“You may go, Mrs. Wright,” Emma said. “I’m sure you have much to attend to.”
“Thank you, madam. We are in something of a state, as you can imagine.” For a moment, her face crumpled into unhappy lines. “One hardly knows what to make of it.”
“It’s a terrible shock for the entire household,” Emma replied with a twinge of guilt. “I’m sure Mr. Elton would be lost without you.”
“Thank you, madam. I endeavor to do my best.” The housekeeper then stalked from the room.
Emma sighed. “Goodness, that wasn’t the least bit awkward.”
“I’m not sure what I did to offend her,” Harriet ruefully said.
“Nothing, dear. Mrs. Wright was apparently very close to her mistress and no doubt feels a great deal of loyalty to her.”
“And since Mrs. Elton didn’t like me . . .”
“It’s silly. One might think servants didn’t have minds of their own.”
“I wish Mrs. Elton hadn’t disliked me so much.”
“The fault rested entirely with her. But Mr. Elton has been very appreciative of your support, which is certainly cheering.”
And all it took was his wife getting murdered.
Harriet brightened. “I do hope Mr. Elton and I can be friends again. Both Robert and I would like to help him through this terrible time.”
Emma suspected that Robert wanted nothing to do with his former rival for Harriet’s affections. “I’m going to pour you a cup of tea, and then I want you to sit by the window and keep an eye on the lane.”
“Why?” Harriet asked.
“I want you to keep watch for Mr. Elton.”
“Won’t we hear him come in?”
“I’m going to take a quick look at his desk.”
Harriet’s mouth dropped open. “What if Mr. Elton returns and catches you?”
Emma hastily prepared a cup and thrust it at her friend, the liquid sloshing into the saucer. “That’s why I need you to keep watch.”
Her friend sighed before trudging over to the needlepointed armchair by the window.
Emma slipped into the study. The vicar’s desk was indeed a fine piece of furniture. It was also a fine mess.
“Where to start?” she muttered.
Not with the ledgers—too detailed. Instead, she began to quickly sift through the correspondence. Most of it seemed to be from his family or other clergymen, although there were quite a few bills. Some were already opened, and the amounts she saw made her blink. One from a millinery shop in London demonstrated that Mrs. Elton had spent extravagantly on her gowns. Bills that detailed household expenses and food were mixed. While some were entirely reasonable, a few suggested a definite penchant for luxury. That was no surprise, since Mrs. Elton had frequently spoken of modeling her housekeeping on that of Mr. Suckling’s residence, Maple Grove.
Were the Eltons living beyond their means? And could it be that a desperate tradesman was trying to collect what was owed to him? Unlucky tradesmen were sometimes forced into bankruptcy because their genteel customers simply refused to pay bills. Still, it was hard to imagine an irate milliner or wine merchant storming down from London to murder Mrs. Elton over an outstanding invoice or two.
Harriet jumped up. “Mrs. Knightley, I can see Mr. Elton coming down the lane!”
“I’m almost finished.”
Hurriedly, she scanned the rest of the desk, lifting papers and searching quickly for anything that shed light on the Eltons’ financial standing.
“Mrs. Knightley, he’s at the front door,” Harriet hissed.
A piece of crumpled paper half-thrust inside a book caught her attention. Emma flipped the book open, careful not to disturb the positioning of the note.
