Page 83 of Murder in Highbury
Emma could think of an alternative explanation—Mrs. Elton didn’t wish for hercaro sposoto overhear the conversation.
“That makes perfect sense,” she said instead.
Constable Sharpe suddenly jabbed a finger at Miss Bates. “If someone was planning on murder, a deserted church on Saturday afternoon would be just the place.”
Mrs. Bates suddenly thumped her cane on the floor. “Idiot!” she cried, shocking them all into silence.
George recovered first. “Constable, you will refrain from making such dramatic—and baseless—accusations, or we will be having words again.”
“Begging your pardon, Mr. Knightley, but it’s my job to conduct the investigationandarrest any suspects as I see fit. To my way of thinking, there’s more than enough evidence to arrest Miss Bates for the murder of Mrs. Elton.”
Mrs. Bates let out a horrified cry, while Miss Bates shrank against the sofa cushions, clearly terrified.
Outraged, Emma jumped to her feet. “You are much mistaken, sir, if you think Miss Bates is guilty of this crime.”
Constable Sharpe now jabbed an angry finger at her. “And you’re not to be interfering with my duties, missus.”
“George,” she exclaimed. “Do some . . .”
The words died on her lips. Only rarely had she ever seen her husband truly angry. Now, however, his eyes glittered with fury. He stepped forward, crowding the constable back against the fireplace mantel.
“You will do nothing of the sort,” he all but growled. “The evidence against Miss Bates is, in fact, extremely thin and easily explained.”
Clearly startled by George’s ferocious response, the constable blinked. But then his chin went up. “I disagree, sir. Miss Bates certainly had reason to hate Mrs. Elton—”
“But I didn’t!” the spinster cried.
“And she fled the scene and then lied about it. To my way of thinking, there’s more than enough evidence to arrest her, and that’s what I intend to do.”
“That is beyond ridiculous,” Emma snapped. “Miss Bates is completely incapable of hurting anyone. In addition, she had no reason to.”
“Fifty pounds says otherwise,” the constable countered.
“My husband and I could have repaid that amount on a moment’s notice. So could my father, Mr. Weston, and Jane Churchill. And as Miss Bates pointed out, she never received any actual funds from Mrs. Elton in the first place.”
“The promissory note is legally binding. Miss Bates owed that money to Mrs. Elton whether she wants to admit it or not.”
Frustrated, Emma turned to her husband. “George, do something!”
“I should be happy to, if given the chance,” he replied in an exasperated tone. “Constable, I do not agree with your assessment of the situation. At a minimum, it requires further investigation. Therefore, you will not be arresting Miss Bates, and I enjoin you to refrain from discussing this matter with anyone but Dr. Hughes or myself. I will meet with you and the doctor later this afternoon to determine the next steps.”
Sharpe bristled. “But—”
George held up a magisterial hand. “Do I make myself clear?”
“You do, but I object to your interference, Mr. Knightley. Igreatlyobject.”
“Duly noted. Now, I suggest you take your leave, since you have caused the ladies enough upset for one day.”
The constable slapped his short-brimmed hat on his head. “Very well, but the suspect had best not try to abscond.”
When Miss Bates whimpered, Emma plopped down on the sofa and put her arm around the poor dear’s trembling shoulders.
“It is no more likely that Miss Bates would leave Highbury than I would fly to the moon, you silly man,” she exclaimed. “You are completely ridiculous.”
After directing a fiery glare her way, the constable stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
George sighed. “Emma—”
