Page 139 of Murder in Highbury
“And he certainly has better uses for his time,” added Mrs. Weston. “I’m sure he’s very busy at Donwell, since the harvest is approaching.”
“Indeed,” Emma replied as she stood to take her leave. “He has missed a great deal of work, thanks to the demands of this investigation. William Larkins is most displeased with him. I expect he’ll keep my poor husband working right through dinner.”
George had indicated as much when he’d set off this morning for Donwell.
“You are certainly welcome to stay here for dinner, my dear,” said Mr. Weston, also rising. “Frank can then walk you home.”
Frank hopped to his feet and gave a dramatic bow. “It would be my great honor, Mrs. Knightley.”
She had to smile. “Thank you, but I must get back to Father. If news of Mrs. Cole’s chickens comes to his ears, he’ll be in a terrible fret.”
Farewells were exchanged, after which Mr. Weston walked her to the front door.
“Try not to trouble yourself over this murder business, Emma,” he said. “All will come right in the end.”
“I’m sure that is true.”
But as she set off down the drive, Emma knew she didn’t believe that. And one question in particular now came to the fore. It was a simple one but went to the heart of the matter. In the murder of Mrs. Elton, who stood to benefit the most?
CHAPTER26
The walk home from Randalls was decidedly less enjoyable than the walk over. Emma was once again bedeviled by questions, and she was increasingly disconcerted by thoughts that persisted in raising doubts about Mr. Suckling’s guilt. Given the preponderance of evidence against him, questioning his guilt seemed absurd. If Mrs. Elton had intended to expose her brother-in-law’s nefarious deeds to the world, it would surely follow that he would have become desperate, and desperate men took desperate measures.
Yet, as Frank had pointed out, if Mrs. Elton had pursued that course, the end result would have been the downfall of the Sucklings and the loss of any opportunity for her to recoup her monies. And would Mrs. Elton truly have brought the righteous hand of vengeance down on her errant brother-in-law? Emma suspected that the woman’s intense regard for her own social standing would have made her reluctant to do so.
Heartily sick of her circling thoughts, she entered the house and handed her bonnet and gloves to the waiting footman. “Thank you, Simon. I take it that Mr. Elton has departed?”
“Yes, Mrs. Knightley.” He glanced at the longcase clock in the entrance hall. “He left at about quarter past the hour.”
That meant the vicar had spent almost two hours at Hartfield, a surprisingly long visit for her father. “Is Mr. Woodhouse in the drawing room, or has he gone upstairs to rest?”
“He’s still in the drawing room, madam, writing letters.”
“I’ll join him, then.”
“Can I bring you a fresh pot of tea, Mrs. Knightley?”
“No, thank you.”
She hurried down the hall, eager to discover what her father and Mr. Elton had found to discuss at such great length.
Her father was seated at the escritoire in the window alcove, busily writing away.
“Good afternoon, dearest,” she said, crossing to give him a kiss. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long. Apparently, you had company for most of the afternoon.”
Father put down his quill and allowed her to help him up.
“Indeed, I thought Mr. Elton would never leave,” he said with gentle complaint. “While one must exercise the virtues of forgiveness and charity, I do hope we will not suffer him spending half the day at Hartfield from now on. I would find that very tiring.”
She could sympathize, because she felt rather the same about Miss Bates.
“I suspect he’s very grateful to be able to visit with you again and so is perhaps a trifle enthusiastic.” She helped him settle in his armchair by the fireplace and then draped a light cashmere shawl over his knees. “No doubt he is low about everything and much in need of company.”
Her father rearranged the shawl to his liking before answering. “To be sure, he was excessively grateful to be here again. But I believe he was also waiting for you. He asked when you would be returning from Randalls and wondered if he should go there and escort you back home. I told him that it was unnecessary, since Frank Churchill or Mr. Weston would certainly escort you to Hartfield.”
Emma slid past the need to tell her parent that she had walked herself home from Randalls. Still, she was grateful that his misapprehension had spared her the vicar’s company.
“It was rather odd of Mr. Elton to think he needed to do that,” she commented, taking the chair opposite him. “Especially since it would have taken him out of his way.”
