Page 149 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
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.”
CHAPTER27
