Murder in Highbury (Emma Knightley Mystery #1)

CHAPTER 2

C HAPTER 2

S ighing, Emma’s father tucked the lap blanket around his legs. “Miss Bates was in such a state that I feared for her health. For her to walk home after suffering such a terrible shock was foolhardy, indeed. It would have been dreadful if she’d fainted or suffered a spell.”

Emma poured him a small glass of ratafia. “But you had one of our footmen escort her home, Father. Miss Bates is perfectly safe.”

“Quite right. I had forgotten. Still, I wish she had taken our carriage. It would have been no trouble for James to drive her.”

That her father had been willing to call up the carriage indicated his degree of distress. Father hated to inconvenience their coachman—not to mention the horses, which were surely the most pampered beasts in all of Highbury.

Emma had just been breaking the news of Mrs. Elton’s death to him when Miss Bates had unceremoniously burst into the drawing room. On learning of Mrs. Elton’s demise, Miss Bates had immediately run for Hartfield, almost incoherent with shock. Emma had all but forced a glass of sherry down the poor woman’s throat. Smelling salts had also been applied, and Miss Bates had eventually been persuaded to drink a cup of tea.

Having known the woman all her life, Emma was well aware of her tendency to respond to events, good or bad, in an excitable fashion. Still, she’d been surprised to see Miss Bates reduced to such a state. Although Miss Bates was the daughter of a vicar herself and thus had held Mrs. Elton in considerable esteem, they’d not been especially close. Mrs. Elton had been a friend to Miss Bates’s niece, Jane Fairfax, if a dreadfully patronizing one. Mrs. Elton had even arranged for Jane to take a position as governess to a wealthy family in Bristol. That arrangement had come to naught, though, when it was revealed that Jane was secretly engaged to Frank Churchill, a man who stood to inherit a large estate from his maternal uncle.

Mrs. Elton had not been pleased to see her efforts summarily rejected. Emma, though, suspected she was aggrieved primarily because she’d not been privy to Jane’s scandalous secret. Then again, neither had anyone else in Highbury, including Frank’s father, Mr. Weston.

Although her friendship with Jane had eventually been repaired, the vicar’s wife had subsequently been quite cool to Miss Bates. So, to see the little spinster so overwrought, especially in front of Emma’s father, was surprising. Miss Bates was always mindful not to ruffle dear Mr. Woodhouse , but today she’d done more than ruffle him. Thankfully, Father had been so concerned for her welfare that he’d almost forgotten the state of his own nerves.

He now expelled a tremulous sigh. “What a dreadful day. Why, it was almost as bad as the day your dear mother died. I can barely stand to think of the horror of it all.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open. Her mother’s untimely death had transformed her father into the anxious and fretful man that he was today.

“Father, I know you esteemed Mrs. Elton, and of course you feel distressed for Mr. Elton. But I cannot allow you to think the two events are comparable.”

He grimaced. “But, Emma, you discovered the body. To be exposed to such a thing . . . I cannot imagine anything worse.”

“To be the victim would be quite a bit worse, I would think.”

“You mustn’t make light of this, my dear. I shouldn’t be surprised if you fall dreadfully ill as a result of the shock. And the church can be so drafty at times. I hope you did not catch a chill.”

If there was anything that struck mortal terror in her father’s soul, it was the thought of catching a chill.

“I assure you, dearest, I was not a bit chilly this afternoon.”

Except when gazing at a throttled corpse.

She pushed away the hideous thought. “It was very warm today, even in the church.”

He flapped an alarmed hand. “To be overheated is just as bad. I think you should have a basin of Serle’s gruel and then go straight to bed. Yes, that would be just the thing.”

Their cook’s gruel was the most appalling dish Emma had ever tasted and the bane of her childhood.

“Father, we’ve barely finished dinner. Besides, I wish to wait for George. You know he’s been in the village all afternoon, helping Dr. Hughes and seeing to Mr. Elton. I should wonder if he’s had even a bite to eat.”

“I do hope George doesn’t fall ill after spending the entire afternoon in that drafty church. It was very careless of Dr. Hughes to ask such a thing of him. Mr. Perry certainly will have something to say about it.”

Emma had to swallow a smile, since her husband possessed a robust constitution and great energy. She had been the happy recipient of his vitality over the course of their marriage and could safely say she had no present fears for his health.

“As local magistrate, I’m afraid George’s presence was necessary. Father, why don’t you finish your ratafia and then retire for the night? Would you like to take the sleeping draught that Mr. Perry left for you? One of the footmen can bring it up.”

“I shall certainly take it, else I’ll not sleep a wink tonight. And I insist that you see Perry tomorrow, as well, Emma. We must make sure that you suffered no ill effects from today’s distressing events.”

“Of course, dear. If that will set your mind at ease.”

The sound of footsteps in the hall and the murmur of masculine voices signaled that her overworked husband had finally returned home. Emma went to the door to greet him.

“Finally,” she said. “I thought Dr. Hughes would never release you from your duties.”

He slipped an arm about her waist and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “Yes, it’s been a long day.”

“You must be exhausted, George. Have you had anything to eat? I can ring for Serle to send up a tray. We had a lovely fricassee of veal as well as a splendid trifle.”

Her father dramatically sighed. “And much more besides, but I could barely swallow a bite. Emma did her best to eat something—more for my sake, you understand. I know she did not wish me to worry after her terrible ordeal.”

Truth be told, her terrible ordeal had left Emma terribly famished. She had demolished ample portions of the veal and the trifle and had finished dinner with an apple and cheese tart. Though rather insensitive of her, it hardly made sense to pretend she wasn’t hungry.

And the veal had been excellent.

“That was very thoughtful of Emma,” George wryly replied.

She smiled. “You know very well that nothing impairs my appetite, which is surely an unfortunate lack of sensibility on my part.”

“Or a great deal of common sense. If we were to lose our appetites every time a tragic event occurred, the human race would starve in very short order.”

“What an admirably practical view of things.” Emma drew her husband to the settee on the other side of the fireplace. “But you have still not answered my question. Did you have anything to eat?”

“Yes. Once matters at the church were . . . sorted, Dr. Hughes and I needed to discuss the coroner’s inquest. We stopped at the Crown for something to eat while attending to the details.”

Emma went to the tea service on the mahogany sideboard. “You must have been pestered to death by the locals. I imagine there are very few in Highbury who’ve not heard the news by now.”

“Mrs. Stokes put us in one of the private rooms, where we were able to enjoy our supper in relative peace.”

She placed a few macaroons and a slice of the apple and cheese tart on a plate and carried it back with a cup of tea. “The Crown isn’t known for its food, George. I hope you had enough to eat.”

“One must hope the opposite,” her father exclaimed. “Serle told me that Mrs. Stokes serves a great deal of cake. And I hope you didn’t partake of any custard, George. One can never rely on the custards at coaching inns, you know.”

Since they rarely left the environs of Highbury, coaching inns posed little danger to their general, not to mention culinary, welfare.

“We just had a cold repast of meats and cheese,” he replied.

Father tsked. “I do hope the meat was not rancid, as it so often is at inns. Perhaps you should take a purgative.”

George simply sighed. Normally well able to deal with her father, he was clearly feeling taxed this evening. Murder seemed like a dreadfully exhausting affair.

“Father,” Emma said, “I think Mr. Perry would wish to see you in bed by now. He was quite emphatic that you have an early night.”

“You are quite right, I’m sure. I shall retire immediately.”

She helped him up and escorted him to the door, then handed him off there to a waiting footman.

“I’m sorry, dearest,” she said, returning to her husband. “Father means well, but he is quite overset.”

George stood and wrapped his arms about her. “And what about you, my Emma? Your father is not wrong to say it was a terrible shock.”

She rested against his broad chest, feeling her tension drain away. In her husband’s arms, she could almost imagine the horrors of the afternoon to be naught but an awful dream.

“You mustn’t worry about me, George. You know I am rather unshockable.”

“It grieves me that you were the first to find the body. But we must also be grateful for that, because you handled the situation with considerable aplomb.” He pushed her back a bit to offer a stern look. “Excepting your investigation of noises in the vestry. I cannot be happy about that, Emma.”

As they sat, she ignored his little criticism. After all, she’d had a lifetime of practice in doing so.

“Tell me about Mr. Elton. How does he fare?”

“Initially, as poorly as one would imagine. When I tried to persuade him to return to the vicarage with Dr. Hughes while I waited for the constable to arrive, he refused. He then insisted that the body be removed to the vicarage immediately, growing quite agitated about the matter. That, unfortunately, led to words with Constable Sharpe. Dr. Hughes was forced to intervene and acquiesce to his demand.”

Emma waggled a hand. “I can understand Mr. Elton’s objections, since one wouldn’t wish to leave the poor woman on the floor like a heap of discarded clothing.”

“As can I. But in the case of murder, the victim is usually kept at the scene of the crime until the coroner’s jury has had a chance to view the body.”

“How utterly ghastly.”

“We would have placed Mrs. Elton on a table and covered her but would also have done our best to preserve the scene. Elton was passionate in his objections, however, stating that it would be a desecration to the church and to his wife’s dignity. It was hard not to see his point.”

Emma grimaced as she reached for a macaroon on her husband’s plate. “Poor Mr. Elton. What a dreadful scene.”

“Thankfully, once he convinced Dr. Hughes to have the body conveyed to the vicarage, he recovered somewhat. In fact, he supervised his own footmen in transporting Mrs. Elton home.”

She thoughtfully chewed on her macaroon. “Mr. Elton was all but hysterical when Harriet and I were there. I didn’t expect him to recover so quickly.”

Her husband eyed her. “Unlike some who shall remain unnamed.”

“George, if you were murdered, I’m sure I would lose my appetite.”

He flashed her a wry smile before putting down his teacup and stretching out his legs, his booted feet almost brushing against her skirt. He fell into a brown study, as if mulling over an obscure point.

She nudged him. “What are you thinking?”

He glanced up. “I was pondering the Eltons’ relationship. It was rather an odd one, you must admit.”

“Really? I thought they were perfectly suited to each other. Both condescending and petty in exactly the same way.”

When her husband raised his eyebrows, Emma wrinkled her nose. “And I am clearly a terrible person, given that poor Mrs. Elton was bashed over the head with a candlestick just hours ago.”

“Yes, I am dreadfully shocked.”

“I imagine you’re used to me by now. But why would you be thinking about their relationship in the first place?”

“Sometimes I have wondered if there was any true affection between them.”

Emma thought about that. “I think that cannot be true. They were always quite pleased with each other, you must admit. Mr. Elton took a great deal of pride in his wife.”

“Indeed. Pride seemed to be at the center of their relationship—both in each other and in themselves.”

“That’s not surprising, given their respective temperaments.”

George studied her with a rather inscrutable expression. “Sometimes I believe his previous affections for you were more genuine.”

She scoffed. “Mr. Elton was in love with my position in society and my money. Once I refused him, any affection he felt was transformed into disdain.”

“He certainly sought comfort from you this afternoon.”

“Please don’t remind me. George, that was so terribly awkward. But I’m sure he couldn’t help himself, poor man.”

“I suppose,” he said before once more falling silent.

Emma nudged him again. “But truly, what is to be done? As magistrate, you must oversee this dreadful affair, on top of all your other responsibilities. I cannot think how you’ll manage.”

“I’ll get to that in a minute. First, tell me about Miss Bates. How did she take the news?”

“Very poorly. We needed both smelling salts and sherry to produce any semblance of calm.”

“I cannot imagine your father responded to that scene with equanimity.”

“Miss Bates was so undone that it seemed to startle Father out of himself. I doubt he’s ever seen her in such a state before.”

George rubbed his chin. “It’s rather odd, isn’t it? While I accept that she is a sensitive soul, Miss Bates was not particularly close to Mrs. Elton.”

“Perhaps it was simply encountering so heinous a crime against someone she knew.”

“Still, one cannot help but wonder at so dramatic a reaction.”

She waggled a hand. “How does one react appropriately to a murder, though? I hardly think there are standard expectations in that regard.”

“I suppose you’re right,” George replied.

“I do not relish having the right of it in this situation, I assure you. So, what happens next?”

“The empaneling of the coroner’s jury, in order to determine if Mrs. Elton was the victim of homicide.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “George, I found the poor woman dead on the floor, with a bloody candlestick nearby. Surely there can be no doubt that it was murder.”

“None, but the decision still rests with the coroner’s jury. The law is particular in that regard.”

“Did the good doctor arrive at any conclusions as to the cause of death?”

“The blow to the head seemed decisive to him.”

She frowned. “What about the marks on Mrs. Elton’s neck? The bruises were pronounced by the time I left the church.”

“Dr. Hughes suspects those marks were left when a necklace was taken from her throat.”

“I suppose that could be true. I wonder what necklace she was wearing?”

“Mr. Elton thought perhaps she was wearing her pearls.”

Now that was surprising. “If it’s the necklace I’m thinking of, it was a wedding gift from Mr. Elton.”

And a valuable gift it was—a chandelier-style gold necklace decorated with pearls. Mrs. Elton had always taken great pride in it and would extol its value to anyone who would listen. It was, however, quite formal and not the sort of piece that one generally wore in the afternoon.

“Do you think it was taken before or after she was struck with the candlestick?” she asked.

“I cannot say.”

If it was that particular necklace, it was certainly not prone to breakage. Ripping it from the throat of a struggling woman would be no easy task.

“And Dr. Hughes doesn’t think the marks could have been caused by anything else?”

“He didn’t say so.”

Emma opened her eyes wide. “But, George, the bruises almost appeared as if she’d been—” The macaroon in her stomach suddenly curdled.

“Throttled?” he grimly finished.

“Yes. And surely that would have occurred before she was bashed over the head? What would be the point in . . .” She swallowed. “In performing such an act if she were already unconscious or dead?”

George shrugged. “No point at all.”

Images of Mrs. Elton’s last moments sprang to life in her mind. Outside the church, Highbury had gone about its business, its residents shopping at Ford’s or at the bakery, quaffing an ale at the Crown, or making afternoon calls to friends. All while a desperate struggle played out in the peaceful setting of a church, where one should feel utterly safe.

Even now, on a warm summer’s eve, while the sparrows twittered in the garden, it seemed impossible to imagine such a horror.

Yet no amount of pretending could wish it away.

“That poor woman,” she quietly said.

Her husband rubbed a weary hand over his face. “There is much to be done these next several days, Emma. I will be out of the house a good part of the time.”

“I know, dearest, and you’re not to worry about that. I can manage whatever domestic affairs arise here or at Donwell.”

“I will most likely need your assistance in making the funeral arrangements. I doubt Mr. Elton will be in a proper state to do so, and we must find a curate to conduct the service.”

“Of course, George. But for tonight, you must try to get some rest. Surely you are now finished for the day.”

He mustered a rueful smile. “I regret to inform you that Dr. Hughes will be stopping by shortly to give me a more detailed report. He will also take your statement while events are still fresh in your mind.”

Emma sighed. “I suppose that’s wise, although I don’t stand in danger of forgetting anything about this dreadful experience.”

Every detail was engraved on her mind, including Mrs. Elton’s baleful glare of death. She suspected that expression would haunt her dreams for quite some time.

“You’ll need to give testimony at the inquest,” George added.

She stared at him, dismay welling up. The notion of reliving one of the worst days of her life in a public setting was appalling. “My written statement would not be sufficient?”

“I know testifying is an unpleasant prospect, but it cannot be helped. You and Harriet were the first witnesses, and you did discover the murder weapon. Your powers of observation are acute and will prove useful to the jury.”

She sighed. “I wish they’d been less acute, then. And the mind reels to think of Harriet on the witness stand.”

“You will help her through it.”

Emma doubted that even she was up to the challenge of helping Harriet construct a coherent narrative. “Dearest, the poor girl spent a good part of the time with her head between her knees.”

George huffed out a laugh and then rose to his feet when a quiet knock sounded on the door. “Enter.”

Simon, their senior footman, came into the room. “Dr. Hughes to see you, sir.”

“Please show him into my office. Mrs. Knightley and I will be along momentarily.”

“Very good, sir.”

Emma cocked her head. “Your office is rather small, George, and not particularly comfortable.”

“Dr. Hughes tends to ramble on. If we make him too comfortable, he’ll be inclined to linger. I have had quite enough of murder for one day and would like to spend at least part of the evening in quiet, with my wife.”

“Then I will decline to offer any refreshments, although my reputation as a hostess is bound to suffer.”

“I’m willing to take that risk.” He offered her a hand. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Yes, I do believe my loins are properly girded.”

She came to her feet and paused only to shake out her skirts and straighten her collar.

“It’s best not to jest with Dr. Hughes, Emma. He can be a trifle officious, and he takes his duties very seriously.”

“George, even you cannot believe I would joke about murder.”

He simply raised his eyebrows.

She held up a hand, as if taking an oath. “I promise to behave and to be the soul of brevity.”

“Thank you. If you grow tired or find his questions too unpleasant, you must feel free to stop. I will not have you distressed by this, my darling. You have had enough of a shock for one day.”

“For a year, more likely.”

She took her husband’s arm as she attempted to order her thoughts and chase away the niggling questions that circled the edges of her mind, refusing to be pinned down.