Page 82 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

Her sister fluttered a hand. “It’s nothing. All is well. Have you seen Father?”

Emma simply stared at her.

Isabella grudgingly laughed. “I could never keep anything from you, could I?”

“No, and it’s best not to try. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing, truly,” she replied, rising from the desk. “John is simply being … unhelpful.”

Now it was Emma’s turn to frown. “In what way?”

“I wrote asking if he wished us to return to London. He replied this morning and all but stated he didn’t have an opinion on the matter.”

As brusque as John could be, he adored his wife and children. “That sounds most unlike him. Did he actually write those words?”

“Well … not precisely.”

Noting the way her sister was fiddling with her necklace, Emma drew her to a seat on the chaise. “Then what, precisely, did he say?”

“He said that if we were enjoying our stay at Hartfield we should extend it. That he was very busy at work and had very little time to be at home.” Isabella blew out an exasperated breath. “John works too hard, Emma. I’m afraid he’ll ruin his health if I’m not there.”

“Do you want to go back to London?”

“I think so, but I don’t want to disturb John if he’d rather be left alone.”

“Nonsense. I’m sure he would much rather have you and the children there with him. He’s simply giving you the choice because he knows how much you want to support Father and me.”

Isabella grimaced. “I do, and I certainly don’t wish to leave you in the lurch.”

“Don’t worry about that. I should probably be at Hartfield for the next little while anyway, since I need to help Miss Bates take over the accounts.” She scrunched her nose. “Joy of joys.”

That elicited a small smile. “Thank you, Emma. I think we will go home then—but not until after your skating party. The children are so looking forward to it.”

Emma sighed. “Of course, the skating party.”

Did you forget?”

“No, I was just ignoring it.”

“Emma, I suggest you start paying attention, since it’s the day after tomorrow.”

Before she could reply, Simon ushered Miss Bates and Mrs. Weston into the room.

“Oh, Mrs. Knightley, Mrs. Knightley,” exclaimed Miss Bates. “Look who I ran into in the lane. Mrs. Weston! She was coming to call on Mr. Woodhouse and was so happy to hear that I’d arranged to meet with you. With Mrs. George Knightley, that is.”

Emma rose. “Miss Bates, you truly need to start calling us by our given names, or we shall forever be in a state of confusion.”

The spinster hesitated. “I can try, but it will seem so very odd.”

Isabella smiled at her. “Once I return to London, you’ll only have one Mrs. Knightley to worry about.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” interjected Mrs. Weston. “Miss Bates informed me that you were to go over the household accounts.”

Emma was happy to forego that particular chore. “We can do it another day, if Miss Bates is amenable.”

“Indeed yes,” Miss Bates enthused. “It’s ever so much better to chat with friends than go over dreary accounts. Not that Hartfield’s accounts could ever be dreary, especially with Mrs. Knightley’s superior management. Mr. Woodhouse assures me there is nothing to be nervous about, since everything is already so well organized.”

“Clearly, I’m a prodigy of household management,” Emma cheerfully replied. “But since we’ve decided to dispense with the accounts, surely we can think of something more enjoyable to speak about.”