Page 31 of Murder in Highbury

“Yes, she is exceedingly distraught.” Mr. Suckling paused to give Emma a barely there nod. “Ma’am.”

His brusque manner bordered on rudeness, but she, of course, made allowances for the unusual circumstances. Still, the next few moments suggested that Mr. Suckling was a brusque sort of person, as he made no further attempt to engage in conversation. He simply stood in the middle of the room, glowering at the floor.

After a few awkward minutes, Mr. Elton waved a hand toward the sofa. “Mrs. Knightley, please sit. Shall I ring for tea?”

Emma resumed her seat on the sofa. “No, thank you. George and I do not wish to trouble you.”

“It is no trouble at all, Mrs. Knightley. I will just step out—”

“For God’s sake, Philip,” Mr. Suckling impatiently cut in. “I’m sure the Knightleys have better things to do than dawdle around here with tea and biscuits. As do you and I.”

The vicar gaped at his brother-in-law with offended astonishment.

George smoothly stepped in. “Thank you, Mr. Elton, but there is no need to entertain us. Mrs. Knightley and I simply wished you to know that we are happy to lend any necessary assistance.”

“And I am deeply grateful, sir,” he replied. “Please do sit.”

George sat down next to Emma, while Mr. Elton took the needlepointed wing chair opposite the sofa. Mr. Suckling remained standing, apparently impatient for them to be gone.

While Mr. Elton and George discussed funeral details, Emma observed Mr. Suckling. He was a tall man of middle years, with blunt features and a high forehead that seemed creased in a permanent frown, which suggested a general state of disapproval with the world. His coat was well cut and expensive, and his boots were in the latest style. He wore a black silk armband but made no other concession to the mourning state, instead sporting a pale yellow waistcoat, an elaborately tied cravat, and a number of fobs.

True, he must have had to rush from Bristol without the chance to acquire proper clothing, but there was something odd about the man and his attitude. Rather than giving the appearance of grief, he seemed almost . . . angry.

Then again, anger at a loved one’s murder was undoubtedly a natural response.

George touched her arm. “Mr. Elton has just been telling me of the arrangements for the funeral. It’s to be held the day after the coroner’s inquest.”

She blinked. “Of course. So, Mrs. Elton will be buried in Highbury, after all.”

The vicar nodded. “Her family has quite a fine vault at St. Mary Redcliffe Church in Bristol, and there was some idea that she should be interred there. But I couldn’t bear to have my dear Augusta anywhere but in my little churchyard, always near me. Besides, her abhorrence of finery would reject anything elaborate, you know. The arrangements shall all be quite simple and quiet, just as she would have wished.”

Mr. Suckling made a distinctly derisive snort. Mr. Elton, however, ignored him.

Emma decided it best to ignore him, too. “Then with those matters decided, we would ask you to allow us to hold the funeral reception at Donwell Abbey. We will be happy to host those who attend the service, as well as any other Highbury residents who wish to stop by to pay their respects.”

The vicar pressed a feeling hand to his heart. “I will happily take you up on your generous offer. I find myself quite unable to play a proper host on such a dread day.”

“Hell and damnation, Philip,” Mr. Suckling suddenly barked. “Augusta was murdered! The funeral should be private, not an opportunity for gossips and village idiots to stand about and gawk at us.”

Mr. Elton turned to stare at his brother-in-law. Mr. Suckling stared right back, his expression a virtual challenge.

When Emma poked George in the thigh, he cleared his throat to capture the attention of the glaring brothers-in-law.

“There will be a good number of people who wish to pay their respects to Mrs. Elton’s memory,” George said. “Especially among the ladies. As many of them will not attend the funeral service, as is customary, they can offer their condolences to Mr. Elton at Donwell Abbey.”

Mr. Elton turned to him with relief. “Exactly so, Mr. Knightley. Even in her short time here, my dear wife commandedgreataffection among the locals. Is that not so, Mrs. Knightley?”

“Indeed, your wife made quite an impression on all of us,” she replied.

Of one sort or another.

When Mr. Suckling muttered something uncomplimentary, she decided it was best to forge ahead. “Mr. Elton, will other friends and family of Mrs. Elton be attending? They are welcome to stay at Donwell, if that is more convenient for you. I can assure you that the accommodations are far more comfortable than at the Crown.”

Mrs. Hodges, Donwell’s housekeeper, would probably string her up for making such an offer, but it seemed the charitable thing to do.

Mr. Elton sighed. “Such generosity! But with the exception of my brother-in-law, I believe only locals will be in attendance.”

“Mrs. Suckling will not be coming to Highbury?” asked Emma, surprised.