Page 86 of Murder at Donwell Abbey

“I’ll do it, Mrs. Knightley,” Harriet cheerfully offered.

“Thank you, dear. Harry should be returning soon. I cannot imagine what’s taking him so long.”

A sardonic snort coming from the direction of the bonfire signaled Larkins’s thoughts on the matter.

Mrs. Cole and her daughters then joined them, the girls chattering excitedly while their mother profusely thanked Emma for the splendid treat. Robert Martin soon took command, helping the girls and Henry put on their skates before he shepherded them onto the ice.

“Where is Mr. Weston?” Emma asked Mrs. Weston.

“Here he is, coming with Isabella and the children.”

Bella and John raced across the lawn as quickly as their little legs could carry them. Mr. Weston escorted Isabella, while George brought up the rear. Harry, several yards behind, lugged the extra bench.

After greeting the children, Emma shooed them off to Robert and Larkins. She went to hug her sister, who was charmingly attired in a hunter green pelisse and matching hat. Isabella appeared more cheerful today, with color in her cheeks and a smile for the other guests.

“Such a lovely pelisse!” Emma exclaimed. “I’m eaten up with envy.”

Her sister blushed, her cheeks turning rosy. Emma wished Isabella’s annoying husband were here, so he could be reminded how lucky he was to have such a sweet wife.

“I bought it in a shop in New Bond Street, just before Christmas. I do think it’s rather nice.”

“Ah, a London milliner,” said Mrs. Weston with a twinkle. “We provincials can’t possibly compete.”

Miss Bates clasped her hands together. “You outshine us all—and that is truly saying something, given that Mrs. Knightley and Mrs. Weston are always dressed with such style. I could look at their lovely gowns forever.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Weston heartily cut in. “You all look firstrate. Then again, I was never one for frills and furbelows. Leave the fashion to the ladies, I say.” He elbowed George. “Isn’t that right?”

“I would agree that all our guests are charmingly attired,” George tactfully agreed.

“Mr. Knightley, you are always so kind,” said Miss Bates. “But I am like a little brown sparrow amongst a flock of kingfishers.”

That set off a round of good-natured denials. Emma took the opportunity to speak to her sister.

“Did Father try to talk you out of coming?” she wryly asked.

“I had to promise I would take the children inside at the first sign of a chill.”

“No fear of anyone taking a chill,” Mr. Weston said, overhearing them. “Not with the capital bonfire Larkins is tending.” He slapped George forcefully on the back, making him slide a bit in the snow. “Well done, Knightley. Leave it to you to do everything in style.”

Mrs. Weston frowned. “My dear, you will knock Mr. Knightley off his feet.”

Now that Harry was back, Emma encouraged the others to avail themselves of the refreshments. The ladies gratefully accepted steaming cups of hot chocolate, while the men partook of the mulled wine, as did Emma. While she rarely imbibed this early in the afternoon, she rather felt she’d earned it.

Her sister raised her eyebrows. “You know Father’s opinion on mulled wine. He thinks it much too sweet. Almost as bad as cake.”

“I’m aware,” she dryly replied. “I have this argument with him every Christmas. Nevertheless, I would suggest that it’s a great deal more medicinal than hot chocolate.”

“Far be it from me to gainsay Mr. Woodhouse,” Miss Bates earnestly said. “But Mother is quite fond of mulled wine. And, of course, Mrs. Knightley—Mrs. George Knightley, that is— would never do anything inappropriate.”

When George started to laugh before quickly changing it to a cough, Emma widened her eyes at him.

“Did you wish to say something, dearest?” she asked.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied.

After all were supplied with refreshments, the group scattered. The ladies occupied the benches and watched the children, while George and Mr. Weston stood by the fire discussing the state of the last harvest with Larkins. It was a cheerful scene—and all slightly boring.

Emma knew the fault for that lay with her. There were simply too many matters weighing on her mind, including the stillunanswered questions regarding Prudence’s death.