Their coachman eyed her askance. "Now, Mrs. Darcy, I am going to be in a world of trouble with your husband if-"

"Nonsense, Jeffrey. I am not going anywhere."

The gaol stood some thirty yards away. Two gaolers guarded its entrance. They appeared ignorant, unclean fellows, distinguished from the prisoners within only by their liberty to leave at the end of their shift. They lounged on tipply wooden stools and occasionally pa.s.sed between them a flask that Elizabeth doubted contained water.

She gathered her cloak more tightly about her. Though the morning had begun promisingly enough, dark clouds now hung heavy in the sky, threatening rain. As eager as she had been to leave Highbury, she now wished Darcy would hasten his business so they could return.

A woman wandered into view. She was tall, and wore a brightly colored dress that swirled about her legs as she walked. Long, thick black hair streaked with grey hung down her back, tumbling over her dark purple shawl and bound only by the kerchief tied round her head. She carried a basket trimmed in red, gold, and purple, similar to one Elizabeth had seen on Mr. Deal's cart. She walked with purpose towards the gaolers.

Elizabeth could not hear what she said to them, only the mocking laughs they issued in reply.

"He's busy-got a gen'leman with 'im now," said the stouter of the two guards. "But even if he didn't, I'd 'ardly let in the likes of you."

The woman spoke again, gesturing towards her basket.

Elizabeth moved several yards closer. Her footman was beside her in an instant. "Ma'am . . ."

If Darcy questioned her, she was still near the carriage. "Hush, Ben. I only want to hear."

The gaoler stood up, knocking over his rickety stool. "Prisoners ain't allowed stuff from outside." He lied-Darcy had walked in carrying both the blanket and Miss Bates's basket without eliciting so much as a second glance. "Whatcha got hidd'n in there-knives'n such?"

His hand darted towards her. The woman quickly stepped back, but not before the gaoler managed to s.n.a.t.c.h something from the basket. "An apple? Surely y'got somethin' better in there." He took a bite and spat it out at her feet.

"Aw, Joe, can't you see she was saving that for 'im?" The smaller fellow, emboldened by his comrade's bottle-fed bravado, now rose. "What else are you savin' for 'im? Are you his gypsy wh.o.r.e?" He yanked off the woman's kerchief, revealing a greater proportion of grey.

Elizabeth had witnessed enough.

She started towards the entrance. Her footman matched her strides. Behind, she could hear Jeffrey trotting after them.

"Ma'am, surely you are not contemplating-"

"Indeed, I am not contemplating. I am quite decided."

The stout guard barked out a laugh. "She's old for a wh.o.r.e."

"There's no accountin' for some men's taste." The woman tried to grab her kerchief, but the gaoler crumpled it in his grimy fist. "What will you gimme for it?"

"Sheka."

"Gypsy dog!" The guard with the apple threw it at her. It struck hard enough to make the woman stumble. The taunts escalated, slurs so cruel and coa.r.s.e that Elizabeth's ears burned to hear them.

So engrossed were the gaolers in tormenting the woman that Elizabeth was upon them before they noticed her.

"Is this how Englishmen in service to the king treat a woman?"

The gaolers said nothing in response, but ceased their abuse. The stout guard spat in defiance.

Elizabeth held out her hand, palm up, towards the other gaoler, and fixed him with what she hoped was a commanding stare. Apparently, it was forceful enough, for he surrendered the kerchief. She turned to the woman to give it back to her, and met eyes as black as night.

"Nais tuke."

"You are welcome." Elizabeth gestured towards her coach. "Come with me. We can speak in my carriage."

They started back towards the vehicle, her servants following. The coachman cleared his throat. "Mrs. Darcy, if I may speak freely?"

She paused. "What is it, Jeffrey?"

He cast a wary glance past her shoulder at the gypsy woman. "Are you certain it is wise to invite a . . . a person you do not know . . . into the coach?"

"I appreciate your concern," she said, "but I know perfectly well who this woman is."

Rawnie Zsofia.

Thirty.

"This is a circ.u.mstance which I must think of at least half a day, before I can at all comprehend it."

-Emma Woodhouse, Emma Bracelets clinked and jangled as Rawnie Zsofia stepped into the carriage. She sat down opposite Elizabeth and a.s.sessed her with an unwavering gaze. Perfume, barely noticeable when they had been outside, now added to the air a foreign scent Elizabeth could not identify. Though the coach was Elizabeth's domain, it was difficult to say which woman occupied the small s.p.a.ce with greater presence.

"So." The gypsy woman set her basket on the floor and adjusted her skirts. "You are Rawnie Darcy."

"Rawnie?" Elizabeth regarded her in puzzlement. She had thought "Rawnie" was Zsofia's Christian name. If indeed gypsies were Christians.

"Rawnie-'lady.' Lady Darcy. Or madam, if you prefer." She brought a hand to her own chest. "The gorgios sometimes call me Madam Zsofia."

"It is simply Mrs. Darcy. I have no t.i.tle."

"You are more a lady than many who boast the t.i.tle, Rawnie Darcy."

Elizabeth wondered how Rawnie Zsofia had known her surname, and asked whether she had divined it.

The old gypsy smiled enigmatically. "If I told you that your name formed in the mist of my crystal ball, would you believe me?"

Elizabeth hesitated.

"Do not answer. I heard your servant address you."

Rawnie Zsofia shook out her kerchief, determined that it was none the worse for having been clutched by a cretin for several minutes, and retied it round her head. Though according to Mr. Deal's tale she must be sixty, she was yet a striking woman. While threescore years and a lifetime of traveling had etched lines in her dark skin, her angular face reflected wisdom as well as age, and her eyes appeared to hold secrets as numerous as Mr. Deal's wares. She gingerly touched her side where the apple had struck.

"Did they injure you?" Elizabeth asked.

"They did nothing I have not endured many times before. But you did not invite me here to talk about Zsofia. You want to talk about my son. What is it you wish to know?" She had a low, mellisonant voice, one that charmed and disarmed its listeners.

"Whether he poisoned Edgar Churchill."

Rawnie Zsofia laughed. The sound blended with her clattering bangles to form its own music. "You are direct. I admire that. So few gorgios are. I shall answer you with equal frankness. No, he did not."

"How can you be certain?"

"I know Hram."

"Hram?"

"That is his nav romano-his gypsy name. Hram Deal. It was I who gave it to him. It is not a name from the modern Romany tongue, but one formed of older words from the mountains of Romania, whence my mother's people came. It means 'church hill.' The name connected Hram to his past, which I scryed in my ball, and to his future trade, which I read in his hand. He alters it to 'Hiram' when dealing with the gorgios, but among us he remains Hram. And Hram, despite having formed in the womb of a cold-blooded gorgie, has the heart of a Rom, and could never betray or harm a member of his familia-Romano or English."

"He considers himself a gypsy, then?"

"Nai. He has learned our ways, and he sells our goods. He sings and dances with us, has celebrated and sorrowed with us. But he is not fully a Rom. Yet he is no longer purely English, either. Hai shala-do you understand? From nine to nine-and-thirty, he has divided himself between two worlds, existing in both but belonging to neither. I suspect that is why he has never taken a wife-though I sense, too, that he fears pa.s.sing to a child the deformity that has so troubled his own life. Hram has a good heart and would make a fine husband to any woman. I know he would never stray, for he does not even accept what some would freely give."

Rawnie Zsofia's last statement brought to Elizabeth's mind the morning's conversation with Miss Jones. "There is a young Englishwoman whom I believe has been traveling with your caravan."

"Hai. Loretta. She left the k.u.mpania several days ago, I hope to return to her family." Rawnie Zsofia sighed heavily and shook her head. "Her signs are very difficult to read. She is clever but not wise. Pa.s.sion rules her instead of reason."

"Was she kidnapped, as she claims?"

"Nai. She fell in love with a handsome young Rom of our k.u.mpania and ran away from her family to be with him. Unfortunately, he did not return her love. She stayed with the caravan, hoping to win him, but he did not want a gorgie wife, especially one so headstrong and foolish. Two months ago he married a Romani."

"And yet she continued to travel with the caravan?"

"I counseled her to go back to her own kind. So, too, did Hram. He had been away when she first joined the k.u.mpania, but he returned shortly after the young man rejected her. She spent much time with Hram, following him like new pup, and he pitied her. I hoped that since he is English, like her, she would listen to him, but nai."

"Did they-were they ever-" Elizabeth faltered, unsure how to delicately phrase her question. They were, after all, discussing Rawnie Zsofia's son.

"Were they lovers? Nai. Hram has long been a man, and Loretta, though she has a woman's body, is still very much a child. Perhaps she offered herself-sons, especially grown ones, do not tell their mothers everything, and even the most gifted drabarni cannot discern all. But he has no interest in her, save that of offering guidance to a fellow gorgio. He helped her understand the ways of the gypsies, but he did not teach her the ways of men and women."

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

"She is dukkering for the gorgios, is she?" Rawnie Zsofia 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 G.o.ds, 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 Zsofia 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 k.u.mpania 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 pa.s.s. 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 pa.s.s 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 Zsofia 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 pa.s.sed 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 Zsofia'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 k.u.mpania. I must go."

Elizabeth offered to drive her, but Rawnie Zsofia declined. She allowed the footman to a.s.sist 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 pa.s.sed 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.

Thirty-one.

"How animated, how suspicious, how busy their imaginations all are!"