Page 40 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

“Good morning, Mrs. Knightley.”

“Actually, almost afternoon,” she humorously replied. “How are you, Mr. Larkins?”

“I’m tolerable, ma’am. Thank you for asking.”

In fact, he looked terrible. His normally ruddy features were drawn and pale, and he seemed to have aged overnight.

“Can I get you a cup of tea, Mr. Larkins?” asked Mrs. Hodges.

“No, I’m fine.” He glanced at Emma. “Can I be of any assistance, Mrs. Knightley?”

She thought to ask him about Prudence but decided against it. Larkins was a very private man and would no doubt be mortified to be questioned about the girl.

Then again …

“Yes, actually,” she said with a smile. “My nephew wishes to walk to Hartfield. I was going to take him, but I have an errand I must attend to. Are you by any chance going into the village today?”

Larkins nodded. “I am, and I’ll be happy to walk the boy to Hartfield.”

“I can do it if you’re busy,” Harry piped up.

Larkins gave him a somewhat dismissive glance. “I’m sure Mrs. Hodges needs your help around the house.”

“Indeed I do,” the housekeeper said. “Harry, you need to finish your dusting.”

The footman sighed. “Yes, Mrs. Hodges.”

Emma smiled at Larkins. “I’ll get Henry ready to go. In ten minutes, shall we say?”

“Very good, Mrs. Knightley.”

Excellent.

With her nephew sorted for the afternoon, Emma could pursue the question of William Cox. And she knew just the person to ask.

CHAPTER9

Achill breeze whipped among the hedgerows and rattled the empty branches of the trees. Thankfully, the walk from Donwell to Randalls was a mere ten minutes, especially if one took the footpath that ran directly from the abbey to fetch up behind Randalls.

As Emma cut across the back lawn, the frost-covered grass crunched under her feet. By the time she circled around to the front door, she was more than ready for a hot cup of tea and a chat with her oldest friend. Although not a gossip herself, Mrs. Weston was married to a man who collected information from the locals as readily as a sponge drew up water. Mr. Weston was the easiest man in the world to talk to, and talk to him the villagers certainly did. Even better, he was dreadful at keeping confidences. That made him the perfect source of information, which he invariably shared with his wife.

Hannah, one of the housemaids, admitted her into the entrance hall.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Knightley.” The girl eyed Emma’s boots. “It’s right nasty out there, ma’am. You should have asked my father to drive you over instead of tramping out in this cold. It’s not good for your lungs.”

Hannah’s father was James, Hartfield’s ever-loyal coachman.

Emma smiled at her. “I’m sure he would have, but Mr. Knightley and I are at Donwell for the present.”

Hannah folded Emma’s pelisse over her arm. “Mrs. Hodges will be grateful to have you there, what with all the sad goings-on.”

“Did you know Prudence?”

“Not well, but I’d see her in the village on occasion, and at church. I know Mrs. Hodges thought the world of her, as did Mr. Larkins. I expect they’re both terrible cut up about it.”

This wasn’t the first time someone had mentioned that Larkins would be upset by Prudence’s death. As estate steward, he would of course feel responsible for Donwell’s staff, but he would have little contact with servants like a chambermaid.

“Mrs. Weston is in the parlor with Miss Bates,” Hannah added. “I was just going to fetch the tea tray when you rang.”