“She didn’t give a damn about trees.”
“Perhaps you didn’t know your sister-in-law as well as you think.”
Mr. Suckling’s only reply was a derisive snort.
“As well,” the vicar continued, “I have every intention of erecting a handsome memorial over her grave—with your help, of course. I would think that you and dear Selina would be happy to contribute to a fine monument to honor Augusta. An angel, perhaps, one in mourning for . . .”
When he choked off his words, Emma couldn’t help but feel pity. She also felt a wee bit of shame that she—and George, too, in all fairness—had been so dismissive of the Eltons’ marital relationship.
“I have no intention of helping you with Augusta’s memorial,” Mr. Suckling retorted. “That is your responsibility.”
Mr. Elton seemed to steady himself. “I cannot imagine Selina will agree with you. But if you choose not to honor your sister-in-law, then I will select something not quite so grand. I’m sure Augusta would have preferred that, anyway. She had quite a horror of excessive displays of finery, you know.”
Emma had indeed heard Mrs. Elton express a horror of finery—while wearing more finery than any other woman in the village.
Mr. Suckling snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Have it your way, but know that Selina will not be pleased.”
“Selina could not even be bothered to make the short trip to Highbury,” Mr. Elton angrily replied, finally showing some temper. “So, please, no lectures on what Augusta preferred. As her spouse, I cherished her more than anyone.”
“Then why in blazes did you let her go traipsing all over Highbury, wearing her most valuable piece of jewelry? No wonder she found herself set upon by a thief. I’ve no doubt this scabby place is full of them.”
Well, really.
If there was anyone acting in a scabby fashion, it was Mr. Suckling.
“If Augusta wished to wear her jewelry somewhere, it was no business of mine to tell her otherwise. Besides, I hardly notice such things. I am not a man of fashion, Horace. I am a simple country vicar.”
Now, that was a bit much. Mr. Elton was well aware of the finer things in life. He was also ambitious—which Emma discovered in a most unpleasant manner when he’d proposed to her.
“I don’t care what she might have wished,” Suckling retorted. “It was damned careless to allow her to wear the blasted thing so freely. And I’ll wager you could use such a valuable piece right now—to buy a fine headstone, for instance.”
Mr. Elton bristled. “If you are suggesting that I would sell those pearls, you are much mistaken. That necklace was my wedding present to her. I would never dispose of something that meant a great deal to both of us.”
“You’d be a fool not to if you’re strapped for funds.”
“If there is any question of that, it rests on you. Not on Augusta, and certainly not on me.”
By now, Emma’s mind was reeling from the variety of accusations being tossed about. None of it made sense.
“I have had enough of this ridiculous conversation,” Mr. Suckling said in a haughty tone. “I must be off to London. Selina will be waiting for me.”
“Your presence will, of course, be missed,” Mr. Elton replied, equally haughtily.
“I’ll return for the reading of Augusta’s will, so you won’t have to miss me for long.”
A tense silence ensued.
“There is no will,” the vicar finally replied.
His brother-in-law reared back, startled. “Of course she had a will. Augusta told me that she intended to draw one up once the marriage settlements had been agreed to.”
“Well, she didn’t.”
Mr. Suckling looked flummoxed. “But that makes no sense. She had assets at her disposal that must be accounted for. Her jewelry, for one thing, and family heirlooms that I know to be of value.”
“All I can tell you is that Augusta managed her own affairs as she saw fit. I trusted her completely to do so.”
“What does the coroner have to say? By law, he’s responsible for her effects.”
