Murder in Highbury (Emma Knightley Mystery #1)

CHAPTER 21

C HAPTER 21

A fter seeing George off to Guildford the next morning, Emma accompanied her father on his daily turn about the gardens. He set a leisurely pace, giving her ample opportunity to ponder yesterday’s revelations.

“I cannot like this Constable Sharpe, Emma,” her father suddenly exclaimed, breaking into her thoughts. “He seems to go about arresting people without a care for anyone’s feelings.”

She glanced at him, surprised. “I would have thought you relieved that Miss Bates is no longer a suspect. You must admit our dinner party last night was all the better for it.”

Everyone had been thrilled to hear that Miss Bates was no longer a suspect, and the gathering had indeed taken on a celebratory nature. George, the dear man, had even made an extra effort to be polite to Frank, which had pleased Jane.

“Of course I am greatly relieved for my dear friend,” Emma’s father replied. “But Dick Curtis seems such a decent fellow. Whenever we passed him in the carriage, he was always so polite as to stop and raise his hat. For a common laborer, he has very nice manners.”

“George will get to the bottom of it, never fear.”

Her observation evoked a grimace from him. “But, Emma, to be forced to ride all the way to Guildford! Prisons are always so dreadfully damp, too. I fear poor George will catch a chill.”

“I’m sure he’ll take every precaution, dearest.”

“This is all Mr. Elton’s fault. He set Constable Sharpe on poor Miss Bates and now has done the same with Curtis. No wonder the fellow sent Mr. Elton a nasty note. I tell you, Emma, once George has seen that unfortunate man released from prison, I will be raising these issues with the vestry council.”

“George cannot . . . oh, never mind.”

She saw little point in trying to correct her father’s wildly askew understanding of the situation.

“Remember what Mr. Perry said,” she added. “You’re not to be upsetting your nerves. I promise you that George will take care of everything.”

“If anything is upsetting my nerves, it’s Mr. Elton. Everything was perfectly fine in Highbury until he became vicar and began to interfere in the affairs of others.”

Emma found that she couldn’t entirely disagree with her father, but voicing such would hardly be helpful. “But that’s rather the job of a vicar—interfering in the lives of parishioners in the hope of bettering them.”

“Then he has made a very bad job of it. And he has a very obsequious manner, which I have always found quite annoying.”

She almost gaped at him. “And yet he was always such a great favorite of yours, as was Mrs. Elton.”

“That is exactly my point, Emma. If Mr. Elton had attended more to his own business instead of interfering in the affairs of others, Mrs. Elton might still be alive.”

A hail from the house interrupted their bizarre conversation. With relief, she saw Frank Churchill coming out into the gardens.

“Good morning, Mr. Woodhouse, Mrs. Knightley,” Frank said as he joined them. “I hope I find you both well.”

“You do,” she replied. “How is everyone at Randalls? Has Jane recovered from last night’s exertions?”

“She has, and I am to thank you for a splendid evening. It was a most welcome occasion.”

“But you must be more careful, Frank,” Father said. “Jane is in a delicate state. I was quite dismayed to see her eat a piece of cake.”

Frank winked at Emma. “Do you hear that, Mrs. Knightley? No more cakes for Jane.”

“Very sensible, although I’m not sure Jane will agree. Now, are you simply passing by, or would you like to join us for tea?”

“I’m going into Highbury to run an errand, so I thought to see if you had any need to go into the village. I should be happy to escort you.”

His offer was accompanied by a significant look she could easily decipher. Frank wished to speak with her privately.

Hiding her surprise behind a smile, she agreed. “Let me fetch my hat.”

It took but a few minutes to settle her father in the drawing room and then retrieve her hat. But by the time she rejoined Frank, he was clearly in a fever of impatience.

He took her arm and began to march her down the graveled drive.

“Goodness, Frank,” she exclaimed. “Why all the rush?”

He smiled sheepishly and slowed his pace. “Jane frequently scolds me for rushing about like a madman. Can’t think how she puts up with me.”

“I expect it has something to do with your large fortune.”

He burst into laughter. “Dear Emma, please never change.”

“Why would I? Now, what has you in such a fever?”

“It’s about Dick Curtis,” he said as they passed between Hartfield’s gates. “He’s been falsely accused.”

She shot him a sharp glance. “Truly? I rather suspected as much, but why do you think that?”

“Because of Sally Linden, a housemaid at Randalls. Do you know her?”

“Yes. I believe Mrs. Weston thinks very well of her.”

“She also happens to be Dick Curtis’s niece.”

When Emma came to a startled halt, Frank walked on a few paces before noticing and coming about.

“I didn’t know that,” she exclaimed.

He nodded. “Yes, and Sally swears that her uncle was nowhere near the church at the time of the murder, and there is a witness to prove it.”

He took her arm and began to walk her into the village high street.

“I assume we’re going to see that person now,” she wryly said.

“Yes. I intended to alert Mr. Knightley, but your footman says he’s away for the day.”

“He’s riding to Guildford to speak with Dick Curtis in the county gaol.”

Frank snorted. “Constable Sharpe strikes again.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Poor Sally is in tatters over it, so I thought if we could verify Dick’s whereabouts at the time of the murder, you could tell Mr. Knightley when he returns to Hartfield.”

“Why not go to Constable Sharpe with this information?”

“Sally went straight to the blasted man first thing this morning, but he’s convinced Dick is the killer. Wouldn’t even listen to the poor girl.”

Emma shook her head. “That man is such a nuisance. But what about Dr. Hughes?”

“He was apparently indisposed this morning and not taking callers.”

“How inconvenient. Perhaps he is still in mourning for his chickens.”

Frank laughed again.

They came abreast of the linen-draper’s shop. Mrs. Ford was out front, watering her geraniums in a clay pot by the door.

“Good morning, Mrs. Knightley, Mr. Churchill. A fine morning for a walk, is it not?” she called, inspecting them with a great deal of curiosity.

Frank tipped his hat. “Indeed it is.”

“Don’t slow down,” Emma warned, “or she’ll pepper us with a thousand questions.”

“At least we’ve given her something to gossip about. The two of us rushing through the village so early in the day.”

And wouldn’t George just love hearing about that?

Ignoring the prospect that her husband would likely disapprove of this excursion, she turned back to Frank.

“May I ask where we’re going?”

“To see Farmer Mitchell. Sally claims that Dick was working at Mitchell’s farm that day and was there well past the time when Mrs. Elton was murdered.”

“Mr. Mitchell would certainly prove a credible witness, if he can verify Dick’s whereabouts.”

“That’s what I intend to find out.”

A few minutes’ brisk walk brought them to the turn into Mr. Mitchell’s prosperousand tidy farmstead. Although not large, Riverwatch Farm possessed excellent pastureland and produced some of the finest cheeses in the whole district. More to the point, the farmer was a good and honest man whose word was unimpeachable.

As they approached the rambling whitewashed farmhouse, Mr. Mitchell issued forth from his barn.

“Mrs. Knightley, you wait right there,” he called. “Or you’ll be getting them shoes of yours dirty in the muck.”

He strode over to meet them, then pulled his cap to Emma and gave Frank a genial nod.

“It’s a pleasure to see you, Mr. Churchill,” he said. “Miss Bates will be all the more comfortable for having you and Mrs. Churchill here in Highbury. Poor lady’s been going through an awful time, God love her.”

“The murder is why we’ve come to speak with you,” said Emma.

He nodded, perhaps as if he’d been expecting them. “Would you like to step inside? The missus can fix you a cup of tea in no time.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, but we don’t wish to keep you. I would be grateful, though, if you could send a wheel of your cheddar around to Hartfield. Serle raved about your last batch.”

“I’ll have one of the lads bring it over this afternoon. Now, how can I help?”

“I’m not sure if you know this,” she replied, “but Constable Sharpe has arrested Dick Curtis for Mrs. Elton’s murder.”

He let out a disgusted snort. “I heard. Sharpe’s got the wrong end of it, I reckon.”

“Sally Linden claims that Dick was working here the day of the murder,” Frank said. “Is that true?”

“Aye. Dick was here all day, doing odd jobs and helping the missus clean out the cellar. I know he’s a bit of a rough one, but he’s a good man, and he’s been dealt a hard blow with that hand of his. I try to give him as much work as I can.”

Emma and Frank exchanged a glance.

“Was Dick here that entire afternoon?” she asked.

“That’s what I told Constable Sharpe. He came sniffing around here after Dick was flapping his gums at the Crown. Now, I’m not claiming old Dick should have said those things or written that silly note, but he would never hurt no one, especially a lady. I’ve known him all my life, and he’s never lifted a hand to anyone.”

“Sharpe obviously didn’t believe you,” Frank said.

“No. I told Sharpe that Dick was working down in the cellar most of the afternoon, and my missus was in the kitchen or down with him the whole time. But Sharpe says Dick must have snuck out when my missus wasn’t looking, then went and robbed and killed Mrs. Elton. I asked him, ‘Well, where’s the bloody necklace, then?’ ” He grimaced. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Knightley.”

“I share your opinion, sir. No apology is necessary.”

“I surely hope you can help Dick,” he earnestly said. “He’s a good man, even if he sometimes can’t get himself out of his own way.”

“Mr. Knightley will do everything he can to help him,” Emma assured him. “Thank you, sir, and please give my best to Mrs. Mitchell.”

“I will, ma’am, and I’ll have that cheddar sent round by the end of the afternoon.”

As they set off down the lane, Frank looked thoughtful. “So, Dick Curtis should be in the clear. Unfortunately, poor Aunt Hetty may now again fall under suspicion.”

Emma sighed. “Yes, I have little doubt that Mr. Sharpe will now pester Miss Bates again.”

Frank made a small growling noise. “I think it’s time the constable and I have a word about this harassment of Aunt Hetty.”

“Given his temperament, that will not help. But George and Dr. Hughes will manage him, never fear.”

“For now,” he grimly replied.

She pulled him to a halt. “No one in Highbury believes that Miss Bates is responsible for Mrs. Elton’s murder except for silly Constable Sharpe. Surely you know that?”

“And are you entirely sure that’s so?” he challenged.

It took her a moment to understand. “Mr. Elton? No, he doesn’t believe it, either. He simply thought he was doing the right thing by bringing the promissory note to George’s attention.”

“Always so dutiful, our vicar,” Frank sarcastically replied. “In this case, I wish he’d exercised more judgment than duty.”

“Yes, but he truly regrets it now.”

“No doubt because he is exiled from both Hartfield and Randalls. My father is furious with Mr. Elton, which is an unusual state for him, as you know. He won’t let the bounder set foot on the grounds.”

“My father feels the same. I’ve never seen him so vexed about anything.”

“Bless the dear fellow. He’s been quite the champion on Aunt Hetty’s behalf.”

“Well, I look forward to the day when this dreadful mess is behind us. Then Father can go back to insisting that we all eat Serle’s hideous gruel, and Miss Bates can fuss about Jane’s letters or her mother’s spectacles.”

He flashed a quick smile that bordered on a smirk. “Spectacles. I’m very good at repairing them, as you know.”

Despite her worries, Emma couldn’t help but laugh. Whilst secretly betrothed to Jane, Frank had used every excuse to spend time with her, but in a seemingly innocent fashion. He had offered to sit with Mrs. Bates and even once had repaired her spectacles.

“It was too bad of you, Frank. I’m sure you were laughing at all of us behind our backs.”

As they turned into the high street, his features fell into serious lines. “Sometimes, but I also caused my dearest Jane a great deal of distress. And now to see her in distress again . . .” He struck a fist against his palm. “We must put an end to this. The true killer must be run to ground.”

“Please know that George truly is doing everything possible. We all are, Frank. You must be patient and reassure Jane as best you can. It would be a terrible thing if her health were to take an adverse turn because of this.”

“If there’s more of this, I can assure you that Sharpe’s health will be adversely affected, too.”

Alarmed by his tone, Emma did her best to turn his thoughts toward more cheerful channels. She enquired after his uncle and the estate in Yorkshire and wondered if he and Jane would be visiting London. Such harmless chitchat, along with a few encounters with locals as they walked through the village, seemed to restore his peace of mind.

“Will you come in for tea?” she asked when they reached Hartfield. “Father would be so pleased to see you.”

“Gladly, although I don’t imagine Mr. Knightley will have returned yet.”

“Not for another hour or so, I would imagine.”

She couldn’t help thinking it might be better if Frank was safely returned to Randalls before George returned to Hartfield. While her husband had been the soul of courtesy last night, she had no wish to try his patience further.

Her father, ensconced in the drawing room, hailed their appearance with relief. “Thank goodness you’ve returned. It’s much too hot for all this walking about. Where did you go?”

“We went to see Farmer Mitchell,” Frank replied.

She mentally sighed, since she’d already told her father they were simply attending to errands in the village.

Father reacted with perturbation. “Emma, farms are very dirty. Why in Heaven’s name would you go to a farm?”

“Mr. Mitchell’s farm is very clean, dearest. And Serle always says they have the best cheese in the entire district.”

“Not to worry, Mr. Woodhouse,” Frank reassured him. “We stood in the drive while we talked, and stayed only a few minutes. It was perfectly safe.”

“But why go in the first place?”

Resigned, Emma decided to tell him the truth. “Mr. Mitchell was able to vouch for Dick Curtis. Dick was working at the farm during the time that Mrs. Elton was murdered.”

Her father went very still. She held her breath, waiting for him to arrive at the unwelcome conclusion.

“Emma, you should not have done such a thing,” he finally exclaimed. “Now Constable Sharpe will try to arrest poor Miss Bates again.”

She sat on the ottoman by his chair and took his hand. “George will not allow that to happen. Besides, you said yourself that Dick was innocent. We cannot wish to see him charged for a crime he didn’t commit.”

His thin face wrinkled with concern. “But Miss Bates is innocent, too.”

“And everyone knows that.”

“Constable Sharpe certainly does not.” He flapped his other hand in the air. “This is all Mr. Elton’s fault, Emma. He is responsible for this terrible predicament.”

When Simon entered the room with the tea service, Emma welcomed the distraction. “I promise you that George will take care of everything. Now, shall we—”

“We must certainly hope for that,” Frank interrupted. “But I think we can also agree that Elton’s actions have caused a great deal of trouble. How can Aunt Hetty—or any of us—ever be comfortable with him again?”

Emma regarded him with exasperation. “The man’s wife was murdered, Frank. You cannot blame him for wanting to see justice done.”

“I can when he points the finger at innocent people.”

She sighed.

Simon gently cleared his throat. “Mrs. Knightley, would you like me to prepare the tea?”

Dredging up a smile, she shook her head. “I’ll do it. You may go, Simon.”

“Very good, madam.”

He’d barely exited the room before George walked in.

“I see we have a visitor for tea,” he said in a tone as dry as chalk.

Drat, drat, drat.

She jumped to her feet. “George, I didn’t expect you so early.”

“Mr. Knightley, just the man I wish to see,” Frank said.

George’s eyebrows went up with polite incredulity. “And why is that?”

“Dearest, let me prepare you a cup of tea,” Emma said, all but shoving him onto the settee. “You must be parched from your long ride.”

“It wasn’t so long, my dear. And my errand was over rather quickly.”

“That’s exactly what I wished to speak with you about,” Frank said. “Emma—that is, Mrs. Knightley—and I discovered evidence that vindicates Dick Curtis.”

“Did you now?”

Emma winced. She had heard that deceptively bland tone before and knew what it meant.

“We didn’t really discover it, George,” she said, handing him a teacup. “I mean, I didn’t discover it. Frank, er, Mr. Churchill, did. I had very little to do with it.”

Frank held up a hand. “Now, don’t count yourself short, Mrs. Knightley. From what I can tell, nothing escapes your sharp notice.”

“Although you must stop going to farms and other dirty places, Emma,” her father put in. “You might catch a fever.”

She grimaced a silent apology to her husband, who now regarded her with a sardonic eye.

While she served tea and kept her father distracted, Frank recounted their discoveries to George.

“That perfectly corroborates what Curtis told me,” he said when Frank had finished.

“So you’ll be able to get him released from the gaol?” Emma asked.

“On my way home, I left a message with Mrs. Hughes, asking the doctor to call on me as soon as possible to discuss the matter.” George rose to his feet. “Thank you for this information, Mr. Churchill. I’m sure you must be wishing to return to Randalls.”

“I am, but if you wish me to stay to speak with Dr. Hughes—”

George bluntly cut him off. “Not necessary.”

Frank took the summary dismissal with his usual good grace, even winking at Emma on his way out.

When he’d departed, she rounded on her husband. “Really, George, that was quite rude. Frank was only trying to help.”

“I assure you, Dr. Hughes would appreciate Frank’s presence as little as I do.”

“Frank agrees with me about Mr. Elton,” Father said. “Which is very sensible of him.”

“ Sensible is not a word one normally applies to Frank Churchill,” George replied. “And what were you agreeing with him about?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Emma hastily interjected. “Father, why don’t you go upstairs and have a little rest before dinner?”

He nodded. “An excellent suggestion, especially if Dr. Hughes is to be calling. George, I do not approve of him. He drones on quite dreadfully.”

“I think none of us approve of him, sir, but we must forebear.”

Once George had escorted her father from the room, he returned to sit with Emma. “Now, what are your father and Frank in agreement about?”

“Father thinks Mr. Elton is to blame for much of the trouble in Highbury since Mrs. Elton’s murder. Frank agrees with him.”

“One can hardly blame either of them for that opinion, I suppose.”

“Dearest, the poor man’s wife was brutally murdered. I think we must make allowances.”

“Very true. Just as I will make allowances for you going off with Frank to investigate that murder.”

She quickly reached for the teapot. “Would you like another cup of tea?”

“A game attempt at diversion, my love. We will resume this conversation later, but I believe I just heard the door. That should be Dr. Hughes.”

For once, Emma was grateful that the coroner was about to descend upon them. “Shall we offer him tea?”

“No. I’ve already had to put up with a great deal today, including a prison visit and an insolent pup winking at my wife.”

She choked out a laugh. “For shame, George. Those two events cannot possibly be of equal concern.”

Her husband looked about to retort when Dr. Hughes was ushered in.

“Thank you for your promptness,” George said, going to meet him. “I promise we won’t keep you long.”

“When Mr. Knightley calls, I spring to action,” he replied with a ponderous attempt at humor. “Now, sir, how can I be of help?”

“Dick Curtis is not guilty of Mrs. Elton’s murder and must be released from the gaol.”

Dr. Hughes peered at him over the top of his tiny spectacles. “And what is the proof of this?”

With an admirable economy of words—and declining to mention Emma’s involvement—George outlined the evidence acquired from Farmer Mitchell. The doctor was soon nodding in agreement.

“That certainly seems definitive, Mr. Knightley, since Farmer Mitchell and his wife are most trustworthy people.”

“So Dick will be released?” Emma asked.

“If Mr. Knightley will be so kind as to send a letter to the warden, I will inform Constable Sharpe that he is to turn the investigation in another direction.”

She couldn’t refrain from narrowing her gaze at him. “I hope that direction is not toward Miss Bates. That would be outside of enough.”

While Dr. Hughes looked mildly affronted by her remark, he did not disagree. “Although it’s true that her behavior was initially suspicious, Miss Bates does not possess the strength or temperament to carry out such a heinous crime.”

Emma quietly breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, sir. I worried that the constable was fixed on the promissory note as sufficient motive for murdering Mrs. Elton.”

“I believe the issues surrounding the note have been adequately addressed. I might also add that ladies, in general, are incapable of violent criminal acts. They are delicate creatures, easily overset by such things as the sight of blood.”

Emma found his analysis both silly and irritating. Motivated by the greater good, however, she declined to debate with him.

“I don’t imagine Constable Sharpe will be pleased to be told that he now has no viable suspects,” she said instead.

Dr. Hughes shot up a dramatic finger. “But I think we do, Mrs. Knightley.”

Emma exchanged a startled glance with her husband.

“This is news to me,” said George. “Who is this suspect?”

“Why, the poultry thief, of course. He is back and has grown excessively bold. He is clearly a dangerous man and a vile thief.”

Emma felt her jaw sag like an ill-fitting drawer, while George regarded the doctor with an astonished expression.

She found her voice. “Sir, I don’t wish to be rude, but how does one go from raiding a chicken coop to murdering the vicar’s wife?”

“Mrs. Knightley, I assure you that a man capable of stealing a much-prized Speckled Sussex hen is capable of anything.”

Good God. Their coroner was a complete idiot.

“Doctor, I must admit that your theory seems a trifle unusual,” George diplomatically commented.

Exasperated, Emma shook her head. “It seems nonsensical, if you ask me.”

“Only to the untrained mind, Mrs. Knightley,” the doctor replied in haughty tones. “Those of us who deal in such matters, however, can see what others cannot.”

Sadly, what she could see was that Mrs. Elton’s murder investigation had now descended into the realm of farce.