Murder in Highbury (Emma Knightley Mystery #1)

CHAPTER 14

C HAPTER 14

“A re you sure Mr. Elton will wish to see us?” Harriet asked as they left Hartfield. “The funeral was but yesterday.”

Emma shifted the basket of puddings to her other arm. “We are making a very proper condolence call, and you know how much Mr. Elton enjoys our cook’s puddings. They will cheer him up.”

While it was true that she wanted to see how the vicar was managing, she remained curious about yesterday’s scene behind the lime walk. Despite George’s admonitions to leave well enough alone, Emma couldn’t help but be curious—especially about the state of the Eltons’ finances.

“I’m also hoping to ask Mr. Elton a few questions,” she added.

Harriet looked askance. “What sort of questions?”

“About the funeral and Mrs. Elton’s memorial.” Emma again shifted the basket.

Harriet reached for it as they turned into Vicarage Lane. “Let me take that. I’m sure it’s too heavy for you.”

Emma happily relinquished it. “Thank you, dear.”

“Why are you going to ask Mr. Elton about the funeral?”

“Because I find it odd that it was so plain. Mr. Knightley and I would have been happy to help him with the arrangements if he’d felt too overwhelmed.”

That sounded entirely reasonable, to her ears.

“But what if that makes him think he didn’t do it properly?” Harriet replied. “Won’t he be offended?”

“I will be very sensitive, naturally. Pay particular attention to his answer if I have the opportunity to question why Mrs. Elton did not write a will.”

Harriet shot her a surprised glance. “She did not? But even I have a will. Robert insisted I write one when we married.”

“Apparently, Mrs. Elton did not do the same.”

“Perhaps she just forgot.”

“It’s still odd, though. Harriet, it’s imperative that we specifically note anything that touches on the murder, including any information we might, er, stumble across.”

Her friend stopped dead in the middle of the lane. “Isn’t that what Constable Sharpe and Dr. Hughes are already doing?”

“That is what they should be doing, but I have little confidence in their talents or acumen.”

“Surely Mr. Knightley will know what to do, though.”

“Mr. Knightley is extremely busy, and I worry that he cannot depend on either Dr. Hughes or Constable Sharpe to investigate properly. Besides, it’s our duty as residents of Highbury to assist the law in any way we can.”

Especially since the law seemed to be haring off in the wrong direction.

“I don’t think Robert will like me getting involved, Mrs. Knightley,” Harriet dubiously replied.

“We’re not truly getting involved, dear. We’re simply collecting information, like you did with your scrapbooks, remember?”

“But they were just silly collections of riddles and poems.”

“Your scrapbooks are elegant and well organized. You have a talent for such things, dear. If we should discover anything—and I’m not saying we will—you can help me present the findings to Mr. Knightley in an accurate manner, which he will appreciate.”

She mentally crossed her fingers, since her beloved had made his thoughts on the matter of amateur investigating very clear. But this was murder , and one possibly committed by someone they knew, despite theories of random thieves or even vengeful ghosts. There was also the added complication of Miss Bates. She’d been cast under a shadow of suspicion, which had cut up her peace and the peace of all her friends, including Emma’s father.

No matter what George said, she found it impossible to do nothing.

“I suppose, if you think it proper,” Harriet conceded.

“I think it our moral duty as stouthearted Englishwomen.”

Her friend clasped the basket to her chest, almost tipping a cloth-covered pudding into the dirt. “Mrs. Knightley, you make it sound so romantic! It’s almost as if we’re in an adventure like one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s stories.”

“Nothing so vulgar, I hope.”

Mrs. Elton’s murder was ghastly enough without deranged monks or dim-witted virgins running about the place.

When they arrived at the vicarage, a soberly dressed footman sporting a black armband opened the door.

“Good afternoon,” Emma said. “Is Mr. Elton at home?”

“No, Mrs. Knightley. If you’d like me to take—”

The housekeeper appeared from the back of the hall. “That will be all, Joseph. I will attend to the ladies.”

“Yes, Mrs. Wright.”

Attired in a black gown and a cap with matching black ribbons, Mrs. Wright curtsied. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Knightley. Mr. Elton has just stepped out for a moment. Would you care to wait?”

“If it is no inconvenience.”

“Mr. Elton left instructions that if you or Mr. Knightley were to call, I should please ask you to wait.”

She took the basket from Harriet, barely looking at her, and then showed them to the back parlor. “If you will have a seat, Mrs. Knightley, I will bring up the tea tray.”

Emma frowned, annoyed by the woman’s insistence on ignoring Harriet. “Thank you. Mrs. Martin and I would both appreciate a cup of tea.”

Although the housekeeper seemed inclined to bristle, she stiffly nodded and retreated from the room. Thankfully, Harriet was too busy looking about to notice anything amiss.

“I’ve been in Mr. Elton’s house only once. Do you remember, Mrs. Knightley? You broke your shoelace, and we stepped inside so you could repair it.”

That was an uncomfortable reminder for Emma, since that manufactured incident had occurred when she was convinced that Mr. Elton was in love with Harriet. “Did I? You have the most remarkable memory, dear.”

“We sat in the front drawing room then, but this room is very pretty. Mrs. Elton had such excellent taste.”

“I find Abbey Mill Farm very pretty. And your second drawing room is larger, too.”

Harriet peeked through a half-open door into another room. “This must be Mr. Elton’s study.”

“Do come away, Harriet. Anyone would think you were . . .”

Snooping.

“Robert needs a new desk,” her friend explained. “I know very little about desks, but Mr. Elton is sure to have a fine one.”

Emma wandered over to the door and casually cast a gaze at the desktop. It was covered with a haphazard pile of books, letters, ledgers, and scraps of paper—a treasure trove of information. She leaned forward, trying to get a better view of—

The parlor door opened, and Emma spun around, almost tripping over her feet. Mrs. Wright entered the room, bearing a tea tray.

“How delightful,” Emma enthused, a trifle too enthusiastically. “Tea!”

Harriet cast her a sideways glance but gave the housekeeper a warm smile. “Do you need help, Mrs. Wright? That tray looks quite heavy.”

“I’m well able to handle it,” the housekeeper frostily replied as she thumped the tray down on the table in front of the chaise. Teacups rattled alarmingly.

That Mrs. Wright obviously didn’t approve of Harriet was likely because her mistress hadn’t approved of her, either.

“You may go, Mrs. Wright,” Emma said. “I’m sure you have much to attend to.”

“Thank you, madam. We are in something of a state, as you can imagine.” For a moment, her face crumpled into unhappy lines. “One hardly knows what to make of it.”

“It’s a terrible shock for the entire household,” Emma replied with a twinge of guilt. “I’m sure Mr. Elton would be lost without you.”

“Thank you, madam. I endeavor to do my best.” The housekeeper then stalked from the room.

Emma sighed. “Goodness, that wasn’t the least bit awkward.”

“I’m not sure what I did to offend her,” Harriet ruefully said.

“Nothing, dear. Mrs. Wright was apparently very close to her mistress and no doubt feels a great deal of loyalty to her.”

“And since Mrs. Elton didn’t like me . . .”

“It’s silly. One might think servants didn’t have minds of their own.”

“I wish Mrs. Elton hadn’t disliked me so much.”

“The fault rested entirely with her. But Mr. Elton has been very appreciative of your support, which is certainly cheering.”

And all it took was his wife getting murdered.

Harriet brightened. “I do hope Mr. Elton and I can be friends again. Both Robert and I would like to help him through this terrible time.”

Emma suspected that Robert wanted nothing to do with his former rival for Harriet’s affections. “I’m going to pour you a cup of tea, and then I want you to sit by the window and keep an eye on the lane.”

“Why?” Harriet asked.

“I want you to keep watch for Mr. Elton.”

“Won’t we hear him come in?”

“I’m going to take a quick look at his desk.”

Harriet’s mouth dropped open. “What if Mr. Elton returns and catches you?”

Emma hastily prepared a cup and thrust it at her friend, the liquid sloshing into the saucer. “That’s why I need you to keep watch.”

Her friend sighed before trudging over to the needlepointed armchair by the window.

Emma slipped into the study. The vicar’s desk was indeed a fine piece of furniture. It was also a fine mess.

“Where to start?” she muttered.

Not with the ledgers—too detailed. Instead, she began to quickly sift through the correspondence. Most of it seemed to be from his family or other clergymen, although there were quite a few bills. Some were already opened, and the amounts she saw made her blink. One from a millinery shop in London demonstrated that Mrs. Elton had spent extravagantly on her gowns. Bills that detailed household expenses and food were mixed. While some were entirely reasonable, a few suggested a definite penchant for luxury. That was no surprise, since Mrs. Elton had frequently spoken of modeling her housekeeping on that of Mr. Suckling’s residence, Maple Grove.

Were the Eltons living beyond their means? And could it be that a desperate tradesman was trying to collect what was owed to him? Unlucky tradesmen were sometimes forced into bankruptcy because their genteel customers simply refused to pay bills. Still, it was hard to imagine an irate milliner or wine merchant storming down from London to murder Mrs. Elton over an outstanding invoice or two.

Harriet jumped up. “Mrs. Knightley, I can see Mr. Elton coming down the lane!”

“I’m almost finished.”

Hurriedly, she scanned the rest of the desk, lifting papers and searching quickly for anything that shed light on the Eltons’ financial standing.

“Mrs. Knightley, he’s at the front door,” Harriet hissed.

A piece of crumpled paper half-thrust inside a book caught her attention. Emma flipped the book open, careful not to disturb the positioning of the note.

The note was short, poorly written, and . . . chilling.

Harriet rushed over. “Mrs. Knightley, I can hear Mr. Elton.”

Emma slammed the book shut and scampered with Harriet to the sofa. They both plopped down as steps sounded in the hall. She schooled her face into a composed expression, trying to pretend she had not just read a threat of violence against Mr. Elton.

The vicar entered, all smiles. “Dear ladies, forgive me for making you wait. If I had known you were coming, I never would have left the house. No, no, do not get up.”

They both stood, anyway, and Harriet bobbed a curtsy.

Emma extended a hand. “There is no need to apologize, dear sir.”

He took her hand. “You are kindness itself, madam. I just now was calling on Mrs. Saunders. She is doing poorly, and her husband is quite worried. As you can imagine, I greatly sympathize and wished to give Mr. Saunders any words of comfort I could provide.”

Harriet looked much struck. “How very kind to think of others in your time of trial. You are so brave, sir.”

His smile now turned wan. “Thank you, Mrs. Martin. I cannot allow my grief to stand in the way of my duty to my parishioners.”

“Mr. Elton, surely you must be allowed some relief from your work,” Emma said. “You will tire yourself out.”

“It’s what Augusta would have wanted. For me to care for the parish and the people she came to love so greatly.”

Emma distinctly remembered Mrs. Elton referring to Highbury as the most troublesome parish she’d ever seen. “Indeed. Sir, may I pour you some tea?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Knightley. I find myself quite parched.”

“Then sit and rest,” she said as she prepared him a cup. “We cannot have you falling ill.”

“Your wishes, dear madam, are always of great importance to me, so I will do my best to remain in good health.”

Emma mentally blinked at the effusive statement. They were hardly bosom beaus. It was the opposite, in fact, until their very recent rapprochement. Still, Mr. Elton had always had a penchant for flowery and slightly absurd speech, especially when moved.

“How is Mr. Woodhouse today?” he asked. “I was sorry to see him and Miss Bates so distressed after the funeral.”

“My father is well and sends his regards.”

The less said about yesterday’s events, the better, especially when it came to Miss Bates.

There then ensued an extended pause while they sipped their tea. Emma racked her brain for a way to raise a number of awkward issues, including the ugly threat currently sitting on the vicar’s desk.

“Mr. Elton,” Harriet eventually said, “I wanted to say how moving the service was yesterday. I found the curate’s sermon very affecting.”

He smiled. “I helped Mr. Johnson write it, you know. I couldn’t bear for my dear wife to receive short shrift.”

Emma blessed her friend for raising the exact issue she wished to discuss. “Harriet was telling me all about the service. She said it was very dignified and . . . simple.”

“Just as Augusta would have wished.” He sighed. “And to be frank, I did not have the heart for anything else.”

“Perfectly understandable,” she replied.

“I do not know how I shall go on without her. Augusta took care of all matters domestic and financial, you know. Now I find myself quite overwhelmed.”

Ah, an opening.

“Surely Mr. and Mrs. Suckling will be able to help you,” Emma said. “Dealing with Mrs. Elton’s personal effects, for instance.”

He took a sip of tea before answering. “The matter is a trifle complicated, I’m afraid.”

She hesitated only a moment. “I understand Mrs. Elton did not leave a will?”

The vicar looked taken aback.

“My husband mentioned it, just in passing,” she hastily added.

She could only hope that George and the vicar never had a discussion regarding said will. That would be a decidedly awkward conversation.

“Ah, of course. As magistrate, Mr. Knightley would know all about such things. As I explained to Dr. Hughes, Augusta meant to write a will, but she was always too busy. And who could anticipate that her life would be so cruelly cut short?”

“I hope you don’t encounter additional difficulties in that regard,” Emma replied.

“Who is to say? Augusta managed everything, as I said. She had quite a fine head for financial matters, while I’m a simple man of the cloth.”

As George had noted, there was nothing simple about Mr. Elton and money.

Harriet suddenly piped up. “Since Mrs. Elton didn’t leave a will, that means you’ll inherit everything, including her lovely jewelry and beautiful clothes.”

Emma mentally winced at her friend’s blunt approach. “Harriet, you’ll embarrass poor Mr. Elton.”

“But, Mrs. Knightley, you mentioned it first,” she replied, looking perplexed.

“I simply wished to relay to Mr. Elton that I would be happy to assist him in any small matters—for instance, going through Mrs. Elton’s personal effects. That is a difficult task.” She gave Mr. Elton an apologetic smile. “I know that my father struggled with it when my mother passed.”

Mr. Elton grimaced. “Dear Mr. Woodhouse. Such a sad bond we now share.”

“Be assured that I am happy to provide any necessary assistance.”

“I am most grateful, dear madam. But my housekeeper has already taken on that task. She was devoted to my wife and will certainly know what she would have wished.”

Drat.

She’d rather been hoping for the opportunity to snoop around Mrs. Elton’s bedroom, although she hardly knew what she expected to find.

“It must be a comfort to be able to rely on Mrs. Wright during such a difficult time. And everyone else in Highbury, of course,” she said instead.

Except for one particular person who wishes you dead.

“And all wish to help you , Mr. Elton,” she meaningfully added. “ Every last person in the village, I’m sure.”

She carefully watched for his reaction, but he simply nodded.

“I am indeed fortunate to have friends such as yourself and Mr. Knightley.” Then he bestowed a warm smile on Harriet. “And you, too, Mrs. Martin. You have been such a comfort.”

When Harriet gazed soulfully back at him, Emma decided—with some alarm—that their visit was best concluded. Mr. Elton escorted them to the door, assuring Emma that he would soon call on dear Mr. Woodhouse .

As they walked along Vicarage Lane, Emma listened to Harriet’s sympathetic observations about poor Mr. Elton with only half an ear, because she was fixed on her startling discovery. Their vicar seemed to have acquired a true and possibly dangerous enemy. And that begged the question, had the danger extended to Mrs. Elton, as well?