Page 80 of Murder at Donwell Abbey
Emma felt her jaw sag as she stared at her husband.
“I heard Papa talking about smugglers a few times,” Henry said as he returned to his toast and jam. “He said it was much worse back in the old days.”
Emma finally recovered her voice. “Smugglers, this far from the coast? We’re so out of the way, why would they come here?”
“While the majority of the activity happens on the coast, a significant portion of contraband makes its way up to London by various means,” replied her husband. “The goods then find their way into shops in the city, or even into the hands of private citizens who wish to import luxuries like French brandy or Belgian lace while escaping the taxes.”
“And these peopleknowthey’re trading in smuggled goods?”
Her husband seemed rather amused by her response. “Indeed. Sometimes they arrange and finance the smuggling runs in the first place.”
“I realize I must sound terribly naïve about all this, but it’s truly awful, George.”
“It is. Still, it’s also a very old business and a well-established one. There have been smugglers since the first kings of England began imposing taxation on goods centuries ago.”
“That may be so, but I donotapprove,” she huffed, sounding just like her father.
George nodded. “Neither do I, especially when they might be using Donwell lands to make their runs.”
Emma shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why transport goods along such an old path? It’s not exactly convenient.”
“That’s precisely why land smugglers might be using it. They tend to favor the ancient roads and paths that have fallen into disuse or disrepair. Few ordinary people travel those routes anymore, which makes them perfect for smuggling.” He leaned forward, his gaze intent. “Which is why neither of you are to regard this as a trifling matter. These gangs are well organized and know their business. They are not to be taken lightly.”
Emma’s toast now felt like a lump in her stomach. “I understand, and I’m sure Henry does, too.”
Her nephew shrugged. “Papa says you can’t really blame smugglers because people hate paying so much tax. He also says lots of people buy things from smugglers—regular people and shopkeepers.”
Emma tried to ignore her nephew’s alarming insouciance. “George, how did you become aware of this?”
“A few days ago, Constable Sharpe was informed by the revenue agent in Leatherhead that smugglers might be using land routes in the area and possibly selling goods in Highbury and other local villages.”
Emma gaped at him. “Who in Highbury would buy contraband goods?”
“You’d be surprised,” he dryly replied.
She decided she’d rathernotbe surprised, so refrained from pursuing that line of questioning.
“What do you intend to do?” she asked.
“I’ll ride to Leatherhead and discuss the matter with our local revenue agent. At the very least, he should be alerted to this development.”
Emma cast a glance at her nephew, who continued to appear remarkably unconcerned. “Do you think there’s anything to worry about here at Donwell?”
George gave her a reassuring smile. “Not at all. As a precaution, I’ll instruct Larkins to have our grooms and Harry take turns keeping watch over the next few nights. Just to see if there’s any more activity on the old path.”
“Henry, would you feel more comfortable staying at Hartfield?” Emma asked. “I don’t want you feeling unsettled by this.”
“I’d rather stay here, if it’s all right,” the lad stoutly said. “I’m not scared of smugglers.”
George’s smile turned wry. “I cannot see smugglers using the path with any great regularity. I suspect they’d prefer to avoid Donwell lands, since I’m the local magistrate.”
That was a comforting thought—if it was true. Still, Emma felt strangely unsettled. First there was Prudence’s tragic death, and now there was a distinct possibility of smugglers in or around Highbury. She would vastly prefer the poultry thief to a potentially dangerous gang of criminals.
Emma had a notion, however, that she wouldn’t be getting her wish.
After lunch, Emma and Henry set off for Hartfield. If weather permitted, Henry made a point of visiting his family every day. This time, Emma had decided to accompany him to make sure that all was well at Hartfield in her absence.
As they passed by the turning into Vicarage Lane, Mr. Barlowe stomped toward them, his gaze directed at the ground and a scowl on his face.
