Page 133 of Murder in Highbury
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.
CHAPTER25
“Another cup of tea, my dear?” asked Mrs. Weston.
“You’ve already stuffed me with tea and cakes,” Emma replied with a rueful smile. “Father would be most alarmed to see me consuming queen cakes in the middle of the afternoon.”
“You’ve had a difficult week, Emma. You deserve a little pampering.”
“If anyone deserves pampering, it’s George. That poor man has been run from pillar to post for three days now, ever since Mr. Suckling’s arrest. But I will happily stand in for him.”
After a morning spent immersed in the household accounts, Emma had decided to reward herself with a visit to Randalls. Once her father was settled after lunch, she’d set out on the gloriously sunny afternoon. The clear skies and a crisp feel to the air signaled that the end of summer was approaching.
It had been rather marvelous to indulge in a leisurely stroll, secure in the knowledge that no crisis demanded her attention. Although Mr. Suckling’s trial loomed on the horizon, and many questions were as yet unanswered, today she could put all that aside and simply enjoy an afternoon with friends.
As luck would have it, the men were out, which left the ladies to the pleasures of a comfortable chat. By tacit agreement, they’d so far avoided the subject most on their minds. Instead, they’d discussed Mrs. Weston’s plans to refurbish the dining room, agreed that little Anna was the prettiest baby in the world, and debated how long Jane and Frank should remain in Highbury before returning to Yorkshire.
It was a blessedly normal day, the first she could remember in weeks.
“You must admit that the queen cakes are delicious, though,” said Jane as she selected one from the oak tea tray. “It’s dreadful of me, but I cannot resist another one.”
Mrs. Weston gave her a fond look. “We’re so happy you’ve regained your appetite. You should eat as many cakes as you like.”
“I seem to be famished these past few days,” the young woman admitted. “If I go on like this, I shall grow as big as a house.”
Emma smiled. “But that is the natural order of things, is it not? Truly, Jane, you look splendid now. We were all quite worried when you arrived.”
