Page 73 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
Father huffed. “I cannot approve of Squire Plumtree, Emma. He’s too loud and bluff. He reminds me of that dreadful Constable Sharpe, going about constantly annoying everyone.”
She cast a hasty glance around the room.
“You needn’t worry,” said Isabella. “Mrs. Cole set up card tables in the dining room, and Squire Plumtree is in there with Miss Bates.”
“I do hope the squire will not upset Miss Bates by speaking about that terrible incident at Donwell,” Father fretfully commented.
Emma frowned. “Why would he?”
“He did so earlier in the evening,” Isabella explained. “I believe Squire Plumtree thought he was commiserating with Father, but it was quite a distressing conversation.”
George cocked his head. “In what way?”
Father fluttered a hand. “Because one shouldn’t speak about such things in polite company.”
“But what did he actually say?” Emma asked.
“He pointed out how sorry his son was about the episode,” said Isabella. “Apparently, Mr. Barlowe was very upset, too. The squire made a point of saying that Guy was quite concerned for Mr. Barlowe’s emotional state.”
Emma frowned. “But Mr. Barlowe knew nothing about Prudence’s death until the next day. Why would he be so upset?”
“I suppose any right-thinking cleric would be upset about such a tragedy,” George replied.
“That cannot be right,” Emma said. “Mr. Barlowe told me that he barely knew Prudence. He certainly didn’t seem particularly upset by her death.”
“It certainly isn’t right,” Father huffed. “It was poor Miss Bates who suffered the shock of discovering the body, not Mr. Plumtree or Mr. Barlowe. Emma, you must check on Miss Bates. I will not have the squire disturbing her with any more mention of those dreadful events.”
“Father, do not upset yourself,” Isabella exclaimed in an agitated tone. “Your nerves. What will Mr. Perry say?”
“I will see to Miss Bates,” George calmly interjected. “Perhaps she’s had enough cards for the evening and would like to watch the dancing.”
As he went off to fetch Miss Bates, Emma set to work calming her father and sister’s shared agitation.
Her mind, however, was engaged elsewhere. While William Cox was no longer in the picture, Mr. Barlowe had just entered the frame. And wasn’t that an interesting development?
CHAPTER15
Emma came sharply awake with the sense that someone was watching her. She blinked, blinded by the light of a candle flickering next to the bed. When her vision cleared, she saw that someone was indeed watching her.
Looking like a solemn little ghost in a robe and tasseled nightcap, Henry silently stood by the bed with a candle, waiting for her to come fully awake.
The apple didn’t drop far from the Woodhouse tree in that regard. When she was a little girl, Emma had done much the same with Isabella whenever she’d had a nightmare or struggled to sleep. She would tiptoe from the nursery to Isabella’s room and stand by the bed, staring at her until she woke up. The first few times, she’d scared Isabella out of her wits. Soon, though, her sister had grown used to her nocturnal visitations and simply lifted the covers to let Emma slide in next to her. Snuggled close to her big sister, Emma’s young self had invariably slipped back to sleep safe in the knowledge she was no longer alone.
However, she doubted that Henry was looking for snuggles. Something was clearly afoot.
George was sprawled on his stomach in a deep sleep, apparently worn out by the sedate revelries endured at Mr. and Mrs. Cole’s party. Emma took a moment to cover up his shoulders and then slipped out of bed.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered to Henry as she felt around for her slippers.
“I saw something,” he whispered back.
She finally got her feet into the dratted slippers and grabbed her wrapper from the foot of the bed. Belting it around her, she nodded at Henry to lead the way into the hall.
After carefully closing the door behind them, she eyed his thin, worried features.
“What did you see, dearest?” she asked.
“Lights in the back garden. And I heard something, too.”
