Chapter 21
Emma picked up the teapot. “Miss Bates, would you care for another cup?”
Her future stepmother waved a fluttering hand.
“I don’t think I could squeeze in another drop.
Dinner was excellent, as it always is at Hartfield.
Mother and I are forever talking about Serle and how well she does everything.
We’re quite convinced she’s the best cook in Surrey.
Of course, Mrs. Weston’s cook is also excellent, and the Coles certainly set a fine table.
But no one can compare with Serle, of that I feel sure. ”
Emma’s father, sitting next to his betrothed on the sofa, graced her with an approving smile. “It gives me a great deal of pleasure to know you think so highly of our good Serle. After all, once you move to Hartfield, you will be drawing up the daily menus and giving her direction.”
Miss Bates looked more than slightly alarmed at the notion, and Emma couldn’t blame her.
Giving Serle direction on anything was always daunting.
Aside from sketching out basics for the daily menus, Emma generally left all their meal planning up to their formidable cook, and that was exactly how Serle preferred it.
Fortunately, the pedestal clock chimed out the hour, sparing Miss Bates a reply.
“Goodness, I had no idea it was so late,” she said. “I must be getting home to Mother. She’ll want to hear everything about that dreadful inquest today.” She sighed. “Poor Mr. Larkins. I feel wretched thinking about him sitting in that dreadful prison.”
Emma’s father shuddered. “They are breeding grounds for every sort of nasty contagion. As much as we are all concerned for Larkins, George, you must promise me that you’ll not visit him. You might catch something and bring it home to Emma.”
“There’s nothing to worry about, I assure you,” George replied in a soothing tone.
Naturally, he failed to mention that he’d already made one visit to the gaol since Larkins’s arrest three days ago. The poor man was in very low spirits, protesting his innocence but convinced that no one would believe him.
“Miss Bates, will you allow me to escort you home?” George asked as he stood.
“Dear sir, I would never dream of taking you out of your way. It is only a short walk to the village. I will be perfectly fine.”
“It’s no trouble, ma’am. I’m returning to Donwell regardless, so I can easily escort you.”
“You must call the carriage,” Father protested. “It is too long a walk, and Miss Bates should not be out in such weather.”
“There is no need for that, sir,” George replied. “The night is quite mild, and there is no wind.”
When Father looked ready to argue, the distant sound of a knock on the front door forestalled his objections.
Emma frowned. “Who would be calling at this time of night?”
“It might be Mr. Weston,” said George. “He wished to speak to me after the inquest, but we never found the opportunity.”
The drawing room door opened to admit Simon. “Mr. Knightley, it’s Mr. Clarke. He’d like to speak to you.”
“That’s odd,” said Emma.
“There’s only one way to find out,” said George. “Simon, have him—”
“Show Mr. Clarke into the drawing room, please,” she hastily intervened.
When George raised his eyebrows, Emma shrugged. “You’ll have to tell me anyway, so you might as well let me hear it firsthand.”
He made a scoffing noise, but nodded at Simon to follow her instruction.
Emma beamed at her husband. “Thank you, dearest, that’s very considerate of you.”
“As if I had a choice,” he dryly replied.
“Oh dear!” exclaimed Miss Bates, all in a flutter. “Should I leave? Mr. Clarke won’t wish to discuss his business in front of strangers.”
“You cannot leave without George to escort you,” Father fretfully said. “Emma, tell Miss Bates to stay.”
When Mr. Clarke appeared, he looked slightly taken aback at the presence of a small audience but recovered quickly. He greeted them with quiet decorum, and offered a perfectly respectable bow to Emma and Miss Bates.
“I beg your pardon for disturbing your evening, Mr. Knightley,” he said.
“I hope there’s nothing urgent that brings you to Hartfield this evening,” George replied.
Mr. Clarke shook his head. “I’m off to Guildford tomorrow, and then I’ll be returning to Leatherhead for a few days to follow up on my investigations. I thought it best to apprise you of my actions beforehand.”
George gave him an affable nod. “I appreciate the courtesy.”
By which comment Emma deduced that prevention officers weren’t obligated to report to local magistrates.
“I take it you’re going to visit Mr. Larkins tomorrow,” she said. “May I ask why?”
Mr. Clarke cast her an odd look, as if wondering why the lady of the house would ask such a question.
Emma was used to that reaction. Women in general—and ladies in particular— did not involve themselves in criminal investigations.
Experience had taught her, however, that the so-called weaker sex was just as likely to arrive at the proper conclusions as a man.
Call it what you like, but Emma trusted her instincts, and certainly more than she trusted either the instincts or capacities of Constable Sharpe or Dr. Hughes.
“Yes, ma’am. I intend to question Mr. Larkins about his possible role in the smuggling gang that’s at large in your district,” the officer replied.
Miss Bates let out a little shriek. “Gracious! One cannot possibly imagine Mr. Larkins as a smuggler. He’s the most honest person one could hope to meet.
Why, he’s been nothing but helpful to Mother and me.
Just last month he brought us a lovely ham from Donwell Abbey.
Of course, we owe so much to the generosity of our dear Mr. Knightley, but I know for a fact that Mr. Larkins always makes sure we get the best of everything. ”
“Very true,” Father concurred. “Larkins is an excellent fellow. I do not approve of people besmirching his name in so hasty a manner. One should resist the temptation to jump to conclusions, like that dreadful Sharpe person did at the inquest.”
Mr. Clarke eyed the pair on the sofa with a slight air of consternation, not that Emma could blame him. If one had never encountered the eccentricities of her father or Miss Bates, one couldn’t help but feel a degree of bewilderment.
“I’m sure Mr. Clarke will avoid any temptation to make hasty conclusions,” George tactfully intervened. “He’s simply performing the required duties of his office.”
The prevention officer nodded. “My only interest is in discovering the truth and bringing the guilty to justice.”
“Then the only thing you’ll discover with Larkins is his innocence,” said Emma. “He should never have been detained in the first place.”
Mr. Clarke shrugged. “Perhaps. However, given the evidence, I can understand why Sharpe and Dr. Hughes reached the conclusions they did.”
Emma frowned. “Sir, only this afternoon you stated that you did not believe there was sufficient evidence to convict Mr. Larkins of anything more than possession of contraband tobacco. Are you now suggesting he is part of the smuggling ring? Or even guilty of murder?”
“I haven’t changed my thinking, ma’am. I have yet to see conclusive evidence that Mr. Larkins is part of a gang.
Nor is it my business to speak to the murder charge, unless that becomes directly relevant to the smuggling charges.
Therefore, I wasn’t prepared to make speculative statements for the record.
Still, I have no choice but to proceed with a full investigation, and that includes interviewing Mr. Larkins as both a principal witness and a potential suspect. ”
Emma leaned forward, holding his gaze. “Sir, I know what the evidence might suggest … does suggest. But Larkins is innocent, of both murder and smuggling.”
“Exactly so, Mrs. Knightley,” said Miss Bates. “Mr. Clarke, let me assure you that Mrs. Knightley is always right in these matters. Why, only last summer, she saved us from a terrible fate. I still shudder to think about it!”
Mr. Clarke frowned. “What happened last summer?”
George hastily intervened before the discussion could go down that rabbit hole. “Nothing that’s germane to this case. I will say, however, that I concur with my wife’s opinion. Despite the evidence, I firmly believe Larkins is innocent, and that there are other forces at work here.”
“Evil forces,” Father proclaimed in dramatic tones.
“Heavens above!” exclaimed Miss Bates, falling back upon the sofa cushions.
Mr. Clarke cast a longing glance toward the door, clearly wishing for an escape. Emma had to choke down the impulse to laugh.
The prevention officer, however, gathered himself.
“I realize that Mr. Larkins is a trusted member of the Knightley household. Nevertheless, I’ve known respectable merchants to be heavily involved in these sorts of activities, and so have gentry.
I’ve even known of cases where clergymen were directly involved with the gangs. ”
Miss Bates looked speechless with horror. Well, almost speechless. “The clergy! Every notion of good conduct revolts at the very idea.”
“Very true, ma’am, but the fact remains that some clergymen have played roles in the trade, from direct involvement to simply turning a blind eye to what goes on under their noses.”
Now that you mention it …
Emma found it all too plausible to imagine that their curate, Mr. Barlowe, was involved in a smuggling scheme.
Not as a smuggler himself, of course. The man was scared of his own shadow.
But she could, perhaps, see him quietly turning a blind eye so as to be compensated with contraband goods.
That might be one explanation for both his excellent tea and his collection of expensive spirits.
Most important, it would address his odd behavior these past few weeks whenever the subject of smuggling or Prudence came up.
“I refuse to believe that our Mr. Barlowe would be involved in anything so nefarious,” Miss Bates stoutly replied.
“I defer to your superior local knowledge, ma’am,” said Mr. Clarke. “Still, I wouldn’t be surprised to hear of people in Highbury who are knowingly in receipt of contraband goods at this very moment.”
“Emma,” Father exclaimed, growing agitated. “Tell Mr. Clarke that such a thing cannot possibly be true.”
Instead, Emma and George exchanged a quick glance before her husband rose to his feet.
“Mr. Clarke, thank you for keeping me apprised of your plans. I’ll do everything in my power to assist you.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s always welcome to have the support of the local magistrate and law officers.”
He gave Emma and Miss Bates a courtly bow before quietly departing the room.
Miss Bates fanned herself with her handkerchief. “I hardly know what to think, Mr. Woodhouse. Can there truly be such goings-on in our beloved Highbury? It’s too dreadful to contemplate!”
“Then we shall not do so,” responded Father as he patted her hand. “Although Mr. Clarke seems a respectable man, he is from London. Since the city teems with criminals, he must be in the habit of seeing villains lurking behind every bush.”
Emma refrained from pointing out that villains were, in fact, doing some lurking about Highbury.
“Mrs. Otway told me after the inquest that she suspected Mrs. Ford of receiving smuggled wool,” Miss Bates morosely said. “I refuted the very notion at the time, but now I must wonder if she might be correct.”
Father huffed. “Nonsense. Mrs. Ford found me the most excellent pair of fur-lined gloves, just last week. She knows all about the danger of chilled hands. So sensible a woman would never engage in criminal activities.”
Perceiving that her father and Miss Bates could go on in this vein all evening, Emma made a concerted effort to soothe their anxieties.
She replenished their teacups and suggested they reread the contents of Isabella’s latest letter.
Once the pair was properly diverted, she joined her husband on the settee by the French doors.
“What a gruesome day,” she said.
“One in a long line of gruesome days, I’m afraid. I’ve written to John about securing legal representation for Larkins. At some point, I’ll have to go up to London to meet with whomever he chooses.”
“Poor George. As if you don’t have enough to do already— and now without Larkins.”
“I’ll manage.” He cast a look at her father. “Besides, you have challenges aplenty at Hartfield.”
She ruefully echoed him. “Yes, I’ll manage, though I hate that we cannot be together. I’m afraid I’ll have to spend most of my time at Hartfield. Father will fret too much without me.”
“I’ll come to Hartfield for dinner every evening. And we must hope that these matters resolve themselves sooner than later, so life can return to normal.”
“But how? It’s such a tangle, George. Smuggling, murder … how is it ever to be sorted?”
“Mr. Clarke will get to the bottom of it,” he calmly replied. “In any event, we have no choice but to allow the investigation to play out.”
Emma found herself contemplating the notion of choices. Was their only choice, in fact, to rely on the work of others?
Perhaps her hands were tied when it came to the murder investigation.
But when it came to the issue of smuggling, especially as it affected Highbury, she believed there were, at least, a few avenues to pursue on the way to the truth.
Nothing dramatic, mind you—just a conversation here and there with people who would be reluctant to speak to Mr. Clarke.
They wouldn’t be reluctant to chat with her. Of that, Emma felt quite sure.