Page 138 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

Yet another unwelcome surprise.

“That would have been Mr. Allen,” said Emma, shaking her head. “I cannot believe it. He seemed such a respectable man.”

“Did Mr. Elton continue this arrangement?” George asked.

“Cook said he was frightened by the smugglers and did his best to ignore them.” Mr. Barlowe shuddered. “Which I can certainly understand. Look what the brutes did to poor Mr. Clarke.”

Emma glanced at the decanters and liquor bottles inside the breakfront. “I suppose that accounts for the excellent spirits and tea you have here.”

Mr. Barlowe nodded. “Payment in kind for using the bell tower for storage.”

“But you said the smugglers had stopped using the bell tower when you arrived in Highbury?” asked George.

The curate’s gaze darted about the room, looking anywhere but at them.

“So I had assumed,” he finally replied. “I … I never saw any signs of activity in the tower or anywhere else in the church. Nor did my cook mention it.”

“Come, Mr. Barlowe,” Emma said in a skeptical tone. “I saw the marks on the bell tower floor. They looked very much like someone had been dragging about casks. I very much doubt they were from pews stored up there.”

George frowned. “What pews? They haven’t been replaced in decades.”

When Emma raised her eyebrows at the curate, he winced.

“All right, I did that,” he admitted. “Or, rather, it was Mrs. Stokes and a few of her men from the Crown Inn.”

Emma felt her jaw sag. “Are you suggesting Mrs. Stokes is part of the smuggling ring?”

He flapped his hands. “No, of course not. She has nothing to do with it, as far as I know.”

“Then what the devil was she doing in your bell tower?” George demanded.

“I asked her to take what was left. Two casks of spirits were still there when I took up the position in Highbury. I don’t know why they were left behind, and I don’t care. I just wanted them gone!”

“Because of the increase in the smuggling activity?” George asked.

“Yes, and because of Miss Parr’s death. Everyone was asking questions, first about that poor girl and then about the smugglers. I … I grew frightened. If anyone thought to look up in the bell tower, they would see the casks and think I was involved.”

Emma exchanged another glance with George.

“What does Miss Parr’s death have to do with the smugglers?” she asked as calmly as she could manage.

The curate blinked at her question, as if genuinely surprised. “Nothing, as far as I know. Although I suppose that’s not right, because Larkins is obviously guilty of both crimes.”

Emma scoffed. “That isnottrue.”

Mr. Barlowe was obviously recovering, because he bristled at her. “Everyone else seems to think he’s guilty.”

“Then everyone is exceedingly stupid,” she retorted.

George touched her knee in silent warning.

“Mr. Barlowe,” he asked, “did you truly hear or see nothing on the night Mr. Clarke was attacked?”

“I did not, sir. My bedroom is on the other side of the house, facing away from the churchyard. It was only by chance that I found him the next morning.”

That response, at least, had the ring of truth.

Emma blew out a frustrated sigh. “If the smugglers weren’t using the church anymore, why were they up in the bell tower in so visible a fashion?”