Page 33 of Murder in Highbury

“Of course,” Emma crisply replied. “Aside from Mrs. Elton’s necklace, nothing else was stolen. Since the church is in possession of some very fine silver and brass, it seems odd that any thief would ignore at least those items on the altar.”

Mr. Suckling frowned. “That is odd.”

“Mrs. Elton might have surprised the thief before he had the chance to rob the church,” George said, sounding a trifle annoyed.

“But the killer used the brass candlestick to . . .” She trailed off, reluctant to state matters so bluntly.

“Bludgeon my sister-in-law,” Mr. Suckling finished, suffering no such qualms.

Emma nodded. “It’s a very fine piece, as is its mate. They were right there for the taking.”

Mr. Elton frowned. “Mrs. Knightley, what are you suggesting?”

When she glanced at George, he simply lifted an ironic eyebrow.

You’re in it now, Emma.

“I can’t help wondering if there wasn’t a different reason for her murder,” she said. “Or one in addition to the theft of the necklace.”

“Such as?” Mr. Suckling rapped out.

George finally intervened. “Mr. Elton, had your wife been troubled by anything or anyone of late? I did not wish to distress you in the immediate aftermath of the crime, but it is a question that now must be asked.”

The vicar frowned, as if thinking.

Mr. Suckling made an impatient noise. “It’s not a complicated question, Philip. Was there anything that was troubling Augusta in the weeks before her death?”

“Yes, if you must know,” Mr. Elton replied with some reluctance. “She’d fallen into a dispute with Miss Bates. I believe it led to an argument with her only a few days before Augusta’s death.”

Drat and double drat.

Mr. Suckling looked startled. “Bates. You mean the Fairfax girl’s aunt?”

“Yes, although Jane is now Mrs. Churchill,” the vicar replied. “She married Frank Churchill last year.”

“Why was Augusta quarreling with Miss Bates?” his brother-in-law asked.

“She neglected to provide me with any details. At the time, it didn’t seem very serious. Then again, Augusta never wished me to think ill of my parishioners, kind soul that she was.”

“Fortunately, I don’t suffer from the same scruples,” Mr. Suckling replied. “Knightley, given this information, I take it that you’ll be questioning Miss Bates. If you believe she’s a suspect, I will want to know about it.”

Emma could keep silent no longer. “She isnota suspect. It’s ridiculous to imagine poor Miss Bates bashinganyoneover the head with a candlestick.”

George let out an exasperated sigh. “Emma, you will distress Mr. Elton.”

She winced. “Forgive me, Mr. Elton. But you must admit that it’s entirely far-fetched to believe Miss Bates to have committed such an act.”

“I completely agree,” he earnestly replied. “And please do not worry on my account, Mrs. Knightley. You could never offend me.”

That was patently untrue, but apparently, old resentments had been forgotten under the weight of Mrs. Elton’s demise.

“This Miss Bates character sounds rather fishy to me,” Mr. Suckling opined.

Emma glared at him. “Well, she is not.”

“Mr. Suckling,” George hastily said, “Dr. Hughes and I will keep you and Mr. Elton apprised of any developments. In the meantime, everyone should avoid arriving at unfounded conclusions. The coroner’s inquest will be informative, and you will be able to ask any questions of Dr. Hughes at that time. I take it you will be there?”

“I will ride from London first thing in the morning.”