Murder in Highbury (Emma Knightley Mystery #1)
CHAPTER 9
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C HAPTER 9
W hen Miss Bates swayed in her seat, Emma prayed she wouldn’t keel over in a dead faint.
George swiftly rose. “Come, Miss Bates. Let me help you.”
She managed a trembling smile as she took his hand. “Oh, Mr. Knightley. You are too kind. But then you are always so kind. And I’m acting quite foolishly. I am among friends, after all. What is there to be afraid of?”
Emma’s father gave an encouraging nod. “Yes, go with Mr. Knightley. He will see you settled, as well as one can be in such a drafty room. I am shocked to see so many open windows. Mr. Perry would not allow such a thing, I am sure.”
When a ripple of laughter moved through the crowd, Emma could practically hear Dr. Hughes grinding his molars to dust.
“But I feel certain that Dr. Hughes will have the good sense not to pester you,” her father added. “So do not worry, dear Miss Bates.”
“Cryin’ shame,” came a voice from the crowd. “Pesterin’ a gentle lady like Miss Bates.”
Mutters of agreement followed, including some from the jury.
Dr. Hughes scowled like thunder. “There will be silence in the courtroom!”
“This ain’t a courtroom,” a wag yelled back.
“Hold your tongue, now,” barked Constable Sharpe from the back, “or I’ll be arresting you for disturbing the peace.”
George, ignoring it all, escorted Miss Bates to the chair next to the coroner’s table and returned to his seat next to Emma.
Dr. Hughes walked around to stand in front of Miss Bates, peering at her over his ill-fitting spectacles. “Please state your name, ma’am.”
Miss Bates looked perplexed. “But you already know my name.”
“For the record,” he gritted out.
Emma whispered to Mrs. Weston, “Is it my imagination, or does the good doctor seem a trifle out of sorts?”
Her friend choked back a laugh. “Hush, Emma. It is too bad of you.”
After Miss Bates stated her full name, the coroner swore her in and began his questions.
“Miss Bates, as far as we know, you were the first person to enter the church on the afternoon in question. Can you—”
She interrupted him. “I don’t know if that’s truly the case, sir. The church was open, you see. I walked right in, so I imagine anyone else might have done so, as well.” She paused, as if struck by a thought. “Especially the murderer, of course, since he was there before I was.”
“Unless you were the murderer, Miss Bates, that is obviously the case,” Dr. Hughes replied, clearly annoyed.
When Miss Bates visibly flinched, Emma’s heart sank. She could sense the poor woman inching closer to the edge of a cliff.
“Ma’am,” said Dr. Hughes, “can you tell me what time you entered the church?”
She made an effort to compose herself. “It was just before two o’clock, as I recall.”
“And why were you going to the church?”
She fussed with her reticule, extracting a handkerchief.
“Miss Bates, would you please answer the question?”
“Of course. I do apologize. I . . . I was to . . . to meet Mrs. Elton,” she stammered, ending on close to a whisper.
“I am not sure the jury heard you. You were to meet Mrs. Elton there, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And what was the purpose of this meeting?”
That elicited a lengthy, garbled reply about altar linens, vestry cabinets, and mice. By the end of her recital, even Dr. Hughes looked daunted.
“Er, thank you,” he said. “Now, please relate to the jury what you witnessed upon entering the church.”
What little color that remained leached from the spinster’s face. “I . . . I saw the body of Mrs. Elton lying on the steps of the chancel. The most dreadful thing I have ever seen in my life.”
Mr. Elton let out an anguished moan and covered his face with his hands, as if overcome.
A startled Dr. Hughes took a moment to recover, apparently, his train of thought. “Indeed a distressing sight, Miss Bates. So, when you entered the church, did you immediately realize that Mrs. Elton was dead?”
“Oh, no. Or, at least, I don’t think I did. I was so shocked to see her lying in . . . in so awkward a position. Mrs. Elton was always so graceful, you know. Quite the most elegant woman in Highbury—but for Mrs. Knightley, of course, and my niece, Jane, Jane Churchill, that is. Jane is so terribly elegant. Mrs. Elton herself said so on many an occasion.”
Dr. Hughes manfully waded back in. “After spotting the body, what did you do next?”
“I rushed to Mrs. Elton. I thought perhaps she had fainted and was in need of smelling salts. It was a warm day, and I thought perhaps she was overcome by the heat.”
“And when did you conclude that she was not overcome but deceased?”
“When I . . . I knelt down to untie her bonnet, hoping to give her air. That’s when I saw all the . . . the blood.”
“How utterly ghastly,” Anne Cox loudly whispered. “Only think, Susan—”
Emma turned around and glared her into submission.
Dr. Hughes continued to question Miss Bates, extracting her testimony in fits and starts. It more or less matched what she’d told Emma, with occasional meanderings into inartful commentary, which clearly frustrated the coroner. She couldn’t truly blame him. With Miss Bates, one often became lost in her welter of words, with the risk of never finding one’s way back to sensible discourse.
Emma tensed, though, after Dr. Hughes obliged the spinster to explain why she’d run away.
“It was foolish of me,” she tearfully said. “But I was so frightened. When I heard voices from outside the church, I became even more frightened, and so . . . and so I ran and hid. I . . . I couldn’t even begin to think. All I could see was poor Mrs. Elton and all the blood. And that was . . .” Her frail composure broke, and she dabbed her handkerchief under her spectacles, wiping away tears.
Emma’s father flapped a hand to catch her eye. “Emma, Dr. Hughes is badgering Miss Bates. Mr. Knightley must make him stop.”
“I think Father is right,” she murmured to George. “She’ll become hysterical if this continues.”
Or, much worse, blurt out something incriminating. Miss Bates was behaving as if she had something to hide—which Emma was quite certain she did.
George leaned forward to address the coroner in a low voice. “Dr. Hughes, might I suggest that you conclude your questions now? You have already recorded Miss Bates’s testimony from your interview the other day.”
Dr. Hughes looked disgruntled. “I have only one more question for Miss Bates, sir.”
George narrowed his gaze in warning before giving a nod.
By now, Miss Bates had recovered somewhat. When Dr. Hughes turned back to address her, she even managed a semblance of a smile.
“Madam, we have your written testimony,” he said, “but there is one additional point that has not been adequately addressed.”
“Yes, Dr. Hughes?” she faintly replied.
“Have you recently had a quarrel or a falling-out with Mrs. Elton?”
Miss Bates stifled a gasp and had to struggle to reply. “Mrs. Elton has always been such a dear friend to us—to me and, of course, to our dear Jane. I have never forgotten her kindness to Jane. Such attentions she gave to her, such . . . such consideration. It was beyond anything. I never saw anything like it before in my life.” She turned pleading eyes on Mr. Elton. “Such a good, generous woman, your wife. One can hardly imagine quarreling with her. Dear Mr. Elton, you cannot imagine that we would be anything but grateful to your dear wife. She was the most magnanimous soul . . . always so generous—”
“Miss Bates, you will address me or the jury,” Dr. Hughes interrupted.
When the poor woman shrank back in her chair, Emma was hard put not to rush forward and box the pompous man’s ears.
“Emma, Emma,” her father exclaimed. “This harassment must stop. Mr. Knightley, you must make it stop!”
This set the room into something of an uproar. One fellow, dressed in the humble garb of a farmworker, jumped to his feet.
“You leave the poor lady alone, Dr. Grumbleguts,” he yelled. “It ain’t right to treat her like that.”
“Sit down, you fool,” snapped a fellow sitting behind him. “The doctor is just doing his job.”
The room now threatened to dissolve into complete disorder. Dr. Hughes and Constable Sharpe commenced shouting at the crowd, which only increased the din.
With an exasperated sigh, George rose.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called out. “I would ask that you please come to order, so that this business may proceed to its conclusion. The sooner we finish, the sooner Miss Bates may step down, which is something we all wish.”
The hubbub subsided as he scanned the room with a stern gaze. As the largest landowner and the local magistrate, George would always command respect. But the true source of his influence was his sterling character. When he spoke, people listened, because he spoke only when he had something worthwhile to say, and only when he could say it with absolute truth.
Within a few moments, order was restored.
“Dr. Hughes,” George said, turning to the coroner. “Are you now finished with Miss Bates?”
“The jury must have the opportunity to pose questions now,” replied the doctor. “As per proper procedure.”
George blew out an exasperated breath before resuming his seat.
“Is the jury truly allowed to do that?” Emma murmured.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Gentlemen, do you have any questions for the witness?” Dr. Hughes asked the jury.
One man, whom Emma didn’t recognize, raised a hand. “I do, Your Honor.”
Dr. Hughes was clearly pleased to be addressed with such a flattering honorific. “Go ahead, my good man.”
“I don’t fathom why Miss Bates ran when she heard the voices of the other ladies. She knew them, didn’t she?”
“That is correct,” the coroner replied.
“Then why run? I don’t mean to be rude to the lady, but it makes no sense.”
Dr. Hughes turned back to Miss Bates. “Ma’am?”
“But I already explained that,” she burst out. “I . . . I simply couldn’t think clearly. All the blood . . . poor Mrs. Elton . . . I simply couldn’t bear it a moment longer. I had to get away!”
The cadaverous fellow shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss. It still makes no sense to me.”
“Well, I can’t explain it any better than that,” she exclaimed.
Then her brief show of defiance collapsed, and she buried her face in her handkerchief and burst into tears.
Emma’s father threw off his shawl and rose with surprising alacrity. “Dr. Hughes, I insist you cease this monstrous display. If you do not, you will have me to answer to.”
It took a few moments for Emma to recover from the astonishment that her father had leapt into the role of knight-errant. She elbowed her husband. “Do something, George.”
Her husband, apparently also suffering a paralysis of astonishment, shook it off and came to his feet. “That is enough, Dr. Hughes. Miss Bates is clearly not well.”
“The jury has the right to question the—”
Mr. Weston jumped up. “No more questions for Miss Bates.”
Quickly, George stepped forward and helped the spinster to stand. Robert Martin took her other arm, and the two men escorted her out of the room.
“I am seeing Miss Bates home, and I will remain with her there until Perry can be called,” Emma’s father said to her.
Emma also came to her feet, followed by Mrs. Weston. “Are you sure, Father? I can go with Miss Bates and send our footman for Mr. Perry.”
Dr. Hughes clucked his tongue. “Mrs. Knightley, you are the next witness to testify.”
When Emma grimaced, her father patted her shoulder. “I will be fine, my dear, but you must take my shawl. I do not want you catching a chill.”
He then marched off, leaving Emma and Mrs. Weston to stare after him.
“Whatever has come over your father?” Mrs. Weston finally asked as they resumed their seats.
Before Emma could answer, George returned.
“My father has apparently been transformed into Sir Galahad,” she said.
“Indeed,” replied her husband. “He insisted on taking Miss Bates home. Has he ever done such a thing before?”
“Never. He was always afraid their rooms were too drafty.”
Dr. Hughes loudly cleared his throat. “I will now call the next witness.”
George took her hand. “Are you ready, my Emma?”
“I can hardly do worse than Miss Bates, I would think.”
“You’ll be fine. But please refrain from any impulse to tease Dr. Hughes.”
Emma smiled. “I shall be the soul of discretion, I promise.”
Dr. Hughes was evidently annoyed. “I will repeat the question, Mrs. Knightley. Did you, at that point, observe anything out of the ordinary?”
Besides dead Mrs. Elton in a pool of blood?
How could he ask such a silly question?
Emma’s gaze flickered to George. Clearly knowing what she was thinking, he narrowed his gaze in warning.
She adopted a solemn expression. “No, Dr. Hughes. After I sent Mrs. Martin to fetch you, I saw nothing outside of the ordinary.”
“To be clear, you went back inside the church to keep watch over the scene?”
“Yes. I was aware that the church should remain undisturbed until you and my husband could arrive. I was also concerned for Mr. Elton. I did not wish him to enter unprepared for such a terrible scene.”
Seated in front of her, Mr. Elton rested a soulful hand on his chest. “Such kindness,” he said in a tremulous voice. “Even in such a moment, that Mrs. Knightley should think of my feelings.”
Dr. Hughes sighed. “I would ask that the other witnesses refrain from commenting.”
“Of course, my dear sir,” the vicar replied. “Do forgive me.”
“Thank you. Now, Mrs. Knightley, why did you choose to go back into the church? You promised Mrs. Martin that you would remain outside, and yet you did not.”
The doctor’s tone suggested there was something suspicious about her behavior, which was most annoying of him.
“It was a very warm day, and I grew hot outside.”
“I imagine you were worried about your complexion in all that sun,” he said in a condescending tone.
“I was wearing a bonnet,” she dryly replied.
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
“Order, please,” the doctor huffed. “Mrs. Knightley, what did you do next?”
“I thought to have a look around, to see if anything was out of place.”
“And what were the results of your . . . investigations?”
“It occurred to me that perhaps a thief had been in the church.”
“And that Mrs. Elton had surprised the thief in the middle of his criminal act?”
“Yes.”
The doctor addressed the jury. “As you will hear from later testimony, this is a very likely scenario. Do continue, Mrs. Knightley.”
“At first glance, I failed to see anything out of place. But I feared that a thief might have broken into the cupboards in the vestry—to go after the silver.”
“So you went into the vestry to look.”
She hesitated. “Not immediately.”
“And why was that?”
“Because I heard footsteps, and then the sound of the vestry door closing.”
Dr. Hughes held up a finger. “In fact, you heard Miss Bates fleeing the church.”
“As it so happened, I heard Miss Bates leaving the vestry. Although, of course, I didn’t realize it was her at the time.”
“What did you do next?
“After a few moments, I went into the vestry.”
He raised incredulous eyebrows. “But it had already occurred to you that a murderer might have entered the church. Did that fact not give you pause or a sensible degree of caution?”
“As I already mentioned, whoever had been in the vestry had departed, so I did not consider myself to be in any danger.”
The coroner scoffed. “One might suggest you acted rather recklessly, madam.”
Why was the dratted man treating her like an adversary instead of a witness?
“I thought it important to catch a glimpse of whoever had been hiding in the vestry. And I did arm myself with a brass candlestick for protection.”
“That’s the ticket, Mrs. Knightley,” called an admiring voice from the crowd.
Mr. Elton raised his hands in a prayerful attitude. “Such courage in the face of danger . . . a true heroine.”
Emma caught George’s sigh.
Dr. Hughes continued to question her, and they had a bit of a brangle over the discovery of the handkerchief.
“Why did you not think to give it to me as soon as I arrived at the church? You should have done so,” he said.
“Forgive me, sir. I was distracted by the death of Mrs. Elton.”
He blustered a bit. “We will return to that question. What then transpired?”
“I went to return the candlestick to the altar. That’s when I noticed that its mate was out of position.”
“Was there anything unusual about that other candlestick?”
“Yes. It appeared to have blood on it.”
There were gasps from the assemblage. Apparently, that detail was not widely known.
“And did you notice anything else about this apparent blood?”
“It was smeared, as if someone had tried to wipe it clean.”
Dr. Hughes reached down to pluck something from a basket on the floor by the table. He unwrapped the candlestick, bundled in a white cloth. “Is this the candlestick in question?”
Emma nodded. “It appears to be.”
He turned it on its side and brought it closer for her to inspect. “And is this the smear of blood, Mrs. Knightley?”
The blood had now dried almost to black on the sconce, with a small dark smear on the stem below. Seeing it again made her feel queasy, and she had to swallow before she could answer.
“Yes.”
Dr. Hughes showed the candlestick to the jury, walking slowly down the line so they could inspect it. A thrill of horror enveloped the crowd like an invisible mist. Mr. Elton covered his face with a large handkerchief, clearly overcome.
The doctor returned to the front of the room. “Mrs. Knightley, what conclusion did you draw when you saw the blood on the candlestick?”
Emma carefully chose her words. “It seemed likely that it had been used to injure Mrs. Elton.”
“Fatally so,” Dr. Hughes commented.
The man certainly had a penchant for stating the obvious. She didn’t bother responding.
“What did you do after this discovery?” he asked.
“I thought it best to simply wait for you and my husband.”
“A wise course of action, Mrs. Knightley.”
His tone suggested that it was the first sensible thing she’d done during the entire episode.
Emma spent the next few minutes recounting the rest of what had transpired—sans the detail of Mr. Elton throwing himself into her arms. There was no need to embarrass the poor man.
“Thank you, Mrs. Knightley,” Dr. Hughes said. “Your testimony has been most clarifying.”
Assuming he was finished, and grateful for the opportunity to escape, she had begun to rise when he held up a restraining hand.
“Not quite yet, madam,” he said.
Rats. He was going to ask her about that wretched handkerchief, after all.
“I would like to return to the matter of the handkerchief,” he confirmed.
Emma fixed a placid expression to her face. In order to help Miss Bates, she had to remain calm.
The doctor raised a finger. “You stated that you put the handkerchief away and did not remember it until later that evening.”
“Correct.”
Then he spread his hands wide. “Mrs. Knightley, how could you forget something that turned out to be so vitally important?”
“Dr. Hughes, people go through the lych-gate into the churchyard all the time. Anyone could have dropped it.”
“Really?” he replied with blatant skepticism.
She gave him a sweet smile. “Many of Highbury’s residents like to visit the resting places of their departed loved ones. For instance, I visit the grave of my own dear mother on a regular basis.”
Her answer flustered him, forcing him to take a moment to recover his composure. “So, when did you discover that it was, in fact, a vital clue in the investigation?”
“Since it belongs to Miss Bates, I hardly think it’s a vital clue, sir. She simply dropped it when hurrying from the church in her quite understandable fright.”
“I will be the judge of what is and is not a vital clue, Mrs. Knightley. Now, please answer the question.”
She had to repress a scowl. “When my husband and I noticed the small stain of blood on it, we realized the handkerchief could have some relevance to the circumstances.”
Mr. Elton’s head jerked up, and he peered at her, as if perplexed or even befuddled.
“Mrs. Knightley, did you recognize whom the item belonged to?” asked Dr. Hughes.
Emma drew her attention away from Mr. Elton and back to the doctor. “Not immediately.”
“But you did conclude that the handkerchief with the bloodstain belongs to Miss Bates, did you not?”
“Eventually, yes,” she reluctantly replied.
When excited buzz went through the crowd, her heart sank further.
“And why did you not bring this to my attention first thing the next morning?” Dr. Hughes asked in a stern tone.
“Simply because I wasn’t sure at that point if it did belong to Miss Bates. I wished to ascertain that for myself before approaching you with the matter.”
He let out an indignant little huff. “A most irregular course of action, Mrs. Knightley. As I am sure your husband will agree.”
“And you will certainly have the opportunity to ask him that yourself.”
George cleared his throat—covering up a laugh, she had no doubt.
“In any event,” she added, “I did not wish to risk presenting you with false or misleading evidence.”
“So you took it upon yourself to question Miss Bates.”
“Only to ascertain that she was the owner of the handkerchief. After doing so, I immediately relayed that information to my husband, who then took it to you.”
He peered suspiciously over his spectacles. “So, you were not attempting to warn Miss Bates in any way or to influence the outcome of my investigations?”
Emma adopted a wide-eyed expression. “Why would I wish to do that?”
Dr. Hughes glared at her a moment longer before turning to the jury. “Do you have any questions for the witness?”
“We do not,” Mr. Weston firmly said, apparently wishing to forestall any additional questioning.
“Very well,” said the coroner. “You may step down, Mrs. Knightley.”
Emma breathed a mental sigh of relief and held out a hand, all but obliging Dr. Hughes to assist her back to her seat.
After she was settled, George leaned over. “One of your better efforts, my dear.”
“I thought so,” she whispered back.
After a short break for luncheon, Dr. Hughes called Harriet to the stand. She gave a rather confused but mostly accurate accounting of what she had seen. Then George gave his testimony. With unflappable calm, he related his role that day, both as witness and magistrate. His testimony was clear and to the point and concluded in short order.
Mr. Elton’s testimony took longer, since he was overcome with emotion throughout, even though he had very little to add. He confirmed that his wife had been wearing her pearls that day, and that the necklace was missing when he arrived at the scene. The vicar also indicated that he believed a thief had robbed his wife and then murdered her.
Thankfully, that drew some of the attention away from questions about Miss Bates’s suspicious behavior. But when Mrs. Ford was sworn in, Emma mentally grimaced. Her testimony could undo all that.
“Mrs. Ford, you reported seeing Miss Bates passing your shop on the way to the church. Did you, perchance, speak to her?”
“I tried, but Miss Bates failed to hear me.”
“Was she too far away for her to hear you?”
Mrs. Ford wavered for a few seconds. “No, she simply didn’t seem to hear me.”
Dr. Hughes adopted a tremendously solemn expression. “And why do you think that was?”
“She seemed distracted. Or, perhaps, in a hurry.”
“And was she not also in a hurry when she came back down the street approximately thirty minutes later?”
“I suppose you could say that,” she reluctantly replied.
Dr. Hughes stared over his spectacles. “According to Mrs. Cox’s written statement, Miss Bates was all but racing down the street in a very flustered manner. Would you say that is an accurate description?”
“I suppose so,” came the terse reply.
Obviously, Emma wasn’t the only witness who was worried about Miss Bates.
After Mrs. Ford stepped down, Dr. Hughes declined to call additional witnesses. He did note that Mrs. Cox’s statement supported previous testimonies, and that everything had been duly entered into the record.
“Such a shame not to call Mama,” Anne loudly whispered to her sister. “She wore her new bonnet especially for the inquest.”
“It’s just plain mean,” Susan replied. “Mama would have been a splendid witness.”
Emma repressed the impulse to turn around and whack them both with her reticule.
In excruciating detail, Dr. Hughes then summed up the witness testimony and his own findings. The room grew stuffier and quite odiferous, since someone seated nearby had consumed onions for lunch. Finally, however, the doctor concluded his summation and sent the jury off to a private room to begin their deliberations.
With sighs of relief, Emma and Mrs. Weston stood, thankful to stretch cramped limbs.
“I can hardly think it will take the jury very long to reach their conclusion,” Emma said.
Her husband extracted his pocket watch. “No, I imagine we’ll be at Hartfield well in time for dinner.”
Mr. Elton hurried over to join them. “My dear Mrs. Knightley, I wish to thank you for your tremendous courage in giving testimony. I must also commend our dear Mrs. Martin. She has been most kind to me during this dreadful ordeal.”
Emma gave him a reassuring smile. “How are you bearing up, Mr. Elton? Can we be of any service to you?”
“I am extremely unnerved, but I must be strong for my brother-in-law’s sake.” He glanced toward the back. “I see that Mr. Suckling is waving to me. We must finish preparations for the funeral, you know.”
The vicar heaved a sigh and stood there, making no effort to leave.
Emma and George exchanged a glance.
“Don’t let us keep you, Mr. Elton,” George finally said. “But do send a note around to Hartfield if you need me.”
He gave a little start. “Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me, sir. I am easily distracted these days. Mrs. Knightley, I will see you tomorrow. You, as well, Mrs. Weston.”
Another bow and he hurried down the aisle to join Mr. Suckling.
When George regarded her thoughtfully, Emma raised her eyebrows. “What?”
He hesitated but then shook his head. “It’s nothing. I must have a word with Dr. Hughes, but I’ll only be a moment.”
When he stepped away, Harriet rushed up to take his place.
“Mrs. Knightley, you were wonderful on the witness stand. I’m afraid I found Dr. Hughes so very intimidating. I hope I didn’t appear too foolish.”
“You did very well, dear. As for our coroner, that man should be included in Dr. Johnson’s dictionary, under the definition of pompous ass .”
“Emma, there is no need for vulgar language,” Mrs. Weston gently reprimanded. “Thankfully, this gruesome business is now over but for the jury’s verdict. We may all rest easy.”
Emma shook her head. “It won’t be over until we discover Mrs. Elton’s killer.”
Mrs. Weston looked startled. “We? I do hope your investigating days are over, my dear.”
“Now you sound just like George.”
“Then I suggest you listen to him. Such things are best left to the men in charge.”
“But it was Mrs. Knightley who discovered the murder weapon,” Harriet pointed out. “ And found out that Miss Bates had been hiding in the vestry. Although that hasn’t turned out very well, has it?”
“Which is exactly why one cannot leave the matter solely to men like Dr. Hughes and Constable Sharpe,” Emma replied.
Neither man impressed her with either their acumen or their manner.
And then there was Miss Bates. Something must be done to help the poor woman, not only for her sake but also for that of Emma’s father. As long as his dear friend labored under suspicion, Father’s peace would be entirely cut up.
“You must promise me that you won’t interfere, Emma,” Mrs. Weston said. “We must leave the matter with Mr. Knightley. I am sure that is what he would wish you to do.”
Emma pressed a hand to her bodice. “Me, interfere? You must be thinking of some other Emma.”
Mrs. Weston’s only response was a resigned sigh.