Page 166 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

She thought for a moment. “His mother died and Squire Plumtree decided to spend most of his time at Plumtree Manor, rather than London.”

“Exactly. While his father was absent for much of the time, Plumtree was able to use an abandoned barn to store the contraband. Once his father returned to the manor, that became impossible. It was Plumtree’s suggestion that he and Harry transfer the operation to Donwell—which lined up nicely with my removal to Hartfield.”

Emma shook her head. “Guy Plumtree is quite the evil genius for one so young.”

“The entire situation is a disgrace,” huffed Father. “I do not approve of those Plumtrees, Emma. I do hope we will never have to see any of them in the future.”

“No one approves of Guy Plumtree, dear,” she replied. “And I doubt the squire will wish to show his face in Highbury ever again.”

“He should have kept a better eye on his son,” Father sternly said. “I do hope John will never allow my grandchildren to run about unsupervised in such a manner.”

“I should think not,” John huffily replied. “And I take exception to the very suggestion that—”

Isabella jumped to her feet. “Dearest, your glass is empty. Let me fetch you another brandy.”

She snatched the glass—which was not empty—from her husband’s hand and hurried to the breakfront. Emma could sympathize with her sister’s reaction. It felt as if they’d spent the entire evening dodging one exploding shell of a surprise after another.

“George, I’m sure you and John are exhausted from this awful day,” she said. “But it’s a relief to finally know what happened.”

“I imagine there will be more information revealed at the trial,” he replied. “Phelps, our runner, will also be writing up a full report for me.” He reached over and gently pressed her arm. “You do realize you’ll have to testify at the trial.”

She sighed. “I suppose there’s no avoiding it.”

Father gasped. “George, I donotapprove of Emma participating in trials. She seems to do quite too many of them. Courtrooms are always so unhealthy. Either they are too drafty or the air is very bad.”

“Yes, dear, it’s very inconvenient,” replied Emma in a consoling voice. “But George will take care of everything.”

“The trial won’t commence for some weeks,” said her husband. “In the meantime, I suggest we all try to resume our normal lives.”

Mr. Weston lifted his glass in salute. “Hear, hear. I’ve had quite enough of smugglers and madmen running about dear old Highbury.”

Miss Bates raised a timid hand. “I do have one more question, Mr. Knightley. If it’s not too much trouble.”

George smiled at her. “Of course not, ma’am.”

“I was wondering about poor Mr. Barlowe. He is innocent in all of this, is he not?”

“He is. Plumtree curried our vicar’s friendship simply to keep an eye on him, since the church had been used by the smuggling gang—a fact that Mr. Barlowe knew.”

Emma had completely forgotten about their vicar. “That reminds me. What about the lights in the bell tower some weeks back? Before the casks were removed and Mr. Clarke was attacked?”

“That, strangely enough,wasBarlowe and Plumtree,” George replied. “As he considered Plumtree a friend, Barlowe took the risk of showing him the casks, and asked for his help in removing them. Plumtree took great pleasure in refusing the request, piously claiming that he couldn’t involve himself in criminal activities. Barlowe then asked Mrs. Stokes to help him with his predicament, which she kindly, if ill-advisedly, did.”

Mrs. Weston tsked. “How disgraceful to treat Mr. Barlowe in so shabby a fashion.”

“At least he didn’t murder the vicar,” Mr. Weston sardonically replied.

“No more murders in Highbury,” Emma’s father said in a surprisingly stern tone. “I forbid it.”

Emma smiled at him. “I agree completely, Father. From now on, we will only have happy events.”

“Like your wedding, dear sir,” added Mrs. Weston with a smile.

Miss Bates clasped her hands together. “Oh, Mrs. Weston, one finds it hard to think happy thoughts after such a dreadful time. However will we manage a wedding?”

“You’re not to worry,” Emma stoutly said. “It will be just the antidote to all this dreariness.”

To think that she was now actually looking forward to the event, and it had only taken solving a murder and breaking up a smuggling ring to effect the change.

Father’s anxious expression eased into a tentative smile. “I suppose we must begin making plans immediately, if such is the case.” Then he held up a minatory finger and wagged it at Emma. “But, my dear, while you and Miss Bates should certainly plan whatever you wish, I insist there be no more investigations of nefarious activities, andno cake.”