“That is a possibility, and not totally unsuitable. But if the scheme pleases the Eltons and the Churchills do not mind, what business is it of ours?”
“None at all,” Emma was forced to admit.
“When is the funeral?” asked Mr. Knightley.
Emma informed him that it would take place the day after next, in the morning, which would give the Churchills enough time to come down from London if they were so inclined.
“I saw Weston on my way back from Donwell,” said Mr. Knightley. “He told me that Mr. and Mrs. Frank Churchill are expected to arrive in their carriage late tomorrow.”
“He is sure they will come?” Emma asked. “Or does he only hope it?”
They both knew Mr. Weston to be among the most optimistic of men, and although it made him a cheerful and pleasant acquaintance, it meant that sometimes his assumptions about the future were not the most reliable.
“He assures me that they have received a letter to that effect,” Mr. Knightley reported. “Depend on it if you will.”
“Although I should like to see the Churchills, their visit matters far less to me than it will to Miss Bates. And, of course, to the Eltons.” She wondered if there were any way to ascertain the condition of the finances at the Vicarage.
“Mrs. Bates’s funeral is two days from now,” Mr. Knightley said, tickling his baby’s chin. “If you are at liberty tomorrow, you could use the time to visit your friend Harriet Martin.”
“And why do you recommend that I do that?” Emma asked.
Harriet Smith Martin had been a serious point of contention between them before their own marriage. Harriet was the source of Emma’s deepest self-recriminations, for she had persuaded her young, pretty and gullible friend not to marry Robert Martin when he first proposed, but had convinced Harriet that Mr. Elton, who was then single, admired Harriet. When that scheme burst – and in the most embarrassing manner possible, as Mr. Elton had proved himself devoted to Emma instead, or at least to the thirty thousand pounds that came with her – Emma had discovered how little insight she had into the human heart and how inept she was at matchmaking.
At the time, Harriet’s refusal of Robert Martin had infuriated Mr. Knightley. Mr. Knightley was fond of young Robert Martin, his tenant at the Abbey-Mill Farm and had encouraged the yeoman farmer in his courtship of Harriet Smith. Mr. Knightley had rightly blamed Emma, and not Harriet for the refusal.
She was incorrigible, Emma thought, for even her failure to understand Mr. Elton’s intentions had not stopped her matchmaking. Without actively meddling, Emma had next hoped for a marriage between Mr. Frank Churchill and Harriet, while Harriet herself – proving that she had the best taste in gentlemen, even if she was not the wisest in the selection of her female companions – Harriet decided that Mr. Knightley himself was the man superior to everyone, and lost her heart to him. Emma could comfort herself with the thought that in the latter part of that year of blundering romances she had not truly behaved in such a way as to merit being described as interfering. She had never explicitly encouraged Harriet Martin to think of Mr. Knightley or even of Mr. Frank Churchill; in fact, she had counseled Harriet against aiming so high. Perhaps her warnings could have been stronger and more emphatically worded, but Emma had little to truly upbraid herself about – at least in that matter.
But, all’s well that ends well, and despite her scheming and plotting, her imagining and hoping, a good fairy had somehow managed to match all the right husbands with the right wives, in an arrangement so perfect that it was a wonder that no one had perceived the pairings beforehand. Mr. Elton, refused by Emma Woodhouse and disgusted at the notion of allying himself with Harriet Smith – who was young and pretty but silly and poor and moreover the natural daughter of an unknown tradesman – Mr. Elton had gone to Bath where he found the eminently suitable, ten-thousand-pound-dowered Augusta Hawkins. Mr. Knightley had proposed to Emma, while his yeoman farming tenant Robert Martin had renewed his suit to Harriet Smith.
The great surprise, however, was the secret engagement between Jane Fairfax and Mr. Frank Churchill. That matter still embarrassed Emma, on several accounts. She had been suspicious of Jane Fairfax’s visit of many months to Highbury, which Jane had arranged under pretexts that sounded weak to Emma. Jane’s real reason for staying in Highbury was to make it easier for her fiancé, Mr. Frank Churchill, to visit her whenever he went there to see his natural father. (Their Highbury relatives – especially Mr. and Mrs. Weston – were for those months honored with more attention from the secretly engaged pair than they had ever known before.) Emma, however, despite her pride in her ability to perceive budding romances, never suspected the alliance between Jane and Frank. Some credit must go to the pair, who were of course trying to keep their secret betrothal secret, but Emma’s complete and utter blindness in the matter wounded her vanity. Furthermore, Emma had voiced her suspicions about Jane in such a way that reached Jane and angered that young woman.
So Emma had mixed feelings about the prospect of seeing the Churchills again, for although they were significant additions to Highbury society, which generally had so little variation, unpleasant memories and self-recriminations would intrude. On the other hand, the funeral would be a sad, formal occasion, and if she behaved with discreet correctness she would not embarrass herself or anyone else.
Mr. Knightley’s thoughts had not strayed so far; he was still occupied by the condition of Harriet Smith Martin. Mr. Knightley jiggled his baby on his lap, and then addressed his wife. “She will be happy to tell you all the details, but her husband let me know she is expecting again.”
“So soon!” Emma exclaimed, her mind returning to the Martins and especially to Harriet. Harriet, who always had difficulty making any decision, from whether she wanted blue ribbon or yellow to which man she loved, had been that way as a mother. As if her body could not decide whether she should produce a boy or a girl, she had given birth to twins, one of each, only a few months before. “She must be exhausted.”
“Robert Martin says she is,” Mr. Knightley confirmed. “And with his mother and sister away, the household is more than she can manage.”
“That does not surprise me,” said Emma. “Very well, tomorrow I will visit Harriet Martin.” The baby slumbered at last, and so she took him from his father and carried him to his crib in the room down the hall.
When she returned, she confirmed to Mr. Knightley’s query that their son was still asleep, and then went back to speculating about the Eltons, their finances and their interest in the Churchills.
“Perhaps if I see them together, I will discern more,” she concluded, climbing into bed beside him.
Mr. Knightley, fatigued from his long day, yawned. “Observe all you like, my dear Emma. I only request that you do and say nothing indiscreet.”
Emma sighed. “Well, I will only watch. I won’t interfere. Besides, if you think we are making unpleasant conjectures about the Eltons, only consider what they are thinking and wondering about us! Why do we have neighbors, if we can’t think and wonder about them?”
He laughed, pulled her close, and went to sleep.
4 Mrs. weston’s morning call
The next morning they rose as usual. Mr. Woodhouse was less weighed upon by the death of Mrs. Bates and more concerned with a slight soreness in the back of the throat that troubled him when he woke; Emma immediately wrote a note to Mr. Perry, Highbury’s apothecary, asking if he could stop by later that day. Then they had a serious discussion with her father about whether he should take his usual walk in the Hartfield shrubbery.
“I don’t know if I should go out,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “I should protect my throat from chill air.”
“But sir, the sun is up and the air is warm,” replied Mr. Knightley. “There is no chill in the air. Besides, you said yourself that your throat was feeling better since you drank a cup of tea.”
“I want my throat to stay better,” said Mr. Woodhouse, staring dubiously out the window at the shrubbery
in the golden morning light.
“Papa, why not wear your hat and your scarf?” suggested Emma. “That will prevent any chill.”
Mr. Woodhouse considered his daughter’s suggestion. “I suppose I could wear my scarf. That is a good idea, Emma. You are always so clever!”
“Sir, you know you always feel better after you take your morning walk,” Mr. Knightley encouraged him. “It invigorates you, sir.”
Emboldened by the use of the word “invigorates” to describe him, Mr. Woodhouse accepted his scarf from his daughter and went out the door for his morning constitutional.
“You are always so patient with him,” Emma remarked to Mr. Knightley.
“And why should I not be?” said her husband.
“Not all husbands would be so understanding,” Emma said. “We have variations of the same conversation with him every morning.”
“And you deal with far more of it than I, with unfailing good-humor. I sometimes worry, Emma, that your life is too dull for a woman of your wit. But quick, while your father is taking his walk, let us discuss today.”
They hastily settled what they would do that day. Frequently they called on the Westons – Mr. Woodhouse included – or the Westons called on them. Shortly after the birth of little Anna Weston, Mr. Woodhouse had been persuaded to make morning visits to the Westons. The visits were not long, for Mr. Woodhouse tired easily, but they had been regular.
However, in the last few months, the routine had altered. Little Anna Weston was now more than a year old, while the Knightleys had their own infant, and so it was easier for the Westons to travel the half mile from Randalls to Hartfield, which at least Mrs. Weston usually did, bringing her daughter. Mr. Weston was a little less regular, as he frequently called away by business, but no one could fault his lack of attention.
“Do you think the Westons will come today, or will the arrival of the Churchills prevent it?” asked Emma, as the wet-nurse arrived with Baby George and handed him to Emma.
“They are not expected until late in the day, so I don’t see why Mrs. Weston would not come. She knows how much your father likes to see Anna.”
Just as they were having this discussion, a note arrived from Randalls, promising a visit from Mrs. Weston later that morning with her child; Mr. Weston would not be coming. Mrs. Weston, so long an inmate at Hartfield, knew how important the routine of her visit was to Mr. Woodhouse’s health and spirits, and she also knew how much Hartfield would appreciate the certainty supplied by her note.
“And you are going to Donwell?”
“The harvest needs me,” Mr. Knightley said. “I also want to check on the cider press.”
Donwell Abbey was Mr. Knightley’s estate, a few miles away from Hartfield, in the next parish. Despite having an estate of his own, Mr. Knightley, in order to be able to live with his wife, had moved in with Emma and her elderly father. But Mr. Knightley, having a good deal of energy and a desire to be in his own home – and although he was always very patient with Mr. Woodhouse, the lack of energy in his father-in-law had to be a trial – was constantly going back and forth. Emma, well aware that the sacrifice of independence was difficult for her husband, encouraged Mr. Knightley to visit his own estate as often as he could.
“Of course, Mr. Knightley,” Emma said. “If you like, I can pick you up later in the carriage.”
“You can?” he asked, frowning a little at this offer, for he was rather proud and did not like riding in his father-in-law’s carriage, even though he conceded that James the coachman was bored and that the Woodhouse horses needed exercise. He usually refused, explaining that he did not want to inconvenience Mrs. Knightley or Mr. Woodhouse, in case they needed the carriage while he was gone. “Where are you going?” he asked, and then answered his own question: “To see Harriet, of course.”
“Yes, after Mrs. Weston leaves, I will go and see how Harriet is faring. But first I will stop at Ford’s and buy her some baby things.”
“That is a generous and considerate idea, Emma.”
“Emma is always generous and considerate,” said Mr. Woodhouse, who had finished his walk and was back inside, pleased with himself for making the effort.
“Yes, sir, she is,” Mr. Knightley agreed, and he had his own reasons for agreement, for some of Emma’s fortune had been used to patch up the roof of a barn at Donwell Abbey and to install a few new windows. This was also difficult for Mr. Knightley, who preferred not to be indebted to his wife, but Emma had gently reasoned with him that the windows and the barn would later be part of their home and certainly belong to their children. Still, he refused to let her buy another pair of horses, and so she had to resort to stratagems to get him to agree to use the ones belonging to the Woodhouses.
“Make sure you take your coat, my dear,” said Emma, “it looks as if it may rain.”
“Rain?” asked Mr. Woodhouse, alarmed. “Mr. Knightley, you should not go out if it looks as if it will rain.”
Mr. Knightley frowned at Emma for having used this particular trick, because now Mr. Woodhouse now worried about his son-in-law possibly getting wet. “Emma knows very well that it does not look like rain. Did you see any clouds in the sky, sir?”
“Don’t worry, Papa, it is only a joke. Mr. Knightley will not get rained on. I am only trying to persuade him to let me fetch him in the carriage later. It was only a ruse, and I am sorry for it.”
“You should let Emma fetch you in the carriage, Mr. Knightley,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “Why should you walk such a great distance when you don’t need to?”
Emma had won the point – she would be able to continue to Donwell Abbey to pick up her husband, but Mr. Knightley’s expression showed that he was displeased by the manipulation.
“That was not fair,” he said.
“What was not fair?” she asked.
“You know what I mean,” he said, his voice low.
“Of course, I am a terrible wife because I want to keep you from overtiring yourself,” said Emma. “Some men would not be ashamed to be fetched in their wives’ carriages.”
“I am not some men,” he retorted.
“No, certainly not! You prefer to walk in the rough and to ruin your shoes instead of to ride in comfort. Let me remind you that you told me yesterday that I should visit Harriet today, so my taking out the carriage today is simply evidence of my good-natured obedience. And since I will be out in the carriage, at the Martins, not far from Donwell, it would be foolish of me not to have James take the horses just a little further. They will be glad for the exercise and you should be glad for the rest, after working hard all day on your cider press or your ricks of hay or whatever project you and William Larkins are addressing today.”
Her gentle tirade drew out a smile, as she had intended. “Nonsensical girl!” he exclaimed, and bent down to kiss her cheek. “You are welcome to take a look at my current projects, as you call them.”
“And if you think I am concerned that you married me for my money, you can rest assured that you have long since convinced me that that was not the case.”
This elicited another smile, followed by a thoughtful look, and Emma was certain that she had somehow gotten near the truth.
They agreed that she would leave after Mrs. Weston’s visit, spend some time at Harriet’s and then continue on to Donwell in mid-afternoon, so that they could be home before dark. Mr. Woodhouse approved of this plan as well, then Mr. Knightley kissed his baby and his wife, shook hands with his father-in-law, then set off at a brisk pace for his estate.
Emma spent the next hour playing with her baby and encouraging her father to consume some gruel. Then Mrs. Weston arrived with her little daughter for their morning visit.
The first quarter hour was spent as it was always spent: Mrs. Weston asking Mr. Woodhouse about his health, hearing about the sore throat that he had had upon waking – but how much better he felt after his little walk. “Invigorated,” said the gentle old man, repeating the word given him by his son-in-law. Mr. Wo
odhouse then inquired, with particular minuteness, about the health of all the Westons, complimenting Mrs. Weston and the little girl on their rosy cheeks.
“The air of Randalls certainly agrees with you,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “I think you would still do better at Hartfield, but if you cannot live here, then Randalls seems to suit.”
“I assure you, Mr. Woodhouse, we are all very well.”
Emma in the meantime had taken out a few toys for little Anna. They had a nursery full of toys, saved for the visits of her sister Isabella and her children from London, and Emma always had one or two at hand for Anna’s visits. Baby George, still too small to do more than wave his tiny fists, stared enviously at little Anna Weston – to him she was certainly big Anna Weston – as she made her unsteady way to a wax doll which had its own little chair, at a safe distance from both the fireplace and sunbeams.
After Mr. Woodhouse and Mrs. Weston had made their usual exchanges – and Mrs. Weston had more patience in this matter than many others – and the children were amusing one another – Mrs. Weston and Mrs. Emma Knightley could exchange some words about the little items that mattered most to them.
Of chief interest was the new pregnancy of Harriet Martin; Mrs. Weston, who had started motherhood rather late in life, could only shake her head and say, “Oh, dear!” and hope that the much younger Harriet was not too fatigued. Emma then asked if it was true that the Churchills were coming to attend the funeral of Mrs. Bates?
The Highbury Murders Page 3
