Chapter 23 #2
Miss Bates shook her head. “Constable Sharpe apparently told Mrs. Stokes that it was a robbery. Mr. Clarke’s clothing was … was discomposed, and his watch and fob were taken.”
“Thieves and smugglers,” Father moaned. “What is to become of us? We shall all be killed in our beds!”
“We’re perfectly safe here at Hartfield, Father,” Emma said in soothing tones. “And I strongly suspect that this supposed thief was actually one of the smugglers.”
Most likely he made the attack on Mr. Clarke appear to be a robbery. It strained credulity to think otherwise. It also suggested that the prevention officer had been making progress— and that Mr. Clarke’s apparent headway had caused someone to become very nervous.
“I wondered if that was the case,” confessed Miss Bates. “To have both robbers and smugglers in Highbury would be too dreadful.”
“And extremely coincidental,” Emma replied. “I can only wonder what Mr. Clarke was doing in the churchyard in the middle of the night?”
Miss Bates held up a hand. “I think I know. He was probably investigating the strange lights.”
Emma frowned. “What strange lights?”
“In the bell tower, after midnight. There was a report of strange lights up there.” Miss Bates twirled a hand. “Mr. Clarke has been staying at the Crown Inn when in Highbury, according to the groom. The poor man must have seen them and gone out to investigate.”
“I didn’t know he was back in Highbury,” Emma replied, musing on the information.
As she now knew, churches were often used as depots for contraband goods. And one certainly had to note that Mr. Barlowe had been acting rather oddly ever since Prudence’s murder. Did he know something about the smuggling gang, after all, and had been frightened into silence?
“Did anyone else see those lights?” Emma asked.
Miss Bates nodded. “Apparently Mr. Perry did.”
Father flapped his napkin. “Perry should not be out so late, especially with such dangerous villains roaming about.”
“Miss Bates, how do you know Mr. Perry saw the lights?” asked Emma.
“After Patty ran back and told us what had happened, I set off immediately for Hartfield. On the way, I ran into Mrs. Cole.” She pulled a sympathetic grimace.
“Mr. Cole was feeling poorly last night, so they were forced to call for Mr. Perry. Dyspepsia, you know. Mrs. Cole says that Mr. Cole’s business gives him a nervous stomach. ”
Father huffed. “Nonsense. Mr. Cole eats too much cake and too many rich foods. I’ve told Perry as such, and he agrees with me.”
Emma tried to stay on point. “So Mr. Perry saw those lights on the way to see Mr. Cole?”
Miss Bates nodded. “He mentioned it specifically to Mrs. Cole when he arrived, but was then taken up with treating Mr. Cole. And Mrs. Cole forgot all about it until this morning. But she told me that she was going to speak to Constable Sharpe as soon as she saw Mrs. Ford about procuring flannel waistcoats for her husband—to help with his dyspepsia.”
“Flannel waistcoats will do nothing to help dyspepsia unless Mr. Cole leaves off eating cake,” Father severely noted.
Emma ignored her father as she focused on what to do.
Speaking to Constable Sharpe or Dr. Hughes was clearly out the question.
They would simply dismiss her. But something was clearly going on at the church, something that likely led to the beating of Mr. Clarke.
Who better a person to speak to, then, than Mr. Barlowe?
First, she needed to get into that bell tower.
She stood. “Father, it might be best if I go into Highbury and check on poor Mr. Clarke. Mrs. Stokes is always so busy, and who knows if she has the proper medicinal potions on hand at the inn. She might need help.”
Her father’s eyes popped wide with alarm. “Emma, you must not leave the house! Not with villains running about the village.”
“I’m sure there’s no danger. After all, Mrs. Cole was out and about, and Miss Bates safely came to Hartfield.”
“Miss Bates should also remain here,” he stubbornly replied.
The spinster pressed a feeling hand to her chest. “Dear Mr. Woodhouse, always so concerned for everyone’s care.
But I believe Mrs. Knightley is correct.
There were quite a few people on the street, and all the shops were opening up.
I even saw Mrs. Goddard and some of her pupils out for a brisk morning walk.
You know she would never put her girls at risk. ”
“And you did say we should have Mr. Perry visit poor Mr. Clarke,” Emma swiftly added. “I can stop by and ask him to do that.”
Father wavered. “Perhaps if you take one of the footmen with you?”
“What a good suggestion,” Emma enthused.
And a suggestion it would remain, since she had no intention of having a footman trailing along while she snuck into the church.
Miss Bates also came to her feet. “I’ll walk back with you, Mrs. Knightley. I should like to see how Mr. Clarke is, too.”
Drat.
She didn’t need Miss Bates as a witness, either. It seemed, however, that she might have little choice.
As Hartfield’s front door closed behind them, Miss Bates touched Emma’s arm.
“You’re not really going to call on Mr. Perry, are you? You’re going to the church to investigate what happened to Mr. Clarke.”
Startled, Emma could only stare at her. “How did you guess?”
“So, you are going to investigate.”
Miss Bates looked so pleased with herself that Emma didn’t have the heart to contradict her.
“You mustn’t tell Father,” she warned. “He’d have a conniption.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. The dear man’s peace is already cut up as it is. The less he thinks about these dreadful smugglers, the better. I only wonder what we can do about it.”
Emma slowed as they approached the turning into Vicarage Lane. “We could try to get to the bottom of it.”
Miss Bates matched her pace. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mrs. Knightley.
Why else would Mr. Clarke be in the churchyard at night but for smugglers?
They must have been the source of those strange lights—unless it was the ghost. Although it doesn’t seem likely, I suppose one must take the ghost into consideration. ”
“What ghost? I’ve not heard any reports of ghosts in the church.”
Generally speaking, Emma didn’t believe in ghosts. Highbury had always been dreadfully dull in that respect, thank goodness, with nary a whisper of some idiotic spirit making a nuisance of itself.
Miss Bates fluttered a hand. “Some in the village still think Mrs. Elton’s ghost is haunting the church. Although why her ghost would be up in the bell tower is beyond me. I’m quite sure she never set foot up there.”
Emma sighed. “I’d forgotten about that.”
After Mrs. Elton’s murder, some locals were indeed convinced that her spirit was haunting Highbury’s church. Emma had been forced to deliver stern admonitions to a number of young people regarding the foolishness of such irrational and irreligious beliefs.
“Mrs. Cole said Mr. Gilbert also saw the lights one night, some weeks ago,” added Miss Bates. “She thought nothing of it at the time, but after last night …”
Emma scoffed. “Did Mrs. Cole think that Mrs. Elton’s spirit attacked Mr. Clarke?”
Miss Bates waved to a few children as they ran past on their way to the village school.
“Such dear little children. What did you say, Mrs. Knightley? Oh, the ghost. I asked Mrs. Cole why she thought it might be Mrs. Elton’s ghost. She said that perhaps Mrs. Elton had a general opposition to paying customs fees and would therefore object to having a prevention officer on church grounds. ”
Emma came to a dead halt. “Did she truly say that?”
Miss Bates, who’d walked on a few steps, turned back to address her. “I’m afraid so.” Then she sighed. “Poor Mrs. Elton. I’m very sure she would be happy to pay her customs fees now, if she were only alive.”
Emma had to bite her lip to hold back a laugh. “Indeed. Miss Bates, you missed the turn into Highbury. Won’t your mother be waiting for you?”
The spinster gave her a placid smile. “Mother is probably taking a little nap by the fire right now. Patty will see to her.”
“You intended to go to the church with me all along,” Emma dryly commented.
“It wouldn’t do for you to go alone, Mrs. Knightley. Not with such dangerous men lurking about the village. Whatever would Mr. Knightley say if I abandoned you in such circumstances?”
Emma couldn’t visualize Miss Bates in an encounter with hardened smugglers. “I think Mr. Knightley would object to either of us confronting dangerous men—which I’m sure won’t happen in any event.”
“I’m sure you’re correct. Still, who knows what you might find up in the bell tower.” She shook her head. “No, I have a responsibility to Mr. Woodhouse and Mr. Knightley to be present should you should need me.”
In a surprising development, it would seem that Miss Bates was taking her duties as future stepmother very seriously— something quite sweet but also quite dreadful.
“I suppose two sets of eyes are better than one, but you mustn’t say a word to my father. And I’ll tell Mr. Knightley if we find anything, agreed?”
Her companion beamed at her. “I promise I won’t let you down. Oh, should I take notes? I have a pencil and a scrap of paper in my reticule. I should be happy to write down any observations we might make.”
“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” Emma firmly replied.
She marched Miss Bates up the path to the south porch of the church, doing her best to avoid thinking about the future with Miss Bates as her stepmother and, apparently, her partner in pursuing justice.
Miss Bates tried the door. “It’s locked. Do you want me to fetch Mr. Barlowe?”
Emma bent down to try to wriggle out a brick that was part of the door trim. “I hardly think Mr. Barlowe would wish us snooping around his church.”
“You make it sound so exciting, Mrs. Knightley! I cannot imagine what Mr. Woodhouse would think if he saw us now.”
Nothing good, of that Emma was sure.
“Come loose, you silly thing,” she muttered as she wrestled with the brick.
“Mrs. Knightley, what are you—”