“Then I suppose you should submit your application for the position of constable to the vestry council forthwith—if not directly to the Crown.”
Before she could scold him, a little girl in a smock pelted out of one of the small cottages that fronted Vicarage Lane.
Lucy Peters was a sweet child who helped her widowed mother take care of her younger siblings. Mrs. Peters had been ill of late, unable to attend her job as a seamstress. Emma had visited the family just a few days ago with a basket of nourishing provisions, and she’d spent some time there with the children.
She smiled at the girl. “Good afternoon, Lucy. How is your mother today?”
“Ever so much better, Mrs. Knightley, since you sent Mr. Perry. Mama said to thank you for the broth and fruit. And all them nice pastries.” She favored them with a gap-toothed grin. “Me and my brothers liked them orange scones a lot, so I’m to be sure to say thank you for them, too.”
Emma gently tapped the little girl on the nose. “Shall I bring some more scones? I feel sure that our cook is making a fresh batch today.”
Lucy gave a vigorous nod. “Yes, please. Me and my brothers would be ever so grateful, Mrs. Knightley.”
“Then I shall see you tomorrow. Give your mother our regards.”
As the little girl skipped back to the cottage, Emma reached for her husband’s arm, intending to walk on. Instead, George cast a swift glance around the lane and then tipped up her chin to press a kiss to her lips. She happily received it, although she couldn’t help laughing as he pulled back.
“And what was that for, George?”
“A token of my appreciation. You’re a good woman, Emma Knightley, and I consider myself a fortunate man to call you wife.”
She took his arm. “If I really am a good woman, I suspect it’s more a credit to you than to me. You certainly schooled me often enough for my impertinent behavior when I was growing up.”
“Then I can only say I had a very apt pupil.”
“I am obviously a credit to us both. But I do hope I’m past the point of schooling, and certainly scolding. I recall that you delivered some rather spectacular scolds on occasion.”
“I will endeavor to refrain from future scolds if you endeavor to refrain from giving me reasons for them.”
Emma suspected that George might soon have a few opportunities to scold her, since he wished her to be involved in the murder investigation as little as possible. Naturally, she wouldn’t dream of interfering in an unhelpful way, but shehadmade two important discoveries—the murder weapon itself and the fact that Miss Bates had been the first person to stumble across the scene. Given that, she saw no harm in keeping her hand in.
In a minor way, of course.
They approached the vicarage, an old and not especially good house, although the present occupant—and his unfortunate wife—had smartened it up considerably. While it inconveniently stood only steps from the lane, Mrs. Elton had seen the door painted a handsome green and installed a shiny brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. She had purchased new curtains and rugs throughout and had also expanded the flower gardens and shrubbery right up to the edge of the churchyard, which backed up against the vicarage grounds.
Even with all her changes, it was still an old-fashioned house, with reception rooms so small, according to Mrs. Elton, as to be barely respectable. She’d talked of plans to add a new wing that would hold a dining parlor and a modern kitchen with a new stove. Alas, those plans would now be unrealized. After the death of his wife, Emma couldn’t imagine that Mr. Elton would care very much about smart dining parlors or new stoves.
A liveried footman, another of Mrs. Elton’s innovations, admitted them. Mrs. Elton had claimed that one couldn’t possibly live with any degree of elegance without liveried footmen. She clearly modeled herself on her sister, the fashionable Mrs. Suckling of Maple Grove, who apparently had three.
Despite several planned excursions, Mrs. Elton’s sister and brother-in-law had yet to make the trip to Highbury. Still, Mrs. Elton had always talked about the Sucklings and Maple Grove at such length that Emma felt she knew them quite well—and quite well enough, indeed. She supposed, however, that she would meet them soon, since the Sucklings would no doubt wish to attend the funeral.
“Good afternoon, sir,” the footman said. “Mr. Elton is with Mr. Suckling, but he asked me to fetch him as soon as you and Mrs. Knightley arrived.”
Emma exchanged a quick glance with her husband. Mr. Suckling had certainly made a quick journey from Bristol.
The footman led them across the entrance hall, recently painted a rather bold shade of green. Only last year, Mr. Elton had all the public rooms freshly painted in shades of cream and dove gray in anticipation of the arrival of the new Mrs. Elton. Apparently, however, the husband’s choice of color had not met with approval, as a peek into the dining room also seemed to suggest. It had been papered rather than painted, and with expensive silk, if Emma didn’t miss her guess.
The double doors to the drawing room were firmly closed, and the presence of a black wreath above the frame signaled that the body rested within.
They were shown to a small parlor toward the back of the house and left to wait there.
Emma took a seat on the sofa. “I wonder if Mrs. Suckling accompanied her husband.”
“I doubt it,” George replied as he wandered to the window that overlooked the garden. “Mr. Suckling must have traveled very quickly to arrive in such good time.”
“Surely Mrs. Suckling will come to Highbury, though. She and her sister were so close.”
“Perhaps Mr. Suckling intends to take the body back to Maple Grove.”
