“That is my hope, as well,” George dryly replied.
“Miss Bates and I will wait for you, Emma,” her father said. “I will wish to hear everything. And please ensure that the constable leaves as soon as you are finished speaking with him. Miss Bates should not have to see him.”
The spinster gave him a misty smile. “Dear, dear Mr. Woodhouse, always so concerned for my welfare.”
“It is my pleasure, dear lady,” said Father, taking her hand again.
A rather alarming thought popped into Emma’s brain, but she batted it away. It was a silly notion. Besides, there were much more important matters to attend to.
After promising to return as soon as possible, she and George left the room.
“It would seem you were correct in your assessment of Suckling’s character,” her husband said as they headed toward his study.
“I believe we shared that assessment, but I never thought him a murderer.”
“Apparently, he is.”
She waggled a hand. “I neither like nor trust the man, but that doesn’t mean he’s a killer.”
“Hopefully, Constable Sharpe can provide more detail.”
When they entered the study, Sharpe rose from his seat in front of George’s desk. His attitude was somber, and he even forgot himself enough to give Emma a respectful bow. He remained standing while George moved behind his desk and Emma took one of the chairs in front of it.
“Constable, where is Mr. Suckling now?” George asked as he settled into his chair.
“On his way to Guildford, sir. Dr. Hughes is taking him to be placed in the gaol. The doctor took his own carriage, along with Mr. Elton’s footmen to keep the prisoner under control.”
George’s eyebrows snapped together in an intimidating frown. “He is already being transferred to prison? When was he arrested?”
“First thing this morning, Mr. Knightley. The incident occurred right after breakfast—”
“By theincident, you mean the discovery of the missing necklace?” Emma interrupted.
“Aye, Mrs. Knightley. That and the fight between Mr. Suckling and Mr. Elton. That’s when the vicar’s footman came running to fetch me.”
“Why was I not told of this?” George sternly asked.
The constable grimaced an apology. “Begging your pardon, sir, but we knew Mr. Woodhouse was feeling poorly, so I thought it best to send for Dr. Hughes first. And then he said we shouldn’t be bothering you.” He twirled a hand. “On account of Mr. Woodhouse being taken so ill.”
“It is not the coroner’s job to arrest suspects,” George replied, clearly annoyed by the abrogation of his authority.
The constable shook his head. “No, sir, but it is my job, and I would have done it without any say-so from Dr. Hughes.”
“They why is Dr. Hughes escorting the prisoner to the gaol, and not you?”
Sharpe’s thin features pulled downward into a sour expression. “I made that point myself, sir, but Dr. Hughes insisted he accompany the prisoner. He said he was best placed to take Suckling’s statement. That way, he would know it to be accurate for the indictment.”
“Coroners do not issue indictments, either,” George replied in a clipped tone.
“Don’t I know it,” muttered the constable.
George tapped his desktop. “I will want a full report in writing from both you and Dr. Hughes.”
Although loath to overstep her husband’s authority, Emma couldn’t wait a second longer. “And speaking of reports, what happened? Did Mr. Elton and Mr. Suckling actually get into a fight?” She twirled a finger. “As in fisticuffs?”
Her mind was still attempting to conjure up the image of their weedy vicar engaging in a physical contest.
“More like a beating, Mrs. Knightley,” the constable grimly replied. “Mr. Suckling tried to throttle poor Mr. Elton.”
