Page 92 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
“Then it serves little purpose to try to connect what are very likely separate events when one lacks evidence.”
She was debating whether to argue the point when Henry burst into the room. His coat was open and his hat askew.
“Henry, what’s wrong?” she exclaimed, taking in his panicked expression.
George rose and went to the boy. “Sit, Henry. Catch your breath.”
“No … no time,” Henry stuttered. “You have to come right now, Uncle George!”
“Come where?”
“To Mr. Larkins’s cottage. Constable Sharpe is trying to arrest him!”
“I walked over from Hartfield to say good bye to Mr. Larkins,” Henry explained as the three of them hurried down the drive to the estate steward’s cottage. “He’s been ever so nice, and I wanted to thank him.”
“Was Constable Sharpe already at the cottage when you arrived?” asked Emma.
“No. Mr. Larkins was making me a cup of tea when the constable banged on the door. He yelled at Mr. Larkins and told him to surrender himself to the law.”
“The nerve of the man,” Emma huffed. “With you right in the room, too?”
“Mr. Larkins went outside, but I still heard everything. Constable Sharpe said he’d come to search the cottage, and then they got in a big fight. So I slipped by them and ran for you.”
George dropped a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That was very quick thinking, Henry.”
“I didn’t know what else to d-do.”
Emma’s heart twisted at the quaver in the boy’s voice. She’d like nothing better than to box Sharpe’s ears for his outrageous behavior. And she just might, yet.
“George, how could Sharpe not tell you of this?” she asked.
Her husband looked grim. “Believe me, I will have more than a few things to say to the constable.”
They rounded the curve in the drive to the distressing sight of Larkins standing athwart his doorway, fists raised as if ready to pummel Sharpe. In a pugnacious stance, Sharpe barked back, ordering Larkins to step aside.
Just as dismaying, the scene had attracted an audience. Mr. Gilbert and Mr. Otway were avidly watching from a short distance, taking in every nasty detail.
“This is very bad,” Emma said as they hastened forward. “Mr. Otway and Mr. Gilbert will telleveryonein Highbury about this.”
“Perhaps you can send them on their way,” said George, “while I try to calm down the combatants. Take Henry with you.”
“But I want to help Mr. Larkins,” Henry protested.
“The best way to help is to help send those gentlemen over there on their way.”
George lengthened his stride and headed for the brangling men. Emma hastened to intercept the onlookers, who were now creeping forward, obviously the better to hear what Mr. Knightley had to say.
She blocked their path. “Mr. Otway and Mr. Gilbert, I see. How are you?”
“Er …” replied Mr. Gilbert, clearly thrown by her bland comment.
“Have you met my nephew?” She tugged Henry forward. “He’s my sister’s eldest son, Henry. Dear, please make your bow to Mr. Gilbert and Mr. Otway.”
Smart lad that he was, Henry realized she wished to create a distraction from the ugly scene going on behind them.
He gave the two men a courteous bow. “Good morning, Mr. Otway, Mr. Gilbert. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The men exchanged puzzled glances. Mr. Otway managed to pull himself together first.
