Page 127 of Murder in Highbury

“Is Mr. Elton well enough to receive visitors? We do not wish to disturb him if he’s indisposed.”

The stony gaze flickered back to him, displaying not one iota of emotion. In fact, it struck Emma as rather fishlike—a dead fish.

“I will enquire with Mr. Elton.” She reached for the basket. “Allow me to take that, sir.”

George handed it over. “Please tell Mr. Elton—”

The woman pivoted on her heel and marched from the hall.

“Good God,” Emma exclaimed. “She had the nerve to upbraid that poor footman, then turns her back on you and leaves us standing in the hall.”

“She was no doubt offended by your pointed observation,” George replied with unimpaired calm. “Still, her response certainly left something to be desired.”

“Rather more than something. She’s almost as annoying as her former mistress. I suppose Mrs. Elton’s behavior must have rubbed off on her.”

“That must be a comfort to Mr. Elton, then.”

Emma tried to stifle a laugh. “George, that is too bad of you.”

He placed his hat on a side table by the door. “I am simply following your lead, my dear.”

“Don’t expect me to apologize. The dratted woman couldn’t even take your hat.”

“It’s no matter.”

While they waited, Emma drew up a mental list of questions she hoped to ask Mr. Elton—all with sensitivity, of course. She wished she could also speak with the servants, since they were often highly useful sources of information. Their days were tightly stitched into the lives of their employers—so much so that their presence was often forgotten. Who knew what they’d overheard these past few weeks inside the walls of the old vicarage?

Finally, they heard a quick footstep, and Mrs. Wright reentered the hall. “If you will please follow me, Mr. Elton will receive you in the family parlor.”

“Goodness knows why that took so long to arrange,” Emma whispered to her husband.

“Perhaps he was making himself presentable,” he murmured back.

She felt a twinge of guilt. As much as she wanted answers, Emma didn’t wish the poor man to further injure himself on their account.

Mrs. Wright led them to the parlor and announced their presence. Mr. Elton, seated in the wingback chair by the window, flung off the shawl covering his knees and painfully clambered to his feet.

“Dear sir and madam, come in,” he said in a raspy voice. “Do forgive me for not coming out to greet you. As you can see, I am not at my best.”

When Emma came to a dead halt inside the doorway, it forced George to take a quick step to the side to avoid bowling her over. She barely noticed because she was utterly horrified by the sight of their vicar.

He was ashen but for the left side of his jaw, which was colored in lurid shades of purple and blue. His lower lip had been split and was swollen. Emma winced in sympathy, as Mr. Suckling had obviously delivered some hard blows before attempting to throttle Mr. Elton. The soft woolen scarf wrapped around his throat in place of a cravat or clerical collar was no doubt due to that assault.

“Good heavens, Mr. Elton,” she said with dismay. “Are you sure you should be receiving visitors? Do you wish us to go away?”

With surprising alacrity, he advanced upon her, both hands outstretched. Instinctively, she mirrored the gesture, and he grasped her hands—rather a bit too firmly. But the poor man was obviously distraught and much in need of comfort.

“I cannot think our call is well timed, sir,” George added in a concerned voice. “It’s clear you are sorely in need of rest. I can return tomorrow to discuss the situation and lend any assistance you may require.”

Mr. Elton glanced at George and attempted a smile, which immediately transformed into a grimace of pain. He waited a few seconds—still gripping Emma’s hands—until he collected himself.

“Your visit is most welcome, Mr. Knightley. And, Mrs. Knightley, your kindness always lifts one’s spirits, especially after so harrowing a day.”

“Mr. Knightley and I are happy to help in any way that we can,” she replied as she discreetly tried to reclaim her hands.

Thankfully, as he had in the church after a distraught Mr. Elton had thrown himself on her bosom, George came to her rescue by taking the vicar gently but firmly by the elbow.

“Mr. Elton, you must not be standing about in your condition,” he said. “Allow me to escort you back to your seat.”