Page 54 of Murder in Highbury
Mr. Elton shook his head in disapproval. “Horace, one could hardly expect Mr. and Mrs. Martin to walk all the way to Donwell in this heat. Especially when they have been so kind to us.”
“I’m sure they do it every day. It’s the country, after all.”
“We didn’t mean to put you out, Mr. Suckling,” Robert said in a stiff tone. “And we appreciate the kindness.”
“Mr. Martin, it is you and your wife who have been so kind,” Mr. Elton earnestly replied before turning to Emma. “Your dear friend has been such a blessing and a support to me through this entire ordeal, Mrs. Knightley, especially during that dreadful inquest.”
Given the unfortunate history between Harriet and Mr. Elton, it was more than slightly ironic that he was now turning to the young woman for comfort. Emma could only imagine what his dearly departed would have had to say about such a development.
“You have had a very difficult day,” Emma replied, “and you should not be standing out in this heat. And you are most welcome, too, Mr. Suckling.”
“Much obliged,” Mr. Suckling tersely replied. “Can’t imagine why we’re standing about and gabbing in the first place.”
George quickly led the dratted man into the hall. The rest of them followed, although Robert immediately excused himself and disappeared into the crowd.
Mr. Suckling took off his hat—one banded with a very handsome piece of black satin, Emma noticed—and handed it to a footman.
“Well,” he said to George. “This is quite the pile you have here. The Knightleys have obviously done splendidly for themselves over the years.”
Emma blinked. Mr. Elton looked pained, while Harriet . . . wasn’t paying attention. She was craning up, as if searching for someone in the general melee.
“Horace, what a thing to say,” Mr. Elton admonished. “You will embarrass Mr. Knightley.”
“I’m simply expressing my admiration. Smallridge would like this place, you know. Puts me in mind of his estate, although Pomphrey Manor is certainly more modern.”
“The Smallridges are good friends of Mr. and Mrs. Suckling,” Mr. Elton said. “You may recall.”
“Yes, I do recall,” replied Emma.
It would be impossible to forget, since Mrs. Elton had talked incessantly about the Smallridges and her other wealthy acquaintances.
“I would be happy to show you about the abbey,” George tactfully said to Mr. Suckling. “Despite Mr. Elton’s protestations, you cannot offend me by admiring my family’s home.”
Mr. Suckling jabbed the vicar in the arm. “There, Philip, you are much too nice about these things. Knightley knows what I am about. Gentlemen of our standing always do.”
“Then I shall be happy to give you a tour after you and Mr. Elton have something to eat and drink,” George said, glancing at Emma.
Recalled to her duties, she glanced about the hall. Unfortunately, every seat was taken.
“Mr. Elton, I’m afraid it’s rather hideously crowded in here,” she said. “Might I suggest that you join my father and Mrs. and Miss Bates in the east drawing room? They are well set up there, and the room is both quiet and cool. Mrs. Weston is with them, too.”
The arrangement served both her father and Miss Bates. The poor woman was still in a fragile state, unable to converse with any degree of coherence. Keeping her away from the other guests seemed both necessary and wise.
“My father is eager to speak with you, Mr. Elton,” she added. “He very much wished to attend the funeral but did not feel quite up to it.”
Mr. Elton seized her hand. “Your father is a great friend to all of us. And so charitable to Miss Bates in her time of need.”
Mr. Suckling scoffed. “That bloody woman. Mark my words. She may play the henwit, but she had something to do with Augusta’s death.”
Emma’s patience with the man ran out. “That is aridiculousassertion.”
“This is not the best place to conduct a conversation of this nature,” George said in austere tones. “Or conduct it at all.”
Especially since Miss Prince and Miss Richardson, teachers at Mrs. Goddard’s school, stood only feet away, straining to overhear.
The vicar grimaced. “Quite right, Mr. Knightley. Our dear Miss Bates is the kindest woman one could ever hope to find. It is, of course, utter nonsense to imagine that she could ever hurt anyone.”
When Mr. Suckling started to argue, George took him by the elbow. “Allow me to escort you to the refreshment table. We have some excellent cider from Donwell’s own apple orchard. Very refreshing in all this heat.”
