“There’s nothing to forgive. It’s been a dreadful night.”
As they entered the long gallery, Emma paused. “Mrs. Hodges, have you seen Larkins? I assumed he’d be back at the abbey by now.”
“I’m afraid not. I sent the kitchen maid down to his cottage, but he wasn’t there. I expect now it’s going on eleven, he’ll be back any moment.” She grimaced again. “He’ll be that shook up, he will. He was terribly fond of Prudence.”
Emma mentally blinked. That seemed rather strange since Larkins was a man who rarely interacted on a personal level with the other servants, save for Mrs. Hodges. He even preferred to take his meals in his cottage.
“When Larkins returns, please send him straight to Mr. Knightley for instructions.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The housekeeper departed for the kitchen, while Emma made her way to the great hall. Thankfully, all was quiet but for the low murmur of voices from the remaining guests. Peeking around the doorframe, she saw the room was now devoid of all but a few families. Up in the gallery, the musicians were stowing their instruments.
Steeling herself, Emma entered the hall.
Mrs. Weston was talking to Mrs. Cole, who was donning her pelisse and preparing to leave. Catching sight of Emma, Mrs. Weston smiled with evident relief and waved, bidding her to join them.
Drat and double drat.
While a kind woman, Mrs. Cole was a terrible gossip.
“Mrs. Knightley, there you are,” exclaimed Mrs. Cole. “Such a shame you and Mr. Knightley had to miss so much of your own party. I do hope your father is feeling more the thing.”
Emma darted a glance at Mrs. Weston, who gave a slight nod. It was an excellent excuse, since everyone in Highbury knew Father’s little foibles.
“Yes, thank goodness,” she replied. “Mr. Perry was able to work his usual magic.”
Mrs. Cole clucked with sympathy. “Poor Mr. Woodhouse. Overcome with all the excitement, most likely.”
You have no idea.
“Indeed. He is unused to these large affairs.”
“And here are the ladies,” Mr. Weston exclaimed as he joined them. “Mrs. Cole, I bring notice that your conveyance awaits.” He nodded toward the front entrance, where Mr. Cole stood with the Gilberts. “The others are ready to depart.”
“How excellent,” Emma enthusiastically declared.
When Mrs. Cole cast her a startled glance, she realized she’d been a bittooenthusiastic.
“What I meant to say is that it’s a blessing to have a nice, warm carriage waiting to take one home on a cold night,” she added. “As one generally does in the winter.”
Oh, Lord.She sounded like a henwit.
Mr. Weston came to her rescue. “Come along, Mrs. Cole. Don’t want to keep the horses standing about.”
He all but marched the poor woman to the door, while Emma and Mrs. Weston trailed behind them.
“I think you managed to pull it off, my dear,” Mrs. Weston said in a low voice. “Mr. Weston was rather vague when a few of the gentlemen inquired about Mr. Knightley. Something about a problem in the stables that required his attention.”
“George and I are both so grateful to you,” Emma replied. “And I hope we have managed to—”
Just at that moment Constable Sharpe stomped through the front door, his usual dour self. He ignored the Gilberts and the Coles and fastened his gaze directly on Emma.
“Mrs. Knightley,” he said with a scowl. “What’s this I hear about a dead body?”
“What?” Mrs. Cole and Mrs. Gilbert screeched in perfect tandem.
Mr. Cole leveled an astonished gaze on the constable. “Good God, man. This is a party, not a crime scene. There are no dead bodies here.”
