Page 111 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

“Poor George. As if you don’t have enough to do already— and now without Larkins.”

“I’ll manage.” He cast a look at her father. “Besides, you have challenges aplenty at Hartfield.”

She ruefully echoed him. “Yes, I’ll manage, though I hate that we cannot be together. I’m afraid I’ll have to spend most of my time at Hartfield. Father will fret too much without me.”

“I’ll come to Hartfield for dinner every evening. And we must hope that these matters resolve themselves sooner than later, so life can return to normal.”

“But how? It’s such a tangle, George. Smuggling, murder … how is it ever to be sorted?”

“Mr. Clarke will get to the bottom of it,” he calmly replied. “In any event, we have no choice but to allow the investigation to play out.”

Emma found herself contemplating the notion of choices. Was their only choice, in fact, to rely on the work of others?

Perhaps her hands were tied when it came to the murder investigation. But when it came to the issue of smuggling, especially as it affected Highbury, she believed there were, at least, a few avenues to pursue on the way to the truth. Nothing dramatic, mind you—just a conversation here and there with people who would be reluctant to speak to Mr. Clarke.

They wouldn’t be reluctant to chat with her. Of that, Emma felt quite sure.

CHAPTER22

“Mrs. Knightley, do hold up!” cried a familiar voice.

With a sigh, Emma turned to wait for Miss Bates, who was hurrying through the village square to join her. Avoiding uncomfortable questions was why she’d snuck out of Hartfield so early this morning. She’d not counted on Miss Bates’s preternatural ability to be precisely where Emma did not wish her to be.

The spinster fluttered up to her like a little wren darting among the hedgerows—albeit a wren sporting a luxurious velvet muff that dangled from one wrist. Garbed as she was in her sensible brown pelisse and plain bonnet, the enormous and undoubtedly expensive muff presented quite the contrast.

“Good morning, Miss Bates,” Emma said. “You’re out early.”

“Yes, I popped down to the bakery to place an order for an apple tart and tea cakes from Mrs. Wallis. Mrs. Goddard and Mrs. Martin are coming by this afternoon, and I wished to have something special.”

“They will be happy for the treat,” Emma replied. “But you must be busy, so don’t let me keep you.”

“Always so kind, Mrs. Knightley, but Patty will take care of everything. She’s so capable, as you know.”

Patty, the Bateses’ maid, was indeed efficient, and Emma was running out of excuses.

Miss Bates cast her an inquiring look. “When I saw you pass by the bakery, I couldn’t help but wonder whyyouwere up so early. Are you off to Donwell Abbey?”

Drat.

“Actually, I’m on my way to Ford’s,” she reluctantly replied. “I thought to stop in first thing, before Mrs. Ford got busy.”

“I suppose Mr. Woodhouse is needing new gloves? But, that cannot be right. You got him new gloves just last week.”

“No, but I think he might—”

Miss Bates waved her arms. “I know! You’re going to speak to her about what Mr. Clarke said last night, aren’t you?”

Emma hastily stepped back to avoid being clocked in the chin by the enormous muff.

“Do forgive me,” Miss Bates said, wrestling the muff under control. “I quite forget I have this around my wrist.”

“It’s, er, rather large,” Emma replied.

Miss Bates flashed her a shy smile. “Your father gave it to me for Christmas. It’s much too extravagant for me, but he insists I use it on cold days. Since I’m going to Hartfield after my errands, I thought to wear it.”

“I … I didn’t know Father gave you such a lovely gift,” Emma said, trying to stifle a laugh.

The muff was indeed quite lovely, though much too large for a petite woman like Miss Bates.