“Banks have been known to fail. It’s not an unusual occurrence.”
“But why did Mrs. Elton persuade Miss Bates to do such a thing in the first place? She’s hardly the sort of person one would think to partner with in an investment scheme.”
“I have no credible answer to that question yet.”
Unbidden, the unsettling argument between Mr. Elton and Mr. Suckling on the day of the funeral came into her thoughts. She turned the details of that fraught conversation over in her mind, dissecting it for clues to Mrs. Elton’s strange behavior.
When they reached the iron gates of Hartfield, Emma voiced her ruminations. “George, could it be that the Eltons were—are—having financial difficulties? I think you must question Mr. Elton about it. Because if they were . . .”
“It might be germane to the case,” he finished for her. “I know, but that doesn’t necessarily help Miss Bates.”
“Blast,” she muttered.
When her husband chuckled, she cut him a sheepish grin. “How vulgar of me. I do apologize.”
He bent and kissed the tip of her nose. “You captured my feelings precisely. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be off to speak with Dr. Hughes. Constable Sharpe is no doubt already detailing my legalistic failings to him, and I must mitigate any damage.”
“And keep Miss Bates out of the gaol.”
“That too.”
“I must tell Father why the Bates ladies will not be joining us for dinner,” she said, making a face. “He will not be happy with this development.”
“Then it would appear we both have our work cut out for us.”
Emma could not disagree. Nor could she deny that finding the true killer was now a more pressing task than ever.
CHAPTER17
Emma put down her needlework and rose as Harriet entered the drawing room. “I thought you were busy in the village with Mrs. Martin today.”
“We finished our shopping, so I thought to run over to Hartfield. I have something I particularly wanted to tell you. And Mama said to be sure to give you her best wishes.”
Emma found it heartwarming that Harriet had developed such a loving relationship with her mother-in-law. For the young woman, it was a true gift. She’d never known her natural mother, and Emma understood better than most how that absence could wound the soul.
“Please give Mrs. Martin my best wishes. Now, what was so important that you had to run over?” Emma frowned. “Has that dreadful Anne Cox been pestering you again?”
“I haven’t seen her since the funeral, nor has Robert.”
“Thank goodness.”
Slowly, the normal rhythms of life had reasserted themselves, and a sense of everyday order had been restored to most in their little village. There were some notable exceptions, starting with—
“Dear me, I forgot to ask,” said Harriet, interrupting Emma’s thought. “How is Mr. Woodhouse? Has he recovered from his upset?”
“He is still very distressed for Miss Bates and very angry with Mr. Elton, whom Father blames entirely for the current state of affairs.”
“How sad. They have always been such good friends.”
“It’s very awkward. Father will not allow Mr. Elton to visit Hartfield, and Miss Bates feels terribly guilty to be the cause of the rupture in their relationship.”
She had to admit that it was getting tiresome. Father was insistent that Mr. Elton had no business showing the promissory note to anyone, much less raising it as a matter of suspicion against Miss Bates, who blamed herself for the misunderstanding in the first place. Unfortunately, the matter had become a topic of endless discussion every time Miss Bates and her mother came for dinner or tea.
Even George, whose patience was vast, was beginning to show signs of desperation. He’d taken to excusing himself immediately after dinner, citing a pressing amount of business. Emma didn’t blame him, wishingshehad pressing business, as well.
“How uncomfortable,” Harriet said. “However do you manage it?”
“Most uneasily. For one thing, we have to keep reminding Father and Miss Bates to refrain from discussing the issue in front of the servants. We don’t wish it to be widely known that Constable Sharpe tried to arrest her.”
