Chapter 25 #3
Mrs. Stokes sat down at her desk, and Emma took the other chair. When George closed the door and positioned himself against it, Mrs. Stokes looked dismayed.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Knightley?”
George smiled. “I trust not. But first, may I inquire as to the state of Mr. Clarke’s health?”
“He took a dreadful beating and was all but perishing from the cold. His nose was broken, but Mr. Perry thankfully sorted that out. The poor man was bruised from head to toe and knocked unconscious. Dr. Hughes insists he stay in bed for a few more days, at least.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?” asked Emma.
“I shouldn’t think so, ma’am.” The innkeeper cast her a long-suffering look. “Between Mr. Perry and Dr. Hughes, I have quite enough help.”
Emma exchanged a sympathetic grimace with her.
“Please tell Mr. Clarke I’ll call on him tomorrow,” said George, “if he feels well enough for visitors.”
“I will, and I think he’ll be happy to see you. He’s that keen to get back on the job.” She let out a little snort. “I half expect him to sneak down into my cellars, looking for contraband.”
Emma captured her gaze. “And would he find any?”
Mrs. Stokes blinked. “He would not, Mrs. Knightley. Of that you can be sure.”
“Not even two casks from the church bell tower?”
The innkeeper stilled for several long seconds, which the casement clock on the corner of her desk counted down.
Mrs. Stokes finally breathed out a frustrated sigh. “No good deed goes unpunished, I suppose. Mr. Barlowe seemed to forget that particular saying when he was preaching to me about charity toward one’s neighbors.”
“So you did relieve Mr. Barlowe of his casks,” said George.
She reluctantly nodded. “Only because he was so blasted insistent. Begging your pardon, Mrs. Knightley.”
“There’s no need,” Emma replied. “And we truly aren’t trying to catch you out, Mrs. Stokes.”
“I believe you just did,” she ruefully replied.
“I’m hoping this discussion need not go further than this room,” said George. “But given the current situation in Highbury, including the attack on Mr. Clarke, we need to verify the circumstances regarding the transfer of the casks to your establishment.”
“I’ll do my best to answer your questions, Mr. Knightley. I know it’s a terrible situation for poor Larkins, and I’d like to help as best I can.”
George gave an appreciative nod. “Thank you. Now, Mr. Barlowe told us that the casks were already in the bell tower when he took up his position as curate. And he claimed he had no contact with the smuggling gang since his arrival.”
“That’s what he told me too, sir.”
“Do you believe him?” asked Emma.
Mrs. Stokes nodded. “Mr. Barlowe was scared half out of his wits at the thought of anyone discovering those casks, so he begged me to take them off his hands. He was afraid someone might find them and draw the wrong conclusions.”
“And you’re truly convinced he has nothing to do with the smugglers?” asked Emma.
“I’d stake a week’s worth of receipts on it, Mrs. Knightley. He’s too timid, for one thing. And for another, he didn’t ask me for a shilling to take those casks. He just wanted them gone.”
Emma waggled a hand. “I can’t help feeling he’s hiding something.”
“I think he’s just afraid, ma’am,” said Mrs. Stokes. “He’s worried the smugglers might want to use the church again to store their goods. What happened to Mr. Clarke put the fear of God into him, if you’ll pardon the pun.”
Emma supposed she had to agree. Mr. Barlowe was not temperamentally suited to dangerous ventures such as smuggling, and for all his odd behaviors he seemed to take his duties as curate very seriously.
“Mrs. Stokes,” said George, “I was also wondering if you could shed any light on the charges against Mr. Larkins.”
She scoffed. “Larkins is no more guilty of smuggling than I am. The poor man’s been set up—by the real smugglers, I reckon.”
Emma rewarded her with a smile. “It’s good to know that not everyone in town thinks him a criminal.”
“Larkins had dinner at the Crown on the night of Prudence’s death, did he not?” asked George.
“He did. I told Constable Sharpe that. But Larkins didn’t stay late. He wanted to be near the abbey in case he was needed.” She grimaced. “I wish he’d stayed longer, so I could have vouched for him.”
“How did he seem that night?” asked Emma.
She shrugged. “Quiet and polite, same as he always is.”
“Just a few more questions,” said George. “Has any information come to your ears about this smuggling gang? Rumors or gossip from either regulars or those passing through?”
“There’s gossip aplenty, but it’s all nonsense.”
She paused for a few seconds, considering them with a shrewd gaze.
“When my husband was alive, he allowed freetraders to use the Crown as storage on their way to London,” she added.
“He was paid in spirits—top-drawer French brandy and Holland gin, mostly. My Joe were a good man, but we almost came to blows more than a few times over it. Couldn’t talk him out of it, though, so I did my best to ignore it. ”
“That wasn’t particularly unusual during those war years,” George replied in a sympathetic tone.
Emma leaned forward. “Did you ever meet any of these smugglers?”
“Just once, after my husband died. Six years ago, now. One of the varlets came sniffing around, wanting to keep the same deal.” Her expression grew hard. “I sent him off with a stiff word, I can tell you.”
“Did you recognize the man, perchance?” asked George.
“Never saw him before, sir. He weren’t no local man, that I know. I thought he was a London fellow by his accent.”
Emma couldn’t help being curious. “What did he look like?”
“I recollect that he was an older man, with a bit of polish to him. Very sure of himself, as if he’d been running a rig for a long time.
” She huffed out a laugh. “The fool tried to intimidate me. I told him that if he ever showed his face at the Crown again, he’d find the barrel of my pistol shoved in it. ”
Emma regarded the innkeeper with newfound respect. “How did he take that?”
“He knew I meant it. I never saw him again.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Stokes,” said George. “You’ve been very helpful.”
The innkeeper escorted them to the front door. “I’ll keep my ears open, Mr. Knightley. If I hear anything of value, I’ll let you know.”
“I appreciate that.”
They made their farewells and then turned in the direction of Hartfield.
“What do you think?” Emma asked.
“We confirmed that Barlowe is not a suspect, nor is Mrs. Stokes.”
“I’m not sure how that helps.”
George glanced down at her. “Does it not strike you as interesting that we have a smuggling gang in the vicinity of Highbury, and yet they’ve made no attempt in the past six years to enlist the help of the only innkeeper in the village?
One would think that would be a natural partnership for any self-respecting smuggling gang. ”
Emma frowned, her pace involuntarily slowing. “Because they knew there would be no point.”
George smiled. “Exactly.”
“Dearest, of course! Because it’s the same gang as six years ago!”
“Or at least one involving some of the same people.”
She squeezed his arm. “George, that’s very good.”
“I have my moments,” he wryly replied.
“You have many good moments. You’re quite the smartest man in Surrey. That’s why I married you.”
He cast her a knowing glance. “That’s the only reason?”
Emma felt her cheeks grow hot. “Hush, George. We’re out in public.”
He chuckled.
“You realize what this means,” she said.
“Yes, but I’d like your thoughts on the matter.”
“It means that the smugglers know a great deal about Highbury and those who live here.”
“Yes, they are quite familiar with us, as we had begun to suspect.”
Emma’s spurt of elation faded as the full implications of that sank in. Someone, perhaps even a local, had a very close eye on Highbury and the people who lived there.
And whoever that was, they weren’t afraid to kill to achieve their aims.