Page 41 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

Drat.

Emma had hoped that her conversation with Mrs. Weston would be private, since the subject required a degree of delicacy and discretion. Although Miss Bates was a kind and sensitive soul, discretion was by no means her forte.

Not that Emma had any intention of directly accusing William Cox of assault, or even murder. What she was hoping to gain was a greater knowledge of his character and of any recent changes in his behavior. Since they generally moved in different social circles, Emma had little opportunity to observe William or his sisters.

Then again, Miss Bates was both friendly with Mrs. Coxandone of Highbury’s most notable gossips. Unlike Mr. Weston, whose reliability in that regard was sometimes a trifle wobbly, Emma’s future stepmother was a surprisingly accurate source of information about anything affecting their little village.

“Don’t let me keep you, Hannah,” Emma said. “I know the way.”

She headed down the corridor toward the back of the house, where the family parlor was situated.

“There you are,” exclaimed Mrs. Weston as Emma entered the room. “We saw you through the window. But Emma, you must be chilled to the bone.”

“You must be careful, Mrs. Knightley,” Miss Bates earnestly said. “Mr. Woodhouse would be quite distraught to hear you caught a chill.”

Emma smiled. “I wrapped up very warmly, I assure you. The walk did me good.”

Miss Bates looked much struck by her reply. “You will hardly believe it, Mrs. Knightley, but I said just the same thing to your father. I was visiting Hartfield before I came to see Mrs. Weston, and your father insisted that I take his carriage. He said that James and the horses wouldn’t mind in the least. But I refused, of course, since I walk all the time. There is nothing more healthful than a brisk walk. In fact, I said to your father—”

“And how is my father today?” Emma smoothly interjected into the usual torrent of words.

“Oh, your father,” said Miss Bates, properly distracted. “He’s so happy to have Isabella and the children at Hartfield. The little ones are such a delightful diversion. Why, I don’t know when I’ve met better children. Except for my niece Jane, of course. And you. I believe you and Jane were the best children I ever knew.”

Emma repressed a smile. “Jane was always much better behaved than I was. Mrs. Weston can certainly attest to that.”

“You were a delightful child,” her former governess said. “If a trifle headstrong at times.”

Emma shot her a sly grin. “Only a trifle?”

Mrs. Weston took her arm. “Come sit by the fire, dear. Hannah is fetching the tea tray. I’m sure we will all be happy for a cup on such a chilly day.”

Miss Bates bustled in their wake. “Dear me, yes. There is nothing better than a cup of hot tea on a cold winter’s day. And Randalls serves quite the best tea in Highbury. I always say that to mother—although Hartfield also serves excellent tea. No one puts a tea tray together like Serle. I made that point just the other day to your dear father, Mrs. Knightley.”

Emma gratefully sank onto the sofa in front of the fireplace. Nestling into the overstuffed cushions, she extended her feet toward the crackling fire in the grate. She always enjoyed her visits to Randalls, especially when she could have a quiet chat with Mrs. Weston. Sadly, that was not to be the case today. Still, she was determined to make the best of it—for the greater good, of course.

Hannah entered, bearing the tea tray.

“And speaking of tea,” said Mrs. Weston.

Emma pulled herself upright. “Excellent. I’m famished.”

Her former governess frowned. “Emma, when was the last time you ate?”

“I had cup of tea earlier, but I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.”

“Mr. Woodhouse would be very distressed to think of you not having enough to eat,” said Miss Bates, looking worried.

Emma lifted an eyebrow. “Let’s not mention it to him then, shall we?”

“I’m sure Miss Bates will do no such thing,” said Mrs. Weston. “Especially since I’m going to make you a nice plate, and you’re going to eat everything on it.”

Her former governess filled a plate with macaroons, a scone with jam and clotted cream, and a large slice of date cake.

Emma eyed the plate. “That’s quite a lot of food.”

“And you’re to eat all of it.”

She took the plate with a shrug because she could, in fact, eat all of it.