The Intrigue At Highbury Part 18

"I believe the lady wishes to speak with you," he said.

Miss Jones cast him a scathing look. By the time she turned back to her accuser, however, she wore an entirely different expression.

"Oh! Ma'am! I recognize you now. Mrs. Darcy, is it not? The very person I hoped to meet."

"Indeed?" Elizabeth was amazed by her brazenness. "Whatever for?"

"Why, to beg your forgiveness, of course! For the incident the other evening-I cannot think upon it without regret."

"Nor can I." Elizabeth cast a sidelong glance at Mrs. Knightley. "This is the young woman Mr. Darcy and I encountered on the London road." She nodded towards Miss Jones's foot. "Apparently, your ankle has healed."

"Oh, Mrs. Darcy! If you would but listen-" She wrenched against Mr. Deal's grasp. He released her, but remained near. "I did not want to deceive you! Truly, I did not! They forced me to."

"Who?"

"The gypsies!"

This declaration raised echoes in the gathered onlookers.

"Gypsies!"

"The gypsies have returned?"

"Someone send word to Mr. Knightley!"

A st.u.r.dy young boy dashed off toward Hartfield to report the news, unaware that the magistrate had been in possession of this intelligence for days. Meanwhile, the crowd's exclamations drew still more villagers. Among the new arrivals was Mr. Elton, who must have left the vicarage almost the moment Elizabeth and Mrs. Knightley had. He strode toward them with an air of self-importance.

Elizabeth had little desire to cause a scene. But she also would not allow Miss Jones to disappear a second time. "I saw no gypsies the other night," she said to her. "Only you, imposing most shamefully on my husband and me."

Mr. Elton reached them. "What is transpiring here?"

Though Elizabeth addressed the clergyman, she kept her gaze fixed on Miss Jones. "This woman stopped our carriage and robbed Mr. Darcy and me on the London road four nights ago."

"That is not true!" Miss Jones turned to Mr. Elton with wide, tearful eyes. "Indeed, sir, she misunderstands. I would never do such a thing-not willingly!"

"I do not see how this young woman could act as you describe. Stop a carriage and overcome the driver and Mr. Darcy? That is improbable for any female, let alone one of such pet.i.te stature."

"She had accomplices. They stole our belongings while she diverted our attention."

"I did not!"

"Perhaps you have mistaken her for someone else?" Mr. Elton suggested. "What is your name, miss?"

"Loretta. Loretta . . ." The woman hesitated, staring at Elizabeth. "Jones," she said finally. "Loretta Jones."

"I would know 'Miss Jones' anywhere," Elizabeth said. "Her voice is unmistakable." The caterwaul yet resonated in her memory. "And she is wearing the same dress."

With little else over it. The girl had acquired a lightweight shawl since Elizabeth had last seen her, but it held more colors than warmth, and on this bl.u.s.tery November day she must be freezing. She still wore no hat; her flight had caused several locks of hair to come loose from its ribbon. Miss Jones rubbed her arms and s.h.i.+vered, eliciting sympathetic looks from more than one observer. A man offered her the use of his coat, which she accepted with abundant expressions of grat.i.tude for his kindness to a "poor, lost stranger."

She lavished similar praise on Mr. Elton. How providential that a man of G.o.d should happen along just at her moment of need, while she was trying to explain to Mrs. Darcy the most unfortunate incidents that had led her to this state.

"How did you come to be lost?" Mr. Elton's manner was not that of a clergyman ministering to a member of his flock, but rather that of a man whose sense had been banished by the flutter of eyelashes. Mrs. Knightley released a sound of disgust perceptible only to Elizabeth.

"I was kidnapped by the gypsies," Miss Jones announced.

Gasps and small cries rippled through the a.s.sembly. Even the women regarded Miss Jones with sympathy.

"I was out walking one day-on my way to . . . church . . . with caps and mittens I had made to give to some poor families in our village. I try so hard to be mindful of others less fortunate than myself, you see. Well, a band of gypsies appeared from nowhere. I thought they wanted to steal the woollens, and I said welcome to them, but they seized me, too. I tried to run away but they said I must cooperate or they would go to my house and steal my sister instead-she only six years old! Of course I could not put her in such danger. So I consented, and they have been dragging me across England with them ever since."

"Where are these gypsies now?" Elizabeth asked.

"We were camped nearby, and they decided to move on. When they broke camp, I made my escape. I do not know where they have gone, and I do not care. I am only grateful to finally be free of them."

"Are you no longer anxious for the safety of your sister?"

"She lives in Northumberland, far enough away that I hope they will not return for her."

And far enough away-the farthest north one could travel and still remain on English soil-that verifying Miss Jones's story would prove difficult and time-consuming.

"That is a long journey," Elizabeth said. "When did they abduct you?"

"Months ago. In spring."

"You were bringing mittens to the poor in spring?"

"It is cold in Northumberland." She jerked her chin toward Hiram Deal. "You, peddler-have you traveled there?"

Mr. Deal regarded Miss Jones steadily. "Aye," he said. "The cold there can last well into spring."

"If you have been missing since spring, your parents must be sick with worry," said Mr. Elton.

Miss Jones turned to the clergyman with a piteous expression. "I am an orphan-my parents died just before the gypsies stole me. I am alone in the world."

"Not entirely alone," said Mr. Elton.

"You are too kind, sir."

Mr. Elton regarded her with a look of perplexity. "Your sister-"

"Oh, yes-my sister." Her eyes scanned the crowd until her gaze fell upon a girl of five or six, to whom she offered a wobbly smile. "The child I spoke of is in fact the daughter of a family who took me in when my parents died. She is like a sister to me, but not a blood relation."

The mother of the little girl Miss Jones had singled out was a plump middle-aged woman dressed in half-mourning. Her hands were work-roughened and strong, her face weathered but gentle. She stepped forward and put an arm around Miss Jones's shoulders. "Poor lonely creature! Hardly a friend in the world."

Miss Jones sagged against the woman. "Indeed, I have come to feel so." She wiped her eyes.

Elizabeth had seen no tears. Otherwise, it was a performance worthy of the Theatre Royal.

"What about the cousins you mentioned the other night?" Elizabeth asked. "The ones named Jones who live on a nearby farm?"

Miss Jones dropped her gaze. "I have no cousins. I-I invented them so that you would believe I had others to depend upon." She looked up-not at Elizabeth, but at Mr. Elton and Mrs. Todd. "I did not want to impose upon such a fine lady and gentleman, or create in them a sense of obligation to help me."

"Well, you have friends now," the woman declared. "And you can count Mrs. Todd and her daughter Alice among them."

"Thank you, Mrs. Todd." Miss Jones-Loretta-whatever her name might be-knelt and threw her arms around the child. "Alice reminds me of my sweet foster-sister." She looked up at Mrs. Todd. "And you, of my own dear mother."

Alice, bewildered by the sudden affection from a stranger, submitted to the embrace but soon wiggled out of it to cling to her mother's side. Loretta straightened and gazed at the a.s.sembly. "With such friends as I have found here already, I feel safe for the first time since being torn from my home. At last, I am free of my captors."

Mr. Elton stood a little straighter and puffed his chest. "We will see them brought to justice."

"Oh! Do not pursue them, I beg you! I do not want them to know where I am. They might steal me again-or worse."

"But surely you wish them to be arrested for what they have done?"

"I would rather they go unpunished than myself live in fear of retribution for bringing them to the law."

"Their continued freedom threatens the safety of others," Elizabeth said. "They might steal another young lady. You must at least report their presence in the area to the authorities."

"Why, I-I was about to do just that. I was at the Crown to enquire whom I ought to inform and where he might be found. But when I went inside, the smell of food-since fleeing, I have been in hiding, and have not eaten in days-the scent of cooking weakened me, so I came out before I fainted away."

If Mrs. Todd's sympathies had not been fully engaged before, they were now. "Poor creature! Come with me to my house, and I will cook you a proper meal."

"That will take too long-the girl is famished." Mr. Elton gestured toward the inn. "Let us get her something to eat without delay."

"Oh, but I haven't any money-"

"Do not concern yourself about that for now."

The minister led Miss Jones back to the Crown. Mrs. Todd, hovering maternally, followed with her daughter, as did a few others. Hiram Deal looked as if he might join the party, but then glanced at his unattended cart and started towards it instead.

"Thank you for stopping Miss Jones," Elizabeth called to him.

He turned and shrugged. "I cannot disregard a lady in distress."

Elizabeth had thought the peddler a better judge of human character than to have fallen for Loretta's story. Her disappointment must have shown in her face.

"I referred to you," he clarified.

She nodded towards the inn. Loretta and her entourage had disappeared inside. "What do you think of her?"

"Miss Jones?" He stared at the inn for a moment, as if he could see its occupants through the building's facade. Finally, he shook his head and looked at Elizabeth. "I confess, I do not know what to make of her. I am glad, however, that she has left the gypsies, and I hope she finds her way home." Mr. Deal returned to his cart.

Elizabeth turned to Mrs. Knightley. "I do not believe one word of that woman's account."

"Mr. Knightley will draw the truth from her, when he comes."

"In the meantime, I do not want to let the girl out of my sight. She has already proved herself skilled at disappearing."

They went into the Crown. It was a large inn, with a.s.sembly rooms as well as sleeping accommodations and a common dining area. Spots of dirt on the wallpaper and scratches in the heavy old wooden tables of the common area suggested that the room had long been in service and saw considerable use, and Elizabeth imagined it became quite busy when mail coaches and post-chaises stopped in the village. It was not a bad inn, but she was nevertheless glad the Knightleys had offered their hospitality and spared her and Darcy from lodging in such a bustling environment.

Only half full, the common room was not bustling at the moment. It did, however, hold an atmosphere of antic.i.p.ation. Miss Jones held court among her new pa.s.sel 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 pa.s.sed 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 astonis.h.i.+ng 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."