Page 138 of Murder in Highbury

“By Jove, I think you could be right,” exclaimed Mr. Weston, eagerly catching the scent. “That would wrap it all up rather neatly, wouldn’t it?”

Mrs. Weston directed an incredulous stare at her husband. “Why in heaven’s name would Mr. Suckling have an affair with Mrs. Wright, of all people?”

Emma didn’t know whether to laugh or recoil in horror. “Mr. Weston, I would suggest that this notion is significantly more far-fetched than anything I have proposed.”

“I don’t know,” said Frank. “They’re both very unpleasant people, which would make them perfect for each other.”

“I simply cannot envision Mrs. Wright engaging in such behavior,” said Jane in a frankly skeptical tone. “With anyone.”

Emma pulled an exaggerated face. “Indeed. The notion leaves one feeling rather queasy.”

“Perhaps Suckling made monetary promises to her and then reneged,” Frank replied. “He used Mrs. Wright to help him carry out the deed but then up and betrayed her.”

“But then why wouldn’t he simply accuse her of murder?” asked Mrs. Weston.

Emma shook her head. “He would still be implicated in the crime. No, as disturbed as I am by Mrs. Wright’s behavior—and as much as I agree that she is thoroughly unlikable—I’m afraid we’re probably drawing too long a bow.”

Frank gave a good-natured shrug and reached for another scone. “I suppose you’re right, although I’d like nothing better than to see the blasted woman punished for the way she treated my poor Jane.”

“Going to the gallows for murder seems a bit of an excessive punishment,” Emma wryly commented.

Still, she couldn’t rid herself of the sense that Mrs. Wright was indeed involved in the web of lies and mysteries that surrounded the murder. She just couldn’t fathom the ways and the whys of it.

“I suppose we just have to accept the fact that all the evidence points to Suckling,” said Mr. Weston as he selected a cake from the tea tray. “After all, he’s the one who stands to benefit the most from Mrs. Elton’s death.”

“That is true,” Emma replied. “If Mr. Elton is to be believed in this matter.”

If Mr. Elton is to be believed.

For a moment she felt an odd swooping sensation, as if she’d just lost her footing and taken a tumble down a hill. She’d said the words almost absently, but now they seemed to lock into her mind, holding her thoughts in a fast grip.

Mrs. Weston frowned at her husband. “My dear, that is your third cake. You’ll ruin your appetite before dinner.”

“I’m a former military man,” he drolly replied. “Nothing ruins our appetites. In fact, I think I’ll have one of those scones after I polish this off.”

Mrs. Weston tsked at him, while Frank began to tease his father about his sweet tooth. But to Emma, the room and the voices had faded away as one idea after another spun madly in her head.

Jane’s voice called her back to the moment. “Emma, is something wrong?”

Emma glanced up to meet her friend’s concerned gaze. Dredging up a smile, she tried to force the alarming but surely ridiculous notion out of her brain. “Not a thing. I’m simply thinking . . .”

Frankly, she didn’t know exactly what she was thinking.

“It’s very frustrating, isn’t it?” Jane replied in a commiserating tone. “Not having all the answers.”

“Very. But as my husband has reminded me, we must let justice take its course, and hope that all questions will then be answered.”

Her remark captured Mr. Weston’s attention. “I, for one, am looking forward to putting this business behind us. After all, there’s that blasted poultry thief still running about. The sooner Constable Sharpe can turn his attention to that matter, the better.”

Emma widened her eyes at him. “I’d forgotten all about the thief. Has he struck again?”

Mrs. Weston grimaced. “I’m afraid so. He got into Mrs. Cole’s chicken coop the other evening. The man grows bolder by the day.”

Mr. Weston patted her hand. “I’m sure Constable Sharpe will run him to ground soon enough, now that Suckling is behind bars.”

Frank snorted. “Doubtful. The man’s clearly a fool.” Then he flashed a grin at Emma. “Perhaps the magistrate should look into it.”

“The magistrate has quite enough on his plate, thank you,” she tartly replied.