“Very poorly. We needed both smelling salts and sherry to produce any semblance of calm.”
“I cannot imagine your father responded to that scene with equanimity.”
“Miss Bates was so undone that it seemed to startle Father out of himself. I doubt he’s ever seen her in such a state before.”
George rubbed his chin. “It’s rather odd, isn’t it? While I accept that she is a sensitive soul, Miss Bates was not particularly close to Mrs. Elton.”
“Perhaps it was simply encountering so heinous a crime against someone she knew.”
“Still, one cannot help but wonder at so dramatic a reaction.”
She waggled a hand. “How does one react appropriately to a murder, though? I hardly think there are standard expectations in that regard.”
“I suppose you’re right,” George replied.
“I do not relish having the right of it in this situation, I assure you. So, what happens next?”
“The empaneling of the coroner’s jury, in order to determine if Mrs. Elton was the victim of homicide.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “George, I found the poor woman dead on the floor, with a bloody candlestick nearby. Surely there can be no doubt that it was murder.”
“None, but the decision still rests with the coroner’s jury. The law is particular in that regard.”
“Did the good doctor arrive at any conclusions as to the cause of death?”
“The blow to the head seemed decisive to him.”
She frowned. “What about the marks on Mrs. Elton’s neck? The bruises were pronounced by the time I left the church.”
“Dr. Hughes suspects those marks were left when a necklace was taken from her throat.”
“I suppose that could be true. I wonder what necklace she was wearing?”
“Mr. Elton thought perhaps she was wearing her pearls.”
Nowthatwas surprising. “If it’s the necklace I’m thinking of, it was a wedding gift from Mr. Elton.”
And a valuable gift it was—a chandelier-style gold necklace decorated with pearls. Mrs. Elton had always taken great pride in it and would extol its value to anyone who would listen. It was, however, quite formal and not the sort of piece that one generally wore in the afternoon.
“Do you think it was taken before or after she was struck with the candlestick?” she asked.
“I cannot say.”
If it was that particular necklace, it was certainly not prone to breakage. Ripping it from the throat of a struggling woman would be no easy task.
“And Dr. Hughes doesn’t think the marks could have been caused by anything else?”
“He didn’t say so.”
Emma opened her eyes wide. “But, George, the bruises almost appeared as if she’d been—” The macaroon in her stomach suddenly curdled.
“Throttled?” he grimly finished.
“Yes. And surely that would have occurred before she was bashed over the head? What would be the point in . . .” She swallowed. “In performing such an act if she were already unconscious or dead?”
George shrugged. “No point at all.”
Images of Mrs. Elton’s last moments sprang to life in her mind. Outside the church, Highbury had gone about its business, its residents shopping at Ford’s or at the bakery, quaffing an ale at the Crown, or making afternoon calls to friends. All while a desperate struggle played out in the peaceful setting of a church, where one should feel utterly safe.
