Page 26 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
“And this is an official investigation,” the constable barked. “If you know anything, speak up now.”
The footman rolled his eyes in George’s direction, clearly alarmed.
“It’s all right, Harry,” George said. “Just tell us what you know.”
“Well,” he replied, drawing out the word. “I saw Prudence heading for the back stairs. I was bringing some dirty glasses to the kitchen when I spotted her.”
He fell silent, frowning down at his shoes again.
“And?” George prompted.
“Pru looked—I mean, Prudence looked mighty upset. I think she was crying. When I asked what was wrong, she just shook her head and ran up the stairs. I thought about going after her, but I had to get them glasses back to the kitchen.”
Mrs. Hodges made an exasperated noise. “Why didn’t you tell me the poor girl was crying?”
Harry’s expression was one of genuine dismay. “I guess I just forget, Mrs. Hodges. What with all the commotion from the party.”
“So, you didn’t bring her the decanter?” the constable asked.
Harry frowned. “Why would I do that?”
Dr. Hughes tapped the crystal topper of the decanter, his brow creased in thought. “So, it would seem that although Miss Parr claimed to simply have a headache, it is quite possible she was also distressed about some matter.” He looked to Mrs. Hodges. “And you have no idea what that might be?”
“I can only say she did look poorly.”
“Something set her off,” Harry said. “That was as plain as day, even to the likes of me,” he added with a self-deprecating grimace.
Again unbidden, an image of an inebriated and obnoxious William Cox popped into Emma’s brain. Could he have been importuning the poor girl after all? Was that why she was upset?
Still, Emma could hardly throw around such an accusation— even speculate on it—without some sort of evidence.
“So the girl was upset about something, filched the sherry decanter from the party, and then tried to drink her troubles away,” Constable Sharpe proclaimed in a self-satisfied voice.
Emma pointed out the obvious. “But no one saw her with the decanter. Certainly Harry did not, and he was the last person to see her go upstairs.”
“That’s right. She wasn’t carrying anything,” Harry confirmed.
The constable waved a dismissive hand. “No doubt she snuck back down and took it later.”
Now Emma tsked. “Without being seen? Doubtful.”
Dr. Hughes held up a hand. “We can only ascertain that by interviewing the other guests.”
That gave her pause. What if therehadbeen someone else? What if it was a guest … a guest like William Cox, intending no good?
She glanced over at the bed. Slightly ruffled, the girl could perhaps have reclined on top of the coverlet. But the rest of the room showed no evidence of any sort of struggle or the presence of another person.
“As to how the decanter got up here,” said George, “that is a question yet to be answered. But I think we can assume that Prudence had at least one glass of sherry. The question then becomes, why did she open the window and what caused her to fall out?”
Dr. Hughes nodded. “I suggest we inspect the window for any clues as to how the accident occurred.”
“If itwasan accident,” said Constable Sharpe.
Botheration.
Emma couldn’t help feeling annoyed that she was thinking along the same lines as the constable.
George ignored Sharpe and began to inspect the window. The constable followed closely behind, clearly intending to assert his authority.
