Page 146 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

“All right, let’s go down and check the kitchen. The men are probably there, since it’s the warmest room in the house.”

“They probably did fall asleep,” Henry commented with marked disapproval.

“I shouldn’t be surprised.”

At least in Harry’s case. But Donwell’s coachmen and two grooms were very dependable men. Then again, the abbey was very large, with very thick walls. She supposed it was possible that one could sit in the kitchen and not hear people creeping about outside, though she knew George had impressed upon his men the need to stay alert.

What were the smugglers doing back in Highbury in the first place, and why at Donwell Abbey? Even Mr. Clarke, still recovering from his injuries, had planned to return to Leatherhead, convinced—according to George—that the danger to their village had passed.

Emma led the way down the long gallery toward the service rooms. When they reached the swinging door that led to the kitchen, Emma gingerly pushed it open, wincing at the squeak of its hinges.

“It looks pretty dark down there,” Henry whispered.

It did indeed. Either no one was in the kitchen or the watchmen had fallen asleep and the lamps had guttered out.

“Be careful going down the steps,” she cautioned.

She trod down the short staircase, Henry drifting in her wake. When she reached the bottom, Emma held her candle up high. Its rays of illumination cast only a faint light over the large space, just enough to show her that the kitchen was empty.

“Blast,” she muttered.

Where in the name of St. George was everyone?

“Maybe they’re out in the stables,” said Henry. “You can see the back of the house better from there.”

“If that’s the case, then I can only assume they’veallfallen asleep,” she replied, trying to keep the frustration from her voice.

“Or maybe they saw the smugglers and went after them.”

She immediately rejected that thought. If that were the case, surely they would have heard some sort of commotion.

A sense of foreboding began to crowd out her frustration.

“Wait here,” she told Henry.

She crossed the kitchen and climbed the short flight of stairs to the courtyard and stables. After placing her candle on the step beneath her, she carefully cracked open the unlocked door. Perhaps Harry had already gone out that way.

Cautiously, she opened it a few more inches, enough to get a better view of the stable buildings. She shivered as the cold night air struck her face, but thankfully there was no wind. The silence was distinctly unnerving, although reason told her that was perfectly normal at this time of night.

Even more unnerving was the fact that the stables were completely dark. While the coachman had a small cottage behind the building, the grooms lived in a set of rooms directly above the stables. If the men were keeping watch from there, light should be shining through the upstairs window that looked out over the yard.

Quietly, she retreated down the stairs. Henry waited at the bottom, his features marked with an anxious little frown.

“Are they up there?” he whispered.

She shook her head. Going around him, she went to the fireplace, neatly arranged with various cooking implements and racks, and with a large teakettle hanging from its hook. What was left of the embers was barely smoldering.

“What do we do?” Henry whispered.

Emma took his hand and started back to the kitchen stairs. “Dear, I think you should go up to your room and lock your door.”

He dug in his heels, sliding a bit on the kitchen floor. “No.”

“Henry—”

“No,” he stubbornly said. “You might need me. Besides, I’ll just sneak out again and you know it.”

Emma blew out an exasperated breath. She did know it. She also knew Isabella would kill her if anything happened to the boy.