Page 112 of Murder in Highbury

“In the middle of the day?” she asked, incredulous.

“I also expressed my skepticism, but Dr. Hughes reminded me that the thief had already mounted a prior attack during the daylight hours.”

Despite her irritation, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Mounted an attack? Did he truly say that?”

“Our coroner does have a flair for the dramatic.”

“Particularly when it comes to his speckled hens. But according to Mr. Weston, that earlier theft was on a farm set back from the road, with the coops behind the barn. The kitchen gardens at the vicarage are easily seen from the lane, the churchyard, and the house.”

“I also raised that point, without success.”

Emma huffed. “Such nonsense. So, his theory is that the thief was lurking about the kitchen gardens, and then what?”

“According to Sharpe, he must have spied Mrs. Elton entering the church and seized the opportunity to rob her.”

“Thus going from stealing chickens to bashing a woman over the head with a brass candlestick. It is beyond improbable, George.”

“I agree, but Sharpe has charge of the investigation, and on this point, he has the full backing of Dr. Hughes.”

She rose and went to the sideboard to fetch him a brandy and also thought to pour a sherry for herself. He accepted his glass with a smile and a kiss, and then they both settled back on the sofa.

“I devoutly hope we never see another murder in Highbury again,” she commented as she nestled under his embracing arm. “A proper investigation, and the application of any degree of common sense, seems beyond the capabilities of those charged with seeing justice is done.”

“Accept my sincere apologies for disappointing you,” her husband wryly replied.

“Don’t be silly. Of course I wasn’t referring to you.”

“I’m teasing, my darling. But it may be that Sharpe’s original conclusion was the correct one.”

“That Mrs. Elton was killed by a random thief?” She wrinkled her nose. “Perhaps, but there are so many unanswered questions, such as the state of Mrs. Elton’s finances.”

“Those unanswered issues may simply be coincidental.”

Painful experience had taught Emma to distrust the appearance of coincidence. For instance, she’d once thought it entirely coincidental that Frank Churchill had spent so much time with Jane Fairfax and the Bates ladies last year.

“While I hate to admit that Constable Sharpe could be right,” she said, “I suppose there’s nothing to be done about it. Mr. Elton is extremely closemouthed when it comes either to his finances—”

George suddenly shifted to frown down at her. “When were you discussing Mr. Elton’s finances with him?”

She mentally winced at her slip. “It came upentirelyby chance. Mr. Elton stopped by Hartfield a few days ago, hoping to make a social call. As you can imagine, Father was quite upset and asked me to make it clear to Mr. Elton that his presence was not welcome.”

“But I thought you’d already explained that to him?”

“I did, but Mr. Elton was very persistent. I was forced to explainagainthat it would be best if he refrained from calling at Hartfield for the present.”

“So you went to the vicarage instead of sending a note?”

“I knew he would be distressed, so I thought it best to deliver the message in person.”

“And during this visit the state of his finances just happened, quite by chance, to come up,” he responded in a sardonic tone.

“Well . . .”

“Emma . . .”

She sighed and put down her glass. “I did pose a few questions—very discreetly—but he was markedly disinclined to discuss anything to do with his finances.”

He snorted. “One can hardly imagine why.”