Chapter 16 #2
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Emma replied in a lofty tone. “And now that it’s clear Henry will not be shocked, perhaps you can tell us what we saw last night.”
“I suspect that what you saw could have been smugglers using the old Langham path on their way to Kingston or Richmond.”
Emma felt her jaw sag as she stared at her husband.
“I heard Papa talking about smugglers a few times,” Henry said as he returned to his toast and jam. “He said it was much worse back in the old days.”
Emma finally recovered her voice. “Smugglers, this far from the coast? We’re so out of the way, why would they come here?”
“While the majority of the activity happens on the coast, a significant portion of contraband makes its way up to London by various means,” replied her husband.
“The goods then find their way into shops in the city, or even into the hands of private citizens who wish to import luxuries like French brandy or Belgian lace while escaping the taxes.”
“And these people know they’re trading in smuggled goods?”
Her husband seemed rather amused by her response. “Indeed. Sometimes they arrange and finance the smuggling runs in the first place.”
“I realize I must sound terribly na?ve about all this, but it’s truly awful, George.”
“It is. Still, it’s also a very old business and a well-established one. There have been smugglers since the first kings of England began imposing taxation on goods centuries ago.”
“That may be so, but I do not approve,” she huffed, sounding just like her father.
George nodded. “Neither do I, especially when they might be using Donwell lands to make their runs.”
Emma shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why transport goods along such an old path? It’s not exactly convenient.”
“That’s precisely why land smugglers might be using it.
They tend to favor the ancient roads and paths that have fallen into disuse or disrepair.
Few ordinary people travel those routes anymore, which makes them perfect for smuggling.
” He leaned forward, his gaze intent. “Which is why neither of you are to regard this as a trifling matter. These gangs are well organized and know their business. They are not to be taken lightly.”
Emma’s toast now felt like a lump in her stomach. “I understand, and I’m sure Henry does, too.”
Her nephew shrugged. “Papa says you can’t really blame smugglers because people hate paying so much tax. He also says lots of people buy things from smugglers—regular people and shopkeepers.”
Emma tried to ignore her nephew’s alarming insouciance. “George, how did you become aware of this?”
“A few days ago, Constable Sharpe was informed by the revenue agent in Leatherhead that smugglers might be using land routes in the area and possibly selling goods in Highbury and other local villages.”
Emma gaped at him. “Who in Highbury would buy contraband goods?”
“You’d be surprised,” he dryly replied.
She decided she’d rather not be surprised, so refrained from pursuing that line of questioning.
“What do you intend to do?” she asked.
“I’ll ride to Leatherhead and discuss the matter with our local revenue agent. At the very least, he should be alerted to this development.”
Emma cast a glance at her nephew, who continued to appear remarkably unconcerned. “Do you think there’s anything to worry about here at Donwell?”
George gave her a reassuring smile. “Not at all. As a precaution, I’ll instruct Larkins to have our grooms and Harry take turns keeping watch over the next few nights. Just to see if there’s any more activity on the old path.”
“Henry, would you feel more comfortable staying at Hartfield?” Emma asked. “I don’t want you feeling unsettled by this.”
“I’d rather stay here, if it’s all right,” the lad stoutly said. “I’m not scared of smugglers.”
George’s smile turned wry. “I cannot see smugglers using the path with any great regularity. I suspect they’d prefer to avoid Donwell lands, since I’m the local magistrate.”
That was a comforting thought—if it was true. Still, Emma felt strangely unsettled. First there was Prudence’s tragic death, and now there was a distinct possibility of smugglers in or around Highbury. She would vastly prefer the poultry thief to a potentially dangerous gang of criminals.
Emma had a notion, however, that she wouldn’t be getting her wish.
After lunch, Emma and Henry set off for Hartfield. If weather permitted, Henry made a point of visiting his family every day. This time, Emma had decided to accompany him to make sure that all was well at Hartfield in her absence.
As they passed by the turning into Vicarage Lane, Mr. Barlowe stomped toward them, his gaze directed at the ground and a scowl on his face.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Barlowe,” Emma said as he came abreast of them.
He jerked to a halt, almost tripping over his feet. “Er, sorry. I didn’t see you there, Mrs. Knightley.” He looked at Henry. “And, ah …”
“Henry,” she supplied. “My oldest nephew.”
“Of course.” He touched the brim of his wide cleric’s hat. “If you’ll excuse me, I must be off.”
“I hope all is well, sir,” she replied, rather put out by his rudeness.
His glance darted past her toward the village. “Nothing is wrong, Mrs. Knightley. Good bye.”
He dashed off, giving her no chance to reply.
“Goodness,” she said, more to herself than to Henry.
“Papa said Mr. Barlowe is a scrub. I don’t exactly know what that means, but I think I agree with him.”
Emma choked on a laugh. “A scrub is a low, mean person. It’s an exaggeration in Mr. Barlowe’s case, although I’ll grant his manners leave something to be desired.”
A few minutes later found them stepping through Hartfield’s front door. Simon appeared from the back hall to take their coats and hats.
“Are my father and sister having tea?” Emma asked the footman.
“Mr. Woodhouse said he would join you after Miss Bates arrives and you go over the household accounts.”
Drat. She’d completely forgotten she was to meet with Miss Bates about the accounts—likely because she was dreading the entire process.
She repressed a sigh. “And my sister?”
“Mrs. Knightley is in the drawing room. Should I bring up tea?”
“Yes, please.”
John, one of Emma’s other nephews, came pelting down the stairs.
“There you are,” he exclaimed, bashing into Henry. “I’ve been waiting for you forever.”
Henry gave him a brotherly shove. “I have to see Mama first. Then we can play in the garden.”
“Mama’s busy writing boring letters. You can say hello later.”
The boys gave Emma a pleading look.
She waved them off. “Fine, go play. You can have tea with your mother later.”
They chorused their thanks before barreling down the hall. Emma followed at a more reasonable pace, then entered the drawing room to find Isabella seated at their father’s writing desk.
“Good afternoon,” she said.
When Isabella turned round to greet her, Emma frowned. Her sister looked rather out of sorts.
“Emma, there you are. Is Henry with you?”
“He and John are having a jaunt about the garden but will be in for tea.”
Isabella frowned. “I do hope they remembered to wear their gloves.”
“Isabella, is everything all right?” Emma asked.
Her sister fluttered a hand. “It’s nothing. All is well. Have you seen Father?”
Emma simply stared at her.
Isabella grudgingly laughed. “I could never keep anything from you, could I?”
“No, and it’s best not to try. Please tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s nothing, truly,” she replied, rising from the desk. “John is simply being … unhelpful.”
Now it was Emma’s turn to frown. “In what way?”
“I wrote asking if he wished us to return to London. He replied this morning and all but stated he didn’t have an opinion on the matter.”
As brusque as John could be, he adored his wife and children. “That sounds most unlike him. Did he actually write those words?”
“Well … not precisely.”
Noting the way her sister was fiddling with her necklace, Emma drew her to a seat on the chaise. “Then what, precisely, did he say?”
“He said that if we were enjoying our stay at Hartfield we should extend it. That he was very busy at work and had very little time to be at home.” Isabella blew out an exasperated breath. “John works too hard, Emma. I’m afraid he’ll ruin his health if I’m not there.”
“Do you want to go back to London?”
“I think so, but I don’t want to disturb John if he’d rather be left alone.”
“Nonsense. I’m sure he would much rather have you and the children there with him. He’s simply giving you the choice because he knows how much you want to support Father and me.”
Isabella grimaced. “I do, and I certainly don’t wish to leave you in the lurch.”
“Don’t worry about that. I should probably be at Hartfield for the next little while anyway, since I need to help Miss Bates take over the accounts.” She scrunched her nose. “Joy of joys.”
That elicited a small smile. “Thank you, Emma. I think we will go home then—but not until after your skating party. The children are so looking forward to it.”
Emma sighed. “Of course, the skating party.”
Did you forget?”
“No, I was just ignoring it.”
“Emma, I suggest you start paying attention, since it’s the day after tomorrow.”
Before she could reply, Simon ushered Miss Bates and Mrs. Weston into the room.
“Oh, Mrs. Knightley, Mrs. Knightley,” exclaimed Miss Bates. “Look who I ran into in the lane. Mrs. Weston! She was coming to call on Mr. Woodhouse and was so happy to hear that I’d arranged to meet with you. With Mrs. George Knightley, that is.”
Emma rose. “Miss Bates, you truly need to start calling us by our given names, or we shall forever be in a state of confusion.”
The spinster hesitated. “I can try, but it will seem so very odd.”
Isabella smiled at her. “Once I return to London, you’ll only have one Mrs. Knightley to worry about.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” interjected Mrs. Weston. “Miss Bates informed me that you were to go over the household accounts.”
Emma was happy to forego that particular chore. “We can do it another day, if Miss Bates is amenable.”