Should she venture out to the stables and try to raise help? No, she quickly discarded that notion. Depending on which way the smugglers went once they finished whatever it was they were doing, she might be spotted.
One thing did seem clear. They needed help.
“Let’s go wake Mrs. Hodges,” she said.
The housekeeper’s rooms were just up the stairs, at the head of the corridor that led to the long gallery and the front of the house. Emma glanced up the dead-quiet corridor and then quietly tapped on Mrs. Hodges’s door.
“I don’t think she heard you,” whispered Henry after several moments.
Steeling herself, Emma rapped her knuckles hard on the wood. In the silence, it sounded as loud as gunshot. Thankfully, she heard movement in the room seconds later. The door opened to reveal Mrs. Hodges, her nightcap slightly askew over her braid, a large knit shawl thrown over her shoulders.
“Mrs. Knightley,” she exclaimed, “I thought I was hearing things. What’s wrong?” Her gaze darted downward. “Is Master Henry ill?”
“May we come in?”
The housekeeper looked bewildered but quickly moved aside. Emma closed the door behind them.
“Mrs. Hodges, it would appear the smugglers have returned. Unfortunately, no one is watching the house, and I can’t find any of the men.”
The housekeeper blinked in surprise. “That makes no sense. Harry and—” She gasped. “Wait. The smugglers have returned?”
“I saw them,” Henry said. “They went round the side of the house, toward the old cellars.”
“Harry and the others were to keep watch from the kitchen,” Mrs. Hodges replied.
“But no one has been in the kitchen for some time, and the stables are dark.”
Mrs. Hodges grimaced. “That idiot Harry is probably asleep in his bed.”
“Even so, that doesn’t explain why none of the grooms are on guard. Mrs. Hodges, do you have the keys to the gun cabinet?”
The other woman simply gaped at her.
“I don’t want to have to run all the way to the other side of the house and rummage in my husband’s desk,” Emma impatiently said.
Mrs. Hodges shook herself. “I have a set in my locked drawer.”
As she collected the keys, Emma turned to Henry. “Dear, I want you to go up to the servants quarters and see if Harry is in his room. If he is, fetch him down to the kitchen and wait for us there.”
He nodded and headed for the door.
“Oh, and if you see anything to alarm you,” she added, “I want you to hide, all right?”
“Don’t worry about me, Auntie Emma,” he stoutly replied before slipping out the door.
“Mrs. Knightley, you’re frightening me.”
“Something isn’t right, Mrs. Hodges.” Emma took the keys. “I’m going to assume we’re safe in the house, but it’s best not to take chances.”
They hastened to the old butler’s pantry, a few doors down. For the past several years it had served as storage and as the abbey’s gun cabinet. Emma hoped she would find a weapon she could manage. When she was seventeen, she’d gone through a phase when she’d become interested in hunting, more to annoy George than anything else. Naturally, he’d not reacted as she’d expected but had instead taught her how to properly load and handle a shotgun. Then when he’d suggested she go shooting with him, she’d balked. Emma had never thought of herself as particularly squeamish, but George’s little lesson had taught her otherwise.
Now, though, she could only be grateful he’d taught her something she’d never expected would come in handy.
Emma pushed an old chair out of the way—really, this room needed agreatdeal of work if she were ever to use it as her office—and unlocked the gun cabinet. Mrs. Hodges, now carrying a lamp, held it up to illuminate the contents. A pistol was probably the better choice for their current situation, but she was most familiar with a shotgun. As a weapon, it looked more intimidating—if it came to a confrontation, she hoped intimidation would be all that was required. The notion of actually firing at another person was off-putting, to say the least.
“Shotgun it is, then,” she murmured.
As she carefully extracted the weapon from the cabinet, Mrs.Hodges cast her wary glance.
