Page 122 of Murder in Highbury

Her mind was instantly catapulted back to the church and the bruises on Mrs. Elton’s throat. Emma felt her stomach revolt.

“Good heavens,” she managed.

George looked astonished but quickly recovered. “Constable, why don’t you start at the beginning? How did all this come about?”

“It was all a bit garbled, sir, with the vicar being so distraught. Mr. Suckling gave the poor fellow a right good crack to the jaw before he got his hands around his throat.” He shook his head. “Mr. Elton was a terrible sight, Mr. Knightley. That was another reason I sent for Dr. Hughes straight off. Mr. Elton was fair knocked about.”

Emma pressed a hand to her throat, which suddenly felt too tight. “How dreadful.”

George nodded. “Under the circumstances, it certainly made sense to send for Dr. Hughes. But let me try to understand. You said one of the servants found the missing necklace in Mr. Suckling’s luggage?”

“The housekeeper did. Mr. Suckling was to return to London first thing this morning, and Mrs. Wright was bringing some fresh laundry up to his room. That’s when she found the necklace.”

Emma frowned. “Just sitting in his luggage, waiting to be discovered? Why would he not hide it someplace safe instead of carrying it about with him?”

“Mr. Elton says Mr. Suckling probably thought it was safest close by or on himself. He said no one would think Mrs. Elton’s own brother-in-law would kill her.”

Emma shot a glance at George, whose skeptical expression probably mirrored her own.

“And what was Mr. Suckling’s response to the discovery of the necklace?” George asked.

“I told you, sir. He tried to throttle Mr. Elton.”

“But surely he didn’t immediately launch himself at Mr. Elton,” Emma impatiently said. “Did Mr. Suckling not have anything to say for himself first?”

“I was just getting to that, ma’am, if you’ll let me finish my report,” Sharpe replied in an aggrieved tone.

“It would certainly be helpful if you could relate the events in order,” she said. “You seem to be working back to front.”

Bristling, the constable opened his mouth as if to rebut her, but George swiftly intervened. “It would be useful to know what happened before the assault, Constable. I assume Mr. Suckling and Mr. Elton exchanged words.”

Sharpe threw Emma a disgruntled look before returning his attention to George.

“They did, sir. Mr. Suckling claimed he had no idea how the necklace got into his luggage, and told Mr. Elton he was a fool for thinking he had anything to do with Mrs. Elton’s murder. According to Mrs. Wright, things got right heated after that, and Mr. Suckling accused Mr. Elton of being a traitor.”

Emma raised her eyebrows at George. “A traitor? What could he possibly mean by that?”

The constable shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Elton—or Mr. Suckling.”

“I intend to,” George replied. “What happened next?”

“Mr. Elton accused Mr. Suckling of killing his wife. That’s when Mr. Suckling attacked him. By the time the footmen got into the room, he had the vicar down on the floor with his hands around his throat. Took two of them to pull the villain off poor Mr. Elton.”

Emma could barely fathom what she was hearing. She’d certainly not found Mr. Suckling a trustworthy or likable person, but to learn that he was capable of such violence was appalling. Even so, it simply made no sense. What motive could he have for murdering his sister-in-law?

“Did Mr. Elton have any explanation for why Mr. Suckling would murder his own wife’s sister?” she asked.

“The oldest in the world, ma’am,” the constable replied. “Money.”

She frowned. “Did it have something to do with Mrs. Elton’s money troubles? We know that she was experiencing a degree of agitation in that regard, but surely that is hardly a rational motive for her murder.”

“Murder is never rational, Mrs. Knightley,” Sharpe pedantically replied. “It’s the foulest of deeds and springs from a disordered mind.”

Mr. Suckling hardly struck her as someone with a disordered mind, despite this morning’s violent episode. “I’m sure that is often the case. But if the motive is strong enough, it might be considered an entirely rational act—at least from the killer’s point of view.”

“When it comes to murder, I believe I have a greater knowledge of the criminal mind than you, Mrs. Knightley,” Sharpe huffily replied.

Emma graced him with her sweetest smile—so sweet it made her teeth tingle. “Mr. Sharpe, with this one exception, no one has been murdered in Highbury in our lifetimes, much less during your term as constable.”