Page 104 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
Dr. Hughes stooped to retrieve an item from a large basket under the table, and then he showed it to Mr. Parr.
“Sir,” he asked, “do you know if this lace ribbon belonged to your daughter?”
The blacksmith’s face crumpled. “My Davey give it to her last Christmas. Prudence loved pink.”
Emma glanced down the row to see David Parr cover his eyes as his brother placed a consoling arm around his shoulders. A few sniffles could be heard from the women in the crowd, and who could blame them? It was utterly heartwrenching.
Holding up the ribbon, Dr. Hughes brought it over to the jury box.
“Gentlemen,” he said. “This is the ribbon that was found under the floorboards of Mr. Larkins’s cottage, and which Mr. Parr has now confirmed belonged to his daughter.”
Dark murmurings arose.
“Hang the bastard,” someone growled. “He clearly did it.”
“Hanging’s too good for the likes of him,” exclaimed another. “Chop off his bleeding head.”
Emma spun in her chair to glare across the room, trying to identify the culprits. Unfortunately, most of the people glared back at her or refused to meet her eye.
“Quiet in the courtroom,” barked Constable Sharpe.
“Emma, turn around,” whispered George.
She gave one last glower for good measure before facing forward again.
George took her hand. “It does no good to be angry with them. The evidence against Larkins is hard to deny, based on what they’ve heard.”
“But theyknowhim, and they know him to be a good man.”
“Order in the courtroom,” intoned Dr. Hughes.
Since he was obviously directing his statement at her, Emma mustered an apologetic smile. The coroner simply nodded and— surprisingly—moved on. He’d never been a fan of hers, but she had to admit he was conducting the inquest in a fair if rather long-winded fashion.
“Mr. Parr,” said Dr. Hughes, “according to the testimony of those at Donwell Abbey, your daughter was not given to strong drink. And yet on the night of her death, there was evidence that she had been drinking spirits, possibly to excess.”
Mr. Parr’s cheeks flushed a deep red. “That’s a blasted lie, or my name’s not Parr. Prudence never touched strong drink. Hated the way it tasted. Nor would she risk her job, either by filching a bottle from Mr. Knightley or by getting fuddled.”
Dr. Hughes held up his hands. “It is not my intention to besmirch your daughter’s reputation, sir.”
“You’d best not, you nor anyone else,” barked David Parr from the front row.
With a fair degree of tact, the coroner decided to ignore him.
“Only one more question, Mr. Parr,” he said. “Do you know if your daughter had a suitor, or was romantically involved with anyone?”
Mr. Parr sucked in a deep breath, as if trying to temper his emotions. “I don’t know, sir. I thought she might have a beau, but she was very closemouthed about such things. Which was unlike Prudence, I’ll add.”
Then the bereaved father’s anger slipped the traces again, his voice rising in agitation. “I’ll tell you one thing for sure. If she were involved, it weren’t with that Larkins.” He glared at the crowd. “She’d never involve herself with the likes of him.”
The coroner frowned. “What do you mean?”
“A bloody Irishman! I wouldn’t stand for it, and neither would her brothers. Everyone knows you can’t trust the Irish. They should have stayed in that godforsaken country where they belong.” He jabbed a finger at the jury. “Take my word for it—Larkins is guilty of murdering my poor girl, and he’d better hang for it.”
As if someone had stuck a pin in her backside, outrage shot Emma to her feet. “I’m very grieved for your loss, sir, but that is most unfair. Mr. Larkins is a good, kind man, and he would never hurt anyone.”
Dr. Hughes glowered at her over his too-small spectacles. “Mrs. Knightley, you must not interrupt the witness. Please take your seat.”
Emma ignored him and spun to face the jury. “You know what I’m saying is true. Mr. Larkins has never been anything but good and helpful to everyone here in Highbury. He’s been your neighbor for years!”
