Murder in Highbury (Emma Knightley Mystery #1)
CHAPTER 15
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C HAPTER 15
E mma found her husband in the study. “There you are. When did you get back from Donwell?”
George glanced up from his ledgers with a smile. “About a half hour ago. I’m sorry I didn’t join you and your father for tea. I needed to check some figures for William Larkins regarding the sale of some sheep.”
She subsided into a chair. “Goodness, I don’t know how you can bear the excitement.”
“A welcome change from my discussions with Dr. Hughes and Constable Sharpe, I assure you. The former insists on laboriously reviewing every detail of the investigation, and the latter vacillates between wishing to interrogate Miss Bates and arresting any vagrant within a mile of Highbury. Compared to that, discussing sheep with Larkins is positively restful.”
“Constable Sharpe is truly a dreary man,” she replied. “And fatally lacking in imagination if that is the best he can do.”
“Perhaps you can share that assessment with our good constable when next you see him. Then he can be annoyed with you instead of me for advising him against wholesale arrests.”
She widened her eyes. “Why, George, I am simply an innocent bystander, remember?”
He pushed his ledger aside and folded his hands on the desk. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“You are the most irritatingly perceptive man I have ever met,” she wryly replied.
He sighed. “Emma, what have you been doing?”
“Nothing terrible, dearest. I just happened to stumble across an interesting piece of information that may or may not have anything to do with Mrs. Elton’s murder.”
He narrowed his dark gaze. “How, exactly, did you stumble across that information?”
“Harriet and I paid a condolence call to Mr. Elton this afternoon.” She frowned, momentarily diverted. “George, I’m worried about Harriet and Robert. Robert is jealous of Mr. Elton. That’s ridiculous, but for the fact that Harriet does seem to be feeling sentimental about Mr. Elton, which is rather alarming.”
“I confess to little interest in the Martins’ domestic affairs and advise you to show a similar disinterest. As you recall, your judgment in that regard has been somewhat faulty in the past.”
“But Harriet came right out and told me they were having problems. How can I ignore that?”
“Most couples, on occasion, do rub up against each other.”
“We don’t.”
“That remains to be seen,” he sardonically replied.
She ignored that. “I think you should talk to Robert. Give him some advice on his dealings with Harriet, one married man to another.”
“That would simply embarrass the poor fellow, and he would certainly guess why I was speaking to him.”
She crinkled her nose. “I suppose you’re right. In that case, I will do my best to emulate Mr. Knightley levels of disinterest.”
“Mr. Knightley would be grateful. Now, may we return to the discussion of the information you stumbled across?”
“Would you like to finish your work first? I don’t mind waiting.”
He smiled. “It will take only a few minutes longer, and then I can give you my full attention.”
Emma rested her elbows on his desk and propped her chin in her hands. It was silly of her, but she enjoyed watching him work. George was such a remarkable man, in his own understated way. He handled the details of their rather complicated life without the least bit of fuss. More importantly, he loved her with a steadfast love that she still found entirely remarkable.
After a few minutes, he closed his ledger and glanced up with a quizzical smile. “Emma?”
“I was thinking that I must be the most fortunate woman in Surrey.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you married me.”
“The good fortune is all mine. I still marvel that you could love me after listening to so many lectures over the years.”
She sat up straight. “Then I hope you will remember your good fortune when I tell you what I found out today.”
Or, rather, about how she had found it.
“I’m not going to like this, am I?”
She waggled a hand. “I’m not sure. What do you know about Dick Curtis?”
His frown indicated he was a bit thrown by the question. “Why?”
“I’ll tell you momentarily. Do you know him?”
“I know that the past several years have been difficult for him. He’s a farm laborer—a steady worker until he injured his hand a few years ago. Shortly thereafter, his father died, and Dick lost the cottage they resided in. He currently lives in one of the poor cottages past the vicarage. Farmer Mitchell tries to employ Dick as much as he is able, usually working in the dairy.”
“So he’s obviously struggling.”
“That is a fair assessment. Why does it matter?”
“Because he made a quite vile threat against Mr. Elton. One might even call it a death threat.”
George’s eyebrows practically shot up to his hairline. “And how do you know this?”
She rubbed her finger over a slight imperfection in the wood of his desk.
“Emma?”
“Well, I just happened to see the note in which he made the threat.”
Her husband scoffed. “You just happened to see it.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“On Mr. Elton’s desk. But, George, it was so crude. I cannot think Dick Curtis is very educated.”
That comment failed to deflect him. “And was Mr. Elton also in his office at the time you saw this note?”
“Well . . . no.”
“Emma—”
She held up a hand. “Mr. Elton has no idea that I saw it. He had stepped out for a few minutes when we called, so we decided to wait. The door to his office was open. I thought it made sense to . . . to look around a bit.”
“You mean go through his private papers.” He looked severe. “And what if he had discovered you snooping? Did you think of that?”
“Certainly. I set Harriet to keep a lookout. Mr. Elton never suspected a thing.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “You enlisted Harriet? I cannot imagine Robert would be very pleased about that.”
While that was undoubtedly true, she rather thought he was missing the point. “George, don’t you want to know what was in the note? I think it could be germane to the investigation.”
“Emma, I already warned you about this. You are not to interfere.”
“I’m not interfering. I’m finding potential clues, which is certainly more than one can say for Constable Sharpe.”
“Or me?”
She scoffed. “Dearest, I would never say such a thing. Now, do you want to know what I found, or would you rather just scowl at me?”
“Since my scowls have little effect, you’d best get on with it.”
“Thank you. As I said, it was a very threatening note. Dick Curtis called Mr. Elton a right bastard . He said that he wanted to rip Mr. Elton’s head off and shove it up his . . .” She wrinkled her nose. “Well, Mr. Elton’s posterior.”
George grimaced. “I’m sorry you had to read such a thing.”
“It’s no matter.”
“I do not want you or any other woman subjected to such crude and frightening language.”
“After discovering Mrs. Elton’s bloodstained corpse, it’s hard to get fussed about a spot of vulgar language. It was the intent of the note I found disturbing.”
“Indeed. I wonder why Curtis was threatening our vicar.”
“Curtis mentioned something about being denied a place on the parish poor roll. That surprised me, because I thought such matters were decided by the vestry council.”
George absently tapped his finger on the edge of his desk. “Generally, they are, although Elton is still empowered to make decisions on his own. I did miss a vestry meeting last month. Perhaps the decision was made then.”
“But Mr. Weston also sits on the council. I can hardly see him turning down someone clearly in need of aid.”
“True. I will have to speak to Elton about this.”
Oh dear.
“I hope you can find a way to do so without . . .”
“Mentioning you? Alas, the wages of sin, my dear.”
She narrowed her gaze. “George—”
He flashed a quick smile. “I will find a way to raise the subject without implicating you or Harriet.”
“Thank you. What do you think about the threat itself?”
“Disturbing, but it was made against Mr. Elton, not his wife.”
“Perhaps she advised him to turn Curtis down. More often than not, she seemed to think the impoverished were to blame for their sad condition.”
“But would Curtis know that? I cannot imagine Mrs. Elton sitting in on meetings with her husband’s parishioners.”
That was indisputably true. “Perhaps he sought to exact revenge against Mr. Elton through his wife?”
A frown marked George’s brow. “As far as I know, Curtis has never caused any sort of trouble, and Farmer Mitchell thinks highly of the man. The note was certainly ill-judged, but it seems more likely the result of frustration than any intent to hurt Mr. Elton.”
She heaved a sigh of frustration. “Drat. I thought it might be of use to you.”
“There’s another possibility, of course.”
Emma perked up. “Yes?”
“Curtis might have decided to exact his revenge by robbing the church. And that way he could get valuable items to pawn.”
“So, Mrs. Elton happened to come across him committing the act, possibly with his hands already on the candlestick.” She clapped her hands together. “George, it makes perfect sense. In his desperation, Curtis would feel like he had no other choice but to kill her, because she could identify him. He then took her necklace and ran.”
“But as you have pointed out several times, why did he not also steal other valuable items in the church, including the candlestick?”
She tried to work through this vexing question. “Perhaps he feared that Mr. Elton would direct the finger of suspicion at him. He would find it difficult to hide the larger items, unlike the necklace.”
George slowly nodded. “That’s possible, though it would require a certain degree of forethought. Were you able to ascertain when Curtis wrote this note?”
“No. And I do realize that assuming he is the killer doesn’t account for every detail of the crime. But you must admit it makes more sense for it to be Curtis than Miss Bates.”
“It does.”
“So you’ll pursue it?”
“I will, but carefully. I don’t wish to accuse an innocent man or to drag you into it. I will simply tell Elton that it’s come to my attention that he rejected the man’s addition to the poor roll, and ask him why he did so.”
“But what if Mr. Elton doesn’t mention the note?”
“Since he hasn’t mentioned it yet, I suspect he doesn’t see it as a very credible threat. Thus, the need to not overreact.”
Emma conceded the point. “Then I’ll leave the matter in your capable hands.”
“Thank you. Now, are there any other secrets you’d like to reveal at this time?”
She rose and headed for the door. “Only that Mrs. Goddard and the Bates ladies are joining us for dinner. Father sent round a note to invite them this afternoon.”
Her beleaguered husband simply sighed.
“Not to worry,” she said. “I’ll seat you next to Mrs. Bates. With any luck, you can both have a refreshing nap during the dessert course.”
His snort of laughter followed her out of the room.
They were sitting in the drawing room after dinner when a footman entered and murmured in George’s ear. His eyebrows ticked up as he listened.
“Mrs. Goddard needs another glass of sherry, my dear,” Emma’s father said, pulling her attention away from George.
“Of course. Forgive me.”
Father and the ladies were at the card table, engaged in a round of whist. For this evening, at least, Miss Bates could forget about dead bodies and pestering constables and enjoy the company of friends.
George came over and drew Emma away from the group. “My dear, Mr. Elton has come to call.”
She cast a worried glance at Miss Bates. “I suppose we cannot have him standing out in the hall. You’d best invite him in for tea.”
“He wishes to speak to us privately. I told Simon to put him in the library.”
Now what?
“You go ahead, George. I’ll replenish the refreshments and then join you.”
After he left, she quickly refilled glass and cups and dished out scones and jam. Then she touched her father’s shoulder.
“Dearest, I must step out for a moment. Ring for Simon if you need anything.”
Her father, intent on his cards, nodded. “Whatever you wish, my dear.”
Breathing a sigh of relief to have escaped questioning, Emma slipped out.
“Mrs. Knightley, a thousand pardons for disturbing you,” Mr. Elton said as she entered the library. “But this truly couldn’t wait.”
More problems.
“It is no matter, sir. Would you like a cup of tea or perhaps a sherry?”
“You are too kind, but I have no wish to disturb your evening more than necessary.”
She ushered him to a club chair, while she and George sat opposite on the chaise. Instead of getting straight to the point, however, the vicar breathed out a sigh and fell into a melancholic study.
“Mr. Elton,” George said after several long moments. “I’m assuming the matter you wish to discuss touches on the murder investigation?”
“What?” He winced. “Forgive me, my mind tends to wander. Yes, it does touch on that, although it may be nothing at all.”
Perhaps the note from Dick Curtis?
“If it can be construed as evidence,” George replied, “you should take it directly to Constable Sharpe.”
The vicar hesitated. “I’m not entirely sure what to make of it, sir. I must also admit that I find Constable Sharpe’s manner unhelpful at times, so I thought it best to consult you first.”
“A wise decision, Mr. Elton,” Emma said with an encouraging smile.
George threw her an ironic glance before refocusing on their guest. “May I ask why you feel the need for my wife to be present?”
“Because the issue in question regards Miss Bates,” he replied. “I’m afraid it might cast the poor woman in an unfortunate light. That being the case, I thought it sensible to speak with Mrs. Knightley, as well, since Miss Bates obviously relies on her and Mr. Woodhouse for support and comfort.”
Drat, and double drat.
“I do hope we can keep this matter away from my father,” she said more sharply than she intended.
Mr. Elton’s eyes popped wide. “I wouldn’t upset your father for the world, dear madam. Indeed, I debated long and hard as to whether I should even share this information.”
“Perhaps you can allow us to judge its relevance,” George said.
“Of course.” The vicar extracted a folded sheet of paper from his coat and gave it to George.
Emma tried to read over her husband’s shoulder. “What does it say?”
With his face set like stone, George handed it over.
In the few moments it took her to read, her heart plummeted to the root cellar. Part of her denied what she was seeing, because it simply didn’t make sense.
“This is a promissory note between Miss Bates and Mrs. Elton for fifty pounds,” she flatly stated.
“Mr. Elton, are you sure that your wife loaned Miss Bates this entire sum?” George asked.
“I think so. My wife managed her own financial matters. She did often consult with Mr. Suckling but generally did as she wished with her money.”
“This is a great deal of money,” Emma exclaimed. “Especially for Miss Bates.”
The vicar sighed—again. “That was Augusta’s way. She was always so openhearted and generous.”
Having known Mrs. Elton, Emma would bet a bob that the loan had nothing to do with selfless generosity. Why, then?
George retrieved the note from her. “So, we can assume that this was the source of the awkwardness between the two ladies.”
“I believe so,” Mr. Elton replied.
“Are you also suggesting that Miss Bates could not or would not repay the loan?”
The vicar spread his hands wide. “I cannot answer that, Mr. Knightley. But I do know that Augusta was unhappy with Miss Bates.”
Emma fought a rising sense of dread. “Do you truly think that Miss Bates would murder Mrs. Elton because of a debt, sir?”
“Of course one does not wish to even think such a thing. That is why I thought to ask both your opinions first.”
“My opinion is that it’s ridiculous,” she retorted. “I’m quite amazed you would even consider it.”
“My dear,” George said in a warning voice.
She rounded on her husband. “If Miss Bates needed money, she only had to ask Jane, or even my father or Mr. Weston. Why in heaven’s name would she go to Mrs. Elton?”
“I cannot answer that,” he calmly replied. “But Miss Bates can.”
“George, she has only just begun to recover her equanimity. This will throw her into a complete stew.”
“I’m sure there must be a reasonable explanation, and only Miss Bates can supply it.”
“I concede the point,” she grudgingly admitted. “But must we ask her tonight?”
“Better to ask while she is here, with friends.”
Mr. Elton half rose from his chair. “Gracious! I had no idea Miss Bates was here tonight. Forgive me, Mr. Knightley. This can surely wait until tomorrow.”
“I think it’s best to attend to the matter now,” he replied. “Then we can best decide what is to be done.”
Emma stared at him, aghast. “Surely you’re not thinking of giving the note to Constable Sharpe.”
“I hope that won’t be necessary.”
That was not a reassuring answer.
“Miss Bates will obviously not wish to discuss this in front of her mother,” she warned.
Mr. Elton sighed for the third time. “Poor Mrs. Bates. Such a trial for her.”
Really, must he be so tiresome? Emma had sympathy for his loss, but this was an unnecessary distraction. If Miss Bates could not provide a satisfactory answer—an all too likely scenario regardless of her innocence—then George would feel obligated to notify Constable Sharpe.
And Mr. Elton had yet to even allude to the note from Dick Curtis, which was very odd.
George stood. “I will ask Mrs. Goddard and your father to distract Mrs. Bates while I speak to Miss Bates.”
“But how, George? They’re playing cards.”
“I will manage.”
Disturbed and wanting to protest, she gazed up at him. His eyes held infinite kindness, but she also knew he would stand firm. In his decisive mind, waiting would serve no purpose. He was, unfortunately, correct.
She managed a smile. “Very well. Whatever you think is best.”
He briefly pressed her shoulder before quitting the room.
“Madam, I apologize for bringing this trouble upon you,” Mr. Elton said. “It was not my intention—”
“Sir, surely you cannot believe Miss Bates guilty of so heinous a crime,” Emma interrupted. “If she had borrowed a thousand pounds, she still wouldn’t commit such a vile act.”
He grimaced. “I agree that the mind revolts against any such idea. As Miss Bates has said time and again, she was always deeply grateful for any little attentions Augusta paid her.”
Rather like a poor relation grateful for any notice from her betters. As far as Emma was concerned, Miss Bates had shown the finer character by so graciously tolerating Mrs. Elton’s irritating condescension.
“Then knowing that, why did you bring this note forward?”
“I would not have done so if the matter had not been raised at the inquest. It was an unanswered question that clearly troubled Dr. Hughes, and I now have in my possession the possible answer. I truly felt I had no choice, Mrs. Knightley, else I would have gladly spared Miss Bates further distress.”
Emma grudgingly admitted the justice of his claim. Trying to shield a friend was one thing. Withholding information from the law was quite another.
They sat for a few moments in uncomfortable silence before she recalled her duties as a hostess.
“Mr. Elton, would you like—”
“Mrs. Knightley, may I just say—”
They exchanged an awkward smile.
“Dear madam, forgive me for interrupting you,” continued Mr. Elton. “Please go ahead.”
“Are you sure I cannot offer you something to drink?”
“You are kindness itself, but I am perfectly fine.”
“Then what were you going to say, sir?”
“I was simply going to note your exemplary kindness toward me in these dreadful days. You are a treasure, Mrs. Knightley, a veritable treasure. I do hope my dear friend Mr. Knightley realizes his great fortune in having the honor to be your husband.”
She blinked. His thanks were understandable, but his praise seemed rather exaggerated.
Best to make light of it.
“Mr. Knightley is well aware of his good fortune,” she said with a smile. “And if he is ever in danger of forgetting, I will be sure to remind him.”
He inclined his head. “No man could ever forget you, Mrs. Knightley.”
“Er, thank you.”
“Just as I will never forget my dear Augusta,” he added, heaving a sigh. “Her image is imprinted on my memory like a blazing comet. How could one ever forget such a woman, Mrs. Knightley? Despite the pain, does one even wish to forget? I do not!”
She struggled to find a sensible yet sympathetic reply. “Mr. Elton, are you sure you do not wish for a sherry?”
He managed a weak smile. “I have let my emotions run away with me again. I assure you that I will recover my equanimity with such friends as you and Mr. Knightley to support me. And dear, dear Harriet—I mean, Mrs. Martin. Your friend is a true angel, Mrs. Knightley. I am quite overcome by her generosity of spirit in these dark days.”
Emma could barely muster a response to this alarmingly warm paean to Harriet. “Indeed. She is an excellent friend.”
George, where are you?
Thankfully, he reentered the room in the next moment.
“There you are at last,” she said with relief.
He looked surprised. “I’ve been gone only a few minutes, my dear.”
She glanced at the bronze clock on the mantel. He’d been gone less than ten minutes, even though it had felt like an age.
“Of course. It’s just that we’re eager to hear how you got on with Miss Bates.”
George resumed his seat. “Not terribly well. As you predicted, she was reluctant to speak in the presence of her mother.”
She sighed. “Oh dear.”
“Indeed, Mrs. Knightley,” exclaimed the vicar. “Her reluctance to speak with Mr. Knightley is concerning.”
Emma had to repress a flare of irritation. “One cannot blame her for not wishing to disturb her mother. That is hardly a crime.”
“Just as you say, madam,” he quickly replied. “But as the Good Book says, one must bring what is hidden in darkness into the light.”
“The only darkness is the confusion in Miss Bates’s mind,” she retorted. “I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this.”
George held up a restraining hand. “Which I expect to hear tomorrow. Mrs. Bates generally takes a nap in the early afternoon, so Miss Bates has asked me to stop by then to speak with her.”
“She gave no hint about the note whatsoever?” Mr. Elton asked.
“I’m afraid not.”
The vicar seemed to steel himself. “Sir, I think you must relay the contents of this note to Dr. Hughes. He specifically raised the issue of a dispute between my wife and Miss Bates during the inquest. I am most uncomfortable with the idea of withholding this information from him.”
Emma frowned. “Sir, I thought we agreed that Miss Bates had nothing to do with your wife’s murder.”
“And I am sure you are correct, Mrs. Knightley. Still, it would seem remiss of me not to hand this evidence over to Dr. Hughes—if for no other reason than to clear Miss Bates of any suspicion. She will provide a sensible explanation, and that will be the end of it.”
“But—”
George took her hand. “I’m afraid Mr. Elton is correct. The note must be turned over to Dr. Hughes. It will then be up to him whether to include it in the records of the inquest.”
He held her gaze, silently asking her to trust him. And what else could she do in front of their dratted vicar? She would never contradict George publicly.
Privately . . .
“I’m sure you know best,” she finally replied.
Mr. Elton stood. “Then I shall take my leave. Again, my apologies for disturbing you.”
George also rose. “If you will allow me to hold on to the note, I will show it to Dr. Hughes tomorrow.”
Mr. Elton nodded. “No doubt Dr. Hughes will wish to be part of the discussion with Miss Bates.”
Emma almost choked. The pompous coroner would frighten Miss Bates half to death.
When Mr. Elton grasped Emma’s hand to bow over it, she was hard pressed not to give him a good box on the ear.
“I’ll be right back,” George said, then cast a significant look at Emma before following Mr. Elton out of the room.
She stood and began to pace. When he returned, she marched up to him.
“How could you agree to show that benighted note to Dr. Hughes? Surely you cannot believe that making it public will clear Miss Bates of suspicion. It will do exactly the opposite!”
He gathered her hands and held them against his chest.
“His logic in that regard is erroneous. What is not in error, unfortunately, is the fact that Miss Bates has been engaging in some very odd behavior. No matter my personal feelings, as magistrate, I cannot ignore that.”
She blew out an exasperated sigh. “All right, but it’s ridiculous to suspect Miss Bates. She wouldn’t kill Mrs. Elton over a debt when any number of us could have repaid it for her.”
George looked thoughtful. “Very true. Nevertheless, I cannot help but wonder if Elton is planning to pursue some sort of repayment from Miss Bates—if not now, then later.”
That gave her pause. Again, she recalled the strange discussion about finances between Mr. Elton and Mr. Suckling after the funeral. “He could have written directly to Jane or Frank, if such is the case.”
“Also true. I cannot account for his behavior in that respect.”
“And why must Dr. Hughes go with you tomorrow? You’ll not get a coherent word out of poor Miss Bates if he’s there.”
“I don’t believe I made any such promise regarding Dr. Hughes.”
She stared at him. “But you said—”
His smile was wry. “My dear, please give me more credit than that. I will speak to Miss Bates alone and then share with Dr. Hughes both the note and the information she provides. That will allow me at least some measure of control over this situation.”
Her anxiety receded a notch. “Mr. Elton won’t like that, I suspect.”
“Which is why I didn’t tell him. Emma, I will do my best to protect Miss Bates and her mother. But the truth must come out, whatever it is.”
“Miss Bates is not a murderer.”
“Agreed. But I believe there is something in this situation that might provide clues as to why Mrs. Elton was murdered.”
The light dawned. “So, you agree with me that the killer probably knew Mrs. Elton.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, but there are too many unanswered questions, and that disturbs me.”
Emma had been feeling the same almost from the moment she’d discovered the body.
“For now, however,” he added, “we should keep our suspicions to ourselves.”
“Of course. Thank goodness Frank and Jane will be arriving in a few days. I’m sure they will be a great comfort to Miss Bates and will afford a measure of protection against all this nonsense.”
“Let us hope. In the meantime, we should return to our guests and do what we can to reassure Miss Bates before sending her home.”
Emma steeled herself for the coming encounter—and for the days ahead. They would be difficult, and who knew how they would end?