CHAPTER 17
Emma put down her needlework and rose as Harriet entered the drawing room. “I thought you were busy in the village with Mrs. Martin today.”
“We finished our shopping, so I thought to run over to Hartfield. I have something I particularly wanted to tell you. And Mama said to be sure to give you her best wishes.”
Emma found it heartwarming that Harriet had developed such a loving relationship with her mother-in-law. For the young woman, it was a true gift. She’d never known her natural mother, and Emma understood better than most how that absence could wound the soul.
“Please give Mrs. Martin my best wishes. Now, what was so important that you had to run over?” Emma frowned. “Has that dreadful Anne Cox been pestering you again?”
“I haven’t seen her since the funeral, nor has Robert.”
“Thank goodness.”
Slowly, the normal rhythms of life had reasserted themselves, and a sense of everyday order had been restored to most in their little village. There were some notable exceptions, starting with—
“Dear me, I forgot to ask,” said Harriet, interrupting Emma’s thought. “How is Mr. Woodhouse? Has he recovered from his upset?”
“He is still very distressed for Miss Bates and very angry with Mr. Elton, whom Father blames entirely for the current state of affairs.”
“How sad. They have always been such good friends.”
“It’s very awkward. Father will not allow Mr. Elton to visit Hartfield, and Miss Bates feels terribly guilty to be the cause of the rupture in their relationship.”
She had to admit that it was getting tiresome. Father was insistent that Mr. Elton had no business showing the promissory note to anyone, much less raising it as a matter of suspicion against Miss Bates, who blamed herself for the misunderstanding in the first place. Unfortunately, the matter had become a topic of endless discussion every time Miss Bates and her mother came for dinner or tea.
Even George, whose patience was vast, was beginning to show signs of desperation. He’d taken to excusing himself immediately after dinner, citing a pressing amount of business. Emma didn’t blame him, wishing she had pressing business, as well.
“How uncomfortable,” Harriet said. “However do you manage it?”
“Most uneasily. For one thing, we have to keep reminding Father and Miss Bates to refrain from discussing the issue in front of the servants. We don’t wish it to be widely known that Constable Sharpe tried to arrest her.”
Thankfully, Dr. Hughes had chosen to support George rather than the constable. Although still disturbed by Miss Bates’s actions on the day of the murder, the coroner was old-fashioned enough to be repelled by the notion of placing a gentlewoman under arrest. He’d also agreed that the existence of the promissory note should be repressed for now in order to keep gossip about the case to a minimum.
“Speaking of Mr. Elton,” Harriet said with some hesitation, “I ran into him at the top of Vicarage Lane. He guessed that I was coming to Hartfield, and asked that I convey his best wishes to you, along with his hopes that everyone at Hartfield was in good health.”
Emma sighed. “How did he seem?”
“Very cast down. I wish I could have been more of a comfort to him, but he wasn’t inclined to talk.”
“Breaking the news to him about Hartfield was the most awkward conversation I’ve ever had. And that, as you know, is saying quite a lot.”
After hearing that Constable Sharpe had tried to arrest Miss Bates, Emma’s father had lost his temper with quite astonishing vigor. He’d insisted that she write to Mr. Elton immediately and forbid him to step foot onto Hartfield’s grounds. No amount of persuasion had been sufficient to change Father’s mind, and Emma supposed she couldn’t blame him.
She’d known immediately that Mr. Elton would be upset by the prohibition. He had always valued his connection with Hartfield—regardless of any past feelings toward its mistress—and would be sensitive to its loss.
Instead of writing, she’d summoned the courage to deliver the unpleasant news in person. Although she’d known he’d be distressed, she hadn’t anticipated how deeply the vicar would be affected. So downcast was he that she’d feared he would burst into tears and once more fall upon her bosom, as he’d done that hideous day in the church. As greatly as she pitied the poor man, she had no desire to reprise that particular episode.
Needless to say, she’d fled the vicarage as soon as she could.
“Poor Mrs. Knightley,” Harriet said with ready sympathy. “I wish I could help, either with Mr. Elton or dear Mr. Woodhouse.”
“I’m hopeful that the situation will improve when Jane and Frank arrive. Their presence will give Mrs. and Miss Bates a great deal of comfort and serve as a welcome distraction for everyone.”
“When are they expected?”
“They should arrive at Randalls tomorrow afternoon. Frank insisted that Jane rest for a few days at Leamington Spa, but she is now feeling stronger. There should be no more delays.”
“That is good news indeed.”
“Yes. Now, let’s sit and be comfortable, and you can tell me why you needed to rush over here.”
“Oh, yes!” Harriet exclaimed as she took a seat. “I’d almost forgotten, but I think it could be terribly important. To the investigation, I mean.”
Emma perked up. “Do tell.”
“While Mama and I were at Ford’s, Miss Nash stepped in. We fell to talking, and she told me the strangest thing. And you know Miss Nash is not inclined to gossip, so I think we must take it seriously.”
Miss Nash, the head teacher at Mrs. Goddard’s, had been a good friend to Harriet when she was a parlor boarder at the school. But as far as Emma could ascertain, the young woman delighted in gossip as much as the next person. After all, she had once told Harriet that Anne Cox would have been happy to marry Robert Martin.
Although, in that case, her idle chatter had proved accurate.
“What did she tell you?”
Harriet leaned closer, almost whispering. “A few days before her murder, Mrs. Elton visited the school to speak to Mrs. Goddard. Miss Nash overheard Mrs. Elton say to the maid that she needed to speak to Mrs. Goddard on an urgent matter.” She paused dramatically and cast a glance over her shoulder. Apparently, all this murder business had created a burgeoning sense of the dramatic in Emma’s friend.
“We are quite alone, dear,” Emma said. “No one can hear us.”
Harriet looked slightly abashed. “Sorry. Anyway, Miss Nash said that Mrs. Elton and Mrs. Goddard had a terrible argument, which could be heard out in the hall. Mrs. Elton was doing the yelling, and she sounded very angry.”
Now that was interesting. “I take it Miss Nash was out in the hall?”
Harriet nodded.
“Did she have any idea what the argument was about?” Emma asked.
“She couldn’t make that out.”
“Did Miss Nash have anything else to report?”
“Yes. After a few minutes, Mrs. Elton came storming out of Mrs. Goddard’s office. She marched right past Miss Nash and was very snappy with the maid as she opened the door for her.”
“And were Miss Nash and the maid the only ones present in the hall?”
“She didn’t mention anyone else.”
Emma fell to ruminating. What business was there between Mrs. Elton and Mrs. Goddard? Mrs. Goddard was a very sensible, good sort of woman. More than once, Emma had suspected that Mrs. Elton’s fine airs occasionally annoyed the headmistress, which made this encounter all the more interesting.
“So, do you think it has something to do with the murder?” Harriet prompted.
“Given the timing, it would seem a remarkable coincidence if it did not. It’s hard to imagine Mrs. Goddard as a murderer, though.” Emma cocked an eyebrow. “I presume Miss Nash was not suggesting any nefarious activities on her employer’s part?”
Harriet shook her head. “Miss Nash has the greatest admiration for Mrs. Goddard. But she thought the argument very strange, coming just before Mrs. Elton’s murder.”
Emma’s instincts were telling her that the incident must indeed be connected to the murder, at least in a tangential way. “Did Miss Nash tell anyone else about this?”
“No, but she did ask Mrs. Goddard about it. Mrs. Goddard apologized and said that Mrs. Elton was upset about a private matter. She also asked Miss Nash not to mention it to the other teachers.”
“Then why did she tell you?”
Harriet grimaced. “She says Mrs. Goddard is not herself. She seems very upset about something, and Miss Nash is worried for her.”
“Am I correct in assuming that Miss Nash wanted you to share this information with me?” Emma asked.
“Yes, because she doesn’t know what to do. Apparently, Mrs. Goddard snapped at some of the girls the other day, when they were simply running about the lawn. And she even forgot about one of her classes, which left the girls sitting in the classroom for a half hour.”
Emma raised her eyebrows. “But she is always so punctual, and she never loses her temper with the girls. She is patience itself with my father.”
Harriet hesitated. “Do you think this really could have something to do with Mrs. Elton’s death?”
Emma stood. “There’s only one way to find out. We’re going to call on Mrs. Goddard and ask her.”
“Now?”
“Of course now. When it comes to murder, one mustn’t let a promising clue go to waste.”
Mrs. Goddard ushered Emma and Harriet to a chintz-covered sofa in the drawing room. Through an open window, they could hear schoolgirls playing an enthusiastic and noisy game of shuttlecock.
“Goodness, what a ruckus,” Mrs. Goddard exclaimed. “Mrs. Knightley, would you like me to close the window?”
“Not at all. It’s such a lovely day that I was tempted to join in with the girls.”
“We always had a great deal of fun in the summer,” said Harriet to her former headmistress. “You let us spend plenty of time outside.”
“I want my pupils to be strong and healthy, not die-away maidens who swoon at the slightest exertion,” Mrs. Goddard replied with a smile.
“They are very lucky girls,” said Emma.
That Mrs. Goddard genuinely cared for her pupils was beyond doubt. Her school deserved its fine reputation, and the good woman had worked hard over the years to achieve and preserve it.
The headmistress sat opposite them and began to prepare tea. “We have been fortunate to have the patronage of so many kind people like yourselves and dear Mr. Woodhouse. And I have been blessed to teach wonderful girls like Harriet.”
For a few minutes, they chatted amicably about school matters while they sipped tea and nibbled macaroons. Emma had to do a little schooling of her own—in patience, because she was eager to skip the formalities and get to the bottom of yet another mysterious chapter in the increasingly murky tale of Mrs. Elton.
And she sensed that underneath Mrs. Goddard’s affable façade lurked uneasiness.
As Harriet and Mrs. Goddard talked, Emma glanced around. It had been some months since she’d been in the drawing room, which was generally employed to receive parents and guardians. It was quietly tasteful, and stylish enough to reassure anxious mothers that their darlings would be properly cared for and taught their manners.
“Mrs. Goddard,” she said. “Are those new curtains?”
They were quite smart, glazed calico in a rich hunter green that matched the sturdy but tasteful rug over polished floorboards. The curtains were tied back with black velvet cords, which added a discreetly fashionable touch.
“Why, yes, they are,” the headmistress replied. “How clever of you to notice.”
Emma got the distinct impression that Mrs. Goddard wished she hadn’t noticed.
“And that’s a new writing desk in the corner,” Harriet exclaimed. “It fits so nicely in that spot, as if it was made for it.”
It was indeed handsome and likely ordered from London, since there would be no one in Highbury who could make such a fine piece.
Mrs. Goddard turned around to look, as if surprised to find it there. “Yes, it is rather new, I suppose. Miss Nash was in desperate need of a writing desk, since hers was quite falling to pieces. So, she took my old desk—not that it was that old—and I replaced it with this one.”
That was rather a lot of words from Mrs. Goddard, who was beginning to sound almost like Miss Bates.
“A perfectly neat solution,” Emma said.
When an awkward silence followed that observation, she decided it was time to get to the heart of the matter.
“As delightful as it is to see you, ma’am,” she said, “this is not entirely a social call.”
Uncertainty flashed for a moment across Mrs. Goddard’s face before her expression smoothed into its usual placid lines.
“Of course, I am always happy to be of assistance, Mrs. Knightley. What can I do for you?”
“It’s rather a delicate matter. I have no wish to cause you distress, but—”
“Miss Nash overhead you arguing with Mrs. Elton,” Harriet burst out. “She said Mrs. Elton sounded very angry and that you were upset. And that you’re still upset.”
Harriet had many wonderful qualities. Subtlety was not one of them.
Mrs. Goddard went very still as her gaze darted between Emma and Harriet.
“I don’t know what to say,” she finally replied. “Except to note that those discussions were private, and I would prefer they remain that way.”
“Please don’t be mad at Miss Nash,” Harriet pleaded. “She was worried about you.”
“She is worried about you,” Emma smoothly interjected. “Miss Nash spoke with Harriet because of her concern for your well-being.”
“Then why are you here, Mrs. Knightley?” the headmistress sharply asked.
That tone was decidedly unusual for her. Clearly, Mrs. Goddard was rattled.
“Harriet came to me because she knows my father and I greatly value your friendship,” she calmly replied. “We would wish to be of assistance if necessary.”
“It’s not.”
Emma refused to retreat, because every instinct clamored that something was wrong. “Are you quite sure, Mrs. Goddard? Whatever you and Mrs. Elton discussed has surely affected you.”
The headmistress glanced down at her lap, as if unable to meet Emma’s gaze. When she smoothed her skirts with trembling fingers, Emma knew she’d hit the mark.
“Ma’am,” she gently said, “as you know, Miss Bates has come under a degree of suspicion in this dreadful affair. We only wish to help her—and you, if need be. If you can impart any information that might shed light on Mrs. Elton’s odd behavior, it could prove to be very useful.”
Mrs. Goddard breathed out a weary sigh, her shoulders slumping a bit. “You needn’t dance around the situation any longer, Mrs. Knightley. Miss Bates told me that Constable Sharpe tried to arrest her. That’s why I’ve been in such a state, and I’m utterly unsure what to do about it.”
It was Emma’s turn to sigh. “We’ve been trying to keep that information private.”
“You mustn’t blame poor Miss Bates. She told me quite by accident. She certainly didn’t intend to blurt it out.”
Unfortunately, blurting things out was rather a specialty for Miss Bates.
“You’ve told no one else?”
“Of course not.” The headmistress suddenly scowled. “Really, Mrs. Knightley, Constable Sharpe is quite a dreadful man to treat our dear Miss Bates so cruelly.”
“I cannot disagree,” Emma dryly replied. “Fortunately, Dr. Hughes does not support the charge.”
She wasn’t convinced, however, that the odious Mr. Sharpe wouldn’t make a concerted effort to sway the coroner to his way of thinking.
“Everyone is upset about Miss Bates,” said Harriet. “But why have you been in such a state?”
Mrs. Goddard grimaced. “I have been concerned not just for Miss Bates but also . . . for myself.”
Emma put down her teacup. “Ma’am, there is no delicate way to ask this, so I will be direct. Did Mrs. Elton lend you money?”
The headmistress blinked. “No, she did not. Nor did I ever ask her for money.”
Emma frowned. “Are you aware that Mrs. Elton loaned Miss Bates a considerable sum?”
“Yes, although I cannot imagine why she would agree to such a thing.”
That was a discussion for another time.
“If Mrs. Elton didn’t lend you money, then why are you concerned for yourself?”
“She didn’t lend me money, Mrs. Knightley. She gave me money—or, rather, she made a donation to the school. As did her sister, although, of course, that money came through Mrs. Elton. I’ve never met Mrs. Suckling.”
Emma was now thoroughly confused. “I don’t understand.”
“I think I do,” Harriet said. “They wished to become patronesses of the school, didn’t they? I overheard Mrs. Elton talking about it a few months ago at Mrs. Cole’s dinner party.”
Mrs. Goddard nodded. “Exactly so. Both Mrs. Elton and her sister were interested in becoming more charitably engaged, and they felt my school was a worthy venture in that respect.”
Emma couldn’t help feeling slightly annoyed, which was admittedly an irrational response.
“I didn’t realize you were looking for patrons. Mr. Knightley and I would have been happy to contribute, as would my father.”
Mrs. Goddard shook her head. “You have all been so generous over the years that I could never ask you to do more than you already have. And, truly, all our basic needs are met by the school fees.”
“But you did wish to make improvements,” Harriet doggedly said. “Some new furniture and also repairs to the roof.”
Emma glanced at the new curtains. “Did Mrs. Elton hear you speak of these improvements?”
Mrs. Goddard’s cheeks flushed pink. “I believe I might have mentioned it to her.”
She’d obviously done more than mention it. And given Mrs. Elton’s prideful nature, she would have enjoyed playing the role of noble patroness.
“But, then, why the argument?”
Mrs. Goddard shifted in her seat. “I assure you, it was one-sided.”
“Undoubtedly. I have never heard you raise your voice to anyone.”
“That is very true,” Harriet stoutly added.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Goddard said quietly.
“I will also hazard a guess that Mrs. Elton wished you to return the donation,” said Emma.
Mrs. Goddard nodded. “She came to call a few days before her murder. She demanded I return the money, both her and her sister’s donations. I told her, of course, that I could not, since the money had already been spent.”
Emma grimaced. “That must have gone down a treat.”
“I assure you that she did not hold back from expressing her great displeasure. I did offer to try to sell my new writing desk—or give it to her—but she grew very annoyed at that suggestion.”
“Did she tell you why she needed the money?”
“No, and I cannot understand why she was so displeased. Mrs. Elton has always taken such a kind interest in the school, and I have always considered her a friend. It was a shocking encounter, Mrs. Knightley.”
A rude Mrs. Elton was not the least bit shocking, in Emma’s opinion. But it was becoming ever more apparent that the Eltons, or at least Mrs. Elton, had money troubles.
“You did not speak to her again before her death?”
“I did not.”
Emma fell silent, pondering this new wrinkle in the fabric.
“I know I should have mentioned it,” Mrs. Goddard unhappily said, “but it seemed clear that Mrs. Elton was killed by a passing thief. Then, when Miss Bates told me about the promissory note and how Constable Sharpe tried to arrest her . . .”
“You were afraid you might come under suspicion, as well,” Emma gently finished.
She looked ashamed. “Yes.”
“Mrs. Goddard, no one could possibly suspect you,” Harriet exclaimed. “You are always so kind to everyone, even to Mrs. Elton—who was not a very nice person.”
Mrs. Goddard regarded her former pupil with a misty smile. “Thank you, dear child.”
Emma nodded. “Harriet is correct. It’s nonsense to think you could have had anything to do with Mrs. Elton’s murder.”
“I’m not sure Constable Sharpe would agree.”
“I hold no stock in any opinion held by Constable Sharpe, I assure you.”
In fact, Emma was convinced that she and Harriet were making a better job of the investigation than either the constable or the coroner.
“Mrs. Goddard, would you be comfortable if I shared this discussion with my husband?”
The woman’s eyes popped wide with alarm. “I don’t know. After what happened to Miss Bates . . .”
“It will not happen to you,” Emma firmly replied. “I highly doubt that Mr. Knightley will need to share this information with either Dr. Hughes or Constable Sharpe. The money was a freely given donation, not a loan. But it does point to a pattern of strange behavior on Mrs. Elton’s part.”
When Mrs. Goddard still hesitated, Emma leaned forward and pressed her hand. “Please trust me, ma’am. My husband will be very discreet, and this information could be useful to his investigation.”
The headmistress finally nodded her consent. “I suppose one must. And I do hope the murderer is soon caught, Mrs. Knightley. My girls are afraid to step outside the grounds of the school without a teacher and are even afraid to go to church.”
Harriet cocked her head. “The vengeful ghost?”
“Yes.”
“I thought I put an end to that nonsensical tale,” Emma said, exasperation flaring. “Please assure the girls there is no murderous ghost lurking about the church.”
Mrs. Goddard sighed again. “Better for a ghost to be blamed than Miss Bates.”