Charity Envieth Not

by Barbara Cornthwaite

  “The children’s supper has already been sent to the nursery,” said John after greeting his brother. “It took all the force of my authority to make them stay there and eat instead of rushing down to the drawing room to see you. But they will be down the moment we finish our dinner and send for them, you can be sure. And here is the nurse come for baby Emma.”

  Knightley reluctantly gave the baby to her nurse, and, dinner being announced, took Emma in to the dining room.

  “And how is the new vicar, Mr. Elton, getting on?” asked Isabella over the dessert.

  “He is not so new, Isabella,” said Emma, with a smile. “He has been here well over a year.”

  “Yes, I suppose that must be so,” said Isabella. “I have only seen him once, last Christmas. He seemed a very good sort of man.”

  Knightley kept his face perfectly serious.

  “He is attentive,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “Most attentive. He calls nearly every day, whatever the weather. He is always welcome, of course, and he greatly enjoys the society at Hartfield.”

  John’s eyebrows rose in surprise at this statement, and he looked at Knightley. Knightley shook his head slightly at his brother. Explanations would have to wait.

  “He met with a sad accident today,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “He cut himself—actually cut himself—with Emma’s new penknife. I advised him to go home and rest, but he would not do it.”

  “But Papa, he was able to use the court plaister to bind it up and it did not pain him at all, he said.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember now. You will see him Sunday, my dear Isabella.”

  The gentlemen lingered only a very little while behind the ladies, but the children were in the drawing room waiting for them when they entered.

  “Uncle Knightley!” said the three older children in unison, rushing upon him like so many bedlamites. Little George, who had just reached the age of two, followed his siblings at a slower pace. Knightley glanced at Emma; her face beamed as she watched the scene.

  “Mama,” said Henry, after the tumult of the initial greetings was over, “May we show Uncle Knightley how well we can drive our hoops?”

  “Of course, my dear.”

  “Now?”

  “No, not now. It is not a game you may play indoors and it is dark outside.”

  “Yes, Mama,” said the boy sadly.

  “You will come and visit the Abbey tomorrow,” said Knightley to Henry. “You may show me then how well you can roll your hoop down the length of the lime walk.”

  The little boy’s face brightened and he nodded vigorously.

  Young Bella now claimed his attention. “Uncle Knightley, I have brought you a gift for Christmas.”

  “Have you? I can hardly wait to see what it is.”

  “It is Madam Duval.”

  “Madam Duval?” He could not immediately work out what she meant.

  “Yes, Madam Duval, my cat.”

  “Your cat!” He looked at her blankly for a moment. “But, Bella, that is your cat. I know you love her very much. Why do you want to give her to me?” The very last thing he wanted was a French cat!

  “She makes little George ill. If she comes near him he sneezes and becomes all over red with bumps and Nurse says there’s no keeping her away from him. And Papa said that Madam Duval had better come to you.”

  He shot a glare at John, who grinned and walked to the other side of the room.

  “But should you not like to give her to Aunt Emma instead? I am sure Aunt Emma would like another lady about the house.”

  “But you have no lady at all in your house.” Bella’s eyes were very serious, and she spoke softly. “Papa says every house should have a lady in it.”

  “Does he, indeed?” said Knightley. He looked over at his brother, whose back was turned to him but whose shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter.

  “Madam Duval wishes to come to you, too,” said Bella solemnly. “I asked her if she would rather go to Aunt Emma or to Uncle Knightley, and she said she wanted to go to the Abbey.” Her trusting little face looked up at Knightley; she was perfectly confident that he saw the necessity as well as she did.

  Knightley hesitated, but he knew very well that there was nothing to do but acknowledge defeat. He summoned a smile.

  “Thank you, Bella. I am honoured that your cat has chosen to live with me.”

  “You will be kind to her, Uncle? And write in every letter to Papa how she is doing?”

  “Yes, I will. I promise.”

  Satisfied, Bella wrapped her arms around him and then ran off to play with her brothers, who were busy about the box of letters that Aunt Emma had purchased for them.

  Little George remained, having stared at his uncle through the greater part of the conversation, and he now raised his arms and said, “Up, peese.”

  Knightley lifted up the little boy and went to talk to John.

  “Shall I call you Captain Mirvan?” said John with a smirk.

  “You cannot. You heard me promise to be kind to the creature. Though I may occasionally call her ‘Madam Frog’ as the worthy captain did when the lady annoyed him. I do wonder at you, John. Do you lie awake at night thinking of ways to provoke me?”

  “Yes,” said John. “It takes a great deal of contemplation.”

  Knightley chuckled. Little George squirmed and Knightley put him down and watched him run to his mother.

  “You know I am right.”

  “Right?”

  “Yes. Every house needs a lady in it.”

  “John—”

  “I know, I know. Never mind. Let us be seated. What is this about Mefford giving up his lease?”

  “Perfectly true.” He told John how William Larkins had effected this miracle.

  “So! Mefford will be gone this day week, and new tenants will come. Have you any ready to take over the place?”

  “Larkins has had an application from a man who he says seems to be a good prospect. He is making enquiries now.”

  “Larkins is a treasure. To have a bailiff whose judgement one can trust so completely in these matters is a blessing. Graham hopes his new bailiff will be as reliable as I tell him Larkins is. He is indebted to you, by the way, for mentioning Lord Carrick’s man. He has hired him—his name is MacIntyre, I think—sight unseen for that estate he inherited. He wanted to meet him before hiring him, but of course, Scotland is a bit far for such an errand and Graham is very busy.”

  In the slight pause that followed this statement, both brothers heard Mr. Woodhouse mention “Mr. John Knightley.”

  “What is the matter, sir? Did you speak to me?” said John, turning to Mr. Woodhouse.

  “I am sorry to find, my love, that my father does not think you looking well,” said Isabella. “But I hope it is only from being a little fatigued. I could have wished, however, as you know, that you had seen Mr. Wingfield before you left home.”

  “My dear Isabella,” said John quickly and with a shade of annoyance, “pray do not concern yourself about my looks. Be satisfied with doctoring and coddling yourself and the children, and let me look as I choose.”

  Knightley stifled a sigh. John would let little things perturb him, especially if he was already slightly irritated. John would never have owned it, but he was as fond of his own fireside as Mr. Woodhouse was of his, and travelling never improved his temper. Emma knew this as well as he, and she came to the rescue this time.

  “I do not thoroughly understand what you were telling your brother,” she interjected, “about your friend Mr. Graham's intending to have a bailiff from Scotland, to look after his new estate. But will it answer? Will not the old prejudice be too strong?”

  “No, I think he will be all right,” said John. “He is a lowland Scot, and has spent some time in England. Apart from his name, there is not much that is Scottish about him at all.”

  Knightley smiled at Emma to thank her, and her eyes sparkled back at him. It was very, very good to be at peace with her again.

  The rest
of the evening passed off well enough, save for the incident brought about by Mr. Woodhouse, who injudiciously represented Mr. Perry as being highly critical of the Knightleys’ sojourn in South End. Thus attacked (so it seemed) by Mr. Perry, John burst out in a spirited censure of the medical gentleman. The eruption did not last long, however. As soon as he had finished speaking, Knightley turned the conversation back to the Langham path which they had been discussing a moment before, and Emma was able to soothe her father back to equanimity.

  Knightley took his leave as the children were shepherded off to bed. There would have been tears from Bella as she said goodbye to her cat had not Knightley reminded her that she could come to the Abbey the next day and see her. The cat was put into a cunning little basket that had a lid that could be fastened, and Knightley held it as carefully as Bella desired him to as he said his farewells.

  Madam Duval meowed piteously throughout the walk to Donwell. After five minutes, Knightley was thoroughly exasperated with the animal and would have willingly opened the basket and let her run free if it had not been for his promise to Bella. What on earth was he to do with a cat? And such a cat. Long, pure white fur that needed to be combed daily, Bella said. One could hardly imagine she would be any good at catching mice—she would probably sit on a cushion all day, growing fat. And who would be given the task of combing her daily? Mrs. Hodges? The thought of what Mrs. Hodges’ expression would be if she were required to comb a cat made him laugh aloud. Well then, Baxter? Or the new footman, Harry? Perhaps one of the housemaids would like the chore.

  Baxter greeted his master as usual and helped him to remove his greatcoat. He nodded at the basket.

  “A gift, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  At that moment, Madam Duval meowed again. Baxter’s busy hands paused at the sound and he stared at the basket.

  Knightley cleared his throat. “My niece, Bella, has given me her cat.”

  Baxter recovered himself. “Very good, Mr. Knightley.”

  “It was an unexpected gift, and not entirely welcome, but it seems duty requires me to keep the cat. It has been a long walk home, Baxter, and I find that I require a glass of your excellent punch. I will be in the library—with the cat.”

  “Pardon me, Mr. Knightley, but have you made any arrangements for the cat’s…er…calls of nature?”

  “Ah, yes. My brother tells me that a shallow box filled with fresh earth will be satisfactory.”

  “In the library, sir?”

  “Well, no. In the scullery, perhaps.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Knightley carried the basket into the library and set it on the floor in front of his favourite chair. He sat down and then reached down and unfastened the lid of the basket, opened it, and picked up the cat.

  “Meeeow,” said Madam Duval.

  “Hmph,” said Knightley, resting the creature on his lap. “I daresay you would rather be with Bella, and I wish with all my heart that you were. However, here we are together and we must make the best of it, I suppose.”

  To his great surprise, the cat curled up on his lap and began to purr. Absently, Knightley began to stroke the soft fur as he mused on the evening. He had gone to Hartfield with only one goal, that of remaining aloof from Emma. In that he had been completely unsuccessful. And yet it was one of the best evenings he’d had all winter. It was always good to see John—and Isabella and the children, of course, too. He was glad to have John in Surrey to talk to about plans for the home farm, and about moving that path…and about Emma and Elton. John might know what to do. And though he hadn’t been able to talk much to Emma after amity had been restored, it had been almost enough to be able to smile at her again and know that there would be plenty of time for talking later.

  The library door opened and Baxter entered with the punch. Madam Duval jumped off Knightley’s lap and disappeared under his chair. Knightley took the drink and sipped it, rather wishing that the cat had stayed on his lap—it had kept his legs warm. He looked down at his breeches and then sighed; they were covered with long, white cat hairs.

  13

  “Watch me, Uncle Knightley! Watch me!”

  It was the third day of John and Isabella’s stay in Surrey, and therefore the third time that Henry and John had rolled their hoops down the lime walk at Donwell Abbey. Uncle Knightley had been present each time, but the thrill of having him as an audience had not yet faded.

  “Yes, I see you, Henry. Well done!” said Knightley. He and John were pacing sedately down the walk as the little boys raced ahead of them.

  “And how is Hartfield today?” said Knightley.

  “Much as usual. Mr. Woodhouse wanted us to give up the walk to Donwell, as it appeared to him to be very likely to rain. Emma talked away his fears, of course. Oh, and Elton appeared again this morning.” John gave his brother a sidelong glance. “Very good of him to give up so much of his time to visiting Mr. Woodhouse.”

  “Yes.”

  “And how very agreeable Emma can be to the vicar.”

  “Indeed.”

  John waited for an explanation, but none came. He gave an exasperated sigh.

  “George, what is all this? Elton behaves as if he is about to offer for Emma, and Emma responds as if he could not do so fast enough. I cannot understand it—she has too much sense to be in love with him, and I can think of no other reason for her to conduct herself in such a manner.”

  “Emma,” said Knightley, “thinks that Elton is in love with her friend Harriet—Miss Smith.”

  “What? The Miss Smith I met at Hartfield yesterday, who thought prima facie was a city in Italy?”

  “The very same.”

  “Humph! I do not know Elton well, but anyone with half an eye could see that he would set his sights a good deal higher.”

  “Quite. But Emma’s eyesight in regard to matchmaking is very poor.”

  “Could you not have said something?”

  “I did. That is, I told her that Elton was not likely to marry a girl like Harriet Smith.”

  “And she did not believe you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, perhaps if you told her that Elton obviously sees her as the future mistress of the parsonage—preposterous as that would be—she would give more weight to your opinion.”

  Knightley’s conscience pricked him; he had thought the same. Still, he had no inclination for discussing suitors with Emma.

  “I don’t know,” he hedged.

  “It is rather a brother’s place to do so. Although,” John continued thoughtfully, “perhaps you are more like an uncle to her.”

  Knightley bristled. “An uncle! Certainly not!”

  “You are eighteen years her senior.”

  “Only sixteen!”

  “Well, sixteen then, but still nearly a generation older. I can imagine she might see you in that light, and therefore consider your assistance in such a matter as elderly interference.”

  “Nonsense!” said Knightley warmly. “She may not always listen to me, but my age has nothing to do with it. You know there is very little that she allows to influence her opinions, and there is no one whose judgement she relies upon so much as her own.”

  “True enough. –Henry! John! The hoops must stay on the path! I must say, it’s a pity Elton is not more eligible. It would be good for Emma to be married—to the right man, of course. Can you not think of anyone who might be suitable?”

  “No,” said Knightley shortly.

  “Ah,” said John. “I’ve put you into a bad humour. No doubt your approaching the years of senility has made you sensitive to remarks about your age.”

  “And I suppose you lay awake all last night thinking up a new subject to provoke me with?”

  “No need. Bella made me promise to ask how Madam Duval is faring at the Abbey. I knew that would be aggravation enough.”

  Knightley groaned. “That cat has thrown my well-ordered house into complete confusion. I told you about the first night, did I not?”
/>   “You did. As I recall, you gave her freedom of the house as you had always done with Homer, and she ignored the box of earth in the scullery and left a surprise for Mrs. Hodges in the dining room.”

  “Yes. She also scratched and screeched at my bedroom door for an hour until I got out of bed and let her in. Then she leapt onto the bed and insisted on lying next to me. I woke with her wrapped around my head.”

  John chuckled. “Who has the task of combing her? One of the housemaids?”

  Knightley shook his head and remained silent.

  John looked at his brother for a long moment before giving a shout of laughter. “You’re doing it yourself?”

  Knightley scowled. “I had no choice. It isn’t just the door and the furniture that cat scratches—it’s all the servants, too. I didn’t dare ask Mrs. Hodges to do it after the incident in the dining room, but Baxter tried and the housemaid tried and even the new footman made an attempt. It was no good; she scratched every last one of them.”

  “But not you.”

  Knightley gave a despairing little shrug. “I don’t know why. She follows me around. If I sit down, she tries to jump into my lap. She is giving Baxter fits as he tries to keep my clothes free of cat hairs. And contrary to my expectations, she has managed to catch a mouse.”

  “Is that not some consolation? At least she is being useful.”

  “She left it on my bed.”

  John chortled again, but the laughter died away when his brother did not join in. The two men walked together in silence for a few moments, and then John shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, George. If I had known it would be this much bother, I would have told Bella to give the cat to someone else. Even now, I suppose I might…”

  “No, no. Tempting as it is, I made a promise to Bella. It is a point of honour now.”

  “Ever the soul of honour, George. I hope you will be rewarded, and that Madam Duval will be a prop and comfort to you in your old age.”