Page 65 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
“Generally, yes, he is,” she absently replied.
Larkins’s unusual behavior was yet another sign that, despite appearances, life was far from normal at Donwell Abbey.
CHAPTER14
Emma’s father gazed morosely out the carriage window. “I cannot fathom how I allowed myself to be talked into this frightful outing. One can tolerate going to Randalls for Christmas dinner, but to travel all the way to the Coles … that is quite shocking!”
Emma exchanged a glance with Isabella, sitting next to Father on the opposite side of the carriage. Unfortunately, her sister looked almost as out of sorts with this excursion as he did.
“I know, dear, but Mrs. Cole’s house is actually closer to Hartfield than Randalls,” Emma apologetically said.
He sighed. “If you say so. But you know how I feel about parties, Emma, especially large parties.”
“The Coles are simply hosting a lovely dinner in honor of your betrothal, not a large party at all. And Miss Bates is very excited about it.”
“Well, I suppose we must hope there will be no accidents tonight, particularly fatal ones. Or that one of the guests doesn’t arrive with an infectious complaint. That would bemostdistressing.”
“Emma!” exclaimed Isabella. “You didn’t tell me that one of the guests might have an infectious complaint. Do I need to worry about the children?”
Emma resisted the urge to thump her head against the padded side of the carriage. “No one has an infectious complaint. Mrs. Cole made it very clear toallthe guests that they were to send their excuses if any of them had so much as a sniffle.”
Isabella gave her a sheepish smile. “That was very kind of her.”
Although no one in the family was particularly enthused about this party, it might still have its uses. The Coxes were on the guest list, at Miss Bates’s request, which would give Emma the opportunity to observe William Cox in a more intimate setting. Perhaps it might even give her the chance to ask him about Prudence—very discretely, of course.
The past several days had been uneventful. Despite her best efforts, Emma had been unable to unearth any additional information about William Cox and his connection to Prudence, from either the servants or anyone else. Sadly, when she’d shared her frustrations with George, he’d rather tartly replied that the lack of any such information no doubt illustrated that William had nothing to do with Prudence’s death.
Emma, however, remained unconvinced that it did not. Her instincts had served her well last year in helping to bring Mrs. Elton’s killer to justice, and she wasn’t about to ignore those instincts now. Even if there was no proof that Prudence had been murdered, which her husband had annoyingly pointed out, it didn’t mean something untoward hadn’t happened. There were simply too many strange aspects to the case and too many questions that left her vastly unsatisfied.
Father sighed again. “I suppose we cannot be neglectful of Mr. and Mrs. Cole since they have gone to so much trouble. One wishes, however, that they would not host so many parties. They seem to host a great many of them, indeed.” He smoothed the lap blanket over his knees. “I do hope Miss Bates will not wish to hold many parties at Hartfield. I must remember to speak with her about that.”
“I’m sure she won’t, Father,” said Emma. “Miss Bates is always very attentive to the needs of others. She’s so kind.”
That finally won a smile from her father. “She is. She also has a very keen awareness of drafts. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who could sense a draft more accurately than Miss Bates.”
“John is also very good at detecting drafts,” Isabella said. “He likes to tease me about my fear of drafts, but he’s really very attentive in that regard, especially with the children.”
Her father regarded her with alarm. “My dear, one mustnevertease about drafts. They can be fatal.”
Emma cut into the conversation before it could deteriorate any further. “We’ve arrived. And how lovely the house looks! So bright and cheery, don’t you think?”
“I hope it’s nottoobright,” her father fretfully said. “Too much light can strain the eyes.”
She was thankfully spared a reply when a footman came to the carriage door and lowered the steps.
“Good evening, Mrs. Knightley,” he said as he helped her alight.
The young man was garbed in rather startling red and gold livery. It was a trifle much for Highbury, but that was the Coles’ style. They were good folk with a great deal of money and an equally great desire to spread it around as lavishly as possible. After Hartfield, they owned the largest house in Highbury, and Mrs. Cole was continually undertaking improvements, determined to keep up with the latest styles from London.
“Has Mr. Knightley and his party arrived yet?” Emma asked.
George had gone on ahead to escort Miss Bates and her mother to the party in the abbey’s carriage.
“They arrived a few minutes ago, ma’am.”
Another elaborately garbed footman, who took their wraps, ushered them to the drawing room.
“Mr. Woodhouse, Mrs. John Knightley, and Mrs. George Knight ley,” he announced with a full measure of solemnity.
