Chapter 27 #2
“Mrs. Hodges,” said Emma. “Would you please open the other lantern so we have more light?”
That would certainly help if she did have to shoot him.
Quietly, the housekeeper complied. As more light illuminated the room, Emma stepped out of the pantry doorway and again moved in front of Mrs. Hodges.
“Did they also threaten to hurt our stable staff?” Emma asked him. “Because their absence this evening is quite noticeable.”
Something ugly flashed across his features, startling her, but vanishing a moment later.
“They … they told me I had to drug our men.” His voice took on a whiny pitch. “They gave me laudanum and told me to put it in their ale. I didn’t have a choice, Mrs. Knightley. They said they’d kill me if I didn’t help them.”
Emma narrowed her gaze on him. “And did they also force you to kill Prudence?”
Genuine shock distorted his features, and he took a hasty step forward.
“No, blast you! It wasn’t me,” he exclaimed. “You’ve got it all wrong. I would never have hurt Prudence. I was going to marry her.”
Now it was Emma’s turn to be shocked—again. Harry had clearly dropped all pretenses now, putting aside the fool. He looked genuinely outraged by her accusation.
“Then if you didn’t kill her,” she asked, “who did?”
“I’m afraid it was me,” said a voice from behind her. “And I’m also afraid that if you don’t lower your shotgun, Mrs. Knight ley, I might have to kill you, too.”
Emma’s brain seemed to stumble over itself. What in God’s name was happening here?
“Or I suppose I could just kill Mrs. Hodges,” said the man in a bizarrely casual drawl. “That will serve just as well, I should think.”
A choked exclamation from Mrs. Hodges had Emma quickly lowering her weapon.
Then she turned to confront Guy Plumtree.
He was garbed in a stylish greatcoat, a mildly regretful expression on his attractive features.
He was holding the business end of a pistol aimed at Mrs. Hodges, standing not more than five feet behind her.
“I … I didn’t hear him come in,” the housekeeper stammered.
Neither had Emma. She’d been too busy interrogating Harry to hear the door from the stable yard open or feel the chill that had entered the room with Guy’s entrance.
While she felt the chill now, she suspected that had more to do with fear than the temperature of the room.
“You killed Prudence?” she finally managed. “But why? You didn’t even—” She broke off with a grimace. “Of course. You’re part of this blasted smuggling ring.”
Guy waved an admonishing finger. “Such language from a lady. Mr. Knightley would be terribly shocked.”
“Mr. Knightley will see you hang,” retorted Mrs. Hodges.
“It’s about time you showed up,” griped Harry. “But now we’ve got a right mess on our hands, thanks to you killing poor Pru.”
Guy shrugged. “If I hadn’t killed the girl, she would have gone to Mr. Knightley and revealed all. Obviously, I couldn’t allow that to happen.”
“I told you I’d take care of it,” Harry gritted out. “She would have listened to me. She always did.”
Guy made an impatient sound. “We’ve been over this countless times, Harry. I made the decision, and I stand by it. Now, get the gun from Mrs. Knightley before she does something foolish.”
Despite the danger, Emma couldn’t help herself. “Like shooting you?”
Guy actually laughed. “I doubt you have it in you, ma’am. Although I will say you did seem quite determined to shoot Harry. Not that I blame you. I’ve been tempted to shoot him a few times, myself.”
“Bastard,” Harry muttered.
Emma mentally blinked, taking note of the animosity between the partners in crime. Perhaps at some point she could use that against them, at least until help arrived.
And where was that help? Mr. Weston and his men should have arrived by now.
“Harry, the gun,” Guy sharply said.
The footman stalked around the table and jerked the shotgun from her hands.
“You and Mrs. Hodges, sit yourselves down at the table,” he barked.
“Please sit down at the table,” Guy corrected. “There’s no need to be rude.”
Emma stared at him in disbelief. “You’re holding a pistol on us.”
He shrugged. “A necessity until we can figure out what to do with you. Now, please do sit, ladies.”
Emma and Mrs. Hodges pulled out chairs from the kitchen table and sat next to each other.
“I don’t have to figure out what I’m doing,” Harry said as he leaned the shotgun up against the fireplace. He swiped up his greatcoat and shrugged back into it. “I’m done with it all. I’ve got all the blunt I need, so you won’t be seeing me again.”
Guy scoffed. “Your father won’t like that, I’d wager.”
“I don’t care what that hellhound thinks. I’ve done more than enough for him, what with spending two years in this moldy old pile, always at his beck and call.”
Emma gaped at him. “You’ve been operating out of Donwell Abbey for two years?”
“That’s no business of yours,” he snapped.
“Harry, your lack of manners is truly appalling,” Guy said as he moved around to the opposite side of the table.
He pulled out a chair and took a seat across from them, his pistol now trained on Emma.
“Of course it’s your business, ma’am,” he said in a genial tone.
“To answer your question, Harry took the job at Donwell Abbey to oversee his father’s smuggling operations in this part of Surrey.
One must give Mr. Trotman a great deal of credit for setting up and maintaining such a successful venture for so many years.
” He glanced at Harry. “I’m sure he’ll be most disappointed to hear you won’t be following in his footsteps. ”
Emma gasped as illumination struck. “Harry’s father was the one who stored his contraband at the Crown Inn. He had an arrangement with Mr. Stokes.”
Guy nodded. “Very perceptive of you, Mrs. Knightley. It was apparently a lucrative arrangement for all involved. Unfortunately, Mrs. Stokes put an end to it when her dear husband shuffled off this mortal coil.”
Emma stared at him, doing her best to ignore the weapon pointed right at her chest. She simply had to keep him talking until Mr. Weston and his men arrived.
“And what about the church?” she asked. “And Mr. Barlowe? What is his part in all of this?”
“Dear, silly Barlowe,” responded Guy with a snort.
“He has no involvement at all in this, Mrs. Knightley. Our merry band of smugglers ceased using the bell tower as our principal depot almost a year ago.” He leaned forward, as if sharing a secret.
“We found a much better place to hide them, much more out of the way.”
She blinked. “Donwell Abbey. After my husband moved to Hartfield.”
“A clever lady, indeed,” he replied in an admiring tone.
“Yes, we needed something more secure. Given the minimal staff at the abbey—not to mention the fact that Harry was already living here—it made for the perfect depot along our route. Until Prudence was about to ruin everything like the silly girl that she was. She gave me no choice, really.”
“God help us,” whispered Mrs. Hodges.
Emma forced down the queasy sensation gripping her throat. “But how did Prudence find out about all this in the first place?”
Guy gestured at Harry. “Blame him. He was courting the girl and couldn’t keep his fool mouth shut.”
Harry cast him a murderous glare. “Prudence and me was going to get married good and proper. But you had to ruin it, didn’t you? You killed her and made a mess of everything.”
“You were the one who ruined it, dear fellow. I know you and Prudence had your little plans to run away up north, but unfortunately for you the girl was honest—a character flaw you should have anticipated.”
Emma was still trying to absorb this astounding revelation. It was difficult to do with a pistol aimed at one’s heart. “But Harry denied being involved with Prudence.”
The footman barely spared her a glance. “Her father would never have approved, so we kept it secret.”
“And no wonder,” exclaimed an outraged Mrs. Hodges. “Since you’re a common criminal.”
“Shut your gob, you old fool.” Then Harry narrowed his gaze on Guy. “And you shut your gob, too. You’ll get us hanged, you will.”
Guy pondered that comment for a few moments, as if working through to some sort of conclusion. “At this point, I should think you’d have realized it doesn’t matter what I tell them.”
A deadly stillness settled over Emma. She had to swallow twice before she could reply. “Because you’re going to kill us.”
Mrs. Hodges gasped and covered her mouth.
Guy actually had the nerve to look regretful.
“I’m afraid so. I’m simply trying to decide the best way.
Shooting you would be messy, and one never knows what evidence might be left behind.
Take Prudence, for instance. I believed I’d thought of everything in that particular scenario, and yet here we are. ”
The man was obviously quite mad—and as deadly as an adder.
“You could simply leave,” she managed to reply. “Like Harry suggested.”
The footman gave a sharp nod. “She’s right. Tie them up and let’s be gone. I’ve no taste for killing women.”
Guy’s features suddenly drained of anything approaching humanity.
“And let them trumpet to the world that I’m the one who murdered Prudence?
I think not. Nor do I have any intention of living a life on the run.
I’m not a lowly footman or the son of a criminal, Harry.
I have an inheritance and a future, and I’ve no intention of giving either of them up. ”
Emma could barely speak past the horror that threatened to close her throat. “You’re a monster.”
His chilling gaze settled on her. “Perhaps, or perhaps I’m merely determined to finally live my life as I see fit, once my father passes, that is.”
“Poor Squire Plumtree,” whispered Mrs. Hodges.
Soon-to-be dead Squire Plumtree, Emma feared. “You’ll never get away with it.”