Chapter 20
Emma’s father turned a severe gaze on their surroundings. The ballroom of the Crown Inn had once more been transformed into a courtroom for the coroner’s inquest.
“I object to participating in yet another one of these unpleasant exercises,” he groused. “For one thing, it is a breeding ground for contagion. Dr. Hughes has much to answer for in that regard.”
“Because Mr. Larkins was arrested for murder, a coroner’s inquest was required by law,” Emma replied. “I’m afraid there’s no avoiding it.”
Father then turned his ire on another favorite object of scorn. “That Sharpe person seems to think he can go about arresting people, regardless of how the rest of us think. I do not approve.”
Emma glanced toward the coroner’s table, only a few feet away from where they sat in the front row. The constable stood behind it, scowling ferociously at them.
“Mr. Sharpe is right there,” she whispered. “He can hear you.”
Undeterred, her father continued. “You would make a better constable, my dear. Certainly you would never go about arresting innocent people at the drop of a hat.”
Miss Bates, sitting on his other side, leaned forward. “Indeed, Mrs. Knightley. You possess such keen intelligence. You would make a splendid constable.”
Emma had to smile. “I doubt Mr. Knightley would approve. Nor can I see myself lurking about the village in the dead of night, lantern and staff at the ready to apprehend villains.”
Her father gasped. “Emma, recall the danger you faced last summer when Mrs. Elton was murdered. You must promise never to put yourself in danger again!”
“Father, I was simply making a little joke.”
“You mustn’t joke about murder, my dear. People might misinterpret your meaning.”
She sighed. “Yes, Father.”
Fortunately, Miss Bates diverted his attention by speaking of her latest letter from Jane Churchill.
Three days had passed since Larkins’s arrest. Dr. Hughes, assisted by George, had quickly assembled a jury and convened the inquest. At the moment, the jury was on a break after a long morning of witness testimony.
While the jury had retired to another room, most everyone else—a large turnout of locals— had remained and were stretching their legs or consuming their lunches, all while avidly gossiping about the proceedings.
Sadly, the inquest was generally viewed as a form of entertainment by some, who then acted accordingly—sometimes even loudly offering opinions, much to the annoyance of Dr. Hughes.
To think Emma had once considered Frank Churchill’s secret betrothal to Jane Fairfax the height of drama.
Now, Highbury had been the scene of not one but two murders, and might be a hotbed of smuggling as well.
Mrs. Weston tapped her shoulder from behind.
“Emma, are you well?” she asked in a low voice.
Forcing a smile, Emma turned in her seat. “I’m fine. Just impatient with the delay.”
“This break does seem rather long,” Mrs. Weston replied. “Most of the witnesses gave their testimony this morning.”
Emma and George had both testified, as had Father and Miss Bates.
It had taken a great deal of persuasion on George’s part to convince Father that he was required to appear as a witness.
Father had seen it as a great affront to his dignity and had made a point of expressing that opinion on the stand, much to the amusement of the locals.
At least his testimony had been to the point, unlike that of Miss Bates.
The poor woman had tried her best to be helpful, but she’d buried the coroner under her usual avalanche of words.
The one person who would not be called as a witness was William Larkins. Since he’d already been remanded for murder, his testimony was deemed unreliable. Emma and George had done their best to discount the evidence against their steward, but even she had to admit it was incriminating.
Even worse were the testimonies given by Mrs. Hodges and Harry.
Both were clearly reluctant witnesses, and their statements had been damning.
Mrs. Hodges had been forced to confirm the bloodstained mobcap as belonging to Prudence, and Harry—in his usual awkward fashion—had alleged that Larkins cherished tender feelings for the girl.
Dr. Hughes had then asked if Prudence returned those feelings.
Harry had squirmed a bit before admitting that he believed such was not the case.
Those observations by the staff had elicited a great deal of murmuring from the crowd.
Clearly, many were drawing the disastrous conclusion that Prudence’s death had been at the hands of a spurned lover.
Knowing Larkins as they did, most of the villagers should have rejected such a ridiculous conclusion but, unfortunately, that now seemed a faint hope.
Hearing a stir at the back of the room, Emma turned to see three men enter, their coats dusted with snow.
Two were so alike they could only be brothers.
The other man, although of a strong and upright bearing, was much older.
His hair was liberally sprinkled with gray and his complexion was weather-beaten and worn.
“Prudence’s father and brothers, I believe,” Emma said to Mrs. Weston. “That’s who we’ve been waiting for. They had to travel from Leatherhead.”
“The poor men,” Mrs. Weston replied in a sympathetic tone. “And in this dreadful weather, too.”
George, who’d been at the front of the room with Dr. Hughes, strode down the aisle to meet the Parrs. Naturally, all heads turned to look at the victim’s family, some even standing up to do so. Murmurs rippled through the room, following Mr. Parr and his sons as they moved up front.
The group paused by Emma’s chair.
“My dear,” said George. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Parr and his sons, David and Marcus.”
She rose and extended her hand. “Sirs, please accept my condolences on your great loss. We are so grieved for you.”
Mr. Parr’s hand, rough from his smithing work, engulfed hers. “That’s kind of you, ma’am. We’re ever so grateful to you and Mr. Knightley for taking care of our girl. She loved working at Donwell, and—”
He broke off, his features distorting with grief.
David placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Pa. You don’t need to say anything else.”
Mr. Parr cleared his throat as he released Emma’s hand. “Apologies, Mrs. Knightley. I can hardly believe my Prudence is gone. It’s not right. She should be here with us.”
“There is certainly no need to apologize,” Emma said. “What happened to your daughter is an utter tragedy.”
His grief-stricken expression suddenly turned hard. “It is at that, and I intend that my girl gets justice.”
A loud throat-clearing from the dais drew their attention to Dr. Hughes, his usual pompous self. “I believe we are now ready to reconvene. If the witnesses will take their seats, the jury can be recalled.”
In quick order, the Parrs were seated at the end of the first row as the jury filed in.
“I now call Mr. Parr, father of Miss Prudence Parr, to the stand,” announced Dr. Hughes.
Murmurs of sympathy rose as Mr. Parr took a seat next to the coroner’s desk.
Dr. Hughes stood before him. “Sir, if you will please state your full name and your relationship to the victim for the records.”
The first few minutes of Mr. Parr’s testimony were mostly comprised of mundane details, as well as a brief history as to how Prudence came to work at Donwell.
Mr. Parr was also asked to give a description of Prudence’s character and temperament.
As one would expect, it was glowing. It was also, as far as Emma knew, accurate.
That everyone at Donwell thought highly of Prudence was a fact already established.
“When was the last time you saw your daughter?” asked Dr. Hughes.
“It was about three weeks before—” The man clamped his lips shut, as if emotion threatened to overwhelm him.
“Take your time, sir,” the coroner said with more kindness than his usual wont.
Mr. Parr struggled for control. “It was about three weeks before her death. Prudence always came home once a month on her day off.” He managed a wobbly smile. “She was a good girl that way. Never forgot her family.”
More sympathetic murmurings swelled like a gentle chorus.
Emma mentally grimaced. Although she felt tremendous compassion for the Parrs, the father’s emotional testimony boded ill for Larkins.
The portrait being drawn of Prudence was that of a sweet, kind girl who was an innocent victim of a heinous crime.
The people would want justice—or vengeance, and Larkins would make a convenient target.
“On her last visit, how did Miss Parr seem?” the coroner asked. “Was she concerned about anything? Did she refer to anything that might be troubling her?”
“I could tell something was bothering her. Not like herself, she was. Prudence was very quiet-like that visit. My boys noticed it, too.”
Emma glanced down the row to see the Parr brothers grimly nodding agreement.
Dr. Hughes looked grave. “Did you ask your daughter what troubled her?”
“I did, sir. At first, she tried to brush off my questions. When I wouldn’t let it go, she finally said that she was a bit worried about something but was sure it would sort itself out.”
“So, she didn’t say specifically what the worry was about?”
Mr. Parr shook his head. “No. I asked her if anyone at the abbey was bothering her and she said no, and that it weren’t nothing to speak of.
When I told her to go to Mr. Knightley about it anyway, she got all bothered and said she wouldn’t dream of worrying the master.
Then she told me again that it would sort itself out in a few weeks. ”
Now seated next to her, George exhaled a quiet sigh. Emma placed a hand on his knee, knowing that he still felt that he’d failed the girl.
Dr. Hughes stooped to retrieve an item from a large basket under the table, and then he showed it to Mr. Parr.
“Sir,” he asked, “do you know if this lace ribbon belonged to your daughter?”