill effects.”
“Even so, I purchased Mr. Deal’s remaining gypsy remedies, ostensibly for personal use, but I have given them to Mr. Knightley so that the apothecary can have a look at them.”
“What do they purport to cure?”
“Gout, dropsy, and—” He coughed. “Female complaints.”
She regarded him archly. “What sort of female complaints?”
“I hoped you would know, for I have not the faintest notion.”
Elizabeth found it both amusing and charming that, after nearly two years of marriage and the birth of their child, such a subject could discompose him. “So now Mr. Deal believes I suffer from a peculiarly feminine malady. I thank you for that — it should make my next encounter with him all the more delightful. Is there anything else I ought to know about the reputation I am forming in Highbury?”
“No.” He paused. “Well…”
She raised a brow.
“Should Mr. Churchill enquire, you were all but debilitated by a headache today.”
“Indeed? It seems I am on the verge of becoming a professional invalid. Are the gout and dropsy my ailments as well?”
“No, only the headache and the… other.”
“Thank heavens. I would not want my deteriorating state to burden anybody. Incidentally, I understand that Mrs. Knightley’s father suffers ill health, and that the Knightleys reside with him when not hosting lethal routs. As we returned this afternoon, Mrs. Knightley expressed a wish for us all to quit Donwell for Hartfield, as she is needed there. Her sister and family, who have been staying with Mr. Woodhouse, must go home to London tomorrow, and now that all the other guests save Thomas Dixon have departed, there is no reason for us remaining few to continue at Donwell.”
“When is the removal to occur?”