Page 15 of Murder in Highbury
“That will not be necessary, Mrs. Knightley. I have excellent recall and a sharp mind.”
And a puffed-up ego.
It struck her that relying on one’s memory was hardly sound investigative practice. But since this was her first murder, she would reserve judgment.
“Mrs. Martin and I entered the church shortly after two in the afternoon. We were attending to our usual business of refreshing the flowers in the church prior to Sunday services.”
“And you saw no one lurking about the premises or in the graveyard, behaving in a suspicious manner?”
Like wiping off a bloody candlestick or digging a grave for the intended victim?
“All was as it should be. The church caretaker, as usual, left the front door unlocked, and we proceeded inside.”
With as much detail as she could recall—now wishing that shehadwritten down some of those details—she recounted the sequence of events and her actions. When she began to describe the noises she’d heard emanating from the vestry, Dr. Hughes shot up a hand.
“Mrs. Knightley, are you suggesting that the killer was still in the church? In the vestry, to be precise?”
She shrugged. “How would I know who it was?”
He regarded her with frank disbelief. “You do realize that if there was someone in the vestry, it might very well have been the person who murdered Mrs. Elton.”
Emma made a point of avoiding her husband’s eye. “Of course. That is why I armed myself with one of the candlesticks before I went to investigate.”
Dr. Hughes’s eyes popped wide behind his tiny spectacles, making him look like a rather strange insect. “My word, Mrs. Knightley! I cannot believe your husband would approve of such reckless conduct.”
Before she could bristle up, George intervened. “That is a matter between me and my wife, Dr. Hughes. Please carry on, since the hour grows late. I do not wish to fatigue Mrs. Knightley any more than necessary.”
His tone, though calm, brooked no opposition. Emma decided that she would not be too fatigued to expend a little extra energy on her husband once they were alone.
“My apologies, sir,” the doctor stiffly replied. “What happened next, madam, if I may be so bold as to ask?”
“I went into the vestry and found it empty. The door to the churchyard was unlatched and partly open. I hurried outside to see if anyone was there, but both the churchyard and the path to the street were deserted.”
Suddenly, her brain conjured up the image of the dainty white handkerchief lying by the lych-gate. In all the commotion it had slipped her mind, and she’d remembered only after returning home and changing her dress. Eager to speak with her father, she’d simply shoved the cloth in a box on her dressing table and promptly forgotten about it again.
“My dear?” George asked.
She looked at him. His gaze had grown suddenly sharp, as if he could see the wheels spinning in her head. One of those niggling questions, the ones that had dogged her for hours, was possibly coming into focus.
And the possible answer to that question gave her significant pause.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I lost my train of thought for a moment.”
“That is perfectly understandable,” the doctor commented in an indulgent tone. “You were obviously quite rattled, so it is no wonder that your memory of events is vague or even a trifle faulty.”
This time she didn’t hide her irritation. “There is nothing faulty with my memory, Dr. Hughes. Nor was I so rattled that I could not think. Poor Mrs. Martin was overset for a time, but I never lost my ability to either observe or reason.”
“Yes, I spoke with Mrs. Martin. She was quite overcome, which was certainly understandable.” His attitude made it clear that he found Harriet’s response to Mrs. Elton’s demise more appropriately female.
“I, however, was not overcome, and I can relate with perfect clarity what I saw and heard,” Emma retorted.
“My wife did discover the murder weapon,” George pointed out.
“A lucky happenstance,” Dr. Hughes replied.
Indignation surged in her breast. “There was nothing lucky about it. I noticed one of the candlesticks out of place. That then led me to observe that there was blood on it, which someone had clearly tried to—”
“In any event,” the doctor said, talking over her, “you should leave these matters to the law. I am sure Constable Sharpe and I would have discovered the murder weapon soon enough. After all, it is our job as professionals to do so. Ladies—or even gentlemen—should never be required to undertake such unpleasant tasks.”
