As they sat, she ignored his little criticism. After all, she’d had a lifetime of practice in doing so.
“Tell me about Mr. Elton. How does he fare?”
“Initially, as poorly as one would imagine. When I tried to persuade him to return to the vicarage with Dr. Hughes while I waited for the constable to arrive, he refused. He then insisted that the body be removed to the vicarage immediately, growing quite agitated about the matter. That, unfortunately, led to words with Constable Sharpe. Dr. Hughes was forced to intervene and acquiesce to his demand.”
Emma waggled a hand. “I can understand Mr. Elton’s objections, since one wouldn’t wish to leave the poor woman on the floor like a heap of discarded clothing.”
“As can I. But in the case of murder, the victim is usually kept at the scene of the crime until the coroner’s jury has had a chance to view the body.”
“How utterly ghastly.”
“We would have placed Mrs. Elton on a table and covered her but would also have done our best to preserve the scene. Elton was passionate in his objections, however, stating that it would be a desecration to the church and to his wife’s dignity. It was hard not to see his point.”
Emma grimaced as she reached for a macaroon on her husband’s plate. “Poor Mr. Elton. What a dreadful scene.”
“Thankfully, once he convinced Dr. Hughes to have the body conveyed to the vicarage, he recovered somewhat. In fact, he supervised his own footmen in transporting Mrs. Elton home.”
She thoughtfully chewed on her macaroon. “Mr. Elton was all but hysterical when Harriet and I were there. I didn’t expect him to recover so quickly.”
Her husband eyed her. “Unlike some who shall remain unnamed.”
“George, if you were murdered, I’m sure I would lose my appetite.”
He flashed her a wry smile before putting down his teacup and stretching out his legs, his booted feet almost brushing against her skirt. He fell into a brown study, as if mulling over an obscure point.
She nudged him. “What are you thinking?”
He glanced up. “I was pondering the Eltons’ relationship. It was rather an odd one, you must admit.”
“Really? I thought they were perfectly suited to each other. Both condescending and petty in exactly the same way.”
When her husband raised his eyebrows, Emma wrinkled her nose. “And I am clearly a terrible person, given that poor Mrs. Elton was bashed over the head with a candlestick just hours ago.”
“Yes, I am dreadfully shocked.”
“I imagine you’re used to me by now. But why would you be thinking about their relationship in the first place?”
“Sometimes I have wondered if there was any true affection between them.”
Emma thought about that. “I think that cannot be true. They were always quite pleased with each other, you must admit. Mr. Elton took a great deal of pride in his wife.”
“Indeed. Pride seemed to be at the center of their relationship—both in each other and in themselves.”
“That’s not surprising, given their respective temperaments.”
George studied her with a rather inscrutable expression. “Sometimes I believe his previous affections for you were more genuine.”
She scoffed. “Mr. Elton was in love with my position in society and my money. Once I refused him, any affection he felt was transformed into disdain.”
“He certainly sought comfort from you this afternoon.”
“Please don’t remind me. George, that was soterriblyawkward. But I’m sure he couldn’t help himself, poor man.”
“I suppose,” he said before once more falling silent.
Emma nudged him again. “But truly, what is to be done? As magistrate, you must oversee this dreadful affair, on top of all your other responsibilities. I cannot think how you’ll manage.”
“I’ll get to that in a minute. First, tell me about Miss Bates. How did she take the news?”
