“Then why run? I don’t mean to be rude to the lady, but it makes no sense.”
Dr. Hughes turned back to Miss Bates. “Ma’am?”
“But I already explained that,” she burst out. “I . . . I simply couldn’t think clearly. All the blood . . . poor Mrs. Elton . . . I simply couldn’t bear it a moment longer. I had to get away!”
The cadaverous fellow shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss. It still makes no sense to me.”
“Well, I can’t explain it any better than that,” she exclaimed.
Then her brief show of defiance collapsed, and she buried her face in her handkerchief and burst into tears.
Emma’s father threw off his shawl and rose with surprising alacrity. “Dr. Hughes, I insist you cease this monstrous display. If you do not, you will havemeto answer to.”
It took a few moments for Emma to recover from the astonishment that her father had leapt into the role of knight-errant. She elbowed her husband. “Do something, George.”
Her husband, apparently also suffering a paralysis of astonishment, shook it off and came to his feet. “That is enough, Dr. Hughes. Miss Bates is clearly not well.”
“The jury has the right to question the—”
Mr. Weston jumped up. “No more questions for Miss Bates.”
Quickly, George stepped forward and helped the spinster to stand. Robert Martin took her other arm, and the two men escorted her out of the room.
“I am seeing Miss Bates home, and I will remain with her there until Perry can be called,” Emma’s father said to her.
Emma also came to her feet, followed by Mrs. Weston. “Are you sure, Father? I can go with Miss Bates and send our footman for Mr. Perry.”
Dr. Hughes clucked his tongue. “Mrs. Knightley, you are the next witness to testify.”
When Emma grimaced, her father patted her shoulder. “I will be fine, my dear, but you must take my shawl. I do not want you catching a chill.”
He then marched off, leaving Emma and Mrs. Weston to stare after him.
“Whatever has come over your father?” Mrs. Weston finally asked as they resumed their seats.
Before Emma could answer, George returned.
“My father has apparently been transformed into Sir Galahad,” she said.
“Indeed,” replied her husband. “He insisted on taking Miss Bates home. Has he ever done such a thing before?”
“Never. He was always afraid their rooms were too drafty.”
Dr. Hughes loudly cleared his throat. “I will now call the next witness.”
George took her hand. “Are you ready, my Emma?”
“I can hardly do worse than Miss Bates, I would think.”
“You’ll be fine. But please refrain from any impulse to tease Dr. Hughes.”
Emma smiled. “I shall be the soul of discretion, I promise.”
Dr. Hughes was evidently annoyed. “I will repeat the question, Mrs. Knightley. Did you, at that point, observe anything out of the ordinary?”
Besides dead Mrs. Elton in a pool of blood?
How could he ask such a silly question?
