Page 145 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
“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.”
“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.
