“Well, who knows what will happen next if that fellow is not brought to heel?”
“A shortage of eggs, I would imagine,” Emma commented.
Her husband studiously avoided looking at her, although she saw his mouth twitch. “Very well, Constable. You may transport the prisoner. Please make the necessary arrangements for me to speak with Curtis tomorrow morning.”
Mr. Sharpe threw Emma a triumphant glance. “I will be happy to do so. Now, if that will be all, sir, I’ll be on my way.”
George stayed seated, simply giving him a cool nod.
The constable looked slightly disconcerted but mustered an awkward bow. “Mrs. Knightley.”
Emma gave him a smile that was mostly teeth. “I’m sure you can find your way out, Mr. Sharpe.”
When he’d departed, she blew out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know how you can be so calm, George. That dreadful man has gone behind your back from the beginning.”
“Yes, I did notice that,” he said with a trace of sarcasm. “You may be sure I will be speaking with Dr. Hughes about proper procedure, as well as the inappropriateness of civilians interfering in policing matters.”
She widened her eyes. “I hope you’re not speaking of me.”
“This time, I’m referring to Mr. Elton.”
“I can understand Mr. Elton’s feelings, but one would think that the theft of Dr. Hughes’s chickens—no matter how excellent they may be—is of less import than finding Mrs. Elton’s real killer.”
George tilted his head to study her. “How can we be certain Dick isn’t the killer?”
“We cannot, but it doesn’t make sense. And I would bet a bob that Mrs. Elton never exchanged one word with the man.”
“Revenge is always a motive, and killing a loved one—not to mention stealing an expensive necklace—is about as much revenge as one can get.”
“About that necklace, George. It has yet to be found, or connected to Dick.”
“There will need to be a search, and I intend to do that myself.”
Emma perked up. “Do you need help?”
“I will take one of the grooms. I think it best you remain here to protect Hartfield from the poultry thief.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous. And I still think Dick is lacking a motive. Yes, Mr. Elton turned him down, but the poor fellow simply could have come to you instead. Or he could have applied to the full vestry council when next it met, could he not?”
“I will be raising that very issue with him tomorrow, I assure you. But it’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility that Dick was the killer. He clearly hates our vicar and obviously had no great love for Mrs. Elton. It may be, as Sharpe says, that an opportunity presented itself and he stumbled into the rest.”
“But to then make such blatantly incriminating statements to others? I don’t know the man, but is he truly that foolish?”
“He’s not ever struck me as such, but poverty and despair can drive one to do desperate things.”
That was an undeniable truth. “I can’t help but feel sorry for him, even though it would make life easier if he were the guilty party. Miss Bates would no longer be under suspicion.”
“And life could begin to return to normal.” He rose from his desk. “As much as I esteem Miss Bates, the notion that she will be spending most evenings at Hartfield for the foreseeable future does give me pause.”
Emma adopted a puzzled expression. “Whatever can you mean, dearest?”
He laughed and then came round his desk to give her a parting kiss.
“When may we expect to see you again?” she asked after returning his embrace.
“After I conduct a search of Dick’s quarters and likely hiding places, I intend to stop and have a word with Dr. Hughes.”
Emma held up a hand. “He may have taken to his bed. His beloved chickens, you know. I suggest you take smelling salts.”
