Chapter 4
“How inconvenient that Dr. Hughes has left the party,” Emma said to George as she leaned against his desk. “Normally, one cannot get rid of the man.”
Her husband was jotting notes in his diary—his observations about the body, no doubt. “He had an early appointment tomorrow and did not wish to wear himself out with the evening’s revelries.”
She couldn’t hold back a strangled laugh. “He actually said that?”
“He did indeed. By the by, Dr. Hughes was very impressed by your hospitality.”
“I suspect that good grace will not survive our current situation.”
She glanced at the small casement clock on the desk. Almost an hour had passed since Miss Bates discovered the body. It now was beginning to feel like they were kicking up their heels, waiting for something to happen.
Of course, it had taken some time to soothe Father’s anxieties and Isabella’s hysterics.
Thankfully, Mr. Perry had been called in to help.
The solicitous apothecary had administered a calming draught to both Father and Isabella, and even now sat with them, supplying a steady stream of medical reassurance.
“Mr. Perry, at least, has not abandoned us in our time of need,” Emma commented.
George closed his diary. “I suspect Dr. Hughes will be displeased to see Perry. He might see it as a challenge to his authority.”
She rolled her eyes. “Dr. Hughes should be grateful to Perry. Otherwise, he’d be dealing with a room full of hysterical witnesses.”
Miss Bates hurried over to join them. “Mr. Knightley, I do hate to bother, but how much longer do you think we must wait? Mr. Woodhouse is fretful, and I fear my mother is tiring.”
“I apologize, Miss Bates,” said George. “But Dr. Hughes should be here very soon.”
“What if Isabella took Mrs. Bates home in our carriage?” Emma suggested. “Mrs. Bates didn’t truly hear anything, and Isabella wasn’t even in the room. The carriage can then return for Father and Miss Bates. Surely Dr. Hughes will be finished interviewing them by that point.”
Miss Bates clasped her hands. “Mrs. Knightley, I would be ever so grateful.”
Emma lifted her brows. “Well, George? What do your magisterial instincts suggest? Will we upset the proper course of justice if Isabella and Mrs. Bates return home?”
“My magisterial instincts cede to your good sense, my dear. In fact, it might make the process run more smoothly if we have fewer people involved.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “Perhaps Harry can run out to the stables—”
George shook his head. “Harry is upstairs guarding Prudence’s room.”
Emma grimaced. “I’d forgotten that.”
Shortly after George inspected the body, he’d begun issuing orders—one of which was to send Harry upstairs. George had wanted Prudence’s room to remain untouched until Dr. Hughes arrived.
“Mrs. Hodges can send one of our footman to the stables.”
“Perhaps I’d best go to the great hall and wait for Dr. Hughes,” said Emma. “Mr. and Mrs. Weston have been manning the barricades, but I’m sure people are wondering where we’ve all disappeared to.”
Emma had managed to briefly slip out to alert the Westons to their burgeoning crisis. They’d risen to the occasion as always, promising to oversee the party.
“You might keep an eye out for Constable Sharpe,” George replied. “I sent the stable boy with a note requesting his presence.”
Ugh.
“I suppose you thought that was necessary.”
He shrugged. “I’m sure his presence will be a mere formality.”
“Mere? As far as Constable Sharpe is concerned, he’s always the hero of any drama. Besides, I’m the last person he’ll wish to see.”
In general, the constable didn’t approve of women. In particular, he didn’t approve of Emma.
“Perhaps, but you’d best be on your way,” George replied. “The sooner this evening is concluded, the better.”
After giving her husband a fleeting kiss on the cheek, Emma hurried from the room. Thankfully, she immediately encountered Mrs. Hodges in the corridor.
“Mrs. Knightley, do you need anything?”
Emma took her arm and turned her back the other way. “Yes, please. I need you to send word to James, our coachman. My sister is going to take Mrs. Bates home.”
“Poor Mrs. Bates. She must be plumb frazzled out.”
“Everyone is feeling the strain.”
Mrs. Hodges let out a weary sigh. “Indeed, Mrs. Knightley.”
Emma mentally scolded herself. She’d failed to recognize how deeply the housekeeper would be affected by Prudence’s death. Surely it would be more than for anyone else in the household, since she’d worked with the girl every day.
“Mrs. Hodges, please forgive me. I know this has been a terrible blow.”
“I won’t deny it, ma’am. Prudence was a sweet girl and so full of life. It’s hard to imagine—” She stopped and bit her lip.
Emma pressed her arm. “I understand completely.”
“It’s her father I can’t help thinking about. He was so proud to see Prudence working in such a fine house.” Mrs. Hodges grimaced. “Who will tell him?”
“Mr. Knightley will take care of it. Now, if you’ll find James …”
The woman gathered herself. “Forgive me, ma’am.”
“There’s nothing to forgive. It’s been a dreadful night.”
As they entered the long gallery, Emma paused. “Mrs. Hodges, have you seen Larkins? I assumed he’d be back at the abbey by now.”
“I’m afraid not. I sent the kitchen maid down to his cottage, but he wasn’t there. I expect now it’s going on eleven, he’ll be back any moment.” She grimaced again. “He’ll be that shook up, he will. He was terribly fond of Prudence.”
Emma mentally blinked. That seemed rather strange since Larkins was a man who rarely interacted on a personal level with the other servants, save for Mrs. Hodges. He even preferred to take his meals in his cottage.
“When Larkins returns, please send him straight to Mr. Knightley for instructions.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The housekeeper departed for the kitchen, while Emma made her way to the great hall.
Thankfully, all was quiet but for the low murmur of voices from the remaining guests.
Peeking around the doorframe, she saw the room was now devoid of all but a few families.
Up in the gallery, the musicians were stowing their instruments.
Steeling herself, Emma entered the hall.
Mrs. Weston was talking to Mrs. Cole, who was donning her pelisse and preparing to leave. Catching sight of Emma, Mrs. Weston smiled with evident relief and waved, bidding her to join them.
Drat and double drat.
While a kind woman, Mrs. Cole was a terrible gossip.
“Mrs. Knightley, there you are,” exclaimed Mrs. Cole. “Such a shame you and Mr. Knightley had to miss so much of your own party. I do hope your father is feeling more the thing.”
Emma darted a glance at Mrs. Weston, who gave a slight nod. It was an excellent excuse, since everyone in Highbury knew Father’s little foibles.
“Yes, thank goodness,” she replied. “Mr. Perry was able to work his usual magic.”
Mrs. Cole clucked with sympathy. “Poor Mr. Woodhouse. Overcome with all the excitement, most likely.”
You have no idea.
“Indeed. He is unused to these large affairs.”
“And here are the ladies,” Mr. Weston exclaimed as he joined them. “Mrs. Cole, I bring notice that your conveyance awaits.” He nodded toward the front entrance, where Mr. Cole stood with the Gilberts. “The others are ready to depart.”
“How excellent,” Emma enthusiastically declared.
When Mrs. Cole cast her a startled glance, she realized she’d been a bit too enthusiastic.
“What I meant to say is that it’s a blessing to have a nice, warm carriage waiting to take one home on a cold night,” she added. “As one generally does in the winter.”
Oh, Lord. She sounded like a henwit.
Mr. Weston came to her rescue. “Come along, Mrs. Cole. Don’t want to keep the horses standing about.”
He all but marched the poor woman to the door, while Emma and Mrs. Weston trailed behind them.
“I think you managed to pull it off, my dear,” Mrs. Weston said in a low voice. “Mr. Weston was rather vague when a few of the gentlemen inquired about Mr. Knightley. Something about a problem in the stables that required his attention.”
“George and I are both so grateful to you,” Emma replied. “And I hope we have managed to—”
Just at that moment Constable Sharpe stomped through the front door, his usual dour self. He ignored the Gilberts and the Coles and fastened his gaze directly on Emma.
“Mrs. Knightley,” he said with a scowl. “What’s this I hear about a dead body?”
“What?” Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Gilbert screeched in perfect tandem.
Mr. Cole leveled an astonished gaze on the constable. “Good God, man. This is a party, not a crime scene. There are no dead bodies here.”
Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. It was bad luck that Constable Sharpe had appeared on the scene before the final guests had departed, but to announce the existence of a dead body in front of two of Highbury’s biggest gossips?
Fatal.
Arriving like a second harbinger of ill fortune, Dr. Hughes then walked in, looking most aggrieved.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Cole,” Sharpe frostily replied. “There is definitely a dead body at Donwell Abbey.”
“There’s no need to make a general announcement,” Dr. Hughes admonished. “You will distress the ladies.”
The constable harrumphed. “Dead bodies cannot be hidden or pretended away.” He then pointedly stared at Emma. “Although I imagine some might prefer it.”
“No one wishes to hide anything, Mr. Sharpe,” she frostily replied. “We were waiting for Dr. Hughes, so as to know exactly how to proceed.”
“Very proper,” the coroner said. “Mr. Knightley always knows exactly how things should be done.”
Emma mentally rolled her eyes. Dr. Hughes had a marked tendency to believe that a woman’s delicate emotions rendered them incapable of acting sensibly in a crisis.
The physician turned to the Gilberts and the Coles. “I apologize for any upset, ladies. There has been an incident at Donwell Abbey, but as yet nothing is clear. Therefore, I would ask that you disregard the constable’s comments and refrain from any discussion on the matter, for now.”