Chapter 11
Emma firmly shut the drawing room door behind her. Donwell had many beauties and many benefits, but cold stone hallways in the winter were not among them.
George, comfortably ensconced in a wing chair by the fireplace, glanced up with a smile and put aside his book.
“Your nose is looking a trifle red, my love,” he said as he stood. “Come warm yourself by the fire.”
She playfully swatted his arm. “I’m sure it’s quite red, but how rude of you to notice.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m very fond of your nose. And red is a charming color on you.”
“You’re too kind, sir.”
She sank onto the plump cushions of the giltwood sofa and extended her feet toward the crackling flames in the hearth. George angled the painted fire screen to moderate the outpouring of heat before joining her, wrapping his arm snugly about her shoulders.
The yellow drawing room was quite her favorite room in the old abbey, and for a few minutes she simply enjoyed its quiet tranquility and the security of her husband’s embrace.
The walls were hung with striped silk wallpaper in a beautiful shade of pale lemon, and comfortable, overstuffed chairs were arranged in cozy groupings that were perfect for conversation, reading, or viewing Donwell’s excellent collection of antiques, books, and curiosities.
It was a peaceful retreat, and she was determined to transform the rest of the house into a similar haven of beauty and comfort.
Of course, those changes would have to wait behind more practical matters.
While beautiful rooms and an ancient patrimony were excellent things, so were modern stoves, chimneys that didn’t smoke, and food that arrived from the kitchen at the correct temperature.
Emma had a few traditions of her own, including the habit of eating foods that were either properly hot or properly cold.
“Henry is safely tucked away in his room?” George asked.
“With extra blankets and a lamp by the bed so he can read. I asked Mrs. Hodges to check in on him shortly to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep with the lamp still burning.”
George frowned. “It’s Harry’s job to make sure candles and lamps are safely extinguished after the family retires to bed.”
“I know, but I couldn’t find him, which is apparently a fairly common occurrence.”
“You’re used to Hartfield’s excellent standards, my dear. We at Donwell must make do with what we have.”
She scoffed. “While I agree that Hartfield is the standard of excellence in Highbury, Harry is a rather low bar to set.”
“True. Still, up till now he’s adequately served our needs. Having said that, I’m sure you’ll whip him into shape.”
“Even Mrs. Hodges can’t whip him into shape.”
“We’ll be hiring more staff soon enough.” He sighed. “When I can find a minute to sit down and discuss it with Larkins and Mrs. Hodges.”
Emma winced with guilt. “Here I am nattering on, when you’ve had a dreadfully difficult day. I’m sorry, dearest.”
George pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. “Thankfully, I was able to return home to a quiet evening with my wife and my favorite nephew.”
“Thank goodness. But Prudence’s poor family, especially Mr. Parr. I cannot imagine how cut up he must be feeling.”
“His grief was difficult to witness,” George quietly replied.
Emma turned and pressed a hand to his chest. “I know how this has affected you, and how greatly you must feel for the family.”
His expression was somber. “I wish I could do more for them. As it was, I had little comfort to give.”
“Did Mr. Parr have more questions?”
“I only spoke to him to offer my condolences. But Prudence’s older brother again expressed his dismay over the coroner’s conclusions, specifically regarding the statement that she’d been drinking.”
“I can understand his dismay.”
“Yes. Young Mr. Parr was not best pleased with me,” he dryly said.
“How unfortunate. Then I’m doubly glad Mr. Weston was there to support you.”
“I appreciated his company.”
She frowned, suddenly remembering a niggling question. “George, why didn’t Larkins go with you? I thought he planned to do that.”
“He did, but then he asked this morning to be excused. Stomach troubles, apparently.”
Larkins had seemed perfectly fine when she’d spoken to him in the kitchen earlier in the day. Still …
“Perhaps he simply couldn’t face it,” she said. “When I spoke to Mrs. Hodges and Harry this morning, they were still very upset—and perplexed, quite honestly. They have questions as well.”
George tilted his head to get a better look at her. “You spoke to them about the accident, did you?”
She recognized that tone of voice.
“Well, yes. I had a few concerns about what happened that night, and I thought Mrs. Hodges and Harry might be able to address them.”
He sighed. “Emma …”
She patted his chest. “Please hear me out, George. I think it might be important.”
He closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like not again.
She gave him a nudge. “Dearest?”
“Very well, but let me replenish the fire first. Something tells me that we might be here for a while.”
Part of her felt guilty to be raising these issues with him after such a difficult day, but there was little point in delay.
Not only was George the person she trusted most in the world, he was the local magistrate.
If there was anything suspicious in Prudence’s death, he should be informed of it as soon as possible.
And if occasionally—very occasionally—she let her imagination run just a tiny bit ahead of the facts, George would invariably point that out, too.
As he built up the fire, Emma took a few moments to indulge in admiration of his masculine physique. George had a plethora of excellent qualities—one of which was a splendid set of shoulders.
“All right,” he said, rejoining her. “Tell me why you felt the need to discuss Prudence’s accident with the staff.”
She settled under his arm. “When we were in Prudence’s room the night of the accident, it seemed to me that both Mrs. Hodges and Harry were holding something back. I sensed that they had more to say but were intimidated by the presence of Constable Sharpe and Dr. Hughes.”
George frowned, obviously thinking over her words. Emma loved that about him. Even when he disagreed with her— sometimes vociferously in the days before their marriage—he never brushed aside her concerns and opinions.
“While I did sense their discomfort,” he finally replied, “I assumed it had to do with their shock over Prudence’s death.”
“They were shocked, of course. But a few times I caught them exchanging what I can only describe as furtive glances.” She held up a hand. “And, no. It wasn’t my imagination.”
“So, what do you think were they holding back?”
“For one thing, Mrs. Hodges admitted that Prudence had more than a headache—she was also distressed. You’ll recall we did have a discussion that night, somewhat to that effect.”
“With Constable Sharpe arriving at the unfortunate conclusion that she’d killed herself,” he replied.
Emma scoffed. “That man is truly a dolt. As it turns out, though, Prudence had reason to be upset. William Cox had been harassing her, as I suspected, and she found his attentions most unwelcome.”
George jerked his head around to stare at her. “Mrs. Hodges confirmed that?”
“Yes.”
He muttered an oath under his breath. “I wish I’d known. I would have tossed the bounder into the nearest rosebush.”
“George, there’s no need to punish our poor rosebushes for William Cox’s repellant behavior.”
He frowned again, deep in thought, then cast her a sideways glance.
Emma patted his thigh. “Just say it, dearest. You won’t shock me, I promise.”
“Did Mrs. Hodges detail the nature of William’s harassment?”
“Prudence didn’t give her any specifics.”
“And no one else saw it?”
“Apparently not. And it was only after Mrs. Hodges pressed her that Prudence admitted what had happened. She said she also didn’t wish Mrs. Hodges to pester you about it.”
George grimaced. “Unfortunate. Are we to assume, then, that Prudence was so upset by this incident that she felt compelled to find solace in spirits? That would suggest she did indeed filch the decanter from the drawing room.”
Emma waggled a hand. “Perhaps, though Harry proposed a different theory.”
“Which is?”
“He thought Prudence was sweet on William, and was distraught to learn he was only dallying with her.”
George scoffed. “While I can certainly see William making a fool of himself at the party, I cannot see him dallying with chambermaids. As I said the other day, his parents wouldn’t stand for it.”
“And you still think he would share such exploits with his parents?”
“Emma—”
She patted his cheek. “I know it’s hard to imagine, because you never acted that way, even in your wild salad days.”
“I never had wild salad days.”
“Because you were too busy lecturing me on my various faults and recommending dreary improving books for me to read.”
He ignored her little dig. “What did Mrs. Hodges think of this theory?”
“She thought it nonsense.” Emma held up a restraining hand. “But, she’s also fairly convinced that Prudence had a secret beau.”
George raised his eyebrows. “That sounds rather dramatic.”
“Girls of Prudence’s age are often dramatic.”
“True enough, yet as we have previously discussed, there is no evidence to suggest that William was ever in Prudence’s room.”
Again, she waggled her hand.
He sighed. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
“I’m afraid so.”
He listened with a resigned expression as she explained her discussion with Mrs. Weston and Miss Bates.
“Emma, gossip is rarely accurate,” he commented when she’d finished.
“Surprisingly, it is when it comes to Miss Bates. In fact, it was her suggestion that we speak with Mr. Barlowe.”
George frowned. “Why would Miss Bates suggest such a thing?”
“Mrs. Cox asked Mr. Barlowe to confront William about his poor behavior. Unfortunately, Mr. Barlowe has yet to grab the bull by the horns.”
“How do you—” His gaze turned sardonic. “Of course. You went and spoke to Mr. Barlowe.”
“As I said, it was Miss Bates’s suggestion.”
“Emma—”
She fluttered a hand. “It was fine, George. And very interesting, I might add.”
“And Miss Bates accompanied you?”
“Yes.”
“Good Lord,” he muttered.
“Miss Bates was oddly helpful,” she replied, feeling slightly defensive of her future stepmother. “And I was surprised by her determination. She simply wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“It would seem your habits are starting to rub off on her. I wonder how your father will react to this change in his betrothed’s temperament?”
“He’ll be thrilled, because she’ll be more like me. Now, be serious, George. This is serious.”
“Very well. What was the upshot of your joint interrogation of poor Mr. Barlowe?”
When she stuck her tongue out at him, he chuckled.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll be serious. Did you learn anything of interest?”
“Apparently, William has fallen in with a rough crowd.” She gave him a significant look. “And he met these people in Leatherhead.”
He blinked. “Leatherhead.”
“A strange coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Did Mrs. Cox indicate any other … concerns about William’s behavior?”
She guessed what he was really asking. “You mean with young women? She raised no concerns in that regard. But I don’t think that’s definitive. William may very well have met Prudence in Leatherhead before she came to work at Donwell.”
George thought for a few moments. “I presume William has been ostensibly meeting with these new friends in taverns or pubs?”
“I would assume so.”
“I’ll admit it’s an interesting coincidence. Still, I think it unlikely that William and Prudence met in Leatherhead. For one thing, she would not be frequenting taverns or pubs.”
Emma raised her eyebrows. “Even Harriet occasionally has a meal with Robert at the Crown Inn, on market day.”
“There’s quite a difference between a respectable coaching inn and a tavern frequented by rough men. Prudence’s father would never allow her to step foot in such places.”
“Then she might have met William somewhere else. Perhaps his horse lost a shoe, and he came to her father’s shop to get a new one.”
George shifted to face her. “My darling, why are you determined to make William Cox the villain in this? I grant you that his behavior was disgraceful, but there’s no evidence that he had anything to do with Prudence’s death.”
Emma blew out a frustrated sigh. “Because what we know doesn’t seem to fit what happened.
Prudence disliked spirits, yet there was a decanter of sherry in her room.
She falls out a window that was not particularly easy to fall out of.
And we know she was upset about something—or someone.
That someone might very well be William Cox. ”
He studied her for a few moments. “Emma, do you truly believe William killed Prudence?”
At this point, she was reluctant to make so bold a claim.
George was right about the lack of evidence.
“It could have been an accident, at least in the sense that he didn’t mean to kill her.
Perhaps the window wasn’t latched correctly and she fell against it in their struggle.
Or it was already open. At the very least, you must admit the possibility. ”
“I probably would, if we hadn’t secured the room so quickly after her fall. As we discussed before, there were no signs of a struggle. If your theory was correct, there most certainly would have been some such signs.”
That, of course, was the immensely frustrating rub. “I know.”
He took her hand. “Emma, please know that I’m not trying to dismiss you or your concerns out of hand. Was William’s behavior toward Prudence highly inappropriate? Yes, and be sure that I will deal with that. But we cannot accuse him of murder when there’s no evidence to back up such a bold claim.”
“I do realize that, which is why I brought the matter to you,” she replied, trying not to sound too grumpy.
His momentary smile was wry. “Thank you. And as I said, I’ll address your concerns about William, certainly regarding his conduct at our party. I’ll also try to find out more about those dodgy characters from Leatherhead—for his parents’ sake, if nothing else.”
She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, George. And thank you for listening. It’s been a dreadful day for you, and this is a dreadful topic to be forced to think about.”
“My darling, I will always listen to you. Never fear that I won’t.”
Emma poked a gentle finger into his cravat. “I will hold you to that promise, husband.”
“Please do. And speaking of promises, I would ask that you bring any further rumors you might hear on this matter directly to me.” He raised his eyebrows. “Not to Mrs. Weston, and certainly not to Miss Bates.”
She widened her eyes, trying to look innocent. “I’ll do my best, dearest, I promise.”
With a long-suffering sigh, her husband took her hand and led her off to bed.