“We cannot be sure of that,” said George. “It’s entirely possible that the decanter was almost half-empty when it was brought up here. Also, please note that she apparently spilled a quantity on her clothing.”
“Mayhap because she was tipsy and had no control over herself?” the constable responded. “And who else would bring the decanter up here? The evidence suggests it was the girl herself.”
From everything Emma knew about Prudence, Sharpe’s conclusions simply didn’t square.
“Perhaps someone else brought up the decanter and glass,” she suggested. “Prudence wasn’t feeling well, and one of the other servants might have thought she needed a restorative.”
George waggled a hand. “I can certainly understand bringing her a small glass of wine, but to bring one of the good decanters up from the drawing room during a party? That makes no sense.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t,” she replied with a sigh. “What sort of drink is it?”
“Sherry,” her husband replied.
Emma glanced at Harry, standing in the door. “Harry, do you know if Prudence drank sherry?”
He opened his mouth to reply but was forestalled by the appearance of Mrs. Hodges.
“I can answer that question.” The housekeeper darted an irritated glance at the footman. “Harry, you’re blocking the doorway.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Hodges,” he replied with a grimace. “Sometimes I forget how big I am.”
As he stepped aside, the housekeeper muttered something that sounded suspiciously likegreat oaf.
“Prudence did not drink sherry,” said Mrs. Hodges. “She was never one for spirits.”
The constable scoffed. “The presence of a half-empty decanter would suggest otherwise. As would the smell of said spirits on her body.”
Mrs. Hodges darted a questioning glance at Emma. There was no point in denying Sharpe’s statement, so she simply nodded in reply.
The housekeeper was clearly distressed by that information. “I can only say that Prudence was not fond of strong drink, nor would she take one of the good decanters, not during a party or at any other time.”
“But if she wasn’t feeling well,” Harry suddenly put in, “mayhap she thought a nice glass of sherry would help her feel better. My ma always gave us sherry or port whenever we had the toothache, when we was little.”
No one seemed to know quite how to respond to that rather startling and uncalled for admission.
“But that is more than one glass,” Dr. Hughes finally observed.
Harry shrugged. “Maybe Mr. Knightley has the right of it, and it was half-empty when she brought it up.”
Mrs. Hodges glared at him. “It’s not something she would have done. Besides, Prudence had the migraine. I was going to send up headache powders when I got the chance.”
“Mrs. Hodges,” said George, “is it possible one of the staff brought up the decanter?”
She shook her head. “We were all well nigh rushed off our feet. Besides, I don’t think anyone else but me knew that Prudence was feeling poorly.”
Emma held up a hand. “I saw her as she was going up to her room. She did look quite distressed, but simply said her head was troubling her.”
“Then are we to assume,” said Dr. Hughes, “that only Mrs. Knightley and Mrs. Hodges knew the girl wasn’t feeling well?”
“Mrs. Weston, who was with me at the time, also did. Other than that, I don’t believe so,” Emma replied.
Harry suddenly coughed. When Emma glanced at him, the young man was staring down at his feet, looking vastly uncomfortable.
“Did you wish to say something else?” asked George.
The footman hesitated. “I don’t wish to get no one in trouble, sir.”
“My good fellow, the girl is dead,” exclaimed Dr. Hughes. “You can hardly get her in trouble.”
