Page 4 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

With George so obviously in favor of the whole demented project, Emma realized she might as well rip off the bandage and get on with it.

“I’ll call on Miss Bates tomorrow to discuss the arrangements,” she said.

Her father beamed. “There’s no need, since Miss Bates will be visiting Hartfield first thing in the morning. You can have a nice, cozy chat then and make all the plans you like.” He gave Isabella a tentative smile. “And you as well, my dear. I do hope we can persuade you to stay.”

Isabella was spared the need to reply when the clock on the mantle chimed out the hour.

Emma was surprised at the late hour. “Goodness, Father, I really do think you must retire now. Mr. Perry will be cross if you wear yourself out.”

At the alarming prospect of incurring his apothecary’s disapproval, her father responded with alacrity. “Very true, my dear. We should all be abed.”

Emma rose, rang the bell, and then went to her father. “Let me help you up.”

She escorted him to the corridor where Simon, their senior footman, hovered by the door.

“Are you ready to retire, Mr. Woodhouse?” the young man asked.

“I am.” Father gave Emma a smile. “Good night, my dear. Don’t stay up too late.”

After handing her father off to the faithful Simon, she rejoined the group and flopped down in his vacated chair. “This was certainly not how I was expecting the evening to end.”

John crossed to the drinks trolley. “How could you allow this to happen, Emma? Miss Bates as mistress of Hartfield? It’s simply deranged.”

“It’s not as if I planned it,” she defensively replied. “I’d no idea they were anything more than very good friends.”

“And yet, from what George tells me, your father has been giving Miss Bates a singular degree of notice for some months now.”

“But George never suggested that something like this could happen!”

Her husband shrugged. “It never struck me that your father could possibly be amenable to so drastic a change. After all, this is the man who still refers to Mrs. Weston as Miss Taylor.”

John returned to his seat. “I for one do not relish the thought of spending our visits at Hartfield with Miss Bates in charge of domestic matters. It’s a blasted uncomfortable prospect.”

Isabella sighed. “I must agree. In fact, I find it all very daunting. However will we manage it?”

“You’ll manage by staying at Donwell Abbey,” George calmly said.

Startled, Emma peered at him. “We can hardly expect them to stay at the abbey while the rest of us are at Hartfield. It’s in no condition to host anyone.”

“But it will be, once we take up residence there,” he replied.

Her mind couldn’t seem to absorb the words. “I beg your pardon?”

John laughed. “So that’s how it’s to be. Good plan, old man. Surprised I didn’t think of it myself.

“What are you two talking about?” asked Isabella.

“It’s obvious. Now that your father has Miss Bates to look after him and keep him busy, George and Emma can finally move to Donwell. It’s the silver lining to an otherwise ridiculous situation.”

“Hmm,” Emma muttered.

When she and George became betrothed, she’d made it clear that she couldn’t leave her father. He’d always dreaded the prospect of losing her even to a house less than a mile away and to a man he loved as a son. Nor could her father have borne a move from his beloved Hartfield, the only place he truly felt safe.

Thankfully, George had solved the problem by proposing that he and Emma live at Hartfield for as long as necessary. Although getting on in years, her father was no antique nor was he as frail as he supposed himself to be. He could easily live for many more years, which had meant that Hartfield would remain their home for the foreseeable future—or so, at least, Emma had thought.

Her husband cocked an inquiring eyebrow. “What do you think, my dear?”

“I suppose that makes sense,” she cautiously replied. “I’m not sure Miss Bates is up to running Hartfield, but I can easily help her from Donwell.”