Page 1 of Murder in Highbury
CHAPTER1
Highbury, England
Summer 1815
Emma Knightley fancied herself quite adept at managing awkward social situations. Murder, however, was not one of them, especially murder in their village church. Those circumstances struck her asparticularlyawkward.
“Is she dead?” Harriet Martin asked in a horrified whisper.
Emma took a hesitant step toward the crumpled heap lying on the shallow steps that led up to the chancel. Steeling herself, she leaned down to press two fingers to the woman’s exposed wrist and felt for a pulse.
Hastily straightening up, she had to swallow twice before she could answer. “I’m afraid she is dead, Harriet. I cannot feel a pulse, and you can see there is quite a lot of blood.”
Mrs. Elton’s blond ringlets were dark with the sticky substance. A fair amount of blood was congealed beneath her head, and there was also something odd about the angle of her neck. As for her bonnet, the over-trimmed hat was decidedly askew.
Harriet dropped her wicker basket, spilling an assortment of roses and larkspur onto the gray stone floor of the nave. “Mrs. Knightley, how can this be? Poor Mrs. Elton!”
“Indeed,” Emma replied, staring at the corpse of the vicar’s wife. “Poor Mrs. Elton.”
Never could she have imagined herself referring to her social nemesis aspooranything. Such, however, was the awful magnitude of the scene before them.
Harriet, wide-eyed and pale, pressed a trembling hand to her bodice. “How . . . how can you be so calm, Mrs. Knightley? I feel terribly sick and lightheaded.”
Emma didn’t feel the slightest bit calm. In fact, she wanted either to shriek so loud it would shake the old bell tower to its foundations or to cast up her crumpets. But since neither reaction would be helpful, she ordered her stomach back in place and tried to collect her scattered wits.
“No fainting, Harriet. I cannot manage two bodies at once.”
When her friend let out a curdled moan, Emma took her by the elbow and steered her to a pew. “Put your head down and breathe slowly, dear. You’ll feel better in a moment.”
Biddable girl that she was, Harriet sank into the pew and rested her bonneted head on her knees. Emma was very fond of her young friend, but Harriet often displayed an unfortunate excess of emotion when distressed as well as a tendency to faint. Neither characteristic was welcome under the circumstances.
With Harriet sorted for the moment, Emma could gather her thoughts and determine what must be done next. As mistress of Hartfield, her father’s manor house, and of Donwell Abbey since her marriage to George, she was used to making decisions. Still, while Emma generally trusted her judgment and intellect, a dead Mrs. Elton was a challenge that taxed even her ability to think clearly.
She glanced around the church—a cool, silent refuge on a bright summer’s day. Or, at least, it would have been a refuge without a corpse lying in the middle of it.
Yet she saw no other signs of disturbance. All was as it should be on a quiet Saturday, the day she and Harriet always brought flowers from Hartfield’s gardens to refresh the floral arrangements for Sunday services. As usual, the caretaker had left the main door in the south porch unlocked for them. Emma doubted anyone else was expected in the church, and certainly not Mrs. Elton. The vicar’s wife set foot in the place only for the Sunday service or the rare meeting of the altar guild, where decisions were made about the state of the linens and vestments. Even then, she usually left the details to others, deeming such tasks beneath a woman of her dignity. It had been so since her arrival in Highbury as Philip Elton’s bride early last year. Mrs. Elton had possessed a highly elevated sense of superiority and so had believed that parish business was merely an irritation best ignored.
So why was she here on a Saturday afternoon, and who could have possibly . . .?
Murdered her.
Emma finally allowed that horrible thought to fully sink in. She dearly hoped she was wrong, but only a fool wouldn’t consider the possibility of foul play, given the odd disposition of the body and the distressing amount of blood. Perhaps she was overly imaginative, though. George had accused her of that particular flaw more than once in the past, and with some degree of merit, she was sorry to say.
She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to think. Should she send for Mr. Elton? While this was his church, seeing his wife in so dreadful a state would be too great a shock. He might even descend into hysterics, and Emma was quite certain she couldn’t manage Mr. Elton in a state of hysteria. Managing Harriet was challenge enough.
You need George.
Emma’s still-racing heart started to settle. Her husband was the most intelligent and levelheaded person she’d ever met, and he always knew exactly how to proceed. As the local magistrate, George would be responsible for managing this horrid situation, including breaking the news to Mr. Elton.
With that decision made, her mind turned in a more orderly direction. Death had come to their quiet corner of Surrey, and in a most unexpected fashion. It would be up to Mr. and Mrs. Knightley, as the first family of the parish, to see that all legal and social matters were conducted with as much care and delicacy as possible. The residents of Highbury would depend upon them for guidance and support, and Emma was determined not to fail them.
Looking away from the body because, really, it was easier to think without Mrs. Elton’s hideously blank gaze staring up at her, Emma turned to her friend.
“Harriet, are you feeling better? Do you think you might be able to exert yourself?”
With a shuddering breath, the girl pulled herself upright, her normally placid features taut with distress. Even though Mrs. Elton had always been rather cruel to her, Harriet possessed a sensitive nature easily overpowered by such a scene.
Mrs. Elton’s unkind behavior had stemmed from the fact that Harriet had been in love with the vicar while he was still a bachelor. Once apprised of that fact by her new husband—a most uncharitable deed, as far as Emma was concerned—Mrs. Elton had never passed up an opportunity to snub the poor girl. But kindhearted Harriet had rarely held it against her tormenter, which was a tribute to her sweet temperament.
