Chapter 8
The stone steps down to Donwell’s old kitchen had been worn smooth and to a slight slope over the centuries, first by the monks and then by generations of servants.
Emma worried that the steps one day would cause someone to slip while carrying a heavy tray of food or a tureen of soup.
It would be just like Harry, for instance, to fall and bash his head, which would be terribly inconvenient for the poor fellow.
That was but one of the problems she needed to solve about the house’s old kitchen.
Besides the slippery steps, the dining room was so far away from the kitchen that most of their food often arrived in a tepid or wilted state.
As a bachelor living alone amongst Donwell’s ancient splendors, George, though, had barely noticed such things, satisfied with a plate of cold meats and cheeses instead of a proper meal.
Those days were now gone, and bringing the abbey up to snuff was going to be a challenge.
Emma looked forward to tackling it—after she dealt with the challenge of Prudence Parr’s tragic death.
She remained convinced there had to be something more to the story, a buried secret or a mystery to be solved.
Getting to the bottom of it wouldn’t bring the girl back, but it might provide her grieving family with answers and also give George some well-needed peace of mind.
Emma hadn’t known Prudence that well, but by all accounts she was an excellent young woman. For the last word on her short life to be so tawdry was simply unacceptable.
The kitchen was a long, narrow room with a fairly low ceiling, though it was surprisingly bright thanks to windows set high in the walls, facing both west and south.
When the weather was pleasant, the door to the kitchen gardens and stable yard was left open to bring in fresh air and more light.
An enormous stone fireplace, original to the abbey, served as the hub, where most of the cooking took place.
A large wooden table occupied the center of the room, and crockery and gleaming cookware filled neatly arranged shelves.
Despite the antique nature of the kitchen, it radiated cleanliness and order, which was a tribute to Mrs. Hodges’s ferocious efficiency.
“Good morning. Mrs. Hodges,” Emma cheerfully announced.
The housekeeper, who’d been seated in a cane-back chair with her back to the stairs, jumped to her feet and spun around.
“Mrs. Knightley! I apologize, ma’am. I didn’t hear you come down the stairs.”
That was understandable, because Emma thought she might have been delivering a scold to Harry, in what was apparently a regular occurrence. Now, the footman simply stared at Emma with a morose expression.
The housekeeper shot an irritated glance at him. “Harry, stop gaping and fetch Mrs. Knightley a chair.”
Harry shook off his momentary paralysis, much like a spaniel shook off the rain coming indoors.
He fetched another cane-back chair tucked behind the pantry door and carried it around the table, almost knocking over Mrs. Hodges’s chair in the process.
The housekeeper let out an aggrieved sigh but declined further chastisement.
From what Emma had been able to observe, it wouldn’t do much good anyway. Harry seemed to be naturally clumsy, something not usually found in a footman. It was fortunate that he had an excellent, tolerant employer in George, since she doubted he would last very long anywhere else.
“Can I get you a cup of tea, ma’am?” asked Mrs. Hodges. “I just made a fresh pot for Mr. Larkins, since I expect him in from the stables any time.”
“A cup of tea sounds lovely,” she replied, taking her seat.
The servants began to bustle about the kitchen.
Well, Mrs. Hodges bustled, while Harry mostly stood about looking awkward, darting uneasy glances at Emma.
Perhaps he hadn’t been on the working end of a scold, after all.
Perhaps he and Mrs. Hodges had been discussing something that made them both uncomfortable—something like Prudence’s death.
“If you won’t be needing me, Mrs. Hodges,” he finally said, “I can get back upstairs to finish up the dusting.”
Obviously he’d already had to take on some of Prudence’s tasks. That left Emma somewhat alarmed for the delicate knickknacks that adorned the drawing room and library.
“There’s no need to rush off, Harry,” she said. “I’d like to speak to both you and Mrs. Hodges.”
As she deposited the tea tray in front of her, the housekeeper shot Emma a startled frown. But then she recovered her composure and began preparing the tea.
“Of course, Mrs. Knightley,” she said, stacking macaroons on a blue floral plate. “What can Harry and I do for you?”
“Please make yourself a cup of tea and have a seat, Mrs. Hodges. You as well, Harry.”
His eyes went almost as round as the plate. “No, thank you, madam. I mean, ma’am, I mean Mrs. Knightley. I’ll just stand here against the wall, if you don’t mind.”
He was no doubt shocked by her sudden appearance, wishing to have a cup of tea with the servants in the kitchen. Emma hoped that in treating them in such an informal manner they might be thrown slightly off-balance, and as a result be more forthcoming in sharing what they knew about Prudence.
Mrs. Hodges looked askance at Harry before returning her attention to Emma. “How can we help you, Mrs. Knightley?”
“I would like to discuss the necessary changes that will facilitate our permanent move back to Donwell Abbey,” she re plied.
Mrs. Hodges’s features eased into a smile. “Of course, ma’am. But wouldn’t you be more comfortable in the library?” Her glance slid sideways to Harry. “I’d be happy to bring the tea tray up there.”
“I want to discuss improvements to the kitchen as well, so it would make sense to stay here while we go over them.”
“I’m not sure how I could help with that, Mrs. Knightley,” Harry stated in a doubtful tone.
Emma hesitated. “Well … before we get to that, I’d like to discuss something else first.”
Mrs. Hodges stilled for a moment before breathing out a sigh. “I expect you mean Prudence. I thought you might have a few questions.”
Aha!
“So, my assumption the other night was correct,” replied Emma. “You didn’t wish to speak frankly in front of Dr. Hughes and Constable Sharpe.”
Harry grimaced. “Can you blame us, ma’am? That bottleheaded constable, saying them nasty things about our Prudence.”
“That’s enough, Harry,” Mrs. Hodges rapped out. “You’re not to be talking to the mistress in that way.”
Harry shuffled his feet. “Sorry, Mrs. Knightley. But that constable … well, he made me right angry saying those things.”
“We were all dismayed by Constable Sharpe’s unjust accusations, Harry. However,” Emma added, belatedly realizing that she shouldn’t criticize Highbury’s lawman in front of the servants. “Constable Sharpe was only doing his duty.”
“Not very well,” Mrs. Hodges muttered.
“Too right, Mrs. H,” Harry muttered back.
The housekeeper sighed. “Harry, how many times must I ask you not to call me Mrs. H?”
“Sorry, Mrs. H. I mean, Mrs. Hodges.”
Emma did her best to ignore the rather comical exchange. “Mrs. Hodges, where are the other kitchen staff?”
At this point, it wouldn’t be appropriate to discuss Prudence’s situation with the junior staff.
“I sent Molly and Leahoff to the market, ma’am. Leah lives in the village but comes to help with the work in the kitchen.” Mrs. Hodges cast her a shrewd look. “You may be sure they won’t be gossiping about what we discuss today.”
Emma nodded. “Thank you.”
“How then can we help you, ma’am?”
“I know you said that Prudence complained of a headache.”
The housekeeper nodded. “That’s what she told me.”
Emma rubbed a casual fingertip over the wooden tabletop, worn smooth by decades of diligent scrubbing. “But I think we know there was more to it than that.”
The housekeeper seemed to consider her words before replying. “At first, I thought she might just have a sore head. Except Prudence never had headaches before, and the poor girl was near tears. Something had rattled her, and I made a point of saying so.”
“Did she tell you anything about it?”
When Mrs. Hodges and Harry exchanged a furtive glance, Emma knew she was on the right path.
“It’s a bit delicate, ma’am,” said the housekeeper. “I didn’t want anyone to be thinking …”
“Thinking that Prudence had behaved inappropriately.” Emma nodded. “I understand. Correct me if I’m wrong, but did Prudence’s distress have something to do with William Cox?”
Mrs. Hodges’s mouth gaped for a moment, before she recovered. “How did you know?”
“Prudence admitted such to you?” Emma said instead of answering the question.
She nodded. “Yes, after a bit. Prudence said he was in his cups and was pestering her. He even followed her back to the long gallery, flirting and carrying on something terrible.”
Emma had to force back a flare of anger. If William Cox had been standing in front of her at this moment, she likely would have smashed the teapot over his head.
“How very unfortunate,” she tersely replied.
“Begging your pardon, Mrs. Knightley,” said Harry, “but how did you know?”
“I observed his condition in the great hall. At the time, of course, I didn’t realize he was bothering Prudence. Mrs. Hodges, what did you do after she told you about William?”
“I offered to go straight to Mr. Knightley, but Prudence begged me not to. She said he was just a stupid fellow, and she didn’t want to make a fuss about it.” The housekeeper sighed. “I wish I’d made a fuss. She might still be alive.”
“There’s no way to know that,” Emma calmly replied. “I can well imagine that Prudence was distressed by the incident. Still, I find it hard to believe that she would then drink herself into such a state that she would accidentally fall out of her window. She was too sensible for that.”
Harry cleared his throat, his gaze firmly fixed on his shoes. His expression suggested he was torn about something.
“Harry, is there something you’d like to say?” Emma asked.