Page 128 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
They all turned to see Guy Plumtree strolling up the church walk, an easy smile gracing his handsome features. He cast a curious glance at Emma before giving her and Miss Bates a courtly bow.
“Ladies, it’s a pleasure to see you both,” he said. “I hope I find you well.”
Miss Bates dropped a slight curtsy. “Very well, Mr. Plumtree, thank you.”
He glanced at the curate. “I’ve been looking all over for you, Barlowe. Did you forget we had an appointment this morning?”
“Of course I didn’t forget. Now you’ve found me, so I fail to see the problem.”
Guy’s eyebrows ticked upward at the ungracious reply. “No need to snap, dear fellow. All is well.”
Emma, however, was beginning to think the curate’s snappishness had less to do with rudeness and more with being rattled by her questions.
Mr. Barlowe finally unbent a bit. “I was at the Crown Inn with Mr. Algernon Clarke. He was badly injured last night.”
“Set upon by villains in the churchyard,” Miss Bates helpfully supplied.
Guy’s expression registered astonishment. “In Highbury? How appalling. Does anyone know why?”
“Thieves.” Mr. Barlowe cast a sour glance at Emma. “Although Mrs. Knightley seems to think it had something to do with smuggling. Which is ridiculous, of course.”
“There’s no need to be snappish, dear fellow,” Guy gently admonished. “Mrs. Knightley would certainly have grounds to think such a thing. After all, Donwell’s estate manager has been accused of that very crime.”
Now it was Emma’s turn to bristle. “Unjustly, I might add.”
Guy flashed her a quick, apologetic smile. “Forgive me, ma’am. I had no intention of giving offense. I’ve met Larkins on occasion, when my father had dealings with him. He always struck me as a sensible and decent fellow. I was sorry to hear of his predicament, and of course I extend my sympathies to both you and Mr. Knightley.”
Mollified, Emma gave him a nod. “Yes, it’s dreadful, but I’m certain we’ll clear his name.”
“I hope so,” Guy replied. “And of the murder charge, as well.”
“Heavens,” exclaimed Miss Bates. “I refuse to believe that our dear Mr. Larkins could be guilty of such a crime. Indeed, I still struggle to believeanyonein our village could haveanythingto do with murder or those dreadful smugglers.”
“It is shocking,” Guy said with great sympathy. “Unfortunately, it’s more common than one would think. Poor rural folk do it to earn extra money, and one can hardly blame them. I’m afraid many of the gentry see nothing wrong in trafficking with freetraders, either.” His smile was rueful. “Or the gentlemen, as my father likes to call them. He himself has always been quite comfortable with the whole business, as is quite common in his generation. Naturally, I have discouraged him, and to good effect, I think.”
“Gracious,” exclaimed Miss Bates. “I would never have thought such a thing of your father.”
Guy shrugged. “He’s very old-fashioned, ma’am. However, I believe I’ve reformed him—at least I hope so.”
After that further admission, an awkward silence descended on their group.
Then Guy clapped his gloved hands together. “But here we are keeping you ladies standing about in the cold. Barlowe, where are your manners? Have you not invited the ladies in for tea?”
The curate bristled. “I’ve hardly had the chance. Besides, wedohave an appointment, as you recall.”
“I do.” Guy smiled at Emma. “Can we escort you ladies anywhere first?”
“Thank you, but no. We’re just walking up the street to call on Mr. Perry.”
“Then we shall make our goodbyes. Have a pleasant day, Mrs. Knightley. Miss Bates.”
Guy doffed his hat and took Mr. Barlowe by the arm to lead him off in the direction of the vicarage.
“What a strange conversation,” commented Miss Bates. “I’m quite shocked to hear about Squire Plumtree. I never would have thought of it.”
Emma also found it hard to believe that so respectable a man could be involved with smugglers. But was he actuallyinvolved? Might he even know the names of the men who made up the gang, or was it just the usual arrangement—a few casks of spirits left on the doorstep in exchange for turning a blind eye to runs across his estate?
They were questions that begged for answers.
