“Dear sir, please think nothing of it.” She straightened her mangled bodice and then sidled up to her husband. “Perhaps Mr. Elton should wait outside for Dr. Hughes. This is far too distressing a scene for him.”
George nodded and again helped Mr. Elton to his feet. He guided him down the aisle, speaking in calm, comforting tone, and led the vicar outside.
Harriet gazed after them, looking quite woebegone herself. “Mrs. Knightley, I do not understand any of this. Who would wish Mrs. Elton dead?”
Emma pondered her friend’s question for several moments. Mrs. Elton was possibly the most disliked person in Highbury. More than a few residents could barely stand to be in her presence—Emma being one of them.
So it seemed to her that Harriet was asking the wrong question. There were a number of people who might wish Mrs. Elton ill or even dead. The correct question therefore was, who would actually perform the foul deed of murder?
CHAPTER2
Sighing, Emma’s father tucked the lap blanket around his legs. “Miss Bates was in such a state that I feared for her health. For her to walk home after suffering such a terrible shock was foolhardy, indeed. It would have been dreadful if she’d fainted or suffered a spell.”
Emma poured him a small glass of ratafia. “But you had one of our footmen escort her home, Father. Miss Bates is perfectly safe.”
“Quite right. I had forgotten. Still, I wish she had taken our carriage. It would have been no trouble for James to drive her.”
That her father had been willing to call up the carriage indicated his degree of distress. Father hated to inconvenience their coachman—not to mention the horses, which were surely the most pampered beasts in all of Highbury.
Emma had just been breaking the news of Mrs. Elton’s death to him when Miss Bates had unceremoniously burst into the drawing room. On learning of Mrs. Elton’s demise, Miss Bates had immediately run for Hartfield, almost incoherent with shock. Emma had all but forced a glass of sherry down the poor woman’s throat. Smelling salts had also been applied, and Miss Bates had eventually been persuaded to drink a cup of tea.
Having known the woman all her life, Emma was well aware of her tendency to respond to events, good or bad, in an excitable fashion. Still, she’d been surprised to see Miss Bates reduced to such a state. Although Miss Bates was the daughter of a vicar herself and thus had held Mrs. Elton in considerable esteem, they’d not been especially close. Mrs. Eltonhadbeen a friend to Miss Bates’s niece, Jane Fairfax, if a dreadfully patronizing one. Mrs. Elton had even arranged for Jane to take a position as governess to a wealthy family in Bristol. That arrangement had come to naught, though, when it was revealed that Jane was secretly engaged to Frank Churchill, a man who stood to inherit a large estate from his maternal uncle.
Mrs. Elton had not been pleased to see her efforts summarily rejected. Emma, though, suspected she was aggrieved primarily because she’d not been privy to Jane’s scandalous secret. Then again, neither had anyone else in Highbury, including Frank’s father, Mr. Weston.
Although her friendship with Jane had eventually been repaired, the vicar’s wife had subsequently been quite cool to Miss Bates. So, to see the little spinster so overwrought, especially in front of Emma’s father, was surprising. Miss Bates was always mindful not to ruffledear Mr. Woodhouse, but today she’d done more than ruffle him. Thankfully, Father had been so concerned for her welfare that he’d almost forgotten the state of his own nerves.
He now expelled a tremulous sigh. “What a dreadful day. Why, it was almost as bad as the day your dear mother died. I can barely stand to think of the horror of it all.”
Emma’s mouth dropped open. Her mother’s untimely death had transformed her father into the anxious and fretful man that he was today.
“Father, I know you esteemed Mrs. Elton, and of course you feel distressed for Mr. Elton. But I cannot allow you to think the two events are comparable.”
He grimaced. “But, Emma,youdiscovered the body. To be exposed to such a thing . . . I cannot imagine anything worse.”
“To be the victim would be quite a bit worse, I would think.”
“You mustn’t make light of this, my dear. I shouldn’t be surprised if you fall dreadfully ill as a result of the shock. And the church can be so drafty at times. I hope you did not catch a chill.”
If there was anything that struck mortal terror in her father’s soul, it was the thought of catching a chill.
“I assure you, dearest, I was not a bit chilly this afternoon.”
Except when gazing at a throttled corpse.
She pushed away the hideous thought. “It was very warm today, even in the church.”
He flapped an alarmed hand. “To be overheated is just as bad. I think you should have a basin of Serle’s gruel and then go straight to bed. Yes, that would be just the thing.”
Their cook’s gruel was the most appalling dish Emma had ever tasted and the bane of her childhood.
“Father, we’ve barely finished dinner. Besides, I wish to wait for George. You know he’s been in the village all afternoon, helping Dr. Hughes and seeing to Mr. Elton. I should wonder if he’s had even a bite to eat.”
“I do hope George doesn’t fall ill after spending the entire afternoon in that drafty church. It was very careless of Dr. Hughes to ask such a thing of him. Mr. Perry certainly will have something to say about it.”
Emma had to swallow a smile, since her husband possessed a robust constitution and great energy. She had been the happy recipient of his vitality over the course of their marriage and could safely say she had no present fears for his health.
“As local magistrate, I’m afraid George’s presence was necessary. Father, why don’t you finish your ratafia and then retire for the night? Would you like to take the sleeping draught that Mr. Perry left for you? One of the footmen can bring it up.”
