“Excellent. Then we will be on our way,” George said as he came to his feet. “We will see you tomorrow, Mr. Suckling.”
Mr. Elton escorted them to the front hall, mingling profuse apologies with profound thanks. When the vicarage door finally shut behind them, Emma leaned against it and breathed out an exasperated sigh.
Her husband gazed at her with a sardonic eye. “Well, my dear, that didn’t go quite as expected, did it?”
CHAPTER7
Emma pushed away from the vicarage door. “I certainly didn’t expect Mr. Elton to blurt out that his wife and Miss Bates had been quarreling. From what Miss Bates told me this morning, it was distressing but not of great import, so I’m surprised he mentioned it.”
Now, though, it seemed that there might have been a serious falling-out, and that could cast Miss Bates in a suspicious light.
“Mr. Elton seemed to take a similar view of the matter,” he replied.
“Not Mr. Suckling,” she gloomily said as she took his arm and started down the lane.
“Anyone who knows Miss Bates will realize it would be ridiculous to suspect her of any sort of crime, much less murder.”
“I suppose it was rather reckless of me to raise the issue. I’m sorry, George.”
“You raised an issue that needed to be addressed. Certainly, Constable Sharpe will ask Mr. Elton if his wife had enemies. And he’ll be asking others about that, too, no doubt.”
“He might be surprised to discover she had a few.”
He scoffed. “Surely not enemies. Rather, people who just didn’t like her.”
“That would be a fairly long list. George, if suspicion points to Miss Bates, I cannot think what will happen. She is incapable of defending herself against any sort of charge. I do hope you’ll be present when she is questioned. You’ll need to help her, because she seems incapable of constructing a coherent narrative of her actions.”
Perhaps she doesn’t have one.
That alarming thought almost had her tripping over her feet.
“Miss Bates was simply an unfortunate bystander, and that will become clear soon enough,” he replied.
They set a leisurely pace along the lane. It was a beautiful afternoon, and to rush toward the next fraught encounter seemed a sacrilege. Larks twittered in the hedgerows, and the summery smell of mown hay competed with the scent of wild roses edging the lane. Emma wished she could wind up time like a ball of yarn and move back to the day before the murder. Then she could pretend that the greatest crisis she faced was a cow wandering into the kitchen garden or her father’s dismay over Mrs. Goddard eating a second piece of cake.
“I’m curious to hear your thoughts on Mr. Suckling,” George said, breaking the fragile tranquility.
Emma grimaced. “Frankly, I found him dreadfully rude and hard-hearted. By the way, you were splendid in putting him in his place.”
“If you hadn’t been present, I would have used stronger language.”
“If I hadn’t been present, there likely would have been no need to employ such measures. Mr. Suckling doesn’t appear to like women—or, at least, one woman in particular.”
No doubt Mrs. Elton had shared her low opinion of Emma with the Sucklings.
“His behavior toward you was certainly inappropriate, but it was his reaction to his brother-in-law that I found most surprising.”
“Yes, his rudeness toward poor Mr. Elton was very awkward.” She frowned. “It’s rather mystifying, because I’d never sensed that there was anything but excellent relations between the families.”
“Perhaps Mr. Suckling is rattled by circumstances and grieving the death of his sister-in-law.”
“He didn’t seem grief-stricken to me. Rather, I sensed a marked impatience with the entire situation.”
“True,” George admitted. “Certainly, Mr. Elton was displeased with his attitude.”
As they reached the end of Vicarage Lane, her mind landed on another aspect of the discussion that had troubled her.
“Did it strike you as strange that Mr. Suckling wished for a private funeral?” she asked. “Even Mr. Elton seems to want something very simple. Yet I cannot imagine Mrs. Elton would have approved of such spare arrangements.”
