Page 152 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

Something ugly flashed across his features, startling her, but vanishing a moment later.

“They … they told me I had to drug our men.” His voice took on a whiny pitch. “They gave me laudanum and told me to put it in their ale. I didn’t have a choice, Mrs. Knightley. They said they’d kill me if I didn’t help them.”

Emma narrowed her gaze on him. “And did they also force you to kill Prudence?”

Genuine shock distorted his features, and he took a hasty step forward.

“No, blast you! It wasn’t me,” he exclaimed. “You’ve got it all wrong. I wouldneverhave hurt Prudence. I was going to marry her.”

Now it was Emma’s turn to be shocked—again. Harry had clearly dropped all pretenses now, putting aside the fool. He looked genuinely outraged by her accusation.

“Then if you didn’t kill her,” she asked, “who did?”

“I’m afraid it was me,” said a voice from behind her. “And I’m also afraid that if you don’t lower your shotgun, Mrs. Knight ley, I might have to kill you, too.”

Emma’s brain seemed to stumble over itself. What in God’s name was happening here?

“Or I suppose I could just kill Mrs. Hodges,” said the man in a bizarrely casual drawl. “That will serve just as well, I should think.”

A choked exclamation from Mrs. Hodges had Emma quickly lowering her weapon. Then she turned to confront Guy Plumtree. He was garbed in a stylish greatcoat, a mildly regretful expression on his attractive features. He was holding the business end of a pistol aimed at Mrs. Hodges, standing not more than five feet behind her.

“I … I didn’t hear him come in,” the housekeeper stammered.

Neither had Emma. She’d been too busy interrogating Harry to hear the door from the stable yard open or feel the chill that had entered the room with Guy’s entrance.

While she felt the chill now, she suspected that had more to do with fear than the temperature of the room.

“You killed Prudence?” she finally managed. “But why? You didn’t even—” She broke off with a grimace. “Of course. You’re part of this blasted smuggling ring.”

Guy waved an admonishing finger. “Such language from a lady. Mr. Knightley would be terribly shocked.”

“Mr. Knightley will see you hang,” retorted Mrs. Hodges.

“It’s about time you showed up,” griped Harry. “But now we’ve got a right mess on our hands, thanks to you killing poor Pru.”

Guy shrugged. “If I hadn’t killed the girl, she would have gone to Mr. Knightley and revealed all. Obviously, I couldn’t allow that to happen.”

“I told you I’d take care of it,” Harry gritted out. “She would have listened to me. She always did.”

Guy made an impatient sound. “We’ve been over this countless times, Harry. I made the decision, and I stand by it. Now, get the gun from Mrs. Knightley before she does something foolish.”

Despite the danger, Emma couldn’t help herself. “Like shooting you?”

Guy actually laughed. “I doubt you have it in you, ma’am. Although I will say you did seem quite determined to shoot Harry. Not that I blame you. I’ve been tempted to shoot him a few times, myself.”

“Bastard,” Harry muttered.

Emma mentally blinked, taking note of the animosity between the partners in crime. Perhaps at some point she could use that against them, at least until help arrived.

And wherewasthat help? Mr. Weston and his men should have arrived by now.

“Harry, the gun,” Guy sharply said.

The footman stalked around the table and jerked the shotgun from her hands.

“You and Mrs. Hodges, sit yourselves down at the table,” he barked.

“Pleasesit down at the table,” Guy corrected. “There’s no need to be rude.”