The footman’s left eyelid twitched.
“Thank you, Simon. The situation must have been hideous, but I’m sure you managed it as well as it could be.”
As she headed for the drawing room, Emma realized that until the true killer was caught, they’d be forever subjected to bouts of the vapors and her father’s alarming changes in temperament.
As soon as she entered, Father threw off his lap blanket and all but sprang to his feet. “Emma, Mr. Elton had the temerity to call, and it upset Miss Bates terribly. I have never been so astounded in my life.”
She gently pressed him back into the chair. “I know it was upsetting, but I’m not sure we needed to threaten poor Mr. Elton. Simply saying that one is not receiving calls would have done quite nicely.”
He flapped an agitated hand. “But I thought you made it clear to Mr. Elton that he was not to call.”
“I did, but I cannot control his every movement. Perhaps he was coming to apologize.”
“I do not want his apologies, and I do not want him in my house again. To accuse Miss Bates of murder—it’s simply outrageous! In fact, I will write to the bishop and insist he send us a new vicar. I will not step foot in that church, and neither will you, until this issue is addressed.”
Emma forced herself not to grit her teeth. “Father, it was Constable Sharpe who accused Miss Bates, not Mr. Elton.”
“That would not have happened if he’d kept that foolish note to himself. And Mrs. Elton had no business pestering Miss Bates in the first place. The Eltons have caused a great deal of trouble, and I do not approve of trouble, Emma.”
At this point, she found it hard to disagree with him. “I know, Father, but don’t forget that poor Mrs. Elton is dead.”
He drew his lap blanket up to his chest and glared at her. “Miss Bates had nothing to do with that.”
She sighed with resignation. “What would you have me do?”
“Tell Mr. Elton that he is no longer welcome at Hartfield.”
“I already did that.”
“Then please tell him again.”
“Very well, dear. Let me pour you a cup of tea, and then I’ll take care of it.”
By the time she got him settled with his tea, it occurred to her that delivering the message in person—as unpleasant as it would surely be—might give her the opportunity to discreetly probe the vicar about his financial situation. George would disapprove, but Mr. Elton might find it more comfortable to speak with her than with the man for whom he had so much respect. Mr. Elton greatly admired George, and admitting his difficulties to him would be embarrassing. If she could spare the vicar’s blushes, she was willing to endure another awkward visit.
After retrieving her bonnet, she set off and soon arrived at the vicarage. Since its master was home, she was ushered into the formal drawing room, now absent signs of mourning.
Mr. Elton hurried in a few minutes later. “Mrs. Knightley, do forgive me. As soon as the footman informed me of your arrival, I hastened to the kitchen and asked Mrs. Wright to prepare tea.”
“That’s very kind, but you needn’t put yourself to so much trouble.”
“I can think of nothing more elevating than a visit from you, Mrs. Knightley—although certainly Mrs. Martin is always a true ray of light in a bleak landscape. Your friend is not with you today, I see.”
“She is busy at home.”
He sighed. “Dear, dear Mrs. Martin.”
Oh . . . dear.
“But I am forgetting my manners,” he said. “Please do sit.”
Rather surprisingly, he sat next to her on the red velvet settee. In his sober clerical garb, he looked out of place in the excessively stylish room, with its emphasis on red velvet, along with much gold fringe on the curtains and cushions. As well, there was bright yellow wallpaper and several large brass wall sconces. In totality, the decor was hardly what one expected in the home of a country vicar.
“Will Mr. Knightley also be dropping by?” he asked in a hopeful voice.
“I’m afraid not. Donwell keeps him so busy at this time of year.”
He pulled a sad face. “I have no doubt that his duties regarding Augusta’s investigation have greatly burdened him. I am truly sorry, Mrs. Knightley. You have both been so kind.”
