Page 80 of Murder in Highbury

“It’s that Constable Sharpe fellow. He’s been awfully mean to Miss Bates. Mr. Knightley had to yell at him to make him stop. I’m going to Mr. Perry to fetch some calming powders.”

The notion of George yelling at anyone was both astonishing and alarming. Matters must be dire.

“Patty, I think you should bring Mr. Perry, if he’s available. I’ll stay with Miss Bates until you return.”

“I’ll be quick.”

Emma hurried up the rest of the staircase. The quarreling voices had subsided somewhat, although she could still hear George, and he was clearly annoyed.

She marched in and all but skidded to a halt at the scene before her.

George and the constable stood on opposite sides of the small parlor, engaged in a glaring contest. Seated by the fireplace, Miss Bates was perched on a stool next to her mother’s chair, clutching her aged parent’s hand. Mrs. Bates was wide awake and scowling at Constable Sharpe with an astounding degree of ferocity. If a pistol were close at hand, Emma had little doubt that Mrs. Bates would happily rid the world of a certain officer of the law.

“Good God,” Emma exclaimed. “What is happening here?”

George looked relieved. “Ah, thank—”

“The prevention of my sworn duty is what’s happening,” barked Constable Sharpe. “And I’ll not be having it, nor will Dr. Hughes. Not from Mr. Knightley—or from you, for that matter.”

“You forget yourself, sir,” George said in a cold voice.

Emma put on her most imperious air. “Indeed. It would seem thatMr.Sharpe has also forgotten that the magistrate is the King’s chief representative in this parish. I am astonished that you and Dr. Hughes are so deficient in your understanding of the law.”

The constable bristled. “It’s not the magistrate’s job to investigate crime, missus. It’s mine.”

“And does this investigation include harassing ladies to the point of tears?” she retorted. “May I remind you that Mrs. Bates is in frail health? I can only hope Dr. Hughes, as a physician, does not advocate such cruel behavior.”

At the moment, Mrs. Bates looked ready to leap from her chair and brain Constable Sharpe with her cane.

“If Miss Bates had simply answered my questions, we wouldn’t be having such problems,” he shot back.

“And if you had waited for my arrival, we could have avoided this problem entirely,” George pointed out. “I specifically asked Dr. Hughes to delay any questioning until after I spoke to Miss Bates.”

“Well, he didn’t tellmethat, now did he?”

“An unfortunate oversight I will certainly address,” George tersely replied.

“Dear ma’am,” Emma said, going to Miss Bates, “come sit with me on the sofa. We will have a quiet chat and get everything sorted.”

“Mrs. Knightley,” she quavered, “my mind is in such a muddle!”

“And no wonder, with such a dreadful scene.”

When Mr. Sharpe began to bluster, George glared him into silence.

Emma and Miss Bates settled on the sofa, while Constable Sharpe moved to stand in front of the fireplace, his legs akimbo and with a thunderous scowl on his face. But he’d ceased barking, which was an improvement.

“Can I get you a cup of tea, Miss Bates?” Emma asked.

The spinster forced a trembling smile. “No, thank you. I . . . I would like to answer Mr. Knightley’s question, so as not to disturb my mother any longer than necessary.”

“Perhaps your mother would be more comfortable in her bedroom,” George suggested.

“I am fine where I am,” Mrs. Bates firmly replied.

George nodded before directing a hard look at the constable. “Mr. Sharpe, I understand you had raised the matter of the promissory note shortly before my arrival this morning.”

“That I had, Mr. Knightley, and the lady started pitching a fit instead of answering a simple question. Carrying on in a very suspicious manner, if you ask me.”