The Highbury Murders

by Victoria Grossack

  “So that is something,” said Emma. “If the murderer used what was at hand, perhaps he did not come there planning to kill Miss Bates. Perhaps it was something that occurred to him at the moment.”

  “You may be right,” said Mr. Knightley. “After all, who knew she would be there?”

  “And who would want to kill Miss Bates? She was universally liked,” said Emma.

  “Not quite universally,” Mr. Knightley corrected her.

  “True, I found her tiresome, but I seem to be in a minority, and it is not as if I had to deal with her constantly. My motive is insufficient. Furthermore, when could I have killed her? You and I left the Vicarage together, before Miss Bates departed – and after that I did not stir from Hartfield, which you and my father and the servants all know.”

  “Do not fear; I do not suspect you.”

  “In fact I have not left Hartfield since the musical afternoon at the Eltons – which was only yesterday, but seems so long ago!” Emma remarked.

  “Yes, it does,” Mr. Knightley agreed, drinking some spruce beer. “Then tomorrow we will interview more people to see if anyone saw anything. Cole and Elton will talk to those near here – the servants hired from the Crown and the students from the school – while Weston and I will interview the shepherd boy who works for Robert Martin and the Draper girls at Gilbert’s farm.”

  “And do you have any suspicions?” asked Emma.

  “The gold locket that she was wearing is still missing. That was the real reason that Elton and Weston went to the cemetery: to see if they could find it. I thought there was always the possibility that it fell off of her last night. But they did not.”

  “So you think that she was murdered for the gold locket? Robbery, and then murder to cover it? Was it so valuable?”

  “You mean, worth a woman’s life? I don’t think so, of course, but a thief might think differently.”

  “So in that case the murder of Miss Bates would have been the spur of the moment, instead of – what is the word? – premeditated.”

  “Yes, it seems that way. After all, the killer’s weapon was already in the graveyard. But unless we find a witness – or find the locket on someone, we will not know who did it.”

  “Murder for the sake of robbery,” said Emma, “how dreadful.”

  “It is. But it is better than Miss Bates’s being killed by someone she knew.”

  “By someone she knew, which would mean someone we all know,” said Emma. “Yes, that is even more horrible. Still, murder for robbery seems rather unlikely. How could a thief know she was wearing the locket? She had a coat, did she not? Her locket would not be visible if she was wearing a coat.”

  “You see why I am not entirely satisfied.”

  “Perhaps she lost it elsewhere,” said Emma. “Perhaps she dropped it somewhere between the Vicarage and the churchyard.”

  “Perhaps,” said Mr. Knightley. “But I asked Elton to keep his eyes open between his house and the churchyard; he said he found nothing.”

  Emma rubbed her nose, wondering. “Someone else may have found it,” she said. “Perhaps someone – a child or a servant – found it early this morning and has decided to keep it.”

  “You see how many possibilities there are. You are right in that the murder because of robbery is not a completely satisfactory solution, which is why I want you to call on Mrs. Churchill.”

  “Why?”

  “I want you to ask her if she knows of anyone who might have wanted to kill her aunt.”

  “Me! Mrs. Churchill might confide in another – perhaps in Mrs. Weston – but she will never choose to confide in me.”

  “Perhaps not. But last night she came here, Emma – she came to Hartfield instead of continuing to Randalls.”

  Emma had wondered about the same thing, but she said: “Highbury is closer to Hartfield than is Randalls.”

  “And that could be the only reason she came here. Still, if you talk to her, you might learn something,” said Mr. Knightley, yawning. “After all, you have a vivid imagination.”

  Emma still thought that it was a futile exercise, but she was not interested in having an argument. “Very well,” she said.

  The hour was late and of course Mr. Knightley’s sleep had been disturbed the night before. So only a few minutes after they climbed into their bed, slumber claimed him. Emma, however, remained awake, thinking about Mrs. Churchill.

  Mr. Knightley had reminded Emma how little she had cared to spend time with Miss Bates, an attitude which seemed to be shared by few others. But what if Emma’s opinion of Miss Bates was shared by others, but the others simply hid it better? Jane Fairfax Churchill, even if she and Emma had never been intimate friends, had always struck Emma as extremely rational – more rational even than Emma. What if the prospect of having Miss Bates living with her for the next twenty years was more than Mrs. Churchill could bear? What if Mr. Frank Churchill had objected? He could have felt extremely oppressed – having survived one aunt who had made his life miserable for more than twenty years, only to now be facing the prospect of his wife’s aunt, just as tiresome, moving in with them.

  Indeed, Emma was wondering, if Mrs. Churchill could be the murderer. She could have arranged to meet her aunt in the churchyard – or perhaps she had not told her aunt this, as Miss Bates could certainly not have been trusted to hold her tongue – but had hidden herself in the churchyard, waiting for her aunt to appear after the concert. It could explain why Mrs. Churchill had decided not to go to Mrs. Elton’s musical afternoon.

  It was difficult, though, to imagine Mrs. Churchill lifting a heavy stone and hitting her aunt’s head with it. True, Mrs. Churchill was taller and stronger than her middle-aged aunt, yet nevertheless the idea was challenging even for Emma’s practiced imagination. It was easier to imagine Jane’s husband as performing the deed – much as Emma liked Mr. Frank Churchill, finding him far more amusing than Jane – liking someone should not result in acquittal if that person were guilty of something so heinous. Of course, Mr. Frank Churchill, according to all accounts, had not even been in Highbury. But what if that was a lie? What if there was another reason that Mrs. Churchill had stayed away from Mrs. Elton’s musical afternoon? Perhaps she had expected her husband to join her, and they were planning to kill Miss Bates?

  Emma’s theories explained some of the facts – but not all. If Jane Churchill truly disliked living with her aunt, then why had she chosen to stay with her these past few weeks? She could have easily said her visit was complete and returned to her husband. Nor did she have evidence that Miss Bates had been planning to leave Highbury and move in with the Churchills. If that had been contemplated, Miss Bates, the soul of indiscretion, would surely have mentioned it. Emma had to admit to herself that Mr. and Mrs. Churchill’s motives were not very strong.

  Mr. Knightley snored, turned over, and Emma yawned. The murder of Miss Bates, though horrible, was the most interesting thing ever to happen in Highbury – not that she would admit that inappropriate attitude to anyone – but she needed sleep before she continued puzzling through it.

  17 condolence calls on the churchills

  The next day Emma went to Highbury to call on Mrs. Churchill. As she had told her husband, she doubted very much that Jane Churchill would tell her any secrets, but she was curious. Mr. Woodhouse approved, too, as long as James the coachman escorted her to Highbury.

  “You will tell her how very distressed we are at what happened to her aunt,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “Shocked and distressed. Never has such a thing happened in Highbury! Never, indeed!”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “She should not be alone,” Mr. Woodhouse continued. “She should go to Randalls, or even come here to stay. She is a quiet young lady, and would be no trouble at Hartfield.”

  “I expect she is not alone, Papa,” Emma said. “I expect that her husband has come down from London to be with her.”

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Weston’s son. Well, if Mr. Frank Churchill is with her, I am su
re she will be safe. Still, she will like to see you, Emma. Your visit will comfort her.”

  “Yes, Papa,” she said, wondering why everyone was so convinced that Mrs. Churchill would be happy to see her when there was so little evidence to support that supposition. Nevertheless she went, accompanied by James the coachman, to Highbury. They did not take out the carriage and horses as the distance was so short and because leaving the Woodhouse carriage before the building with the Bates apartment was inconvenient to passers-by. The building’s ground floor was a bakery and hence people were always going in and out.

  Emma and her coachman walked mostly in silence, but when they passed the Crown Inn, James, peering into the courtyard, commented on Mr. Churchill’s carriage within. “That Mr. Churchill’s got a nice pair of bays,” he said, looking about, “I expect they’re being rubbed down by one of the stable boys.”

  So, Mr. Frank Churchill was here, thought Emma. She wondered if she could get confirmation regarding when he had arrived. “If you like, you can take a look at them,” she said to James. “I can find my way to the Bates apartment from here.”

  “No, Mrs. Knightley, I’ll do my job and take you to the door,” said James. “But while you’re inside I will come back and take a look at the bays. They’re handsome horses, they are.”

  Emma was loath to inquire more directly. James escorted her to the building in which the Bateses had lived and she went up the stairs, where she knocked and was admitted by Patty, the woman who had served Mrs. Bates and her daughter for decades.

  Mr. and Mrs. Frank Churchill were at home, but not alone; Mrs. Perry and Mrs. Weston were visiting.

  “Mrs. Knightley – how good of you to call,” Mrs. Churchill said.

  “All of us at Hartfield – my father, my husband and myself – have been concerned about you,” Emma said.

  “I am as well as I can be.”

  The conversation continued. Emma greeted Mr. Frank Churchill, whose natural cheerfulness was subdued – not surprising, given the seriousness of the events.

  “I came down at once,” he said, and explained that he had departed from London as soon as he received the news. “My uncle is not well, but I left immediately and arrived late yesterday.”

  “My coachman and I saw your carriage at the Crown,” Emma said.

  “Yes, I brought the carriage because I hope to persuade Jane to come back with me. After the funeral, of course.”

  “I need to remain in Highbury a little longer,” said Jane, shaking her head. “There are matters to settle.”

  “Then why not come and stay with us at Randalls?” suggested Mrs. Weston.

  “Please, I wish to stay here, in the apartment that was home to my aunt and to my grandmother. To me it is important.”

  “Are you not frightened?” asked Mrs. Perry.

  Jane smiled – a strange smile, thought Emma. “What reason have I to fear? My aunt was killed – it is such a horrible thing – during a robbery near the church. Do you really think anyone will break into this building – so humble in its appearance – to attack me?”

  Emma sensed that Mrs. Churchill would not be moved, and so offered her support. “I cannot imagine criminals coming up those stairs,” she said. “If you need anything while you are here, let us know at Hartfield.”

  Jane thanked her, and asked Emma to convey her gratitude to Mr. Knightley as well, for their assistance the other night.

  “We are at your disposal whenever you need us.”

  Just then Mrs. Elton, puffing, knocked on the door. Emma decided to keep her visit brief; besides, Jane had already voiced her theory about her aunt’s murder, and Emma did not think she would learn anything more. So she departed, leaving the Churchills to be condoled by Mrs. Elton, whose specialty this was, and went back down the dark, narrow staircase. Just outside she found James waiting for her, and the two of them walked back to Hartfield. A few discreet inquiries on her part, and she determined that Mr. Churchill had arrived yesterday evening in his carriage, as he had said. James had even spoken with Mr. Frank Churchill’s coachman, so there seemed to be no question.

  That evening, Emma and Mr. Knightley shared what they had learned. She was the first to report. “Mrs. Churchill believes her aunt was murdered for the locket. If she has any other thoughts on the matter, she would not share them with me – or at least not in front of so many other people.”

  Mr. Knightley grunted. “And? What else is bothering you?”

  “Mrs. Churchill wants to remain in the Bates apartment.” She explained how Frank wanted her to return with him to London; how Mrs. Weston had pressed her to come to Randalls; how Mrs. Perry had wondered how Jane could bear to remain by herself. “She repulsed every invitation and denied every objection. She cannot want to stay in Highbury to keep her aunt company – Miss Bates is dead – but she is determined to remain where she is.”

  “What reason did she give?”

  Emma repeated what Mrs. Churchill had said: how she wished to remain in Highbury to go through the things of her grandmother and her aunt, and how staying in the apartment allowed her to feel close to them.

  “Mrs. Churchill is a woman of deep feeling,” Mr. Knightley remarked.

  “Perhaps,” Emma said. “Did you interview the Drapers? And Martin’s shepherd?”

  Mr. Knightley, as promised, related what he observed when he went to see the Gilberts. Mr. Weston had gone with him, which worked well, as Mr. Weston as a young man had served in the army – he had been Captain Weston then – and Noah Draper, they had learned, had briefly been in the infantry. “A little extra authority always helps with these fellows,” opined Weston. He could not wear his saber – that would look silly; and his red coat was now too small and anyway out of style – but he carried his old pistol in his belt.

  They went on horseback to the Gilbert estate, speaking first to Mr. Gilbert, who assured Mr. Knightley that the families working for him on the harvest had worked for him for several years now – and that he had never had trouble with them before. He grew rather defensive.

  “We are not accusing Draper,” Mr. Knightley told Gilbert, “but they were in the area at about the right time. He or one of his daughters might have seen something. All we want to do is to question them.”

  Gilbert could not find a reason to deny Knightley’s request, so he arranged for Noah Draper, and his daughters, Florica and Kizzy, to come to the kitchen to be interviewed.

  “You did not go into their quarters?” asked Emma.

  “No, Gilbert said they had been angry ever since my last intrusion. They value their privacy, He values them – even the girls work hard – and he was not going to risk offending them again.”

  “But they could be hiding evidence! Miss Bates’s locket and even your silver!”

  “That’s what Weston said.”

  “And if you postpone looking for evidence, they could get rid of it!” Emma continued.

  “Again, Weston agreed with you. Still, I thought it better to go along with Gilbert’s wishes. He’s a good man, Gilbert is, and as a fellow farmer I understand how dependent he is on good help during the harvest season.”

  More important than finding a murderer? Emma wondered, but held her tongue. She appreciated her husband’s passion for farming, for in truth it was both noble and necessary, as without farmers they would all starve – yet sometimes he seemed to elevate farming beyond its just desserts. Still, she would not have that discussion now. “So the man and his two daughters came to you in the kitchen,” she prompted.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Knightley, and related the conversation.

  “ ‘I know why yer here,’ said Mr. Draper. ‘You think I had something to do wi’ the woman who got herself killed in the church graveyard.’

  “I explained that we had only come to see if he knew anything, if he had seen anything.

  “ ‘Nay, you want to make me out to be the guilty party. Can’t stand to think that one of yer rich friends in one of yer great houses might be guilty
. Well, I ain’ havin’ none of it!’

  “ ‘Dad, please,’ said the elder Miss Draper. ‘He hasn’t accused you of anythin’ yet.’

  “Draper then vented his irritation on his daughters. ‘If you an’ Kizzy hadn’t taken it upon yerselves to go singin’ our songs in the house of that minister-man and his nose-in-the-air wife, we wouldn’t be in this spot. She was too miserly to give you a few coins or even a ride home in her carriage, even though yer young and shouldna’ have to walk that far – only a few stale tarts, an’ only those because they had too many of them.’ ”

  Emma could not help laughing at this portrayal. “Perhaps it is just as well that Mr. Weston, and not Mr. Elton, was with you.”

  “I only repeat Draper’s words to demonstrate that you, Mrs. Knightley, may have more in common with Noah Draper than you realize. At least you share a similar opinion of Mrs. Elton.”

  “Indeed,” Emma said archly, not liking to be compared with a poor, uneducated itinerant farm worker, but not wanting to interrupt her husband’s description of what happened. “Pray continue.”

  “ ‘Mr. Draper,’ Weston insisted, ‘if you don’t answer Mr. Knightley’s questions, we will have to assume you were up to no good.’

  “ ‘Like I said, these folk have already assumed I’m guilty!’

  “ ‘Please, calm yourself,’ said Mr. Gilbert.

  “ ‘But he jest said…’

  “ ‘All I want to know is where you were and what you saw. You and your daughters would have walked past the church graveyard. Did you see or hear anything?’

  “Draper glared sullenly at me and then peered intently at Mr. Weston. ‘Nothing,’ he said at last.

  “ ‘But, Dad—‘ started Kizzy, the younger Miss Draper.

  “ ‘You shut yer mouth, girl!’ barked her father. ‘We saw nothin’,’ he announced blandly.”

  Mr. Knightley then explained that he thought that the girls might tell him more if he could question them alone, but not too surprisingly, Gilbert was against that. So was Mr. Weston, and another look at the girls’ frightened faces made him decide against pressing for it.