Page 98 of Murder in Highbury
“Yes, I recall. But in this case, the civilians seem to be doing a better job of it than Constable Sharpe, certainly.”
“I take it you’re referring to yourself,” he dryly replied.
“You must admit that Harriet and I have supplied you with some very valuable information.”
“And I’m grateful. Still, there is quite a difference between overhearing something and actively investigating. This investigation is also not without a potential risk, my dear. I will not have you putting yourself in harm’s way.”
“I assure you, I have no desire to do so. But we’re not talking about me, dearest. We’re talking about Frank.”
He began to look irritated. “I hope you didn’t encourage him to think he had any role to play in this investigation, because that would be highly inappropriate.”
“Of course not,” she replied, trying not to bristle. “It was Mr. Weston who did that.”
He sighed. “Emma, what did you tell them?”
“Very little, really. Well, perhaps more than a little, but only what I thought they had a right to know.”
“It’s not up to you to make that decision.”
She cast a quick glance in her father’s direction. Thankfully, he had fallen into a peaceful doze and would not overhear theirslightdisagreement.
“I simply gave them a few basic facts. They surely have the right to know, given that Miss Bates is Jane’s aunt. And they only wish to help, George.”
“I sympathize, but you should not be encouraging them. Especially not Frank.”
“I didn’t encourage him!”
When her father snorted, Emma froze, as did George. Fortunately, Father subsided back into his doze.
“I didn’t encourage anyone,” she forcefully whispered. “And Frank is only trying to be helpful.”
“I don’t need his help,” George whispered back. “And you arenotto go haring off with him, searching for clues and interrogating innocent people. In fact, I think it best if you spend as little time with Frank Churchill as possible.”
“But he’s coming to dinner tomorrow!”
“Regrettable, since the man does nothing but tow trouble in his wake. I have precious little time to waste these days, Emma, particularly on foolish dinner parties. Nor do I wish to spend an evening with Frank Churchill.”
She stared at him, astonished by his words and by the scowl marking his handsome features. “George, you’re being quite unreasonable. One might even conclude that you’re jealous of Frank.”
Her husband went as stiff as a fireplace poker. Then he picked up his glass and tossed back the last of his brandy before coming to his feet.
“If you’ll excuse me, I believe I have some work to finish in my study.”
Her husband turned on his heel and stalked from the room, leaving Emma with her mouth hanging open. Much too late, she realized that George’s disapproval of Frank Churchill had not abated one jot.
CHAPTER20
Emma gloomily buttered her toast. She’d woken up with a headache, no appetite, and the conviction that she’d been very foolish.
She and George had rarely exchanged a cross word since their wedding day. They’d had the occasional brangle—some habits were a bittoohard to break—but they’d never truly argued. That is, until she’d brought up the one person who annoyed him more than any other—Frank Churchill.
Not that she entirely disagreed with George’s assessment of Frank’s character. Nevertheless, taken in full measure, she thought Frank to be a good man, if not quite worthy of Jane. Unfortunately, Emma’s beloved failed to share that view, a point made clear when he did not return to the drawing room. George had eventually joined her in bed, but very late and in an exceedingly annoying way, falling asleep the instant his head hit the pillow. And he was already gone when she awoke, out for an early morning ride.
At the other end of the dining room table, her father glanced up from his gazette. “Emma, you’ve barely touched your toast. Are you feeling unwell?”
She forced a bright smile. “Indeed no, Father. You know I am never unwell.”
He perused her with anxiety. “You are too pale, my dear. Perhaps you should retire back to bed.”
