Page 52 of Murder in Highbury
“George, how is Mr. Elton?” she asked. “The poor man. Such a dreadful experience, having to oversee the funeral of his own wife.”
“The curate from St. Albans has fortunately relieved him of the necessary duties. In fact, Mr. Elton and Mr. Suckling should be here momentarily. They both wished to spend some time at the graveside.”
“Then we should go up,” Emma said. “Mr. Larkins, could you see that extra chairs are placed on the lawn? I’m trying to encourage some of the young people to go outside. The great hall is terribly crowded.”
“Aye, Mrs. Knightley.”
Emma made one more check with Mrs. Hodges and then allowed George to escort her upstairs.
“What a great deal of trouble for you, my dear,” her husband said as they climbed the shallow set of stairs that led to the service corridor.
“Much more so for the staff. They are all to be commended for pulling this increasingly absurd affair together so quickly. And Larkins is an absolute treasure.”
He stopped her partway down the old stone corridor. “You’re the treasure, my love,” he said before pressing a lingering kiss to her lips.
When footsteps sounded at the other end of the passage, they parted. A Randalls footman hurried by with an empty tray of sherry glasses, giving them a harried nod.
“Really, George, how scandalous,” she said. “Kissing in front of the servants. Whatever will they think?”
“I suspect they’re too busy to notice,” he replied as they began to make their way toward the front of the house.
“How was the funeral? It sounds like all went as well as could be expected.”
“It did. The church was quite crowded.”
Emma, naturally, did not attend, nor did Mrs. Weston. Ladies did not participate in funerals, although in the country it wasn’t unusual for the local folk, both men and women, to go to the church service.
She touched the black silk scarf tied around her husband’s arm. “You’re still wearing your own scarf. I take it you left Mr. Elton’s funeral memento in the carriage?”
“He did not distribute any funeral mementos.”
“To no one?” she asked, amazed.
“No.”
“What about Mr. Suckling?”
“As far as I know, neither man gave funeral mementos to anyone.”
It was customary to give mementos to family and friends of the deceased. Depending on the financial standing of the family—and Mr. Elton was quite plump in the pocket, thanks to Mrs. Elton—black silk scarfs or armbands were often given out, as well as black or white gloves. Black silk hatbands were sometimes distributed, as well. Gifts and items of clothing were also provided to the family’s servants, who were expected to observe mourning along with their master.
Emma frowned. “Mr. Elton is generally very punctilious about funeral etiquette.”
“Perhaps he feared he would not have enough for all those who attended. Death by murder was all but certain to draw a crowd. Most coming for the wrong reasons,” he dryly finished.
“I cannot believe Mrs. Elton would approve of so frugal a state of affairs. She is no doubt looking down—or up—from wherever she is, mortified at such cheeseparing ways.”
“Emma,” he replied in a long-suffering tone.
She crinkled her nose in silent apology. “What about the procession? I know the vicarage is but a few steps from the church, but they could easily bring the casket in a proper procession by the lane to the lych-gate.”
“No procession, either, I’m afraid.”
Emma began to feel more than simply astonished. Although she and the vicar’s wife had little appreciation for each other—well, no appreciation, if one were honest—the poor woman deserved better than such an unceremonious exit from life.
“I cannot believe it, George. How do you account for it?”
“I cannot.”
