Page 67 of Murder in Highbury

“I suppose, if you think it proper,” Harriet conceded.

“I think it our moral duty as stouthearted Englishwomen.”

Her friend clasped the basket to her chest, almost tipping a cloth-covered pudding into the dirt. “Mrs. Knightley, you make it sound so romantic! It’s almost as if we’re in an adventure like one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s stories.”

“Nothing so vulgar, I hope.”

Mrs. Elton’s murder was ghastly enough without deranged monks or dim-witted virgins running about the place.

When they arrived at the vicarage, a soberly dressed footman sporting a black armband opened the door.

“Good afternoon,” Emma said. “Is Mr. Elton at home?”

“No, Mrs. Knightley. If you’d like me to take—”

The housekeeper appeared from the back of the hall. “That will be all, Joseph. I will attend to the ladies.”

“Yes, Mrs. Wright.”

Attired in a black gown and a cap with matching black ribbons, Mrs. Wright curtsied. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Knightley. Mr. Elton has just stepped out for a moment. Would you care to wait?”

“If it is no inconvenience.”

“Mr. Elton left instructions that if you or Mr. Knightley were to call, I should please ask you to wait.”

She took the basket from Harriet, barely looking at her, and then showed them to the back parlor. “If you will have a seat, Mrs. Knightley, I will bring up the tea tray.”

Emma frowned, annoyed by the woman’s insistence on ignoring Harriet. “Thank you. Mrs. Martin and I wouldbothappreciate a cup of tea.”

Although the housekeeper seemed inclined to bristle, she stiffly nodded and retreated from the room. Thankfully, Harriet was too busy looking about to notice anything amiss.

“I’ve been in Mr. Elton’s house only once. Do you remember, Mrs. Knightley? You broke your shoelace, and we stepped inside so you could repair it.”

That was an uncomfortable reminder for Emma, since that manufactured incident had occurred when she was convinced that Mr. Elton was in love with Harriet. “Did I? You have the most remarkable memory, dear.”

“We sat in the front drawing room then, but this room is very pretty. Mrs. Elton had such excellent taste.”

“I find Abbey Mill Farm very pretty. And your second drawing room is larger, too.”

Harriet peeked through a half-open door into another room. “This must be Mr. Elton’s study.”

“Do come away, Harriet. Anyone would think you were . . .”

Snooping.

“Robert needs a new desk,” her friend explained. “I know very little about desks, but Mr. Elton is sure to have a fine one.”

Emma wandered over to the door and casually cast a gaze at the desktop. It was covered with a haphazard pile of books, letters, ledgers, and scraps of paper—a treasure trove of information. She leaned forward, trying to get a better view of—

The parlor door opened, and Emma spun around, almost tripping over her feet. Mrs. Wright entered the room, bearing a tea tray.

“How delightful,” Emma enthused, a trifle too enthusiastically. “Tea!”

Harriet cast her a sideways glance but gave the housekeeper a warm smile. “Do you need help, Mrs. Wright? That tray looks quite heavy.”

“I’m well able to handle it,” the housekeeper frostily replied as she thumped the tray down on the table in front of the chaise. Teacups rattled alarmingly.

That Mrs. Wright obviously didn’t approve of Harriet was likely because her mistress hadn’t approved of her, either.