Murder in Highbury (Emma Knightley Mystery #1)

CHAPTER 28

C HAPTER 28

E mma and her father entered the drawing room, with a solicitous Mrs. Weston in their wake. Since the evening had grown cool, one of the footmen had built up a blazing fire in the grate and strategically placed screens around the chairs and settee.

“How cozy,” Emma cheerily said. “We can be perfectly comfortable while we have tea.”

Just now rising from table after a light supper, they were awaiting George’s return from Donwell Abbey. He’d warned Emma that he might be very late. It would be necessary to interrogate Mr. Elton—once he recovered from his well-deserved blow—and then appropriate legal processes must be followed in dealing with their criminal vicar.

Her father sighed as she tucked his lap blanket around him.

“I don’t know if I shall ever feel cozy again,” he dolefully said. “Mr. Elton trying to shoot George . . . He must be mad, Emma! No sane person would ever wish to hurt George.”

“It is indeed shocking,” Mrs. Weston noted as she adjusted one of the screens. “But from what Emma tells us, Mr. Knightley is perfectly well.”

“But why must he stay away so long?” Father replied. “Donwell is a very fine house, but it is drafty and quite damp in the evenings. It would be a terrible thing if George were to catch a chill. He might fall into a fever, and then what should we do?”

Emma patted his shoulder. “I promise you that George is perfectly well. It was a very slight graze, and Mr. Perry himself said there was no danger of infection or fever.”

“Then I suppose we must thank the good Lord that Mr. Elton was as bad a shot as he was a vicar,” he said. “That was indeed a blessing.”

Mrs. Weston made a slight choking noise. Emma studiously avoided looking at her friend, since doing so might trigger a bout of semi-hysterical laughter.

“Yes, we were very fortunate in that regard,” she replied instead.

Her father mustered up an indignant look. “Still, to think of all our kindnesses to Mr. Elton and how often we had him to dinner. I will never be able to forgive him, Emma. Please do not expect it of me. Trying to shoot George is even worse than what he did to poor Miss Bates.”

“No one will expect us to forgive him, dearest. After all, he is a murderer.”

Mrs. Weston sat in the opposite chair. “Forgive? No, but I suppose we must make allowances for the fact that he is obviously mad. Mr. Elton certainly had his flaws, but one never expected him to be a lunatic.”

Emma shrugged. “I imagine that development came later.”

His thwarted ambitions, fueled by rage, had propelled the vicar down a dark path that led to madness and death—first, for his wife, and then no doubt eventually for him at the end of a hangman’s noose.

“You may be sure I will be writing to the bishop,” Father sternly added. “I cannot imagine what he was thinking to send us a lunatic for a vicar.”

“I’m sure the bishop had no idea at the time,” Emma said.

“He should have known. It was most irresponsible of him, which I will certainly make clear.”

Emma and Mrs. Weston exchanged a glance. Clearly, a diversion was necessary.

“Mr. Woodhouse,” said Mrs. Weston, “you hardly touched your food at dinner. Perhaps you would allow Emma to bring you a lovely scone and jam, and a nice cup of tea. I’m sure it will do you good.”

He blinked, appearing vaguely alarmed by the suggestion. “I think not, although I thank you for your concern. I could barely swallow a morsel at dinner, not even the coddled eggs. No one makes coddled eggs like Serle, as you know. I’m sure your cook does her best, Mrs. Weston, but no one coddles an egg like Serle.”

“Very true,” she replied with a smile. “Then might I suggest a small glass of ratafia? I’m sure it would be just the thing for your nerves.”

“Just so, Father,” Emma chimed in. “I’m sure you would find it restorative.”

He breathed out another lugubrious sigh. “If you say so, my dear. And please bring one for Mrs. Weston, too. She no doubt needs a restorative, as well, after this shocking day.”

“Nothing for me, thank you,” Mrs. Weston hastily replied. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Emma flashed her a wry smile. Her former governess had always viewed ratafia with horror, a sentiment Emma certainly shared. But a large glass of sherry might be in order. Today’s events had left her feeling like a shuttlecock batted about one too many times. Even now, she hardly knew what to think—not that she’d had any opportunity to stop and think, much less sort through the emotions that had spun her from one moment to the next.

Once Larkins had vanquished Mr. Elton, things had moved very quickly. George had ordered Larkins and Harry, who had finally reappeared after an unfortunately ill-timed nap, to lock the vicar in the pantry. George had then dispatched a groom to fetch Dr. Hughes and Constable Sharpe, while Emma had sent the stable boy running for Mr. Perry. Her stubborn husband had insisted that his wound was only a scratch, but she’d refused to be deterred. Ignoring his protests, she had helped him take off his coat and had ruthlessly sliced open his sleeve with his desk scissors. Thankfully, the wound was indeed superficial, and she and Mrs. Hodges had made short work of cleaning and dressing it.

After George went upstairs to change his shirt, the magnitude of what had happened—what could have happened if she’d not arrived at Donwell when she did—finally hit her. She was forced to sit down and put her head on her knees while a concerned Mrs. Hodges patted her back. Thankfully, a cup of tea soon set her to rights. By the time George returned, Donwell’s lone housemaid was sweeping up the broken glass, and Emma and Mrs. Hodges were returning the rest of the room to order.

At that point, George insisted she return home.

“Talk of this unfortunate scene will begin spreading very soon,” he warned, “much of it no doubt exaggerated.”

Emma almost gaped at him. “Mr. Elton attempted to murder you, George. I hardly think one can exaggerate that particular detail. It’s quite dreadful enough without embellishment.”

“That being the case, I urge you to return to Hartfield immediately. You can hardly wish for your father to learn of this from one of the servants or Miss Bates.”

Emma was forced to admit the soundness of his logic. After giving him a fierce and prolonged hug—mindful of his injured arm—she hurried out. She made a quick stop at Randalls to enlist Mrs. Weston’s aid in breaking the news to her father, since she felt quite unable to walk through that emotional quagmire on her own. Jane expressed her great shock, Frank roundly stated that he’d known Elton was a villain all along, and Mr. Weston hurried off to Donwell to lend George his support. Frank and Jane then decided to walk into the village to inform and manage the Bates ladies, while Mrs. Weston accompanied Emma back to Hartfield.

And never had Emma been more grateful to her former governess. Even though they’d left out as many grim details as they could, the tale was still one of violence and evil. Her father had been so upset that Emma had been tempted to send for Mr. Perry. Fortunately, Mrs. Weston had performed her gentle magic, and her kind but firm reassurances had restored Father to a semblance of equanimity.

“Emma,” he said as she went to the sideboard to fetch their drinks, “Simon brought up a fresh decanter of ratafia this afternoon, so you need have no concerns that there are any contaminating substances. He opened the bottle himself, and it was perfectly good.”

She mentally grimaced. In her recounting of the scene at Donwell, she’d left out the detail that Mr. Elton had tried to poison her father. The poor dear would have to be told soon enough, but he’d had enough shocks for one day. Of all the villainous actions their murderous vicar had committed, the attempted poisoning of her father—a kindly elderly gentleman who’d never hurt a soul—struck her as truly heinous. In fact, just looking at the ratafia decanter made her feel rather queasy.

After a steadying breath, she poured the beverage into a small crystal wineglass. After she poured a rather larger glass of sherry for Mrs. Weston, she decided she would quite like a brandy. While Emma did not generally drink strong spirits, this one would surely be medicinal in nature. Even Mr. Perry would approve.

After setting the glasses on a small silver tray, she carried them back to the fireside. Mrs. Weston did raise an eyebrow at the size of Emma’s drink but declined to comment. Father, thankfully, didn’t notice.

The French bracket clock on the mantelpiece chimed out the hour.

“Eight o’clock already?” her father fretfully said. “And George still not home? Perhaps we should send James with the carriage to fetch him, so he doesn’t catch a chill on the walk from Donwell.”

“Mr. Weston will take care of Mr. Knightley,” Mrs. Weston said with a comforting smile. “You needn’t worry in the slightest.”

“George will be home soon enough,” Emma added as she took a seat. “As magistrate, it is his responsibility to oversee this situation, so there are many details to attend to with Dr. Hughes and the constable.”

Her father tsked. “I do not approve of either Dr. Hughes or Constable Sharpe. If they had performed their jobs in a proper fashion, you would not have been placed in such a dangerous situation and poor George would not have been shot.”

Emma didn’t entirely disagree with her father’s assessment. But since she’d also failed to put all the pieces together until it was almost too late, she supposed she shouldn’t find too much fault with their local representatives of the law.

To her credit, though, at least she’d never believed that the poultry thief was the killer.

When she heard voices in the hall, she jumped to her feet. “Thank goodness. I think the men are finally home.”

The drawing room door opened, and George and Mr. Weston walked into the room.

As she hurried over to greet them, Emma took in the grim cast to her husband’s countenance.

“Dearest, what an ordeal for you,” she exclaimed as she took his hands. “You must be positively exhausted.”

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, his somber gaze lightened by a small smile. “I will admit it has been a difficult afternoon, but now I am all the better for returning home to you.”

“Difficult?” exclaimed Mr. Weston. “It’s been nothing short of a dashed nightmare. I don’t know when I’ve ever been so appalled by anything. Mr. Elton is a thorough villain, and the sooner he’s swinging from the hangman’s noose, the better.”

“Now, my dear,” Mrs. Weston admonished as she joined them, “I think we can spare Mr. Woodhouse such distressing observations.”

Her husband winced. “Forgive me, sir. Sometimes I let my feelings run away with me.”

Father waved a dismissive hand. “No apology is necessary, Mr. Weston. Mr. Elton has caused a great deal of trouble, and the sooner he is dispatched, the better off Highbury will be.”

Emma exchanged a startled glance with Mrs. Weston. Apparently, all the mayhem in their little village had produced a bit of a ruthless streak in her mild-mannered parent.

“Where is Mr. Elton now?” Mrs. Weston asked.

“Constable Sharpe and William Larkins took him to the vicarage and placed him under guard,” George replied. “Sharpe will be transferring him to the gaol in Guildford first thing in the morning.”

“He should have been tossed into the cellar at the Crown for the night,” Mr. Weston put in. “That’s certainly what he deserved.”

“I understand the sentiment,” George replied. “But holding Mr. Elton at the Crown would have created a considerable commotion. The villagers will no doubt become greatly upset when the facts are fully known, and I would prefer to have Mr. Elton safely away to Guildford before that happens.”

“A very sensible course of action, to be sure,” Mrs. Weston said.

“Dash it, I suppose Mr. Knightley is right,” Mr. Weston replied with a gleam of humor. “Which is why he’s the magistrate and not me.”

Emma patted her husband’s arm. “George is always right. And if you have any doubts on that score, he will be sure to tell you so himself.”

That produced a genuine smile from him, just as she’d hoped.

“We should be off, Mr. Weston,” his wife said. “It’s been a dreadfully fatiguing day for Emma and Mr. Knightley, and they must get their rest.”

Emma hugged her friend, murmuring her heartfelt thanks. The gentlemen shook hands, farewells were made, and the Westons departed for Randalls.

“Father,” Emma said as the door closed behind their friends, “I think you should retire early. This has been a very trying day for you, as well.”

“I do not deny it, my dear,” he replied as she helped him up from his chair. “But I fear I will not sleep a wink, thinking about how you and George were in such mortal danger.”

“There were a few tricky moments,” she admitted as she escorted him to the door. “But the danger passed very quickly. Mr. Elton could never get the best of Mr. Knightley, you know. The notion is entirely inconceivable.”

Thankfully, her father smiled at her bit of foolishness. After promising to check on him shortly, Emma handed the old dear off to the ever-faithful Simon, who was waiting in the hall.

When she returned to her husband, he raised his eyebrows, his expression frankly skeptical.

“What?” she asked.

“Only a few tricky moments?”

“Father was so distressed that I thought I should avoid the most gruesome bits. I hate to think how he’ll react when he hears the full story, since he no doubt will from Miss Bates,” she ruefully said.

“That is a worry for another day. Right now, I have a few things I wish to say to you.”

She crinkled her nose, recognizing the signs of an impending lecture. “May I at least fetch you a brandy first? I’m sure you stand in need of one.”

He expelled a sigh and ruffled a hand through his hair, making it stand straight up. It was so endearing and so unlike him that she couldn’t resist going up on tiptoe and kissing him. His arm slipped about her waist as he responded with a tenderness that brought a mist to her eyes.

When he finally released her, she had to rub her nose.

“Goodness,” she said, “I’m turning into a watering pot. Whatever will you think of me?”

“What I think is that you were decidedly reckless this afternoon,” he replied, adopting a severe expression. “I cannot be happy that you placed yourself in such danger, Emma. To say I was alarmed by your sudden appearance—and your refusal to leave the study—is to greatly understate the case.”

She took his arm and towed him to the settee, then gave him a little shove onto the cushions.

“How could I possibly leave? He would have killed you, George,” she said as she went to pour him a brandy. “And that very likely would have killed me .”

Emma knew she would not have recovered from such an unthinkable loss. That moment she saw Mr. Elton pointing his pistol at her beloved husband had been the worst of her life.

“Besides,” she added, as she returned to him, “you know very well that Mr. Elton would never have killed me. He said so himself.”

George took the glass Emma proffered and put it down, then grasped her wrist and gently pulled her onto the settee beside him.

“Yes, because he loved you,” he said. “I suppose we must be grateful for that.”

“As much as a madman can love anyone, I suppose. I’ve been pondering that very point, though. I think his emotions had a great deal more to do with his own amour propre than with any true feelings for me. Mr. Elton simply couldn’t understand how I could reject him. You heard him—he was absolutely convinced I would return his affections once you were disposed of.”

George shook his head. “The man was clearly living in a fantasy world to believe such a thing.”

“Lucky for us that he was.” She rested a palm flat on his chest. “Still, it wouldn’t have mattered. I would never have left the room, no matter what Mr. Elton threatened to do.”

He studied her for a long moment, the warmth in his gaze igniting an answering glow in her heart.

“Then despite my dismay that you were forced to witness so horrific a scene,” he said, “I cannot be anything but grateful for your courage. You were truly heroic in the face of danger, my Emma. I stand in awe of you.”

His praise made her blush. “You are too kind, sir. But let us not forget that Mr. Elton, murderer though he is, still has his standards. He would never murder a lady.”

George snorted. “The man truly is deranged, so I cannot begin to fathom his thought processes.”

“Poor Mrs. Elton. She must have known before the end that her husband viewed her with contempt.”

And that fact, she couldn’t help thinking, was very sad indeed.

“Yes, it’s quite awful.” George gently brushed a stray lock of hair back from her cheek. “Emma, I hope that, in time, you will be able to forget this day. It wouldn’t do to let it weigh on your thoughts.”

“I’m afraid there’s no forgetting this day, George. Although we must take consolation in the knowledge that Mr. Elton can never hurt anyone again.”

“Highbury’s nightmare is finally behind us.”

Not the scandal, though. That was just beginning, and it would no doubt provide fodder for gossip for months to come. She imagined there were very few villages in England that could lay claim to having a murderous vicar.

For a few minutes, they sat in blessed silence, George’s uninjured arm resting gently around her shoulders as they stared into the dying fire.

Her husband finally stirred. “I have been wondering about one thing.”

“Just one?” she ironically replied.

“For now.”

“And that is?”

He tilted his head to gaze at her. “Despite the shock of encountering your husband facing the business end of a pistol, you didn’t seem shocked that it was our vicar holding the other end.”

“Of course I was shocked, George,” she exclaimed. “Mr. Elton had just shot you.”

“But you weren’t shocked that it was him , were you?”

“Not really,” she admitted.

“How did you know?”

“You must understand that I wasn’t entirely sure until I saw him pointing that pistol at you. I was simply planning to speak with you about, well, a feeling I had about him.”

“It must have been quite a strong feeling,” he replied. “According to Mrs. Hodges, you were in quite a fluster when you arrived at Donwell.”

“Something I heard at Randalls this afternoon raised my suspicions. Mr. Elton had stopped by Hartfield to visit with Father, so I took the opportunity to pop over to Randalls for a visit.” She grimaced. “I feel terrible now, knowing that I left Father alone with the man who tried to kill him. It’s too hideous, George.”

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “Try not to think about it. Just tell me what you heard at Randalls that gave you pause.”

“We were discussing Mrs. Elton’s apparent threat to expose Mr. Suckling, regardless of the consequences. Both Jane and Frank were adamant that she would never treat her sister in so shabby a fashion. According to Jane, Mrs. Elton was truly devoted to Mrs. Suckling and would never hurt her. Frank also made the very cogent point that it made little sense for Mrs. Elton to ruin Mr. Suckling in so spectacular a fashion. Because if she did, she would lose any chance of recouping her lost funds.”

“How clever of Frank to note that,” George sardonically replied.

Emma poked him in the thigh. “Even you must admit that Frank had the right of it.”

“I will concede the point, and I will also concede that I am annoyed he thought of it first.”

“It’s very lowering, isn’t it? It had never really occurred to me, either. But once the point was made, I was forced to reorder my thinking about motives. If Mrs. Elton was not threatening to expose Mr. Suckling, why bother killing her?”

“So then the question became, who truly stood to lose the most from the destruction of Mrs. Elton’s fortune?”

“Mr. Elton.”

He nodded. “I also concede that point, but the case against Suckling was strong. The necklace and the fact that he refused to even speak to anyone but his solicitor or his wife. The evidence clearly seemed to indicate his guilt.”

Emma clapped her hands together. “That reminds me! When you questioned Mr. Elton, did he reveal why Mr. Suckling behaved so strangely? Why did he refuse to tell you his whereabouts on the day of the murder?”

“I do know the answer to that, although my source is Dr. Hughes. Suckling’s solicitor sent him an express post this morning, explaining his client’s whereabouts at the time of Mrs. Elton’s murder. The solicitor claimed to have proof that Suckling was indeed in London that day, meeting with a potential investor, something his client did not wish to become widely known. Apparently, Suckling still hoped to keep the extent of his losses secret, so as not to frighten off other potential investors. He was confident he could get clear of the murder charge, but he needed to avoid revealing the dire state of his finances.”

She frowned. “I suppose if one squints hard enough, his logic might make sense. But, George, why did Dr. Hughes fail to share this information with you immediately? In light of today’s events, it strikes me as a most egregious oversight!”

“Dr. Hughes claims he was busy with patients all morning and intended to call on me later in the day to discuss the matter. You may be sure I had a few words to say to our good coroner about that. I also asked him why Suckling’s solicitor was writing to him instead of me.”

Emma frowned. “That does seem very odd. What was his answer?”

“Since Dr. Hughes had taken it upon himself to both interrogate and transport Suckling to the gaol, the solicitor made the reasonable assumption that the doctor was in charge of the case,” he dryly replied.

Indignation flushed her cheeks with warmth. “Dr. Hughes has puffed himself up throughout this entire investigation, and to no good effect, as far as I can see. Truly, George, I think you must find a new coroner. He’s both narrow-minded and pompous and seems to be good only for tending to his speckled hens.”

“And do you also hold the same opinion of Constable Sharpe?” he asked with some amusement.

“Of course I do. I hope they were both properly mortified when they finally learned who the killer was.”

“I believe they were. Dr. Hughes was stunned into silence for a good two minutes.”

“That must have been refreshing.”

Her husband laughed. “I will admit to a degree of satisfaction in that moment. And now that we’ve disposed of Mr. Suckling, tell me more about your suspicions regarding Mr. Elton. Surely one conversation at Randalls was not enough to convince you of his guilt.”

“No, but it led me to think about our primary source of information during this entire affair—the person who, more than any other, controlled what we knew and what we didn’t know.”

“Ah, of course. Elton.”

“Yes, including the appearance of the incriminating letters. Oh!” She tapped his thigh again. “And Mr. Elton told Father that he’d found yet another letter, one that presented even more damning evidence against Mr. Suckling. I found that extraordinarily convenient timing.”

“And had anyone else seen this new letter?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. But that’s not all, George. Mr. Elton had the oddest conversation with my father.”

As she related the details of that encounter, a thunderous expression descended on George’s brow. Emma certainly couldn’t blame him. It was beyond outrageous that Mr. Elton could so calmly relate his plans to her father, knowing he would soon be off to Donwell to try to kill George in the delusional hopes of claiming his wife.

“That conversation truly alarmed me,” she finished. “At that point, I couldn’t wait for you to come home. I had to see you immediately.”

His arm tightened around her shoulders.

“I owe you a great debt, my Emma,” he gruffly said. “Although I still cannot be happy that you placed yourself in such danger.”

“George, I would happily face down a band of Cossack marauders if it meant saving your life.”

“Thankfully, Cossacks are rarely seen in Surrey, so you may stand down.”

“Yes, although I admit I was ready to run Mr. Elton through with a saber myself, if one had been at hand. As it was, I was preparing to throw your brass inkwell at his head at the first opportunity.”

When her husband was silent for a moment, she gave him a questioning nudge.

“And I was ready to kill the blighter with my bare hands for putting you in such danger,” he said in a somber tone. “I am shocked to discover that I felt no qualms at the prospect, nor do I now. And that is a less than comfortable feeling.”

Emma’s throat suddenly grew tight, and it took a moment to answer. “George, you were trying to protect me from a deranged killer, one who actually did try to throttle his wife. And do not forget that he also tried to murder my father. I will be most displeased if you dare to feel one iota of guilt over what you wanted to do to that dreadful man. He isn’t worth it.”

“You are too kind, my dear. Still, a magistrate should be above such primitive emotions.”

She scoffed. “Not when the murderer is also trying to kill the magistrate. George, you have been an absolute paragon throughout this gruesome affair, despite all the challenges you faced—including two inept officers of the law. I cannot decide who was worse, Constable Sharpe or Dr. Hughes.”

“Regardless of their failings, I do think they tried their best.”

“Their best almost got you killed,” she pointed out.

“True, but Elton managed to fool all of us.”

She let out an exasperated sigh. “I cannot believe I allowed him to pull the wool over my eyes again .”

“My darling, unlike the rest of us, you managed to put the pieces of this mad puzzle together. I, for one, stand in awe of your detecting skills.”

“Jane and Frank deserve praise, too, though. Without them, the idea that Mr. Elton was the killer would never have entered my head.”

“But you saw what the rest of us failed to see.”

She waggled a hand. “I failed to see that he was in love with me.”

“Yes, but I believe he was also greatly driven by love of money—your money, specifically.” He gently kissed the tip of her nose. “Not that I blame the villain for being in love with you. Any man would be, given the slightest chance.”

She graced him with a smile. “Thank you, dearest. But I still maintain that it was really love of self. Mr. Elton simply refused to accept that I could ever reject him. His mind could not contemplate such a thing.”

“Nor could he accept the loss of his social and financial standing.”

She tapped a finger to her chin. “A few weeks ago, Mr. Elton quoted scripture to me. He said that the love of money was the root of all evil. How ironic that he was speaking of himself, although I suppose he was too deluded to recognize that at the time.”

George nodded, holding her close. Outside, night fell softly over the gardens, a gentle benediction after the horrors of the day. Emma let the peace of the late summer evening rest upon her. In the days to come, she would no doubt think much on these events and how they had affected and would continue to affect her family, friends, and indeed all of Highbury. For now, though, she was content in the knowledge that her loved ones were safe and whole.

After a few moments, George stirred. “I will likely be gone for most of the day tomorrow.”

Emma sighed. “Drat. I suppose you will be going to Guildford again. How tiresome for you.”

“It is, but I still have questions for Elton, ones necessary for preparing the indictment. Constable Sharpe quite rightly wishes to transfer him to the gaol as soon as possible, and I think it best if I accompany him.”

“I do not envy you such a grim task.” She suddenly pulled out of his loose embrace. “I forgot to ask you. What of Mrs. Wright? Did Mr. Elton have anything to say about her odd behavior?”

“I did ask him, particularly in regards to her feelings toward Suckling. Apparently, Mrs. Wright was resentful on Mrs. Elton’s behalf, both because Suckling lost her fortune in the first place and because he was then unable to provide any assistance.”

“So her hatred toward all of us was the result of her loyalty to her mistress. I’m surprised, though, that she never mentioned anything about the Eltons’ argument on the day of the murder. That seems odd.”

“Mrs. Wright will be required to testify at Elton’s trial, where I’m sure that question will be raised. One can only assume, however, that if she had any suspicions about her employer, there was no proof to support them.”

Emma nodded. “And Mr. Suckling was a very handy suspect, which no doubt colored her thinking. That makes sense.”

“Yes.” George glanced at her with a slight grimace. “I’m afraid you might be called on to testify, as well. You must prepare yourself for that.”

She’d already anticipated that such would be the case. “That is certainly annoying, but at least I have the satisfaction of knowing that I solved the murder.”

And that, she had to admit, was quite satisfying.

George smiled. “That you did. I am hopeful, however, that your detecting days are over. Unless, that is, you wish to take on my duties as magistrate. I should be grateful for the break.”

She couldn’t resist flashing him a cheeky grin. “That is much too high-minded for me. I think my skills might best be employed assisting Constable Sharpe. He isn’t having much luck with the poultry thief, is he? Think of the speckled hens, George. Think of poor Dr. Hughes. We cannot allow this crime spree to continue unchecked.”

Her husband looked pained. “My dear, I beg you to refrain.”

Emma laughed. “Poor George. You have nothing to fear, I’m sure. Soon enough, Highbury will return to its sleepy old self, and nothing remotely as dreadful as these past weeks will ever happen again.”

He raised a hand, as if taking a vow. “From your lips to God’s ear.”

“You may be sure of it. After all, I am always right, am I not?”

George chuckled, but in this case, Emma felt certain she was correct. Lightning never struck twice, and in Highbury neither would murder.