Page 85 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

“I live to serve. And annoy.”

She had to laugh. “You are the opposite of annoying, George. In fact, you spoil me terribly, and it’s no credit to my character that I could complain about a silly skating party. Speaking of which, I should get down to the kitchen to see how the preparations are proceeding.”

“I understand the Westons are coming, as well as Harriet and Robert.”

“Yes. Now, if you’ll excuse—”

The door flew open and Henry pelted into the room. “Mr. Larkins and I just went down to check the pond. He says it’s perfect for skating, and he sharpened my skates so they’re perfect, too.”

Emma ruffled his hair, his boyish enthusiasm lifting her spirits. “I have little doubt you’ll outskate everyone today. Now, sit with your uncle and have some breakfast. I’m going to the kitchen to check on our progress.”

She spent the rest of the morning overseeing the party preparations, assisted by Larkins and Mrs. Hodges. Harry and the grooms had set up a large trestle table by the pond, and Simon arrived with two enormous baskets of baked goods and treats from Hartfield’s kitchens. By the time Larkins built up a fire off to the side, the day was well advanced and the guests would soon be arriving.

Garbed in her warmest pelisse, a wool hat, and her sturdiest boots, Emma made her way to the pond at the base of the garden. It reallywasa beautiful day, with the crust of snow a gleaming white, the sky as blue as periwinkle, and the sun reflecting off the mirrored pond. The bonfire merrily blazed, and the trestle table presented a cornucopia of cakes, pastries, tarts, and pots of hot chocolate and mulled wine. Emma inspected everything with a critical eye before giving Harry, who stood at attention behind the table, an approving nod.

“Everything looks excellent, Harry,” she said.

The footman grinned. “Thank you, ma’am. If you wouldn’t mind saying a word to Mrs. Hodges, I’d be grateful. She was a mite peeved with me for dropping a pitcher of chocolate on the floor this morning.”

Emma mentally winced. Given the cost of chocolate, she could well imagine the housekeeper’s response.

Larkins turned from the fire and scowled at the hapless fellow. “Don’t be bothering Mrs. Knightley with your foolishness. Go up to the stables and fetch that other bench. We’ll need it for the skaters.”

“Sorry, Mr. Larkins. I forgot.”

“You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders,” Larkins sternly replied.

“Happen you’re right, sir,” Harry said with a comical grimace.

He hurried off in the direction of the stables.

“I apologize, Mrs. Knightley,” said Larkins.

“Harry means well, though I know he’s something of a trial for you and Mrs. Hodges.”

“Aye, but we’ll manage.” He breathed out a sigh. “It’s Prudence we’re really missing.”

The flash of sorrow that passed over the man’s features instantly aged him.

Emma patted his arm. “I know. She was dear to all of you.”

Larkins cleared his throat, embarrassed at his display of emotion. “Thank you, ma’am. I think your guests are arriving,” he added before swiftly moving to tend to the fire.

Emma went to greet the first arrivals. Harriet and Robert Martin led the way, with Mrs. Weston and Miss Bates following.

Miss Bates fluttered around the trestle table, exclaiming her delight. “Mrs. Knightley, I vow this is the prettiest scene one could imagine. Why, it’s like something out of a rousing medieval tale. I can practically see the jousting knights in my head.”

Since many medieval tales involved an irritating degree of mayhem, Emma could only hope their day would pass more peacefully.

“You’re very kind,” Emma said. “Did you come with Isabella and the children? Are they up at the house?”

“I thought to come with them. But Mr. Woodhouse was fretting a bit over the children, so I came ahead to tell you they would be late.”

Mrs. Weston looked concerned. “Did you walk all the way from Hartfield? Miss Bates, you must be frozen.”

The spinster flapped her gloved hands. “Nothing of the sort. I walk very quickly, you know, and I have these splendid boots that Jane sent for Christmas. I am as warm as toast.”

“Still, you must come by the fire,” said Emma. “And let me fetch you a cup of mulled wine.”