“And thank you for your honesty with me. It’s much appreciated.”
“Of course, ma’am. I’m always—”
The door suddenly opened, revealing Harry the footman. He hesitated, and then knocked tentatively on the door.
“Harry, you knockbeforeyou open the door, not after,” said an exasperated Mrs. Hodges.
“Sorry, Mrs. H. Sorry to interrupt Mrs. Knightley, but Mrs. Martin has come to call.”
Emma nodded. “Thank you, Harry. Where is she?”
“In the great hall, ma’am.”
Emma could all but hear Mrs. Hodges grinding her teeth.
“Mrs. Knightley’s friends are not to be left waiting in the hall,” the housekeeper said. “You should always show them to the drawing room.”
“Sorry, Mrs. H.”
Since Mrs. Hodges looked ready to deliver yet another Harryscold, Emma forestalled her by standing.
“I’ll go right now,” she said. “Harry, have you seen my nephew?”
“Up in the great hall with Mrs. Martin, as it happens.”
“Master Henry is in the great hall with Mrs. Martin, ma’am. That is the appropriate response, Harry,” Mrs. Hodges corrected. “Mrs. Knightley, will you be wanting the tea tray sent up?”
“Yes, please.”
As she went by him, Harry gave her a mournful smile. “I’m sorry for being such a dolt, Mrs. Knightley. I’m still at sixes and sevens because of Miss Prudence.”
“I understand completely.”
Despite his protestations the other day, Emma couldn’t help but wonder if Harryhadharbored tender feelings for Prudence. Clearly, her effect on all the servants at Donwell had been profound.
Despite Donwell’s ancient and storied history, no ghosts had ever walked the vaulted halls and stone of the abbey. Now, though, a spirit did seem to linger over the household—one that spoke of sadness and a quiet grief.
Accompanying that sorrowful spirit were too many haunting questions that begged for answers.
CHAPTER13
“Auntie Emma, can I have another piece of plum cake?”
Emma raised her eyebrows. “That would be your third piece, dear.”
“But I’m still hungry,” he protested. “Don’t forget I walked all the way to Hartfield and back.”
“That’s quite the hike,” said Harriet with a smile. “Surely Henry has earned another piece of cake. And after all, itisexcellent. I didn’t realize Mrs. Hodges was such a good baker.”
“Serle baked it,” Emma dryly replied. “We’ve been getting supplies from Hartfield on a regular basis. My father is convinced we’re starving over here.”
Henry adopted a doleful expression. “Well, I’m starving.”
Emma relented. “All right, you may have another piece.”
Truthfully, she thought Henry too thin. The boy had a nervous energy about him, never seeming to settle. Emma certainly hoped he would inherit his mother’s loving disposition, but without Isabella’s anxious tendencies.
“If you don’t mind,” said Henry, “may I read my book while I eat my cake?”
