Page 76 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
Emma glanced at Henry, standing quietly by her side. “You’re sure you saw the lights in the garden?”
He nodded. “Yes. Farther out, between the stand of oaks and the strawberry beds.”
“Mayhap it was someone taking a shortcut home from Highbury to Donwell village,” Harry suggested. “Some lads who were visiting friends or at the Crown Inn.”
Emma shook her head. “It’s too late for the Crown. Besides, the lights were moving in the other direction, toward Langham. If it was someone coming from the village, they would have taken the other path, straight to Donwell Road.”
Harry thought about that for a few moments and then grimaced. “Could it be the poultry thief, Mrs. Knightley? I hear tell he’s at it again. Got into some coops over at Plumtree Manor, not three nights ago.”
Emma repressed the instinct to voice a most unladylike oath. The blasted poultry thief had been the bane of Highbury’s existence these past few years. If he were back in action, her father would have a fit.
“That is decidedly unpleasant news,” she said.
And if true, it could very well explain the lights. It made perfect sense that the varlet would utilize the old paths that were seldom used by anyone but the occasional local.
“Do you want me to go back out and check the coops?” Harry asked.
“I think you’d better. And while you’re out there, please look for any evidence that someone might have been in the garden.”
“Yes, ma’am. Do you want me to come knock on your bedroom door if that bloody—” He grimaced and then corrected himself. “If the thief got into the coops?”
There was little point in that, since the thief would be long gone.
“No,” she said. “Just secure the coops, and we’ll deal with it in the morning.”
“Let me fetch my boots, and I’ll have a proper look.”
“Thank you, Harry.” Emma turned to her nephew. “I think we should get you back to bed before you freeze. Your mother will have my head if you get chilblains.”
The boy smiled at her. “I’m fine, Auntie Emma. But Uncle George wouldn’t like it if you got cold, either.”
“Indeed he wouldn’t.”
She nodded good night to Harry, and then escorted her nephew out of the kitchen. Now truly starting to feel the chill, she hurried him through the silent abbey and up the stairs to their bedrooms.
“There you go,” she said as she tucked him into bed. “Now, with all this excitement you’re to sleep as late as you want. You can have breakfast whenever you get up.”
The small boy looked even smaller, and rather forlorn as he was almost swallowed up by all the pillows and blankets on the big bed. Emma studied him for a few seconds.
“Henry, is anything wrong?”
He stared at his hands, curled in a little ball over his chest, and then shrugged.
She hazarded a guess. “Do you miss your father, dearest? Do you miss London?”
“Yes,” he said in a small voice. “But I like it here, too,” he hastened to add. “You and Uncle George are fun.”
Emma felt a twinge of guilt. The children had never been away from their father for so long—and neither had Isabella, who was no doubt also missing John very much.
“Perhaps we can write to your Papa and persuade him to make a visit to Hartfield. And don’t forget we have a skating party to look forward to. Just a few more days and I think the pond will be properly good and frozen.”
As they’d been preparing to leave Mrs. Cole’s party this evening, their hostess had petitioned Emma for a skating party on Donwell’s pond. Her daughters had recently acquired new skates and were pleading for the treat. Emma had been happy to comply, since it would be a good distraction for Isabella and a lovely outing for all the children.
“Would you like me to stay for a few minutes, until you fall asleep?” Emma asked the boy.
“Yes, please,” he said with a shy smile.
She kissed him, and then plucked up a blanket from the back of a nearby chair, wrapping it around her shoulders. Wandering over to the window, she stared out at the night-shrouded garden. All was quiet, the scene a peaceful one under the glittering sky. Whoever had been there was now long gone, taking their business—and yet another mystery—with them.
