Page 29 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
“I’ll help, Mrs. Hodges,” Harry quietly said.
The sadness in their voices made Emma’s heart ache.
Still, she couldn’t help but notice the swift, almost furtive glance the servants exchanged. Emma had the distinct feeling that both were holding something back—presumably something about Prudence.
As George led her from the room, questions nipped at her heels. Howdidthe decanter get up to the room? What was Prudence so upset about? Did she have a sweetheart, after all? Both Mrs. Hodges and Harry had evoked discomfort with that last question.
Although Emma was vastly relieved that Dr. Hughes had decisively ruled against suicide, and although it appeared that the fallhadbeen an accident, there was nonetheless a mystery at the heart of the girl’s death.
Those who knew Prudence best—the loyal staff of Donwell Abbey—might well be the keepers of that mystery.
CHAPTER6
Emma was up early, shortly after George departed for Leatherhead. Despite his affectionate admonition to stay in bed and rest, a thousand questions bedeviled her, including how to manage Father and matters at Hartfield while she and George attended to the fraught situation at Donwell.
After dismissing the maid, Emma made her way downstairs, smiling faintly at the voices coming from the guest bedrooms. She heard giggles and teasing from her nieces and nephews, as well as the soothing tones of the nursemaid’s voice as she responded to the cries of little Emma, the youngest of John and Isabella’s children.
At the bottom of the stairs, she encountered Simon, their head footman.
“Good morning, Mrs. Knightley,” he said. “You’ll find a fresh pot of coffee and just-baked orange scones waiting for you. I can also fetch you some coddled eggs, and I’m about to bring up some gruel.”
A slight spasm crossed his face at the mention of Serle’s hideous gruel, the bane of Emma’s childhood. Only Father willingly ate it, claiming it contained healthful benefits for sundry ailments.
“Is my father up already?” she asked, somewhat surprised.
“Not yet, ma’am. The gruel is for Mrs. Isabella Knightley.”
Emma sighed. She’d forgotten that Isabella also ate the occasional bowl of gruel when she was feeling particularly frazzled.
“I’m surprised my sister is already in the breakfast parlor,” she replied.
Even with five children, Isabella tended to be a late riser. Or perhaps it wasbecauseshe had five children. Everyone needed a little peace now and again, and her sister’s children, while charming, were the opposite of peaceful.
“Mrs. Knightley wishes to return to Brunswick Square this afternoon, and so is making an early start to the day,” Simon replied.
Drat. I need her.
“Thank you, Simon. I’ll make do with coffee and scones.”
“Very good, madam.”
Entering the breakfast parlor, Emma smiled to see Henry, Isabella’s oldest child. He was kind and sensitive like his mamma but without her fretful anxieties. In fact, he greatly resembled his Uncle George, possessing a quiet dignity unusual and appealing in one so young.
“Good morning,” she cheerfully said as she joined mother and son at the table.
Henry looked up from his honey-slathered scone. “Good morning, Auntie Emma. I hope you slept well.”
“We returned home from Donwell quite late. I hope we didn’t disturb you.”
Isabella sighed. “It wouldn’t matter if you did. I could barely sleep a wink for worrying about Father’s health. And that poor girl, Emma! It’s so terribly sad.”
Emma directed a meaningful glance at Henry. “I wonder if we should be discussing this particular topic at … breakfast.”
“I already heard our nursemaid talking to one of the footmen,” Henry said around a mouthful of scone. “He said one of Donwell’s maids fell out the window.”
Emma couldn’t be surprised at the gossip, since several of Hartfield’s staff had been seconded to Donwell to assist with the party.
“I think you mean youoverheard,” she replied.
