Chapter 26
“How tiresome that you must return to London so soon,” Emma said as she poured herself another cup of tea. “You’re gone so often these days I fear you’ll forget what I look like.”
George eyed her from across the breakfast table. “Did I forget what you looked like last night?”
She widened her eyes in mock innocence. “Since the lights were out, I cannot say.”
He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Then next time, I suggest we leave a lamp lit. That way you can be sure I haven’t forgotten what you look like.”
Despite herself, Emma felt a blush rise to her cheeks. “What a thing to say, George. I’m terribly shocked.”
He returned to slicing his ham. “You didn’t seem shocked last night, my dear. The opposite in fact.”
While that was certainly true, it was quite another thing to discuss it over the breakfast table.
Fortunately, Henry entered the dining room, sparing Emma the need to take her husband to task.
“Good morning,” she said to the boy. “I hope you slept well.”
“Yes, thank you. I always sleep well at Donwell. It’s ever so much quieter than Hartfield, and I even get my own bed.”
As he took the seat next to her, he cast her a puzzled look. “Your cheeks are all red, Auntie. Do you have a fever?”
George tried—and failed—to hide a grin behind his coffee cup.
“Heavens, no,” Emma responded, feeling even more warmth flood into her face. “I’m perfectly well.”
Henry cast suspicious glances between both of them. “You look just like Mama does when I catch Papa kissing her or talking about adult things.” His expression became vaguely alarmed. “You’re not going to start kissing each other now, are you?”
George laughed while Emma wrapped an arm around her nephew’s shoulder.
“No, but I’m going to kiss you,” she said, making a show of smooching him on the cheek.
“Ugh. Adults are silly.”
“I think you still like us, despite our silliness,” she replied. “And you’re enjoying your stay here, yes?”
“I’ll say. I hope I can stay with you and Uncle George whenever we come to Highbury.”
“Then I’ll see what can be arranged with your mama.”
They had now been settled at the abbey for the past three days, after Isabella had initially been reluctant to let Henry decamp from Hartfield.
The attack on Mr. Clarke had greatly unsettled her, and she’d even thought to return to London.
Emma had pointed out that it was Mr. Clarke’s work as a revenue agent that had made him a target.
Since no one other than him in Highbury was involved with smugglers—at least to any certain knowledge—then no one else should be in danger.
With excellent timing, Father had dolefully added that he couldn’t bear the thought of Isabella leaving so soon, giving every indication that he would fall into a melancholic state.
With George’s reassurances that all would be well, Isabella had finally allowed herself to be persuaded to stay.
She’d even agreed that Henry could return to the abbey with George and Emma.
Thankfully, the three days had been blessedly quiet. The smugglers had appeared to fade into the night as if they’d never existed, which while good for Highbury was not so good for Larkins. The need to clear his name was ever more urgent, so George was returning to London.
Emma smiled at her nephew. “What would you like for breakfast? I can ring for Harry to bring you coddled eggs.”
Henry shook his head. “I already talked to him in the corridor. He said there were still some of Serle’s butterscotch scones left in the kitchen, so he’s going to bring them up.”
“Hmm. I think you should have a slice of ham, too. Your mother wouldn’t like it if you only ate sweets for breakfast.”
Henry reached for a slice of honey cake. “That’s one of the reasons I like staying with you. I can eat nice things for breakfast, instead of gruel or stupid old toast.”
The boy did seem to be thriving under their care. Emma thought he might even have gained a pound or two.
“Very well,” she agreed. “But don’t tell your mother.”
Henry rolled his eyes, perfectly communicating that it was an unnecessary admonition.
“George, would you like another cup of coffee?” she asked.
“Thank you, but no. I should be on my way.”
Henry frowned. “Where are you going, Uncle George?”
“I must travel to London, but I should return by tomorrow night.”
“Are you going to meet with the Bow Street Runner? I wish I could go with you.”
Emma raised her eyebrows. “Why is that, Henry?”
“Because I’d like to become a runner someday. I think it would be very exciting.”
“I suggest you don’t tell your mother of any such ambition.” Isabella would faint on the spot.
“I’m not that dumb, Auntie Emma,” the boy said with an exasperated sigh.
She ruffled his hair. “You’re the opposite of dumb. I think you’re the smartest Knightley there is.”
He suffered her affections but kept his attention on his uncle. “Are you going to meet with the runner?”
When George cast her a quick glance, Emma shrugged. “It’s not as if Henry hasn’t been exposed to this dreadful situation from the beginning.”
“Very true,” he replied. “Then, yes. Your father and I are going to meet with the runner. We’ll see—”
He paused when Harry entered with a plate of scones. “Here you go, Master Henry. Mrs. Hodges warmed them up for you.”
Henry gave the footman a grateful smile before turning back to his uncle. “Do you think the runner will have any information for you about the smugglers or Mr. Larkins?”
“I would expect so,” George replied. “Else I’ll be travelling all that way for nothing.”
Henry shook his head. “Papa would never ask you to come to London for nothing. I hope what they found helps Mr. Larkins.”
“As do we all,” said Emma.
George glanced at their footman. “Harry, once you’re finished there, please tell Jem to saddle my horse. I want to be on the road within the half hour.”
Harry, who’d been stacking plates on the sideboard, nodded. “Right away, Mr. Knightley.”
He hurried out, leaving the pile of dirty dishes behind. Emma sighed.
“Don’t worry,” George said with a wry smile. “I’ll also be looking to hire additional staff while I’m in London, including another footman and a maid.”
“Thank goodness. While Harry does his best, I fear Mrs. Hodges will turn in her notice if we don’t hire more help.”
“That is indeed a shocking notion. Now, what are you plans for today, my dear?”
She glanced at her nephew. “Henry and I will be going to Hartfield for most of the day. Father wishes me to go over the household accounts with Miss Bates, and the bride-to-be would also like to discuss wedding preparations.”
Neither chore was very appealing, but there was no point in further delay, especially since Highbury had turned peaceful once more. She’d run out of promising avenues of investigation, so she might as well turn her mind to family matters.
Even though Emma still viewed her father’s upcoming marriage with a degree of trepidation, there was a significant silver lining.
The more time she spent at Donwell, the more she grew to appreciate the gracious old pile and to anticipate her new life with George.
As much as she loved her father, her life had been circumscribed by his needs.
From now on, though, she would be free to concentrate on her own wishes and dreams, fully embarking on her life as a married woman.
She could even imagine a new brood of little Knightleys to awaken Donwell from its years-long slumber.
“You have my sympathies,” George wryly commented.
“I will rely on Isabella to do most of the planning. She has a great deal more patience with Miss Bates than I do.”
Her husband reached a hand across the table to take hers. “You’ve made great strides with Miss Bates. Your friendship seems stronger than ever.”
“She has rather worn me down,” Emma drolly admitted.
George stood. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, my dear.”
Emma also came to her feet. “Thank you. So, you’re off, then.”
“I just need to fetch a few things from our room, and then I’ll meet you in the front hall. One can hope that Harry has communicated my instructions to Jem by now.”
“Oh, you eternal optimist,” she joked.
He briefly smiled before turning serious.
“You’re not to worry while I’m gone, Emma.
I truly believe there’s no danger from the smugglers at this point.
They know we’re onto them, so coming back to Highbury would simply be too risky.
But just to be sure, I’ve ordered Harry, both our grooms, and our coachman to keep watch over the house tonight—two of them on each shift. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
Henry scrambled out of his chair. “I’ll look after Auntie Emma, sir. You don’t need to worry about that.”
George smiled. “I know you will.”
Emma hugged her nephew. “And you’re not to worry about us, either, George.
I’m sure the most alarming thing we’ll face in the next few days will be talking Miss Bates out of inviting the entire village to the wedding and persuading Father to allow cake to be served. It’s bound to be dreadfully boring.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he said before exiting the room.
Emma jerked awake as someone jostled her shoulder.
“Auntie Emma, wake up!”
She blinked against the flare of a candle inches from her face and fought to focus.
“Henry?” She shot up to a sitting position. “What’s wrong? Are you unwell?”
“I’m fine, but please get up right now!”
Her vision cleared to reveal her nephew standing by the bed in his robe and nightcap, jiggling with impatience. The light flickered madly, so she took the candlestick and set it on her bedside table.
“What’s wrong?” she asked again.
“There are men in the back garden again, and this time they’re right up against the house.”
That news drove away any lingering vestiges of sleep. “Are you sure it’s not Harry with our coachman or one of the grooms? Don’t forget they’re supposed to be watching the house.”