Her father, despite Emma’s best efforts, had clearly fallen into one of his fretful episodes. When he had Miss Bates to worry about, he thought less about himself. But the return of the poultry thief was obviously a threat too close to home.
He sighed. “And poor George. He is so busy that he couldn’t even join us for dinner, and now he is late for tea. What was Mr. Elton thinking to allow his wife to be murdered? It has put everyone in an uproar.”
Clearly, Father was far from ready to forgive their vicar. Mr. Elton would simply have to do without the comforts of Hartfield for the present.
As she replenished her father’s teacup, the drawing room door opened, and her husband entered.
“Father and I were quite ready to give up on you, George,” she said with a smile. “I hope you’re finished with your work for the evening.”
“I apologize for keeping you waiting, but I am now at your disposal.”
She studied him, taking in the weariness in his gaze and the tense set of his shoulders. “Would you prefer a brandy to a cup of tea?”
That won her a wry look. “That bad, is it?”
“You simply look a bit pulled around the edges. The brandy will help you sleep.”
George glanced at her father, who was arranging his lap blanket, and then leaned in to murmur in her ear. “I can think of something else that would surely aid my sleep.”
Emma choked. “Behave yourself, sir.”
“George, what is to be done about this poultry thief?” her father asked as Emma fetched the brandy. “Surely the constable will now turn his attentions to the villain instead of pestering Miss Bates.”
“I’m afraid the poultry thief is unlikely to be top of mind for Constable Sharpe,” George replied.
“Highbury has become infested with criminals. I do not approve.”
“Neither does Mrs. Weston, since the varlet made off with her prize rooster and two hens,” Emma wryly said.
Her father grimaced. “Poor Mrs. Weston. She should never have left Hartfield, you know. She was much safer here than at Randalls.”
“Mrs. Weston is perfectly safe, Father,” Emma said as she brought George his drink. “And I’m sure the thief will eventually go away. That’s what he did last year.”
“I refuse to believe the poultry thief’s return is coincidental to Mrs. Elton’s murder.”
When George cast her a startled glance, Emma simply shrugged. Only her father could surmise that Mrs. Elton’s killer and the poultry thief would be one and the same.
“I’m looking forward to the Westons and the Churchills coming for dinner tomorrow night,” she said, trying for a happy distraction. “Mrs. and Miss Bates will be so happy to spend time with them.”
Father held up a hand. “There must not be cake, Emma, or any rich foods. Mrs. Churchill must be careful, in her present condition.”
“Yes, dear.”
“How did Jane seem to you?” George asked as she settled next to him on the settee.
“Tired, but determined to be of service to her aunt and grandmother.”
“I cannot help wondering if this visit will be too much for her. It was perhaps unwise of Frank to allow her to make the journey.”
George had always taken a great interest in Jane’s well-being, something that had caused Emma more than one pang of jealousy before their marriage. Of course, such an emotion would now be entirely ridiculous.
“I’m sure Frank will take excellent care of her.” She hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Frank also wished me to tell you that he is happy to assist you in any way he can, and that you should not hesitate to ask for his help.”
Frowning, George put down his glass. “Help with what?”
“With the investigation, of course. Frank is very worried about the impact of this dreadful situation on both Miss Bates and Jane and wishes to help in any way he can.”
“Emma, as I have previously noted, we do not need civilians interfering in this investigation—much less Frank Churchill.”
