Page 5 of Murder in Highbury

As Emma went into the chancel to replace the candlestick, her gaze fell on its partner. It was not in its usual place, appearing to have been shoved to the altar’s edge, almost against the back wall. She reached out to move it back into position. Just as she was about to wrap her fingers around the stem, she jerked back, almost losing her balance. She caught herself and then leaned a steadying hand on the altar. Stretching up a bit, she peered at the sconce at the top of the stem.

And horror swept through her. She recoiled, breathing hard against the lurch of her stomach.

Blood.

Blood smeared, as if someone had hastily tried to wipe it off the candlestick. Any lingering doubts were now removed. Any question that Mrs. Elton had indeed been murdered was gone now that Emma had found what was obviously the murder weapon.

Sickened, she made her way back to the nave. For several moments, she concentrated on taking slow, steady breaths to bring her erratic heartbeat under control. Once more she forced herself to look at the crumpled body on the chancel steps. Beyond the terrible sadness in her breast, Emma felt a growing sense of outrage. To come to such a horrible end, and before the altar of her husband’s church . . .

Mrs. Elton’s murder cried out for justice.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You did not deserve such a cruel fate.”

At the sudden sound of a quick, hard boot step, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Good God, what’s happened?” Her husband’s long stride ate up the length of the nave. “My Emma, are you all right?”

When George opened his arms, she flung herself into the safety of his encompassing embrace. Tears threatened, but she blinked them away. Her husband was here, and she was perfectly safe. Crying would only worry him. Worse yet, they would waste his time when there were far more important matters at hand.

Like finding a killer.

She pulled back but kept her hands braced on his forearms. His tall, masculine presence and his quiet strength chased away ghosts and fears, bringing reason and comfort in their wake. George would manage everything. Of that, Emma had no doubt.

“I’m perfectly fine,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “You mustn’t worry about me. But, George, Mrs. Elton . . . how positively dreadful.”

He let her go, crouched down beside Mrs. Elton, and studied the body for several minutes while Emma impatiently waited. Then he rose and turned to her, his features grimly set.

“This cannot be simply an unfortunate accident,” he said. “Far too much blood, among other things.”

“Yes, the marks on her neck, too, as if someone tried to . . .”

Throttle her, Emma didn’t say. It was the first time she’d formed that specific thought in her mind. To put one’s hands around a woman’s throat and squeeze hard enough to leave bruises? It was an image too horrifying to contemplate.

When George briefly cupped her cheek, the warmth of his palm brought her back to herself.

“Try not to think about it,” he said. “At this point, we don’t know what happened.”

Emma did know, at least in part, but she simply nodded.

“Harriet was to join you today,” he added. “Was she here when you discovered the body?”

“Yes. She was quite overcome.”

“One would imagine so.” A faint smile briefly lifted the corners of his mouth. “Not you, though.”

“It would hardly help Mrs. Elton if both of us were to succumb to the vapors.”

“I presume it was Harriet who sent that boy from the Crown to fetch me.”

“Yes, and I also sent her to find Dr. Hughes. I cannot imagine what’s keeping her, though. It was shortly after two by the tower clock when we found Mrs. Elton.”

His dark eyebrows shot up. “You’ve been here by yourself for half an hour?”

“Not that long, because it took me some minutes to calm Harriet down and convey the proper instructions.”

“It was wise to send for Dr. Hughes instead of Mr. Perry.”

She shrugged. “There was nothing Mr. Perry could do, and Dr. Hughes is the coroner, after all.”