The Highbury Murders

by Victoria Grossack

  “We received a note assuring us that that is their intention,” Mrs. Weston replied.

  “Very correct of them,” said Mr. Woodhouse, catching this part of the conversation, and then shaking his head and sighing, “Poor Mrs. Bates,” and sinking back into melancholy reverie.

  “And yet?” Emma probed, for she had known Mrs. Weston too long not to catch every change in tone. “Do you doubt that they will come?”

  “I have no reason to doubt them,” Mrs. Weston said with a smile, which Emma knew to mean that she did doubt them, even if she had no reason. “They are in London these days, not so far from here, and although Mr. Churchill’s health is not good, there is no reason to think that his situation is so severe as to prevent them from coming to Highbury for a few days. Miss Bates would certainly welcome such a visit – as would Mr. Weston and myself.”

  “And yet?” Emma pressed again, knowing that her friend was reluctant to share private details that might be troubling her, and yet believing, too, that Mrs. Weston would feel better once she confided in someone.

  “Something makes me uneasy. Mr. Weston makes light of it – of course – but I wonder if Jane and Frank are entirely happy with each other. Or perhaps Mr. Churchill is being difficult. I have not seen them for some time, so I confess I do not know. Although Frank writes regularly, his letters are not as long nor as revealing as they were earlier, but I sense that Jane is unhappy about something.”

  “Perhaps Mrs. Churchill is unwell?” asked Emma, for she had heard rumors of a miscarriage several months ago.

  “Possibly,” said Mrs. Weston.

  “Mr. Weston has seen them in London, but I have not, and so I am dependent on Mr. Weston’s observations. He tells me everything is fine, but he has always been hopeful.”

  “You will have a chance to observe them yourself, beginning today,” Emma assured her. “Then you can advise them and comfort them, if necessary, or set your kind heart at rest.”

  “True,” said Mrs. Weston. “I may be borrowing trouble unnecessarily. And now, I must make sure their room is ready. Come, Anna!” and she held out her hand to her little girl. “We have to go prepare the house for your brother.”

  Mrs. Weston and her daughter said goodbye to Mr. Woodhouse and to Baby George – the latter, so fascinated by Anna Weston, wailed for a full two minutes after their departure, before being distracted by the sight of a large bird that flew outside the window – but Mr. Woodhouse was content. He wondered a little about Mr. Churchill’s illness, and then dozed off in his chair.

  Emma, humming to her baby, was also content, for her mind had plenty to nourish it. Harriet’s pregnancy – the Eltons’ finances – and now the Frank Churchills’ marriage. Mr. Knightley might be concerned that her life was too trivial and too dull, and certainly it might appear so to others, but for Emma, so accustomed to have to amuse herself with so little, these morsels were rich meals for her imagination.

  5 Harriet martin is terrified

  Mr. Perry arrived shortly before midday, occupying Mr. Woodhouse with attentive solicitude and trivial gossip. Emma made sure that everyone – her baby and her father – were in good hands, and told James to take out the carriage and to prepare to drive, first to Ford’s, second to Abbey-Mill Farm, where the Martins lived, and last to Donwell Abbey.

  “Fine day for a drive, Ma’am,” said the coachman James, who, despite Mr. Woodhouse’s worries and Mr. Knightley’s pride, was pleased to be taking himself and the horses out for exercise. He opened the carriage door and helped her step inside.

  Emma agreed that it was, indeed, a fine day for a drive and she even let down the window to enjoy the sunshine. At Ford’s she placed an order for linens and bibs to be sent to the Martins, as well as a few blue ribbons for Harriet to wear in her hair. Then, realizing that Harriet might not be in a position to play the part of the hostess with ease, she crossed the street to the bakery. There she purchased a loaf of bread and some fresh tarts and a jar of honey. As she was leaving the baker’s she encountered Mrs. Elton, coming out of the door that led to the Bates apartment.

  Only a few feet away from each other, the meeting could not be avoided, and etiquette obliged them to greet each other. Mrs. Elton asked, with rather abrupt inquisitiveness, what Mrs. Knightley was doing there. “Buying bread, I see. Don’t you have servants who do that? Or is there something wrong with the Hartfield ovens?”

  “Yes, but I happened to be here. I was just over at Ford’s.”

  “Buying the blue silk, I take it? Mrs. Ford tells me they just received a new shipment and that it is absolutely exquisite.”

  “I did not look at the blue silk,” Emma said. Realizing she would never escape from Mrs. Elton without explaining what she had been doing, she added, “I was preparing an order of baby linens for Harriet Martin.”

  “Ah, yes! Your intimate friend, Harriet Martin,” said Mrs. Elton, with a sneer. Shortly after her arrival in Highbury, Mrs. Elton had developed a scornful attitude towards poor Harriet, and had never overcome it.

  Emma heard the disdain in Mrs. Elton’s voice, but instead of responding to it she changed the subject by asking Mrs. Elton if she had called again on Miss Bates. Mrs. Elton acknowledged that she had. “As the vicar’s wife I feel it is my duty as a Christian to condole with those grieving in the parish as much as I can.”

  “Most excellent of you,” said Emma, with as much composure as she could muster, for she thought Mrs. Elton would be well-served to apply Christian virtues in other areas.

  “Of course there is only so much that I can do. Miss Bates can really only be comforted by her niece. But I believe that the Churchills are coming to Highbury, are they not?”

  Emma would have loved to keep Mrs. Elton in suspense over this, but there was no point in trying to keep such a piece of information secret in Highbury. “That is what Mrs. Weston told me this morning,” Emma said.

  “And what Miss Bates told me just now,” Mrs. Elton said. “Well! We will see if they keep their word. Very important to keep their word. Good day, Mrs. Knightley.”

  Emma was just as relieved as Mrs. Elton to finish their conversation, and after wishing Mrs. Elton a pleasant day, returned to her carriage. She was grateful, too, that the Vicarage was in a different direction from Donwell Abbey or she would have felt obliged to offer Mrs. Elton a ride - even though the day was as pleasant for walking as any the season in Surrey could offer.

  The horses pulled her carriage along the hedgerow-lined lane, past fields where a boy and a pair of dogs were herding a flock of sheep from one field to another, and an orchard where men and youths were picking apples. But Emma barely noticed these pastoral sights, instead becoming more convinced than ever that something was amiss with the Eltons’ finances. She wondered how she could acquire confirmation – perhaps an inquiry into their accounts at Ford’s – a look into the church books – gossip from their servants, but most servants in Highbury were fiercely loyal in such matters. These thoughts occupied Emma’s mind until the carriage reached the Abbey-Mill Farm. She dismissed one scheme and then another; Mr. Knightley would not approve of her being too obviously curious!

  James brought the carriage to a halt, and then assisted his mistress to descend, helping her with the basket of bread and honey. Then Emma went through the yard and knocked. There was no answer, but she heard a child crying inside, which meant that someone was home – so Emma waited on the step. Harriet could be busy; Harriet could easily be overwhelmed. Emma knocked again; again there was no answer; only the sound of the crying child – or, listening hard, and given that Harriet had twins, perhaps two crying children.

  Emma was loath to enter uninvited, but she recalled that Mrs. Martin, Harriet’s mother-in-law, was away with Miss Elizabeth Martin, Harriet’s sister-in-law, and that the other Martin girl had married and moved away. Mr. and Mrs. Robert Martin had few servants and as it was harvest time, even those might not be about. She tested the door; it was not locked; she pushed it open and stepped inside.<
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  The room was not complete chaos, but nor was it the well-ordered space that Emma had visited on earlier occasions. A stained pinafore lay crumpled on a chair; a few dishes with crumbs on them needed to be cleared and washed; the pillows could use plumping, the furniture needed dusting and the floor needed sweeping, especially of dog hair. The dog who had been shedding came over to Emma, sniffing her hand and her basket of bread, recognizing her as a friend and then wagging its tail in greeting.

  “Where is your mistress?” Emma asked the animal, speaking softly. Harriet was probably exhausted and could be asleep somewhere.

  The dog seemed to understand her question, for it turned and led towards a hall in the back, its toenails clicking on the wooden floor. Emma put her basket down on a table and followed the animal and then peered hesitantly around the hall corner, softly calling, “Harriet?”

  Unfortunately Harriet did not realize her friend was there and at the sight of someone unexpectedly in her home she shrieked and dropped the jug she was carrying. It dropped on the floor, shattered into many pieces, and water splashed everywhere.

  “Oh! Mrs. Knightley, it is you,” Harriet said, with an effort to be formal and polite, because Mrs. Knightley belonged to the best families of Highbury, which Harriet herself could not claim; even her husband, Robert Martin, was the tenant of Mrs. Knightley’s husband. Their relative positions demanded deference. But then the situation overwhelmed Harriet and she simply burst into tears. “Oh, Mrs. Knightley!” she wailed.

  Emma sprang into action. She asked Harriet several questions, determining what was most urgent, then told her to go to her crying children.

  “I will take care of this,” Emma said resolutely looking down at the shards of the jug.

  “But Mrs. Knightley –“ Harriet objected, for it was inappropriate for the great Mrs. Knightley to occupy herself with cleaning up a cottage.

  “Go on,” Emma said, and then as her friend went upstairs, called good naturedly after her, “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

  But Emma thought it was pretty likely that Harriet would prattle about how Mrs. Knightley had come in and assisted her – and that Robert Martin, too, would see the fruit of her efforts. She did not want to seem inferior to the least scullery maid, so she spent a full fifteen minutes clearing away the broken jug, sweeping the floor, and dusting and generally straightening. Surveying the area and deciding that the results would not shame her, she wiped her hands on a towel, and went through the hall again, calling, “Harriet,” more loudly.

  “In here, Mrs. Knightley,” answered Harriet, and Emma followed her friend’s voice until she found her in the nursery with her two babies. Again, in this room, disorder was taking hold, but Emma resisted the urge to straighten up.

  Harriet was sitting in a chair nursing one of the twins. “Mrs. Knightley, I’m so sorry,” and her hair was uncombed and there were tears on her face. “I just can’t seem to manage anything. Robbie here wants to eat every two hours, and Lizzie takes forever when she nurses. I’m not eating or sleeping myself, let alone dressing or washing, and I have never been so tired in my entire life.”

  Emma thought briefly of her own well-organized household, including her competent nursemaid Mary, one of the many fruits of a large annual income. Perhaps she should be more charitable towards Mrs. Elton, who also had a young infant, another boy. The child was known to be colicky and a poor sleeper, so perhaps the Eltons were also very tired.

  “Then let me help you,” Emma said. “Would you like some water? Perhaps some tea?” she asked, for although she had a wet nurse for her own child now, she had nursed George for a little while after he was born and knew how thirsty the procedure could make a woman. She recalled that Harriet had been fetching water, too, when Emma had surprised her, and given how exhausted and worn-out Harriet was – poor girl, she was only nineteen, but already losing her looks, and she had been so pretty – the jug of water had to be important or Harriet would not have made it a priority.

  “Yes, but the jug’s broken,” Harriet said.

  “I will find something,” and Emma left the room. She rummaged in the kitchen, set the kettle on, and ended up surprising Sue, the milkmaid, nearly as much as she had startled the milkmaid’s mistress. Sue managed not to drop anything, although she was a little horrified that Mrs. Knightley, such a great personage in Highbury, should actually speak to her. Nevertheless she gathered her wits and assisted Emma in finding a substitute jug, fetching water, and telling her where to find the tea things. In another twenty minutes Harriet had drunk some water, dried her tears, combed her hair and had even started to smile a little – which improved her looks immediately. Emma suggested they take the babies into the parlor, where the tea things were, and when Harriet arrived and saw the bread and the pastries laid out neatly on the table, she cried out, “Oh, Mrs. Knightley!” yet again.

  After Harriet had eaten some food and drunk some tea, her color returned and her natural cheerfulness and sweet temper reasserted themselves.

  Emma then apologized for having frightened her so badly. “My dear friend, I hope you are feeling a little better now.”

  “Oh, yes!” Words could not express the gratitude Harriet was feeling, but she tried, rather incoherently.

  “I did not mean to startle you so,” Emma continued, pouring Harriet a cup of tea.

  “Oh, Mrs. Knightley, I know you didn’t, but I frighten easily these days. And when I saw you – well, I didn’t see you, for if I had known it was you, I certainly would not have been terrified. But these days I am often frightened, and I thought that a stranger had forced his way into the house.”

  Emma cut a slice of bread for her friend, buttered it, and passed it to Harriet, who ate it greedily and gratefully. “But Highbury is one of the safest places in England. Why should you think strangers are forcing their way into houses?”

  “Because of the gypsies. Just yesterday I saw gypsies.”

  “Gypsies?” Emma asked.

  Gypsies had come through Highbury before, and Harriet and a school friend of hers had been accosted by a gang. They had demanded money – Harriet had offered her small purse – but they had not been satisfied and had continued to threaten her. Only the fortuitous arrival of Mr. Frank Churchill on horseback had frightened them off; he had then escorted Harriet to Hartfield, depositing her with the Woodhouses and making sure she was well before he continued to London.

  Emma recalled how Harriet had fainted that day and how considerate, how solicitous Mr. Frank Churchill had been. Yet perhaps it did not compare with the intense emotions that Harriet had experienced during her year of being in love with Mr. Robert Martin – then with Mr. Elton (and although Emma blushed at her role in that, Harriet had been very persuadable) – then with Mr. Knightley, a choice which also caused Emma some pain, but at least Harriet’s unrequited passion had alerted Emma to her own feelings for Mr. Knightley.

  But romance – courtship and passion – fade for some, and Emma wondered if Harriet were imagining gypsies out of a hope to add excitement to her humdrum albeit exhausting existence – or if Harriet’s fatigue was itself yielding fevered imaginings. “Are you sure, Harriet?” Emma asked gently.

  Of course she was sure! Harriet answered with some force and decision of character. Emma recalled how Mr. Knightley had once complimented her, Emma, for having improved Harriet’s character in this regard. Emma thought that Harriet was a little firmer in her approach to life, but she did not think she deserved any credit for it. Emma thought it was more likely due to Harriet’s being a little older, more experienced – and the mother of twins.

  “There are gypsies working for Mr. Gilbert,” Emma said, “perhaps you saw some of them?”

  Harriet conceded it was possible, for she did not know everyone working at the Gilbert farm, but she expected that all Gilbert’s help posed no danger, while she had sensed evil intentions in the people who had lurked behind her house.

  “If you are afraid of intruders, I am surp
rised you did not lock your front door,” Emma said.

  Harriet said she had considered it – but since the strangers had appeared at the back, she had decided to leave the front open. What if she needed to escape quickly? She could never carry both her babies and unlock the front door.

  Emma conceded mentally that this was a reason, although not necessarily the best. Harriet was obviously in a state and needed comfort instead of criticism. “Where did you see them? Were they the same ones who accosted you before?”

  With Emma showing interest instead of doubt, Harriet was happy to share all the particulars of her experience, and pointed to the back gate where the people had lurked. The fact that they had not used the road in front of the house was itself suspicious.

  “And you were alone? Completely alone?” Emma inquired

  “Except for the babies,” said Harriet. “Mrs. Martin and Elizabeth are away; Robert was in the field; and Sue was milking the cows when I saw them. Mrs. Knightley, I’m just not accustomed to seeing strangers there and they frightened me. One of them laughed at me, and I am sure the others wished me ill.”

  “Did your dogs bark?” asked Emma.

  “The dogs that bark were away with Robert. I don’t like them in the house – they’re so large compared to the twins. I don’t think they’re dangerous, but they always lick my babies’ faces. I only kept Ginger here for company; she’s too sweet to bark at anyone.”

  Emma then asked what had happened. It took a while to elicit the information from Harriet, who was reliving the terror she had felt at the time, but Emma finally learned that the gypsies – whoever they were – continued without causing any noticeable damage. They were gone several hours before Harriet’s husband returned from taking care of his sheep, but even he saw the footprints before the gate.