“I see,” said Emma, for Mrs. Elton seemed to be addressing her especially with this information. “It is very good of Mr. Elton’s sister to offer a home to her mother.”
“I suppose,” said Mrs. Elton. Then, as if she had lost interest in the topic that she herself had introduced, she changed the subject. “Jane, as long as you are in Highbury, I thought we might organize some musical afternoons. I have a special little project I wish to discuss with you.” And adroitly Mrs. Elton pulled Jane away, in another direction, leaving Emma alone before the curtained window.
Emma was annoyed, but did what she could to repress her irritation with Mrs. Elton. The vicar’s wife had the right to claim greater intimacy with Jane Churchill than Emma could, as during Jane’s last stay in Highbury she had shown the then-Miss-Fairfax far more attention. True, Mrs. Elton had caused some significant distress to Jane by trying to hurry her into a situation as a governess when Jane had implored her not to do so, but as Jane had let everyone know for years that she planned to be a governess and had never denied her intention to Mrs. Elton, Mrs. Elton’s officiousness could be viewed as well-meaning if misdirected.
Emma glanced through the window again and this time she did see James and the carriage on its way. She relieved Mrs. Weston and collected her father. They made their slow way to the carriage – stopping to speak to Miss Bates, who, as she was surrounded by other friends, delayed them less than her volubility would usually allow – and then went home to Hartfield.
8 musings after the funeral
Mr. Woodhouse, fatigued from the exertion of the funeral and his rare visit to the Crown, immediately sat in his chair before the fire and promptly took a nap. When he woke he was still tired and a little melancholy, so Emma resorted to playing backgammon with him to raise his spirits. By the time tea was ready – Mr. Knightley had returned and the baby, who was getting better at holding his rattle, was being passed around – Mr. Woodhouse’s mood had improved and he was prepared to tell his son-in-law about his time at the Crown Inn.
“What will they do with Miss Bates, do you suppose?” Emma asked Mr. Knightley, as she poured them cups of tea.
“That is a good question,” remarked her husband, picking up the rattle and grinning as he handed it to his son.
“What do you mean, what will they do?” Mr. Woodhouse asked.
“She took care of her mother for so long – she will miss her, sir, “ Mr. Knightley explained. “Mrs. Bates has been the center of Miss Bates’s life.”
“Perhaps she will join the Churchills in London,” Emma mused.
“You mean, Miss Bates will leave Highbury?” asked Mr. Woodhouse. “Why would she want to do that, and go to live in London, of all places?”
“Well, sir, to be with her niece.”
“She had much better stay in Highbury,” Mr. Woodhouse opined, who abhorred every sort of change. He had still not recovered from the marriage of his eldest daughter, Isabella so many years ago, and her removal to London.
“The Churchills are very well off,” Emma reminded him. “Miss Bates might be more comfortable with them than in her current situation. It is not as if she would be leaving Hartfield, Papa, but a small apartment at the top of a long and narrow staircase.”
“But – to leave Highbury! At her age! When she has spent her whole life here, and where all her friends live!” exclaimed Mr. Woodhouse.
“Perhaps you are right, sir, said Mr. Knightley. “It might be too great a change.”
Mr. Woodhouse was so distressed by the possibility of Miss Bates leaving Highbury – at least Mrs. Bates, now that she was dead, would remain there permanently – that Emma was forced to find another subject. Again it involved travel to London, but this time she only mentioned that Mr. Elton was going there on the morrow to see his mother and his sisters.
This subject was much safer. Mr. Elton had not been in Highbury for decades; he was a relatively young man, and he traveled to London frequently enough for it not to be a shock to Mr. Woodhouse’s delicate nerves. Besides, although Mr. Elton occasionally left, he always returned.
Will Mr. Elton go on horseback or take his carriage was a topic much more happily discussed than the possibility of Miss Bates permanently leaving her cramped, crowded apartment to go live in a spacious large house. Mr. Woodhouse was of the opinion that Mr. Elton should travel in his carriage, whereas Mr. Knightley believed that with such fine weather, riding would be far more efficient. Emma let the men discuss it at length and then mentioned that she understood that Mr. Elton was planning, in fact, to take his carriage.
Mr. Woodhouse sighed with relief, happy that Mr. Elton would be as comfortable as possible during the hours spent going to and from London, while Mr. Knightley frowned a little, as he, more aware of others than Mr. Woodhouse, thought also of the coachman, the extra horse needed to make the trip – one of Mr. Elton’s horses tended to go lame – as well as the inconvenience it might prove to Mrs. Elton and her child while Mr. Elton was gone.
Mr. Woodhouse, however, did not see that Mrs. Elton’s being without a carriage for a few days was such a great inconvenience. Where did she need to go? Everyone was safer at home.
Emma could have easily predicted both reactions, and was grateful that she was married to a man so considerate of his wife’s mobility. She was, however, able to clear Mr. Elton of guilt in Mr. Knightley’s eyes, by explaining to her husband that Mr. Elton was bringing back a piece of furniture that had belonged to his father. “I understand it will not fit on the back of a horse.”
This excused Mr. Elton’s behavior with Mr. Knightley, and increased the vicar’s standing with Mr. Woodhouse, once he understood it. Although Mr. Woodhouse disliked the idea of people changing their homes, he minded it far less when furniture moved. The fact that the piece of furniture had belonged to Mr. Elton’s father – and that Mr. Elton valued it because of it – was appreciated by Mr. Woodhouse.
“Very proper of him,” sighed Mr. Woodhouse with approval. As he had never made the acquaintance of Mr. Elton’s mother, and had barely even heard of her, the prospect of her moving from one house to another caused no consternation to him. They all discussed old furniture and possessions, and Mr. Woodhouse spoke at length about a chair of which he had been particularly fond, and a painted ball and cup that had been treasured by Emma. “Where do you think that ball and cup is now?”
“In Brunswick Square, Papa,” said Emma. “The ball and cup belonged to Isabella, not to me, and is now a favorite plaything of her children.”
“Ah, yes, of course,” said Mr. Woodhouse, and lamented his poor memory, and complimented Emma on hers, and then they discussed having a small basin of gruel, which Emma then ordered, and a servant brought immediately.
After eating his gruel Mr. Woodhouse needed to be helped to bed and the baby began to fuss. It was not until the Knightleys had settled their charges for the night that they could continue their conversation, which they did in their rooms upstairs.
“So, Mrs. Churchill will be staying a while in Highbury,” observed Mr. Knightley. “I am glad of it.”
“I am sure Miss Bates will be very grateful,” said Emma, pouring water from the ewer into the basin.
“There is no denying that Miss Bates will be grateful, and of course Jane is remaining here on account of her aunt, but that is not why I am glad.”
Emma began to scrub her face. “Mrs. Churchill has always been a favorite of yours. She is so very musical.”
“We all know that Mrs. Churchill is talented and I hope we will have the chance to listen to her play. But I was thinking more of her as a friend for you, Emma.”
Emma frowned. “You are always encouraging me to be intimate with Jane Churchill. But Mrs. Elton is Mrs. Churchill’s Highbury favorite – not me.”
“Mrs. Churchill accepted Mrs. Elton’s attentions in the past because no one else offered them to her. But the situation is different now and she might welcome a change.”
“Perhaps,” said Emma, rinsing
the cloth in the water, and scrubbing some more. “I always thought that Mrs. Elton took a great interest in Jane Fairfax because it allowed her to feel superior – assuming that relative income is the only reason for superiority.”
“It is true that men and women are usually esteemed for the size of their rents,” Mr. Knightley said, picking up a book, putting it on his lap, but not opening it, “and I agree with you that Mrs. Elton may have befriended
Miss Fairfax because it allowed her to feel superior. If that is so, then Mrs. Elton will not be as eager for intimacy with Mrs. Churchill now.”
“I think she will,” said Emma, rinsing the cloth again, wringing it out, and then hanging it over the handle of the ewer to dry. She sat down beside Mr. Knightley on their sofa and explained how, at the Crown Inn, Mrs. Elton had pulled Mrs. Churchill aside in order to talk to her about planning a musical afternoon, deliberately excluding Emma from the conversation.
“So perhaps Mrs. Elton does not need to be richer than Mrs. Churchill in order to want to associate with her,” Mr. Knightley concluded, “which contradicts your earlier supposition.”
“You are right,” Emma acknowledged, picking up a pillow case she was embroidering for the baby. “But I would never look to Mrs. Elton as an example of consistency. In the past I believe that Mrs. Elton befriended Miss Fairfax because she was poor – and now, absurd though it sounds, she wants to be friends with Mrs. Churchill because she is rich.”
Mr. Knightley laughed. “My brother John would not want you in his law office!”
“I thought an advocate needed to be able to argue both sides.”
“Very true, although I don’t think John would recommend arguing both sides simultaneously. Well then, as I don’t believe that you will advocate for Mrs. Elton” – and here Emma shook her head, so Mr. Knightley continued – “so in her absence, I will defend the vicar’s wife. After all, even the worst offenders are entitled to counsel!”
“Pray continue,” said Emma, as she threaded her needle.
“You say she took Mrs. Churchill aside to talk to her about organizing a musical afternoon, excluding you from the conversation?”
Emma pushed the needle carefully through the cloth. “Yes.”
“We both acknowledge that Mrs. Churchill is musical, and so it stands to reason that Mrs. Elton would think that such an event would appeal to her.”
Emma could not deny it.
“And did not Mrs. Elton, when she first arrived in Highbury, ask you to assist her in organizing these events?”
Emma pursed her lips but nodded. Mrs. Elton had made that very suggestion to her nearly two years ago. “My father could not bear so much activity,” she said, carefully making a cross-stitch.
“Probably not,” Mr. Knightley agreed, glancing down at his book. “But I think we can clear Mrs. Elton from the degree of rudeness you want to assign her. Perhaps instead of capital rudeness, she should only be charged with a misdemeanor.”
“She insulted our son,” Emma said.
Mr. Knightley’s eyes opened wide. “No!”
“She did. She said Baby George is boring because he’s still so little. She said her child is much more interesting.”
“Then we’ll hang her at dawn,” joked Mr. Knightley. “Come, Emma, you can’t fault a mother for preferring her child to ours. And, although I tease you for it, I will give you a compliment. I think your analysis of Mrs. Elton’s relationship to Mrs. Churchill is accurate. I believe that Mrs. Elton enjoyed feeling superior to Miss Fairfax because it made her feel rich – just as she may want to continue the acquaintance now because Mrs. Churchill is rich.”
Emma smiled and pushed the needle through the cloth.
“But before we condemn Mrs. Elton for choosing a companion because the friend made her feel superior, what about your friendship with Harriet Martin? Did you not spend time with Harriet Smith because the girl made you feel superior?”
This comparison was too apt to please Emma. She was assailed by especially unpleasant sensations, for in addition to feeling inferior to Jane Churchill – a burden she acknowledged – she was now suffering in comparison to the vain and pretentious Mrs. Elton! “There is some truth in what you say,” she acknowledged. “But in my defense I must point out that when I first befriended Harriet, neither Mrs. Elton nor Mrs. Churchill were living in Highbury, and Mrs. Weston had just married Mr. Weston and had moved from Hartfield to Randalls.”
“I agree, that at that time none of the young women in Highbury were your peers,” Mr. Knightley acknowledged. “But this is your chance, Emma. Mrs. Churchill is the closest to an equal that you may ever see in Highbury – except for Mrs. Weston, who is nearly your mother.”
Emma, making another cross-stitch, was touched by his concern. “At some point Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley will return to Hartfield,” she said. As Isabella was the older daughter, when Mr. Woodhouse passed, the property would belong to her. “And then I will have my sister Isabella.”
“Yes, but—“ and then Mr. Knightley stopped, but Emma knew that although her husband loved her sister like a sister, and thought she made his brother an excellent wife, he did not consider Isabella Emma’s intellectual equal.
“Very well,” said Emma, preventing him from saying what neither of them wanted him to say. “As long as Mrs. Churchill is here, I promise to show her every attention. I will call on her and Miss Bates, and I will invite them both – and especially Mrs. Churchill – to Hartfield. But I cannot promise that my efforts will lead to a great friendship. We have had opportunities in the past, and it has never happened.”
“An effort is all I ask, dear Emma.”
“Was all well today at Donwell?” Emma asked, in an effort to change the subject to one that was less uncomfortable for her. “Were there other escaped bulls trampling your turnips? How many bushels of apples did you pick today? How many quarts of milk did your cows produce?”
“All is well at Donwell,” said Mr. Knightley, opening his book. “How about if I read to you?”
He began to read to her, out of a book chosen from a list that Emma herself had made many years ago. She had never gotten beyond the novel’s first chapter, but now it seemed, with Mr. Knightley for a husband, that she would no longer be able to put off improving her mind. Emma listened with one ear, but also had her own thoughts. She realized, as she sewed, that they had buried Mrs. Bates only that morning. How quickly some were forgotten, she thought, and then attended to the story Mr. Knightley was reading, which was more amusing than she had expected.
9 losing silver
The next morning the Knightleys and Mr. Woodhouse had barely begun their breakfast, when they learned that William Larkins was at the door. He occasionally walked to Hartfield to deliver a message to Mr. Knightley, but he had never appeared at such an early hour.
Emma stared at the fellow with alarm, for it seemed to her that only a catastrophe at the estate could explain Larkins’s appearance.
“Yes, Larkins?” asked Mr. Knightley, tossing aside his napkin.
“Mr. Knightley, I have some news.”
“Dear me,” said Mr. Woodhouse, looking terrified; Emma reached over and took his hand.
“Tell me what it is, Larkins.”
The young man spoke so slowly that Emma’s fancy had time to dart everywhere. An accident in Brunswick Square, where the John Knightleys lived – Donwell Abbey burned to the ground – the pigs had started line-dancing in their pen...
The facts proved less extreme than her imagination, but Larkins’s report was still serious. Thieves had broken into Donwell Abbey and had taken all the silver.
Mr. Woodhouse gasped, Emma felt her stomach sink, and Mr. Knightley’s expression was grim as he rose to his feet. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No.”
“How did they get in?”
“We’re not sure.”
Mr. Knightley shook his head. “Mr. Woodhouse, Emma, my love, I must go to Donwell directly.”
“Of course,�
�� said Emma, and they quickly settled the practical matters, sending for the carriage which Mr. Knightley accepted without demur, and a promise on his part that he would let her know as soon as possible what was happening.
“Perhaps your friend Harriet saw some malcontents after all,” said Mr. Knightley, too distracted to watch his words, and causing Mr. Woodhouse to fret. He saw what he had done, and apologized to Emma for his thoughtlessness.
“My love, I am sorry,” he said, as Mr. Woodhouse sent away his morning gruel, too upset to eat any more than a bite.
“He would probably find out about them anyway,” said Emma, glancing with concern over at her father – she was going to have a difficult morning and she gestured to the nursemaid that she should take the baby away. “You are worried about your house and your things,” Emma said. “Go and take care of them. I will manage. We will be fine.”
“But will you?”
“Yes, of course. There are plenty of servants and it is the middle of the day. Besides, Donwell Abbey would not have been broken into, I am sure, if you had been there.” Emma was afraid that, looking at the distress on her husband’s face, she had not sufficiently conveyed her appreciation of the sacrifice Mr. Knightley had made to live with them. She squeezed his hand. “I am grateful to you,” she said. “Do not worry about my father – I can manage him.”
Mr. Knightley glanced doubtfully over at the anxious Mr. Woodhouse, then stroked Emma’s cheek. “I am sure you can. Thank you for your understanding.”
Mr. Knightley departed with his man, William Larkins, and Emma turned to comforting her father.
“This is terrible. How can we go outside?”
“No need today, Papa. It looks like rain and would not be pleasant anyway.”
“But what if the thieves come here? We need Mr. Knightley. And James has gone with them – the only person here who might protect us – sending him off with the carriage was a mistake.”
The Highbury Murders Page 7
