Page 12 of Murder in Highbury
Even now, on a warm summer’s eve, while the sparrows twittered in the garden, it seemed impossible to imagine such a horror.
Yet no amount of pretending could wish it away.
“That poor woman,” she quietly said.
Her husband rubbed a weary hand over his face. “There is much to be done these next several days, Emma. I will be out of the house a good part of the time.”
“I know, dearest, and you’re not to worry about that. I can manage whatever domestic affairs arise here or at Donwell.”
“I will most likely need your assistance in making the funeral arrangements. I doubt Mr. Elton will be in a proper state to do so, and we must find a curate to conduct the service.”
“Of course, George. But for tonight, you must try to get some rest. Surely you are now finished for the day.”
He mustered a rueful smile. “I regret to inform you that Dr. Hughes will be stopping by shortly to give me a more detailed report. He will also take your statement while events are still fresh in your mind.”
Emma sighed. “I suppose that’s wise, although I don’t stand in danger of forgetting anything about this dreadful experience.”
Every detail was engraved on her mind, including Mrs. Elton’s baleful glare of death. She suspected that expression would haunt her dreams for quite some time.
“You’ll need to give testimony at the inquest,” George added.
She stared at him, dismay welling up. The notion of reliving one of the worst days of her life in a public setting was appalling. “My written statement would not be sufficient?”
“I know testifying is an unpleasant prospect, but it cannot be helped. You and Harriet were the first witnesses, and you did discover the murder weapon. Your powers of observation are acute and will prove useful to the jury.”
She sighed. “I wish they’d been less acute, then. And the mind reels to think of Harriet on the witness stand.”
“You will help her through it.”
Emma doubted that even she was up to the challenge of helping Harriet construct a coherent narrative. “Dearest, the poor girl spent a good part of the time with her head between her knees.”
George huffed out a laugh and then rose to his feet when a quiet knock sounded on the door. “Enter.”
Simon, their senior footman, came into the room. “Dr. Hughes to see you, sir.”
“Please show him into my office. Mrs. Knightley and I will be along momentarily.”
“Very good, sir.”
Emma cocked her head. “Your office is rather small, George, and not particularly comfortable.”
“Dr. Hughes tends to ramble on. If we make him too comfortable, he’ll be inclined to linger. I have had quite enough of murder for one day and would like to spend at least part of the evening in quiet, with my wife.”
“Then I will decline to offer any refreshments, although my reputation as a hostess is bound to suffer.”
“I’m willing to take that risk.” He offered her a hand. “Are you ready, my dear?”
“Yes, I do believe my loins are properly girded.”
She came to her feet and paused only to shake out her skirts and straighten her collar.
“It’s best not to jest with Dr. Hughes, Emma. He can be a trifle officious, and he takes his duties very seriously.”
“George, even you cannot believe I would joke about murder.”
He simply raised his eyebrows.
She held up a hand, as if taking an oath. “I promise to behaveandto be the soul of brevity.”
