Page 154 of Murder in Highbury
Emma clapped her hands together. “That reminds me! When you questioned Mr. Elton, did he reveal why Mr. Suckling behaved so strangely? Whydidhe refuse to tell you his whereabouts on the day of the murder?”
“I do know the answer to that, although my source is Dr. Hughes. Suckling’s solicitor sent him an express post this morning, explaining his client’s whereabouts at the time of Mrs. Elton’s murder. The solicitor claimed to have proof that Suckling was indeed in London that day, meeting with a potential investor, something his client did not wish to become widely known. Apparently, Suckling still hoped to keep the extent of his losses secret, so as not to frighten off other potential investors. He was confident he could get clear of the murder charge, but he needed to avoid revealing the dire state of his finances.”
She frowned. “I suppose if one squints hard enough, his logic might make sense. But, George, why did Dr. Hughes fail to share this information with you immediately? In light of today’s events, it strikes me as a most egregious oversight!”
“Dr. Hughes claims he was busy with patients all morning and intended to call on me later in the day to discuss the matter. You may be sure I had a few words to say to our good coroner about that. I also asked him why Suckling’s solicitor was writing to him instead of me.”
Emma frowned. “That does seem very odd. What was his answer?”
“Since Dr. Hughes had taken it upon himself to both interrogate and transport Suckling to the gaol, the solicitor made the reasonable assumption that the doctor was in charge of the case,” he dryly replied.
Indignation flushed her cheeks with warmth. “Dr. Hughes has puffed himself up throughout this entire investigation, and to no good effect, as far as I can see. Truly, George, I think you must find a new coroner. He’s both narrow-minded and pompous and seems to be good only for tending to his speckled hens.”
“And do you also hold the same opinion of Constable Sharpe?” he asked with some amusement.
“Of course I do. I hope they were both properly mortified when they finally learned who the killer was.”
“I believe they were. Dr. Hughes was stunned into silence for a good two minutes.”
“That must have been refreshing.”
Her husband laughed. “I will admit to a degree of satisfaction in that moment. And now that we’ve disposed of Mr. Suckling, tell me more about your suspicions regarding Mr. Elton. Surely one conversation at Randalls was not enough to convince you of his guilt.”
“No, but it led me to think about our primary source of information during this entire affair—the person who, more than any other, controlled what we knew and what we didn’t know.”
“Ah, of course. Elton.”
“Yes, including the appearance of the incriminating letters. Oh!” She tapped his thigh again. “And Mr. Elton told Father that he’d found yet another letter, one that presented even more damning evidence against Mr. Suckling. I found that extraordinarily convenient timing.”
“And had anyone else seen this new letter?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course not. But that’s not all, George. Mr. Elton had the oddest conversation with my father.”
As she related the details of that encounter, a thunderous expression descended on George’s brow. Emma certainly couldn’t blame him. It was beyond outrageous that Mr. Elton could so calmly relate his plans to her father, knowing he would soon be off to Donwell to try to kill George in the delusional hopes of claiming his wife.
“That conversation truly alarmed me,” she finished. “At that point, I couldn’t wait for you to come home. I had to see you immediately.”
His arm tightened around her shoulders.
“I owe you a great debt, my Emma,” he gruffly said. “Although I still cannot be happy that you placed yourself in such danger.”
“George, I would happily face down a band of Cossack marauders if it meant saving your life.”
“Thankfully, Cossacks are rarely seen in Surrey, so you may stand down.”
“Yes, although I admit I was ready to run Mr. Elton through with a saber myself, if one had been at hand. As it was, I was preparing to throw your brass inkwell at his head at the first opportunity.”
When her husband was silent for a moment, she gave him a questioning nudge.
“And I was ready to kill the blighter with my bare hands for putting you in such danger,” he said in a somber tone. “I am shocked to discover that I felt no qualms at the prospect, nor do I now. And that is a less than comfortable feeling.”
Emma’s throat suddenly grew tight, and it took a moment to answer. “George, you were trying to protect me from a deranged killer, one who actuallydidtry to throttle his wife. And do not forget that he also tried to murder my father. I will be most displeased if you dare to feel one iota of guilt over what you wanted to do to that dreadful man. He isn’t worth it.”
“You are too kind, my dear. Still, a magistrate should be above such primitive emotions.”
She scoffed. “Not when the murderer is also trying to kill the magistrate. George, you have been an absolute paragon throughout this gruesome affair, despite all the challenges you faced—including two inept officers of the law. I cannot decide who was worse, Constable Sharpe or Dr. Hughes.”
“Regardless of their failings, I do think they tried their best.”
