Page 28 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
Mrs. Hodges’s scowl was ferocious. “Prudence was a sweet, biddable girl, and a churchgoing one at that. She would never commit such a heinous sin, and would never cause such a scandal for her father.”
George directed a coldly lethal gaze at the constable. “That is an exceedingly damning accusation to make, Constable. I would ask you to explain yourself.”
Literally damning in the case of suicide. If proven, Prudence would be denied a Christian burial. Such a death would be a scandal that followed her loved ones for the rest of their lives.
The constable gestured at Emma. “For one, I’m taking up on Mrs. Knightley’s point.”
“I never suggested anything of the sort!” she protested.
“You pointed out that the window is not that easy to tumble out of by accident. I agree. Therefore, it makes sense to consider the alternative, one thatdoesfit the rest of the evidence.”
Emma had always known that the constable’s intellect failed to live up to his name, but this particular accusation was beyond offensive.
“What evidence?” she snapped. “You haven’t given us any.”
George’s eyebrows ticked up at her tone. Generally speaking, he did not approve of her tangling with Highbury’s law officers, but in this case she found herself unable to remain silent.
“Well, Constable Sharpe?” she demanded. “What evidence do you have to support that outrageous assertion?”
“Begging pardon, Mrs. Knightley, but I don’t answer to you,” Sharpe disdainfully replied. “Ordinary folk have no business mucking about in the law or offering opinions on criminal matters.”
Before she could open her mouth to retort, George intervened. “You may not answer to Mrs. Knightley, Constable Sharpe, but youdoanswer to me. And I expect you to answer my wife’s question. What credible evidence do you have to support a conclusion of suicide?”
Constable Sharpe seemed to struggle with himself but then grudgingly replied. “The girl was obviously upset about something. Mayhap she had a falling out with a sweetheart or was abandoned by him.”
George looked to Mrs. Hodges. “Did Prudence have a sweetheart?”
The housekeeper hesitated for a few moments before replying. “No. At least not to my knowledge.”
That caveat made Emma blink. Why did Mrs. Hodges seem reluctant to answer the question? Harry also looked uncomfortable, intently studying his shoes again.
“Constable Sharpe, young girls generally do not throw them selves out of windows because of quarrels with sweethearts,” opined Dr. Hughes. “We are not living in a Shakespearian tragedy, after all.”
“That’s all well and good,” Sharpe retorted. “I’m just saying we need to look at all the angles of the thing. The girl’s dead, and it’s my job to find out why.”
Dr. Hughes held up an imperious hand. “I have heard and seen enough. What is clear is that Miss Parr was either upset or unwell. That state led her to drink a portion of sherry, a drink to which she was unaccustomed. She then opened the window, likely wishing to get some fresh air. Most unfortunately, she lost her balance, hit her head on the side of the frame, and tumbled to her death. As Highbury’s coroner, that is my official determination.”
George nodded. “I agree. Miss Parr’s death was a tragic accident. There is certainly no need to inflict harm on her reputation with needless speculation that fails to hold up under scrutiny.”
Under such withering fire, Constable Sharpe had no choice but to give in. He silently fumed for a few seconds, but then nodded.
“Then we are in agreement,” said George. “Dr. Hughes, I will be happy to meet to discuss any legal necessities in a day or two. Before that, I must be off to Leatherhead in the morning to break the news to Miss Parr’s family and help them make necessary arrangements.”
“A heavy burden indeed, Mr. Knightley,” replied the coroner. “Please convey my sympathies to Miss Parr’s family.”
George nodded. “Of course. Allow me to escort you and the constable downstairs.”
Muttering under his breath, Constable Sharpe stomped out of the room, forcing Harry to scuttle aside. With a cluck of disapproval, Dr. Hughes followed at a more sedate pace.
George took Emma’s hand. “Shall we, my dear?”
She shrugged. “I suppose there’s nothing more to be done up here, is there?”
“I’ll clean the window frame, Mr. Knightley,” Mrs. Hodges quietly said. “That way we can lock the door and leave the rest of the room undisturbed.”
George grimaced. “I’m sorry to leave you with such an unpleasant task.”
“It’s best if I do it, sir. I’ll make sure everything is rightly taken care of.”
