Knightley wandered over to the window and looked out over the tidy garden that Mrs. Hughes tended so well. There were only grass and shrubs to be seen now; the bulbs of next year’s flowers were buried under the earth, waiting for March. ‘Daffodils,’ he quoted to himself, ‘that come before the swallow dares, and take the winds of March with beauty.’ They would all have to wait until spring to come out of their graves, like Lazarus.
He heard footsteps coming down the stairs and turned to meet Mrs. Hughes as she came in.
“Mr. Knightley! How very good of you to come.”
“And how is Dr. Hughes?”
“He is in a good deal of pain, I fear. But he is in bed, resting.”
“And how long did the surgeon say he would be housebound?”
“Months, I’m afraid.”
Knightley sighed, although this was exactly what he had expected.
“Is there anything I can do for him?”
“Yes, you can go and talk to him.”
“I would not wish to disturb him if he is in pain.”
“It would be an act of charity on your part to give him some amusement for this last half-hour before I can give him the draught that Mr. Perry left for him to take three times a day. Believe me when I say that he will be most disappointed if you go away without speaking to him. Come with me now.”
Knightley could not do otherwise but follow Mrs. Hughes up the stairs and into the bedroom. Dr. Hughes was sitting in bed, his face rather ashen, but the serenity that usually marked his countenance was still there, and the shadows lifted from his eyes for a moment when he saw the younger man.
“My dear sir,” said Knightley. “I am extremely sorry to see you in this condition.”
“For my part I am thankful that I am still here for you to see, Mr. Knightley. The fall was not so sinister as it might have been.”
“You fell, then?”
“Yes. It was all rather foolish, really. I was coming down the stairs, reading a book, I confess, instead of looking at my feet. I missed a step and tumbled the rest of the way down. I might have been much more grievously injured, but Heaven was merciful and I suffered only a broken leg.”
“It is serious enough, I think. How will you manage?”
“I will have to lay aside my duties for a time. My dear wife has written to the bishop for me already to see about getting a curate for several months to carry on the work of the parish. I expect that in a week or two you will have a youthful and energetic man filling my place.”
“No one could fill your place, sir.”
Dr. Hughes smiled — a thin, slight smile, but a smile. “You over-estimate me, Mr. Knightley, but I thank you for your kind words. I return the compliment by telling you that your old valet, Richards, was singing your praises to me only last week. According to him, he is supported by you in a style which no other retired valet in the history of England has laid claim to.”
Knightley chuckled. “He was a loyal, faithful, and devoted servant to my father and to me, and he thoroughly deserves what little pension he gets.”
“He worries about you, Mr. Knightley. He thinks that since you no longer keep a valet you must be entirely neglected. I wanted to tell him that your appearance is as well as ever, but of course that would have hurt his pride terribly to think that a mere butler could do as well as he. I could only murmur that I believed Baxter was as anxious to serve you in your dress and toilet as anyone could be.”
“He is that.”
A spasm of pain crossed the rector’s face.
“Are you all right, sir? May I get you anything?”
“No, nothing, thank you, Mr. Knightley. I will not deny that I am in some pain, but your conversation is directing my thoughts to other things. Pray, continue.”
“Very well, then. I will enquire of you how young Richard getting on.”
“Quite well, thank you. He is extremely grateful for Mr. John Knightley’s patronage and help. He hopes to be called to the bar next term.”
“I’m certain he will be. John says he will be an excellent barrister, and he is quite taken with him personally as well.”
“It is such a comfort to me to have Mr. John Knightley watching over him, as it were. London is full of temptations, as you know, and Richard is a charming young man. I had some fears that he might be led astray, but your brother has him well in hand.”
Mrs. Hughes entered the room with a glass of water, a spoon, and a paper packet full of powdered medicine. Knightley rose.
“I must be going away now, I’m afraid. There is a dinner tonight at Hartfield for Mr. and Mrs. Weston which I cannot miss.”
“To be sure. Give them my greetings, if you will, Mr. Knightley. I am thoroughly happy for every man who finds a good wife, and Mr. Weston has found an excellent one. Please do take care down the steps, Mr. Knightley—if you break your leg I will be deprived of your company all winter, and my poor wife will be forced to endure all my conversation by herself!”
Knightley arrived at Hartfield at the same time as the Westons, and they were shown in together. To Knightley’s surprise, Miss Smith was also included in the party. Elton was already there, of course—he always arrived at the earliest possible moment in order (as Knightley assumed) to gaze upon Miss Woodhouse’s beauty for as long as he could. Emma had never seemed to notice this; there was so little worldliness in her and so little vanity about her appearance that she never guessed that she had made a conquest. She took it for granted that his excessive deference was only his way of showing due respect. It was just as well, of course. Elton would never presume to make her an offer — his position being so very inferior to hers — and it was best for her to continue to think of Elton as merely the vicar of Highbury who had access to Hartfield simply because of his office. Knightley supposed he could hardly blame the man for admiring Emma; even beside Miss Smith, whom everyone must call pretty, Emma’s beauty shone out. And her thirty thousand pounds surely did not make her less attractive to a man like Elton.
Elton’s attention was certainly fixed on the young ladies this evening. He made the slightest possible greetings to the Westons and to Knightley, and then resumed his conversation with Emma and Miss Smith. Emma said something, apparently of a humorous nature, at which Elton laughed heartily and Miss Smith giggled like the young girl she was.
Why was she included in this party? Emma would not even condescend to invite the Coles, good people that they were, and yet here was this girl of no birth or class at all evidently become Emma’s favourite companion!
“Well, Knightley!” Weston’s voice boomed in his ear. “I hear that Dr. Hughes is ailing. Cracked his skull, did he?”
Knightley could not stifle a smile. Gossip was, as usual, swift and inaccurate. “No, there’s nothing whatever the matter with his head; it’s his leg that’s broken.”
“Poor fellow! I suppose he’ll be laid up for some time?”
“Yes, I expect it will be a few months at least.”
“What a pity! That will be difficult for so active a man. I do hope he’ll have a curate to preach and so on?”
“Oh, yes. I know he has written to the bishop about it.”
“Good, good. I suppose if one cannot be got very soon, Elton could preach at both churches. You could change the time of the service at Donwell, you know, and then he could preach in both places.”
Knightley tried very hard not to shudder. Elton made a passable sort of vicar for Highbury, he supposed, but that was as much as he could say for him.
“Well,” Weston went on, “I must go and visit him one of these days. Cheer his weary hours of recovery and that sort of thing. At least he’s a bookish man. It must be a comfort to him that he’s got a library to keep him occupied while he heals.”
“I daresay it will be some consolation. Descartes says that the reading of all good books is like a conversation with the finest men of past centuries—and Dr. Hughes is the sort of man who enjoys that. Speaking of books, Weston, I was wondering if yo
u had any pattern books for cottages that I might borrow. I recall you building one on your estate last year some time.”
“Why, yes, I believe I do have one. It wasn’t much use to me—I didn’t like any of the plans — but it may be to you. Come to Randalls tomorrow and get it, if you like.”
At this moment the bell rang to signal that dinner was ready. Mr. Woodhouse, with delighted alacrity, asked Mrs. Weston if he would be allowed to take her in to the dining room.
Behind him, Knightley heard Elton say, “Miss Woodhouse, may—”
“Oh!” exclaimed Emma, “I must get a cushion for my father. He is so much easier at table with a cushion at his back. Mr. Elton, would you have the goodness to take Miss Smith in while I see what has become of the blue cushion?”
Knightley’s eyebrows lifted. He had never seen Mr. Woodhouse with a cushion in his dining-room chair. And yet Emma had said it so naturally that it was just possible…
“By all means,” said Elton with an ingratiating smile. “Anything to be of service!” And he offered his arm ceremoniously to Miss Smith.
Knightley watched Emma as she bustled around, looking for a blue cushion in very unlikely places. On her face was a self-satisfied little smile—the one she always wore when she was successful at something. But what had she accomplished now? Emma paused in her search behind a curtain to glance at the figures passing out of the room.
Aha! Knightley nearly laughed aloud. So that was it! Emma was following through on her resolution to find a wife for Elton. Miss Smith was evidently the bride-elect.
“Come, Emma, come, Knightley,” said Weston. “We mustn’t keep Mr. Woodhouse waiting.”
“Ah, there it is,” said Emma, retrieving a blue cushion from a window seat. She smiled up at Weston as she took his arm. Knightley followed the two of them into the dining room, trying to feel the impatience with her that he ought to feel and succeeding only in suppressing a chuckle
The dinner was over and the ladies were gone back to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port and whatever masculine topics of conversation they chose.
“So, the workmen are to begin on that bridge on Monday next, I understand,” said Elton. “How long do you think it will take them to replace it?”
“Not long, I hope,” said Weston. “Everyone will be forced to go around by Aston until it is completed.”
“I was assured that it would not be above three weeks,” said Knightley, “but I expect it will be longer if we have bad weather.”
“I sincerely hope we will have fine weather, then,” said Elton. “I will get a steady stream of complaints from parishioners about it until it is completed, just as if the whole thing was my responsibility.”
“Bear up, Elton,” said Weston. “It’s only natural for people to think that if they complain to you, you might put a word in with the Almighty and get some change in their circumstances, isn’t it?
Elton rolled his eyes. “I’m sure they think so. I have a cousin who perpetually writes to me of all his difficulties ‘so that I may mention them in prayer’, he says. I’m sure he blames me if none of his burdens are lifted.”
The mention of a cousin evidently suggested a new topic of conversation to Mr. Woodhouse.
“Mr. Weston, are all of your cousins quite well? Miss Bates said something a week or two ago about some illness in that house. And knowing how you visit them, and Mrs. Weston, too, I was quite anxious about you.”
“All very well again, now, thank you, sir,” said Weston. “I think it was nothing but a cold that was passed from one to the other.”
“Ah, but a cold, Mr. Weston, may be very serious indeed if it is not properly attended to. Perry has often told me of very serious complaints resulting from a lack of care taken with a cold. However, I am relieved to hear they are well now. And your son — is he in health?”
“Never better, sir, never better. He is at Weymouth just now, but I expect we will see him here in Highbury very soon. That will be something for the young people here, eh?” Weston smiled at the other men at the table, sure of their concurrence. “Emma, I am sure, would welcome a new face here among us all. We will be a much livelier set when Frank comes.”
Knightley was amused to see consternation instead of assent on the faces of the other men. To Mr. Woodhouse, of course, the idea of a new person could do nothing but disturb his peace, and Mr. Elton did not look as if he wanted anyone else’s help in entertaining Emma. Knightley managed a polite smile, but did not think that Mr. Weston’s son would be any great addition to their company. Frank had the reputation of being very good-looking and a great favourite wherever he went, but then that was the reputation of half the idle, rich, and foolish young men in the kingdom. If he were a truly commendable young man, he would have visited his father and his father’s new wife by now.
When the men had finished their wine, they joined the ladies in the drawing room. The three ladies were seated together, and Elton moved a chair close to them and attached himself to their group. Mr. Woodhouse took his seat by the fire, and Weston and Knightley sat down near him. Mr. Woodhouse enquired after Hannah, the daughter of his coachman, now a servant at Randalls, and while Weston answered his minute enquiries, Knightley found his gaze wandering over to the cluster around Emma. Elton was relating a story about a friend of his who had either bought or sold a horse not worth his price, and Knightley watched the faces of all three listeners. Mrs. Weston listened with good-hearted politeness, Miss Smith listened with wide-eyed interest, and Emma listened with one eye on Miss Smith to see her reaction to Elton. That was a mistake, thought Knightley. She ought to be keeping her eye on Elton, to see his reaction to Miss Smith. Knightley could easily see that Emma’s matchmaking efforts were in vain; a man like Elton would never be drawn to a girl like Miss Smith. Emma would soon find that out.
“I must be in London in a fortnight,” Weston was saying. “Business. I shall probably have to stay a week. I used to find Town very exciting, but I suspect it will seem dull now. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of you visiting your brother, Knightley, in the next three weeks or so?”
“None whatever, I’m sorry to say. The Kingston fair is on the thirteenth and I must be there.”
“I dare say you will get better prices for your cattle than anyone. William Larkins says you have a bull nearly the size of the Durham Ox.”
“I think that was Larkins’ idea of a joke. The home farm does have a large bull, but nothing like so large as the Durham Ox.”
“I saw it once — in ’03, it was, at the agricultural fair. I paid a shilling for the privilege, too. Extremely impressive! How large do you reckon it was?”
“Two hundred and seventy stone, I believe, and it stood five feet, five inches at the shoulder. Magnificent creature.”
“Yes, I remember the man standing near it was at a level with its head. And it was all done by feeding the beast turnips, I hear.”
“And a few other things besides, I fancy.”
His eye caught Emma’s; she had a curious expression on her face and he wondered what it was about. Next moment she had turned to say something to Mrs. Weston, and Knightley gave his attention back to Mr. Woodhouse, who was extolling the merits of mashed turnips.
The hour was still somewhat early when the guests departed, Mr. Woodhouse being unable to tolerate late evening parties. Knightley lingered when the others had gone; he was not quite ready yet to go back to Donwell and give up the family atmosphere of Hartfield. He sat by the fire with Mr. Woodhouse and Emma and gave himself another fifteen minutes to enjoy their company before he would leave.
“I hope Miss Smith enjoyed herself tonight, Emma,” he said.
“Yes, she did, Mr. Knightley, thank you. She is full of sweetness and gratitude, and I do not feel that I could ever do enough for her.”
“A fine sentiment, Emma. I believe you do mean to do her good.”
She looked surprised. “Do you doubt it, Mr. Knightley? I certainly did not befriend her to do her
harm!”
“No, I am sure you did not. I do not recall you ever purposing to do another person harm. Intention, however, is not everything.”
Emma’s left eyebrow lifted. “Take care, Mr. Knightley. If you begin to lecture me I shall begin to tease you about the beautiful Unknown Lady you were praising this evening.”
“Unknown Lady! I was not aware that I had praised any lady, known or unknown.”
“You were telling Mr. Weston about her. Five feet, five inches tall, I believe you said, and also that she was magnificent. Who is she, pray?”
Knightley laughed. “My dear Emma, that was no lady I was speaking of! Mr. Weston and I were discussion the dimensions of the Durham bull, a famous ox that is known all over England!”
Emma joined in his laughter. “I did think it odd that Mr. Weston should mention her love of turnips!”
He laughed even harder at that, and it was some moments before they could compose themselves again.
“Well, Emma,” he said when he had breath again for speaking, “I must say you have a very suspicious mind. And, I may say, a decided taste for matchmaking. I do not think you have any great skill at it, however.”
Emma’s chin lifted. “We shall see, Mr. Knightley. My hearing might be a little faulty, but my judgement, I think, may be safely trusted.”
Knightley sighed. He wondered what it would take to dislodge these inflated ideas she had about her own powers. It was certainly beyond his abilities to do anything. Rather frustrated with himself and with her, he took his leave and went back to Donwell Abbey; if it was lacking in family atmosphere, at least there were no headstrong young ladies.
4
“And isn’t it shocking, Mr. Knightley, about poor Dr. Hughes?” said Miss Bates. “He was a friend of my father’s, you know, quite a friend, although my father must have been twenty years his senior, at least. Dr. Hughes is such a good man, such a very good man that it is doubly sad that he should have this miserable accident. But we may safely say, mayn’t we, that no one could meet suffering with a greater fortitude than he? And dear Mrs. Hughes as well, of course. Indeed, I think she may have the heavier burden of the two—it is very taxing to see a loved one in pain, is it not?”
Charity Envieth Not Page 3
