Page 22 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
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.”
“Wewill 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.”
