The Intrigue at Highbury

by Carrie Bebris

  “Towards Mrs. Frank Churchill?”

  Now she did look up. Darcy appeared to be pondering something. “Inappropriately attentive?” he asked.

  “No.” She withdrew another tile from the box. “Well . . .” Elizabeth considered anew the conversations she had witnessed, the degree of accord between the married Mrs. Churchill and the bachelor Mr. Dixon: the pat on Jane’s hand in Miss Bates’s apartment; the freedom with which Thomas Dixon spent Jane’s money—Frank’s money, in point of fact, and he only having just come into it himself.

  “It is difficult for me to say, based on such limited acquaintance with either of them,” she finally stated, “but I do think he is on unusually familiar terms with her.”

  “How does she conduct herself with him?”

  “Jane Churchill possesses a reserved nature. Her manner towards everybody, including Thomas Dixon, is restrained. She does not, however, appear averse to the liberties he takes.” She looked at the tile in her hand. X. That would be of no help.

  Darcy was silent a moment. “Earlier today, Frank mentioned that his wife was already spending his inheritance, and that Thomas Dixon was helping her do it. Apparently, they have purchased new furnishings for her aunt and grandmother’s apartment?”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Mr. Dixon insisted that the Bates ladies need to completely refurbish their rooms. In truth, they do, but even the most casual visitor can see that the pair lacks the means to institute even minor changes. So Jane Churchill authorized the expenditure. The news came as quite a surprise to Frank, especially since he heard it not from his wife, but from Thomas Dixon.”

  Darcy’s frown deepened. “Mr. Knightley and I learned today that Frank Churchill is his uncle’s sole heir.” He recounted their meeting with Mr. Perry, including his colleague’s confirmation of the poisoning diagnosis, and the solicitor’s revelation that Edgar Churchill had requested a meeting before he died.

  “All of this intelligence increased my suspicions about Frank’s role in the deaths of both Edgar and Agnes Churchill,” Darcy finished. “Frank, however, declares himself ignorant of his uncle’s desire for a meeting, and of other questionable circumstances surrounding their demises. Your information about Jane Churchill and Mr. Dixon leads me to wonder whether we have not considered broadly enough who else benefits from the two deaths.”

  “I hardly think fresh draperies and wallpaper constitute sufficient motive for a double murder. At a minimum, new plate and silver ought to be included in the bargain.” She set the X upon the table and took up two more letters. Vowels at last: O and I. “Besides, neither Thomas Dixon nor Jane Churchill ultimately benefits from the purchases.”

  “Do you yet discuss Mr. Dixon?” Mrs. Knightley and her husband reentered the drawing room. “Surely there must be more interesting subjects of discourse than his shopping on behalf of the Bates ladies.”

  “What interests me is who financed it,” Darcy replied.

  “Frank Churchill can well afford it now,” Mrs. Knightley said, “and I consider it an admirable gift to his bride, seeing to the comfort of her only family.”

  “What of the Campbells?” Elizabeth set the two vowels upon the table with the consonants she had already spread out, but took no more letters from the box. “Are they not also her family, in a manner of speaking?”

  “They might have raised her, but they are not blood relations. One cannot feel the same depth of affection as that between parent and child—or in the case of Mrs. Bates and Jane Churchill, between grandmother and grandchild.” Mrs. Knightley moved towards an empty chair, but paused as she passed the table with the alphabets. Disapproval clouded her features, and she scooped up the strewn tiles. “Has this silly children’s amusement not been put away yet?” She deposited the letters into the box and shut the lid. “I shall have to speak to the housemaid.”

  The conversation turned to other subjects. By now, Elizabeth and Darcy had established a rapport with the Knightleys which, while still new, had achieved a degree of relative ease, and Elizabeth found it refreshing to talk about something besides robbery and suspected murder. Darcy seemed to particularly enjoy Mr. Knightley’s society. Just as tea was brought in, Thomas Dixon appeared.

  “You return earlier than I anticipated,” Mrs. Knightley said. “How was Mrs. Elton’s party?”

  “It began unexceptionally enough, until Frank Churchill’s disagreeable behavior put a damper on the evening.”

  Mrs. Knightley poured tea and handed a cup to Mr. Dixon. “Indeed? Frank Churchill is usually so charming.”

  “Not this evening. He could barely hold still while we waited to go in to dinner, and was hard-pressed to follow the conversation.” He sipped his tea, then gestured towards Mrs. Knightley with the cup. “Thank you. I had no tea at Mrs. Elton’s following dinner. The situation with Frank Churchill was so awkward that everybody found excuses to disperse before any was served.”

  Concern overtook Mrs. Knightley’s features. “Do you think he was upset about something?”

  “From the flush of his countenance, I think he was foxed. His father thought so too, I wager, for as dinner was concluding, Mr. Weston asked Mr. Churchill to leave the dining room with him on some pretext. When Frank Churchill stood up, he swayed and complained of dizziness. I pity Mr. Weston—he must rue the day he turned his son over to the Churchills.” He heaved a great sigh. “I hope for Jane Churchill’s sake that her husband learned something from his uncle’s death. I would hate to see him come to the same end. At least Frank Churchill held his liquor, which is more than Edgar Churchill proved able to do.”

  Foreboding took hold of Elizabeth. There were similarities indeed between the accounts of Frank’s and Edgar’s recent dinner party behavior. But Edgar Churchill had not been drunk.

  She looked toward Darcy and Mr. Knightley to see whether they shared her thoughts. The magistrate was already standing.

  “Where is Frank Churchill now?”

  Twenty

  “I am persuaded that you can be as insincere as your neighbours, when it is necessary.”

  —Emma Woodhouse to Frank Churchill, Emma

  Frank Churchill’s status as the favorite of fortune endured: unlike his uncle, he survived belladonna poisoning.

  He owed to his stepmother his continuance as an inhabitant of this world. Mrs. Weston, though as embarrassed as her husband by Frank’s behavior, possessed that intuition peculiar to mothers that prompts them to seek medical counsel under circumstances in which others underrate the severity of signs. Such was the case on this occasion, and upon their hasty departure from the vicarage, she had insisted not merely that Mr. Perry be consulted, but consulted before they returned to Randalls.

  By luck or by grace, they had found the apothecary at home. Mr. Perry had immediately recognized Frank Churchill’s danger and administered a mustard emetic, followed by a purgative to eliminate as much of the poison as possible from his system. Since Frank’s symptoms were fewer and less pronounced than Edgar’s had been, Mr. Perry was of the opinion that he had taken in a smaller amount of belladonna than had his uncle. The treatment was successful; Mr. Perry predicted a full recovery.

  How Frank came to ingest the toxin was a subject that occupied the Knightleys and Darcys long after the victim himself had improved. After hearing the apothecary’s report, Mr. Knightley and Mr. Darcy spent the following afternoon interviewing those who had been present at the Eltons’ dinner. The Westons and Jane, Mr. Perry had spoken to the night before while treating Frank; the Patrick Dixons he questioned when he transferred his patient to Randalls after breakfast. In the interest of expediency, Mr. Knightley and Mr. Darcy divided the remaining calls and agreed to meet Mr. Perry later at Randalls, where the apothecary monitored his patient. Together they would quiz Frank Churchill more thoroughly than Mr. Perry had been able to while his patient suffered agitation and confusion.

  The interviews yielded nothing valuable. No one had observed anything irregular regarding Frank Churchill during dinner, s
ave symptoms they had ascribed to intoxication. The Eltons’ discourse on the subject was all self-interest; Frank’s brush with death was nothing to the insult they believed themselves to have suffered by his behavior. To protect their ability to investigate effectively, Mr. Darcy and Mr. Knightley did not contradict anyone’s assumption that drink had been the sole cause of Frank’s indisposition.

  “I pray we learn something useful from Frank Churchill himself,” Mr. Knightley said as he and Emma walked to Randalls with the Darcys. Emma wanted to check on Frank Churchill as much as the gentlemen wanted to interrogate him, and Mrs. Darcy had said she would welcome the exercise. Emma feared that Mrs. Darcy also sought respite from her father’s concern for her health. Though Mrs. Darcy appeared to find Mr. Woodhouse’s crotchets more amusing than vexing, she had already submitted to one basin of gruel that day and ought not be subjected to another, however kindly intended.

  “With our chief suspect now a victim, we need to learn something soon,” Mr. Darcy replied, “before the poisoner eliminates all of the Churchills.”

  “I am glad the pair of you have finally realized that the idea of Frank Churchill’s having killed his uncle is ludicrous,” Emma said, “though I am sorry it required his own life becoming endangered. Do you believe Jane Churchill is also at risk?”

  The path through the shrubbery became uneven, and Mr. Knightley offered Emma his arm. “That depends upon the murderer’s motive,” he said. “If he is driven by revenge, the perceived wrong might or might not encompass her, as she but very recently joined the family. If the killer seeks more worldly gain, however, I expect she may indeed be threatened. We need to learn who stands to benefit from Frank Churchill’s death.”

  “Beginning with Jane Churchill,” Mr. Darcy said.

  Emma gasped. “You cannot be serious! Jane Fairfax Churchill, a murderess? If you knew her as we do, you would realize how absurd a notion that is. Mr. Knightley, assure Mr. Darcy that Jane Churchill cannot possibly have committed such sordid acts.”

  Mr. Knightley, however, had halted his strides and regarded Mr. Darcy in startlement. “Jane Churchill. I had not considered her.”

  “Oh, come, now!” Emma exclaimed. “Mr. Knightley!”

  But Mr. Knightley was all rapid deduction, new hypotheses developing in his mind. “I agree that Jane Churchill’s involvement is highly improbable. Yet it is not impossible. Consider, Emma, that six months ago she was a portionless orphan on the verge of hiring herself out as a governess to support herself—a fate so abhorrent to her that she likened it to the slave trade. Now she is mistress of a large estate, and last night almost became a wealthy widow. Do I think her guilty? No. I have admired her character too long—even defending it to you—to believe her capable of premeditated murder. As her friend, I am convinced of her innocence. But as the parish magistrate, I cannot eliminate her entirely from the list of suspects, however far down on it she might appear. Not at present, with so few other candidates and motives.”

  “But she has no cause to kill Frank Churchill. His aunt and uncle, perhaps—as far-fetched as that seems—but not her husband. As Frank’s wife, she already has the Churchill fortune at her disposal. And she loves him.”

  “Does she?” Mrs. Darcy asked. “You would know better than we. The couple is barely one week wed, yet I have seen her only in the company of Thomas Dixon—never with her husband.”

  “The Churchills are very much in love,” Emma insisted. The observation about Mr. Dixon, she did not address. Jane Churchill’s friendship with Thomas Dixon forwarded Emma’s own plan for the gentleman, by advancing his intimacy with Miss Bates. She shook her head emphatically. “Depend upon it,” she said to them all, “Jane Churchill is not the person you seek.”

  Mrs. Weston rejoiced at the arrival of her friend and, after allowing Mrs. Knightley ample time to ascertain for herself the state of Frank’s health, invited Emma to accompany her to another room to see a muffler she was knitting for Mr. Woodhouse. She included Elizabeth in the invitation, but Elizabeth, noting the lines in Mrs. Weston’s countenance that evidenced the anxiety of a long night just past, supposed the muffler merely a pretext for a much-needed tête-à-tête between old friends. She declined to intrude, and instead remained with Darcy, Mr. Knightley, Mr. Perry, and the Churchills.

  Frank Churchill’s own account of the evening offered little more information than had the others. It differed, however, in his insistence that he had not come to the vicarage drunk; in fact, he had not consumed any wine or liquor all day. When Darcy suggested that perhaps something he had eaten disagreed with him, he repeated what he had told Mr. Perry: at dinner, he had eaten only what everyone else had. And nobody else had become ill.

  “What about before dinner—before you went to the Eltons’?” Mr. Knightley asked. “What did you consume earlier in the day?”

  “I breakfasted at Randalls. In the afternoon, I had cake at Hartfield while waiting to speak with you. And tea. A cup—no, two cups of tea.”

  Elizabeth did not recall anyone’s having enjoyed a second cup of tea before the arrival of Mrs. Elton’s antagonistic charade, probably because such an indulgence would have sent Mr. Woodhouse into paroxysms. Mrs. Knightley must have somehow poured it for him when nobody else was looking.

  “Are you certain, Frank?” Jane Churchill, sitting beside him, covered his hand with hers. Apparently, at least fondness existed between them. “When you went into the village, you did not stop at the Crown?” She turned to Darcy and Mr. Knightley. “After calling on you at Hartfield, he met us at the vicarage rather than return to Randalls.”

  Frank Churchill withdrew his hand from hers. “I was not drunk at dinner. Will my own wife not believe me?”

  Jane stiffened. The fleeting moment of affection was gone, replaced by what Elizabeth sensed was not the newlywed couple’s first experience of discord.

  “Of course I believe you. It is only that Thomas Dixon mentioned that he saw you near the inn—”

  “Did he? And is that Irishman my keeper now? Or does he merely consider himself the keeper of my accounts? He certainly feels at liberty to spend them.”

  “That is unfair, Frank. Thomas Dixon has been nothing but kind, and is only trying to help—”

  “Help himself to my fortune, since he does not have one of his own.”

  Her face reddened. She swallowed whatever she had been about to say next, and instead drew a deep breath. With a pointed glance in Darcy and Mr. Knightley’s direction, she said in a calmer tone, “You are still not yourself after last night.”

  Frank said nothing.

  “Mr. Perry,” she continued, “you held Mr. Churchill’s remains for some time before releasing them for burial. Did the same illness that killed him cause Frank’s infirmity last night?”

  Mr. Perry paused before replying. Elizabeth knew that he, Mr. Knightley, and Darcy had debated how much to reveal to Frank and Jane Churchill about the belladonna. Frank was still a suspect in Edgar’s death; full disclosure would compromise the investigation irreparably. But last night’s incident demonstrated that Frank was himself in danger, and any man so exposed deserved to be warned. Too, Mr. Perry would soon hold the formal inquest for Edgar, and once it took place, all Highbury would know that at least one Churchill had been poisoned.

  “I believe it did. But it was not an ordinary illness. It was poison.”

  So much color drained from Jane’s face that she looked as if she herself had been poisoned. “Good heavens! Someone tried to kill Frank? And—oh!—someone did kill his uncle? Poor Mr. Churchill!”

  Her shock and dismay seemed genuine. Yet Elizabeth could not help but reflect that if Jane Churchill were indeed involved in the poisonings, she had had plenty of time to rehearse her reaction.

  Frank Churchill appeared dumbfounded. “I was poisoned?” He stared at Mr. Perry as if he could not possibly have heard him correctly. “What kind of poison?”

  “Belladonna. It is sometimes mistaken for other plants, so it is possib
le that you and your uncle ingested it accidentally. Since you were both guests here when the poisonings occurred, I will speak with the cook and have a look about the kitchen to make sure it has not inadvertently entered the house. But given that deadly nightshade is not common in this neighborhood and that no one else has experienced symptoms, until we ascertain the source we should for caution’s sake act under the assumption that the poisonings were deliberate.”

  Jane Churchill released a soft cry that was half sob, half whimper. “Why would anybody want to kill Frank? Or his uncle?”

  “That is what we are trying to determine.” Mr. Knightley gestured towards Darcy. “My friend Mr. Darcy, who has experience in such matters, has consented to assist us. I trust you will extend to him the same cooperation you would show me and Mr. Perry.”

  “Of course.” If Mrs. Churchill thought it unusual that an outsider was being entrusted with an important role in the investigation, she did not show it—her countenance was full of too many other emotions.

  Darcy, who had quietly observed the Churchills’ reactions while Mr. Perry and Mr. Knightley guided the conversation, now took command of it. He leaned forward, his manner direct but not confrontational. “Mr. Churchill, do you have any enemies? Did your uncle? Anybody who might wish you or your family harm?”

  Frank shrugged. “None that I can think of.”

  “Servants or former associates who might hold a grudge? An acquaintance who came out on the losing end of a wager placed at cards?”

  Without even a pause to search his memory more thoroughly, Frank shook his head.

  “I understand that your late aunt was not the most amiable person. Might she have earned someone’s animosity?”

  “She had a strong will, a difficult temperament, and unrestrained pride. She therefore had few real friends. But I can think of no one who would consider himself so injured by her that he would avenge himself months later by killing her husband and nephew.”