Cousin Emma

by Perpetua Langley

  With that, Mr. Darcy turned to Emily Mallory and Elizabeth was left breathless to consider the exchange.

  She had expected that Mr. Darcy, seeing he was caught out, would display some sort of remorse or embarrassment. His answer, though, was full of vehemence as if he defended himself from an unjust accusation. How could it be so?

  Elizabeth paused. Jane had warned that Mr. Wickham’s words did not ring true. Still, though, nobody would entirely invent such an outrageous story. If Mr. Wickham’s story was not strictly true, then perhaps it had been embellished. There was truth in it somewhere, she only wished she knew the facts of it for certain.

  As it was, she found she wished that she had not brought up the accusations to Mr. Darcy. It was not her argument, after all, and it was not polite dinner conversation. She should have allowed Mr. Darcy to apologize for his prior rudeness and simply escaped into the drawing room when she could. That was exactly what Jane would have done and, once again, Elizabeth had failed to measure up to her sister’s superior behavior.

  Colonel Forster had turned to her and was just now speaking of Miss Lucas and Mr. Claymore’s engagement and so there was not time to think on it further.

  Emma did her best to attend to what Mr. Livingston, an officer of the regiment, said to her, though she was also listening to Mr. Bingley speak to Jane. She found herself much put out regarding the seating arrangement. It was all exactly the opposite of what it should be! Mr. Bingley was next to Jane and Elizabeth was beside Mr. Darcy when it should have been entirely reversed.

  As the dinner went on, Emma could not help but notice that Mr. Bingley gave her the smallest amount of attention he could give while staying within the realm of politeness. His attention was all on Jane. How could it be so?

  She feared the situation might cause a rift between the two sisters. Emma noted Elizabeth appearing unhappy throughout the dinner. She was very much afraid that Elizabeth had finally realized that she was indeed suited to Mr. Bingley, and now Mr. Bingley paid too much attention to Jane.

  Emma did not know what to do about it, other than brood on the idea that the hearts of ladies and gentlemen would be more smoothly settled if they would only follow her directives!

  The Mallory’s drawing room was merry, but for a few exceptions. Elizabeth quietly played at cards, making up a fourth with two of the officers and Miss Darcy. Mr. Darcy sat with a book at the far end of the room.

  Others were more animated. Lydia played a lively tune, having wrested the pianoforte from Mary by way of removing all the music sheets from it until Mary gave it over. Colonel Fitzwilliam paid particular attention to Emily Mallory and they seemed to be laughing a good deal. Elizabeth supposed she should not be surprised by it; the Colonel made no secret that he was poor and the Mallorys made no secret that they were rich. She could not blame the Colonel for it, a second son was always in an untenable position. Elizabeth had been certain that Mr. James Jennington would have asked for her hand two years ago, had they the means to live. They had not, and so he eventually married a lady from Yorkshire who had. She had not been sad to see Mr. Jennington go and doubted she would have accepted him, but she was sad to understand that money must dictate where love should reign.

  Mr. Bingley seemed to have recovered his spirits and was back to hovering near Jane. Emma, to Elizabeth’s consternation, always seemed to be nearby the couple and she had even heard her cousin exclaim to Mr. Bingley regarding Elizabeth’s skill at cards. Emma should really understand that Mr. Bingley had no interest whatsoever in Elizabeth Bennet’s ability at cards.

  Mr. Collins had, apparently, imbibed too much port with the men. This was evidenced by his loud compliments to the hosts. Mr. Bennet took the man aside once, but he had only come back louder.

  Finally, the evening came to an end. Elizabeth dawdled before walking to the cloak room for her spencer, in order to give the inmates of Netherfield time to get inside their carriages. Otherwise, there would be that uncomfortable standing about the steps while the carriages were brought forward in which some conversation must be made. Just now, more conversation would be a steep hill to climb.

  As she approached the cloak room, Elizabeth saw an extraordinary sight. Mr. Collins was on his knees before Emily Mallory. An astonished footman held Mr. Collins’ coat and looked on.

  “My dear, dear, dear Miss Mallory,” Mr. Collins slurred. “If you’d woo me the honor of, of…marriage, Lady Catherine, well, she would, I’m sure.”

  The scene was so extraordinary, Elizabeth felt rooted to the spot. She nearly doubted she’d heard correctly.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam came up behind Elizabeth and stared for a moment, then leapt into action.

  Pulling Mr. Collins to his feet and grabbing the coat from the startled footman, he said, “There now, Mr. Collins, I will help you to your carriage.”

  Mr. Collins staggered, and Colonel Fitzwilliam steadied him. Mr. Collins pointed a forefinger skyward and said, “I was just—"

  “You were just in the midst of doing something you will regret, Mr. Collins,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said firmly.

  “Regret!” Mr. Collins cried. “Regret Miss Mallory?”

  “Never,” the Colonel said. “But you will deeply regret your very boorish behavior.”

  “Oh, that…” Mr. Collins said, trailing off.

  The Colonel walked Mr. Collins out, but not before saying over his shoulder, “Miss Mallory, may I hope that you will be at home on the morrow?”

  Emily slowly nodded. Mr. Collins’ head snapped up and he cried, “The morrow!”

  The Colonel gave Mr. Collins a great shake and said, “I’ll thrash you thoroughly if you come near this house on the morrow or any other day—then, you can communicate that to Lady Catherine.”

  Elizabeth was on the verge of laughing, as she had never seen anything so comical. She stopped herself when she noted the look on Emily’s face. The girl had tears in her eyes and quickly turned and fled.

  Elizabeth sighed. It seemed the Bennets could go nowhere without creating some sort of spectacle. If it was not Mary banging the pianoforte or Lydia joking scandalously, or Mrs. Bennet gossiping too loud, it was Mr. Collins issuing a drunken proposal to the daughter of his host.

  The next morning, Elizabeth found herself pensive. Jane and Emma diligently worked on their sewing, but Elizabeth’s own piece showed sadly little progress. She must find out the circumstances between Mr. Darcy and Mr. Wickham. She was certain that something ill had occurred between them, but less certain of Mr. Wickham’s version of it. Mr. Darcy had not sounded like a man caught out and Elizabeth had become convinced he did not see himself in the wrong. That did not mean he was not wrong, only that he did not view it as such. She would be able to make a better judgment on the rift if she knew all the facts.

  Whatever the case may be, she regretted speaking of it the night before. She was really beginning to wonder when she might move through life without regretting something she’d said. It was starting to appear a permanent condition.

  Still, she supposed when it came to ill-advised words, she could not surpass Mr. Collins’ idiocy at throwing himself at Miss Mallory’s feet. That gentleman had been subdued at breakfast and only surreptitiously glanced in her direction, she and Colonel Fitzwilliam being the only witnesses to his humiliation. She would tell nobody of what she’d observed. It would have been a marvelous story to entertain her father with, had it not been for Emily Mallory’s pained look. That, she could not make a joke of.

  Hill brought in the post and gave a letter to Emma. “It is from Harriet!” Emma said, eagerly opening the missive.

  As she read, Emma paled and Elizabeth was afraid that there had been bad news contained in it. She dearly hoped Mr. Woodhouse did not do poorly. Then she scolded herself for thinking it. If Mr. Woodhouse were ill, the letter apprising them of it would not have been written by Harriet Smith. Isabella or Mrs. Weston would have written to Emma.

  “I hardly know what to think of this,” Emma said softly.
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  “Think of what, Emma?” Elizabeth asked. “You appear exceedingly disturbed.”

  “See for yourself,” Emma said, handing over the letter.

  Elizabeth scanned its contents.

  My dearest Emma,

  I cannot keep my secret from you longer. You are my most cherished friend and must know everything that is in my heart. After all, it was Emma Woodhouse who taught me to believe that I might look higher than I thought possible. I must tell you who I am in love with, as it consumes me day and night. It is our dear Mr. Knightley.

  Yes! How could I not have fallen in love with Mr. Knightley? When I reflected on the ball and his dancing with me in answer to Mr. Elton’s snub, I found myself deeply affected. When I considered all the pretty compliments he has made me, it did begin to seem fated.

  He has come back from London and two weeks ago I met him on the street in Highbury. I cannot tell you how very flustered I was over it. He seemed most sympathetic to my confusion and even led me to a bench to recover myself. He then inquired about Mr. Martin and I was struck by his serious demeanor when he mentioned Mr. Martin’s name. I did get the distinct feeling that he perceived it ill when I said I had seen Mr. Martin in Highbury the week prior as he walked his sister to the shops. (Along with love, must come jealousy, alas)

  That evening, as I thought over the meeting, I guessed that Mr. Knightley’s trip to Highbury was a regular one occurring on Wednesdays and I have met him twice since. I believe he looks forward to these encounters.

  Emma, I cannot say what’s to happen next, except do not be surprised if the circumstances between our dear Mr. Knightley and Harriet Smith have changed by the time you return home.

  All my love,

  Harriet

  “Goodness,” Elizabeth said.

  “Our dear Mr. Knightley?” Emma said. “Our dear Mr. Knightley?”

  “I know you did so hope for your little nephew to inherit Donwell,” Elizabeth said.

  “Yes,” Emma said quietly. “I did wish it.”

  “Emma,” Jane said kindly, “while it is admirable that you wished such a circumstance for your nephew, it cannot be right to insist that Mr. Knightley stay a bachelor to accomplish it.”

  “Our dear Mr. Knightley?” Emma repeated, seeming to throw over her nephew in favor of further examination of that particular quote from Harriet’s letter.

  “Perhaps it is not so bad as you think, Emma,” Elizabeth said. “It would be a disappointment for your nephew, but after all, you are very fond of Harriet. If Harriet’s hopes are to be realized, it must give you some comfort to see two people you like so well find happiness together.”

  “But it will not give me comfort!” Emma cried. “It will not give me comfort at all! Why should Harriet prefer Mr. Knightley? It was Mr. Frank Churchill who rescued her from the gypsies! She should prefer him if she is to prefer anybody.”

  Elizabeth could not account for Emma’s strong reaction to Harriet’s letter. It seemed to be about more than her nephew becoming disappointed in an inheritance that the boy did not know the first thing about. That fixation had been Emma’s alone.

  “Aside from your nephew’s prospects,” Elizabeth said, “is there any other reason you do not approve of the connection?”

  Emma sat silent for some moments. “Yes. No. I do not know. Oh, why did I encourage Harriet in her imaginings? If I had never pointed her toward Mr. Elton, she would be married to Mr. Martin by now instead of indulging in these flights of fancy!”

  Jane laid down her sewing. “Do you imply, Emma, that Mr. Knightley cannot return Miss Smith’s affections?”

  “Of course he cannot,” Emma said, her voice not as full of confidence as her words. “It is Mr. Knightley. He cannot.”

  “And if he can?” Elizabeth asked.

  Emma crumpled her sewing in her lap. “I have brought this on myself, I know I have. Mr. Knightley warned me of my meddling and I dismissed his condemnation. I ought to have listened.”

  Emma looked out the window, her features suddenly bearing a resolute look. “No more. I will not seek to bring couples together ever again. I will undo all I have done. I am even determined to tell Mr. Bingley of my ruse.”

  Jane froze. Elizabeth looked warily at her cousin. “What ruse, Emma?”

  Emma then took on the appearance of a frightened kitten. “I only sought to get the ball rolling down the hill when I mentioned to Mr. Bingley that Elizabeth was admiring of him. And perhaps I mentioned the same to Mr. Darcy.”

  “Emma!” Elizabeth and Jane cried in unison.

  “Well I did so think Elizabeth was suited to Mr. Bingley. Even now, it seems likely. Elizabeth, can you deny that you were unhappy last evening at dinner when Mr. Bingley paid such marked attention to Jane?”

  “I most certainly can deny it, Emma,” Elizabeth said sternly. “I am sorry that my unhappiness was observed by anybody, but you have got the cause all wrong. I was delighted to see Jane and Mr. Bingley talk together as they had done in the beginning. My unhappiness was quite unrelated.”

  Emma seemed surprised to hear it. Elizabeth said, “Cousin, you have done real damage here. Do not you see? Mr. Bingley was inclined toward Jane and then he was put off by imagining that I, Jane’s own sister, admired him.”

  “I cannot speak for Mr. Bingley’s feelings,” Jane said, “but I view him as the sort of gentleman who would not wish to cause a disturbance between two sisters. He spoke to me much last evening, but his words on every subject were measured and guarded. He was less free than he had been. I could not account for it, but now perhaps I can.”

  “I should have realized it,” Elizabeth said. “When we first arrived, Mr. Bingley appeared delighted to speak with Jane. Then he caught my eye and his face fell. Emma, I blush to know now that he thought he caused me some sort of disappointment.”

  Emma wrinkled her brow. “Do you suppose I was wrong to think that two people as similar as you and Mr. Bingley were well-suited? That perhaps it is people who are unlike one another who are better suited?”

  Jane blushed but did not answer.

  “Mr. Bingley and Jane are alike and they are well-suited, Emma,” Elizabeth said. “They could not be more well-suited. Jane may not seem as lighthearted as Mr. Bingley, but in her heart she is, all the same. Do not you see? It is Jane that takes all that occurs in this house with cheerful equanimity. It is Jane who is friend to all the world. It is Jane who thinks well of everybody. It is Jane who has such confidence that all in her circle must be good and must do right.”

  Emma listened to Elizabeth’s words, the truth of them dawning on her. “That does sound very like Mr. Bingley,” she said, and began to quietly sob while searching for a handkerchief to mop her eyes.

  Elizabeth had been infuriated with her cousin, but she could not go on with it while observing Emma’s distress. Emma had done a terrible thing to Jane, but she felt it. She felt it deeply.

  Elizabeth handed her a handkerchief. Jane had already put an arm around Emma’s shoulders. “Do not make yourself ill,” Jane said.

  “Oh, but I should,” Emma said, between sobs. “I should make myself very ill. I deserve to be ill for the rest of my life.”

  “You have made a mistake,” Elizabeth said. “I find I cannot hold it against you as I make so very many of my own. As for Jane, you can see she has not condemned you over it.”

  Emma dried her eyes. “Truly? You will not despise me?”

  “Of course we will not,” Jane said. “We adore you.”

  “Though perhaps we do not adore your meddling so much,” Elizabeth said. “Still, we do adore you.”

  “You are very good cousins. You are really the best cousins in the world—anybody else might have thrown me from the house.”

  “Our mama might throw you from the house were she to be apprised of what has transpired,” Elizabeth said, “so perhaps best we keep this our secret.”

  Emma rose and said, “At the Lucas dinner, I will speak to Mr. Bingley and admit what I’
ve done. I shall find my opportunity somehow. That will be the very last time that Emma Woodhouse interferes in the fate of her friend’s hearts.”

  She pointed her forefinger to the air and said, “The second to last time she interferes will be the stern letter I will write to Harriet Smith this instant. From now on, I shall take in Mr. Knightley’s advice far more seriously than I have done.”

  Emma paused. “Assuming he does not marry Harriet Smith, for if he does I shall not heed a word he says for the rest of his days.”

  Emma turned on her heel and fled the room. Elizabeth and Jane stared at each other wonderingly.

  “That explains quite a lot,” Elizabeth said.

  “Perhaps,” Jane said. “But Lizzy, do not jump to any conclusions. It is right that Mr. Bingley know he was led astray on the subject of your affections, but nothing may come of it other than he can be comfortable understanding the truth of it.”

  “Dearest Jane,” Elizabeth said, smiling. “I happily and entirely dispute your caution.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Mr. Collins sat at the desk in his bedchamber, staring morosely at the missive that had been delivered to him moments earlier. It was another letter from Lady Catherine, demanding to know how he got on. How was he to tell her he did not get on at all? How was he to explain that he’d involved himself in one disaster after the next?

  The evening before, after consuming a few too many glasses of port, he’d gazed around the Mallory’s dining room and noticed how pleasant it was. The whole house was pleasant, furnished with the kind of money that made things comfortable. Miss Mallory herself was pleasant, she being a silly sort of girl who looked up to her father. A girl who would no doubt look up to a husband.