Murder at Donwell Abbey, page 26
“Good morning, Miss Bates,” Emma said. “You’re out early.”
“Yes, I popped down to the bakery to place an order for an apple tart and tea cakes from Mrs. Wallis. Mrs. Goddard and Mrs. Martin are coming by this afternoon, and I wished to have something special.”
“They will be happy for the treat,” Emma replied. “But you must be busy, so don’t let me keep you.”
“Always so kind, Mrs. Knightley, but Patty will take care of everything. She’s so capable, as you know.”
Patty, the Bateses’ maid, was indeed efficient, and Emma was running out of excuses.
Miss Bates cast her an inquiring look. “When I saw you pass by the bakery, I couldn’t help but wonder why you were up so early. Are you off to Donwell Abbey?”
Drat.
“Actually, I’m on my way to Ford’s,” she reluctantly replied. “I thought to stop in first thing, before Mrs. Ford got busy.”
“I suppose Mr. Woodhouse is needing new gloves? But, that cannot be right. You got him new gloves just last week.”
“No, but I think he might—”
Miss Bates waved her arms. “I know! You’re going to speak to her about what Mr. Clarke said last night, aren’t you?”
Emma hastily stepped back to avoid being clocked in the chin by the enormous muff.
“Do forgive me,” Miss Bates said, wrestling the muff under control. “I quite forget I have this around my wrist.”
“It’s, er, rather large,” Emma replied.
Miss Bates flashed her a shy smile. “Your father gave it to me for Christmas. It’s much too extravagant for me, but he insists I use it on cold days. Since I’m going to Hartfield after my errands, I thought to wear it.”
“I … I didn’t know Father gave you such a lovely gift,” Emma said, trying to stifle a laugh.
The muff was indeed quite lovely, though much too large for a petite woman like Miss Bates.
The spinster leaned in, as if confiding a secret. “I’ve never worn muffs, since I always forget about them or misplace them. But now I don’t wish to disappoint Mr. Woodhouse.”
“It’s splendid, and you should absolutely wear it. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Mrs. Knightley, I think I should go with you,” Miss Bates said with uncommon determination. “Mrs. Ford might feel a trifle nervous regarding this subject. Why, I lay awake half the night just thinking about it! Since she and I are such particular friends, she might feel more comfortable answering questions if I’m there.”
Emma had to admit that Miss Bates had been surprisingly helpful these last few weeks. She possessed such a kind presence and everyone loved her. Certainly, no one could feel threatened by her.
“Very well, but we must be careful and discrete. This is a very delicate situation.”
When Miss Bates clasped her hands, the muff banged against her torso. “How exciting! I feel as if I’m living in the pages of a thrilling novel.”
“Not a very good one,” Emma dryly commented.
“Oh dear, I suppose that’s true. I promise I will be as quiet as the proverbial church mouse while you interrogate Mrs. Ford. And no one will be able to compel me to give up any information we might learn, no matter how great the pressure.”
Emma eyed the woman’s earnest expression, rather wondering if Miss Bates had a secret predilection for sensational novels.
Highbury was starting to bustle. It promised to be a fine day with clear skies and a refreshing nip to the air. They exchanged hellos with a few of the townsfolk and nodded to Mr. Gilbert as he doffed his hat and rode by on his mare.
A glance into the wide bay window at Ford’s, gaily festooned with a display of winter hats, assured Emma that no other customers were present. Those bonnets, however, gave her pause. The high feathers and trim they sported were rather too extravagant for a milliner in a place like Highbury. For the first time, she wondered how Mrs. Ford managed to so often stock her establishment with merchandise of higher quality than one would normally see in a village this size, and at reasonable prices at that.
Only one way to find out.
The little bell over the door jingled them in. Mrs. Ford was behind a long counter. Her attention was focused on a ledger, but she quickly glanced up and hurried over to greet them.
“Mrs. Knightley, Miss Bates, good morning. What brings you out so early?”
Highbury’s milliner was a woman of both sensible demeanor and dress. Her gowns were well tailored but never showy, as if she preferred the focus to remain on her merchandise rather than herself. A widow of some years, her entire life revolved around the shop and her loyalty to her customers. Ford’s was an institution in their village, and its proprietor had always been considered above reproach.
Until now.
“Miss Bates and I wished to speak to you before you got busy,” Emma said.
“Oh? How can I be of assistance?”
“I have a question—just a little one, really. It’s about something Mr. Clarke mentioned at the inquest.”
Mrs. Ford sucked in a startled breath.
Emma hesitated, but then decided there was nothing for it. “As you might recall, he raised concerns about smugglers having some influence in Highbury. Naturally, one doesn’t wish to believe anyone in our village would be involved in such things. I was wondering, perhaps, if you could shed some light on Mr. Clarke’s observations.”
“I don’t see how I possibly could,” Mrs. Ford stiffly replied. “I know nothing about how smugglers operate, here or anywhere else.”
“Of course not,” Emma said in a soothing tone. “And why would you? But we were just wondering—”
“If you’ve ever been in receipt of smuggled goods,” Miss Bates bluntly interjected.
Mrs. Ford turned as white as the cravats displayed in her shop.
So much for making the poor woman comfortable.
Miss Bates reached over and took the shopkeeper’s hand. “Dear Mrs. Ford, please don’t be angry with me. No one believes you could be in league with those horrible smugglers. I almost fainted dead on the spot when Mr. Clarke suggested it!”
The poor woman began to look ill. “Mr. Clarke thinks I’m smuggling contraband goods?”
Emma put up her hands. “He simply suggested that the occasional shipment of smuggled goods might have found their way into some of the local shops. He has no intention of accusing anyone.”
“That we know of,” Miss Bates added with lamentable candor.
“What?”
Emma winced. Mrs. Ford had quite a loud screech.
“Ma’am, there’s no need to panic,” she said. “Mr. Clarke’s attention is focused on the smuggling gang, not on Highbury’s merchants. I promise you that.”
Mrs. Ford made an effort at composing herself. “Mrs. Knightley, what do you want me to say?”
“Only the truth. As you know, Mr. Larkins has been accused of murder and smuggling. My husband and I are convinced that both charges are false. Naturally, the murder investigation is out of my … our hands, but I do think we can assist Mr. Clarke in ascertaining if there is evidence of smuggling in Highbury.” She gave Mrs. Ford an encouraging smile. “And who better to ask than you, who knows everyone in our village?”
Mrs. Ford’s chin tilted up, and she began to look unfortunately stubborn. “I’m still at a loss as to what you think I might know, Mrs. Knightley.”
Emma could be stubborn, too. “You deal with any number of merchants and suppliers, many of them in London. Have you ever seen any indication that they might be passing on smuggled goods to Highbury’s shopkeepers?”
Mrs. Ford stared back, obstreperously silent.
Miss Bates again touched her arm. “It’s for Mr. Larkins. You know he’s a fine man, and think of all the good he’s done for Donwell’s tenants. If we cannot help him, who knows what will happen?”
“He’ll end up on the gallows,” Emma grimly said.
“I know,” Mrs. Ford finally said. “And I do wish to help the poor man. All I can say is that if Mr. Larkins is involved in smuggling, I’ve heard no tale of it from the other shopkeepers in the village.”
“Nothing against him, not even rumors?” Emma asked, wanting to be sure.
“Not a word.”
“Thank you,” Emma replied. “Now, please don’t think I’m judging you, but is it possible that you may sometimes be in receipt of contraband goods from some of your suppliers? The quality of your merchandise is comparable to that found in many expensive London shops. How do you manage it?”
The woman grimaced. “Mrs. Knightley, you’re married to the local magistrate. I don’t know how to answer such a question.”
“My husband’s only interest is in discovering who murdered Miss Parr and clearing Mr. Larkins’s name. I promise you, anything you tell me will go no further than Mr. Knightley.”
Of course, George probably wouldn’t approve of her making such promises, but Emma was convinced there was no other way.
“My lips will also remain forever sealed,” Miss Bates stoutly added.
Mrs. Ford cast her a dubious glance. Miss Bates had the least discretion of anyone in Highbury, with the possible exception of Mr. Weston.
The spinster held up a hand. “I vow on my father’s grave.”
The milliner blew out an exasperated breath. “Very well. I do wonder if one of my suppliers receives contraband goods, especially the Belgian lace and a few other items.” She pointed to the hats in the window. “The feathers, for one. You might have noticed the quality.”
Emma nodded. “I have. Is this a London supplier?”
“No, a peddler. He visits about four or five times a year, around the biggest market days. He sells to me and also sets up a stall in the square.”
Emma slowly nodded. “I think I know him.”
In fact, she’d bought lace and ribbons from the man on a few occasions. Mrs. Ford was correct—the quality of his goods was excellent.
“Does he ever mention where he sources his wares?” she asked.
“No,” Mrs. Ford reluctantly replied. “I suppose I should have pressed him more about that.”
“I could say the same about myself,” Emma candidly re plied. “I’ve bought his goods without giving it a second thought.”
The milliner gave her a grateful smile.
“Is there anyone else you can think of who might know something about smuggling in Highbury?” Emma asked.
Mrs. Ford’s smile changed to a grimace. “I don’t like to tattle, Mrs. Knightley.”
“Again, I assure you of our discretion.”
“Indeed,” said an earnest Miss Bates. “I won’t say a word to anyone.”
Mrs. Ford finally gave a reluctant nod. “You might try Mr. Cox, ma’am. He might be able to tell you a thing or two about smuggled goods in Highbury.”
Emma frowned. Mr. Cox was Highbury’s solicitor. It was difficult to imagine that he was involved with smugglers.
“Do you mean Mr. Cox?” she cautiously asked. “Or William Cox?”
Miss Bates let out a little squeak, obviously realizing the import of her question.
“I don’t really know,” replied Mrs. Ford. “But there’s been a bit of gossip about the Coxes and their fine living these past several months—living beyond their means. Mr. Cox is very proud of his snuff, at least according to Mrs. Cox. She was boasting about the quality of his Martinique just the other day. And then there’s the French brandy. I heard William Cox waxing on about it when he came to pick up gloves a month or so ago. He bragged to his sister that not even Mr. Knightley or Mr. Weston could drink anything finer.”
Well, well, well.
It would seem William Cox was back in the picture, after all.
“Thank you, Mrs. Ford,” said Emma. “You’ve been very helpful, indeed.”
“More tea, Mrs. Knightley?”
Emma heard the perplexed tone in Mrs. Cox’s question. The poor woman had no idea why she and Miss Bates had dropped in unannounced, especially since Emma had never once visited them, nor had the Coxes to Hartfield.
It was also much too early in the day to make social calls. The Cox girls had apparently not even finished dressing. Still, Mrs. Cox had sent the housemaid up to fetch Anne and Susan, who had just appeared. Emma found that most unfortunate, since the less time spent with those two, the better.
The object of her prey, William Cox, had stepped out on an errand but was expected back shortly. Miss Bates had easily solicited that information. Since the spinster actually was a friend of the Coxes, her polite question hadn’t seemed out of place.
Emma smiled at their hostess, who clutched a large floral teapot to her chest like a shield against unwanted intruders.
“Thank you, Mrs. Cox,” she replied. “It’s delicious tea. Souchong, I believe?”
The woman tentatively smiled. “Yes, that’s right.”
“I don’t know when I’ve had a finer cup of tea,” enthused Miss Bates. “One could imagine this tea served in the best households in England, including Hartfield, of course. The tea at Hartfield is always superior.”
Anne tossed a ringlet over her shoulder. “I’m sure our tea is as good as anything served at Hartfield. William gets it for us, whenever he goes on one of his little jaunts to London with his friends. He always brings back the nicest things.”
Mrs. Cox frowned. “Mind your manners, Anne. There’s no need to make comparisons.”
“It wasn’t me making comparisons,” the girl protested. “It was Miss Bates.”
That naturally led to an extended and garbled apology from Miss Bates. Normally, Emma would have intervened, but she was too caught by the information the girl had inadvertently revealed. While the family certainly lived in decent style thanks to Mr. Cox’s profession, they weren’t wealthy. Nor had William yet taken up his father’s profession. So how could a young man with limited resources find the means to buy such highquality goods?
Emma had a growing conviction that William’s new friends had something to do with it.
Once Miss Bates finished her garbled apology, an awkward silence fell over the room.
It wasn’t the first, Emma was sorry to note.
After leaving the milliner’s shop, she and Miss Bates had determined to immediately follow up on the promising lead provided by Mrs. Ford. Although the decision might have seemed a bit hasty, Emma knew there was no time to waste. There was simply too much at stake, for one thing. For another, once George found out she was making inquiries, he would be none too pleased. Better to proceed with useful information in hand rather than seek approval first.
And, yes, he would be annoyed with her, but he would listen. While George might not approve of her methods, he always listened to her. It was a splendid quality in a husband.
Anne finally broke the silence. “Mrs. Knightley, I found that Mr. Clarke ever so interesting. You know, at the inquest yesterday. I was wondering what you know about him.”
Mrs. Cox winced with embarrassment. “Anne, that is hardly an appropriate question.”
“No one else has anything to say, so I thought I might as well ask,” she pertly replied. “The inquest was so dreadfully boring, except for Mr. Clarke.”
“There’s nothing boring about murder, Miss Cox,” Emma replied in a clipped tone.
Miss Bates looked shocked. “Indeed, no. That poor girl, and poor Mr. Larkins. One feels for his predicament.”
“But isn’t he guilty?” asked Susan. “Everyone seems to think he’s guilty, so surely he must be.”
“Mr. Larkins’s guilt is very much in doubt,” Emma replied. “My husband and I certainly do not believe him to be guilty.”
“Nor do I,” Miss Bates added. “Such a kind, good man.”
Anne waved an impatient hand. “But no one really knows, do they? Besides, that’s not what I was asking Mrs. Knightley about, anyway. I wish to know about Mr. Clarke. Do you know if he’s married?”
“Oh, Anne,” her mother sighed.
Susan stepped into her sister’s unfortunate breach. “Mr. Clarke is quite handsome, even if he is a revenue officer.”
Miss Bates looked confused. “How does Mr. Clarke’s profession affect his looks?”
“Because most people hate prevention officers,” Anne replied with a stunning lack of logic. “But who cares if he arrests smugglers? He was dressed quite smart, too, which means he must have some money.”
Mrs. Cox looked ready to die a thousand social deaths. Emma could well sympathize. Having a daughter like Anne would make one wish for a swift and merciful end.
“To answer your question, Miss Cox,” Emma dryly replied, “I have no idea of his marital status. Nor am I inclined to find out.”
“Of course not,” Mrs. Cox hastily said.
Anne ignored her mother. “I tried to get his attention after the inquest, but he was too busy talking to that silly Constable Sharpe.”
“Maybe he’ll return to Highbury,” Susan said in a hopeful voice. “If there are smugglers running about, I expect he’ll be investigating.”
Anne clapped her hands. “That would be splendid.”
Be careful what you wish for.
As if summoned by her thoughts, Emma heard someone come in through the front door.
“That must be William,” Mrs. Cox said with relief. “Anne, why don’t you fetch him? I’m sure he’d like to say hello to Mrs. Knightley and Miss Bates.”
Anne scoffed. “No, he wouldn’t. Not after he embarrassed himself at Donwell Abbey.”
“Fetch him anyway.”
“Why can’t Susan do it?”
“Because I asked you,” her mother sharply replied.
Anne got to her feet and flounced out of the room.
Mrs. Cox gave Emma an apologetic smile. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I’m sure William will be happy to see you, especially after you so kindly forgave him for his unfortunate behavior.”
He won’t be happy for long.
William and Anne entered the room a few moments later. When he caught sight of Emma, he pulled up short, causing his sister to barrel into him.
