The Highbury Murders

by Victoria Grossack

  At the prospect of Hartfield’s weathered coachman and stout cook eloping, Mr. Knightley broke into a deep guffaw, and Emma felt she had banished his worries, at least for the night.

  “I thought you had given up matchmaking,” he teased.

  “It is only a notion,” she defended herself. “Serle and James have every opportunity – and certainly the maturity – to manage their own romance, if they have any inclination. But how well they could work together, if they wished! Serle knows where all the silver is – including the items we have not used since my mother died – and James is well-equipped to manage their escape.”

  “Nonsensical girl!” exclaimed Mr. Knightley, and pulled her close.

  Emma leaned against his shoulder. She was glad to make him laugh and to help him relax but she wanted her husband to respect her opinions, too. Then her mind wandered back to Serle and James: it was amazing how easily nonsense could be arranged to sound like sense. And why should not the cook and the coachman have a romantic attachment if they wished? True, they were neither young nor attractive, nor educated nor rich, but no one had a monopoly on love.

  11 calling on mrs. churchill

  Two days after the theft was discovered at Donwell Abbey, Mr. Woodhouse’s spirits had recovered sufficiently for Emma to venture beyond the shrubbery of Hartfield. Mr. Knightley reminded her that she should call on Mrs. Churchill, so in the afternoon she walked to Highbury. It was so pleasant outside – the sun bright but not strong – that she thought that there was a good chance that Miss Bates and Mrs. Churchill would not be at home. Probably they were out, calling on the Westons, or the Coles, or even on the Eltons. In that case she would leave a message with the servant and feel as if she had done her duty without being punished.

  Visiting Miss Bates had always been a penance for Emma; the garrulous spinster might be everything worthy and good, yet Emma’s patience was tried by her. What would Miss Bates do with herself, she wondered, as she walked briskly along the road. Well, if the ladies were at home, she could inquire. Perhaps she would go to live with her niece and then Emma would be spared the pricks of conscience that Miss Bates always provoked. But although Emma could control her behavior – and she resolved to listen to Miss Bates, no matter what she said, for the poor woman still had to be mourning the loss of her mother – how could she regulate her feelings? How could she make herself like someone when she did not?

  She stopped first at Ford’s and ordered a pair of jugs to be delivered to Mrs. Robert Martin. If Harriet dropped one, she would still have a spare.

  “Very good, Mrs. Knightley,” said Mrs. Ford.

  “I heard you have some new blue silk?” Emma asked.

  “We did, but Mrs. Elton purchased it just this morning.”

  “Oh!”

  “Shall I let you know if we receive another fine silk, Madam?”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Emma. She said good-bye to Mrs. Ford and crossed the street, thinking that the Eltons could not be suffering financially if Mrs. Elton was ordering fine silk. Perhaps she had guessed incorrectly about their situation – or perhaps Churchills had made a substantial donation in the memory of Jane’s grandmother.

  Emma entered the building in which Miss Bates lived and climbed the dark, narrow stairs. She was a little disappointed as Miss Bates’s words gushed down the stairs, and downright annoyed as they were followed by the sharp tones of Mrs. Elton. Penance indeed! Extremely severe! And with Miss Bates and Mrs. Elton in the apartment, any attempt on her part to improve her acquaintance with Mrs. Churchill would be thwarted.

  Emma paused on the stairs, considering turning around and running away. She could manage it easily, for the staircase, despite being dark and narrow, did not creak. But what would she tell Mr. Knightley? Nay, that would not do. And if Miss Bates and Mrs. Elton spared her from having to become an intimate of Mrs. Churchill, then at least they were good for something.

  What was wrong with her, Emma wondered, that she disliked so many people? As expiation she continued up the stairs and knocked at Miss Bates’s apartment door.

  “Mrs. Knightley! How good of you to come!” Miss Bates’s welcome was so effusive, so warm and so genuine, that Emma could not help feeling ashamed – as she had so many times before – to think that she had hesitated to make this visit. Even Mrs. Churchill greeted her with a smile as well and invited her to sit in the chair beside hers. Only Mrs. Elton’s hello was grudging.

  After the usual pleasantries were exchanged, and inquiries made and answered about their mutual health – all claiming that they and their families were fine, although privately Emma thought that Mrs. Churchill looked pale and fatigued – Emma inquired discreetly about Miss Bates’s spirits.

  “So kind of you to ask, Mrs. Knightley – can’t believe that Mother left us such a short while ago—“ she wiped away a tear, and smiled, “-and yet life moves on. I have scarcely had a moment alone, thanks to visits from kind friends such as Mrs. Elton, the Coles and the Westons, and especially dear Jane, who has been kind enough to stay and has been helping me sort through my mother’s papers. I had no idea how much my mother wrote – how accomplished and clever she was – you can see where our dear Jane’s brains came from! She was quite the artist, too.”

  “How interesting,” said Emma. “And you are wearing your mother’s locket.”

  “Yes, I am. It still feels strange, to consider it mine, but it does make me feel close to her.”

  “But we have been discussing something else,” Mrs. Elton objected.

  “Yes, of course we have, something much more important and immediate and exciting than my mother’s old papers and her gold locket. Mrs. Elton has arranged something that sounds wonderful – so exciting for Highbury – what do you call it? – a musical afternoon at the Vicarage.”

  “I think I heard you mention it at…” Emma, began, but as she recalled the discussion had been at the Crown Inn, just after Mrs. Bates’s burial, she did not continue.

  “Just so,” said Mrs. Elton, talking over Emma’s words, either because she wanted to spare Miss Bates from being reminded of her mother’s funeral or because she preferred the sound of her voice to Mrs. Knightley’s. “There is talent in this parish – unrecognized talent – and I intend to do what I can to make sure that these young voices are heard. So on an afternoon a few days from now, at the Vicarage I will have a musical afternoon for them.”

  Emma was curious despite herself. “Which young voices have you found to exhibit?”

  Mrs. Elton mentioned several names – a few students from Mrs. Goddard’s boarding-school, a young shepherd who worked for the Martins – and then Florica and Kizzy Draper.

  “Florica and Kizzy!” Emma exclaimed, surprised to hear these names again so soon.

  “Hardly Christian names, I know,” explained Mrs. Elton, misinterpreting Emma’s reaction, “but at least their father’s name, Noah, is respectable. And Mr. E. did not christen them – nor did any vicar of Highbury, as they are wandering folk. But the girls sing pretty duets, and what if we could offer them something better?”

  “Indeed,” said Mrs. Churchill, “the hope of something better is important for young people. Even if those hopes never come to fruition.”

  Emma glanced briefly at Jane, and wondered what reason that young matron had to sound so bleak. Mrs. Churchill was rich, talented and elegant; her husband doted on her. Perhaps it was being back in Highbury, in this apartment, recalling the time when her own future had seemed so uncertain? When her best prospect had been to go out as a governess, taking care of other people’s children, a life of servitude and degradation? Yet if staying in her childhood home brought forth those memories, then why remain in this apartment when she could stay at Randalls?

  These thoughts raced through Emma, but she pushed them aside; Jane’s grandmother had been dead only a short while, and perhaps Jane still mourned her. If Mrs. Bates had been as talented as Miss Bates claimed – and certainly Jane’s brains must have come from somewhere
– then perhaps she was thinking of her grandmother’s life as a life wasted.

  “Just so,” Mrs. Elton agreed sycophantically with Mrs. Churchill, “children need hope. Now that Mr. E. has returned from London, we can finally select a day.”

  “Mr. Elton has already returned from London? I hope his business in the city was successful,” Emma said.

  “Quite successful,” said Mrs. Elton. “He came back yesterday with the chest that belonged to his father – no accounting for taste, but it means a lot to my husband.”

  There was such a gleam in Mrs. Elton’s eyes as she spoke that Emma was a little taken aback: how could a chest be so important? Perhaps it had a secret drawer that contained gold. Nay, she was being ridiculous; she struggled to repress her fancy.

  “As I was saying, we can now choose a day and so I came here to confer with Miss Bates and Jane – I mean, Mrs. Churchill – to see if Thursday next suits them. It does, and it suits the Westons and the Coles. I hope you and Knightley can make it.”

  The last sentence was not uttered very graciously, and Emma noted that while the Coles, the Westons and Mrs. Churchill were consulted as to the time and day that best suited them, she and Mr. Knightley were pointedly not. Nevertheless, Emma was curious to see the Draper girls for herself, and curious, too, to take a look inside the Vicarage and see if she could detect any symptoms of penny-pinching. “I’m sure we will be delighted,” said Emma.

  Mrs. Elton did not look especially pleased, but of course she had to know it would be better for the local children if the Knightleys came to her musical afternoon rather than staying away, so her words were gracious although her manner was not.

  Emma tried, during the remainder of her visit, to engage Mrs. Churchill in conversation, but Miss Bates and Mrs. Elton made it almost impossible – and Mrs. Churchill was little help. Emma asked Jane how long she expected to stay in Highbury – Jane did not know – she then invited Jane to call any time she liked at Hartfield – Jane thanked her for the offer of hospitality but gave no hint that she would partake of it. The only improvement that Emma detected in Jane’s manner towards herself was that Jane, at least, did not seem angry or jealous. The best description was reserved, which might be simply be a defense to her aunt’s loquaciousness and Mrs. Elton’s affectation.

  Miss Bates prattled on about many things, especially remembering how talented Jane had been as a child and how grateful they had been when she received opportunities, while Mrs. Elton made it clear that she would out-stay Mrs. Knightley and prevent her from having anything resembling a tête-à-tête with Mrs. Churchill. Defeated, but feeling that she had given her best, Emma said she needed to return to Hartfield. It really was time, so she wished the ladies well and departed. As she descended the dark and narrow staircase and re-emerged into Highbury’s bright sunshine, she wondered if she and Mrs. Churchill would ever be friends – and if that young matron still had something to hide.

  12 mrs. elton’s musical afternoon

  Time passed in Highbury. Mr. Knightley spent most of his days at Donwell Abbey, working on the harvest, while Mrs. Weston made brief morning visits to Hartfield with her daughter. Emma received a short note from Harriet Martin thanking her for the jugs. Letters arrived from Brunswick Square. Isabella was dreadfully shocked that such a terrible theft could occur so close to her childhood home, while Mr. John Knightley remarked that human nature was the same everywhere. The members of the parishes of Highbury and Donwell, all aware of the theft at Donwell Abbey, took care locking their doors and guarding their possessions. Either because the thief had departed or because the locals had become more cautious, no one reported any additional break-ins. Gradually the talk shifted from burglary to music, as the event at the Vicarage approached.

  The great day arrived at last, and Mr. and Mrs. Knightley went to the Eltons for the afternoon concert, their carriage experiencing no difficulties despite Mr. Woodhouse’s concern about the turn into Vicarage Lane. Emma had not been there in many months, and so her eyes were wide for signs of improvement and alterations.

  “Knightley! Mrs. Knightley! You are the first to arrive. Mr. Woodhouse could not come, I take it? What a pity; the afternoon should be a real treat,” said Mrs. Elton, and Emma saw that Mrs. Elton was wearing a new dress made of blue silk.

  “Sam here will take your coats,” said Mr. Elton, and Emma recognized Sam, one of the waiters at the Crown Inn, obviously hired for the afternoon. “Come this way, please.”

  “Our humble abode is nothing compared to Maple Grove – or even Hartfield – but I hope you will find it comfortable, at least for an afternoon.”

  They followed Mrs. Elton, who was all smiles, and indeed, the Vicarage looked lovely, although some of the furniture had been rearranged in the parlor for the concert, with space at one end for the piano and the performers, and chairs everywhere else for the audience. While Mr. Knightley spoke to Mr. Elton, Emma, without any qualms or hesitations, complimented Mrs. Elton on the excellence of her arrangements.

  “It has been a while since you were here last,” said Mrs. Elton, laughing a little. “We have both become mothers, of course, since then – babies do upset the household.”

  “They do indeed,” Emma agreed. “Where is young Philip?”

  “My nursemaid is taking care of him, as I imagine, your nursemaid is caring for your son.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Emma. She spied an unfamiliar piece of furniture – a tall chest. “Is that what Mr. Elton brought back with him from London?”

  “Yes, it is. Not much to look at, I know, but it belonged to his father. We all must humor our caro sposos, must we not?” and Mrs. Elton laughed affectedly. “Excuse me – sit anywhere you like – more guests are arriving.”

  And, dragging her husband along with her, even though he was in mid-sentence with Mr. Knightley, the Eltons returned to their front door, leaving the two Knightleys standing amidst the many chairs.

  “Where shall we sit?” asked Mr. Knightley, and then, as he was tall and did not want to block the view of others, suggested they take seats a little out of the way, against the wall. It was not a place of honor – and excepting possibly Mrs. Churchill, the Knightleys would be “first” in this gathering – but Mr. Knightley then said, quoting Luke, “Go and sit down in the lowest place.”

  “I suppose we should honor Christian values in the Vicarage,” Emma said, and agreed privately with Mrs. Elton that occasionally wives needed to humor their husbands. They sat beside the chest that Mr. Elton had just brought back from London, which gave Emma plenty of time to examine it.

  “And, what do you think?” Mr. Knightley whispered. “Are the Eltons about to be carted off to the poor house?”

  “It does not look like it,” Emma conceded, observing the little touches of elegance scattered around the room, from the polished silver on the sideboard, evidence of the refreshment that would be served afterwards, to the lace trimming Mrs. Elton’s new gown. “The only odd note is this chest.”

  “That is here for sentimental reasons,” said Mr. Knightley.

  “Even if Mr. Elton is particularly fond of it, why does Mrs. Elton permit it in her parlor? Why is it not in Mr. Elton’s study, where he can enjoy it without its being an eyesore to everyone else?”

  “Perhaps Mr. Elton insisted.”

  “Perhaps,” said Emma dubiously, studying the item of furniture in question and wondering how something so plain could matter so much to Mr. Elton. “Perhaps it is a chest with a secret drawer and a map to treasure,” she whispered.

  Mr. Knightley laughed, and then added, “If so, why would they put it in the parlor?”

  Emma could not understand it, but her speculations were interrupted by the entrance of others. The Westons and the Coles greeted them. Mrs. Weston, who adored music, was especially looking forward to it, her face pink with anticipation.

  “Why are you sitting here, Mrs. Knightley?” asked Mrs. Cole. “Hidden away in a corner?”

  “The fault is mine,”
said Mr. Knightley. “I did not want to block others’ view.”

  “Very thoughtful of you, Knightley,” said Mr. Cole, choosing another out-of-the-way spot. “And very enterprising of Mrs. Elton to organize this.”

  “I understand that there are nearly a dozen performers,” said Mrs. Weston, as she and her husband sat beside the Knightleys.

  Despite herself, Emma was impressed. “How did Mrs. Elton find them all?”

  “She asked Mr. Elton,” said Mrs. Cole. “As the vicar, Mr. Elton travels around the parish and even beyond. She asked him some time ago to listen for budding musicians.”

  Emma was even more impressed. “She has been planning this for a while, then.”

  “She has been hoping to,” said Mrs. Cole. “She discussed it with me a while ago but put it off – the birth of little Philip – but just recently, she decided to move ahead.”

  “We’re looking forward to it,” said Mr. Weston, but yawned – he was not nearly as musical as his wife.

  At that point more of the best of Highbury entered, Mr. and Mrs. Perry, the Coxes and Mrs. Goddard, filling up the room. Soon Emma thought they would have to start; the air was growing stuffy. Then someone opened a window, and she suffered a draught.

  “It is just as well that your father did not come,” said Mr. Knightley, helping her adjust her shawl.

  “Yes,” said Emma, for it was crowded and the noise level was rising. “He would not have done well.”

  “I wonder why we are waiting?” murmured Mr. Knightley.

  “Perhaps some difficulty with a performer,” suggested Mrs. Weston. “So many young people…”

  They were waiting for someone particular; the matter became clear when Miss Bates entered the room. “Mrs. Elton, I am so sorry to be late – not usually tardy – but Jane was not feeling well, and finally I convinced her to lie down.”