Murder in Highbury (Emma Knightley Mystery #1)

CHAPTER 18

C HAPTER 18

F eeling wilted after trudging home from Donwell in the heat, Emma handed her bonnet to the waiting footman.

“Mr. Woodhouse is waiting for you in the drawing room, ma’am,” he said.

“Thank you, Simon.”

She was desperate for a relaxing cup of tea, especially since she and George had not had a relaxing conversation.

After parting ways with Harriet, she’d set off for Donwell. George had been in his study, trying to catch up on his work. Initially, he’d been surprised and rather annoyed to hear of her discussion with Mrs. Goddard. He’d bluntly expressed the opinion that Emma should have come to him first before marching off to interrogate potential witnesses.

Emma stuck to her guns. As had been the case with Miss Bates, she remained convinced that Mrs. Goddard had been more forthcoming with her than she would have been with George. After a few tart remarks about interfering in official investigations, he eventually agreed. Thankfully, he also agreed that there was no immediate need to further question Mrs. Goddard or relay what Emma had discovered to Constable Sharpe. Instead, George deemed it necessary to acquire additional information before proceeding further.

“Will that require a closer look at the Eltons’ finances?” Emma asked.

“Yes, and I’d like more information about Suckling’s finances, as well. There are too many unanswered questions to continue ignoring that line of enquiry.”

Emma thoroughly approved, since Mr. Suckling had become her favorite candidate as the murderer. There was clearly trouble between the in-laws, and money seemed to be at the heart of it.

After a brief discussion on how to go about such an enquiry, George decided to write to his brother, John, who resided in London. Married to Isabella, Emma’s older sister, John was an accomplished barrister with a thriving practice. If anyone could unearth the necessary information about Mr. Suckling’s finances, it would be he.

As for discovering the truth of Mr. Elton’s financial situation, George insisted she leave the matter with him. A bit reluctantly, she agreed—mostly because she couldn’t imagine the circumstances in which the subject would naturally arise.

Now she had nothing to do but enjoy a cup of tea with her father before retiring for a bath before dinner.

“Has my father had tea, Simon?” she asked.

“Mr. Woodhouse insisted on waiting for you and so would not allow me to prepare him a cup.”

The footman’s carefully blank expression made her sigh. “Is he upset about something?”

“I believe so, Mrs. Knightley.”

When she lifted her eyebrows in silent enquiry, he gave a slight grimace.

“Mr. Elton stopped by this afternoon,” he said. “To call on Mr. Woodhouse.”

Drat.

“I take it my father did not respond well.”

“Mr. Woodhouse instructed me to eject Mr. Elton from the premises,” he woodenly replied.

She gaped at him. “You mean literally eject him?”

“I believe the phrase employed was toss the bounder out of my house .”

It took Emma a few moments to collect her wits. “I take it Miss Bates was visiting at the time.”

“Yes, madam.”

“I’m going to assume you did not physically eject Mr. Elton from the house.”

“No. I explained to Mr. Elton that Mr. Woodhouse was not receiving guests at present.”

She eyed him. “Is there something else, Simon?”

Again, he grimaced. “I’m afraid Mr. Elton might have heard the order for his removal. Mr. Woodhouse was quite, er, forceful.”

Double drat.

Apparently, it was asking too much to have a quiet cup of tea and a bath.

“Is Miss Bates still here?”

“She left a short time ago.”

“In a fit of the vapors, no doubt.”

The footman’s left eyelid twitched.

“Thank you, Simon. The situation must have been hideous, but I’m sure you managed it as well as it could be.”

As she headed for the drawing room, Emma realized that until the true killer was caught, they’d be forever subjected to bouts of the vapors and her father’s alarming changes in temperament.

As soon as she entered, Father threw off his lap blanket and all but sprang to his feet. “Emma, Mr. Elton had the temerity to call, and it upset Miss Bates terribly. I have never been so astounded in my life.”

She gently pressed him back into the chair. “I know it was upsetting, but I’m not sure we needed to threaten poor Mr. Elton. Simply saying that one is not receiving calls would have done quite nicely.”

He flapped an agitated hand. “But I thought you made it clear to Mr. Elton that he was not to call.”

“I did, but I cannot control his every movement. Perhaps he was coming to apologize.”

“I do not want his apologies, and I do not want him in my house again. To accuse Miss Bates of murder—it’s simply outrageous! In fact, I will write to the bishop and insist he send us a new vicar. I will not step foot in that church, and neither will you, until this issue is addressed.”

Emma forced herself not to grit her teeth. “Father, it was Constable Sharpe who accused Miss Bates, not Mr. Elton.”

“That would not have happened if he’d kept that foolish note to himself. And Mrs. Elton had no business pestering Miss Bates in the first place. The Eltons have caused a great deal of trouble, and I do not approve of trouble, Emma.”

At this point, she found it hard to disagree with him. “I know, Father, but don’t forget that poor Mrs. Elton is dead.”

He drew his lap blanket up to his chest and glared at her. “Miss Bates had nothing to do with that.”

She sighed with resignation. “What would you have me do?”

“Tell Mr. Elton that he is no longer welcome at Hartfield.”

“I already did that.”

“Then please tell him again.”

“Very well, dear. Let me pour you a cup of tea, and then I’ll take care of it.”

By the time she got him settled with his tea, it occurred to her that delivering the message in person—as unpleasant as it would surely be—might give her the opportunity to discreetly probe the vicar about his financial situation. George would disapprove, but Mr. Elton might find it more comfortable to speak with her than with the man for whom he had so much respect. Mr. Elton greatly admired George, and admitting his difficulties to him would be embarrassing. If she could spare the vicar’s blushes, she was willing to endure another awkward visit.

After retrieving her bonnet, she set off and soon arrived at the vicarage. Since its master was home, she was ushered into the formal drawing room, now absent signs of mourning.

Mr. Elton hurried in a few minutes later. “Mrs. Knightley, do forgive me. As soon as the footman informed me of your arrival, I hastened to the kitchen and asked Mrs. Wright to prepare tea.”

“That’s very kind, but you needn’t put yourself to so much trouble.”

“I can think of nothing more elevating than a visit from you, Mrs. Knightley—although certainly Mrs. Martin is always a true ray of light in a bleak landscape. Your friend is not with you today, I see.”

“She is busy at home.”

He sighed. “Dear, dear Mrs. Martin.”

Oh . . . dear.

“But I am forgetting my manners,” he said. “Please do sit.”

Rather surprisingly, he sat next to her on the red velvet settee. In his sober clerical garb, he looked out of place in the excessively stylish room, with its emphasis on red velvet, along with much gold fringe on the curtains and cushions. As well, there was bright yellow wallpaper and several large brass wall sconces. In totality, the decor was hardly what one expected in the home of a country vicar.

“Will Mr. Knightley also be dropping by?” he asked in a hopeful voice.

“I’m afraid not. Donwell keeps him so busy at this time of year.”

He pulled a sad face. “I have no doubt that his duties regarding Augusta’s investigation have greatly burdened him. I am truly sorry, Mrs. Knightley. You have both been so kind.”

“There is no need to apologize, sir. We are happy to help.”

“What would Highbury do without you, dear madam? How fortunate we are to have such models of compassion at Hartfield and Donwell Abbey.”

She mentally winced, since one of those models of compassion had been on the verge of ejecting him out the front door less than an hour ago.

“And how are you, sir? Have you been able to find a bit of peace and quiet these past few days?”

His shoulders slumped. “That’s just it, Mrs. Knightley. It’s too quiet. Augusta had such a dynamic personality. Always busy, always bringing energy to everything she did.”

While Emma had always found Mrs. Elton exhausting, of course Mr. Elton would feel differently. The vicarage no doubt echoed with her absence. Emma had experienced that same emptiness after her mother died—her laughter fading to silence, the scent of her perfume drifting away to nothing.

Still, Mr. Elton was a young man, so it was likely he would eventually recover and go on to lead a happy and productive life. And it would be with a less annoying woman than the first Mrs. Elton, one could hope.

She touched his sleeve. “I hope you can take comfort in the concern of your friends.”

He tentatively put out a hand. “Indeed I do, madam. In fact—”

When the door opened, he sprang to his feet with startling alacrity. Goodness, but the man’s behavior was changeable. Not for the first time, she wondered if grief had slightly unhinged him.

“Ah, Mrs. Wright with tea,” he exclaimed as the housekeeper entered, followed by a footman holding the tray.

Mrs. Wright gave a stiff nod. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Knightley. Sir, do you wish me to pour?”

“I think we can impose on Mrs. Knightley to perform that duty, can we not?” he said, smiling at Emma.

“I should be happy to.”

After another stiff nod, the housekeeper retreated, the footman in her wake.

As Emma prepared tea, she asked the vicar a few innocuous questions about church matters. He soon seemed to unbend and cast off some of his morose demeanor. After a few more minutes, however, he shifted a bit, suddenly looking awkward.

“How is your father?” he asked. “I called earlier today, hoping he would agree to see me, but he was not receiving visitors. I do hope Mr. Woodhouse isn’t suffering from poor health. I should be most distressed to hear so.”

Emma mentally prepared to deliver the blow. “It is my father that I wish to speak with you about, sir.”

He perked up. “I stand ready to serve Mr. Woodhouse in any way I can.”

“Unfortunately, I must again ask you to refrain from visiting Hartfield. I truly regret making this request, but it is necessary for my father’s well-being.”

He sighed. “I feared he was still displeased with me.”

She was surprised by his mild response. It seemed Mr. Elton had not heard Father yelling, after all.

“Let me just say that he remains perturbed about certain matters pertaining to the investigation. While I’m sure this is only a temporary situation, I must beg your understanding for the time being, Mr. Elton.”

He briefly closed his eyes, shaking his head. “Madam, please know that I now deeply regret ever raising the issue. I had no idea that Constable Sharpe would act in so ungentlemanly a fashion toward poor Miss Bates.”

Emma blinked in surprise. “You know about that?”

“I spoke to Dr. Hughes this morning. The constable was also present and was quite insistent that I be informed of his conclusions regarding Miss Bates—and his regrettable actions. Naturally, I was devastated to hear that you were all subjected to such an unpleasant scene. That is why I went to call upon Mr. Woodhouse to offer my sincere apologies.”

Too late, I’m afraid.

“I appreciate that, Mr. Elton, but I fear my father will continue to remain disturbed until his friend is fully cleared of suspicion.”

“Which he blames on me,” he morosely said.

Emma gave him an apologetic grimace.

He made an attempt to rally. “Ah, well, as vicar, I am called upon to be understanding. ‘Judge not, that ye be not judged,’ as the Good Book says. I know Mr. Woodhouse to be a good and loyal man who suffers for his friend. I only hope that someday he can find a way to forgive me.”

That was a surprisingly charitable view from a person who had often displayed a certain meanness of character.

In the aftermath of his wife’s death, Emma had found Mr. Elton’s behavior erratic, even strange. But perhaps grief was transforming him into a man more perceptive of the sensibilities of others, a man with a greater understanding of the natural foibles of his neighbors and friends.

“I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Elton. As I mentioned, I’m sure the situation is temporary.”

“I truly do understand, though I must admit that your steadfast friendship has been a great source of consolation. To be deprived of it—no matter how justly—is indeed a cruel blow.”

That seemed a bit much.

“Mr. Knightley and I are always at your disposal, and of course, you are welcome at Donwell. May I pour you another cup of tea?”

He smiled. “You and Mr. Knightley are both so kind.”

Congratulating herself for getting over rough ground with relative ease, she decided it was time to venture into more rocky terrain.

“And how is Mr. Suckling?” she casually asked as she refilled his cup. “Will he be returning to Highbury? You must find his help a great comfort.”

There. That was certainly a leading question.

Mr. Elton took the cup before answering. “My brother-in-law will be returning in a few days to assist me with some outstanding financial matters. I have little head for business, which is why I depend so much on Horace. He is an excellent man.”

She mentally blinked at this blatant reframing of their relationship. “Well, you are fortunate to have his assistance, then. I hope those financial matters will not prove too troubling.”

“I shouldn’t think so.”

He alternately sipped his tea and smiled at her, apparently having nothing further to say. Clearly, he needed a nudge.

“My husband would be happy to assist you, as well, Mr. Elton. As you know, he is quite adept in financial and legal matters.”

The vicar looked surprised. “Of course, but I wouldn’t dream of imposing on him. He’s much too busy to worry about my little problems.”

Emma mentally regrouped.

“And how are you faring when it comes to managing your household, sir? Because I know you relied greatly on your wife, I should be happy to help until you find your footing.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “I have been managing Hartfield for several years, so I have quite a bit of experience in that regard.”

He seemed to consider her offer. Emma held her breath, willing him to say yes.

Alas, the vicar regretfully shook his head. “I can no more impose on you than I can on your husband, dear madam. Mrs. Wright and I will muddle along, never fear. And I always have Horace to fall back upon.”

As much as it annoyed her, Emma now had to admit defeat. Mr. Elton was a closed book in regard to his finances.

“Of course. Still, if you encounter any difficulties or wish to make changes in your style of housekeeping, please don’t hesitate to ask for my help.”

He issued a melancholy sigh. “I imagine my housekeeping will be much reduced, now that I am a widower. My sole focus will henceforth be the well-being of my parishioners, Mrs. Knightley.”

“Very proper, I’m sure.” She put down her cup. “Thank you for the tea, Mr. Elton.”

With profuse expressions of gratitude for her support, he escorted her to the door. As she was making her farewells, he hesitantly touched her arm.

“Mrs. Knightley, may I ask a great favor of you?”

“Of course.”

“I would be grateful if you could again convey my apologies to your father. At the time, it seemed that coming forward with the promissory note was both a matter of conscience and a sacred duty I owed to my wife.”

That took Emma by surprise. Revealing the promissory note had ultimately led to nothing but embarrassing questions about his wife and her fraught relations with her neighbors.

“Mr. Elton, surely you never believed Miss Bates capable of murder.”

He grimaced. “No, which is why I now regret it. I simply wished to explain why I acted as I did, in the hope that Mr. Woodhouse might come to understand my reasoning—no matter how faulty it may have been.”

Emma suspected that no amount of reasoning would sway her father. Yet saying so would simply make the vicar feel worse.

“I cannot promise anything, but I will do my best,” she replied.

He gave her a grateful smile. “Of course you will, Mrs. Knightley. You never do anything less.”