The Highbury Murders

by Victoria Grossack

  “You mean to say that Jane – I mean, Mrs. Churchill – is not coming?” Mrs. Elton’s voice rose with anger and disappointment, so much so that everyone else halted their conversations in order to look at Miss Bates and Mrs. Elton.

  Emma repressed a smile.

  Mr. Elton covered for his wife. “I’m sorry your niece is not well, Miss Bates. I hope it is nothing serious.”

  “I hope not, too. I offered to stay with her, but Jane insisted that I come. She said if she could only lie down a little while and sleep she would do better. I did not like how she looked. But she tells me she is well, only exhausted.”

  “What on earth has she to exhaust her?” asked Mrs. Elton, who was clearly put out by not being able to impress her great friend, the wealthy Mrs. Churchill.

  Emma wondered too. Was Mrs. Churchill truly unwell; was she unwilling to spend time with Mrs. Elton; or was there some other reason she wished to be alone in her aunt’s apartment?

  “Augusta, others are waiting to hear the performers,” said Mr. Elton, who was more concerned with keeping his parishioners happy than currying the favor of one rich lady who usually lived far away.

  Miss Bates, fingering the gold locket at her neck, apologized again for the absence of her niece. “Mrs. Elton, Jane is so disappointed – wishes she could come – she wishes you a great success today – I can’t wait to get home to describe it to her.”

  Mrs. Elton frowned until another prompting from her husband forced her to resume her role as hostess. Miss Bates was assisted by Mr. Elton – still apologizing for her niece’s absence, Mr. Elton found her a seat – and Mrs. Elton went to the front of the room and called everyone to order. “Good afternoon,” she said and then began a speech that she had obviously rehearsed a few times beforehand, welcoming them to the Vicarage and hoping that they would enjoy listening to some of Highbury’s native talent.

  Mrs. Elton finished her introductory remarks and then the first song, sung by a student from Mrs. Goddard’s school, accompanied by another on Mrs. Elton’s piano – just tuned for the occasion – was pleasant enough. Everyone applauded, and the young singer, red-faced and breathless, sat down on a bench in the back of the room. The pianist then played another piece. Several more young musicians performed: a flute-player, a few more singers and a fellow on a violin, and finally the gypsy pair – Miss Florica and Miss Kizzy Draper – from the Gilbert farm. They were slender, small, and rather dark complexioned, but their black eyes gleamed with intelligence. Curious, Emma leaned forward.

  The two Draper girls sang very well, so well, in fact, that Mrs. Elton’s audience was loath for their performance to end. Someone asked for an encore; others took up the call, and Mrs. Elton told them to sing another song.

  The girls consulted with each other and then began again, a lively piece about selling fish. They sang it well, but Mrs. Weston raised her eyebrows and Mr. Weston and Mr. Knightley looked as if they were about to burst out laughing. Emma wanted to ask what the matter was, but did not want to speak while the girls were singing – and then she heard the ribald nature of the lyrics. Mrs. Elton flushed and then Mr. Elton jumped up.

  “That will be enough – thank you, that will be enough,” said the vicar.

  The girls stopped; Mr. Elton called for applause while Mrs. Elton ushered the Draper girls away. Mr. Elton then invited everyone to stay for tea and cakes. Chairs were moved by a couple of servants; the young performers and Mrs. Elton were congratulated, and the vicar’s wife recovered a little from the momentary embarrassment.

  “Yes, well, I have long meant to arrange a musical afternoon here in Highbury. I am the patroness of the musicians, you see, although on a very small scale, but I hope the scale is at least in tune!” laughing affectedly.

  Her listeners assured her that all was in order, in fact that all was excellent, and Mrs. Elton was evidently so pleased with her phrasing that she used it in many conversations. Emma complimented Mrs. Elton for all her arrangements, from the food, tea and wine, and for introducing a novelty into Highbury. Then she moved to Miss Bates and inquired after Mrs. Churchill’s health.

  “You are so very kind,” said Miss Bates. “She is just tired, inexplicably tired. I can’t understand it. In every other respect she is well, but she wishes to retire early and yet she sleeps so long!”

  Mr. Knightley asked if Mr. Perry had been consulted.

  “No, Jane refuses to see him; she says it is nothing and that she will be well soon. She even forbade me to mention her fatigue to him, which is unfortunate, because I can’t seem to help talking about it, and Mr. Perry will hear me, and he will be so concerned. Of course, expense is not an issue, but she still insists. Mr. and Mrs. Knightley, if you do not help me control my tongue, I will certainly let it drop, and then Jane will be so angry! But I cannot help myself, it seems – oh, this cheese is excellent.”

  “If you like, we can offer you a ride back to Highbury in the carriage,” said Emma, thinking that the best way to keep Miss Bates from revealing Jane’s fatigue to anyone else would be simply to remove her altogether.

  “Ah! You are so kind! But it is a pleasant day, my shoes are comfortable, and as long as I am here I wish to visit my mother’s grave, as it is on the way.”

  “Of course,” said Emma, feeling that she had done her duty to guard Jane’s privacy – she was no magician; she could not prevent Miss Bates’s gush of words – and then Miss Bates’s attention was captured by Mr. Weston.

  “Miss Bates, how is Jane?” asked Mr. Weston, naturally concerned about the health of his daughter-in-law.

  As Miss Bates began repeating again what she had told her niece she would not repeat, Emma moved aside so that she was standing next to Mrs. Weston. Emma spoke with self-command about the excellence of Mrs. Elton’s afternoon.

  “The music was lovely,” said Mrs. Weston. “Especially that young shepherd and those last two girls – although they obviously need some more advice on which songs they should sing. Perhaps we should have more afternoons like this. Of course it is not like a concert in London or even in Kingston, but it is very pleasant.”

  “Yes,” Emma said. “We should not be too nice. And Mrs. Elton has put an effort into making this an agreeable afternoon. Perhaps we should do these entertainments more frequently, but I am afraid that Mrs. Elton has already located all the talent in the parish.” She then saw something which puzzled her.

  “What is it, Emma?” asked Mrs. Weston, who as she had raised Emma since she was a little girl, knew every expression of her former charge’s countenance.

  Emma immediately smoothed the confusion from her face. “Nothing, my dear friend. Nothing – I was mistaken. But I am a little concerned about the time. My father will start to worry, and I have been away from the baby too long. Please excuse me.” As they had been gone rather long, she pushed through the crowd to her husband; he agreed they should leave and sent a servant to alert their coachman James. Once more they offered a ride home to Miss Bates; once more the middle-aged spinster refused with thanks and many more thanks. Then they made their farewells to the Eltons, explaining that they had to get home to the baby.

  “Of course, your Georgie is younger than my Philip,” said Mrs. Elton. Mrs. Knightley might be richer and claim a better ancestry than Mrs. Elton and thus have a higher rank in Highbury, but Mrs. Elton’s child was a few months older than Emma’s, and she used those months as a reason to dispense advice whenever they met. “Can your boy sit up yet?”

  “I will go home and see,” Emma said.

  The Knightleys learned that their carriage was ready. A servant helped them with their coats, and they went outside. Mr. Knightley assisted Emma into the carriage, then stepped in after her. Mr. Knightley tapped the ceiling of the carriage, and the staid horses from the Woodhouse stable started their usual walk under James’ careful direction.

  After the carriage had turned into the road, Mr. Knightley teased his wife: “What did you think?”

  “It was both pleasant
and original,” said Emma.

  “And do you still think the Eltons are suffering financial distress?”

  “I saw no sign of it,” Emma admitted, as they rolled past the church and the cemetery beside it. “But that chest was very odd, don’t you think?”

  “What more do you have to say about Mr. Elton’s chest?”

  “Did you not see that Mr. Elton placed his glass on it? It could make a ring.”

  “And?”

  “If he is so attached to a piece of furniture that he traveled to London to bring it back – if he values it so much – then why would he risk damaging it?”

  “My dear, I cannot explain it, but I confess I have little curiosity as well. I try to be interested in your concerns, but the vicar’s treatment of an old piece of furniture is just not worth pursuing.”

  Emma fell silent. Mr. Knightley, she knew, was a little cross. He had work to do at Donwell Abbey but he had sacrificed his afternoon for this event.

  “Perhaps we should not worry so much about our neighbors,” said Mr. Knightley, “and let them place their chests and their crockery where they wish. It is, after all, their house; not really your concern and not an issue worthy of your fertile imagination.”

  “You are right, it is trivial,” Emma conceded.

  “I am sure that something more interesting will occur to divert you,” Mr. Knightley said, as if he was a little ashamed of his brief display of bad temper. “What about Jane Churchill’s not coming to Mrs. Elton’s? Is she just tired, or is there another reason that she chooses to slight Mrs. Elton? Mrs. Elton was not pleased.”

  “No, but with respect to Jane Churchill I refuse to speculate,” Emma said, although she had suspicions. “I speculated too much the last time she stayed in Highbury.”

  “I appreciate your desire for discretion,” said Mr. Knightley, with approval, as the carriage turned into the Hartfield drive. He opened the door and helped her out.

  “As you say, something more interesting will occur to occupy me.”

  13 mrs. churchill comes to hartfield

  The Knightleys were right in believing that something would happen, although they would never have predicted the event that would provide a topic of horrified conversation for all of the inhabitants of Highbury for the next days and weeks. The Knightleys were the first to learn that something was wrong. After dinner on the day of the musical afternoon, when they were sitting in the parlor before the fire and Mr. Woodhouse was yawning and talking about a basin of gruel before going to bed, there was a knock at the door. They all looked at each other with surprise. “Who could it be?” Emma asked blankly.

  “William Larkins?” Mr. Knightley wondered aloud, bouncing his son on his knee.

  Mr. Woodhouse said nothing but blinked with alarm.

  The suspense regarding the identity of the nighttime caller did not last long; the butler ushered in Jane Churchill. Her face was pale, as if she was ill.

  “Mrs. Churchill?” they all asked in surprise.

  “My dear young lady, whatever are you doing here?” queried Mr. Woodhouse, concerned astonishment causing him to speak with unusual bluntness.

  “Please, come in,” said Emma, rising and guiding Jane to a comfortable chair near the fireplace, and helping her to sit down.

  “My apologies for disturbing you at such an hour, Mr. Woodhouse, Mrs. Knightley – but I need assistance – Mr. Knightley’s assistance,” said Jane Churchill.

  “Yes, of course, what can I do for you?” asked Mr. Knightley.

  “My aunt has not returned from the musical afternoon at the Eltons.”

  “What?” asked Emma, glancing at the clock. “But that ended hours ago.”

  “Could she have stayed for supper?” inquired Mr. Knightley. “Have you checked with the Eltons?”

  “Not yet,” said Mrs. Churchill.

  “No? It seems like the first thing to do,” said Mr. Knightley.

  Emma and her husband exchanged a look, and Emma wondered if Jane really did have a problem with the Eltons. “The Eltons live further away from Mrs. Churchill,” Emma offered. “As do the Westons. If she is fatigued, then it is natural for her to come first to Hartfield.”

  Mr. Knightley said nothing, but his look indicated to Emma that he did not believe her excuse for Jane, but that he would not dispute it or discuss it – at least not now, not until they had a chance to speak in private.

  “I know the Eltons must be consulted, but it seems unlikely that my aunt is with them. My aunt knew I was fatigued, and she would never have stayed longer than she promised. I am sorry for disturbing you, Mr. Knightley, but I feel that you are the person I can most rely on in this matter.”

  “Of course, I am happy to be of assistance. Do you have any objection to my consulting the Eltons? Or the Westons?”

  Mrs. Churchill bit her lip. “I suppose not, Mr. Knightley. They will have to know anyway.”

  Mr. Knightley spoke briefly with Emma, handing her the baby and telling her to take care of Jane, and explaining that he would first head to the Eltons to learn anything if he could. He put on his coat and hat, wrapped a scarf around his neck, and departed into the chilly night.

  “Mrs. Churchill, are you hungry? Can we get you some tea? Or anything more?”

  “I am a little hungry,” Jane admitted.

  “Would you like a basin of gruel?” asked Mr. Woodhouse. “Or we can arrange to have an egg boiled, if it would please you – our dear Serle knows how to boil an egg.”

  “Some bread and butter, if you have it, and tea,” answered Jane.

  Emma rang the bell, ordered refreshment for her guest and gruel for her father, and asked the nursery-maid to take the baby and to put him to bed, while wondering what they should talk about. Jane’s health seemed out of the question, and it seemed just as indiscreet to inquire about her reluctance to be with the Eltons – and the Westons? Of course, Hartfield was closest, and if Jane was fatigued, why not come here? Mr. Knightley was the most capable man she knew. She thought that, and Harriet Martin thought that – why would not Jane Churchill think that?

  “I do hope my old friend Miss Bates is all right,” Mr. Woodhouse said anxiously. “Neither of you should be wandering around after dark. Not after what happened at Donwell Abbey.”

  “Papa, there is no need to alarm Mrs. Churchill,” said Emma.

  “I am trying not to be alarmed,” confessed Jane. “Trying, but not succeeding.”

  “But what could happen to her?” asked Emma. “Unless she twisted her ankle walking in the dark? Yet tonight the moon is nearly full; Miss Bates should have no problem seeing where she is going.”

  “Perhaps my aunt did twist an ankle,” said Jane, and this idea seemed to offer her so much relief that Emma’s stomach lurched. What was Mrs. Churchill imagining?

  Fortunately the food arrived, sparing Emma the need to find a subject. She busied herself with pouring tea and making a plate for Jane, and Mr. Woodhouse again pressed their visitor to consider a small basin of gruel. Jane pleased the gentle old man by accepting his offer, and soon they were discussing the merits of gruel and how few seemed to understand the importance of a smooth consistency, not too thin, not too thick. Once Emma caught Jane’s eye, and read alarm there, but Mrs. Churchill, biting her lip, quickly looked away.

  Whatever the matter was, they would find out soon, thought Emma. The clock struck nine, and Mr. Knightley had not yet returned. Mr. Woodhouse yawned.

  “Mrs. Churchill, if you will excuse me, I will retire.”

  “Of course,” said Jane.

  “I am an old man, regular in my habits. Besides, my daughter Emma will be happy to keep you company. I cannot wish you a better companion than Emma.”

  “Do not remain up on my account, Mr. Woodhouse. Mrs. Knightley and I will do very well together.”

  Assisted by a servant, Mr. Woodhouse made his slow way out of the room, leaving Emma alone with Jane.

  “I am all too aware of how much trouble I am causing you, Mrs. K
nightley,” Jane apologized. “If you wish to retire as well, I am sure I will be all right.”

  “I am not tired,” Emma said, “but I suspect that you are. Would you like to sleep yourself? We can have a bedroom made ready in a few minutes.”

  Jane shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  “I sense something serious is bothering you,” said Emma after a while. “If you would care to talk about it, I am ready to listen. You can rely on my discretion. If you prefer to remain silent, I will respect that too.”

  Jane answered slowly. “I thank you, Mrs. Knightley, and I know that my reserve in the past has been unattractive to many – I expect including you.”

  “I never had the right—”

  “Ah, but you did, did you not? The way Frank flirted with you was difficult for me, of course, but what if you had fallen in love with him? Then you would have suffered, and have suffered innocently, whereas I at least knew what was going on. And although I was angry with him, I was also angry with you, which was wrong of me.”

  “Mrs. Churchill, there is no need,” said Emma. Although Mr. Knightley wanted her to find a friend in Jane Churchill – and what a surprise that it should be happening this way – she did not really want to revisit the mistakes and misunderstandings of several years ago. “My own behavior was inexcusable. I was not attached to Mr. Churchill, so why was I flirting with him? Let us not worry about the past.”

  “It is easier to talk about the past than it is for me to discuss the present,” said Jane, with half a smile. “I know you must be wondering why, after apologizing for being reserved more than a year ago, I continue to maintain my reserve now. But, Mrs. Knightley, my fears – my hopes – are not mine to reveal; what I suspect would do harm if repeated.”

  “I will not press you,” Emma said, and they both fell silent. Jane closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the chair, but although Emma was silent, her mind worked busily. What on earth did Jane suspect? She felt as if she had been given a set of scrambled letters and was trying to form them into words, into a complete phrase, but her combinations, her rearrangements, made no sense. Was Jane in Highbury just to comfort her aunt or was there some other reason for her being here? Why did Jane not go to either the Westons or the Eltons? And that chest of Mr. Elton’s – was he really so fond of it?