Murder in Highbury (Emma Knightley Mystery #1)

CHAPTER 12

C HAPTER 12

E mma led Harriet to a wrought-iron bench at one end of Donwell’s gardens, underneath a majestic oak. They sat in silence, absorbing the peaceful vista. Below the formal gardens were the meadows, bound by avenues of the noble oaks and beeches that had been planted long ago. Some of the younger folk walked along the shaded avenues or strolled toward the strawberry beds and the lime walk beyond that. Still, not many had ventured out into the bright sunlight, leaving Emma and her friend with much-needed quiet and privacy.

When Harriet let out a melancholy sigh, Emma stirred.

“Dearest, whatever is the matter?”

“I don’t think Robert loves me anymore,” Harriet blurted out. “And it’s just the most horrible thing I could ever imagine.”

This was not what Emma had been expecting. It took her a moment to collect her thoughts.

“Harriet, I have never met a man more in love than Robert Martin is with you. Have you forgotten that he waited for you for almost a year while you fell in love with two other men?”

“But I fell in love with those other men only because you encouraged me.”

While that was true—although she’d certainly never encouraged Harriet to fall in love with George—Emma refused to go off track. “Everyone knows how much Robert loves you. How could you arrive at such an odd conclusion?”

“Because he’s been flirting with Anne Cox. He even did it right in front of me!”

Then she buried her face in her hands and wept.

Emma sighed. Robert Martin was a good man of common sense, but no one would ever accuse him of an excess of imagination. The poor fellow likely wouldn’t have any idea if Anne was flirting with him or merely discussing the state of his crops.

“Now, Harriet, let us be sensible. Although I do not doubt that Anne tried to flirt with Robert, I’m sure that he was simply being polite.”

“But you didn’t see them. It was so . . . so blatant.”

Emma found herself once more longing for that glass of wine. “When did this supposed flirtation take place?”

“They had a very long chat before the funeral. Then, after the service, when I stopped to talk to Mrs. Goddard, they began flirting again. Anne even asked to borrow his handkerchief, because she’d forgotten hers at home.” Harriet suddenly scowled. “She wasn’t crying or even the least bit upset. I’m sure she wanted it as a love token.”

Emma had to repress an impulse to laugh at the notion of Robert Martin’s handkerchief serving as a love token for anyone. “If you were talking to Mrs. Goddard, how do you know she asked to borrow his handkerchief?”

“Because when I joined them, Anne made a point of using it to wipe her eyes. Then, when she tried to give it back to Robert, he insisted she keep it.”

“Very sensible of him. I certainly wouldn’t want my handkerchief back after a vulgar person like Anne Cox had used it.”

That gave Harriet pause. “But that’s just the sort of thing I used to do when I fancied myself in love with Mr. Elton.”

In the throes of young love, the girl had filched a few souvenirs from Mr. Elton, including a bit of leftover sticking plaster. Such an item had struck Emma as decidedly unromantic, but tastes obviously varied.

“I remember. Still, you didn’t make a show of it, which Anne was obviously doing to annoy you.”

“When we were waiting for Mr. Elton and Mr. Suckling, Robert told me that he felt sorry for Anne because she was so distressed, and that she was too tenderhearted for such sad scenes.” Harriet gave a defiant little sniff. “Which suggests that I don’t have a tender heart.”

Emma marveled, and not for the first time, at how utterly dimwitted men could be when it came to women. “I would wager that it was Anne who made a point of speaking such drivel. It certainly doesn’t sound like the sort of thing Robert would say.”

“I . . . I suppose you’re right.”

“Anne was simply playing on Robert’s good nature, dear. It has absolutely nothing to do with you or his feelings for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. And might I just point out that you are the prettiest and the nicest girl in all of Highbury. You can be sure Robert is well aware of that.”

Her friend grimaced. “But later he talked to her for the longest time, when he was supposed to be fetching me a cider—which he forgot to do.”

Emma studied her for a few moments. “Harriet, did you say something to Robert about this?”

“I . . . I might have.”

“What, exactly, did you say?”

“I simply asked him why he was flirting with Anne.”

“And how did he respond?”

“He just stared at me.”

“I’m sure he was stunned by the question.”

“Then I asked him if he still loved me, and he just told me not to be silly.”

Once more, Emma pondered the idiocy of men. “Harriet, I am dead certain he meant that you were silly to even ask the question, since of course he loves you. Still, I can understand why you were upset. Men are quite dreadful at expressing their emotions, you know.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“How then did this regrettable discussion with Robert conclude?”

“Well . . . I suppose I ran away from him and came to find you.”

“Dearest, this really is just a tempest in a teapot. Anne is jealous because she fancied Robert for herself, so she’s trying to cause trouble. It’s truly no more complicated than that.”

Harriet rubbed the tip of her nose. “Truly?”

“I promise,” Emma firmly said. “And you are understandably worn down by the travails of the past few days, as well as by the funeral service.”

“Yes, it was terribly sad today. I don’t know how Mr. Elton is able to bear it.”

That was exactly the transition Emma had been looking for. “How was he during the service?”

“He seemed terribly cut up. But very dignified, too.”

“And was Mr. Suckling equally cut up?”

“No, although I suppose he wouldn’t be, since he was only her brother-in-law. In fact, he seemed irritated and was quite snappish when Mr. Cox and Mr. Gilbert offered their condolences.”

Emma frowned. “How odd. I always thought Mrs. Elton and her brother-in-law were close. And what of the arrangements themselves? From what Mr. Knightley tells me, they were rather simple.”

Harriet pursed her lips. “I don’t really know, since I’ve been to only one other funeral in my life. Mrs. Gilbert did say she was surprised to see such a plain affair, though, especially because Mrs. Elton was the wife of the vicar.”

“Yes, that is odd.”

“Mr. Suckling wore a silk armband and a silk hatband, but Mr. Elton’s servants had only black cotton armbands. Mrs. Cole was quite struck by that.”

“What about the female servants?”

“The housekeeper had a black dress. The maids did not have proper mourning clothes, and so were not to come, according to Mrs. Cole.”

Another mystery. There should have been plenty of time to acquire the appropriate mourning clothes for the servants.

“Who else attended from the staff?”

Harriet shook her head. “Only the two footmen. I didn’t see the coachman or groom.”

“Good heavens.”

“Perhaps Mr. Elton was too overcome with grief to manage anything better.”

Perhaps, but the fact that both the deceased’s husband and brother-in-law put on such a poor showing defied feeling and custom.

Emma pondered the odd lack of decorum that seemed to have afflicted so many in their little village. It was as if the intrusion of violence into their orderly lives had set Highbury and its residents all askew.

When Harriet let out a wistful sigh, Emma recalled herself. Her friend was clearly wishing to be with her husband—or, at least, to keep him away from Anne.

She stood and pulled the girl to her feet. “Harriet, go find Robert and ask him to take you home. The past several days have been very trying for you, and you should get some rest.”

Harriet looked torn. “I think I should stay, in case you need help.”

“Everything is perfectly under control. You’ve paid your respects to Mr. Elton, and there is certainly no need to spend more time around the Cox sisters. I cannot imagine how their mother puts up with them. If I were that poor woman, I’d be compelled to run away from home.”

As intended, that produced a giggle from Harriet.

Emma gave her friend a little push. “Off with you, dear.”

“Aren’t you coming back to the house?”

“I must find Mr. Knightley. I believe he’s in one of the gardens with guests.”

Even if she didn’t find George, a quiet stroll and a little think would be most welcome.

After hugging Harriet farewell, Emma set off for the lime walk. George may have taken some of the male guests for an excursion around the grounds, and that particular view was one of the best.

As she passed the strawberry beds, she exchanged greetings with Mrs. Goddard and a few of her teachers, who were strolling between the rows. Thankfully, no children were out trampling William Larkins’s beloved strawberry plants.

Emma shaded her eyes and peered ahead to the lime walk.

Drat.

There was no sign of George, so she supposed she should return to the great hall.

Suddenly, she heard angry voices rising from behind a stand of oak trees beyond the walk. One belonged to Mr. Elton. The other voice was belligerent and easily recognized.

Mr. Suckling.

She hesitated. While George would certainly counsel her to leave the men to their private discussion, Mr. Suckling struck her as the sort of man who could stoop to berating a grieving widower. She found the man’s bullying ways infuriating.

After stepping onto the grass, she sidled between the trees, where she could ascertain that Mr. Suckling was indeed upbraiding poor Mr. Elton.

“This is all your fault,” he barked. “Thank God Selina stayed in London, so she didn’t have to see how poorly you’ve managed things. Not one blasted funeral memento, not even for Knightley or Weston.”

“May I remind you that I was in the unenviable position of overseeing my own wife’s funeral service and committal?” Mr. Elton replied with dignity. “Be assured that I will see to the appropriate mementos in due course. And I fail to see why you should blame me for anything about this dreadful situation.”

“Because you were responsible for her, you fool. What Augusta saw in this ridiculous place—or you—is beyond me.”

Righteous anger almost propelled Emma from her hiding place, but burgeoning curiosity held her back.

She crept forward and peered around the trunk of a large oak. The men stood several feet away, their backs half-turned to her. Still, she could see their faces. Mr. Suckling’s beefy features were flushed and shiny from heat and an anger that all but shimmered in the air. Mr. Elton, by contrast, stood quietly, his face cast in shadow by his wide cleric’s hat.

“Augusta and I loved each other,” the vicar said in a flat tone. “We had a very happy marriage, and I doubt I will ever recover from this blow.”

“For a man who’s so devastated, you’ve made a bloody poor showing of her funeral. As you just pointed out, you’re the blasted vicar! And now you tell me you’re not going to place a commemorative monument inside the church? Why the bloody hell not?”

“Because it’s an old church, Horace, and there is no room left for a proper monument. And while you may be cavalier with my wife’s money, I will not spend it on a shabby memorial in a forgotten corner of the church.”

Mr. Suckling chopped a sharp hand. “Stop blithering nonsense. You need to honor Augusta’s memory in the proper fashion. Selina and I insist on it.”

“Augusta’s resting place is in the best part of the churchyard, under that beautiful beech tree. She was very fond of that tree. She said it was quite the best beech in all of Highbury.”

“She didn’t give a damn about trees.”

“Perhaps you didn’t know your sister-in-law as well as you think.”

Mr. Suckling’s only reply was a derisive snort.

“As well,” the vicar continued, “I have every intention of erecting a handsome memorial over her grave—with your help, of course. I would think that you and dear Selina would be happy to contribute to a fine monument to honor Augusta. An angel, perhaps, one in mourning for . . .”

When he choked off his words, Emma couldn’t help but feel pity. She also felt a wee bit of shame that she—and George, too, in all fairness—had been so dismissive of the Eltons’ marital relationship.

“I have no intention of helping you with Augusta’s memorial,” Mr. Suckling retorted. “That is your responsibility.”

Mr. Elton seemed to steady himself. “I cannot imagine Selina will agree with you. But if you choose not to honor your sister-in-law, then I will select something not quite so grand. I’m sure Augusta would have preferred that, anyway. She had quite a horror of excessive displays of finery, you know.”

Emma had indeed heard Mrs. Elton express a horror of finery—while wearing more finery than any other woman in the village.

Mr. Suckling snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Have it your way, but know that Selina will not be pleased.”

“Selina could not even be bothered to make the short trip to Highbury,” Mr. Elton angrily replied, finally showing some temper. “So, please, no lectures on what Augusta preferred. As her spouse, I cherished her more than anyone.”

“Then why in blazes did you let her go traipsing all over Highbury, wearing her most valuable piece of jewelry? No wonder she found herself set upon by a thief. I’ve no doubt this scabby place is full of them.”

Well, really.

If there was anyone acting in a scabby fashion, it was Mr. Suckling.

“If Augusta wished to wear her jewelry somewhere, it was no business of mine to tell her otherwise. Besides, I hardly notice such things. I am not a man of fashion, Horace. I am a simple country vicar.”

Now, that was a bit much. Mr. Elton was well aware of the finer things in life. He was also ambitious—which Emma discovered in a most unpleasant manner when he’d proposed to her.

“I don’t care what she might have wished,” Suckling retorted. “It was damned careless to allow her to wear the blasted thing so freely. And I’ll wager you could use such a valuable piece right now—to buy a fine headstone, for instance.”

Mr. Elton bristled. “If you are suggesting that I would sell those pearls, you are much mistaken. That necklace was my wedding present to her. I would never dispose of something that meant a great deal to both of us.”

“You’d be a fool not to if you’re strapped for funds.”

“If there is any question of that, it rests on you. Not on Augusta, and certainly not on me.”

By now, Emma’s mind was reeling from the variety of accusations being tossed about. None of it made sense.

“I have had enough of this ridiculous conversation,” Mr. Suckling said in a haughty tone. “I must be off to London. Selina will be waiting for me.”

“Your presence will, of course, be missed,” Mr. Elton replied, equally haughtily.

“I’ll return for the reading of Augusta’s will, so you won’t have to miss me for long.”

A tense silence ensued.

“There is no will,” the vicar finally replied.

His brother-in-law reared back, startled. “Of course she had a will. Augusta told me that she intended to draw one up once the marriage settlements had been agreed to.”

“Well, she didn’t.”

Mr. Suckling looked flummoxed. “But that makes no sense. She had assets at her disposal that must be accounted for. Her jewelry, for one thing, and family heirlooms that I know to be of value.”

“All I can tell you is that Augusta managed her own affairs as she saw fit. I trusted her completely to do so.”

“What does the coroner have to say? By law, he’s responsible for her effects.”

“The issue hasn’t come up. As you might have noticed, he and I both had other matters to attend to—including a murder inquest.”

His brother-in-law stared at him, clearly incredulous. “Philip, you are a fool. And do not think we are finished with this subject. When I return, I will want clear answers about Augusta’s estate.”

“As for that, you should be the one providing answers to me in that regard.”

“I have better things to do than stand here and listen to foolish innuendos. I will speak with you upon my return.”

As quietly as she could, Emma scrambled back to the graveled path. She pinned a smile on her face and did her best to give the impression that she had just this moment arrived at the lime walk.

Mr. Suckling stormed out from the trees, then pulled up short with an oath when he saw her. It was thankfully rude enough that it could explain her no doubt flustered appearance.

“Sir! You gave me a shock. I had no idea you were out here.”

The man glared at her. “Why would you?”

She didn’t have to pretend to be offended, since he was really quite rude.

“I’m looking for my husband,” she replied. “Have you seen him? I think he must have come this way with Mr. Elton.”

The vicar emerged from the trees. “Here I am, Mrs. Knightley. Horace and I were simply having a quiet stroll. I thought to show him the lime walk and the abbey’s beautiful vistas.”

“How kind of you.” She smiled at Mr. Suckling. “I hope you found it refreshing. It was rather stifling in the hall.”

“It’s stifling out here, too. If you’ll excuse me, ma’am, I must be on my way back to town. My wife is expecting me.”

“Of course, sir. Please give her our condolences.”

Mr. Suckling turned on his heel and stalked off.

“Please forgive my brother-in-law,” Mr. Elton said, looking embarrassed. “He naturally found this a difficult day.”

“Think nothing of it. But this is an even more difficult day for you.” She took in his pasty features and worn look. “You should not be out in his heat, sir. It’s too much.”

He clasped his hands in a prayerful gesture. “You are wise, as always, madam. I have perhaps spent too much time in the sun. I’m afraid the press of people in the great hall became too overwhelming in my present state.”

“Then we will find you a quiet place to sit, where no one will bother you.”

They turned to walk toward the house.

“You, Mrs. Knightley, are never a bother,” he said. “In fact, I would consider it an honor if you sat with me. Your friendship—and that of your husband—is more than consolation. I do not know how I should survive without it.”

Emma tried to hide her surprise at his effusive praise. While she felt a great deal of sympathy for him, they were not friends. Still, one was bound to be emotional at such a time, when pushed beyond the limits of one’s ordinary life.

“We are happy to be of help in any small way.”

The vicar sighed. “You are so modest, Mrs. Knightley. Just like my dear Augusta.”

Emma didn’t quite know how to take that. “Er, thank you, sir.”

He pressed a hand to his chest. “Please call me Philip, Mrs. Knightley. We are such old friends, are we not?”

She began to wonder if he had been out in the sun too long. “We all need friends at a time like this, Mr. Elton. And speaking of friends, perhaps you might enjoy having a quiet chat with Mrs. Cole. I know she’s very worried for you.”

“Ah, dear Mrs. Cole. She and Augusta were such bosom friends. Mrs. Cole will miss her greatly.”

“As will many others in Highbury, sir. Mrs. Goddard, for instance.”

“Very true, Mrs. Knightley. My Augusta took a great interest in the school, you know. Always so ready with advice and help whenever it was needed. I do not know how Mrs. Goddard will get on without her wise counsel.”

Nodding and encouraging this innocent—if fantastical—discourse as best she could, Emma led the vicar back to the house.