Murder in Highbury (Emma Knightley Mystery #1)

CHAPTER 24

C HAPTER 24

“I t would make life easier if Mr. Suckling were indeed the murderer,” Emma said to her husband as they walked toward the vicarage. “But there are so many unanswered questions.”

“Such as?”

“For one, Mr. Suckling was ostensibly in London that day. How could he slip in and out of Highbury unnoticed? That would take a great bit of luck.”

“Presumably, he came by horse, which would mean only one animal to keep out of sight for a short period of time. It’s possible that someone did see him, especially on the road, but would not remark on it. Remember that it was a very hot day, and few people were out and about. You mentioned that yourself, as I recall.”

He shifted the large basket of supplies to his other arm.

Emma frowned, momentarily diverted. “George, you should have allowed one of the footmen to carry the basket. I’m sure it’s much too heavy.”

He cast her an amused glance. “My dear, I know I strike you as a weedy sort of fellow, but I am well able to carry it.”

She scoffed, since her husband was one of the tallest and fittest men in the parish and had a fine set of shoulders, which she admired on a regular basis. “I simply don’t wish you to get overheated.”

“I am hardly likely to get overheated by walking a scant ten minutes to the vicarage. Although it does appear that you emptied half the contents of the medicine chest into this basket, as well as most of Serle’s baking.”

“Perhaps I did overdo it, but poor Mr. Elton! Under the circumstances, one feels one cannot do enough.”

He immediately sobered. “Yes, it’s truly hard to believe.”

That reminded her of another niggling doubt. “Why do you think Mr. Suckling was so secretive in his meeting with Mrs. Elton? Surely he didn’t travel to Highbury with the express intention of killing her.”

“He might well have.”

She let that horrid thought settle for a moment. “Very well, let’s say that is so. Why would Mrs. Elton agree to meet him secretly? And in the church, of all places?”

“Perhaps because she didn’t wish her husband to know about their meeting. And barring a secluded country lane or a spot in the woods, I can think of few places more private than the church on a quiet Saturday afternoon.”

“She was also to meet Miss Bates, don’t forget.”

“I imagine that Suckling didn’t realize his sister-in-law would be meeting Miss Bates.”

“George—” She broke off to acknowledge a greeting from Mrs. Peters, who was out tending the small vegetable garden in front of her cottage.

“Mrs. Peters seems a great deal improved,” commented George as they passed by.

“Yes, she was able to return to work at Ford’s last week.”

“That is excellent news.”

Emma eyed her husband. After his brief spasm of irritation during the interview with Constable Sharpe, he had reverted to his usual state of calm. In fact, one might call him positively phlegmatic—quite a mental feat given the dramatic events of the day.

“George, what aren’t you telling me?”

He lifted both eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. “Are you suggesting I would withhold information from my beloved wife?”

“If you’re implying that I withhold information from you , that is simply untrue. I always tell you everything.”

“Eventually,” he wryly replied.

She couldn’t really deny the point. “I would still like to know what you’re thinking.”

“I’m surprised it hasn’t already occurred to you.”

“Please humor me.”

“Very well. I’m thinking how easy it should be to ascertain Suckling’s whereabouts on the day of the murder. If he was in London, he should be able to prove that.”

She sighed. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

Undoubtedly, the shocks of the past twenty-four hours, coupled with lack of sleep, had addled her brain.

“Mrs. Suckling should be able to account for her husband’s movements,” George added.

“But could be she counted upon to tell the truth if it casts her husband in an unpleasant light?”

“We shall see if Mr. Elton can shed light on some of these questions. If, that is, he is well enough to receive us.”

“He’ll see us.” Even when Mrs. Elton was alive and relations were frosty, Mr. Elton never turned down an invitation to Hartfield or refused to see Mr. Knightley.

They walked in silence for a few moments, with only the twitter of sparrows disturbing the quiet of Vicarage Lane.

“George, do you believe Mr. Suckling is the murderer?” she finally asked.

“I reserve judgment, but the presence of the stolen necklace, for one, seems rather definitive.”

The necklace did rather trump other considerations.

“He’s certainly an unpleasant person,” Emma mused, “and it’s become clear that he and Mr. Elton had a troubled relationship.”

“One that now seems to have extended to Mrs. Elton, as well.”

“What a tangled web,” she said with a grimace. “If he did murder Mrs. Elton, I cannot help wondering if Mrs. Suckling knew. Perhaps that’s why she never came down to Highbury. She couldn’t face Mr. Elton.”

“An excellent question.”

Another thought darted into her head, and she grabbed her husband’s sleeve. “George, what if she does know and approves of Mr. Suckling’s actions? Wouldn’t that implicate her in the crime?”

He shot her a startled frown. “That’s a grim thought. But a wife cannot be made to testify against her husband, which would make it difficult to arrive at the truth in that regard.”

Emma blew out a frustrated sigh. “How convenient for them. So, they could give each other an alibi for that day?”

“Correct. Under the law, husband and wife are considered to be one person, and one cannot be forced to testify against himself or herself.”

“That’s annoying.”

“It wouldn’t matter, anyway. In criminal cases a wife is not considered competent to give reliable testimony.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, irritation turning to disgust. “You’re joking.”

“I’m the magistrate, my dear. I would never joke about something like that.”

With the vicarage now in sight, she took his elbow and began to march forward. “Believing a wife is not competent to testify is a completely antiquated way of thinking, George. I hope you realize that.”

“I do. And if I am ever on trial for committing a crime, I will make it clear that any evidence you wish to present against me is completely reliable.”

“Are you trying to annoy me?”

“The opposite, my Emma. You’ve had a trying time of it these past few days, and I do not wish you to fret unduly. I assure you that I will do everything in my power to see that justice is done.”

Her flashed of irritation evaporated. “I know you will, dearest. I have complete faith in you.”

They walked up the short path to the vicarage door, but when Emma reached for the knocker, George stopped her.

“If Sharpe’s account of this morning’s events is accurate, Mr. Elton will likely be in a poor state,” he said. “You should prepare yourself and try to temper any shock you may feel.”

“Oh dear. Of course you’re right. It would be upsetting for poor Mr. Elton if I displayed too great a degree of distress.”

“I do not wish you to be unduly distressed, either. If the situation proves too much for you, please find a way to communicate that to me.”

She went up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “I will be fine, dearest. I promise.”

He looked skeptical but reached for the door knocker.

George had barely rapped before the door was yanked open by a rather disheveled-looking footman.

“Mr. Knightley, Mrs. Knightley,” he exclaimed.

When he continued to peer at them, as if mystified by their presence, Emma and George exchanged a glance.

“Is Mr. Elton at home?” George finally asked.

The footman roused himself. “Begging your pardon, sir, but we wasn’t expecting visitors today, to tell you the truth.”

Emma eyed the nasty bruise on the young man’s right cheek. “I’m sure it’s been a terribly difficult day.”

“Indeed, ma’am. I never thought to see the like.” He grimaced. “First, Mr. Suckling murders poor Mrs. Elton, and then he attacks Mr. Elton, then me, then poor Joseph. A body hardly knows what—”

“That will be all, Percy,” snapped an imperious voice.

As if summoned by a wizard, Mrs. Wright appeared out of nowhere—a talent she seemed to possess in abundance.

In his haste to scuttle back from the door, Percy almost tripped over his feet. “Yes, Mrs. Wright. I was just telling Mr. and Mrs. Knightley—”

“So I heard,” she coldly interrupted. “Please keep your attention on your work instead of gossiping about matters that are none of your business.”

When the poor fellow turned a bright pink, Emma leveled a disapproving frown at the housekeeper. But the woman, impervious to that sort of thing, ignored her to run a contemptuous eye over the footman instead.

“Go to your room and make yourself presentable,” Mrs. Wright said. “Immediately.”

When Percy bobbed his head, clearly mortified, Emma couldn’t help but bristle. She’d always considered it the height of rudeness to embarrass a servant in front of guests.

“Thank you, Percy,” she called after him as he hurried away.

He flashed a grateful smile over his shoulder before disappearing into the back hall.

Mrs. Wright dipped into a shallow curtsy. “I beg pardon for any offense, Mr. Knightley. We were not expecting visitors.”

“There was no offense taken,” he replied. “A degree of disruption is not to be wondered at, given the events of the day.”

“You are very kind, but there can be no excuse for slipshod behavior.”

Emma could barely refrain from rolling her eyes. “It’s not every day that one stumbles upon a murderer, who then tries to throttle the master of the house. That would be bound to upset even the most experienced servant.”

When the housekeeper transferred her stony gaze to Emma, George stepped into the breach.

“Is Mr. Elton well enough to receive visitors? We do not wish to disturb him if he’s indisposed.”

The stony gaze flickered back to him, displaying not one iota of emotion. In fact, it struck Emma as rather fishlike—a dead fish.

“I will enquire with Mr. Elton.” She reached for the basket. “Allow me to take that, sir.”

George handed it over. “Please tell Mr. Elton—”

The woman pivoted on her heel and marched from the hall.

“Good God,” Emma exclaimed. “She had the nerve to upbraid that poor footman, then turns her back on you and leaves us standing in the hall.”

“She was no doubt offended by your pointed observation,” George replied with unimpaired calm. “Still, her response certainly left something to be desired.”

“Rather more than something. She’s almost as annoying as her former mistress. I suppose Mrs. Elton’s behavior must have rubbed off on her.”

“That must be a comfort to Mr. Elton, then.”

Emma tried to stifle a laugh. “George, that is too bad of you.”

He placed his hat on a side table by the door. “I am simply following your lead, my dear.”

“Don’t expect me to apologize. The dratted woman couldn’t even take your hat.”

“It’s no matter.”

While they waited, Emma drew up a mental list of questions she hoped to ask Mr. Elton—all with sensitivity, of course. She wished she could also speak with the servants, since they were often highly useful sources of information. Their days were tightly stitched into the lives of their employers—so much so that their presence was often forgotten. Who knew what they’d overheard these past few weeks inside the walls of the old vicarage?

Finally, they heard a quick footstep, and Mrs. Wright reentered the hall. “If you will please follow me, Mr. Elton will receive you in the family parlor.”

“Goodness knows why that took so long to arrange,” Emma whispered to her husband.

“Perhaps he was making himself presentable,” he murmured back.

She felt a twinge of guilt. As much as she wanted answers, Emma didn’t wish the poor man to further injure himself on their account.

Mrs. Wright led them to the parlor and announced their presence. Mr. Elton, seated in the wingback chair by the window, flung off the shawl covering his knees and painfully clambered to his feet.

“Dear sir and madam, come in,” he said in a raspy voice. “Do forgive me for not coming out to greet you. As you can see, I am not at my best.”

When Emma came to a dead halt inside the doorway, it forced George to take a quick step to the side to avoid bowling her over. She barely noticed because she was utterly horrified by the sight of their vicar.

He was ashen but for the left side of his jaw, which was colored in lurid shades of purple and blue. His lower lip had been split and was swollen. Emma winced in sympathy, as Mr. Suckling had obviously delivered some hard blows before attempting to throttle Mr. Elton. The soft woolen scarf wrapped around his throat in place of a cravat or clerical collar was no doubt due to that assault.

“Good heavens, Mr. Elton,” she said with dismay. “Are you sure you should be receiving visitors? Do you wish us to go away?”

With surprising alacrity, he advanced upon her, both hands outstretched. Instinctively, she mirrored the gesture, and he grasped her hands—rather a bit too firmly. But the poor man was obviously distraught and much in need of comfort.

“I cannot think our call is well timed, sir,” George added in a concerned voice. “It’s clear you are sorely in need of rest. I can return tomorrow to discuss the situation and lend any assistance you may require.”

Mr. Elton glanced at George and attempted a smile, which immediately transformed into a grimace of pain. He waited a few seconds—still gripping Emma’s hands—until he collected himself.

“Your visit is most welcome, Mr. Knightley. And, Mrs. Knightley, your kindness always lifts one’s spirits, especially after so harrowing a day.”

“Mr. Knightley and I are happy to help in any way that we can,” she replied as she discreetly tried to reclaim her hands.

Thankfully, as he had in the church after a distraught Mr. Elton had thrown himself on her bosom, George came to her rescue by taking the vicar gently but firmly by the elbow.

“Mr. Elton, you must not be standing about in your condition,” he said. “Allow me to escort you back to your seat.”

The vicar finally released Emma’s hands, now looking rather embarrassed. At least, she thought he looked embarrassed. It was hard to tell, given the sorry state of his features.

“Madam, please forgive my excess of emotion. I hardly know what I am about. It is a cruel blow, a very cruel blow. I cannot imagine how I will ever recover.”

“Your feelings are completely natural,” she replied. “But my husband is correct. You must take care not to unduly exert yourself.”

As George solicitously guided the vicar back to his chair, she turned to address Mrs. Wright, who had remained out in the hall. But words died on her lips, and her mind went blank with shock. The housekeeper was regarding her with a truly venomous expression that could only be described as hatred.

Then, almost instantly, the woman’s expression transformed into a bland visage, though something still lingered in her pale gray eyes. That something sent a shiver down Emma’s spine.

“Did you wish something, Mrs. Knightley?” the housekeeper asked in a toneless voice.

Emma mentally shook herself. “The tea tray, please. And the tincture in the blue bottle that is in our basket.”

“Would that be a goldenrod preparation, madam?”

“Yes.”

“Dr. Hughes has already left treatments,” Mrs. Wright replied, her tone now haughty.

Heavens. What was wrong with the dratted woman?

She narrowed her gaze. “Nonetheless, I would ask you to bring it.”

Mrs. Wright seemed to struggle with herself for a moment but then inclined her head. “Very good, madam. Is there anything else?”

“No.” Then Emma shut the door in her face.

As she turned back to the men, it occurred to her that she’d just embarrassed the housekeeper in front of the woman’s master. Sadly, she couldn’t find it in herself to feel guilty.

Although George was regarding her with some amusement, Mr. Elton grimaced.

“Please forgive Mrs. Wright’s behavior,” the vicar said. “My wife’s death has left her feeling very low, and I believe this morning’s incident was too much for her. In fact, she has given her notice.”

Emma blinked in surprise. “She gave her notice this very morning?”

“Oh, no. It was a few days ago.” He sighed. “It’s for the best, I suppose.”

“I’m surprised she would abandon you so precipitously,” she replied, irritated on his behalf. “Surely she could have waited until you found another housekeeper.”

“You are very kind. However, I doubt I will be hiring another housekeeper. At the moment, I have no need for a large establishment. Events have also shown that I must . . . economize.”

It seemed matters were indeed as bad as Constable Sharpe had suggested. She was tempted to ask Mr. Elton exactly how his finances stood, but a glance from George warned her that such a question would be premature.

“Dear me,” Mr. Elton said. “My manners have gone completely begging. Mrs. Knightley, Mr. Knightley, please do sit.”

Once they were seated, an awkward silence ensued. After all, it wasn’t every day that one was almost throttled to death by one’s brother-in-law. It certainly wasn’t a topic that lent itself to an easy discussion.

Mr. Elton finally bestirred himself. “Mrs. Knightley, I must thank you for the generous provisions that you and Mr. Knightley brought with you. I find myself deeply moved by your consideration. But then you are always so kind.”

She gave him an encouraging smile. “I hope you will find them a comfort. Serle had just prepared some lovely, nourishing custards. They are very well tolerated when one has a . . . er, sore throat.”

“I am sure I will find them delightful. Everything Serle prepares is excellent, under your careful supervision, of course. Everything at Hartfield is done so well, thanks to you.”

While she knew he was simply being polite, she couldn’t help wondering if Mrs. Elton had spent much time in the kitchen, since the mistress of a household generally did not. Serle would have Emma’s head on a platter if she even tried.

Fortunately, she never felt the impulse.

“Mr. Elton,” said George, “while we have no wish to cause you any additional distress, Constable Sharpe gave us only a very basic recounting of events. Would you feel up to answering a few questions about it? I would have gone to Dr. Hughes instead, but he is unavailable today.”

“Transporting my brother-in-law to the gaol,” he replied, his voice suddenly bitter. “And may he rot there for a good long time.”

“He will do more than that if found guilty of your wife’s murder. You may be sure of it.”

“He is guilty, sir. You may be sure of that , too.”

Emma thought back to the strange argument between the men after the funeral. “Mr. Elton, Constable Sharpe gave us to understand that there may have been a financial dispute between Mrs. Elton and her brother-in-law. Was that indeed the case?”

“I’m afraid so. Horace was heavily invested in a new bank in Bristol, but unfortunately, the bank failed a few months ago. As a result, he lost a great deal of his fortune.”

“And that also affected Maple Grove?” she asked.

“From what I’ve been able to glean from my wife’s letters, Maple Grove was heavily mortgaged, which was a matter of great concern to Horace.”

“Ah, the letters,” said George. “Can you tell us about them?”

The vicar looked perplexed. “It was my understanding that Dr. Hughes was going to show them to you.”

“He has not yet had an opportunity to do so,” George dryly replied. “I would therefore be grateful if you could briefly apprise me of their contents.”

“Of course. However, you must understand that I discovered the letters only last night. I had not yet had the fortitude to go through Augusta’s personal correspondence. But after yesterday’s events, I felt I had no choice.”

“To what events are you referring?” Emma asked.

Mr. Elton was silent for a few moments, as if collecting his thoughts. “When Horace arrived in the early afternoon, he was in a mood and was very short with me. Naturally, I did my best to ignore such unfortunate behavior, although I was certainly embarrassed by his rudeness toward you, Mr. Knightley. I took him to task after you left, but he was unrepentant.”

George put up a commiserating hand. “Give it no thought, sir. What happened next?”

“He demanded that I turn over the entire contents of Augusta’s jewelry box to him. At that point, I was obliged to take a stand.”

“All of Mrs. Elton’s jewelry?” Emma asked, surprised. “Surely he had no right to demand that of you.”

“Particularly in the absence of a will,” added George. “Did Mr. Suckling say why he wanted all the jewels?”

“He claimed that Augusta would wish her sister to have them. I said I would be happy to select a few special pieces for dear Selina, but Horace was adamant that he must have all the jewels.” He tugged at the scarf around his neck, as if it had grown too tight. “He said I was not to be trusted after the theft of the necklace.”

Emma couldn’t help but gasp with outrage. “What nerve, considering that he is apparently the thief.”

“He no doubt wished to sell the jewels to help pay off his debts,” George said.

“I believe that is true,” said the vicar. “Horace is clearly in desperate need of funds.”

The door opened, and the other footman brought in the tea tray, pausing their discussion. Emma was thankful that Mrs. Wright had taken the hint and made herself scarce.

After serving the tea, she took up where they’d left off. “What happened when you refused to turn over the jewels?”

Mr. Eton’s expression grew ever more grim. “Horace became very angry with me. I’m afraid harsh words were exchanged. I am not proud of that, nor of the fact that the servants undoubtedly heard us raise our voices.”

“Come, Mr. Elton,” she gently chided. “You can certainly be forgiven for that, since the provocation was so great.”

When he smiled at her again, she rather wished he’d stop doing so. With his bruised and swollen face, it looked excessively painful and made her wince every time.

“Thank you, dear lady,” he replied.

George glanced at Emma, his expression enigmatic, before redirecting his attention to the vicar.

“Mr. Elton, I assume you discovered Mrs. Elton’s letters after the argument with your brother-in-law?”

“Correct. It was quite late by that point, but I was too disturbed to sleep. I must also admit that certain remarks Horace made—both last night and in previous conversations—had aroused my concern. As difficult as it was, I felt it time to look through my wife’s correspondence. I hoped to find some answers there regarding Horace’s disturbing behavior.”

“And you obviously did,” Emma said.

He nodded. “There was correspondence between Augusta and Horace going back several months. As I mentioned, he was heavily invested in a bank in Bristol—one of the principal shareholders, in fact. Unfortunately, he had also pulled my wife into the scheme, and she had granted him permission to invest on her behalf. Not all her funds, mind you. Augusta was too wise for that. But Horace, who managed her accounts, took it upon himself to invest the entire amount without her knowledge.”

Emma was torn between pity and anger, both for Mr. Elton and for his wife. As a woman of means herself, she’d always cherished her independence. To be so cheated by someone you loved and trusted would be a betrayal beyond compare.

“How utterly appalling,” she said. “And poor Mrs. Elton! She must have been devastated.”

He sighed. “She was. Their final exchange of letters makes it clear how deeply it affected her.”

No wonder she’d been pestering both Miss Bates and Mrs. Goddard. Although her treatment of those two ladies had bordered on cruel, Emma could now have some degree of sympathy. Mrs. Elton had undoubtedly been in a state of panic.

“Mr. Elton,” said George. “Did you have any knowledge of your brother-in-law’s precarious financial situation before your wife’s death?”

“I did not.”

“Mrs. Elton never discussed it with you or acted in any way so as to cause you concern regarding her relationship with Mr. Suckling?”

He hesitated. “Toward the end I sensed that something was not right between them. But one must step lightly when it comes to in-laws, Mr. Knightley. My wife was very close to the Sucklings, and I did not wish to interfere. I also suspect Augusta was loath to cause me anxiety and was therefore shielding me from such troubling news.”

George looked frankly skeptical at that explanation. “But surely she couldn’t have hidden such news forever.”

Mr. Elton’s shoulders rolled forward and his chin disappeared into the voluminous scarf. An image flashed through Emma’s mind—that of a turtle retreating into its shell.

“As I have mentioned before, my wife managed most of our affairs,” he replied. “She—” He broke off with a sudden cough.

Emma hastily took the teapot and replenished his tea. The vicar nodded his thanks and took a cautious sip.

“Thank you,” he hoarsely said when she’d returned to her seat.

“Mr. Elton, we can defer this discussion if you feel too unwell to continue,” said George.

“No, I am better now. As I was saying, my wife managed most of our affairs and never wished to disturb me with financial concerns. I imagine she was attempting to arrive at some kind of compromise with Horace before . . .” He trailed off, as they all knew what before meant.

“I imagine that was why your wife and Mr. Suckling were meeting that day,” Emma mused.

“Yes, I believe so, Mrs. Knightley.”

“But why in the church?”

“I can only surmise that Horace asked to meet somewhere private.” His expression grew suddenly dark. “One can now see why, of course.”

“You’re suggesting that Suckling came to Highbury with the express purpose of murdering your wife?” George asked.

“What else can one think, Mr. Knightley?” he bitterly replied.

Emma still found it hard to imagine such a cold-blooded course of action. “Is it possible that they argued and Mr. Suckling lost his temper? After all, he attacked you when he lost his temper.”

“While that is true, I remain convinced that Horace traveled to Highbury that day with the express intention of murdering my wife. Why else would he go to such lengths to remain unseen?”

His point was difficult to deny. Even though Emma had always harbored doubts that Mrs. Elton’s death was an impulsive act committed in the course of a robbery, to have it all but confirmed that it was a cold, premeditated killing turned her stomach.

“The poor woman,” she whispered.

George glanced at her, clearly troubled by her reaction. When he briefly covered her hand with his, she mustered a reassuring smile.

“I’m fine, really,” she said.

“You needn’t sit through this, my dear,” he replied.

“My only concern is for Mr. Elton.”

George directed a look at the vicar. “Sir, are you sure you are well enough to continue? As my wife noted, we have no wish to cause further distress.”

Mr. Elton, who’d been silently watching them with a strangely dull expression, seemed to rouse himself.

“If Mrs. Knightley is able to bear it, then I must, as well,” he responded.

Emma mentally frowned. It seemed an odd thing to say, but George simply nodded and carried on.

“Constable Sharpe suggested that Mr. Suckling’s financial woes triggered the final dispute with your wife.”

“Yes.”

“What, exactly, do you think caused him to take so drastic and irreversible an action? From what you and the constable have told us, if anyone had the right to be outraged, it was Mrs. Elton, not Mr. Suckling.”

Emma mentally blinked. Now that George had voiced the thought, it was blindingly obvious.

“You’re right,” she exclaimed. “Under the circumstances, Mrs. Elton would certainly be more justified in killing Mr. Suckling than the other way around. At least one could understand the desire to do so.”

As soon as the words dropped from her lips, she froze. As true as they might be, they were ones that should have remained unsaid. She had little doubt that George would scold her for such a thoughtless remark, and she wouldn’t blame him in the least.

Her husband breathed out a quiet sigh, while Mr. Elton looked . . . stunned.

She grimaced. “Do forgive me. I cannot imagine why I would say something so dreadful.”

“Were you able to ascertain the specific motive from the correspondence, Mr. Elton?” George asked, clearly deciding to carry on.

When the vicar didn’t reply, continuing to stare at her, Emma felt a painful heat rise into her cheeks.

“Mr. Elton,” George sharply said.

The vicar startled. “Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. Motive, you say? Yes, I believe I found one. From what I could glean from Horace’s final reply to Augusta, she had apparently expressed great dismay with what she deemed his criminal behavior and his refusal to assist her. It also seems clear that Horace was hiding the magnitude of his losses from dear Selina, and Augusta intended to correct that.”

George’s expression was politely skeptical. “While it would certainly be distressing for Mrs. Suckling to hear such news, it hardly seems a reason to commit murder.”

“And would not Mrs. Suckling wish to assist her husband in his difficulties?” Emma couldn’t help asking. “She would gain nothing by exposing his troubles to the world.”

“True, and Selina is very loyal,” Mr. Elton replied. “It would seem that Augusta was hoping to enlist her sister’s help in gaining restitution from Horace. His response to that declared intention was . . .” He pulled a grim face but then winced and gingerly patted his jaw before continuing. “Strongly worded, to say the least. He also feared Augusta would publicly expose him, which, of course, would have had a dire effect on his reputation and bring creditors to his doorstep.”

Emma frowned. “Please believe that I have no desire to offend, sir, but would Mrs. Elton expose her sister to such a scandal? Because her actions would surely do so.”

“My wife was a woman of great integrity,” he said with quiet dignity. “If she felt a wrong had been done—and it clearly had— she would seek to correct it. Horace lied to Selina and the Lord only knows whom else. That is not something my wife could tolerate.”

That was certainly an inspiring characterization of Mrs. Elton. Unfortunately, it hardly squared with the woman that Emma had come to know.

“If what you say is true—” George started.

“It is,” the vicar tersely interrupted.

George nodded. “Then no doubt Mr. Suckling was in fairly desperate straits. Mrs. Elton was threatening to expose him to his wife and potentially to his creditors, as well.”

While that was all true, some part of it still didn’t make sense to Emma. “But wouldn’t his losses all come out, anyway? One can hardly cover up a bank failure.”

“Bank failures are not uncommon,” her husband replied. “Others have survived such occurrences if they have the opportunity to retrench. Perhaps Suckling was trying to secure additional funding to cover the losses or needed time to manage his creditors. Mrs. Elton’s actions would threaten that. If Mrs. Elton was insisting that Mr. Suckling make her whole, that would make it more difficult for him to recover his situation.”

“I suppose so,” she replied, though doubts remained.

But if nothing else, she would have to defer to her husband’s superior knowledge of the issue.

“I believe that is the correct interpretation, Mr. Knightley,” the vicar said with a nod. “Do not forget that my wife’s fortune was quite large. Her insistence—” He broke off, as if momentarily overcome with emotion. “I truly believe she did it for my sake. If only she had come to me, I would have helped her. I would have gone to Horace on her behalf. And I would have assured her that the greatest treasure resided in our matrimonial bond. That, you know, mattered most.”

Emma had to struggle to hide her skepticism, since she imagined the old Mr. Elton would have been quite upset to see his wife’s fortune evaporate. Still, losing one’s spouse to a vicious act of murder would be bound to change one’s attitude. Perhaps in looking back, he now realized that their relationship did indeed matter more than their financial standing.

“Mr. Elton,” said George, “did you intend to confront your brother-in-law after you found the letters?”

“I thought to do it first thing in the morning. The letters explained many things about Horace’s recent behavior—although, of course, at that point, I did not even consider that he could have killed Augusta. But before I could speak to him, Mrs. Wright discovered the necklace in his valise. As you can imagine, that caused the situation to change quite dramatically.”

“Mr. Elton, forgive any impertinence,” Emma began.

The vicar pressed a hand to his chest. “Mrs. Knightley, you could never be impertinent. Please ask whatever questions you wish.”

Emma had to avoid her husband’s ironic eye. “Thank you. I was simply wondering about the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the necklace.”

“Ah. Horace had dropped a handkerchief in the dirt when he was out in the garden. Naturally, Mrs. Wright had it washed, and she brought it up to his bedroom. His valise was badly packed—he did not travel with his valet—so she thought to repack it for him. That was when she discovered the necklace and alerted me. I then confronted him.”

“Mr. Elton, would it not have been wise to then immediately send for Constable Sharpe?” George asked.

The vicar sighed. “Yes, but I regret to say that I lost my temper. Reason flew from my head, and I could think only of confronting Horace at once. I went straight down to the dining room and did so. Foolishly, as it turned out.”

“Perhaps, but it certainly was an understandable reaction,” Emma sympathetically commented.

She had a feeling that she would likely do the same if anyone ever hurt George.

He gave her a wan smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Knightley.”

George glanced at her before addressing Mr. Elton. “Thank you, sir. I believe we have imposed on you enough for one day. We will leave you to rest.”

The vicar held up both hands. “Mr. Knightley, you and Mrs. Knightley could never be an imposition. I am eternally grateful for your support during these difficult days.”

“And you will have our continued support,” he replied. “When you are feeling better, I will speak with you about the trial and what might be expected of you there.”

Mr. Elton looked vaguely alarmed. “The trial. I had not even thought of that. Poor Selina. I must write to her immediately.”

“I would advise against that for now, since the investigation is still ongoing.”

When the vicar issued another weary sigh, Emma couldn’t help but attempt to console him. “Your instinct to give Mrs. Suckling comfort is a great credit to you, Mr. Elton. One can only imagine her distress when she hears this news.”

“Indeed, it is a cruel blow to both of us. I cannot think how she will manage.”

George stood and held out his hand to Emma. “Are you ready, my dear?”

There were a few questions that niggled, but it was clear Mr. Elton would be unable to provide the answers. That being the case—

“The tincture.” She glanced down at the tea tray. “Mrs. Wright must have forgotten to send it up. You must be sure to take some, Mr. Elton. My father swears by it for bruises and pain. I’m sure it will give you some relief.”

When he began to struggle to his feet, she held up a restraining hand. “Please do not get up, sir. You are ill and must rest.”

He sank back into his chair. “Mrs. Knightley, you are an angel of mercy. I will partake of your medicinal immediately. And please give my regards to your esteemed father. I hope to see him quite soon, and I pray he will forgive me for my earlier blunders.”

“I’m sure he will.”

“Are you sure Henry will forgive him?” George quietly asked after he ushered her into the hall. “It would not do to give Elton false hope.”

“I certainly hope he will. Under the circumstances, it seems foolish to hold on to a grudge. And Mr. Elton does look ghastly, George. Even Father couldn’t help but be moved by his situation.”

“Perhaps then he should visit your father before the bruises fade.”

She threw him a wry glance. “I should scold you for that remark, but it’s a very sensible suggestion. Father would happily commiserate with his woeful state.”

George declined to respond, since Mrs. Wright stood waiting for them by the front door.

“I understand you’re leaving Mr. Elton’s service,” Emma said.

“That is correct, ma’am,” she replied in a colorless voice.

“I’m sure he will miss you very much.”

“Thank you, though, in fact, I was here for Mrs. Elton. Now that she is gone, there is little point for me to remain.”

Emma was surprised by such a forthcoming admission.

“Yes, it’s been a distressing time,” she cautiously replied. “This morning must have been extremely trying.”

The woman’s gray eyes suddenly glittered with something akin to malice. “With Mr. Suckling, you mean. That man—” She suddenly stopped, but her jaw kept working as if she were chewing on gristle and bone.

“What about Mr. Suckling?” George prompted.

Her lips momentarily rolled inward, as if holding back more words. “Nothing, sir, except to say that I hope he gets everything he deserves and then some.”

“I suspect he will,” George calmly replied.

“When do you leave, Mrs. Wright?” asked Emma.

That cold, fishlike gaze settled on her, and an uncomfortable shiver ran across the back of Emma’s neck.

“First, I must record my statement for the constable,” the housekeeper replied as she opened the door. “And then I will leave as soon as I can.”

George gave her a courteous nod. “Then we will bid you goodbye, Mrs. Wright. And better luck in your next posting.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it.”

And with that enigmatic reply, the housekeeper all but slammed the door in their faces.