Page 84 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

Miss Bates, who’d been selecting a macaroon from the tea tray, glanced up. “I can understand the squire’s concern. Guy was so delicate when he was younger.”

Emma couldn’t help but feel sympathy for Guy. She also knew what it was like to be smothered by the love of a wellmeaning but fretful parent. “He certainly doesn’t seem delicate now. What a shame that such a promising young man was denied the same opportunity given to others of his standing.”

“True,” said Mrs. Weston. “But his father is now determined that Guy take up his responsibilities as his heir, including learning how to manage the estate. According to Mr. Weston, that’s why the squire has moved back to Plumtree Manor.”

“I’m not sure young Mr. Plumtree is as eager to be a country squire as his father,” Emma dryly noted.

Mrs. Weston hesitated. “Mr. Weston says he’s terribly spoiled, but I wouldn’t really know.”

Emma laughed. “He reminds me of Frank—a trifle spoiled but very charming nonetheless. I must say that I like him.”

“I think him a terribly nice young person, and his father is truly a good-hearted man,” said Miss Bates. “I do think it would be a kindness to invite them to the wedding breakfast, and Guy would be happy for the chance to be social. Of course, I will have to explain to your father that the squire is really a good man and not like Constable Sharpe at all.”

“It’s your wedding, ma’am,” said Emma. “You should invite whomever you wish.”

That led to a lengthy disquisition that mingled gratitude with ruminations on who else should be invited. With a degree of alarm, Emma began to realize she might have spoken too soon. If they weren’t careful, they might end up with a guest list that once again included half the inhabitants of Highbury.

As long as no one falls out a window.

It was an ugly and foolish thought, and she put it out of her mind\.

CHAPTER17

The day had dawned bright and clear, with frost to nip the nose and not a trace of wind. In other words, it was the perfect winter’s day.

“Drat,” she muttered.

George glanced up from his breakfast. “Is something amiss, my dear?”

“No,” she crossly replied. “It’s a beautiful day.”

“So, no reason to cancel our skating party, I take it.”

She returned to the dining table and sank into the chair next to him. “No, and I’m a dreadful person for even wishing we could. But with everything that’s been going on, it seems such a bother. And now smugglers, on top of it all.”

“Be assured that Mr. Clarke and I have everything in hand.”

George had ridden to Leatherhead yesterday to meet Mr. Algernon Clarke, the revenue agent for the Crown.

“I thought you said he wasn’t terribly helpful.”

“He wasn’tunhelpful, either. Mr. Clarke simply reiterated that the old Langham Path hadn’t been used as a smuggling route for some time, which is not to say there hasn’t been any activity in the district. He felt confident, however, that there was no cause for alarm for Donwell or the surrounding estates.

“That’s reassuring, I suppose,” Emma said.

“Mr. Clarke also asked me to keep him apprised of any new developments—not that I expect any.”

“I hope you’re right. We have enough to worry about these days without dangerous criminals larking about the village.”

“Generally speaking, criminals do not lark, Emma.”

When she stuck her tongue out, George grinned.

“You know very well what I mean,” she said.

“I do. But you’re not to fret, my Emma. The skating party will serve as a happy diversion for everyone, including you.”

“Dearest, you always have an answer for everything. It’s very annoying.”