by Jayne Bamber
“Emma,” said he, “Mr. Elton writes that he will not be able to attend us for supper, as he is gone to Bath – his friends have been pressing him to visit for quite some time…. I do not know what that could be to us – have you invited Mr. Elton to dine with us?”
“Certainly not,” Emma said. “We go to half-mourning tomorrow, but I do not know that this would make any difference in his case – certainly I should not invite anybody to dine without speaking first to you.”
John muttered under his breath as he moved away, tossing the note down on an end table, and Mary felt herself quite frozen in place. Mr. Elton had gone to Bath most unexpectedly – he had never mentioned it to her. Certainly his plans must have been fixed when they were all dining so happily together at Randalls the previous evening. She could not at all account for why he would not think to inform her of his imminent departure, as much as he had conversed with her these last three weeks.
Rebecca had been perusing the other letters in the post – missives from Elizabeth in London, from Kate in Kent, and from Marianne, who was herself in Bath – but she stopped to peer curiously at Mary.
Mary tried to school her countenance into some semblance of equanimity; she would not distress herself about the sudden absence of a man she admired very well, but had in actuality known for a rather short space of time. She would not be missish about it, or cause her friends any undue alarm.
Glancing out the window, she spied Mr. Knightley walking up the garden path, and Mary knew it would not be long before Mrs. Weston came visiting with her houseguests – feeling suddenly unequal to company, she made her apologies and abruptly quit the room.
She had only just curled up on one of the comfortable sofas in the library, determined that the indulgence of novel reading was just the thing to cheer her, when Rebecca entered the room. “Might I join you, Mary?”
“Anyone may enter the library who wishes to,” Mary said, and instantly felt that she had been churlish. “That is, of course I should like your company.”
“I had thought perhaps you would not… I had thought you might blame me.”
“Blame you? No indeed – whatever for?”
Rebecca gave her a knowing look. “You are unhappy that Mr. Elton has left Highbury, and it was I who encouraged you to befriend him.”
“No – no indeed. Mr. Elton recommended himself to me from the first moments of our meeting; I am sure it was nothing to do with you.”
Rebecca sighed heavily, taking Mary’s hand in hers. “Perhaps at first. I am sure Mr. Elton was very civil to you when first we came, as a clergyman ought to be. But beyond that, I must confess that I was – perhaps more than anyone – pleased to see him take notice of you. You know how Emma dislikes him, and I thought it just the sort of scheme that could please everyone, if he were to pay you his addresses.”
Mary sniffled, determined that she would not cry. To cry over a man was just the sort of thing that belonged in a novel, and there she might certainly enjoy it, but such a thing held no merit in real life. “I believe he did – pay me his addresses, that is. How kind he has been – so attentive, even flirtatious at times. But for him to go away so suddenly, without saying a word of his plans to me, or anyone else – I must have imagined it, his admiration for me.”
“Not at all,” Rebecca cried. “We all saw his attentions to you – and how I rejoiced in them, and Emma, too. It was utterly selfish of me, and I am sorry for it.”
“But why should you be? I was very happy, and flattered, indeed. It is only natural that this should have pleased my friends as well.”
“I was pleased – for your sake, to be sure, but just as much for Emma’s sake. The convenience of it, I will own, was too much temptation to overlook. It was very wicked of me!”
“No,” Mary insisted, feeling an ache in her heart at Rebecca’s distress. “The blame must all be for Mr. Elton. I am not so foolish that it did not occur to me what vexation I might be sparing your cousin, in enjoying so great a share of Mr. Elton’s attentions, but it is he who paid them – and certainly not by your design. You had scarcely spoken three words to him, I am sure, before I had already decided for myself that he was just the sort of man to attract my notice, and engage my affections.”
“Your affections!” Rebecca groaned. “And now he has broken your heart!”
Mary flinched at such a statement. It was Lydia who was always complaining of her heart being broken – when Lieutenant Denny had paid his addresses to Miss King, when the soldiers decamped from Meryton and she was denied permission to follow them to Brighton, and even when she did not receive any proposals at the Netherfield Ball. Such trifling disappointments as these could scarcely be called a heartbreak, and yet Mary was moved to consider that her three weeks’ acquaintance with Mr. Elton was a rather trifling thing itself. “I have not had my heart broken,” said she. “He has wounded me a little, I think, but only in as much as I cannot understand his actions.”
“Oh, I understand them perfectly,” Rebecca scoffed. “He likely thought you as wealthy as the company you keep, and decided to trade an uninterested Miss Woodhouse for an interested Miss Bennet. His only mistake was in presuming that you have a dowry.”
“It is possible, I suppose,” Mary admitted. “Probable, even. Oh, if only I had seen it! Yes, it was right there before me – all his questions about my family, my time in London, my time at Pemberley – I ought to have seen it. I thought he was merely being amiable – I thought him interested in me, for myself. Such questions may tend to sketch the character of a new acquaintance – do you really suppose him to have had such mercenary intentions?”
“I do,” Rebecca said firmly, though she would not meet Mary’s eye.
“Well,” Mary said, “at least he has come to the correct conclusion – that I have very little, beyond what Mr. Darcy and Mr. Fitzwilliam may choose to bestow upon me. I do not know how he could have become aware of it – something that I said, perhaps – but better that he should make the discovery now, and not so many weeks hence that my affections might have truly been engaged.”
Rebecca finally looked up at her, still apparently very angry. “Truly, Mary, you are too good – I would not have you acquit him so easily for his offenses against you, his attempts to ensnare you, and the fortune he believed you to possess – nor would I have you overlook my own portion of blame, for I had begun to see what he was about, and had not the opportunity to warn you.”
“I do not know if I would have believed you – he was so very convincing, so amiable – I believe your suspicions of him would have fallen on deaf ears, had it not been for his abrupt departure. Even your severity upon poor Mr. Parker I cannot quite believe, until I see some ill of him for myself. It is not in my nature, as it is in yours, to believe the worst of everyone.”
“Until they have caused you pain,” Rebecca quipped.
“A little pain perhaps,” Mary owned, “but I shall recover, Rebecca. Truly. I only require a little solitude, I think, and perhaps a few days’ reflection. I shall be just as cheerful as I ever was.”
Rebecca did not look entirely satisfied with Mary’s answer, and squirmed uncomfortably on the sofa beside her. “Do you wish me to leave you to your thoughts, then?”
“Certainly Emma must be wanting you, and I am sure we will have our visitors from Randalls ere long – I know how you like to keep an eye on Mr. Parker.” Mary attempted to laugh, though she was truly more uncomfortable than she could bring herself to admit.
Rebecca hesitated before making her way out the door. She paused, casting one last backward glance at Mary. “If you require anything at all, dearest, truly – anything that might bring you any comfort....”
Mary offered her a wan smile. “I know, Rebecca. You really are the dearest friend in the world.”
Rebecca made a rather strangled sound, as though in some pain herself, and abruptly quit the room.
***
Rebecca met with Emma in the corridor as she made her way ba
ck to the parlor.
“Is Mary quite well?”
Rebecca shook her head. “She does not wish to appear so distraught, I think, but I believe she is rather upset at Mr. Elton’s defection.”
Emma frowned. “Poor thing. I had thought perhaps I might speak with her – I might tell her of my own history with Mr. Elton. Do you think it would help?”
“It may do her some good to know the truth of his character. I am sure if she does not wish to hear it, she will tell you so herself.”
Emma smiled weakly and nodded her head, making her way upstairs to the library. Wishing to turn her attention back to the letters she had received from her friends and relations, Rebecca went back into the parlor, and was surprised to find Mr. Knightley there. She had pursued Mary upstairs not only to give her dear friend what comfort she could, but to avoid Mr. Knightley, for she knew that she was likely to say something unpleasant to him regarding what she thought about his officious interference in Mr. Elton’s affairs. Especially now, having seen Mary so disconsolate, Rebecca wished to give Mr. Knightley a sound lashing for the role he had played in bringing it about.
He stood and bowed when she entered the room, and she was disappointed to find that they were quite alone. “Mr. Knightley,” she said curtly, taking up her correspondence from the end table so that she might avoid speaking with him.
“How does Miss Mary?” When he received no answer, he moved so that the letter she was attempting to read could not block him from her line of vision.
Rebecca set the letter back down on the table in frustration, and folded her arms as she stood to glower at him. “I am surprised you would trouble yourself to inquire – you must know she is quite unhappy. I can only presume you told Mr. Elton the truth of her circumstances, since he has fled the county.”
“I did,” Mr. Knightley said, staring unrepentantly back at her. “He has friends in Bath who have been begging him for a visit – he has often spoken of a family with several daughters, who each have twenty thousand pounds – he knows himself to be a handsome enough man to marry a girl of such fortune…. I thought it better that he should know of Mary’s circumstances now, rather than laboring under a misapprehension for many more weeks yet, and causing your friend even greater disappointment when he did learn the truth.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “That is just what Mary said.”
“She is certainly a sensible girl – I knew it would be thus.”
“I think not,” Rebecca cried, all indignation. “I believe you told me she would be utterly heartbroken – and the pain would be all of my infliction. You certainly seemed to think the worst of me!”
Mr. Knightley rolled not only his eyes but his entire head, giving a great sigh of frustration. “I merely meant to put you on your guard, so that you might do likewise with Mary. Whatever has passed between you, I cannot know, but certainly last night it seemed as though she was just as receptive to his attentions as she had ever been, and I could abide the deception no longer. Tell me, is she truly so unhappy? I would not make her so forlorn if it could be helped, nor cause a rupture in your friendship.”
“Surely not,” Rebecca scoffed. “Noble Mr. Knightley does only what is best for everyone, and assumes that all shall be right and just in the world!”
She glared at him, and he gazed evenly back at her. “Tell me truly, how is she?”
Rebecca sighed. She could not make sense of Mr. Knightley – to one day rail at her and bully her, then give her the cold shoulder, and now seem so sympathetic and attentive – the man really was nearly out of his wits. And yet, the sincerity in his tone pulled at her heart, and she had not the will to disparage him.
Rebecca turned away, running her fingers over the smooth damask of the drapes as she peered out the window. “She is disappointed, but beyond that she will not admit. And lest you begin to suppose I have deceived her, I assure you I have not. I was fully honest with her, in owning my own hopes and wishes that she might keep Mr. Elton distracted from his pursuit of Emma. I have given her every reason to despise me, but she is too good to do it.”
Mr. Knightley moved across the room to stand beside her, and took one of Rebecca’s hands in his. “And are you too good to despise me?”
“I do not despise you,” she said quickly. “I do not always like you, at times, nor do I fully understand you, I think, but I could never say I despise you. You warned me, and I would not hear it. You were right, and I was wrong – there, I’ve said it. I thought it would all work out for the best – I have always enjoyed a rather uncanny knack for arranging things to everyone’s benefit – but this time I have made rather a jumble of things. In truth, I would be relieved if Mary was at least a little bit angry with me, for my role in bringing about such a disappointment for her. She is such a gentle creature; I am sure I would not take so lightly to being so ill-used. Mary says she needs only a little time and reflection to recover, and I do hope that it will be so. I suppose I am angrier at myself than she ever could be.”
Mr. Knightley pressed her hand in his, and she met his eye at last. “You have a compassionate heart, Rebecca, and I think your friend Mary feels all the good fortune of having such a fine friend. I never meant to suggest that you are not a good friend to her, merely that your methods were a little wanting.”
Rebecca sighed, and began to draw her hand away, but he held it tighter still. “I see you mean to torture me, sir, being just as forgiving as Mary, leaving me to feel all the wickedness of my actions.” She attempted a little laugh, but it fell flat. “I really think Mary might have been more attached to him than she will admit to me, and all for fear that she might cause me pain, with not a thought for the pain that I have caused her. It seems that nobody shall punish me for it but myself.”
“We are all our own severest critics, are we not?”
Rebecca laughed in earnest this time. “I have been a rather severe critic of you, I suppose – perhaps I have been unjust, given the wisdom of your warning to me last week.”
Mr. Knightley broke into a smile, and after the standoffishness he had exhibited the previous evening, she was glad to see such a look upon his countenance once more. “Yes, that is true,” said he. “You may be my most severe critic yet, in all my years in the world. And yet, I hope we are to be friends.”
“I hope so as well. It is a curious thing, is it not – we are always reminding one another we are to be friends, and yet we do not always seem to behave as such. What do you make of that, sir?”
“You are not always the easiest person to be in – to be a friend to. But I think you understand me. You do not always have to like it, but if you can accept me as I am, I think we shall do very well indeed.”
“I suppose we shall, but you must take me as I am, as well. I am determined to make my own mind up on any number of things, and generally – with the exception of the present case, I think – I do have a tendency to be right about everything. Indeed, I cannot remember the last time I have ever been wrong.”
Mr. Knightley laughed. “What a burden it must be, to be so wise.”
She grinned back at him. “I am sure you should not like to experience such a sensation yourself, sir – it is good that this is highly unlikely to ever occur.”
As they laughed together, Mr. Knightley finally released her hand, and asked if she would walk in the garden with him. She readily accepted, for she was most determined to hear his opinion on Highbury’s newest arrivals, and if he should happen to dislike Mr. Sidney Parker as much as she did, so much the better!
***
Despite Emma and Rebecca’s best efforts, Mary remained rather glum at the loss of Mr. Elton’s company, and upon receiving a letter from her sister in Kent, was resolved to travel thither herself within the week. Emma knew that Rebecca held herself very much accountable for Mary’s disappointment, and was determined to make her remaining days in Surrey as pleasant as possible.
The following morning, which marked the day that Emma could officially go down t
o half-mourning, the three ladies decided not to wait upon a call from Randalls, as they had waited in vain the previous day; they resolved to walk to the village for some amusement.
It was to be another of Jane Fairfax’s days away from Hartfield, and John, beleaguered by the high animal spirits of his children, was determined to walk with them, for the boys all needed new shoes, and little Izzy had been promised a new doll for her good behavior.
As they made their way across the village square, Emma spied Mr. Churchill and Mr. Parker coming out of Miss Bates’ house, and waved merrily at them. They perceived her at once, and approached in all haste and good cheer. Jane Fairfax’s face appeared a moment later in one of the upper windows of her aunt’s house, and John and the children all waved to her, beckoning for her to come down and speak with them. Mr. Parker screwed up his face, taking on a rather confidential tone as he bid Emma good day.
“I see you have been to wait upon Miss Bates,” said she, and inquired after the visit.
He offered her another very droll look. “Oh, yes – I was just going to mention it. A good visit it was – all Frank’s idea, you know, for certainly it must be his duty to recommend himself to any friend of his father’s. We were betrayed into paying a most unreasonable visit – ten minutes would have been all that was necessary, perhaps all that was proper, and I had told Frank that certainly we ought to come to Hartfield ere long – but there was no getting away, no pause, and to my utter astonishment, I found that we were actually there very nearly three quarters of an hour. The good lady had given us no possibility of an escape.”
“And how did you find Miss Fairfax looking?”
