Murder in Highbury (Emma Knightley Mystery #1)

CHAPTER 13

C HAPTER 13

A t the dressing table, Emma braided her hair in preparation for bed. After supervising the restoration of order after the lengthy reception, she and George had decided to spend the night at Donwell.

“I do hope Father is all right. He worries when I’m not home with him.”

George, reading by the fireplace, glanced up with a reassuring smile. “Other than telling you to be sure to avoid drafts in the corridors, he raised no objection.”

“I suppose his mind was full of Miss Bates. He insisted on taking her and her mother home in our carriage.”

“He is remarkably protective of Miss Bates.”

“They have been friends for a very long time, after all.”

“Miss Bates has many dear friends, including Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Goddard.”

Emma recognized that particular tone. “George, what are you suggesting?”

He put down his novel. “I find it interesting that Miss Bates has come to rely so heavily on your father. He is not a person one would generally turn to in a crisis.”

“I’ll admit Father has been managing this entire murder business quite well. I thought he would be afraid to let me out of his sight.”

“One can only assume that your father accepts Constable Sharpe’s conclusion that Mrs. Elton’s killer is long gone.”

Emma finished off her braid and tied it with a ribbon. “It’s rather unsettling to see him acting so . . . decisively. I hardly recognize him.”

“We have all been upended by Mrs. Elton’s murder, as I’m sure you observed in the odd behavior of some of our guests today.”

“The circumstances didn’t disturb anyone’s appetite,” she wryly replied.

George chuckled before returning to his book.

After studying her husband for a few moments—always an enjoyable pastime—she rose and donned the cambric wrapper draped over the corner of the enormous four-poster bed. Despite her father’s admonitions, it was a lovely evening. A warm breeze wafted through the windows, barely ruffling the brocaded curtains.

Unable to resist the call of the summer-soft air, she wandered over to gaze out at the night-shrouded garden. The scents of roses and lilacs drifted up from below. In the distance, at the base of the meadow, she could hear the rippling stream merrily dancing in the darkness. Only the knowledge that a cold-blooded killer was at large shadowed the serene peace after so fraught a day.

“What is it, my Emma?” George quietly asked.

She smiled. “Do you always know what I’m thinking?”

“One doesn’t need to be a mind reader, given the events of the past few days.”

Joining him, she made to sit in the matching wingback chair, but he snagged her wrist and drew her onto his lap. She went with a contented sigh.

“I was thinking about a very odd conversation I had with Mr. Elton this afternoon,” she said.

“Given your mutual history, surely that is not a unique event.”

She rolled her eyes. “True.”

“What was so odd about this particular conversation?”

When she began to fiddle with a button on his waistcoat, he stilled her hand. “Emma, what aren’t you telling me?”

The dear, dratted man knew her too well. “I didn’t precisely have a conversation with Mr. Elton so much as overhear a conversation.”

His sigh ruffled her hair. “You were eavesdropping.”

“It would seem that I was.”

“Emma . . .”

She sat up to meet his gaze. “George, I didn’t intend to eavesdrop. It just rather happened.”

“Such things seem to happen to you on a regular basis,” he dryly replied.

“I was actually looking for you. I thought perhaps you’d taken some of the guests down the lime walk. And I also had the most disconcerting conversation with Harriet. But Mr. Elton takes precedence.”

“I await both reports with bated breath.”

She poked his chest. “None of your sarcasm, sir. When I was looking for you, I chanced to hear a very unpleasant argument between Mr. Elton and Mr. Suckling. At one point, I feared they might even come to blows.”

George frowned. “Mr. Suckling is not the most convivial person, but I always assumed they had a good relationship.”

“Apparently, no longer. And the subject of the argument was Mrs. Elton.”

He studied her for a few moments. “As loathe as I am to violate Elton’s privacy, I suppose you’d best tell me.”

“You are the magistrate, George. You should know everything that might be of relevance to the investigation.”

Although he now rolled his eyes, he didn’t dispute the point.

But when she related the details of the tense discussion, he frowned. “Emma, are you suggesting that Elton cannot afford a proper memorial?”

“I had the sense that such might be the case. Although Mr. Elton claimed the lack of room in the church as the reason for declining such an expense.”

“I’ll admit the church has a substantive number of memorials, but I’m sure room could be found to give Mrs. Elton a proper memorial stone, at the very least.”

“Then why would he make such a claim?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Mrs. Elton brought a substantial sum of money to the marriage, and Elton already had his own independence. Although not large, it was perfectly sufficient for his needs.”

“True, but they were inclined to spend rather freely.”

“Unless one or both had become addicted to cards, it’s hard to imagine how they could run through her fortune in less than a year. And although Mrs. Elton could be a spendthrift, Elton is not. The man is very aware of the value of money.”

“Yes, as I discovered, to my misfortune.”

“My love, I am certain that Elton’s marriage proposal to you had nothing to do with your fortune and everything to do with your beauty and wit.”

Emma didn’t fail to notice the gleam of amusement in his gaze. “Nicely done, Mr. Knightley.”

“I do try. Now, what was Suckling’s response to his brother-in-law’s parsimony?”

“He was adamant that the cost of a proper memorial was Mr. Elton’s responsibility. Our vicar then tried to make the case that Mrs. Elton would not have wished for anything grand—given her well-known abhorrence of finery, you understand.”

George snorted. “No doubt Suckling wasn’t convinced by that line of argument.”

“He was not.”

“And I cannot but agree with him that it’s Elton’s responsibility.”

“True, but Mr. Elton seemed to suggest Mr. Suckling was somehow responsible for his—or Mrs. Elton’s—financial problems.” She twirled a hand. “That’s assuming they actually had problems. Mr. Suckling seemed very insulted by the suggestion and said Mr. Elton was talking nonsense. He refused to discuss it any further, which was most annoying.”

“What a shame you didn’t think to ask the gentlemen to clarify their remarks.”

She eyed him with severity. “Be serious, George.”

“Very well. As fascinating as this is, I’m not sure what it has to do with Mrs. Elton’s murder. Are you suggesting that either her husband or brother-in-law was somehow involved?”

She shrugged. “Not Mr. Elton, who has been rendered genuinely distraught by her death. Besides, he’s hardly the murdering type.”

“And what is the murdering type?”

“Certainly not our vicar. He’s much too obsequious to be a murderer.”

“That is undoubtedly a unique perspective on the character of murderers. Still, I must agree with you in this case.”

Emma held up a finger. “Now, as for Mr. Suckling . . . he is a thoroughly dislikable man with a bad temper.”

“But what motive would he have? For one thing, why would he steal her necklace? He’s a wealthy man, after all. And by all accounts, he was fond of his sister-in-law. Do not forget that Mrs. Elton spent a great deal of time at Maple Grove. I doubt she would have done so if they disliked each other.”

She sighed. “I must admit that your logic is sound. How frustrating. I wonder if we will ever discover who murdered her.”

“We must hope so, but there is little to be gained by useless speculation.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or by intruding on the private affairs of others,” he pointedly added.

“I didn’t actually intrude, George.”

“I understand. But please remember that it is not your place to investigate this crime.”

She poked a finger at his chest. “No, it’s yours. I’m simply telling you what I heard.”

“And I appreciate that, but the actual business of investigation belongs to Constable Sharpe and, to a small extent, Dr. Hughes. I will convey any pertinent information to them. I’m not sure, however, that a quarrel between Elton and Suckling meets that standard.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she reluctantly replied.

Still, she couldn’t imagine quarreling over mundane matters like memorial plaques and funeral mementos after such a traumatic day. Everything about that unpleasant scene between the brothers-in-law struck her as odd. However, as George had pointed out, many in Highbury were not acting their usual selves, either.

“I’m glad you agree,” he said. “Now, is there anything else that needs my attention, or can we go to bed?”

Another detail did occur. “Mrs. Elton didn’t leave a will. Is that not very strange?”

George’s dark eyebrows ticked up. “Are you certain?”

“Absolutely. Mr. Suckling was quite upset. He made a point of saying that his sister-in-law had intended to draw up a will before her marriage, but Mr. Elton insisted that she had not done so. He also claimed that Mr. Suckling would know more about her estate than he did. I must say I found that strange.”

He looked thoughtful for a few moments. “Perhaps Suckling and his solicitor drew up the marriage settlements on Mrs. Elton’s behalf. If so, he would know a great deal about her financial standing. What I find strange, however, is that Dr. Hughes never mentioned the lack of a will to me.”

“Why would he?”

“The coroner is responsible for assessing the value of the deceased’s belongings. He would also know whether she had a will or not.”

“Then I have given you something of use, after all,” she commented.

“You have, and I will be raising the issue with Dr. Hughes tomorrow.”

Given the suddenly austere tone of her husband’s voice, Emma might be prompted to feel some sympathy for the coroner. But since Dr. Hughes was not a sympathetic man, that would be a waste of her time.

“Is there anything else?” he asked.

“Not unless you wish to hear about my conversation with Harriet. It was almost as gruesome as the argument between Mr. Suckling and Mr. Elton.”

George gently tipped her off his lap and rose. “Then I would beg you to spare me. Besides, I can think of better ways to spend our time, especially after a trying day.”

Emma wrapped her arms around his neck. “Do tell, husband.”

“I find that I would much rather show you.”

And with that, he led her off to bed.