Chapter 26 #3
Emma pushed an old chair out of the way—really, this room needed a great deal of work if she were ever to use it as her office—and unlocked the gun cabinet.
Mrs. Hodges, now carrying a lamp, held it up to illuminate the contents.
A pistol was probably the better choice for their current situation, but she was most familiar with a shotgun.
As a weapon, it looked more intimidating—if it came to a confrontation, she hoped intimidation would be all that was required.
The notion of actually firing at another person was off-putting, to say the least.
“Shotgun it is, then,” she murmured.
As she carefully extracted the weapon from the cabinet, Mrs.Hodges cast her wary glance.
“Mrs. Knightley, are you sure you wish to do this? Might it not be better to try to get help?”
Emma reached back in to retrieve a cartridge, rather amazed that her hands were so steady. Thank goodness, because shaky hands and lethal weapons made for a decidedly poor outcome.
As she loaded the cartridge she couldn’t hold back a little snort. “I think you really mean to ask if I can fire this thing.”
Mrs. Hodges grimaced. “That too.”
“You can be assured that I can.”
While it had been some years, no need to alarm the poor woman any further.
As they were leaving the butler’s pantry, Henry came running toward them from the front of the house. Emma’s heart sank when she saw he was alone.
“Harry isn’t in his room,” he breathlessly announced. “And his bed hasn’t been slept in, either.”
Not good. Not good at all.
Mrs. Hodges huffed. “The oaf was probably drinking with the grooms and feel asleep.”
A phantom thought began to coalesce in Emma’s brain. It was not a happy one, and she devoutly hoped it wasn’t true.
If it were, though, it would clarify some of the more troubling questions that had bedeviled them about the smuggling problem.
“I don’t think that’s what happened,” she said.
Mrs. Hodges shook her head. “Why not?”
Emma bent down to meet her nephew eye to eye. She hated what she had to do next, but if what she suspected was true, she needed to get Henry away from the abbey. Who knew what those men were capable of?
“Henry, I need your help,” she said, “and it’s not going to be easy. If it’s too much, you must tell me so.”
He returned her gaze, as grave as a judge. “I can do whatever it is, Auntie Emma.”
“I need you to dress in your warmest clothes and then run to Randalls and fetch help from Mr. Weston. Can you do that?”
Mrs. Hodges gasped, but Henry never even blinked.
“But I’d rather stay here with you,” he said. “I can help protect you.”
“I know you would. But, Henry, something has obviously happened to the grooms and our coachmen, and we need more help as soon as possible. You must tell Mr. Weston what’s happening. He’ll know exactly what to do.”
With the exception of Mrs. Goddard’s school—and Emma doubted the schoolmistress would be of much assistance in facing down smugglers—Randalls was the closest house. It made perfect sense to send Henry there for help, and it would get him safely out of the way.
Emma straightened. “You can run faster than any of us, Henry. Can you do this for me?”
His chin went up in a determined tilt. “Yes.”
“Good boy. Go out through the front door and down the main drive. But don’t take the path. Go by Donwell Road and then onto Randalls Road.”
While cutting across the side lawns and crossing the Langham Path would be quicker, she couldn’t risk him running into the smugglers.
He nodded. “I understand.”
She ruffled his hair. “Off with you, then.”
He flashed her a cheeky grin before pelting off toward the front hall.
Emma drew in a quavering breath, praying that she’d made the right decision. Her conviction was steadily growing that help would be needed before the night was out.
Shotgun under her arm, she headed back to the kitchen. Mrs. Hodges hurried to keep up.
“Mrs. Knightley, I don’t understand,” she said. “Why don’t you let me go to the stables and fetch Edwards and Jem?”
Emma hurried down the stairs into the kitchen. “Because the smugglers might spot you, and because I fear all is not well with our men. The stable is completely dark, and there’s no sign of the grooms.”
“But that makes no sense.”
“I cannot focus on that right now. I have to get a look around the side of the house to see what’s going on.”
And if she didn’t hurry, she’d miss the smugglers altogether.
Mrs. Hodges grabbed her arm, forcing her to a halt. “Mrs. Knightley, you cannot be serious! If we are without protection, then surely the best thing to do is remain inside until those dreadful men leave.”
“I’d like nothing better,” Emma grimly replied. “But this might be the only chance we get to clear Larkins and put an end to this terrible business. I have no intention of confronting those men, but I do need to see who they are.”
Beyond that, she didn’t really have much of a plan.
“How will that help, Mrs. Knightley? You won’t even know who they are.”
Actually, Emma had a fairly good idea that she would know at least one of them.
“Mrs. Hodges, I must do this,” she said firmly to end the discussion
The housekeeper huffed out an exasperated sigh and let her go. “You can’t go out dressed that like that. You’ll catch your death. Please take one of the cloaks and a pair of boots.”
Emma hurried up to the stable yard door.
After carefully propping the shotgun against the wall, she grabbed one of the woolen cloaks on a peg and flung it around her shoulders.
She shed her slippers and put on a pair of sturdy shoes from a rack by the door.
They were a little too large, so she laced them as tightly as she could to compensate.
When she straightened up, she saw Mrs. Hodges also donning a cloak.
“What are you doing?” asked Emma.
“I’m going with you.”
Before Emma could object, the housekeeper shot up a hand. “And no objections from you, ma’am. Mr. Knightley would have my head if I let you go out there alone.”
“I’ll only be a few minutes, I promise. Besides, two people might be more visible—and potentially make more noise,” Emma cautioned.
Mrs. Hodges muttered something under her breath but nodded a reluctant agreement.
Picking up the shotgun, Emma opened the door and slipped out into the yard.
She made her way toward the wing facing the back gardens, sticking close to the house.
The night was clear, with not a whisper of a breeze.
Thankfully, the slipper moon shed just enough light while allowing her to keep hidden in the shadows.
As she approached the old wing, she could make out a sudden murmur of voices, so she froze. After a few moments, she steeled herself.
It’s now or never, old girl.
She edged around the corner of the building.
Keeping low, she crept forward a few feet, staying in the shadows.
She fetched up by the stairs that led down to the first of the old storage cellars—the one she’d inspected with Harriet and Henry a few weeks ago.
Further along the old wing were two other cellars, several dozen feet past this one.
One of them was so ancient that it was both unusable and unsafe, and yet near the stairs to that undercroft were three men, illuminated by the light of a partially shuttered lantern.
Just as Henry had said, there was a cart, its wheels wrapped in cloth, no doubt to muffle the sound of the cart on the gravel.
The cart was fully loaded with small casks containing what she could only assume was alcohol.
Two of the men were in the process of roping down their haul while the other peered into the undercroft entrance.
From this distance their features were a blur. Emma had to get closer if she wanted to make them out.
Just as she’d steeled herself to start moving again, another man emerged from the undercroft, a cask on his broad shoulders.
He handed off the cask to his mates, who turned and loaded it onto the cart.
The broad-shouldered man banged the dust off his gloves and walked around the cart, giving it a quick inspection.
He spoke quietly to the other men, pointing in the direction of the Langham Path. Then he turned and glanced up at the house, as if to determine that all was still quiet.
By the light of that slipper moon, Emma could easily recognize both the set of the man’s shoulders and his profile. A breeze kicked up, flapping his greatcoat around his booted legs.
“All right, lads,” said Harry, his voice snatched up onto the wind. “That’s the last of it, so get on your way.”