Murder in Highbury (Emma Knightley Mystery #1)

CHAPTER 26

C HAPTER 26

T he walk home from Randalls was decidedly less enjoyable than the walk over. Emma was once again bedeviled by questions, and she was increasingly disconcerted by thoughts that persisted in raising doubts about Mr. Suckling’s guilt. Given the preponderance of evidence against him, questioning his guilt seemed absurd. If Mrs. Elton had intended to expose her brother-in-law’s nefarious deeds to the world, it would surely follow that he would have become desperate, and desperate men took desperate measures.

Yet, as Frank had pointed out, if Mrs. Elton had pursued that course, the end result would have been the downfall of the Sucklings and the loss of any opportunity for her to recoup her monies. And would Mrs. Elton truly have brought the righteous hand of vengeance down on her errant brother-in-law? Emma suspected that the woman’s intense regard for her own social standing would have made her reluctant to do so.

Heartily sick of her circling thoughts, she entered the house and handed her bonnet and gloves to the waiting footman. “Thank you, Simon. I take it that Mr. Elton has departed?”

“Yes, Mrs. Knightley.” He glanced at the longcase clock in the entrance hall. “He left at about quarter past the hour.”

That meant the vicar had spent almost two hours at Hartfield, a surprisingly long visit for her father. “Is Mr. Woodhouse in the drawing room, or has he gone upstairs to rest?”

“He’s still in the drawing room, madam, writing letters.”

“I’ll join him, then.”

“Can I bring you a fresh pot of tea, Mrs. Knightley?”

“No, thank you.”

She hurried down the hall, eager to discover what her father and Mr. Elton had found to discuss at such great length.

Her father was seated at the escritoire in the window alcove, busily writing away.

“Good afternoon, dearest,” she said, crossing to give him a kiss. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long. Apparently, you had company for most of the afternoon.”

Father put down his quill and allowed her to help him up.

“Indeed, I thought Mr. Elton would never leave,” he said with gentle complaint. “While one must exercise the virtues of forgiveness and charity, I do hope we will not suffer him spending half the day at Hartfield from now on. I would find that very tiring.”

She could sympathize, because she felt rather the same about Miss Bates.

“I suspect he’s very grateful to be able to visit with you again and so is perhaps a trifle enthusiastic.” She helped him settle in his armchair by the fireplace and then draped a light cashmere shawl over his knees. “No doubt he is low about everything and much in need of company.”

Her father rearranged the shawl to his liking before answering. “To be sure, he was excessively grateful to be here again. But I believe he was also waiting for you. He asked when you would be returning from Randalls and wondered if he should go there and escort you back home. I told him that it was unnecessary, since Frank Churchill or Mr. Weston would certainly escort you to Hartfield.”

Emma slid past the need to tell her parent that she had walked herself home from Randalls. Still, she was grateful that his misapprehension had spared her the vicar’s company.

“It was rather odd of Mr. Elton to think he needed to do that,” she commented, taking the chair opposite him. “Especially since it would have taken him out of his way.”

“It seemed a bit strange to me, as well. I suppose he simply was wishing to be polite.”

More likely, the vicar was trying to curry favor with her father. Given the events of the past few weeks, it was understandable.

“Mr. Elton has always been excessively polite, and with very nice manners. Until he accused Miss Bates of murder, that is,” her father added on a darker note. “I still cannot comprehend why he did so.”

“He didn’t actually accuse her of murder,” Emma patiently explained for perhaps the hundredth time. “He only shared what he thought was information relevant to the investigation. It was actually Constable Sharpe who accused Miss Bates of murder.”

Father held up a minatory finger. “But Mr. Elton gave that dreadful Sharpe person the idea. While I have forgiven him, it is very hard to forget that he caused Miss Bates a great deal of distress. We can only hope she will recover without any lasting effects to her nerves.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine. And Mr. Elton is truly sorry, so we must do our best to forgive and forget. To dwell on such unhappy events will serve no good purpose, nor will it help Miss Bates to recover a more peaceful frame of mind.”

“I suppose you’re right, my dear, as you so usually are. But I do not know if I will ever forget the terrible trials of this unhappy time. One wonders if Highbury will ever be the same.”

Emma mentally grimaced. As curious as she was about Mr. Elton’s visit, it was time to direct her father’s thoughts along more cheerful lines. And perhaps she also needed to think less about their vicar, the murder, and the entire nasty business, since it was beginning to grow more than a trifle wearisome.

“To whom were you writing when I came in?” she brightly asked.

“Ah, yes, my letter. I was writing to Isabella, but I will have to finish it this evening. She will no doubt be shocked to hear of Mr. Suckling’s arrest. I hope it does not upset your poor sister too greatly. Like me, she has a very delicate constitution. Nevertheless, I feel it better she receive the news from me than from the common gossips of London.”

She leaned forward and patted his knee. “You may be sure that John has already told her, so it will not come as a shock.”

Besides, Isabella wouldn’t give two figs about Mr. Suckling, other than how his arrest might affect the residents of Hartfield. Emma’s sister was a lovely, kind woman, whose preoccupying interests were her husband, her children, and her life of quiet domesticity in London—well, as quiet as life could be with five children to manage. When Isabella married John Knightley, she’d readily left Highbury behind. While always entering into the immediate concerns of her family and close friends, she no longer possessed more than a passing interest in the people from her former life in the country.

“Ah, but she will not have heard about that dreadful poultry thief,” her father proclaimed in a portentous tone. “Isabella will be shocked to hear that he has struck again. Why, she might even be afraid to bring the children down for Christmas, and then what shall we do?”

So her father had already heard about the stupid poultry pilferer. That fellow was growing even more tiresome than the departed Mrs. Elton.

“I’m sure the thief will be long caught before then, Father. Christmas is many months away.”

“But poor Mrs. Cole! Her best laying hen taken right from the kitchen garden coop, which is very close to the back of their house. I cannot think how I will sleep tonight, knowing that such a ruthless predator roams free.”

Emma would have been tempted to laugh at her father’s high dramatics but for the fact that his fears would keep him awake for most of the night. And that was exactly why she’d wished to break the news to him first.

“Father, how did you find out about Mrs. Cole’s chickens?”

“From Mr. Elton. On his way to Hartfield, he met Mr. Cole, who was excessively disturbed and told him everything. Both he and Mr. Elton are of the opinion that the thief is getting very bold, and that we must all be sure to check our doors and windows before we retire every night. Mr. Cole also told him that Dr. Hughes remains greatly upset, although one does not generally set any store by the doctor’s opinion.”

Emma was beginning to feel quite out of charity with Mr. Elton. He was well familiar with her father’s frets and fears and should have known better than to stoke them.

“Dearest, you know that George always checks the windows and doors before he retires to bed. Besides, the thief steals only poultry. He has never made any attempt to break into a house.”

Her father began fussing with his cashmere shawl, never a good sign. “Mr. Elton is very worried, though, which is not to be wondered at. First, Mrs. Elton’s murder, and now the threat of this villainous person to contend with.”

Emma stared at him, astonished that he and Mr. Elton would make such a leap. “Surely there can be no connection between the robbery and murder of Mrs. Elton and the theft of some chickens. I would be very disappointed to hear Mr. Elton draw such a connection.”

Her father hesitated. “He didn’t precisely make that connection, but he did say he would be securing the cabinet locks in the vestry. He is nervous the thief may try to steal the church’s silver. And if he is so bold as to do so, who knows what he will do next? The villain might even try to break into Hartfield,” he replied in a genuinely unhappy tone.

Emma briefly rubbed a spot in the middle of her forehead, where a headache was starting to form. Mr. Elton had always been sensitive to her father’s nervous disposition but was clearly in need of a reminder.

“I’m very certain the poultry thief will not start breaking into houses or the church,” she responded in a soothing tone, “since he has never done so. But I will speak to George. We can always have one of the footmen stay up and keep watch the next few nights, just in case.”

Her father graced her with a relieved smile. “I think that would be very wise. And I do hope Constable Sharpe can attend to this business now that Mr. Suckling has been detained.”

“No doubt that will be the case. Now, surely you and Mr. Elton had other things to talk about. Something a little more cheerful, perhaps? He is in great need of cheering up and should not be dwelling on morbid or disturbing subjects.”

“We did speak of other things, although our conversation took a rather odd turn, I must say.”

What now?

“How so?”

“Well, first, he said it was a great relief to speak with me, because I better than anyone could understand his present state.” He waved a vague hand. “He meant as a fellow widower, of course. But he has such a different view of the matter than I. After losing your dear mother, I never contemplated the wedded state again. After all, how could one replace such a woman? To even consider it at that time was out of the question.”

Even though Emma had been very young when her mother died, she could still recall the depth of her father’s grief. And she’d been living with the aftermath of that grief and the effect on his temperament for all these many years.

“That was perfectly understandable,” she replied. “But how does his view differ from yours?”

“Mr. Elton said that, despite his grief, he had too great a regard for the married state to remain a widower. In fact, as a cleric, he felt it his duty to remarry as an example to his parishioners, preferably sooner than later.”

Something instinctively recoiled in Emma, giving her pause.

“I’ll grant that it was strange for him to speak of such matters so closely upon the heels of his wife’s death,” she cautiously said. “But perhaps he was simply rambling. He’s been somewhat scattered since Mrs. Elton’s passing.”

Father shook his head. “No, he spoke quite decisively about it. He expects to remarry within a year’s time, and he seems certain to find a lady of equal stature and standing as Mrs. Elton.”

Emma felt her eyes go wide. In fact, she rather imagined them popping right out of their sockets. This sounded much like the Mr. Elton of old, the man who had betrothed himself to Augusta Hawkins within weeks of swearing undying devotion to Emma.

“What an extraordinary thing to say,” she managed.

“I was surprised, as well, my dear. Indeed, I was so astonished that I quite forgot myself and asked him a rather impertinent question.”

Emma waited, but he simply gazed at her pensively.

“Father, what was the question?” she finally prompted.

“I suppose it wasn’t so much a question as an observation,” he replied.

“Which was?”

“That despite one’s obligations to one’s vocation, one should never rush into these matters. I advised him that the widowed state could indeed be preferable, especially for a man of the cloth. Having once lost a spouse, one doesn’t wish to take the risk of losing another. That would be most regrettable.”

She had to stifle an inappropriate impulse to laugh, since he made it sound as if Mr. Elton had simply misplaced Mrs. Elton as one would a set of keys. But lurking underneath that impulse was something decidedly lacking in humor. Uneasiness was growing within her, and it was of a piece to the unsettling conversation she’d had with Frank and the others at Randalls.

“I strongly advised Mr. Elton to resist any such decision for two years, if not longer,” her father added.

“And how did he respond to that advice?”

“He said he could not afford to wait.”

Again, she felt that strange sense of disorientation come over her, as it had at Randalls.

“I assume he was referring to his financial situation?” she asked. “Did he discuss that with you?”

Her father grimaced. “Indeed he did. I fear Mr. Elton is in very straitened circumstances, Emma. I believe impoverished is the word he used.”

“But how is that possible?” she exclaimed. “Of course the loss of his wife’s fortune was a terrible blow, but he has his own independence—and his living as Highbury’s vicar. He will be forced to economize, but he is hardly penniless.”

“Not according to Mr. Elton. Apparently, Mr. Suckling invested and lost his money, too.”

Emma now felt like she was wading through a field of mud. “Do you mean Mr. Elton’s personal independence? Because I understood that was separate from Mrs. Elton’s fortune.”

“I must admit he was rather vague on that point,” he replied. “And it was such a muddle that I grew quite confused. He said so many things, Emma. I confess they didn’t all make sense to me.”

Or to her, either, which was immensely frustrating.

“It certainly sounds confusing,” she replied as she struggled to maintain a calm demeanor. “But I do wonder how this came about, and how Mr. Elton was apprised of the loss of his personal funds.”

“Ah, I do know that,” her father replied with a triumphant air. “He happened upon a letter from Mr. Suckling to Mrs. Elton that was tucked away in the corner of her—”

“Another letter?” she exclaimed. “Good God, they seem to appear in a remarkably convenient fashion.”

“You mustn’t interrupt, my dear,” Father replied in a gently chiding tone. “It’s impolite.”

So much for remaining calm.

“I beg your pardon, dearest. Please continue.”

He opened his mouth but then shut it, looking suddenly perturbed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Mr. Elton told me about the letter in strictest confidence. He has not even shared it with Dr. Hughes, and I believe he does not wish to do so.”

“Why not?”

“Out of embarrassment, I suppose. I imagine that he is reluctant for others to realize the extent of his financial woes.”

If that were the case, why then would he confide in her father? As the Woodhouses were the first family of Highbury, Mr. Elton had always valued his relationship with them and had clearly regretted losing the favor of Hartfield’s master, even if only temporarily. But his attitude toward Father had always possessed an awkward element, one both patronizing and obsequious. After his marriage to Augusta Hawkins, Mr. Elton had become more patronizing and less obsequious.

Somehow, she’d forgotten that, like she’d forgotten how greatly his manner had annoyed her. With all the changes that had come with her marriage to George, the behavior of Mr. and Mrs. Elton had become much less important. And the death of Mrs. Elton had produced a revolution of sorts in all their lives. The past hadn’t seemed to matter so greatly, and Mr. Elton himself had been metamorphosing into a new sort of man.

But now . . .

In an attempt to mask her increasingly disturbed state of mind, Emma mustered a reassuring smile. “I feel sure Mr. Elton wouldn’t mind you telling me about the letter. He’s been very forthcoming with me—and with George, as well. Indeed, he relies greatly upon George’s advice, and I have no doubt he’ll soon share the particulars of his financial situation with him.”

Her father looked dubious. “Are you sure, Emma?”

“Absolutely,” she replied, mentally crossing her fingers. “Did Mr. Elton relay any of the specifics contained in the letter?”

He frowned, as if trying to recall the details. “He noted that Mrs. Elton had generally managed their various financial accounts—just as you have done with ours these past several years. That included his independence and the funds from his living. As a man of the cloth, he had no head for such things, you see.” He smiled. “In that we are much the same, although, of course, I am not a cleric.”

Mr. Elton had made similar claims in the days following his wife’s death. Emma had found them just as strange then as she did now. The vicar had always been a man greatly concerned with money. She’d learned that lesson the hard way when he’d so callously rejected Harriet, horrified at the very notion of an alliance with a girl of uncertain parentage and no real fortune. As George had once said, although Mr. Elton might speak sentimentally, he would always act rationally. He had always possessed a good opinion of himself and would be highly unlikely ever to make what he would consider an imprudent match, or indeed act in any way that diminished his standing in the community.

But perhaps after his marriage to Augusta Hawkins, a woman of considerable fortune, he was less concerned with financial matters. After all, he’d become a wealthy man. And although his wife may have generally controlled the purse strings, she was no pinch purse. They’d always lived in an elegant and sometimes even extravagant fashion. Since that was the case, perhaps Mr. Elton had been content to leave the disposition of their fortune in the hands of his wife. As a vicar, he would not wish to appear overly concerned with money, despite his obvious enjoyment of the luxuries obtained on his marriage to a wealthy woman.

“I assume Mr. Elton discovered the loss of his personal funds via this recently unearthed letter from Mr. Suckling?” she asked.

“That’s it exactly, my dear. Mr. Suckling invested the entirety of Mr. and Mrs. Elton’s monies. And it was all lost in the collapse of that dreadful bank.” He suddenly grimaced with apprehension. “I do hope that will never happen to us, Emma. I could not bear it.”

She hastened to reassure him. “George and John would never allow that to happen. You know how careful they are in their investments and management. They would never risk anything happening to Isabella and the children, or to you and to me.”

He visibly relaxed. “We are indeed fortunate in our in-laws, are we not? Mr. Elton lamented that such was not the case for him, and one can hardly blame him. Not that he blamed Mrs. Elton—quite the opposite. He said that Mr. Suckling had greatly imposed on her, taking advantage of her trusting nature. He was not angry with her in the least.”

“That is very charitable of him,” she dryly commented. “Especially since the poor woman has been murdered.”

“Very true, my dear,” her father said, oblivious to her gentle sarcasm. “Mr. Elton greatly regretted that his wife hadn’t alerted him to their troubles. If she had done so, he felt he might have been able to protect her from Mr. Suckling. He said he would not make such a mistake again.”

She frowned. “What mistake? Not manage his own finances?”

He shook his head. “I believe he was referring to their reliance on Mr. Suckling. He stated that when next he married, he would be a great deal more careful in his relationship with his in-laws.”

Again, Emma experienced an instinctive recoiling. “For such a recent widower, he seems already obsessed with the notion of marriage. I find that very strange indeed.”

It was also highly reminiscent of the old Mr. Elton and his speedy engagement to Augusta Hawkins after Emma rejected his impertinent proposal. In this case, however, his behavior was even more startling.

“What can one say, Emma? As I mentioned, I cautioned Mr. Elton against making any rash decisions.” Father sighed. “I truly wish people would stop getting married. There have been too many weddings in Highbury this past year. I find it all very fatiguing.”

A quick perusal of her father’s face convinced her that he was genuinely worn out by his bizarre discussion with Mr. Elton.

She stood. “I’m not surprised that you’re tired after such a long visit. Come, Father, let me help you upstairs. I think you should take a bit of a rest before dressing for dinner.”

As Emma escorted him to his bedroom, she forced herself to speak cheerfully on other matters, particularly the decision by Jane and Frank to remain for some time in Highbury. Father agreed that they should host a dinner party for the Churchills very soon—as long as no cake was served. Under the influence of her soothing patter, he was soon stifling yawns. By the time she covered him with a blanket, he was already dozing off, with all thoughts of Mr. Elton or the poultry thief apparently forgotten.

Unfortunately, she could not forget so easily. The more she thought about her father’s conversation with Mr. Elton, the more disturbed she became. Fetching a light shawl from her bedroom, she decided to take a turn around the garden, now cooler and long with shadows in the late afternoon.

As she wandered aimlessly between the neat rows of rosebushes and shrubbery, her head buzzed with questions. When answers slowly began to rise up, in hardly more than whispers, at first, she pushed back, hating what her mind insisted on telling her. But as she sorted through everything she’d heard this day, both at Randalls and from her father, she could no longer keep her thoughts at bay. Pieces began to fall into the empty spaces of the puzzle. They were small pieces, to be sure, the little niggles that others had brushed aside.

But Emma could no longer brush them aside, because they fit . And she hated that they fit.

Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps she was letting her imagination run away with her again, because the logical conclusion of her thoughts seemed too horrible to be true. George would certainly advise caution, as he’d done so many times in the past. She could envision the skeptical slant to his eyebrows and his growing incredulity as she made her case that Mr. Suckling had not murdered his sister-in-law, after all. Her husband would likely shake his head and gently scold her for letting her imagination run wild. More than anything, Emma would love to agree with him.

But her theory made too much sense to ignore, because it came down to that critical question again, which was, who stood to benefit the most from Mrs. Elton’s death? And perhaps even more important, who had been most harmed by her actions? Who had lost the most? At first blush, one could certainly say it was Mr. Suckling. He had indeed lost a great deal. But someone else had lost more. Someone else had lost everything he prized—money, social standing, even his ability to advance within his profession. Now that was all gone because the person closest to him had betrayed them both and risked everything, lost everything.

She sank down onto the bench under the oak tree and held her head in her hands. So much of what they knew about the murder, or what they thought they knew, came from one source. They’d thought that source to be unimpeachable, beyond question. But he more than any other had controlled the information, doling it out in bits and pieces, pointing first in one direction and then another. And although she and others had certainly had their doubts or, like her father, had vociferously objected, no one had questioned the man’s motives. It had never even occurred to any of them to do so.

And yet, it all came down to motive. Who among them had the strongest motive? It wasn’t Mr. Suckling—Emma was almost certain of that now. No, it was the one they’d never suspected, the one she had truly come to believe was a changed man.

She thumped a clenched fist against her forehead. How had she allowed it to happen again? How had she allowed him to misdirect her again ?

Unable to bear her own company a moment longer, she swiftly rose and set off through the gardens, heading for the gravel drive that would take her into Highbury and thence to Donwell. She needed to speak to George at once. He would listen to her, certainly with skepticism, but he would listen. She needed him to listen.

If her theory proved to be correct, it would upend everything in ways that were hard to imagine—not only for them but also for Highbury. And only George, her unshakable, levelheaded magistrate of a husband, could be trusted to put it right again.