Page 52 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
“He did, but then he asked this morning to be excused. Stomach troubles, apparently.”
Larkins had seemed perfectly fine when she’d spoken to him in the kitchen earlier in the day. Still …
“Perhaps he simply couldn’t face it,” she said. “When I spoke to Mrs. Hodges and Harry this morning, they were still very upset—and perplexed, quite honestly. They have questions as well.”
George tilted his head to get a better look at her. “You spoke to them about the accident, did you?”
She recognizedthattone of voice.
“Well, yes. I had a few concerns about what happened that night, and I thought Mrs. Hodges and Harry might be able to address them.”
He sighed. “Emma …”
She patted his chest. “Please hear me out, George. I think it might be important.”
He closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously likenot again.
She gave him a nudge. “Dearest?”
“Very well, but let me replenish the fire first. Something tells me that we might be here for a while.”
Part of her felt guilty to be raising these issues with him after such a difficult day, but there was little point in delay. Not only was George the person she trusted most in the world, he was the local magistrate. If there was anything suspicious in Prudence’s death, he should be informed of it as soon as possible.
And if occasionally—very occasionally—she let her imagination run just a tiny bit ahead of the facts, George would invariably point that out, too.
As he built up the fire, Emma took a few moments to indulge in admiration of his masculine physique. George had a plethora of excellent qualities—one of which was a splendid set of shoulders.
“All right,” he said, rejoining her. “Tell me why you felt the need to discuss Prudence’s accident with the staff.”
She settled under his arm. “When we were in Prudence’s room the night of the accident, it seemed to me that both Mrs. Hodges and Harry were holding something back. I sensed that they had more to say but were intimidated by the presence of Constable Sharpe and Dr. Hughes.”
George frowned, obviously thinking over her words. Emma loved that about him. Even when he disagreed with her— sometimes vociferously in the days before their marriage—he never brushed aside her concerns and opinions.
“While I did sense their discomfort,” he finally replied, “I assumed it had to do with their shock over Prudence’s death.”
“They were shocked, of course. But a few times I caught them exchanging what I can only describe as furtive glances.” She held up a hand. “And, no. It wasn’t my imagination.”
“So, what do you think were they holding back?”
“For one thing, Mrs. Hodges admitted that Prudence had more than a headache—she was also distressed. You’ll recall we did have a discussion that night, somewhat to that effect.”
“With Constable Sharpe arriving at the unfortunate conclusion that she’d killed herself,” he replied.
Emma scoffed. “That man is truly a dolt. As it turns out, though, Prudence had reason to be upset. William Coxhadbeen harassing her, as I suspected, and she found his attentions most unwelcome.”
George jerked his head around to stare at her. “Mrs. Hodges confirmed that?”
“Yes.”
He muttered an oath under his breath. “I wish I’d known. I would have tossed the bounder into the nearest rosebush.”
“George, there’s no need to punish our poor rosebushes for William Cox’s repellant behavior.”
He frowned again, deep in thought, then cast her a sideways glance.
Emma patted his thigh. “Just say it, dearest. You won’t shock me, I promise.”
“Did Mrs. Hodges detail the nature of William’s harassment?”
