George was apparently struck speechless, an unusual state for him.
“Truly, dearest, I was perfectly safe,” she earnestly added. “The sound I heard was someoneleavingthe vestry, which I thought quite odd. Why would a murderer hang about here instead of leaving right away?”
“I can think of one reason,” he tersely replied.
“Which is?”
Instead of answering, he turned on his heel and stalked off to the vestry. Emma followed, unsurprised that he was upset. The lives of the Knightley and Woodhouse families had been intertwined for as long as she could remember, and George had been watching over her since she was a little girl. The notion that she might have been in danger would be bound to cause him dismay.
“I’m quite certain that nothing has been taken,” she said as he prowled around the room. “And the cupboards are still locked. I thought at first Mrs. Elton might have surprised a thief, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”
“It’s too early to speculate.” He took her by the elbow and steered her back to the chancel.
“I do wonder where Harriet is,” she said. “She should have been—”
Harriet suddenly burst into the church. She was flustered and red faced, with her bonnet hanging by its ribbons from her neck.
“Mrs. Knightley, Dr. Hughes will come as soon as he can, but I just saw Mr. Elton on the street. He asked me if I was going to the church to attend to the flowers. I didn’t know what to say. I . . . I just picked up my skirts and ran here to tell you. He was coming right behind me.”
Emma led her to a pew. “Sit and rest, Harriet. Mr. Knightley will attend to Mr. Elton.”
George was already striding down the nave to intercept the vicar. He stopped when Mr. Elton hurried into the church, looking both puzzled and harassed.
“Mr. Knightley,” he exclaimed, “what are you doing here? I just saw Mrs. Martin in the street, and she was acting in a most irregular fashion.”
“Oh, no,” Harriet whimpered.
Both taller and more broad shouldered than the vicar, George tried to block his view of the body. “Mr. Elton, why don’t we step outside? There is something I must tell you.”
“Why can you not tell me here?” Mr. Elton replied with a frown. He leaned left, and his gaze darted toward Emma and Harriet. “This is my church, and I insist—” He broke off, his eyes widening with horror and disbelief, as he spotted the body. “Augusta? Is thatmyAugusta?”
George placed his hands on the vicar’s shoulders. “My dear Philip, if you would step out—”
Mr. Elton barged past him and almost tripped in his rush to the chancel steps. He stared down at his wife for a few seconds and then dropped to his knees.
“Augusta, Augusta,” he moaned as he rocked back and forth. “What has happened to you?”
When he clutched at his wife’s hands, looking like he would throw himself onto the body, George strode forward.
“Come, Mr. Elton.” He took him by the arm and more or less hoisted him up. “It would be best to leave her until Dr. Hughes arrives.”
“No, I will not! Not till I know how this could be!”
When George cast her a glance, Emma joined them.
“Come, Mr. Elton,” she said, touching his arm. “Why don’t you sit with me in one of the pews? Dr. Hughes should be here—”
Mr. Elton suddenly turned and threw himself upon her, exploding into sobs. Naturally, Emma wished to make allowances for the poor man’s shock, but having a distraught vicar hanging about her neck was decidedly awkward.
Gingerly patting his back, Emma cast an imploring gaze at her husband, who was looking rather stunned.
“Help,” she mouthed.
He sprang into action, gently pulling the vicar away from her. “Come, sir. Please sit down. Dr. Hughes will be here shortly to attend to your wife.”
Mr. Elton subsided into a pew and pulled out his kerchief with trembling hands. He blotted his cheeks as he gave Emma a woebegone look.
“Dear Mrs. Knightley,” he quavered. “Please forgive my outburst. But to see my poor Augusta like that . . . How can this possibly be?” He buried his face into his kerchief and wept.
