Page 151 of Murder in Highbury
Emma almost gaped at him. “Mr. Elton attempted to murder you, George. I hardly think one can exaggeratethatparticular 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.
