“Emma, my dear, I am so glad to see you!” said Mrs. Weston. “We are looking over sketches – better than sketches – made by Mrs. Bates.”
Emma handed her hat and coat to the servant and took a seat. “I did not know that Mrs. Bates drew.”
“I have faint memories of her sketching when I was a child,” said Mrs. Churchill, “but by the time that I left to live with the Campbells her eyesight had deteriorated. And so she stopped sketching.”
Mrs. Weston was studying a sheet of paper. “Jane, some of these drawings are so natural!”
“Drawings of what?” asked Emma.
“Plants – and parts of plants. Emma, take a look at the detail of this leaf,” said Mrs. Weston, passing the piece of paper to Emma.
Emma had to admire the artistic work. As someone with a little talent in drawing, she could appreciate the exactness of each stroke, the proportion, the shading, and the detail. Mrs. Bates’s sketch of an oak leaf made her a little ashamed of her own want of application. “I prefer portraits myself, and can’t imagine framing this for the mantelpiece, but naturalists would appreciate them. They are very precise.”
“That is what I was thinking,” said Jane, a little color in her cheeks, slightly more animated than usual. “She made notes about the plants in her journal – some of the ink is fading and I have been trying to make it out – but perhaps the Royal Society would appreciate these notes and drawings.”
“Your grandmother was another Pliny!” said Mrs. Weston. “Mr. Weston, perhaps you could talk to someone in London about making engraved plates. Doesn’t your brother know someone who works in publishing?”
Mr. Weston frowned. “Would you really want to expose Mrs. Bates in that way? How do you think she would feel about it? She was always a modest woman, the wife of a vicar, who preferred to be anonymous.”
“Nonsense!” said his wife. “First, I can’t believe that Mrs. Bates would mind – women are not as retiring as you believe, Mr. Weston, and second, she is deceased – it cannot possibly bother her. Besides it is not as if these are going to cause a scandal of any sort, or even much notoriety – they are of leaves and flowers, not portraits – and if Jane prefers they can always be submitted anonymously. But they are excellent and should not be hidden from view. Emma, look at this violet. Isn’t it well done?”
Emma praised the sketch of the violet.
“My grandmother was very talented, and if these drawings would help naturalists, then why not?”
“Perhaps it would do no harm,” said Mr. Weston. “At least some of them. Very well, I can take the papers and send them to my brother in London.”
“I must sort through them first,” said Jane. “That is one of the reasons I am staying here now, to explore Surrey and add notes and explanations to her drawings.”
Emma wondered if this were the real reason Jane was remaining in Highbury, for how hard could it be to pack up Mrs. Bates’s papers and take them with her to London? Or at least to Randalls, if it was truly necessary to stay in Surrey?
To keep herself from posing impertinent questions, Emma changed the subject. “Mrs. Bates was so talented, that I almost forgot why I came here today,” she said, opening her reticule and taking out the locket, wrapped in paper, and handing it across to Mrs. Churchill. “I found this by a tree between Donwell Abbey and the Abbey-Mill Farm. Isn’t this your grandmother’s stolen locket?”
“What?” exclaimed Jane.
Emma had expected the recovery of the locket to be greeted with happiness and joy: the return of a treasure gone missing. Yet Jane was pale, her eyes were wide, as if she had received some terrible shock. “I thought you would be glad to recover it,” she said.
Mrs. Weston remonstrated gently: “Emma, you forget the circumstances which led to its disappearance.”
“Of course,” Emma murmured. The locket had disappeared because Miss Bates had been murdered. Still, she could not see how she could be more delicate in returning it.
“Jane, do you have anything stronger than tea here? Brandy or sherry?”
Miss Bates had had no sherry or brandy, but there was a of bottle of cowslip wine, a gift from Mrs. Cole, who had made many bottles during the summer and given them to friends. Mrs. Weston wrinkled her nose a little at this, but sent Mr. Weston to fetch a bottle at Jane’s direction.
Mr. Weston opened the bottle, found several glasses, and poured them each one, handing the first to Jane.
“I am so sorry that the return of the locket has distressed you,” said Emma, lifting the glass to her nose and sniffing tentatively.
“I am not distressed,” Jane denied.
“Where exactly did you find it, Emma?” asked Mr. Weston.
Emma, prompted by Mr. and Mrs. Weston, gave the details of her discovery. Jane, however, did not even seem to listen, but stared at a spot over the piano. Emma noticed that Mrs. Churchill’s color had drained from her face; she was as pale as a wax doll.
“What a stroke of luck, to recover your locket this way,” said Mr. Weston.
“I’m surprised you found it,” said Mrs. Weston. “You’d think that if a thief truly wanted to hide treasure, he would have buried it deeper than you describe.”
Emma explained that she thought that an animal might have dug after the thief.
Mrs. Churchill finally made an effort. She put down her glass of cowslip wine, untouched, and turned to Emma. “Indeed, Mrs. Knightley, I cannot thank you enough for returning this family heirloom to me. Your eyes are very sharp.”
The thanks were given, but in a tone so wooden, that Emma felt as if Jane were telling her she was unhappy that she had found the locket. Offended, she decided that she had had enough. “I was glad to be of assistance,” she said, forcing herself to be polite. “Your grandmother was a talented artist, Mrs. Churchill; I’m glad you have the locket to remember her by. I must return to Hartfield; my father and my son need me at home.”
Emma left as quickly as she could, deciding that there was simply no pleasing Jane Churchill. They might be exactly the same age, both clever and talented, the two most attractive young matrons that Highbury could claim – but intimacy was beyond them. Emma had always felt guilty, responsible for the lack of friendship between them – but perhaps it was not her fault. Perhaps Jane had always disliked her more than she disliked Jane.
That conclusion was not particularly comfortable or reassuring but it did relieve Emma of the responsibility. She stepped over the threshold into Hartfield, happy to be inside as the clouds above were full of rain.
“Ah! Emma, my dear, there you are,” said her father. “I feel much better when you are at home – when I know you are safe.”
With a start she realized that, while reaching the conclusion that she and Jane Churchill would never be friends, she had forgotten about the anxiety which had plagued her on her way into Highbury. She kissed her father, told the servants to bring her a pot of tea and Baby George if he was awake. She was glad to be where she was confident that everyone liked her – even loved her. To make her situation even better, shortly after a few heavy drops splashed against the window panes, Mr. Knightley entered, returning from Donwell Abbey.
21 searching for the light on a dark and stormy night
“You’re home early,” Emma said, glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece.
“No point trying to farm in this weather,” he said. “When I saw what the clouds were doing, I started at once for Hartfield.”
“Are your shoes dry?” inquired Mr. Woodhouse.
“They are now, sir, for I have changed them.”
Their conversation was compelled to halt by a loud crash of thunder. “My, my,” said Mr. Woodhouse, nervously. “A fierce storm, indeed.”
“Usually the stronger the storm, the sooner it is over, Papa,” Emma comforted him.
“I believe it will rain the rest of the day and well into the night,” said Mr. Knightley, “but the lightning and thunder will be over soon.”
They chatte
d for a while about the weather, discussing how long the storm would last. Mr. Knightley was correct in predicting that the thunder would dissipate quickly while the rain remained.
Emma inquired about the status of the harvest at Donwell. Mr. Knightley was satisfied and reported that nearly everything was in. “We have done better this year than most; there is always a struggle against the elements. But the crops that must be harvested are in. The root crops can wait.”
The weather meant that night seemed to fall earlier than usual, and Mr. Woodhouse, rather like a bird whose habits were regulated by the sun, retired early. Even the baby fell asleep on his father’s lap and was handed gently to the nursery maid to be taken to his crib. After that, Mr. and Mrs. Knightley remained in the parlor, enjoying the fire and the opportunity for intelligent conversation with each other.
“Did you go into Highbury? Was Mrs. Churchill glad to receive her grandmother’s locket?” asked Mr. Knightley, who knew his wife would have something to say on these matters.
Emma described Jane Churchill’s reaction to the return of the family heirloom. “She was not pleased, not at all,” said Emma, still annoyed. “She stared at it as if it were a poisonous snake.”
“Interesting,” said Mr. Knightley, pouring himself a glass of port. “She sounds almost afraid.”
Emma nodded slowly. “You are right, Mr. Knightley, she was afraid. But I don’t know why. The return of her grandmother’s locket must mean something to her – something we do not understand.”
“Why don’t you ask her?”
“Mr. Knightley, Jane Churchill is determined not to confide in me. I agree, she knows something – or at least suspects something. But I do not know how to break through her reserve. I have tried for years, and I have always believed the fault was mine. But I now think she does not wish to talk to me. If you have a suggestion on how I can overcome this, let me know.”
He laughed. “Negotiating a peace treaty between two young women is beyond me; I have enough trouble dealing with criminals. You have done your best, Emma. Now, my dear, I am still not convinced we know what happened to Miss Bates, and I want to consult you on the matter. I will be methodical – you will apply your imagination – we will think and talk through what we know and suspect, and see if we make any progress.”
Emma was delighted and intrigued. “How shall we proceed?”
“We will make a list of suspects, and consider the case against each one.” He took out a pencil from his pocket, fetched a sheet of paper from the desk. “There’s Noah Draper, but for various reasons I am not satisfied. Who else would you include?”
“Jane Churchill,” Emma said promptly.
“Jane Churchill! You must be joking,” said Mr. Knightley.
“No, I am not. And what about the Eltons?”
“The Eltons!” Mr. Knightley frowned. “Emma, this is supposed to be a list of possible killers, not people you do not like.”
“I have my reasons, and I will give them to you,” she said archly. “Do you wish to have the benefit of my imagination or not?”
“Very well,” said her husband, and wrote, as she could see, ’The Eltons.’ “I hope the servants are in bed and are not listening to this discussion.”
“Do you have any suspects to add?”
“I do not.”
“Well, if you come up with one – no matter how outrageous – I will listen.”
“I do not see who could be more outrageous than Mrs. Churchill or Highbury’s vicar.”
“My father,” Emma said promptly.
Mr. Knightley laughed again. “Your imagination is powerful, my dear.”
“Only because I practice diligently.”
“I assume we need not include Mr. Woodhouse? But let us be serious, dear Emma, and start by considering Noah Draper.”
Case Against Noah Draper
Mr. Knightley reviewed his case against Noah Draper. The fellow was strong enough to kill Miss Bates, and because of the musical afternoon at the Eltons, they knew he had not been far from the churchyard when the murder took place.
“True,” Emma agreed. “I have never met him, but is he a suspicious type?”
Mr. Knightley scratched his chin. “That is what I am afraid of, Emma. He accused me of being prejudiced, and perhaps I am. Perhaps I want him to be the guilty party because it is easiest and most comfortable.”
“I admire your honesty with yourself,” said Emma. “But he has disappeared, has he not?”
“Yes, and that seemed to speak to his guilt – or perhaps his lack of faith in my ability to perceive his innocence. Until you found the locket.”
“Ah,” said Emma, comprehending. “If he ran away, why not take the locket with him?”
“Just so, my dear. I could understand his burying the locket at the beech tree while staying with the Gilberts; there was always the chance that Mr. or Mrs. Gilbert would discover it, or one of his sharp-eyed daughters. But if he ran away, why not take it with him? It was not far from the Gilberts; he could have recovered it before departing, and it would have brought him a pretty penny.”
“Those are very good questions, Mr. Knightley,” Emma conceded. “But if he is not guilty, then why has he run away?”
“All I can conclude is that he, unfortunately, has no confidence in my impartiality. Can you think of another reason?”
“No. Everyone who knows you, Mr. Knightley, has faith in you, but this Draper does not know you.”
Mr. Knightley explained that the other thing that always disturbed him about suspecting Draper was he did not see how Draper could know that Miss Bates was wearing a precious locket in the first place. To this objection, however, Emma had an argument.
“If he is a practiced thief, then he must have ways of determining who in the area had valuables worth stealing,” she said. “There is enough gossip in Highbury – we all know each other’s concerns – that he could have learned about Miss Bates and her mother’s locket.”
“Yes, but then why did he not take it with him when he left Gilbert’s farm?” Mr. Knightley asked again.
“For that I have no answer,” Emma replied. “And this makes me think that Jane Churchill agrees with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think she was afraid when I returned the locket. She preferred, like we all did, to believe that Draper had killed her aunt. But now that the locket has been returned – and that the motive of robbery makes less sense – now she is afraid, because she has reason to suspect someone else.”
Mr. Knightley conceded that his wife’s arguments were sound. “Very well, let us consider your case against Jane Churchill.”
Case Against Jane Churchill
Emma presented her arguments. Jane Churchill had not been at the musical afternoon at the Eltons, true, but that did not mean that she had stayed that afternoon in her apartment in Highbury. She would have known, too, that Miss Bates was planning to visit her parents’ grave and could have waited for her in the churchyard.
Mr. Knightley said, “But Jane Churchill loved her aunt. Why would she want to kill her?”
Emma shared her ideas. They had always assumed that Jane Churchill had loved Miss Bates, but what if she had not? What if she had found Miss Bates as tiresome as Emma had found her? And what if Miss Bates had been pressuring her to let her come live with her and Frank in London?
“It may have been more than Jane could bear, and she could have decided that it would be easier to rid herself of her aunt.”
“Hmm. And she stole the locket herself to make it look like robbery?” asked Mr. Knightley.
“Yes. Everyone knows about the theft of silver from your estate; it could have seemed opportune.”
“But when could she have hidden it at the beech tree?”
“Anytime since the death of Miss Bates. Jane Churchill once told me she was not afraid to walk back alone from Donwell Abbey, so she could have just as easily walked there during the last few days. And if she knew she was the killer,
she would not be afraid.”
“It looks very black against Jane Churchill. Do you have anything to say in her defense?”
“I don’t know how heavy the rock was that was used to kill Miss Bates. I don’t know if she was strong enough to lift it. You picked it up, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did. A strong woman might have been able to lift it, but to wield it as a weapon? Dubious.”
“Especially as Jane Churchill has never been known to be robust.” Emma had a few more suspicions regarding Jane Churchill’s health but out of female solidarity would not express them, not even to Mr. Knightley.
“So, it looks bleak for Jane Churchill, but you can find one ray of hope for her. What about her husband, Frank Churchill? He would be strong enough to lift that rock.”
“True, but he was not in Highbury,” Emma said.
“We only think he was not in Highbury.”
“I had James check with the grooms at the Crown Inn – Mr. Frank Churchill arrived in his carriage only the day after Miss Bates was killed – and that was confirmed by Mr. Churchill’s coachman.”
“You have been thorough in your investigation, Emma,” said Mr. Knightley. “Very well, what about your favorite enemies, the Eltons?”
Case Against the Eltons
Emma admitted that she had devised a case against the Eltons because she disliked them. Still, there were several points against them. Miss Bates had been in their house shortly before she was killed, and had been killed in the graveyard just beside the church. What if she had not left alone, as they had claimed, but if Mr. Elton had volunteered to escort her home? That would have been most gentlemanly on his part – perfectly natural. Then he could have killed her beside her parents’ grave. “And Mr. Elton is strong enough to lift that rock.”
“I agree that Mr. Elton could have killed Miss Bates, probably more easily than anyone else,” said Mr. Knightley, sipping from his glass. “But what I can’t understand is why he would do it.”
The Highbury Murders Page 15