Page 159 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

“Capital idea, Miss Bates,” he said. “A little glass of something sounds just the thing. I’ll be happy to fetch and carry for you and Mr. Woodhouse.”

“And perhaps pour a brandy for yourself while you’re at it?” his wife wryly asked.

“Can’t blame me, my dear,” he mildly countered. “All this waiting around is getting on my poor nerves, too.”

Emma cast him a wry smile. “I doubt that anything rattles your nerves, sir.”

The fact that he’d rolled up Guy Plumtree while hardly batting an eyelash was proof of that, as was his steady presence in the aftermath of both the fire and Guy’s arrest. As Emma could have predicted, Constable Sharpe had been less than helpful in dealing with a chaotic situation, so Mr. Weston’s calm demeanor had been invaluable.

He shook his head. “I beg to differ, my dear. When I came upon that blasted Plumtree fellow in the long gallery, holding a—”

Mr. Weston broke off when Isabella jumped to her feet, almost knocking over the small tea table in front of her.

“I think I’ll have a brandy, too,” she exclaimed. “Emma, would you like one?”

Emma had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Isabella loathed brandy.

“I’d prefer a sherry,” she managed to reply.

“Good, I’ll help fetch everyone’s drink.”

Isabella promptly seized Mr. Weston’s arm and dragged him off to the sideboard, no doubt reminding him in urgent whispers that Father wasnotto hear the details of Emma’s near escape.

Mr. Woodhouse frowned. “I didn’t know that Isabella partook of brandy. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her drink it.”

“Perhaps it’s a newly acquired taste,” Emma said.

“Mama drinks brandy all the time at home,” Henry put in. “She says it helps her sleep.”

Emma blinked at that unexpected revelation. “Does she now? Well, good for her.”

Father peered at her. “Emma, why is everyone acting so strangely? I do not approve.”

Thankfully, she was spared a reply when she heard voices out in the hall. A moment later, the door opened and George and John entered the room.

Emma hurried to meet them. “Finally! We were wondering if you’d ever return.”

George greeted her with a smile and an encompassing embrace. He’d been deeply shaken by her near-fatal encounter three nights ago, even though she’d done her best to assure him that she’d suffered no lasting ill effects. As she’d expected, her dear husband had blamed himself for not being there to protect her, as well as for failing to see that Harry was the snake in their little garden all along. It had taken a concerted effort on Emma’s part to assure him that she was perfectly well. George had respondedquitepassionately, with the happy result of proving that all her various parts were still in excellent working order.

He dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head. “I apologize for the delay. The interview with Plumtree took longer than expected but was fruitful.” He glanced at his brother, who’d gone to greet his wife and son. “Thanks to John.”

“Of course, we want to hear all about it,” Emma said. “But first, come sit and have tea and something to eat.”

“John and I supped at an inn in Guildford before we returned.”

Father shook his head in disapproval “One should avoid inns whenever possible, George. Mr. Perry often reminds us that they’re very unhealthy places to eat. It would have been better if you’d waited until you returned to Hartfield.”

John, who’d settled next to his son on the sofa, glanced over with a sardonic expression. “Actually, the jailer offered to feed us, but George and I decided an inn would provide a more pleasant atmosphere and better food.”

Father stared at him, obviously struck dumb at the notion of eating prison food.

Isabella hastened over, handing the poor old dear a glass. “Here’s your ratafia, Father. By the by, I’m sure John was only teasing.”

“I wasn’t,” John replied in his usual blunt manner. “And the food at the inn was rather good, thanks to George. Poor fellow has spent quite a bit of time in Guildford this last year, what with the murders and such. So now he knows all the best places to eat.”

“George,” exclaimed Father, extremely perturbed, “I cannot believe you frequent unknown inns in so reckless a manner. Who knows what sorts of contagion you might be exposed to in such establishments?”

Emma directed a warning glance at her brother-in-law, daring him to contradict what she was about to say. “John isundoubtedlyteasing, Father. Now, please tell us what happened, George. We’ve been on tenterhooks all day. Were you able to secure Larkins’s release from prison?”