Chapter 26 #2
“It’s not them. I saw the men from the window, and none of them belonged to Donwell. They had a cart with them, too.”
Emma threw back the blankets. She shivered in the cold night air as she shoved her feet into her slippers and then groped for her robe at the foot of the bed.
“They were going around the corner of the house,” Henry added. “So I stuck my head out the window to get a good look. It was like a donkey cart, but without the donkey. They were pulling it.”
Alarm flared as Emma grabbed him by the shoulders. “Please tell me no one saw you.”
“I was really quiet. I’m sure no one heard me or saw me.”
Emma yanked on her robe, fighting a sense of rampant disbelief. Of all the nights for this to happen, with George gone from the house. And where in thunderbolts were Harry and the stable staff while all this was transpiring?
She lit her bedside candle off his. “You’re sure you didn’t see Harry or one of the grooms?”
“Yes. Maybe he just didn’t hear them.”
More likely the dratted fellow had fallen asleep in the kitchen. But that was exactly why George had organized the men in watches of two.
“Henry, what woke you?”
“Maybe the cart wheels on the gravel? But after I was awake I had to use the …” He trailed off, looking embarrassed.
“The chamber pot?”
He nodded. “When I was finished, that’s when I heard more noise.”
Emma headed for the door. “I’ll go find Harry and the others. I want you to go back in your room and lock the door, understood?”
In the light of his candle, Henry looked like a little ghost in a nightcap. The expression on his face, though, was very human— and very annoyed.
“I’m coming with you, Auntie Emma. I promised Uncle George I would take care of you.”
“That’s very kind of you, dear, but Uncle George didn’t mean—”
“No.”
Henry’s expression was the spitting image of his father’s when John decided to dig in his heels. Even if she managed to persuade her nephew to return to his room, he would simply sneak out a few minutes later and follow her downstairs.
She capitulated. “You’re to stay behind me and do everything I tell you to do. Promise?”
“I promise.”
As quickly as she could, Emma made her way to the stairs that led to the great hall and peered over the banister.
The hall was shrouded in darkness and silence, with no sign of life.
She’d expected to see a fire in the hearth or at least a lantern on one of the tables.
It seemed clear that no one had been in the hall since she’d gone up to bed some hours ago.
“All right, let’s go down and check the kitchen. The men are probably there, since it’s the warmest room in the house.”
“They probably did fall asleep,” Henry commented with marked disapproval.
“I shouldn’t be surprised.”
At least in Harry’s case. But Donwell’s coachmen and two grooms were very dependable men.
Then again, the abbey was very large, with very thick walls.
She supposed it was possible that one could sit in the kitchen and not hear people creeping about outside, though she knew George had impressed upon his men the need to stay alert.
What were the smugglers doing back in Highbury in the first place, and why at Donwell Abbey? Even Mr. Clarke, still recovering from his injuries, had planned to return to Leatherhead, convinced—according to George—that the danger to their village had passed.
Emma led the way down the long gallery toward the service rooms. When they reached the swinging door that led to the kitchen, Emma gingerly pushed it open, wincing at the squeak of its hinges.
“It looks pretty dark down there,” Henry whispered.
It did indeed. Either no one was in the kitchen or the watchmen had fallen asleep and the lamps had guttered out.
“Be careful going down the steps,” she cautioned.
She trod down the short staircase, Henry drifting in her wake. When she reached the bottom, Emma held her candle up high. Its rays of illumination cast only a faint light over the large space, just enough to show her that the kitchen was empty.
“Blast,” she muttered.
Where in the name of St. George was everyone?
“Maybe they’re out in the stables,” said Henry. “You can see the back of the house better from there.”
“If that’s the case, then I can only assume they’ve all fallen asleep,” she replied, trying to keep the frustration from her voice.
“Or maybe they saw the smugglers and went after them.”
She immediately rejected that thought. If that were the case, surely they would have heard some sort of commotion.
A sense of foreboding began to crowd out her frustration.
“Wait here,” she told Henry.
She crossed the kitchen and climbed the short flight of stairs to the courtyard and stables. After placing her candle on the step beneath her, she carefully cracked open the unlocked door. Perhaps Harry had already gone out that way.
Cautiously, she opened it a few more inches, enough to get a better view of the stable buildings. She shivered as the cold night air struck her face, but thankfully there was no wind. The silence was distinctly unnerving, although reason told her that was perfectly normal at this time of night.
Even more unnerving was the fact that the stables were completely dark.
While the coachman had a small cottage behind the building, the grooms lived in a set of rooms directly above the stables.
If the men were keeping watch from there, light should be shining through the upstairs window that looked out over the yard.
Quietly, she retreated down the stairs. Henry waited at the bottom, his features marked with an anxious little frown.
“Are they up there?” he whispered.
She shook her head. Going around him, she went to the fireplace, neatly arranged with various cooking implements and racks, and with a large teakettle hanging from its hook. What was left of the embers was barely smoldering.
“What do we do?” Henry whispered.
Emma took his hand and started back to the kitchen stairs. “Dear, I think you should go up to your room and lock your door.”
He dug in his heels, sliding a bit on the kitchen floor. “No.”
“Henry—”
“No,” he stubbornly said. “You might need me. Besides, I’ll just sneak out again and you know it.”
Emma blew out an exasperated breath. She did know it. She also knew Isabella would kill her if anything happened to the boy.
Should she venture out to the stables and try to raise help? No, she quickly discarded that notion. Depending on which way the smugglers went once they finished whatever it was they were doing, she might be spotted.
One thing did seem clear. They needed help.
“Let’s go wake Mrs. Hodges,” she said.
The housekeeper’s rooms were just up the stairs, at the head of the corridor that led to the long gallery and the front of the house. Emma glanced up the dead-quiet corridor and then quietly tapped on Mrs. Hodges’s door.
“I don’t think she heard you,” whispered Henry after several moments.
Steeling herself, Emma rapped her knuckles hard on the wood. In the silence, it sounded as loud as gunshot. Thankfully, she heard movement in the room seconds later. The door opened to reveal Mrs. Hodges, her nightcap slightly askew over her braid, a large knit shawl thrown over her shoulders.
“Mrs. Knightley,” she exclaimed, “I thought I was hearing things. What’s wrong?” Her gaze darted downward. “Is Master Henry ill?”
“May we come in?”
The housekeeper looked bewildered but quickly moved aside. Emma closed the door behind them.
“Mrs. Hodges, it would appear the smugglers have returned. Unfortunately, no one is watching the house, and I can’t find any of the men.”
The housekeeper blinked in surprise. “That makes no sense. Harry and—” She gasped. “Wait. The smugglers have returned?”
“I saw them,” Henry said. “They went round the side of the house, toward the old cellars.”
“Harry and the others were to keep watch from the kitchen,” Mrs. Hodges replied.
“But no one has been in the kitchen for some time, and the stables are dark.”
Mrs. Hodges grimaced. “That idiot Harry is probably asleep in his bed.”
“Even so, that doesn’t explain why none of the grooms are on guard. Mrs. Hodges, do you have the keys to the gun cabinet?”
The other woman simply gaped at her.
“I don’t want to have to run all the way to the other side of the house and rummage in my husband’s desk,” Emma impatiently said.
Mrs. Hodges shook herself. “I have a set in my locked drawer.”
As she collected the keys, Emma turned to Henry. “Dear, I want you to go up to the servants quarters and see if Harry is in his room. If he is, fetch him down to the kitchen and wait for us there.”
He nodded and headed for the door.
“Oh, and if you see anything to alarm you,” she added, “I want you to hide, all right?”
“Don’t worry about me, Auntie Emma,” he stoutly replied before slipping out the door.
“Mrs. Knightley, you’re frightening me.”
“Something isn’t right, Mrs. Hodges.” Emma took the keys. “I’m going to assume we’re safe in the house, but it’s best not to take chances.”
They hastened to the old butler’s pantry, a few doors down.
For the past several years it had served as storage and as the abbey’s gun cabinet.
Emma hoped she would find a weapon she could manage.
When she was seventeen, she’d gone through a phase when she’d become interested in hunting, more to annoy George than anything else.
Naturally, he’d not reacted as she’d expected but had instead taught her how to properly load and handle a shotgun.
Then when he’d suggested she go shooting with him, she’d balked.
Emma had never thought of herself as particularly squeamish, but George’s little lesson had taught her otherwise.
Now, though, she could only be grateful he’d taught her something she’d never expected would come in handy.