Chapter 10 #2
“As do we all,” Emma replied. “Did he come with you from your last position?”
“Quite.”
After another awkward silence, she offered to pour the tea. Miss Bates stepped into the conversational breach with a patter of inconsequential questions and statements. Her flow of words was strangely relaxing, and Mr. Barlowe finally seemed to unbend.
“It is kind of you to visit me,” he said with a tentative smile. “I know you both must be so busy, what with the unfortunate events of the other night.”
Ah, just the opening we were looking for.
“Indeed,” replied Miss Bates. “We were all required to give statements to Constable Sharpe. It was very shocking and sad to think of it all over again.” She gave a visible shudder. “Not that I will ever forget that night.”
Emma handed the curate his teacup. “Were you required to make a statement, Mr. Barlowe?”
He accepted the cup with a frown. “No. Was there any reason I should have?”
“Only if you saw or heard something that might shed light on the event.”
He took a sip of tea before replying. “I believe I was in the great hall at the time of … of the accident. The hall was very noisy. But very cheerful,” he hastily added.
“Quite a party, Mrs. Knightley. Not that I am generally one for such affairs, but Miss Bates was so kind as to invite me. I could hardly refuse her gracious offer. And you and Mr. Knightley are always so hospitable. Still, even though I was present at Donwell Abbey at the time of Miss Parr’s death, I remained completely unaware of what happened until the next morning. ”
Mr. Barlowe hardly seemed the sort to babble, but he was babbling now.
Emma took a sip of her tea and got another surprise. The tea was a high-quality Congou tea, if she wasn’t mistaken, and was quite expensive. Could he truly afford it on a curate’s salary?
“This is an excellent cup of tea,” she said.
Miss Bates smiled at the curate. “Indeed, it’s almost as good as that of Hartfield. Not that anything could equal tea at Hartfield, Mrs. Knightley, not even tea at the Coles. Certainly Mrs. Cole serves an excellent tea, but this is most enjoyable, too.”
Emma would have been annoyed at the notion of Mrs. Cole’s tea compared favorably with that of Hartfield if Mr. Barlowe hadn’t just flushed so red that that his cheeks all but burned.
“I can hardly take credit,” he replied. “The pantry was well stocked with tea and other goods when I arrived, which was certainly a blessing.”
If that was the case, why was he so embarrassed?
What does it matter?
“How fortunate for you,” Emma said, putting the mystery of the tea out of her mind. “Now, to return to the subject of Miss Parr’s death, I’m wondering if you can help me with a certain matter.”
He paused with the teacup halfway to his lips. “If I can.”
“I was wondering how well you knew Prudence?”
Mr. Barlowe expression betrayed puzzlement. “Not well at all. Still, Miss Parr was always kind enough to compliment my sermons after Sunday services.”
Miss Bates sighed. “That poor girl. She was obviously so sweet. And she was very observant, as well, since your sermons are excellent.”
“Thank you,” the curate replied. “I’m afraid I cannot tell you much more than that. Miss Parr appeared to be a pleasant, good sort of girl. But other than seeing her at Sunday services with Mrs. Hodges, we had no other interactions.”
Emma tried again. “So Prudence never came to you to discuss problems of a personal nature?”
Mr. Barlowe accidentally slopped some tea into the dish. “Oh, bother.”
He put the offending teacup on the table, picked up a napkin, and wiped a few drops of liquid from his hand.
“Mr. Barlowe?” Emma prompted.
“What? Did Miss Parr ever come speak to me about a personal matter? Not that I recall, and I don’t know why she would.”
His reply was chippy to the point of rudeness.
Emma swallowed her irritation. “It’s not surprising that she—or any parishioner—would come to her local clergyman if troubled.” She smiled at him. “Especially to a sympathetic person such as yourself.”
“The villagers were always coming to speak to my father about their various troubles,” Miss Bates piped in. “Father always saw it as a very important part of his duties, helping people as best he could.”
“As I said, Miss Parr never spoke to me about any problems she might have been having,” Mr. Barlowe all but ground out.
Clearly, gentle handling was not advancing their cause, so perhaps a more direct approach was in order.
“It’s just that her fellow servants had a sense that Prudence was troubled about something these last few weeks,” Emma said. “I thought—”
“Mrs. Knightley,” he interrupted. “Are you saying Miss Parr had personal problems that may have contributed to her death? Are you saying that she may have taken …” He trailed off, looking immensely shocked.
Emma flapped a hand. “No, it’s not like that. Dr. Hughes declared her death an accident.”
“Then I truly don’t know what you want from me,” he replied. “Since I didn’t know the girl and I don’t know anything about her death, I’m not sure why we’re even discussing the matter.”
Well, really. For a clergyman, he certainly wasn’t very sympathetic.
“I understand,” she replied. “It was just a thought, nothing more.”
“Then if that is all, ma’am,” he said. “I’m afraid that—”
“There is one more thing,” Miss Bates blurted out. “And I do think this is something you can help us with.”
Mr. Barlowe had been rising from his chair, but now subsided with an aggrieved sigh. “Yes?”
Miss Bates cast Emma an imploring glance, as if having blundered into the topic she didn’t know how to next proceed.
“It’s a rather delicate situation,” Emma said.
“And?” the curate asked in a long-suffering tone.
For a man of the cloth, he had quite a dreadful manner.
Miss Bates, recovering her footing, barged back into taking the lead. “It’s about William Cox. He seems to be getting into quite a lot of trouble, which is terribly worrisome for his dear mother.”
The color slowly drained from Mr. Barlowe’s face. Even though he was a pale-complexioned man to begin with, the change was noticeable, despite the rather dim light of the parlor.
“I … I’m not sure I should be discussing my parishioners with you,” he stammered.
It was a valid point, but Emma batted it aside. “We ask because William was behaving inappropriately during the party at Donwell Abbey. He was in his cups and making a bother of himself with some of the young ladies.”
Miss Bates shook her head. “Very naughty of him. One is quite shocked.”
The curate began to fidget with his collar. “I must admit I observed that Mr. Cox was a trifle disguised that night. Still, I’m not sure what you expect of me.”
Emma speared him with her gaze. “It’s my understanding that Mrs. Cox was desirous that you speak to William about his behavior.
” She held up a hand to forestall his objection.
“And in case you’re wondering, it’s common knowledge that Mrs. Cox is distressed about her son.
Mrs. Cole, for one, communicated that to me along with her own concerns for the young man’s behavior. ”
“And Mrs. Cox told me herself that she wanted you to speak to William,” Miss Bates added. “So it’s not exactly a secret.”
“Neither is William’s behavior,” Emma dryly added.
Miss Bates shook her head. “Poor Mrs. Cox. One wishes to help as best one can, of course.”
Emma flashed her an approving smile. “Exactly, ma’am. Stronger measures can certainly be taken, if necessary. But we were hoping that you, Mr. Barlowe, would be able to talk some sense into William.”
Now the curate was looking positively alarmed. “I … I …”
“Of course, if you’re not comfortable discussing it with us,” Emma smoothly interjected, “I can bring the matter to my husband’s attention. While he’s very busy as you might imagine, we cannot allow William to go about making a pest of himself to Highbury’s young ladies, can we?”
Mr. Barlowe withered under the combined assault.
“Very well. Mrs. Cox did speak to me about William the day after your party. I confess I’ve not yet had the chance to speak to the young man.
But I assure you that I’ll be doing so very soon.
” He frowned. “It’s odd, though. Mrs. Cox didn’t express any concerns about her son’s behavior toward young ladies.
Rather, she felt he’d fallen into rough company, which was having a deleterious effect on his temperament. ”
Emma shook her head. “Rough company in Highbury? That doesn’t make much sense.”
“From what Mrs. Cox told me, William’s new companions were not from Highbury. She mentioned Leatherhead.”
Leatherhead! Where Prudence was from.
Miss Bates frowned. “Isn’t that where—”
“Thank you, Mr. Barlowe,” Emma said, cutting her off. “You’ve been very helpful.”
If her as-yet-unsubstantiated theory about Prudence and William were to begin circulating around Highbury,George would have her head. And her husband was the person with whom she truly needed to share this development. It certainly pointed to a possible connection between Prudence and William.
She rose. “We know you’re busy, sir, so now we’ll thank you for the excellent tea and be on our way.”
Mr. Barlowe stood. “You’re welcome.”
“Dear sir,” said Miss Bates, “I hope you’ll be able to talk some sense into William.”
“I’ll try my best, ma’am.”
Miss Bates pointed a finger at him. “You must be very firm. My father always said it was a fool’s errand to beat around the bush with naughty young men. You must point out the error of his ways in no uncertain terms.”
Mr. Barlowe looked unenthused at the prospect. William—a boisterous young man—would probably laugh in his face.
“As I said, I shall do my best,” he gloomily replied.
He showed them to the door with a certain amount of haste, practically slamming it shut behind them.
“I don’t think Mr. Barlowe appreciated our visit,” Emma dryly commented.
Miss Bates grimaced. “He seemed so very nervous. Perhaps Mr. Perry can prescribe him some calming powders.”
“He’s certainly an odd little man.”
In fact, everything about their visit had been odd, including Mr. Barlowe’s reaction to their questions about William. Even the quality of his tea was odd for a curate.
Still, their visit had yielded a very interesting clue, and Emma fully intended to pursue it.