Page 69 of Murder in Highbury

The note was short, poorly written, and . . . chilling.

Harriet rushed over. “Mrs. Knightley, I canhearMr. Elton.”

Emma slammed the book shut and scampered with Harriet to the sofa. They both plopped down as steps sounded in the hall. She schooled her face into a composed expression, trying to pretend she hadnotjust read a threat of violence against Mr. Elton.

The vicar entered, all smiles. “Dear ladies, forgive me for making you wait. If I had known you were coming, I never would have left the house. No, no, do not get up.”

They both stood, anyway, and Harriet bobbed a curtsy.

Emma extended a hand. “There is no need to apologize, dear sir.”

He took her hand. “You are kindness itself, madam. I just now was calling on Mrs. Saunders. She is doing poorly, and her husband is quite worried. As you can imagine, I greatly sympathize and wished to give Mr. Saunders any words of comfort I could provide.”

Harriet looked much struck. “How very kind to think of others in your time of trial. You are so brave, sir.”

His smile now turned wan. “Thank you, Mrs. Martin. I cannot allow my grief to stand in the way of my duty to my parishioners.”

“Mr. Elton, surely you must be allowed some relief from your work,” Emma said. “You will tire yourself out.”

“It’s what Augusta would have wanted. For me to care for the parish and the people she came to love so greatly.”

Emma distinctly remembered Mrs. Elton referring to Highbury as the most troublesome parish she’d ever seen. “Indeed. Sir, may I pour you some tea?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Knightley. I find myself quite parched.”

“Then sit and rest,” she said as she prepared him a cup. “We cannot have you falling ill.”

“Your wishes, dear madam, are always of great importance to me, so I will do my best to remain in good health.”

Emma mentally blinked at the effusive statement. They were hardly bosom beaus. It was the opposite, in fact, until their very recent rapprochement. Still, Mr. Elton had always had a penchant for flowery and slightly absurd speech, especially when moved.

“How is Mr. Woodhouse today?” he asked. “I was sorry to see him and Miss Bates so distressed after the funeral.”

“My father is well and sends his regards.”

The less said about yesterday’s events, the better, especially when it came to Miss Bates.

There then ensued an extended pause while they sipped their tea. Emma racked her brain for a way to raise a number of awkward issues, including the ugly threat currently sitting on the vicar’s desk.

“Mr. Elton,” Harriet eventually said, “I wanted to say how moving the service was yesterday. I found the curate’s sermon very affecting.”

He smiled. “I helped Mr. Johnson write it, you know. I couldn’t bear for my dear wife to receive short shrift.”

Emma blessed her friend for raising the exact issue she wished to discuss. “Harriet was telling me all about the service. She said it was very dignified and . . . simple.”

“Just as Augusta would have wished.” He sighed. “And to be frank, I did not have the heart for anything else.”

“Perfectly understandable,” she replied.

“I do not know how I shall go on without her. Augusta took care of all matters domestic and financial, you know. Now I find myself quite overwhelmed.”

Ah, an opening.

“Surely Mr. and Mrs. Suckling will be able to help you,” Emma said. “Dealing with Mrs. Elton’s personal effects, for instance.”

He took a sip of tea before answering. “The matter is a trifle complicated, I’m afraid.”

She hesitated only a moment. “I understand Mrs. Elton did not leave a will?”