by Robin Helm
“I thank you, no,” said John. “We are on our way to visit the Bates’.”
Newcomb rolled his eyes expressively. “Come now, who would give up an hour or two of enjoyment with good fellows for the sake of having your ear talked off? Come, play with us instead.”
“All right, I will,” said Arthur. “Anything to avoid the company of chattering old ladies.” He looked saucily at John. “It is your bet you are paying off—nothing to do with me.”
John shrugged. “As you wish.” There was nothing he could do to stop Arthur without creating a scene, and he was tired of playing nursemaid. If he ended up losing money in this card game, so be it.
When John ascended the stairs and entered the Bates’ sitting room he found that he had reason to be grateful that he had let Arthur go. He was not the only visitor: Isabella and her sister Emma were there. Miss Bates was happiness itself to have them all collected in her sitting room.
“Oh, Mr. John Knightley, how do you do? So kind of you to call! So many friends! Miss Woodhouse and Miss Emma—do be seated, Mr. Knightley! You must thank your brother for the fruit—so thoughtful! Will you have a cup of tea? You must have tea. Miss Woodhouse and Miss Emma have their cups already, you see. My mother is resting—afternoon—at her age—will be so sorry not to see you!”
John accepted a steaming teacup and made suitable noises of gratitude. He had bowed to the ladies when he came in, but he had no opportunity to say anything to Isabella and Emma. Miss Bates rattled on with a steady stream of news, beaming at them all as she did so. They heard about the latest letter from her niece, Jane Fairfax, about Mrs. Perry’s expected confinement, and about the new teacher at Miss Goddard’s school. John marveled, as he always did in listening to her, that she contrived to pass along so much information without being in the least mean-spirited or even loving gossip for gossip’s sake. She was merely interested in everyone and everything, and always said whatever was in her thoughts.
“And have you heard about Miss Taylor, Mr. Knightley? –Such a sad accident!—ankle—Oh, but of course you were there, were you not? I am sadly shatter-brained, I fear. Miss Woodhouse was telling us how you helped Miss Taylor home—so very kind! But you are always kind.”
“How is Miss Taylor now?” asked John, glad to fit at least a few words into a moment’s silence.
“Still unable to walk without help,” said Isabella. “Emma came with me today in her stead.”
“So pleased—Miss Emma old enough to pay calls—hard to believe—only yesterday, it seems, a babe in arms. Old enough to carry a reticule! Have you seen Miss Emma’s reticule, Mr. Knightley? So beautifully embroidered!—fringe—tassels. Now, Miss Emma, have you finished your tea? You must have a little more!”
“Thank you, Miss Bates,” said Emma, holding out her cup and eyeing the cake which was sitting on the table. However, nothing was said about cake and Emma sipped her tea silently.
“Miss Woodhouse was telling us about the picnic,” said Miss Bates. “Such a lovely outing for young people! And I heard that young Master Edmund was able to join in the fun!”
“Edmund Gilbert?” cried Emma. “Why, he is younger than I am! Isabella, you told me that I could not come because there would be no one else as young as I!”
“The party was not constructed with young Edmund in mind,” said John drily. “For my part, Emma, I wish you had been there to help us keep a watch on that misbehaving pup of his. I have no doubt your help would have been invaluable.”
“Oh, and have you heard?” exclaimed Miss Bates. “That poor little dog has gone missing, and Master Edmund beside himself with worry!—Fergus—He came here this morning to enquire after the dog—in fact, I believe he visited almost every house in Highbury to see if anyone knew where it was. ‘Depend upon it,’ I told him, ‘the dear little pup will find his way home. He will indeed.’ And I am sure he will—we had a dog when I was a girl—chased our carriage for twenty miles—no, it could not have been twenty, but eighteen at least! And we had not the least idea of it! We found out later that he must have given up and he found his way back home. It was Farmer Munnings that found him close to home… Poor Mr. Munnings! Such a sad feud with Mr. Mitchell. We heard yesterday that the manure was missing from his barn, and today we hear that it had been put into his pond, fouling it all. Patty told us this morning that Mr. Munnings intends to bring it to law—I believe he has gone to tell your brother, Mr. Knightley, as magistrate.”
John let Miss Bates’ chatter wash over him as he studied the Woodhouse girls. Isabella, he thought, was looking particularly lovely this afternoon. After more than a week of seeing Arthur’s supercilious expressions whenever he felt himself above his company, it was refreshing to see nothing on Isabella’s face but sweet attention to her garrulous hostess. Emma, it was true, did look a little bored. He saw her staring out the window at the street outside and fidgeting with the tassels on her reticule.
His attention was recalled back to Miss Bates as he heard her say, “And have you heard about Mr. Patchett getting married? The banns were read out in church only last week. The bride is from Langham, I believe—a Miss Cooper. Patty told us that she is a sister of the man who keeps The Crow’s Nest. Patty says she is very young. Seventeen! Only a little older than you, Miss Emma! Not that four or five years is only a little older, for when one is young it seems a great deal of time. But I have no doubt,” she continued kindly, “that we will be celebrating your wedding before many years pass!”
“It is very good of you to say,” said Emma in her best grown-up manner, “But I fear that I will be very hard to please. I will not be easily tempted to leave the single state.”
“You sound like my brother,” said John. “In a few years I will look out for someone just like him for you to marry.”
_______________________
John emerged from the Bates’ house with the Woodhouse girls at the end of an hour. He had been surprised that they should have stayed as long as they did, but all was explained when Emma gleefully exclaimed that she had escaped her lessons for the day by staying so long. Isabella’s tolerant glance at her sister showed that this was no surprise to her.
“I wish I were at liberty to see you home,” said John, “But I am waiting for my friend who is in the Crown with Mr. Newcomb and a few others.” He was also thankful that Arthur was not there to accompany them on such a walk, monopolizing Isabella’s attention.
“At least he is again having his time occupied by others,” said Isabella with a smile.
“Yes, very true.”
“I’m afraid we must be getting home. Papa will be anxious if we linger any longer in Highbury.”
“Yes, I daresay he will be. Good day to you both.”
Bows and curtsies were exchanged, and the girls walked away with John staring absentmindedly after them.
The voice of Mr. Cole nearly in his ear recalled him to his senses. He greeted the man and exchanged a few words with him before taking his leave and going over to the Crown. His entrance was hailed with enthusiasm by the card players.
“Ah, there you are!” said Newcomb. “Saunders must leave us in a moment, but you can take his place at the table. The cards have just been dealt, and bets not yet placed.”
“I fear I cannot, thank you. I came merely to see if Mr. Dudley was ready to leave.”
Arthur tossed down the hand that he was holding and stood up. “Yes, I am.” He gathered the coins that were sitting on the table in front of him, bid the other men goodbye and went out to the street with John.
“Extremely good timing,” Arthur said, putting on his hat, tilting it at a rather rakish angle, and admiring his reflection in the window of a shop they were passing. “I was dealt a very poor hand and my luck had already started to turn. I had four shillings and half a crown ten minutes ago and lost most of it before you came. Came away with only a shilling and sixpence. Only shillings, of course—hardly worth playing for—but more amusing than doing the polite to silly old ladies.”
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“How interesting,” said John. “I found it much more amusing to visit Miss Bates than to play cards. To each his own, I suppose.” John thought he did right in suppressing the fact that Isabella had also been there.
They walked silently down the road for a while, John calculating the days until Arthur could be reasonably expected to leave and Arthur meditating on the card game and the shillings he had lost. That he had lost to such rustics was definitely a grievance.
“Look!” said Arthur suddenly, pointing. “It’s that nuisance of a pup that that schoolboy brought along on the picnic.”
John looked at the dog. “So it is. I heard this afternoon that young Edmund was searching for him. Wandered off, I understand, and nothing more likely from what I’ve seen of him. I suppose we must return him to the Gilberts. We can bring him with us to Donwell and then send him home with a footman.”
“If you can get him to follow you.”
For a little while Fergus did follow them, padding along behind them as if relieved to have someone showing him the way home. However, before long he saw a hare and chased it into a pasture.
“And there he goes,” said Arthur. “Impossible to catch. Never mind. Let him go. It will serve the brat right.”
John had just been thinking that it would indeed be impossible to catch the dog, but the derision in Arthur’s tone changed his mind. Edmund might be annoying, but he was not nearly as bad as Arthur.
“No, we ought to do what we can,” said John.
“It’s very warm to be running after a dog. And these shoes are not designed for rough ground. I had them made by Hoby not a month ago—do you like them?”
“Come along, you hothouse flower,” said John “Thought you were fond of sport! Fergus! Come here!” He climbed over the rock wall and into the pasture, which was mercifully empty of animals. The dog saw him approaching and joyously bounded away from him toward another field.
“Here, Arthur! Go around near that field of oats there and see if you can block his path.”
Arthur reluctantly broke into a trot and headed for the side of the pasture. Fergus saw him coming and stood still for a moment. But when Arthur was still ten yards off, he sprang away again. Arthur put on a burst of speed and closed in on him as the dog changed direction. As Fergus rushed past, Arthur lunged at him, missed, and fell heavily. Angry now, he followed the dog straight though the middle of the oat field.
“Go around, you fool,” John called, exasperated. “You can’t go tramping through the crops!”
“I’ll do as I please,” retorted Arthur, who nevertheless started veering toward the side of the field. Fergus, having no scruples about where he could run, pulled further ahead and was lost to view. John soon passed Arthur who was becoming out of breath. Once out of the oat field, John looked around for Fergus. Outbuildings surrounded him—it was the working part of a farm. He could only hope he would not be taken up for trespass. The sounds of barking and the protesting squawks of chickens gave him the direction of the errant dog.
“Blast! He’s off on the far side of the farmyard now—you idiot dog, you can’t chase the chickens!”
“That’s right,” said Arthur, coming up behind him. “Lecture him. He’s sure to listen to you.”
John grunted and moved off in the direction of the noise. The dog waited until he saw his pursuer, then barking happily at the renewed game of chase, tore off again in the direction of a walled vegetable garden. Luckily the gate to the garden was shut, and Fergus loped along the outside wall, finally coming to a stop in front of a small pond and flopping down. John followed cautiously, afraid of making him want to run off again. At last John came within reach and grabbed his collar. He was wondering if there was a rope or something nearby that he could tie to the collar when Arthur came up to them.
“What is that horrible smell?”
“I was just wondering that myself. I believe it is this pond that smells so bad. Where are we?” He looked about him and made mental calculations. “Ah, I know. This is Munning’s land. It must be the pond where Mitchell dumped the manure.”
“What?”
“It’s a local feud. They have been waging war against each other for several weeks now, each doing things to hector the other. Each revenge has gotten more serious. The latest is that one farmer moved the manure that was waiting in a barn to be spread on a field and dumped it into this pond.”
Arthur laughed. “What a good joke! I’ll warrant this farmer’s face was a sight to behold when he realized what had happened! I’d give a guinea to see it!”
“It was a dirty trick to play,” said John. You don’t understand what it means for a farmer—particularly a small farmer like Munnings—to have his carefully saved manure lost and his fish-pond fouled.”
Arthur shook his head. “I always did suspect you were too pompous to enjoy a good prank.”
“And I have long suspected that you were too simple-minded to enjoy anything but—” John bit off the rest of his sentence and fell silent. He let go of the dog’s collar and stood up. The dog remained where he was.
“You might be right,” said Arthur equably. “No doubt you know best.” He peered into the pond. “There seems to be something in there. You see right there? You don’t suppose some animal got put in there, too, do you?”
“I doubt it,” said John. “The penalty for doing such a thing would be too high for mere revenge.”
“Is that so? But truly, I think I see something in there.”
“I don’t see anything,” said John.
“Oh, come now. Look, right here where I am pointing.”
John moved closer to Arthur and bent forward to look more closely at the spot Arthur was indicating. Suddenly, John felt a hand on his back, thrusting him forward. With a yell he pitched head-first into the foul-smelling swamp.
The water was not deep, and it did not take John long to regain his footing. When he emerged from the sludge, he heard Arthur shouting with laughter.
“You devil!” bellowed John, groping for a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his coat and wiping the muck away from his eyes as Arthur continued to laugh.
“That was a capital prank—best I’ve thought of in years! Wait until Ayres hears of it!”
John’s looked down at himself and wondered what he could possibly do now. He was a fearsome object, covered in filth and stinking like a cesspit. He felt that he really could not walk along the roads of Highbury and Donwell in this condition. Not only would he be in danger of frightening the local populace, but he would be teased about it for the rest of his life. He was more angry than he could ever remember being, but it was clearly politic to win the help of Arthur rather than flinging him into the same pond, which is what his first impulse had been.
“Yes, a very good joke,” said John. “Vastly amusing, and liable to bring joy to your heart for many years. However, it really would not do you any credit to be seen with me in this condition. Perhaps I might retire to that empty outbuilding over there, and you could go to Donwell and send back my man with a change of clothing?”
“Of course, of course,” said Arthur. “I’ll leave you the dog for company.”
Fergus, for once. showed no tendency to stray. He was sniffing John in delight—such an interesting object!
“All right,” said John. “Only be as quick as you can. Go back to the road we were on and turn to the left. It will take you to Donwell. Tell him I am in one of the outbuildings near the pond on Munning’s land. He’ll know where it is.”
Arthur went off still chuckling, and John retired with the dog to the barn. It was a smallish place, evidently used for storing grain, for there were empty sacks lying stacked in piles near one wall, ready for the harvest. This gave John an idea. He removed his stinking, wet outer clothes and put them in a sack. This left him wearing only a shirt and his smallclothes, and he grimaced at his appearance; however, the chance that anyone would find him here was very slim.
The time passed slowly. Fergu
s stretched out and fell asleep, exhausted by his exercise. John recalled his brother’s remarks about spending his life pulling Arthur out of scrapes. A new spectre formed in his mind—that of enduring such pranks as this on a weekly basis. The thought was revolting.
An hour passed. Surely, John thought, Arthur had had enough time to get to Donwell and dispatch a servant. As the next hour passed even more slowly, John began to wonder if the prank was not yet over. It would be just like Arthur to leave him stranded like this—it would, in fact, be the cream of the jest. It looked as if he would need to wait until nightfall and then creep home under cover of darkness. Of course it would be summer when the sun did not set until ten o’clock at night. It was now only half past four o’clock.
He thought for a moment. Would he need to go on the roads to reach Donwell? Probably, yes. Was there anywhere else he could go? He shrank from the idea of approaching some stranger or near-stranger for help. He could go to Hartfield, he supposed. Not to the house, of course, but to one of the servant’s homes. Like the head gardener, Tadgett. He was a rather dour soul, but he was not a cruel man and John had talked with him before on a matter of the design for an enlarged kitchen garden at Donwell. He knew where Tadgett’s cottage was—it was not terribly far from here, as Munning’s land adjoined the estate of Hartfield. He could go across the fields, avoiding roads, and get to safety that way. Tadgett could get a message to his man at Donwell. Ought he to put his soiled clothes back on? He reached into the sack to pull them out, but the stench and the filth were too much. He could not force himself to put them on.
He took hold of a piece of sacking to put around his waist in case he should meet with someone and decided to leave the sack which held his dirty clothes—he would find some way to get it back later. He glanced at Fergus, but the dog was still sleeping. He considered and then decided that perhaps leaving Fergus there was the best thing to do. He could send a message to the Gilberts, telling them the dog had been seen at Munning’s farm—surely he wouldn’t roam far in the next hour or two.
