Cousin Emma
A Pride and Prejudice Variation
By Perpetua Langley
Copyright © 2019 Perpetua Langley All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter One
Elizabeth Bennet laid the letter down. “Poor Emma,” she said. “She is very alone just now. Miss Taylor is married and long gone from the house, Miss Smith does not visit so often though Emma does not say the cause—perhaps Miss Smith is engaged to Mr. Elton and much occupied, just as Emma planned? And now, Mr. Knightley has very suddenly gone off to London for an extended period.”
Elizabeth handed the letter to Jane.
Mrs. Bennet said, “I suppose Mr. Woodhouse is still hanging about the place, he hardly sets foot out of doors. He can very well provide Emma sufficient company. He might stay by her side all the day long if she liked it.”
Mrs. Bennet paused, staring out the window. Softly, she murmured, “Though I should go mad if Mr. Bennet tried such a thing.”
Elizabeth watched Jane carefully as her sister read toward the end of Emma’s letter.
My dearest cousins, the house is so very quiet now. My father retires early and then it is up to me to fill hours and hours of time before the next dawn breaks. I am left alone with my thoughts and find myself melancholy.
Jane laid the letter down with a look of alarm. “Our Emma? Melancholy?”
“Mama,” Elizabeth said, “Jane and I ought to visit Hartfield. Emma is too much on her own, it cannot be right.”
Mrs. Bennet threw down her sewing. “Do not be ridiculous, Lizzy. The agent for Netherfield has been hinting all over Meryton that there is interest in the place. For all we know, a horde of eligible gentlemen may be galloping toward that house already.”
“I hardly think that probable,” Elizabeth said. “The agent has hinted the same many times and it has come to nothing. In any case, if somebody does finally turn up, it’s likely to be a family.”
“A family,” Mrs. Bennet muttered. “What use is a family? I won’t hear of a family. No. None of my girls will set foot out of the county until we know the circumstances. And, should it be a horde of eligible gentlemen arriving as I predict, none of my girls will set foot out of the county until they are married to them.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. They really had better go to Emma, but her mother appeared resolute. She knew perfectly well that when Mrs. Bennet considered hordes of eligible gentlemen galloping in their direction, the king himself might summon and find himself firmly rebuffed.
“Perhaps,” Jane said, “Emma might come here? May we invite her to stay?”
Mrs. Bennet laughed at the idea. “Invite away, Jane. You know perfectly well that Mr. Woodhouse goes nowhere, and Emma only goes where her father goes.”
Elizabeth sighed. That was the truth of it. They had issued the invitation many times to Emma, and while she’d always seemed tempted, in the end she could not bear to leave her father. As for Mr. Woodhouse, Elizabeth very much doubted he would ever make the trip.
Elizabeth paused, getting the inkling of an idea. Might there not be a way to pry Emma from her father’s side? It would take planning, and a care for Mr. Woodhouse, and help from more than one quarter, but it might be done.
She would start with Isabella. After all, had not Isabella’s last letter indicated that her husband was to go to the continent and be there above three months? What matter if the lady spent that time in London or comfortably ensconced in Hartfield keeping company with Mr. Woodhouse?
“Jane,” Elizabeth said, “we will invite Emma, and this time I believe she will come.”
“You live in a very fanciful world, Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet said. “You will only waste the paper you write on.”
“Nevertheless,” Elizabeth said.
Mrs. Bennet straightened her sewing things and said, “Now, I am off to Meryton in the carriage. You two girls may pretend disinterest in the doings at Netherfield but your sisters do not. We will track down that estate agent wherever he may be and throttle the information out of him.”
That particular day, Mrs. Bennet was not able to throttle any information from Netherfield’s estate agent, but that was only because she could not find him. Two days later, Mr. Simons’ luck had run out and he was cornered in the haberdasher by the determined lady.
“Madam,” Mr. Simons said nervously, “I really do not think I ought—”
“Do not presume to tell me what you ought or ought not do,” Mrs. Bennet said imperiously. “You find yourself conversing with a leading lady of the neighborhood and I say you ought. I will know who has taken Netherfield. Who are they and when are they coming?”
Mr. Simons looked anxiously about the shop. Behind Mrs. Bennet ranged three of her daughters. Why were there always so many daughters? The haberdasher himself stayed behind his counter and shrugged. Seeing there was no practical route of escape, Mr. Simons deeply sighed. “A Mr. Charles Bingley has taken the house.”
“And?” Mrs. Bennet said, leaning forward.
“And?” Lydia and Kitty said together.
“And…is he well read?” Mary said, her demeanor threatening.
Mary’s demeanor became somewhat less threatening after her sisters pinched her arms.
“Never mind Mary, Mr. Simons,” Mrs. Bennet said. “You know what I wish to know.”
Having had prior encounters with Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Simons did know what information the lady was after and that she would not rest until she got it. He said, “Mr. Bingley is unmarried and worth five thousand a year. He brings a friend, Mr. Darcy, who is rumored to have ten thousand a year. And a sister, Miss Caroline Bingley. They arrive in a month. There, that’s all I know. Now please let me pass!”
Mrs. Bennet stepped aside graciously. There was every reason for her to be gracious. She had learned all she wished to know and was supremely satisfied with what she had discovered. The fact that Mary followed Mr. Simons out, demanding to know Mr. Bingley’s tastes in literature, was of no concern to her. That it was a concern to Mr. Simons had been evidenced by his hurried flight down the road.
Elizabeth had begun her Hartfield letter-writing campaign immediately upon her mother agreeing that they might invite Emma. A month later, all the parties to Elizabeth’s scheme had been educated on its necessity.
All, except Mr. Woodhouse.
One by one, Elizabeth had swayed opinion with her various missives, but it would be for others to apprise Mr. Woodhouse of it.
Emma’s sister, Isabella, had readily approved of the proposed visit. She’d already had misgivings over Emma’s isolation at Hartfield. Further, Emma’s determination that she ought not marry was so perverse that it must spring from a fear of their father left alone. Isabella had felt that she’d made a lucky escape from the house, but perhaps she’d trapped Emma in the process.
Such guilty thoughts had plagued Isabella from time to time. Her c
ousin Elizabeth’s letter had roused her to her duty to her sister. In any case, Isabella would much prefer to reside at Hartfield while her husband was away, where there were so many living nearby who might help with the boys, then alone in London.
Mrs. Weston had also been fretting about Emma long before Elizabeth’s first letter arrived. She had been only too happy to lend her services. Mrs. Weston knew Emma better than anybody and a young woman such as Emma Woodhouse ought not to be left alone for extended periods. Emma was lively and inclined to be social and had little use for reading and quiet.
As for Emma, herself, Elizabeth knew there could only be one inducement to take her away from her father—the idea that five unmarried ladies needed her assistance. Emma was a delightful meddler and matchmaker and had written of various exploits in her letters. Elizabeth very much doubted her cousin had materially affected any lady’s prospects, but it pleased Emma to think so and Elizabeth saw no harm in it.
Unknown to Elizabeth, Emma had recently sworn off matchmaking after her disastrous effort on Miss Smith’s behalf. And yet, after reading her cousin’s letter, Emma could not help but think of the idea. Five sisters all pining to be married. Five! What a triumph it would be. And they were her cousins after all. Who better to understand the true nature of a lady’s heart, and which gentleman was most suitable for that heart, than a cousin? As well, she would bring fresh eyes to the scene and be able to communicate her experienced observations. It felt almost a duty to bring her expertise to the case.
And now Isabella had come to Hartfield and her father would not be without companionship. It was as if the fates were determined in the matter. Emma dearly wished to see her cousins and help them to be well-settled. Then, of course, Mrs. Weston had been so approving of the idea and that good lady was so little wrong in anything. She was especially unlikely to be wrong in anything to do with her dear friend Emma Woodhouse.
Emma had taken a deep breath. She would go. She would go to Hertfordshire.
Once she had absolutely decided to go, Emma felt as if a great weight that had pinned her down at Hartfield had taken wings and flown off. She thought she ought to feel ashamed at wishing to go, but then so many people were approving of the idea that it could not be wrong.
Emma Woodhouse would travel to another county. There was marvel in it. So many times, she had listened to Jane Fairfax speak of this place or that, and she had frustratingly little to add. She had been nowhere further than Box Hill and that particular locale was not one she would wish to speak of. But a trip such as this! She would have forevermore been somewhere interesting and she would have assisted her dear cousins at the same time. A journey and five girls married. Not even Jane Fairfax could claim the same.
All of those thoughts were very pleasant, but there was one thought that was not so pleasant. Her father must be told, and now the dreaded time had come. Mr. Woodhouse was to hear of this remarkable plan. All in the room were frozen in anticipation.
Isabella boldly stepped forward. “Father,” she said, “Emma is very out of sorts ever since Mrs. Weston left the house.”
“Very out of sorts,” Emma confirmed.
“Indeed,” Mr. Woodhouse said. “As we all are, in particular Miss Taylor herself.”
Mrs. Weston, née Taylor, folded her hands in her lap and smiled, that lady well-used to hearing herself painted in such a forlorn light.
Emma nodded sympathetically. She, more than anybody, was all too well-acquainted with her father’s original points of view. He was deadly serious in his despair for poor Miss Taylor, though the same now sat in front of him as Mrs. Weston—merry as sunshine and decidedly pregnant.
“Father, I really think something ought to be done,” Isabella said, soldiering on. “Emma is too much alone here.”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Woodhouse said. “I am here. I am determined not to go anywhere, nobody shall turn me from the purpose. And now you and the boys are here. We are fairly bursting at the seams.”
Isabella sighed. “Yes. We will be here for six weeks while John is in Belgium. It occurs to me that it is an ideal moment for Emma to visit her cousins and it will do her a world of good.”
“The Bennets?” Mr. Woodhouse asked. “If we wish to see them, why do they not come here?”
“Because you do not wish to see them, father,” Isabella said. “Mrs. Bennet makes you nervous with the alarming pitch of her voice, Mary makes you nervous by her playing, Lydia makes you nervous with her constant jokes and Mr. Bennet makes you nervous when he talks of shooting birds. I will not say you are wrong in any of it, except perhaps shooting birds because I really do not think our uncle would shoot out a window. You are always very much relieved when they depart. However, Emma adores Elizabeth and Jane.”
“I do adore them,” Emma said. “How could I not? Their dear father is brother to my dear mother. It is a natural inclination of family.”
“As they are family, one might even consider it a duty to go. Emma has been asked many times and never accepted the invitation. Certainly,” Isabella pressed on, “since I am here, you might spare Emma for a visit.”
Mr. Woodhouse sat thoughtfully. Then he said, “I would not deny Emma anything, as you know. I am afraid, though, she has no wish to leave my side. She has often said so.”
Emma went then to her father’s side and smiled down at him. “Of course I do not wish to leave you, but I am needed at Longbourn and it will only be temporary. You know I cannot turn away when I am needed. You are not to vex yourself, Isabella will follow my careful instructions on your care and happiness.”
Mrs. Weston, who had so far remained silent, said, “My dear Mr. Woodhouse, I shall come everyday to see that the soup is as you like it and the rooms warm enough. You know I can easily do all those little things that Emma does for your comfort.”
“Indeed, she can,” Emma said. “She taught me all of them, after all.”
“Tragic about Miss Taylor,” Mr. Woodhouse said softly.
“It is Mrs. Weston,” Emma said, “and the lady could not appear less tragic.”
“But Emma,” Mr. Woodhouse said, “have you thought of how often things do go wrong on the road? Any sort of accident might happen. It is above forty miles! That must be above forty ways things could go wrong.”
“It is just short of forty miles and no accident will happen,” Emma said with all confidence. “I will write you as soon as I arrive.”
“Mr. Weston has agreed to take Emma himself and he will bring Marta too,” Mrs. Weston said. “They will break their travel at the Pig and Pony—Mr. Weston is well-acquainted with the owner of that establishment and the best room has been put aside. So you see, Mr. Woodhouse, it will be very safe. Marta will chaperone and Mr. Weston will not hurry the horses. It will be a slow and sedate progress.”
“Only think, father,” Emma said, “I shall write you wonderful letters and you do so like to receive letters.”
Mr. Woodhouse nodded slowly. “That is true. It is so much more pleasant to read a conversation than having to keep up my end of it.”
“I shall write you of all the happenings at Longbourn,” Emma continued. “Five ladies wishing to be married, only think of all that should go on.”
Mrs. Weston laid a hand on Emma’s arm. “My dear, you did promise Mr. Knightley that you would cease matchmaking.”
Emma blushed furiously. Would Mr. Knightley never cease to scold her? He was not even here and he was scolding her by means of other people. Perhaps it had been wrong to interfere with two certain individuals, but it had seemed as if fate would push one of them into a higher sphere. She had only offered a slight assistance in the pushing. Further, all would have come off if Mr. Elton had not been so perverse in his preferences. In any case, it was a far different matter to assist her own cousins.
“I will only point out that Mr. Knightley,” Emma said, “is just now ridiculously sitting alone in Isabella’s house in London. It is so foolish of him that I do not see how he is to warn me about putting
out a wrong foot.”
“Emma never puts a foot wrong,” Mr. Woodhouse said. “Knightley ought not to say that. Everybody will tell you Emma always does right. Only ask poor Miss Taylor.”
Emma had turned from the party while her dear father mounted a defense of his daughter. Despite her proclamation that Mr. Knightley had no right to direct her activities, his opinions hung over her like an uncomfortable fog. She must dismiss them this instant, there were five cousins awaiting her arrival and they could not be happily settled until she was positively there. This situation, if Mr. Knightley ever cared to examine it, was nothing at all like Harriet’s unfortunate circumstance. Poor Harriet had a rather opaque history to contend with. These were her own cousins!
“Dear Mrs. Weston,” Emma said, turning back, “when shall I leave? When will Mr. Weston be ready?”
“It has all been arranged, my dear. In a week’s time—”
“So soon!” Mr. Woodhouse said in a nervous tone.
“In a week,” Isabella said with determination.
Emma momentarily looked as if lightning had struck and turned her to a marble statue. Then she smiled. “I must write Lizzy and Jane this instant.” She kissed her father’s head and fled the room.
Mr. Woodhouse watched her as she fled, looking exceedingly unhappy. “This would never have happened if poor Miss Taylor had not married.”
Longbourn’s drawing room was drenched in the late afternoon sun. It was that time of day when everybody who had left their home had returned, whether they be people to a house or bees to a hive.
Elizabeth had let her mother tell all of her news from her trip to Meryton, which was no more than the oft-repeated gossip about the soon-to-arrive Mr. Bingley, before she dared spring the surprise. She held a letter from Emma. Her plan had succeeded, and her cousin would arrive in two days’ time.
“Mama,” she said, “You do recall you gave us permission to invite Emma to stay?”
“And Emma has refused,” Mrs. Bennet said, “just as I knew she would.”
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