“I suppose that makes sense,” Emma replied, “though we’re hardly keeping chickens down there.”
“You’ll have to ask Mr. Larkins, ma’am.” Harry gave her a sheepish smile. “He generally don’t tell me what’s going on around the place.”
“I suppose we’ll need a key, then. Harry, could you find Mr. Larkins and fetch it for me?”
“I think he’s gone off to the village, ma’am. Not sure when he’ll be back.”
“Oh, bother. Then I suppose—”
“It’s open,” Henry said.
He’d scampered back down and was now standing in the door. Emma hadn’t heard a thing. Given the age of the oak door, she could only surmise that the hardware had been cleaned and oiled, as well.
“Excellent.” She snapped her fingers. “We need light. Harry, please run back to the kitchen and fetch a lantern.”
The footman scrunched up his face. “Are you sure you want to go down there, missus? It’s bound to be dirty as anything. You won’t want to be mucking up your shoes.”
“I’m wearing my half-boots,” said Harriet. “I wear them around the farm all the time.”
“Harry, fetch the lamp now,” Emma said in a firm voice.
With a sigh, he trudged off toward the kitchen with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
Harriet peered after him. “Harry makes for a rather odd footman. Robert says he’s quite lazy.”
“An opinion shared by more than one at Donwell. He does try his best, though. I think George feels sorry for him, since he’s not very bright.”
“Poor man. One can’t blame him for that.”
“Indeed.”
Emma lifted her skirts and made her way down to join her nephew. “See anything interesting, Henry?”
“Just some of the floor. But the smell isn’t too bad.”
She took a cautious sniff and was pleasantly surprised. There was a musty odor, which wasn’t surprising, but it could have been worse.
Ducking under the lintel, she followed her nephew past the cellar entrance, with Harriet in the rear.
Emma couldn’t see much, since the weak afternoon light illuminated only the entrance. Still, she got the impression of a space larger than anticipated.
When Henry started forward, she clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Wait, dear. There might be holes in the floor. We need the lantern.”
The boy expelled an aggrieved sigh but held fast.
Emma glanced at Harriet. “Are you warm enough?”
Her friend nodded. “It’s not as chilly as I thought it would be.” She glanced down. “Or as dirty. The floor around here seems rather clean.”
Emma followed her gaze, and was surprised to see only some dust. “I wonder if Mr. Larkins is using this cellar for storage after all. I know the attics are full of furniture and various items, so perhaps he’s using this for overflow.”
“Or he might be storing cider,” Henry suggested. “Uncle George said Donwell had a bumper apple crop this year, and it made an awful lot of cider.”
Emma turned around at the sound of footsteps. “Ah, here’s Harry.”
The footman joined them, lantern in hand. “Do you want me to go ahead of you, Mrs. Knightley? That way I can see if there’s anything nasty.”
Consternation crossed Harriet’s face. “What do you mean by nasty?”
