Emma swallowed the impulse to snap at him. Unfortunately, the man was correct. She was simply a witness, while he was . . .
Incredibly pompous and annoying.
She also couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of duty toward Mrs. Elton. As if in discovering the body, a certain obligation had been placed upon her, one she couldn’t ignore.
“My dear?” George’s gaze held both questions and concern.
She mustered a smile. “It’s nothing. And of course I would never wish to interfere with any formal investigations.”
Informal ones, however, might be another matter.
Dr. Hughes rewarded her with an avuncular smile. “No woman of taste or feeling—and of course you have a great deal of both—could wish to involve herself in such an ugly business. I sincerely regret that you and Mrs. Martin must be subjected to ongoing unpleasantness. It is indeed unfortunate that you had to discover the body.”
“Better us than Mr. Elton, I suppose. The poor man was a complete wreck.”
George stood, signaling the interview was ended. “I think we can all agree that my wife and Mrs. Martin comported themselves with commendable discretion and good sense. If not for them, we might have had half the village descending on the church.”
Dr. Hughes held up his hands, as if conferring a benediction. “I do commend you on your forethought, Mrs. Knightley. As Highbury’s physician, however, let me just note that because you have received such a terrible shock, I should be happy to prepare a calming draught for you or send round a tincture of laudanum to help you sleep.”
“My nerves are perfectly fine, sir, but I thank you for your consideration.”
“But surely—”
“That’s enough for tonight, Dr. Hughes,” George firmly said.
Hughes looked mildly offended but quickly regrouped. “As you wish, Mr. Knightley. That being the case, I will bid you—”
When Emma was struck by another one of those niggling questions, she couldn’t help but interrupt him. “Dr. Hughes, do you think it within the realm of possibility that Mrs. Elton could have been killed by a woman?”
George shot her a startled look. “What?”
Drat.
Her tongue had unfortunately outrun her brain.
“I suppose I’m simply curious,” she said, trying not to sound like a henwit. “I wonder if a woman—no one in particular, you understand—would have the strength to leave those marks on Mrs. Elton’s throat. They were quite pronounced, which suggests a certain degree of strength, does it not?”
Both men stared at her as if she’d lost her mind, which was a trifle awkward. Still, she wanted the doctor’s professional opinion. Even though the candlestick was heavy enough that she’d almost dropped it, Emma felt certain she could swing it with enough force to bash someone’s head in. But to actually grapple with Mrs. Elton, seizing her by the throat and throttling her? That seemed beyond her.
“Well, Dr. Hughes?” she prompted after several moments of fraught silence.
“I suppose a strong woman could theoretically have done so,” he reluctantly replied. “It’s difficult, however, to imagine a lady having the fortitude to commit such a heinous act.”
“I’m not talking about fortitude, sir. I’m talking about physical strength, enough to leave bruises on another person’s neck.”
“A woman who labored with her hands—a farm or kitchen worker, perhaps—might have the strength necessary to commit such a deed.”
“So one engaged in physical labor,” she said, needing to be sure.
He frowned. “Yes, but why would you even ask such a thing, madam? There is not a shred of evidence to suggest that Mrs. Elton was killed by a woman.”
She waved an airy hand. “No, of course not. It was just a random thought on my part.”
By now, George was regarding her with a marked degree of suspicion. Emma did her best to ignore him.
“Random thoughts are best left out of criminal investigations, Mrs. Knightley,” Hughes intoned.
“Of course. Quite right, sir. Do forgive me.”
