Murder in Highbury (Emma Knightley Mystery #1)

CHAPTER 7

C HAPTER 7

E mma pushed away from the vicarage door. “I certainly didn’t expect Mr. Elton to blurt out that his wife and Miss Bates had been quarreling. From what Miss Bates told me this morning, it was distressing but not of great import, so I’m surprised he mentioned it.”

Now, though, it seemed that there might have been a serious falling-out, and that could cast Miss Bates in a suspicious light.

“Mr. Elton seemed to take a similar view of the matter,” he replied.

“Not Mr. Suckling,” she gloomily said as she took his arm and started down the lane.

“Anyone who knows Miss Bates will realize it would be ridiculous to suspect her of any sort of crime, much less murder.”

“I suppose it was rather reckless of me to raise the issue. I’m sorry, George.”

“You raised an issue that needed to be addressed. Certainly, Constable Sharpe will ask Mr. Elton if his wife had enemies. And he’ll be asking others about that, too, no doubt.”

“He might be surprised to discover she had a few.”

He scoffed. “Surely not enemies. Rather, people who just didn’t like her.”

“That would be a fairly long list. George, if suspicion points to Miss Bates, I cannot think what will happen. She is incapable of defending herself against any sort of charge. I do hope you’ll be present when she is questioned. You’ll need to help her, because she seems incapable of constructing a coherent narrative of her actions.”

Perhaps she doesn’t have one.

That alarming thought almost had her tripping over her feet.

“Miss Bates was simply an unfortunate bystander, and that will become clear soon enough,” he replied.

They set a leisurely pace along the lane. It was a beautiful afternoon, and to rush toward the next fraught encounter seemed a sacrilege. Larks twittered in the hedgerows, and the summery smell of mown hay competed with the scent of wild roses edging the lane. Emma wished she could wind up time like a ball of yarn and move back to the day before the murder. Then she could pretend that the greatest crisis she faced was a cow wandering into the kitchen garden or her father’s dismay over Mrs. Goddard eating a second piece of cake.

“I’m curious to hear your thoughts on Mr. Suckling,” George said, breaking the fragile tranquility.

Emma grimaced. “Frankly, I found him dreadfully rude and hard-hearted. By the way, you were splendid in putting him in his place.”

“If you hadn’t been present, I would have used stronger language.”

“If I hadn’t been present, there likely would have been no need to employ such measures. Mr. Suckling doesn’t appear to like women—or, at least, one woman in particular.”

No doubt Mrs. Elton had shared her low opinion of Emma with the Sucklings.

“His behavior toward you was certainly inappropriate, but it was his reaction to his brother-in-law that I found most surprising.”

“Yes, his rudeness toward poor Mr. Elton was very awkward.” She frowned. “It’s rather mystifying, because I’d never sensed that there was anything but excellent relations between the families.”

“Perhaps Mr. Suckling is rattled by circumstances and grieving the death of his sister-in-law.”

“He didn’t seem grief-stricken to me. Rather, I sensed a marked impatience with the entire situation.”

“True,” George admitted. “Certainly, Mr. Elton was displeased with his attitude.”

As they reached the end of Vicarage Lane, her mind landed on another aspect of the discussion that had troubled her.

“Did it strike you as strange that Mr. Suckling wished for a private funeral?” she asked. “Even Mr. Elton seems to want something very simple. Yet I cannot imagine Mrs. Elton would have approved of such spare arrangements.”

If Mrs. Elton were able to plan her own funeral, Emma was certain it would include an elaborate cortège, a lengthy service, and as many mourners as possible.

George nodded. “It did. Considering that the poor woman is the vicar’s wife, one would think Mr. Elton would display a nicer attention to detail. But I suppose there is bound to be some natural discomfort. Death at such a young age would be distressing under any circumstance—and doubly so in this case.”

“All the more reason to honor her passing. Mr. Elton did seem genuinely grateful, though, that we offered to hold the reception at Donwell.”

“Thus saving him a significant cost, something which should win the approval of Mr. Suckling. We must also ensure that the reception is as plain as possible, although naturally in the best of taste.”

When Emma couldn’t hold back a laugh, it shocked Farmer Mitchell, who happened to be passing by. He cast her a startled glance before politely tipping his hat.

“That was positively wicked of you, George,” she said after they’d acknowledged the farmer’s greeting. “To make me laugh in the middle of the street when everyone is so upset about Mrs. Elton’s dreadful demise.”

“I’m sure Highbury will return to normal once the inquest and funeral are over. What does not directly affect us fades quickly from our minds.”

She looked askance at him. “That’s a rather cynical view of things, George.”

“But true, nonetheless. Now, I must be away to meet with Dr. Hughes. We need to go over the jury lists for the inquest. Are you returning to Hartfield?”

“I must stop at Ford’s. Father is in dire need of gloves, so I thought to pick them up and then return home in time for tea with the Westons.”

“Then allow me the pleasure of serving as your escort.”

He ushered her along the street, exchanging pleasantries with various locals. Emma was pleased to note the respect accorded to her husband. It was based, she knew, not on what he was, but on who he was. Once again, she congratulated herself for having the good sense to fall in love with so kind and generous a man.

They had just passed the Crown Inn when Harriet came rushing toward them, her bonnet ribbons flapping behind her.

“Mrs. Knightley,” she puffed. “I was just coming to find you.”

“Goodness, Harriet, whatever can be the matter?”

Her friend bobbed George a little curtsy. “Forgive me, Mr. Knightley. But I need to speak with Mrs. Knightley quite urgently.”

Emma stifled a sigh. What now?

“Then I’ll be on my way,” George said. “That is, unless you think you need me, Emma.”

“Thank you, but I will manage.”

“I’ll see you back at Hartfield, then, but not before dinner. Dr. Hughes might wish to address the issue you and I talked about as soon as possible, and that might take some time.”

Interrogating Miss Bates, in other words.

After tipping his hat to Harriet, he set off at a brisk pace.

“Harriet, what has put you all in a fever?” Emma asked. “Is everyone well at Abbey Mill Farm?”

“Yes, Mrs. Knightley. I didn’t mean to alarm you.” She flashed a happy smile. “In fact, one of Robert’s heifers calved this morning. He bought the cow on Mr. Knightley’s recommendation, so as you can imagine, the calf is splendid. And it’s ever so much nicer to think about that sweet calf than poor Mrs. Elton lying dead in the church.”

Emma blinked at Harriet’s artless reply. “Er, that’s very nice, dear. But why are you in such a bother?”

“I was going to Ford’s to pick up some cambric when I ran into Miss Anne Cox. She was going to Ford’s, too, so I could hardly avoid her.” She grimaced. “I don’t think she likes me. She’ll make cutting remarks but then says she’s only joking.”

Emma patted her arm. “She’s jealous because you married Robert. Don’t forget that she once expressed interest in him. I dare say she cannot forgive you for snatching him up from under her rather long nose.”

Harriet’s eyes rounded with shock. “But Robert was never interested in Miss Cox! He told me so himself.”

Emma truly loved her friend, but sometimes conducting a sensible conversation with her was a trifle challenging. “It was simply a figure of speech, dear. You must put Miss Cox in her place, Harriet. There is no need to tolerate her pert comments.”

“But I can never think of anything to say in the moment. I tried writing cutting remarks in my scrapbook, but when I see Miss Cox, I always forget them.”

“Never mind. I’m going to Ford’s, so come with me. If Miss Cox is still there, I will make any necessary cutting remarks.”

Harriet flapped a hand. “That’s not really what I wanted to tell you. Miss Cox also said some awful things about poor Miss Bates. She said Miss Bates had something to do with Mrs. Elton’s murder.”

If Emma were inclined to salty oaths, she would be employing one right now. “What exactly did she say?”

“That her mother saw Miss Bates running away from the church on the afternoon of the murder. She was in a terrible fluster and acting very suspicious—like she’d seen a ghost, Mrs. Cox said.”

“Not a ghost, but a dead body.”

Harriet gasped. “Mrs. Knightley, whatever do you mean?”

“Where is Miss Cox now?”

“Still at Ford’s. We saw Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Gilbert through the window, and she was very eager to speak with them. I didn’t know what to do, so I was running to Hartfield to find you.”

Emma started to march her in the direction of Ford’s. “That was very quick thinking, Harriet.”

“But whatever did you mean about Miss Bates?”

“She was indeed at the church. In fact, she discovered Mrs. Elton’s body a few minutes before we did.”

Harriet practically skidded to a halt in the middle of the square. “What?”

“I’ll explain later. That dreadful Anne Cox will undoubtedly spread very unhelpful rumors if we don’t stop her.”

They hurried along until they reached Ford’s, where Emma paused to catch her breath. She must be calm and act as if she and Harriet had simply happened upon whatever conversation was taking place there.

As casually as she could, she gazed into the wide bow windows of Highbury’s principal millinery shop, pretending to inspect the display of bonnets. What she saw inside was alarming—Anne and her sister, Susan, in close conversation with Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Gilbert. Mrs. Ford hovered on the edges of the conversation, unnecessarily rearranging a pile of gloves.

“Blast,” she muttered.

“Mrs. Knightley!” Harriet exclaimed.

“Now, Harriet, when we go in, we must pretend that nothing is wrong. We must not inflame scurrilous gossip.”

“But how will we do that?”

“Leave it to me. Just act as if we were going about our business and happened to stumble upon the conversation. Understand?”

Harriet looked dubious. But she always trusted Emma, so she squared her shoulders as if going into battle. “Lead on, Mrs. Knightley.”

Emma swept into the shop, Harriet in her wake. Anne and Susan spun around, their eyes bulging like those of sheep startled by a loud bang. Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Gilbert also looked rather, well, sheepish, which confirmed Emma’s suspicions.

“Good morning,” she said with a bright smile.

Mrs. Cole came to her, concern marking her pleasant features. “Mrs. Knightley, such a dreadful business, and such a shock for you and poor Harriet. We have just been talking about it, and we are all quite worried on your behalf.”

“We are both perfectly well, Mrs. Cole, thank you,” Emma replied. “And how are your daughters? I hear from Mrs. Weston that they are making great strides on the pianoforte.”

Mrs. Cole looked a trifle daunted by such an ordinary reply, but she managed a smile and replied that her daughters were developing into regular prodigies.

Mr. Cole had been successful in trade, and he and his family lived in a style second only to that of Hartfield. Since they had a great love of society, they were forever hosting dinners, card parties, and musical evenings. Emma and her father had eventually been drawn into their social set through the intervention of Frank Churchill and the Westons. And although Mrs. Cole had a marked tendency to gossip—a flaw Emma had to admit she also possessed on occasion—she was a genuinely kind and charitable person, as was her husband.

“And how is Mr. Cole?” Emma asked after Mrs. Cole had finally run out of things to say about her daughters.

That proved to be a disastrous inquiry. “Very disturbed, I’m sorry to say. Dr. Hughes has issued his jury summons for the inquest, and Mr. Cole is on the list. We are all of us very upset by Mrs. Elton’s murder, of course, but Mr. Cole is particularly engaged with business at this time of year. A jury summons is quite inconvenient, Mrs. Knightley.”

Not as inconvenient as having one’s head bashed in.

Emma mustered a consoling smile. “It’s a distressing business, but the inquest should go quickly, since only a determination of murder must be made. There is no doubt of that.”

“I should hope so, for Mr. Elton’s sake,” Susan chimed in. “It cannot be very nice to have poor Mrs. Elton lying in the vicarage drawing room in all this heat while they wait for the burial.”

“Hideous,” Anne commented with a certain degree of relish.

Both Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Gilbert looked aghast, and Harriet turned rather green.

Susan, however, was oblivious to the effect of her unfortunate remark. And why she must wear that particular shade of puce with her freckled complexion was an enduring mystery. Then again, neither of the sisters had ever suffered from an excess of good taste.

“I should think it would be very exciting to sit on the coroner’s jury,” Anne said. “You get to hear all the gory details and see the body. It’s so horribly thrilling, just like one of Mrs. Radcliffe novels.”

“There is nothing thrilling about it,” Emma replied in blighting tones.

“I shouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy,” Harriet quietly said.

Anne flipped a dangling curl over her shoulder. “La, Harriet, I didn’t take you for such a chicken heart. I’m sure I should have been very brave in your situation.”

Emma had to resist the urge to box the girl’s ears. “Mrs. Martin acted with commendable courage in a dreadful situation. And I can only hope that everyone in Highbury will behave with the same sensitivity she has also displayed in the aftermath.”

Anne bristled. “I’m sure Susan and I would have done everything proper if we’d discovered the body. You may be sure of that, Mrs. Knightley.”

Emma turned her back on her to address Mrs. Ford. “My father is in need of a new pair of gloves, ma’am. Nothing too heavy, but a nice, soft kid that would be suitable for summer wear.”

The woman sprang into action. “If you’ll step over to the shelves, I can show you a lovely selection that’s come in just this week from London.”

Emma took her time perusing the gloves, hoping the Cox girls would vacate the premises. But they continued to linger by a collection of plumed bonnets, carelessly trying them on and exchanging whispers. Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Gilbert, meanwhile, had fallen into a fairly innocuous conversation about the upcoming funeral.

Emma inspected a pair of dove-gray gloves. “What do you think of these, Harriet?”

Harriet gave the question her full consideration. “They’re very nice, but do you think—”

“La, how can you think about gloves when there’s a desperate killer running about Highbury,” Anne loudly exclaimed. “It makes my blood quiver like icicles just thinking about it.”

Emma raised her eyebrows. “Miss Cox, icicles do not quiver. As to your other point, I hardly think you are correct.”

Susan imitated her sister’s defiant stance. “But Miss Bates was running all about the village around the time of the murder. Acting very oddly, according to Mama.”

“Surely you cannot be suggesting that Miss Bates had anything to do with the murder,” Mrs. Cole exclaimed, clearly shocked.

“Why couldn’t she?” Anne boldly stated. “She’s poor, and everyone knows that poor people will do anything to survive.”

There were gasps all around.

Emma looked down her nose at Anne. “What a decidedly uncharitable thing to say.”

“Well, Mama did see Miss Bates run down the street around the time of the murder,” Susan said in a defensive tone.

“Acting very suspiciously,” Anne added.

Before Emma could respond, Mrs. Ford dismayingly entered the fray.

“I’m afraid Miss Cox is correct,” she said. “I also saw Miss Bates that day—twice, in fact. She passed by on the way to the church just before two. She seemed very distracted.”

“Miss Bates is often distracted,” Emma pointed out.

“True, Mrs. Knightley. But I stepped outside to speak to her. She had ordered yarn to knit some gloves for her mother. But when I called to say it was in, she pretended not to hear me.”

“Perhaps she didn’t actually hear you.”

“But some thirty minutes later, she returned this way, actually running. She seemed . . .” Mrs. Ford grimaced. “Distraught.”

Emma tried not to grit her teeth. “Mrs. Ford, surely you are not suggesting that Miss Bates had anything to do with Mrs. Elton’s demise. Miss Bates and Mrs. Elton were very friendly with each other.”

At least until recently.

“Pish,” Anne tossed off. “Everyone knows that’s not true, especially after Jane married Frank Churchill. Jane and Miss Bates made a fool out of Mrs. Elton. And Miss Bates acting so high and mighty about Jane and Frank, when it was really quite scandalous what they did.”

Susan nodded. “A secret engagement. I remember Mama said she would die with shame if her daughters ever acted like that. She also said Mrs. Elton was—”

Emma interrupted her. “Perhaps your mother should consider saying less on the matter. Nor can I believe that your father, a solicitor, would be pleased to hear that you were spreading unpleasant gossip about Miss Bates.”

Anne looked defensive. “It’s not as if anyone would actually blame Miss Bates or anyone else for murdering Mrs. Elton. She was always lording it over the rest of us, as if she were too good for Highbury.”

“That is quite enough, Anne,” Mrs. Cole said with heavy disapproval. “Mrs. Knightley is correct to say that your father would be most displeased with this foolish conversation.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cole.” Emma turned to Harriet. “Dearest, have you found everything you were looking for?”

“Er . . . ,” her friend replied, caught off guard.

“Excellent. Then we shall be on our way.”

She took Harriet by the arm and marched her out of the shop. The door slammed shut behind them, with the little shop bell jingling frantically.

“Oh, Mrs. Knightley,” Harriet said as she hurried to keep pace with Emma. “You were splendid. I was so upset that I could hardly string two thoughts together.”

“It was an utterly stupid conversation.”

And one that could potentially do a great deal of damage to Miss Bates, especially once it became known that she had been present at the scene of the crime.

“But you gave Anne such a splendid set-down.”

“I was tempted to box her ears. Only the knowledge that I might be charged with assault prevented me from doing so. It would be very embarrassing for Mr. Knightley if I were to land in prison.”

Harriet giggled.

Emma slowed her pace as the flames of her anger died down. “What a trial those two girls must be to their parents.”

Harriet cast her a troubled glance. “But Miss Bates is involved, isn’t she? You said so yourself, Mrs. Knightley. Can you tell me how?”

She nodded. “Come to Hartfield and have a cup of tea. I’ll explain everything there. It was all an unfortunate misunderstanding, of course, but it’s still worrisome.”

And it was also worrisome that despite her best efforts to nip the ugly gossip in the bud, it would surely continue to spread.

Miss Bates, Emma feared, was in rather serious trouble.