Page 77 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

CHAPTER16

Having overslept, Emma hurried along to the dining room. When Henry had finally drifted off, she’d stolen back to bed. George had muttered in his sleep, and then rolled over and wrapped an arm around her waist. Eventually, with the reassuring warmth of her husband’s body enveloping hers, she’d managed to quiet her restless thoughts and fall into slumber.

When she’d finally awakened, it was full daylight and George was gone from their room. She’d hoped to speak with him and explain last night’s activities before Henry got to him. Her husband would likely be less than impressed with her failure to wake him and instead investigating on her own.

She almost ran into Harry as he exited from the dining room, carrying a teapot.

“Good morning, Mrs. Knightley. I was just going to fetch a fresh pot. Can I get you anything?”

“Are there any of Serle’s lovely scones left?” she innocently asked.

He winced. “I believe Master Henry just ate the last one.”

“Drat. I was so looking forward to one, too.”

Harry expression conveyed sheepish guilt. He might not be the best footman in England—well, it was doubtful he’d be the best footman anywhere—but his bumbling ways were rather endearing.

“Sorry, ma’am. Can I bring up some muffins? I think Mrs. Hodges just took them nice ones she makes out of the oven.”

Emma smiled. “I was teasing, Harry. Is there any coffee?”

“Yes, ma’am. I just brought up a fresh pot.”

“That’ll do for now.”

He bobbed his head and started to hurry down the hall when Emma recalled the question she should have asked him at the outset.

“Harry, what about the chicken coops?”

He half turned to look back at her. “All right and tight. Mrs. Knightley. No sign of the poultry thief or anyone else.”

“So no poultry predations. Excellent. And you saw no evidence of anyone else who’d been in the garden or behind the house?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, ma’am. Just the usual comings and goings from the kitchen to the stable, and from the outbuildings past the gardens.”

“Please check again this morning. You could have missed something in the dark.” She paused for a moment. “Better yet, have Larkins take a look. He should be made aware, regardless.”

“Mr. Knightley already told me to do that, ma’am. As soon as Mr. Larkins comes into the house.”

She winced. “So Mr. Knightley knows about last night?”

“Master Henry told him, and then he asked me about it.”

Emma sighed. She hated being caught on the back foot, especially by her husband.

“That will be all, Harry. Thank you.”

She adjusted her collar and tugged her cuffs into place. Then she plastered on a bright smile and sailed into the dining room.

“Good morning, everyone,” she called out in a cheery voice.

Calling out was necessary,since the dining room was enormous. It was one of the largest rooms in the abbey, with circular, recessed alcoves where the sideboards were situated. Several floor-to-ceiling windows lined one wall, adorned with red velvet draperies tied back with black cords. A long, heavylooking mahogany table in the Jacobean style with matching padded chairs held court down the length of the room. Family lore claimed the room had once served as the refractory for the monks who, one would assume, would be willing to endure the chilly atmosphere for the good of their souls. More than three or four seats away from the fireplace meant one’s toes and fingers were likely to freeze at more inclement times of year.

George and Henry sensibly sat at the far end near the merrily crackling fire in the hearth.

Her husband rose and came to meet her. “Forgive us for not waiting for you. I certainly understand why you’d wish to sleep in a trifle.”

Emma tried not to wince at his dry tone. “I apologize for being so late. The morning is already half-advanced.”