Chapter 22 #2
“No, a peddler. He visits about four or five times a year, around the biggest market days. He sells to me and also sets up a stall in the square.”
Emma slowly nodded. “I think I know him.”
In fact, she’d bought lace and ribbons from the man on a few occasions. Mrs. Ford was correct—the quality of his goods was excellent.
“Does he ever mention where he sources his wares?” she asked.
“No,” Mrs. Ford reluctantly replied. “I suppose I should have pressed him more about that.”
“I could say the same about myself,” Emma candidly re plied. “I’ve bought his goods without giving it a second thought.”
The milliner gave her a grateful smile.
“Is there anyone else you can think of who might know something about smuggling in Highbury?” Emma asked.
Mrs. Ford’s smile changed to a grimace. “I don’t like to tattle, Mrs. Knightley.”
“Again, I assure you of our discretion.”
“Indeed,” said an earnest Miss Bates. “I won’t say a word to anyone.”
Mrs. Ford finally gave a reluctant nod. “You might try Mr. Cox, ma’am. He might be able to tell you a thing or two about smuggled goods in Highbury.”
Emma frowned. Mr. Cox was Highbury’s solicitor. It was difficult to imagine that he was involved with smugglers.
“Do you mean Mr. Cox?” she cautiously asked. “Or William Cox?”
Miss Bates let out a little squeak, obviously realizing the import of her question.
“I don’t really know,” replied Mrs. Ford.
“But there’s been a bit of gossip about the Coxes and their fine living these past several months—living beyond their means.
Mr. Cox is very proud of his snuff, at least according to Mrs. Cox.
She was boasting about the quality of his Martinique just the other day.
And then there’s the French brandy. I heard William Cox waxing on about it when he came to pick up gloves a month or so ago.
He bragged to his sister that not even Mr. Knightley or Mr. Weston could drink anything finer. ”
Well, well, well.
It would seem William Cox was back in the picture, after all.
“Thank you, Mrs. Ford,” said Emma. “You’ve been very helpful, indeed.”
“More tea, Mrs. Knightley?”
Emma heard the perplexed tone in Mrs. Cox’s question. The poor woman had no idea why she and Miss Bates had dropped in unannounced, especially since Emma had never once visited them, nor had the Coxes to Hartfield.
It was also much too early in the day to make social calls. The Cox girls had apparently not even finished dressing. Still, Mrs. Cox had sent the housemaid up to fetch Anne and Susan, who had just appeared. Emma found that most unfortunate, since the less time spent with those two, the better.
The object of her prey, William Cox, had stepped out on an errand but was expected back shortly. Miss Bates had easily solicited that information. Since the spinster actually was a friend of the Coxes, her polite question hadn’t seemed out of place.
Emma smiled at their hostess, who clutched a large floral teapot to her chest like a shield against unwanted intruders.
“Thank you, Mrs. Cox,” she replied. “It’s delicious tea. Souchong, I believe?”
The woman tentatively smiled. “Yes, that’s right.”
“I don’t know when I’ve had a finer cup of tea,” enthused Miss Bates. “One could imagine this tea served in the best households in England, including Hartfield, of course. The tea at Hartfield is always superior.”
Anne tossed a ringlet over her shoulder. “I’m sure our tea is as good as anything served at Hartfield. William gets it for us, whenever he goes on one of his little jaunts to London with his friends. He always brings back the nicest things.”
Mrs. Cox frowned. “Mind your manners, Anne. There’s no need to make comparisons.”
“It wasn’t me making comparisons,” the girl protested. “It was Miss Bates.”
That naturally led to an extended and garbled apology from Miss Bates.
Normally, Emma would have intervened, but she was too caught by the information the girl had inadvertently revealed.
While the family certainly lived in decent style thanks to Mr. Cox’s profession, they weren’t wealthy.
Nor had William yet taken up his father’s profession.
So how could a young man with limited resources find the means to buy such highquality goods?
Emma had a growing conviction that William’s new friends had something to do with it.
Once Miss Bates finished her garbled apology, an awkward silence fell over the room.
It wasn’t the first, Emma was sorry to note.
After leaving the milliner’s shop, she and Miss Bates had determined to immediately follow up on the promising lead provided by Mrs. Ford.
Although the decision might have seemed a bit hasty, Emma knew there was no time to waste.
There was simply too much at stake, for one thing.
For another, once George found out she was making inquiries, he would be none too pleased.
Better to proceed with useful information in hand rather than seek approval first.
And, yes, he would be annoyed with her, but he would listen. While George might not approve of her methods, he always listened to her. It was a splendid quality in a husband.
Anne finally broke the silence. “Mrs. Knightley, I found that Mr. Clarke ever so interesting. You know, at the inquest yesterday. I was wondering what you know about him.”
Mrs. Cox winced with embarrassment. “Anne, that is hardly an appropriate question.”
“No one else has anything to say, so I thought I might as well ask,” she pertly replied. “The inquest was so dreadfully boring, except for Mr. Clarke.”
“There’s nothing boring about murder, Miss Cox,” Emma replied in a clipped tone.
Miss Bates looked shocked. “Indeed, no. That poor girl, and poor Mr. Larkins. One feels for his predicament.”
“But isn’t he guilty?” asked Susan. “Everyone seems to think he’s guilty, so surely he must be.”
“Mr. Larkins’s guilt is very much in doubt,” Emma replied. “My husband and I certainly do not believe him to be guilty.”
“Nor do I,” Miss Bates added. “Such a kind, good man.”
Anne waved an impatient hand. “But no one really knows, do they? Besides, that’s not what I was asking Mrs. Knightley about, anyway. I wish to know about Mr. Clarke. Do you know if he’s married?”
“Oh, Anne,” her mother sighed.
Susan stepped into her sister’s unfortunate breach. “Mr. Clarke is quite handsome, even if he is a revenue officer.”
Miss Bates looked confused. “How does Mr. Clarke’s profession affect his looks?”
“Because most people hate prevention officers,” Anne replied with a stunning lack of logic. “But who cares if he arrests smugglers? He was dressed quite smart, too, which means he must have some money.”
Mrs. Cox looked ready to die a thousand social deaths. Emma could well sympathize. Having a daughter like Anne would make one wish for a swift and merciful end.
“To answer your question, Miss Cox,” Emma dryly replied, “I have no idea of his marital status. Nor am I inclined to find out.”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Cox hastily said.
Anne ignored her mother. “I tried to get his attention after the inquest, but he was too busy talking to that silly Constable Sharpe.”
“Maybe he’ll return to Highbury,” Susan said in a hopeful voice. “If there are smugglers running about, I expect he’ll be investigating.”
Anne clapped her hands. “That would be splendid.”
Be careful what you wish for.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Emma heard someone come in through the front door.
“That must be William,” Mrs. Cox said with relief. “Anne, why don’t you fetch him? I’m sure he’d like to say hello to Mrs. Knightley and Miss Bates.”
Anne scoffed. “No, he wouldn’t. Not after he embarrassed himself at Donwell Abbey.”
“Fetch him anyway.”
“Why can’t Susan do it?”
“Because I asked you,” her mother sharply replied.
Anne got to her feet and flounced out of the room.
Mrs. Cox gave Emma an apologetic smile. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I’m sure William will be happy to see you, especially after you so kindly forgave him for his unfortunate behavior.”
He won’t be happy for long.
William and Anne entered the room a few moments later. When he caught sight of Emma, he pulled up short, causing his sister to barrel into him.
Anne gave him a shove. “La, Will, don’t be such a clumsy oaf. What will Mrs. Knightley think of you?”
Mrs. Knightley was thinking that William Cox was completely unnerved, even frightened. It seemed an extreme reaction when she had yet to even ask him a question.
“William, make a proper bow to Mrs. Knightley and Miss Bates and then come sit down,” ordered Mrs. Cox.
The young man somewhat recovered, making a bow and then taking a seat as far from Emma as possible. He gave every appearance of preparing to bolt from the room at the first sign of trouble.
She made no immediate attempt to break the silence, instead perusing the young man with a calm gaze. He began to fidget, taking up a napkin from the table and beginning to pleat it. A steady silence could be unnerving, a trick she’d learned from observing George over the years.
William Cox was decidedly unnerved.
Mrs. Cox glanced between Emma and her son, looking puzzled. “Mrs. Knightley, I do not wish to be rude, but do you have something you wish to discuss with William?”
Emma kept her gaze on the young man. “Mr. Cox, you seemed taken aback when you first saw me. Why is that?”
He crumpled the napkin in his fist. “Did I? Gosh, I … I suppose it’s because you’ve never called on us before. Yes, that’s it. I was quite surprised to see you here.”
“That’s very true,” said Anne with a dismissive sniff. “I don’t know why Mrs. Knightley never thought to do so before. It’s not as if we’re farmers or that low sort of people.”
Emma had to refrain from scoffing, since Anne had been in hot pursuit of Robert Martin, a farmer, before Harriet married him.
Mrs. Cox glared at her daughter. “Anne, hold your tongue.” Then she looked at Emma. “Ma’am, is there some reason why my son should be discomposed to see you, other than your presence in our parlor?”