Page 3 of Murder in Highbury

Unlikely.

Emma hesitated. “I don’t know, Harriet.”

In the past, she’d too often let her imagination run away with her. It had resulted in a number of unhappy misunderstandings, including the belief that Mr. Elton returned Harriet’s affections. But in this fraught situation, she was determined to rely on reason over imagination. After all, what did she know about murder? There might be a perfectly rational explanation for Mrs. Elton’s unfortunate demise.

Firmly ignoring her mind’s efforts to conjure up lurid scenarios, she escorted Harriet to the vestibule. The door was still open, and sunlight streamed into the old stone porch that sheltered the entrance. Birds flitted between the majestic oaks that stood guard over the tombstones in the graveyard, and a marbled white butterfly danced past, then landed on a lavender bush. Outside, all appeared ordinary and peaceful in Highbury.

For a moment, she was tempted to march out of the church and into the sunlight. Inside lurked a nightmare and a hideous intrusion into the tranquility of daily life. If she tried very hard, perhaps she could pretend it hadn’t happened at all. Pretend that Mrs. Elton was alive and well, her usual supercilious self, snubbing Emma the first chance she got.

“Mrs. Knightley? Are you unwell?” Harriet asked.

Emma had never thought of herself as a coward or someone unequal to dealing with even the most vexing of challenges, including a possible murder. She would indulge in a bout of nerves later, alone in the privacy of her bedroom.

“I’m well, Harriet. Now, you’d best be off. First to Dr. Hughes and then to the Crown.”

Harriet nodded and started down the path toward the street. Then she stopped and spun around.

“But, Mrs. Knightley, what are you going to do while I’m gone?” Her eyes had grown as round as tea saucers. “Surely you cannot stay here by yourself, with the . . . with Mrs. Elton.”

“I cannot leave her alone, Harriet.”

Harriet rushed back and grabbed Emma’s hands. “But you cannot! It would be simply too dreadful.”

While Emma did not relish the notion of sitting alone with a corpse—possibly a murdered one at that—she knew George would wish her to keep people out of the church until he arrived. Besides, if Mr. Elton were to come, she must try to prevent him from entering. He must not be allowed to see his wife without adequate preparation.

“Harriet, you must calm yourself. I’ll be perfectly fine.”

Of course, her robust imagination chose that exact moment to cast up images of desperate villains lurking in the vestry or the bell tower, waiting to pounce on the next unsuspecting victim.

“But surely Mr. Knightley would be shocked if I left you alone,” Harriet exclaimed.

“He would be even more shocked if we left poor Mrs. Elton alone. Truly, Harriet, there is no need to worry about me.”

Her friend adopted an uncharacteristically stubborn attitude. “No, I cannot leave you, Mrs. Knightley. If you can be brave, then I will be brave, too.”

Emma repressed a flare of impatience. “That’s very kind, but one of us must go and fetch help. And I must remain here, just in case Mr. Elton comes by.”

“I forgot about Mr. Elton.” Harriet fell to wringing her hands. “Poor Mr. Elton. Whatever will he do when he finds out?”

“You’re not to think of that now. I am relying on you, Harriet, as no doubt will Mr. Elton. We must do everything in our power to help him in this dreadful situation.”

Harriet gave her a tremulous smile. “You’re right, Mrs. Knightley. You are always right. I will run to the Crown—”

“No, go to Dr. Hughes first, and no running. You must be calm. We do not wish to raise the alarm, at least not just yet.”

Harriet turned to go but then spun around again. “But what if something dreadful and evil did happen to Mrs. Elton? And what if a dreadful person is still lurking about?”

“Really, Harriet, your imagination is even worse than mine. If there was foul play, I’m sure the perpetrator is long gone by now.”

“But—”

“I promise to stand just at the door, right here. If I see or hear anything to alarm me, I will rush off immediately.” She turned Harriet around and gave her a gentle shove. “Now, please go. We’re wasting time.”

“Yes, yes. You’re right.”

Harriet took off down the path, her skirt and petticoat flying.

“No running, dear,” Emma called after her.