Chapter 5
Emma hurried over to her father, hoping to forestall further outbursts. “Father, there’s no need to—”
He shot up a hand. “I will not countenance Dr. Hughes insulting my good friend. George simply asked for his opinion, and Perry was happy to comply. Perry might not be a coroner, although one may indeed wonder why a man of his talents is not in that position. But he is certainly capable of giving trustworthy observations when asked to do so.”
By the end of this discourse, Highbury’s actual coroner appeared on the verge of an apoplectic fit.
“Mr. Woodhouse,” he said in freezing tones, “the law dictates that I make the appropriate determination regarding cause of death, and I alone.”
Mr. Perry held up his hands. “I have no wish to cause trouble, sir. I was simply providing Mr. Knightley an opinion on a very particular question, at his request.”
“Very true,” said George. “And if—”
Dr. Hughes interrupted him. “Mr. Knightley, I must object to this breach in protocol. Frankly, I would not have believed it of you, given your normally firm command of the law.”
Emma’s irritation had swelled in proportion to the doctor’s speech. “Dr. Hughes, not only is my husband the magistrate, but this is his estate. That surely gives him the authority to make certain decisions in your absence.”
“That is a very salient point,” said Father with approval. “If a similar tragic event were to occur at Hartfield, I can assure you that the first person I would ask to examine the body— after George, of course—would be our dear Perry.”
Miss Bates let out a little shriek. “Oh, Mr. Woodhouse, I couldn’t bear to think of such a thing happening at Hartfield. Such a lovely, elegant house could not possibly be the scene of so dreadful an occurrence.”
George held up a hand. “If I may—”
“If you ask me,” Sharpe interjected, “the opposite is true. If the incident occurred at the house of the magistrate, then it seems that said magistrate should be the last person in charge of any investigation.”
Father looked aghast. “Emma, you should not let that dreadful Sharpe person speak to George in so rude a fashion!”
“Constable Sharpe is frequently in the habit of making rude statements, Father. It’s best to simply ignore him.”
Her husband shot her an incredulous glance. “Really?”
“It’s ridiculous to think that you would ever act inappropriately,” she replied, feeling a trifle defensive.
“I find I must agree with Mrs. Knightley,” Dr. Hughes announced, unexpectedly entering the fray on her side.
“Mr. Knightley could never be guilty of any sort of improper conduct, although I must admit that our good magistrate’s judgment was perhaps temporarily deficient when he allowed Mr. Perry to view the body.
However,” he added, holding up his arms as if to confer a benediction on the room, “even our estimable Mr. Knightley’s judgment cannot always be perfect, so we must make allowances for the very rare error. ”
“Thank you,” George said in a long-suffering tone. “Now, if we could just return to the subject at hand?”
Miss Bates frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t remember what that was.”
“It was Dr. Hughes insulting Perry,” responded Emma’s father. “And that Sharpe person calling George’s judgment into question, which was very rude.”
“Now see here, sir,” snapped Constable Sharpe. “You’d best—”
Emma chopped down her hand. “Gentlemen, if we go on much longer, that poor girl’s body will be a block of ice. And then no one will be able to examine anything unless we bring her inside and thaw her out. I cannot imagine that would be a pleasant exercise for anyone.”
A startled silence filled the room while everyone stared at her with varying degrees of disbelief.
Oh dear.
George cleared his throat. “Thank you, my dear. Your point is well taken.” He turned to the coroner. “And I take your point as well, Dr. Hughes. Mr. Perry did not examine the body. I merely asked him to render an opinion on a matter where I believed time was of the essence.”
Dr. Hughes unbent a bit. “I would be grateful if you explained the circumstances.”
“While waiting for you and Constable Sharpe, I went outside to place a shawl over the body. The weather had begun to flurry, so it seemed a sensible precaution to preserve evidence. While placing the shawl over Miss Parr, I detected what I thought was the odor of spirits. Initially, I hadn’t noticed it. ”
Emma frowned. “I don’t remember smelling spirits, either.”
“I smelled them,” said Miss Bates.
George cast her a startled glance. “You did?”
The spinster nodded.
“As did I,” Perry quietly confirmed. “It was quite strong.”
“Very well,” said Dr. Hughes. “Mr. Knightley, if you would be so good as to show us the body, I will begin my examination.”
“We will begin our examination,” Sharpe put in.
It was going to be a long night.
George led Dr. Hughes and the constable to the terrace doors. Emma made to go with them, but her husband gave her a look of very clear intent.
Stay inside.
She blew out an exasperated breath but acquiesced. Heaven forbid a woman should ever ruffle any official’s masculine sense of superiority.
“Mrs. Knightley, if there is no further need for me, I’ll be on my way,” said Mr. Perry.
Emma forced a smile. “You’ve been a great help to all of us tonight. I’m only sorry that you were exposed to such a discourteous reception.”
The apothecary gave her a slight bow. “Please don’t worry, madam. And don’t hesitate to send for me if my services are required. These are extraordinary circumstances, and I would not wish your father or Miss Bates to suffer additional anxieties.”
Exchanging mutual assurances, Emma escorted him out to the hall and bade him farewell.
Returning to the library, she leaned against the door and closed her eyes, taking a moment to gather herself. Her eyes felt gritty, and fatigue was beginning to drag on her muscles. She shook it off and rejoined her father and Miss Bates.
“Poor Mrs. Knightley,” said Miss Bates with concern. “You must sit and rest a minute.”
“I’m fine.”
She’d just sunk down into one of the overstuffed armchairs when the library door opened. Mrs. Hodges entered, holding a crisply folded linen sheet. Following her was Larkins and one of the abbey’s grooms.
Emma rose with a relieved smile. “Mr. Larkins, there you are.”
Donwell’s steward had the physique and complexion of someone who spent most of his time outdoors and hard at work.
A sober fellow, he was a few years older than George and had been a fixture at the estate for many years.
Emma knew he loved Donwell Abbey almost as much as his master did, which spoke of the man’s loyal nature.
George greatly depended on him and gave Larkins substantial credit for Donwell’s continuing prosperity.
“I apologize for my absence, Mrs. Knightley,” he said. “I supped at the Crown tonight, and I stayed for a pint. I’ll not be forgiving myself for failing to be here to help the master, or to … to help Prudence.”
Emma heard more than a hint of the Irish brogue in his voice. Larkins’s family emigrated from Galway when he was a boy, settling in a village just outside London. Usually, there was little trace of an accent in his well-modulated speech, but for when he was upset.
Tonight, he was obviously very upset.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Larkins,” she replied. “No one could have anticipated this tragedy.”
Larkins’s expression was so bereft that it left Emma wondering about the exact nature of his feelings for Prudence.
Was it simply the reaction of a good, kindly man who felt responsible for the staff under his care?
Or could there have possibly been some stronger emotion he’d felt for the young woman?
“Mrs. Knightley,” said Mrs. Hodges, “once the gentlemen are finished, we’ll take Prudence up to the green bedroom, as you instructed.”
“Thank you. Mr. Larkins, will you see to the other arrangements?” Emma asked.
He nodded. “I’ll go into the village first thing in the morning, ma’am.”
It would be necessary to commission a carpenter in Highbury to build a coffin. Emma wasn’t quite sure what would happen after that. Presumably, George was already thinking through next steps.
“Mrs. Hodges, where do Prudence’s family live?” she asked.
“Leatherhead, ma’am. Her father and brothers are blacksmiths.”
Larkins breathed out a fractured sigh. “They’ll be that torn apart, Mrs. Hodges.”
The housekeeper made an effort to compose herself. “We have to bear up for their sake and take care of the poor girl.”
In other words, mourning would have to wait. Any death, even a tragic one, demanded a number of practical details. Emotions must be held at bay until those details were addressed.
The men reentered the room, bringing a blast of cold air with them. George’s expression lightened with relief as he spotted his estate steward.
Larkins stepped forward. “Begging your pardon, sir. I should have been here.”
“There is no fault on your part, nor anyone else’s,” George replied.
“We’ll see about that,” Constable Sharpe muttered.
Larkins shot him a startled look, and some of the color drained from the steward’s face. Given his red hair and ruddy complexion, it was quite noticeable.
Then he gathered himself. “What do you need from me now, Mr. Knightley?”
“You may take Prudence up to …” George looked at Emma.
“The green bedroom. Mrs. Hodges has prepared it.”
George nodded before turning to Emma’s father and Miss Bates. “While outside, I took it upon myself to explain to Dr. Hughes and Constable Sharpe what you both heard and saw. Dr. Hughes is of the opinion that you needn’t stay any longer, as it has been such a long night.”
“Perry said as much at least a half hour ago,” Father replied in a lofty tone. “It’s a great shame we didn’t listen to him.”
When the coroner startled to bristle, Emma hastily stepped in. “Thank you, Dr. Hughes. That’s so kind. I’m sure James is already here to take my father and Miss Bates home.”