Page 106 of Murder in Highbury
Frank laughed again.
They came abreast of the linen-draper’s shop. Mrs. Ford was out front, watering her geraniums in a clay pot by the door.
“Good morning, Mrs. Knightley, Mr. Churchill. A fine morning for a walk, is it not?” she called, inspecting them with a great deal of curiosity.
Frank tipped his hat. “Indeed it is.”
“Don’t slow down,” Emma warned, “or she’ll pepper us with a thousand questions.”
“At least we’ve given her something to gossip about. The two of us rushing through the village so early in the day.”
And wouldn’t George just love hearing about that?
Ignoring the prospect that her husband would likely disapprove of this excursion, she turned back to Frank.
“May I ask where we’re going?”
“To see Farmer Mitchell. Sally claims that Dick was working at Mitchell’s farm that day and was there well past the time when Mrs. Elton was murdered.”
“Mr. Mitchell would certainly prove a credible witness, if he can verify Dick’s whereabouts.”
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
A few minutes’ brisk walk brought them to the turn into Mr. Mitchell’s prosperousand tidy farmstead. Although not large, Riverwatch Farm possessed excellent pastureland and produced some of the finest cheeses in the whole district. More to the point, the farmer was a good and honest man whose word was unimpeachable.
As they approached the rambling whitewashed farmhouse, Mr. Mitchell issued forth from his barn.
“Mrs. Knightley, you wait right there,” he called. “Or you’ll be getting them shoes of yours dirty in the muck.”
He strode over to meet them, then pulled his cap to Emma and gave Frank a genial nod.
“It’s a pleasure to see you, Mr. Churchill,” he said. “Miss Bates will be all the more comfortable for having you and Mrs. Churchill here in Highbury. Poor lady’s been going through an awful time, God love her.”
“The murder is why we’ve come to speak with you,” said Emma.
He nodded, perhaps as if he’d been expecting them. “Would you like to step inside? The missus can fix you a cup of tea in no time.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you, but we don’t wish to keep you. I would be grateful, though, if you could send a wheel of your cheddar around to Hartfield. Serle raved about your last batch.”
“I’ll have one of the lads bring it over this afternoon. Now, how can I help?”
“I’m not sure if you know this,” she replied, “but Constable Sharpe has arrested Dick Curtis for Mrs. Elton’s murder.”
He let out a disgusted snort. “I heard. Sharpe’s got the wrong end of it, I reckon.”
“Sally Linden claims that Dick was working here the day of the murder,” Frank said. “Is that true?”
“Aye. Dick was here all day, doing odd jobs and helping the missus clean out the cellar. I know he’s a bit of a rough one, but he’s a good man, and he’s been dealt a hard blow with that hand of his. I try to give him as much work as I can.”
Emma and Frank exchanged a glance.
“Was Dick here that entire afternoon?” she asked.
“That’s what I told Constable Sharpe. He came sniffing around here after Dick was flapping his gums at the Crown. Now, I’m not claiming old Dick should have said those things or written that silly note, but he would never hurt no one, especially a lady. I’ve known him all my life, and he’s never lifted a hand to anyone.”
“Sharpe obviously didn’t believe you,” Frank said.
“No. I told Sharpe that Dick was working down in the cellar most of the afternoon, and my missus was in the kitchen or down with him the whole time. But Sharpe says Dick must have snuck out when my missus wasn’t looking, then went and robbed and killed Mrs. Elton. I asked him, ‘Well, where’s the bloody necklace, then?’ ” He grimaced. “Begging your pardon, Mrs. Knightley.”
