CHAPTER 16
“Emma,” her father said, catching her in the entrance hall as she donned her bonnet. “Why don’t you invite Miss Bates and her mother to come for dinner and spend the evening here? Hartfield is a healthier environment for them than their drafty apartment. I must speak to Perry about such unhealthful conditions when next I see him.”
She mentally sighed. At this rate, she might was well move the Bates ladies into Hartfield and be done with it.
“Shall I also ask Mrs. Goddard to come by to make up a card table?”
“No, I think it best if we have a quiet evening. Perhaps you could play the pianoforte. Miss Bates would enjoy that. She misses Jane’s playing very much, and I know she would be happy for a little music.”
“I am not a stitch on Jane, but I will do my best.”
“Nonsense, my dear. You play exceedingly well. But I do hope Jane and Frank will be here soon. Their presence will give Miss Bates such comfort.”
“Don’t forget they are coming from Yorkshire. With Jane in a delicate condition, they must travel with that consideration in mind.”
Her father tut-tutted. “I am most perturbed with Dr. Hughes for creating such a disturbance and endangering everyone’s health. Perry would never do so, I feel sure.”
“Dr. Hughes is only doing his duty. And he is certainly not responsible for poor Mrs. Elton’s death.”
“Perhaps not, but Mr. Elton should have known better. He should not have allowed his wife to go off and get murdered in the first place. It is a very bad business, Emma. I do not approve.”
It took her a moment to wrestle an inappropriate laugh back down her throat. “I don’t think anyone approves, Father, including Mr. Elton.”
He sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But poor Miss Bates. Does Mr. Elton ever think of the strain on her?”
“I’m sure he regrets this entire horrible situation.”
Her father still looked disapproving, which Emma found odd. Mr. Elton had always been such a favorite of his.
“Why don’t you take your turn around the garden?” she suggested. “It’s such a mild afternoon. I think it will do you good.”
“Very well, my dear. I will see you when you get back.”
She escaped from the house and set off in a hurry, feverish to discover the outcome of the interview with Miss Bates. After sleeping on the issue, George had decided to send a brief note to Dr. Hughes, informing him that he would be asking Miss Bates a few additional questions this morning.
“Must you, George?” Emma had asked with dismay. “Dr. Hughes is so utterly pompous that I wouldn’t be surprised if he barged in on your discussion and tried to take over. That would pitch Miss Bates into a terrible flutter.”
“I will make it clear that I wish to speak with her alone but afterward will call on him with any relevant information.”
“But why does he need to know about it before the meeting?”
“The man hates surprises, Emma. I am hopeful there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation regarding the promissory note. If there is not, however, Dr. Hughes will respond better to this new information with some forewarning.”
When she’d started to argue, he’d taken her hand. “Please remember that although I oversee this investigation, I cannot appear to be protecting Miss Bates from lawful scrutiny, no matter how much I might wish to.”
His logic, unfortunately, was sound. George was in a difficult position and was doing what was necessary to avoid accusations of favoritism. Still, she’d anxiously counted the minutes until she could reasonably call on Miss Bates.
She hurried through the village and arrived at Miss Bates’s apartment in short order. But when she started up the stairs, she was startled to hear raised voices. One of those voices belonged to her husband.
The door to the apartment flew open, and Patty rushed out, cramming a lopsided bonnet on her head.
“Mrs. Knightley,” she cried. “Thank goodness you’re here!”
They met halfway up the stairs. “Patty, whatever is going on?”
“It’s that Constable Sharpe fellow. He’s been awfully mean to Miss Bates. Mr. Knightley had to yell at him to make him stop. I’m going to Mr. Perry to fetch some calming powders.”
The notion of George yelling at anyone was both astonishing and alarming. Matters must be dire.
“Patty, I think you should bring Mr. Perry, if he’s available. I’ll stay with Miss Bates until you return.”
“I’ll be quick.”
Emma hurried up the rest of the staircase. The quarreling voices had subsided somewhat, although she could still hear George, and he was clearly annoyed.
She marched in and all but skidded to a halt at the scene before her.
George and the constable stood on opposite sides of the small parlor, engaged in a glaring contest. Seated by the fireplace, Miss Bates was perched on a stool next to her mother’s chair, clutching her aged parent’s hand. Mrs. Bates was wide awake and scowling at Constable Sharpe with an astounding degree of ferocity. If a pistol were close at hand, Emma had little doubt that Mrs. Bates would happily rid the world of a certain officer of the law.
“Good God,” Emma exclaimed. “What is happening here?”
George looked relieved. “Ah, thank—”
“The prevention of my sworn duty is what’s happening,” barked Constable Sharpe. “And I’ll not be having it, nor will Dr. Hughes. Not from Mr. Knightley—or from you, for that matter.”
“You forget yourself, sir,” George said in a cold voice.
Emma put on her most imperious air. “Indeed. It would seem that Mr. Sharpe has also forgotten that the magistrate is the King’s chief representative in this parish. I am astonished that you and Dr. Hughes are so deficient in your understanding of the law.”
The constable bristled. “It’s not the magistrate’s job to investigate crime, missus. It’s mine.”
“And does this investigation include harassing ladies to the point of tears?” she retorted. “May I remind you that Mrs. Bates is in frail health? I can only hope Dr. Hughes, as a physician, does not advocate such cruel behavior.”
At the moment, Mrs. Bates looked ready to leap from her chair and brain Constable Sharpe with her cane.
“If Miss Bates had simply answered my questions, we wouldn’t be having such problems,” he shot back.
“And if you had waited for my arrival, we could have avoided this problem entirely,” George pointed out. “I specifically asked Dr. Hughes to delay any questioning until after I spoke to Miss Bates.”
“Well, he didn’t tell me that, now did he?”
“An unfortunate oversight I will certainly address,” George tersely replied.
“Dear ma’am,” Emma said, going to Miss Bates, “come sit with me on the sofa. We will have a quiet chat and get everything sorted.”
“Mrs. Knightley,” she quavered, “my mind is in such a muddle!”
“And no wonder, with such a dreadful scene.”
When Mr. Sharpe began to bluster, George glared him into silence.
Emma and Miss Bates settled on the sofa, while Constable Sharpe moved to stand in front of the fireplace, his legs akimbo and with a thunderous scowl on his face. But he’d ceased barking, which was an improvement.
“Can I get you a cup of tea, Miss Bates?” Emma asked.
The spinster forced a trembling smile. “No, thank you. I . . . I would like to answer Mr. Knightley’s question, so as not to disturb my mother any longer than necessary.”
“Perhaps your mother would be more comfortable in her bedroom,” George suggested.
“I am fine where I am,” Mrs. Bates firmly replied.
George nodded before directing a hard look at the constable. “Mr. Sharpe, I understand you had raised the matter of the promissory note shortly before my arrival this morning.”
“That I had, Mr. Knightley, and the lady started pitching a fit instead of answering a simple question. Carrying on in a very suspicious manner, if you ask me.”
Miss Bates turned pleading eyes on George. “That is not true, sir. The constable hardly gave me a chance to speak, and my mother was becoming upset.”
Emma’s anger stirred again. “Really, Mr. Sharpe, frightening two helpless women. I cannot imagine what you were thinking.”
“I’m thinking that I’m trying to catch a murderer,” he retorted.
“You’re not going to find him here!”
“Thank you, my dear,” George dryly put in. “Now, Miss Bates, can you tell us why you signed the promissory note with Mrs. Elton?”
“I’ll . . . I’ll try, Mr. Knightley, but everything has been so confusing. I can barely put two thoughts together.”
“I understand. So, let us start at the beginning. You signed the note approximately two months ago, for fifty pounds. Is that correct?”
“Yes. I thought it too much money, but Mrs. Elton insisted. She said that for her, it was just a trifle.”
It was anything but, unless one was either very rich or very careless.
“Miss Bates,” Emma said, “if you needed money, why didn’t you simply ask Jane or me? We are always happy to help you.”
The spinster looked woeful. “I didn’t truly need the money. That’s what I tried to tell Mrs. Elton, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Emma and George exchanged a startled glance. Even Mr. Sharpe looked rather blank.
“Then why agree to borrow it?” George asked.
“But I didn’t borrow anything. In fact, I gave Mrs. Elton money, and then she insisted on loaning me the rest.”
Emma frowned. “Forgive me, ma’am. Why would you give Mrs. Elton money, only to have her then turn about and loan you funds?”
Miss Bates fluttered a hand. “I’m afraid I don’t entirely understand it myself.”
“Can you tell me what prompted the discussion of money with Mrs. Elton in the first place?” George asked. “That would be most helpful.”
She made an effort to compose herself. “Mrs. Elton had come to visit because she knew we were expecting a letter from Jane. So very kind, you know, always interested to hear about Jane and Frank. Of course, I no longer need to read Jane’s letters to you, Mrs. Knightley, because you correspond with her quite regularly.”
After many months of misunderstandings and ill feelings, and once all secrets had been revealed, Emma and Jane had finally been able to strike up a true friendship. They wrote to each other twice a month, thus sparing Emma the obligation of listening to Miss Bates parse letters from her niece. She had truly come to value her friendship with Jane, but there could still be too much of a good thing.
“So, Mrs. Elton stopped by to hear you read Jane’s letter,” Emma prompted.
“Yes. And somehow . . . I’m not really sure . . . but somehow, we began to talk about money. I still cannot understand how the subject even arose. But Mrs. Elton was so easy to talk to, you know. There was never any lack of subjects to discuss.”
“What led to Mrs. Elton’s offer to loan you funds?” George asked.
“Let me think . . . Yes, it started with the letter. Jane always makes a point of asking if we need anything, perhaps a little extra money for Mother’s medicine, or if I might need a new pair of spectacles. That sort of thing.”
“Perfectly appropriate,” Emma said.
Miss Bates grimaced. “We hate that Jane and Frank feel they must take care of us, as if we are poor dependents. They give us more than we could possibly need.”
“What does that have to do with Mrs. Elton?” Constable Sharpe interjected.
Though George gave him a baleful glare, Miss Bates reacted calmly enough.
“I mentioned to her that I wished Jane didn’t feel so responsible for us. Mother and I have everything we need. So much so that I have . . . I had ten pounds that I was able to put away over the past few years. I was determined not to spend it, so we’d have it for emergencies.”
Emma was surprised to hear Miss Bates was so adept at handling her money. For a woman in her position, ten pounds was a considerable sum.
“Then how did you find yourself accepting a loan from Mrs. Elton?” George gently asked.
“She was very sympathetic to my discomfort in feeling obligated to Frank and Jane and said that every woman should strive as much as possible for independence. And that the best way to do so was by investing one’s money in a good bank.”
Emma couldn’t help gaping at her. “Mrs. Elton gave you investment advice?”
Miss Bates nodded.
George held up a hand. “I think I understand now. Mrs. Elton didn’t give you monies directly. She took your ten pounds, added her fifty, and invested the total on your behalf.”
Miss Bates flashed him a relieved smile. “Yes, that’s it. She said it was very safe and that I should realize a tidy sum on my investment. Because she said ten pounds wasn’t nearly enough to invest, she loaned me the additional funds.”
Mrs. Bates, quiet through the entire discussion, let out a weary sigh. “Oh, Hetty.”
Her daughter’s face crumpled. “I see now that it was very foolish. But it was Mrs. Elton, and she was quite insistent. I . . . I thought it would be . . . Well, I don’t know what I thought. She just seemed to sweep me away, and . . . and it seemed a sensible and correct thing to do at the time.”
“Investing one’s money is generally a sensible thing to do,” George assured her.
But apparently not in this case, and why in heaven’s name would Mrs. Elton give a fig about investing money for Miss Bates?
“Miss Bates,” she asked, “if Mrs. Elton was so willing, what then was the cause of your quarrel?”
“She needed the money back, apparently, and was quite insistent that I repay her. I told her that I couldn’t. I’d never had it, because it was her money to begin with.” She anxiously twined her fingers together. “She was very unhappy with that answer.”
“When did this particular conversation occur?” George asked.
“The Monday prior to her death.”
Constable Sharpe let out a derisive snort, earning another glare from George.
Emma laid a hand on the spinster’s arm. “Did Mrs. Elton mention why she needed the money so urgently?”
Miss Bates shook her head.
“Did she upbraid you in any way for refusing?”
“She said that I should not have encouraged her.” The little spinster looked terribly sad. “I thought that such an odd comment, Mrs. Knightley, because Mrs. Elton had been so insistent that I allow her to invest on my behalf.”
“What did she do after you told her that you couldn’t repay the funds?” asked George.
“She said that I must repay the funds within the month. When I said that I couldn’t, she got up rather hastily and said she had other business to attend to.” She grimaced. “Before she left, she insisted that I meet with her on that . . . that Saturday, at the church, to discuss the matter further. I . . . I was so rattled by then that I agreed to do so, even though I couldn’t imagine how anything might be different.”
“So you arranged to meet with the victim on the day of the murder,” interjected Constable Sharpe with typical bluntness. “Did you tell your mother or anyone else you were meeting her?”
Miss Bates cringed. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I . . . I suppose I was embarrassed.”
The constable huffed out a breath. “And is that the real reason, or were you planning on confronting poor Mrs. Elton?”
Miss Bates started to tremble. “I . . . I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean—”
“That’s enough, Constable,” George sharply interjected.
Emma drew her attention. “Miss Bates, do know why she wished to meet at the church, rather than at your apartment or the vicarage?”
“I wondered about that, too, Mrs. Knightley. At the time, I thought she was trying to spare Mother’s feelings—and shield me from Mr. Elton’s disapproval, if he were to come upon our discussion. So I agreed that the church would be more appropriate.”
Emma could think of an alternative explanation—Mrs. Elton didn’t wish for her caro sposo to overhear the conversation.
“That makes perfect sense,” she said instead.
Constable Sharpe suddenly jabbed a finger at Miss Bates. “If someone was planning on murder, a deserted church on Saturday afternoon would be just the place.”
Mrs. Bates suddenly thumped her cane on the floor. “Idiot!” she cried, shocking them all into silence.
George recovered first. “Constable, you will refrain from making such dramatic—and baseless—accusations, or we will be having words again.”
“Begging your pardon, Mr. Knightley, but it’s my job to conduct the investigation and arrest any suspects as I see fit. To my way of thinking, there’s more than enough evidence to arrest Miss Bates for the murder of Mrs. Elton.”
Mrs. Bates let out a horrified cry, while Miss Bates shrank against the sofa cushions, clearly terrified.
Outraged, Emma jumped to her feet. “You are much mistaken, sir, if you think Miss Bates is guilty of this crime.”
Constable Sharpe now jabbed an angry finger at her. “And you’re not to be interfering with my duties, missus.”
“George,” she exclaimed. “Do some . . .”
The words died on her lips. Only rarely had she ever seen her husband truly angry. Now, however, his eyes glittered with fury. He stepped forward, crowding the constable back against the fireplace mantel.
“You will do nothing of the sort,” he all but growled. “The evidence against Miss Bates is, in fact, extremely thin and easily explained.”
Clearly startled by George’s ferocious response, the constable blinked. But then his chin went up. “I disagree, sir. Miss Bates certainly had reason to hate Mrs. Elton—”
“But I didn’t!” the spinster cried.
“And she fled the scene and then lied about it. To my way of thinking, there’s more than enough evidence to arrest her, and that’s what I intend to do.”
“That is beyond ridiculous,” Emma snapped. “Miss Bates is completely incapable of hurting anyone. In addition, she had no reason to.”
“Fifty pounds says otherwise,” the constable countered.
“My husband and I could have repaid that amount on a moment’s notice. So could my father, Mr. Weston, and Jane Churchill. And as Miss Bates pointed out, she never received any actual funds from Mrs. Elton in the first place.”
“The promissory note is legally binding. Miss Bates owed that money to Mrs. Elton whether she wants to admit it or not.”
Frustrated, Emma turned to her husband. “George, do something!”
“I should be happy to, if given the chance,” he replied in an exasperated tone. “Constable, I do not agree with your assessment of the situation. At a minimum, it requires further investigation. Therefore, you will not be arresting Miss Bates, and I enjoin you to refrain from discussing this matter with anyone but Dr. Hughes or myself. I will meet with you and the doctor later this afternoon to determine the next steps.”
Sharpe bristled. “But—”
George held up a magisterial hand. “Do I make myself clear?”
“You do, but I object to your interference, Mr. Knightley. I greatly object.”
“Duly noted. Now, I suggest you take your leave, since you have caused the ladies enough upset for one day.”
The constable slapped his short-brimmed hat on his head. “Very well, but the suspect had best not try to abscond.”
When Miss Bates whimpered, Emma plopped down on the sofa and put her arm around the poor dear’s trembling shoulders.
“It is no more likely that Miss Bates would leave Highbury than I would fly to the moon, you silly man,” she exclaimed. “You are completely ridiculous.”
After directing a fiery glare her way, the constable stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
George sighed. “Emma—”
“Yes, I know. Bad Emma.” She hugged Miss Bates. “But, really, it’s utter nonsense.”
Sadly, Miss Bates did not seem to agree it was just nonsense, since she collapsed, weeping, into Emma’s arms.
Mrs. Bates started to struggle up from her seat. “Hetty, you’ll make yourself sick!”
George hastened to her. “Please sit, dear ma’am. Emma will take care of Miss Bates, and Mr. Perry will be here shortly.”
Hasty footfalls thankfully sounded just moments later. Patty burst into the room, followed by the rather winded apothecary.
“Sorry to be so long,” Patty gasped. “I had to run all the way to Abbey Mill Farm to fetch him.”
“And we all but ran back,” he gasped.
“Thank you, sir,” Emma said. “As you can see, Miss Bates is in a rather bad way.”
“What has caused her such distress?”
“Constable Sharpe threatened to arrest her.”
“That varlet will touch her over my dead body,” Mrs. Bates exclaimed.
They all blinked, stunned by such a vigorous defense. Even Miss Bates paused mid-hiccup to stare at her mother.
“Er, quite, Mrs. Bates,” said George. “But it will not come to that.”
The apothecary looked much concerned. “Miss Bates will need to lie down, and then I will attend to Mrs. Bates.”
The old woman waved a hand. “Do not worry about me, Mr. Perry. Just see to Hetty.”
Mr. Perry then helped Miss Bates to her feet and led her off, with Patty tut-tutting behind them.
Mrs. Bates breathed out a weary sigh. “Mr. Knightley, what is going to happen? What are we to do?”
In a calm, comforting voice, George assured her that no harm would come to her daughter.
“We all know Miss Bates had nothing to do with the murder, ma’am,” Emma added. “And Jane and Frank will be here very soon, and then you and Miss Bates will be comfortable again.”
She and George kept up their reassurances until Mr. Perry returned to inform them that Miss Bates was now resting comfortably and should be able to sleep. As his attention turned to Mrs. Bates, Emma and George took their leave. On their way out, they instructed Patty to send a note to Hartfield if either of the ladies needed assistance.
“Good God,” Emma said once down in the street. “I would like to kill that awful constable.”
“I would suggest you not bandy about that particular sentiment, my dear. You might find yourself behind bars.”
“Along with Miss Bates. George, you simply cannot allow that to happen.”
“I won’t. As you so adroitly pointed out, there was obviously no need for Miss Bates to resort to murder over the loan. It was a superficial and ill-conceived conclusion on the constable’s part.”
“I do hope Dr. Hughes doesn’t behave as idiotically.”
“I suspect I can convince him to disregard Sharpe’s flawed reasoning. But I can certainly prevent either of them from doing anything rash.”
They walked in silence, deep in thought, as they turned their steps toward Hartfield.
“But what a strange story it is,” she finally said. “Mrs. Elton volunteering to invest her own money on Miss Bates’s behalf, only to then insist that she repay the loan a scant two months later. I cannot fathom it.”
“I could be in error, but I suspect that Mrs. Elton lost her investment in some failed scheme, along with the monies she put in on behalf of Miss Bates.”
Emma cast him a startled glance. “But Miss Bates said it was to be invested in a bank, not in any risky sort of undertaking.”
“Banks have been known to fail. It’s not an unusual occurrence.”
“But why did Mrs. Elton persuade Miss Bates to do such a thing in the first place? She’s hardly the sort of person one would think to partner with in an investment scheme.”
“I have no credible answer to that question yet.”
Unbidden, the unsettling argument between Mr. Elton and Mr. Suckling on the day of the funeral came into her thoughts. She turned the details of that fraught conversation over in her mind, dissecting it for clues to Mrs. Elton’s strange behavior.
When they reached the iron gates of Hartfield, Emma voiced her ruminations. “George, could it be that the Eltons were—are—having financial difficulties? I think you must question Mr. Elton about it. Because if they were . . .”
“It might be germane to the case,” he finished for her. “I know, but that doesn’t necessarily help Miss Bates.”
“Blast,” she muttered.
When her husband chuckled, she cut him a sheepish grin. “How vulgar of me. I do apologize.”
He bent and kissed the tip of her nose. “You captured my feelings precisely. Now, if you will excuse me, I must be off to speak with Dr. Hughes. Constable Sharpe is no doubt already detailing my legalistic failings to him, and I must mitigate any damage.”
“And keep Miss Bates out of the gaol.”
“That too.”
“I must tell Father why the Bates ladies will not be joining us for dinner,” she said, making a face. “He will not be happy with this development.”
“Then it would appear we both have our work cut out for us.”
Emma could not disagree. Nor could she deny that finding the true killer was now a more pressing task than ever.