Page 122 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
She weighed the question. True, the smugglers had cut across Donwell’s gardens, but Mr. Clarke was of the opinion that it had been a singular occurrence. There was also the fact that William Cox had precipitously quit the gang almost three months ago and had remained entirely unmolested by them. And George had spent the past several nights at Donwell, where all had been as peaceful as one could hope. It seemed clear that whoever killed Prudence was not from Highbury any more than the smugglers were.
While someone had obviously framed Larkins and that was deeply concerning, Emma had no doubt that the village, Hartfield, and Donwell were all safe from harm.
Besides, if Isabella returned to Hartfield it would allow Emma to move back to Donwell. There was much work yet to be done to bring the old pile up to snuff before she and George made their permanent move. If George wished her to stay out of trouble, the best way to do that was for her to focus on preparing for their new life as master and mistress of Donwell Abbey.
Before Emma could reply, Simon entered with the coffee service. A moment later, a knock echoed down the hall from the front of the house.
Emma frowned. “Goodness, who could be calling so early?” “Perhaps it’s Perry,” her father said. “Simon, please show him in here. I’m sure he’ll be happy for a cup of tea.”
“Very good, sir.”
“I’m surprised Mr. Perry would call so early,” said Emma. “He doesn’t usually do so.”
“True, but he knows that I’ve been most—”
The door opened and Miss Bates hurried in, looking flustered.
“My dear Miss Bates, is something wrong?” Father exclaimed “Is Mrs. Bates unwell?”
Miss Bates flashed an apologetic smile. “Dear me, no. We are both perfectly well. Forgive me for giving you a fright. I heard the most disturbing news just now, and I knew Mrs. Knightley would wish to know about it immediately.”
Emma went to her. “Of course, but first you must take off your bonnet and pelisse and have a cup of tea.”
Though Miss Bates protested that she was fine, Emma handed her outerwear to Simon, got her seated, and poured her a cup.
“Now,” Emma said, resuming her own place. “What is this dreadful thing that sent you racing to us so early?”
“I hope this has nothing to do with those wretched smugglers,” Father said. “I do not approve of all this smuggling, Emma. These villains are worse than the poultry thief.”
Emma and Miss Bates exchanged a concerned look. In Father’s world, there was little worse than the dreaded poultry thief.
“I don’t imagine anyone approves of them, Father,” Emma replied.
“I do hate to be the bearer … oh, are those Serle’s vanilla scones?” asked Miss Bates as Simon brought the platter to the table. “Yes, I’d love a scone, Simon. And strawberry jam—such a treat! I vow, Serle makes the best strawberry jam in all of Highbury.”
Emma resisted the urge to grind her molars. “Miss Bates, what is this news you so urgently needed to share?”
“Dear me, I beg your pardon.” She put down her knife. “Poor Mr. Clarke was found unconscious in the churchyard this morning, lying behind one of the gravestones. Mr. Barlowe found him there. He’d been severely beaten. Mr. Clarke, that is, not Mr. Barlowe. Apparently, he’d been attacked some time in the night and left for dead. If Mr. Barlowe hadn’t had business in the church first thing, poor Mr. Clarke might have frozen to death.”
Emma stared at her, aghast at the news. So much for Highbury being perfectly safe.
Father threw down his napkin. “Emma, this is unacceptable! I do not say I approve of Mr. Clarke, but one should be able to visit the churchyard without being set upon by villains. You must write George immediately and tell him to come home.”
“Yes, dear,” she replied, her attention still on Miss Bates. “Where is Mr. Clarke now? Is he conscious?”
“Yes, he was taken to the Crown Inn. Dr. Hughes was called immediately and is still there with him.”
“How did you hear of this?”
“Patty got up early to go to the bakery and she ran into one of the grooms from the Crown. He told her everything.”
“Do you know anything about the extent of his injuries?”
“Only what I’ve told you. Dr. Hughes and Mr. Barlowe are still with him. Oh, and Constable Sharpe was there at the Crown, too.”
Father let out a dismissive huff. “Mr. Clarke would be better served if Perry were to see to him. Emma, you must send a note to Perry and ask him to attend to Mr. Clarke.”
“Yes, dear,” Emma automatically replied. “Did the smugglers attack him?”
