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 assembly. “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 façade. 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 assembly 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 anticipation. Miss Jones held court among her new passel 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 passed 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 astonishing 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.”
“Your grief has begun to heal. Oh! What is this? A stranger will cross your path.”
“Well, that must be you.”
“No, I think the stranger will be a man — a new husband, perhaps.”
“Ha! Indeed? Mr. Todd surely must be spinning in his grave now.”
Loretta next read Alice’s palm, declaring that the child was bright, and artistic, and would live to see the next century. She then turned to Mr. Elton.
“Reverend, do you care to have your palm read?”
Mr. Elton looked startled by the suggestion — and, fleetingly, not entirely opposed to it. But then he shrouded his countenance in inflated dignity. “I do not think it would be seemly for a minister to engage in such an activity.”
“Even as a harmless diversion?”
“I am afraid not.”
Loretta’s gaze continued round the table until it landed on Elizabeth. “Mrs. Darcy?”
Elizabeth suspected that if she extended even an empty hand toward Loretta, the beguiler would somehow manage to take something from her. “I thank you for my share of the favor, but no.”
Loretta nodded toward Elizabeth’s cup. “Allow me to read your tea leaves, then?”
The girl was a charlatan, likely hard-pressed to read a primer, let alone portents. But, curious about what sort of flummery she would concoct, Elizabeth consented to the leaf-reading.
“Have you finished your tea?” Loretta asked.
“Not quite.”
“Drink all but the tiniest amount. And if you want a particular question answered, concentrate upon it while you drink.”
Though Elizabeth had one very simple question — whether she would ever see her belongings again — she did not dwell upon it as she sipped the last of her tea. She would allow destiny — or, rather, Loretta — to determine what the leaves would reveal.
“Now,” Loretta said, “take the handle and swirl the remainder around — yes, just that way. Then overturn the cup onto the saucer.”
Elizabeth inverted the cup. When the small amount of remaining liquid had drained out, Loretta instructed her to right the cup. Dark brown leaves and stems were randomly scattered and clumped against the pale china. Most of the clusters were on the bottom; a few clung to the sides, along with a fine trail of tea dust. One grouping was almost at the rim. Elizabeth saw nothing prophetic in the arrangement — save a vision of the serving girl washing out the cup when they had done with this game.
Loretta took the cup from her and studied the leaves. “A bouquet — that is always a good sign. It means a happy marriage. The lines reflect that you are on a journey, one that will eventually bring you back home.” She offered Elizabeth a smile, but Elizabeth did not return it. So far Loretta had divined nothing, only stated information she could easily have observed or guessed from their encounter on the highway.
The would-be seer rotated the cup a quarter-turn. “A letter will arrive soon, from someone named ‘D.’ ”
Again, not a startling proclamation. Their surname was Darcy; it was no great hazard to suppose that some family member might contact them. In fact, they anticipated letters from Darcy’s sister, who wrote them daily with news of Lily-Anne.
Loretta seemed put out that Elizabeth was not issuing exclamations of amazement as Mrs. Todd had done. She rotated the cup another quarter-turn, so that the handle was now at the top. “There is a cat near the rim…”
“And what does that portend?”
“Difficulties.” Loretta set the cup down.
Aha. Elizabeth would not play her assigned role in this performance, and so her fortune was becoming more dire. The prediction did not intimidate her; she had already experienced trouble aplenty on this journey. “What sort of difficulties?”
“How am I to know?”
“I thought you were a fortune-teller,” Elizabeth said.
Alice squirmed. “Mama—”
Loretta pushed away the cup. “I have seen all I can.”
“Mama, I don’t think that is a cat. It looks like a wolf. Do you not think it looks like a wolf?”
“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.”
Twenty-Four
Disingenuousness and double-dealing seemed to meet him at every turn.
— Emma
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.”<
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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.”
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