“Your father mentioned he is now spending more time at Plumtree Manor,” she said instead. “I take it he was often away from home.”
“As you might recall, he has substantial business concerns in the city. He spent much of my youth in London, looking after his wool business. It is only in the past six months that he’s begun to spend most of his time at the manor.”
Before Emma could ask why his father was now spending more time at home, the covers were removed and the next course served. Guy turned away to reply to a comment from Mrs. Perry, seated on his other side. Emma reminded herself that she should make another effort to speak to their young curate.
“Mr. Barlowe,” she said, “Mr. Plumtree tells me that you struck up a friendship shortly after your arrival in Highbury. That is a happy occurrence.”
The man froze, his cutlery suspended above his plate. Several seconds passed before he resumed cutting a slice of ham into small, identically sized pieces.
“Yes, Plumtree was most kind to take notice of me,” he flatly replied.
What an odd way of expressing it.
“Have you had an opportunity to visit Plumtree Manor?” she asked. “I understand it’s quite a lovely old house. In the style of Queen Anne, I believe.”
“I cannot render an opinion, Mrs. Knightley, since I am not familiar with architectural styles.”
Well.
Emma ate some veal, fricasseed in an excellent sauce, she was happy to note, before trying again.
“I understand from Miss Bates that Mrs. Sutcliffe has been feeling poorly,” she said. “Please do let me know if I can be of any assistance. I should be happy to ask Mr. Perry to visit her, if you think that might be helpful.”
“I’ve not yet had a chance to see her,” came the blighting reply.
Emma frowned. Mrs. Sutcliffe was a widow who’d fallen on difficult times. She and George often sent baskets of foodstuff and any other necessities that might be helpful, as did Mrs. Weston. It was surprising that the village clergyman had yet to visit her.
The curate glanced at her and pulled a slight grimace, which suggested he’d read her expression.
“I intend to visit her tomorrow, though,” he said. “Church matters have kept me very busy. The vestry council, you understand.”
“Of course,” she politely replied.
When the curate again turned to his plate with single-minded focus, Emma gave up. Glancing to her right, she briefly studied Guy Plumtree, still engaged in easy conversation with Mrs. Perry. It seemed difficult to believe that such an amiable young man would have established a friendship with a charmless, taciturn stick like Mr. Barlowe.
She was about to turn her attention to her own excellent dinner when she glanced down the table and noticed William Cox staring intently at her. When their gazes locked, Emma felt her heart skip a beat. Immediately, William flushed a bright red and turned away, holding up his wineglass as the footmen came round with a fresh bottle of wine.
And the hand that held that wineglass was trembling.
“Dear girl, you’ve barely heard a word I’ve said!” Mrs. Weston exclaimed in a humorously exasperated tone.
Guilty as charged.
“You were telling me that the chimney in your dining room was, ah, misbehaving,” Emma replied.
“As I said, it was more than misbehaving. It filled the entire room with smoke,” her friend dryly noted. “I also recognize that expression on your face. You’re stewing about something.”
Inadvertently, Emma’s gaze darted to the other side of the drawing room, where William Cox sat with Miss Nash in deep conversation.
The ladies had repaired to the drawing room after dinner to allow the gentlemen to remain and enjoy their brandy, but Mr. Cole was not one to linger at the table. The other guests had arrived as well, so the party had grown lively, especially among the young people. While not honored with an invitation to dinner, the young people never seemed to mind, since there was always a great deal of music and dancing. Emma certainly didn’t begrudge them a bit of fun, although it did mean having to mingle with the likes of the Cox sisters, who had arrived with their mother.
Before her marriage, Emma would have been horrified at the notion of socializing with the Coxes. In truth, she wasstillhorrified by it. She hoped, however, that she’d learned not to be quite as judgmental as she’d been in the days before her marriage.
Mrs. Weston leaned in close. “Why are you staring at William Cox?”
Emma affected surprise. “Was I? I didn’t even notice. Tell me, what do you think of Mrs. Cole’s new chimneypiece? I must confess I’m not a fan of Mona Marble. Quite hideous, if you ask me.”
Not surprisingly, her former governess was not fooled. “Emma, I hope you’ve given over the notion that William had anything to do with Prudence’s death.”
