Emma frowned. “I shouldn’t think so. Given that Mr. Elton is a vicar, one would expect his wife to be buried in his church. Besides, transporting a body in the middle of the summer hardly seems sensible, George.”
A spark of amusement lit his eyes. “How practical of you to note that, my dear.”
The very wealthy often transported bodies back to their estates if their loved ones inconveniently died in London or some other far-flung place. Only they could afford to do so, since it required packing the body in ice to preserve it on the journey.
“I do seem to have become rather comfortable in discussing dead bodies,” she admitted.
“Only rather?” he wryly replied.
“George, this is a very inappropriate conversation. Imagine what Mr. Elton would say if he heard us.”
He cocked his head to listen. “I don’t hear anything. He must still be closeted away with his brother-in-law.”
Emma found that odd. Mr. Elton was always obsequious in his attentions to George—and to her, now that she was married to the master of Donwell Abbey.
George went back to staring out the window, while Emma fidgeted and looked around the room. She’d been in this parlor only a few times, but she couldn’t help noticing that it now boasted a new and expensive escritoire in the French style.
“I do hope nothing is wrong,” she said after a bit. “It’s not like Mr. Elton to keep you waiting.”
George turned from the window and came to sit beside her. “It is not, but perhaps Mr. Suckling only just arrived. It would be natural that he and Elton would have much to discuss.”
That made sense. Both Mr. and Mrs. Elton had always been very conscious of the importance of their relationship with the Sucklings. Even in the midst of his own grief, Mr. Elton wouldn’t wish to slight his brother-in-law in any way.
A quick step in the hall brought Emma and George to their feet. The door opened, and the vicar, looking harassed, hurried into the room.
“Mr. Knightley, do accept my profound apologies. Unpardonable of me to keep you waiting.”
When George replied that they’d not been waiting long at all, Mr. Elton protested.
“No, you are both too polite.” Then he grasped Emma’s gloved hand, gazing earnestly into her eyes. “Mrs. Knightley, this terrible tragedy must still be a great shock to you. I cannot bear to think of your distress at finding my poor Augusta, or how upset poor Mr. Woodhouse must have been at the news. Be assured that I will call on your esteemed father as soon as I can, and please extend my apologies for such a gross assault on your delicate sensibilities.”
Emma thought the assault on poor Mrs. Elton was of far more note than any damage inflicted on her sensibilities. “I’m perfectly fine, Mr. Elton. You are not to worry about me.”
“You are too noble, dear lady, but I’m sure Mr. Knightley must also be very aggrieved.” He cast an imploring glance at George. “Do forgive me, sir. I would have given anything for poor Mrs. Knightley to be spared the horrific scene at our church.”
“I think you’ll find that Mrs. Knightley is quite resilient. She has suffered no lasting ill effects from that most sad day,” George reassured him.
Mr. Elton gazed at Emma with a soulful expression. “How brave you are, Mrs. Knightley. An inspiration to all of us.”
Brave Mrs. Knightley was now trying to retrieve her hand from Mr. Elton’s grasp.
“Mr. Elton,” she said, “I’m in perfectly good health and have suffered no ill effects from the discovery of your wife’s body.”
When he dropped her hand, she realized her assurances were a trifletoorobust.
“Of course, I am excessively grieved at poor Mrs. Elton’s tragic demise,” she hastily added. “We are all of us terribly distressed for you, my father especially. He asked me to convey his condolences, and he hopes to have a proper visit with you after the funeral. You are to come spend the afternoon at Hartfield when you are able.”
Her father had an absolute horror of funerals, convinced they were breeding grounds for hideous ailments.
When Mr. Elton again reached for her hand, Emma forestalled him by rummaging inside her reticule for a handkerchief. Foiled in his attempt, the vicar took refuge in a lugubrious sigh.
“I cannot yet comprehend that my dear Augusta is gone. I half expect her to rise from her lonely bier and come into the parlor to greet you, like Lazarus called forth from the grave.”
Emma could scarcely think of anything more appalling than Mrs. Elton rising from her coffin. Fortunately, the door opened, and a man came into the room, sparing her the need of a reply.
Elton mustered a smile for the new arrival. “Ah, Horace, allow me to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Knightley, of whom you have heard so much.” He glanced at George. “May I present to you my brother-in-law, Mr. Suckling of Maple Grove?”
“Please accept our condolences,” George said, exchanging bows. “It is a terrible blow to your wife, no doubt.”
