Cousin Emma

by Perpetua Langley

  In a fit of desperation, Elizabeth jumped up from the bench, got behind Mary and tickled her while she attempted an Irish air.

  “Do stop, Lizzy,” Mary cried. “I can hardly think!”

  “That is precisely the point,” Elizabeth said, laughing. “Keep playing!”

  Mary played on, wriggling and laughing and begging Elizabeth to stop. Once her attention was pulled away from the notes, her hands roamed freely, and lightly, over the keys. Her fingers were like flashes of lightning.

  “You see, Mary,” Elizabeth said, continuing to tickle her. “Your mind has been slowing down your fingers, and now they are set free.”

  Mary looked with wonder at her fingers flying across the keys. “Indeed,” she said, laughing, “when I do not think of them, they know what to do on their own!”

  Elizabeth suddenly noted Mr. Collins standing at the door, looking upon the scene in wonder.

  She kissed the top of her sister’s head and fled the room.

  Mr. Collins, having been so practiced at proposing due to his various failed attempts, had speedily closed with Mary. Elizabeth thought that Mary’s improved playing had only spurred him on.

  Mrs. Bennet had been ecstatic, that lady satisfied that she would never have to leave Longbourn, whether Mr. Bennet was dead or alive. Mr. Bennet received Mr. Collins’ proposition with all good humour, though rather amazed that the first gentleman at his door should be for Mary. Once he convinced himself of Mary’s wish to wed Mr. Collins, and he did need convincing as he thought they were a rather ridiculous pair, he gave his blessing.

  All in all, Elizabeth viewed it as being a very satisfying morning. In the afternoon, she was in the carriage with Emma and Jane, on their way to see Miss Mallory.

  The carriage wended its way up the long lane to the house. Elizabeth had been quiet for much of the journey, which had gone largely unnoticed. Her thoughts were consumed with Mr. Darcy’s letter.

  “How odd that we should have misjudged Miss Mallory so entirely,” Jane said.

  “It is not odd at all,” Emma said. “I’m beginning to think that particular trait runs in the family.”

  “Jane,” Elizabeth said, “you cannot pretend to be as wicked as I have been. I cannot count the ill remarks I have made about Emily Mallory over the years.”

  “Though I would not make such remarks, Lizzy, I did agree with you on the main points,” Jane said.

  “Jane, Lizzy,” Emma said, “there is no use berating yourselves over it. I am convinced of that, at least. When I return to Hartfield, I shall turn my gaze everywhere and make amends to whoever I have wronged.”

  “What of Harriet Smith,” Elizabeth asked. “Did you write her a discouraging letter, as you proposed?”

  Emma suddenly appeared pensive. “I only said that she must be sure of Mr. Knightley’s attachment and that I, myself, was not at all sure of it. That is the truth, I do not think Mr. Knightley can really care for her.”

  “What if he does care for her?” Jane asked. “Would you then accept the situation with equanimity?”

  “That may be too much to ask,” Emma said. “I am reformed, but I cannot look upon such a match with any sort of gladness. Harriet Smith is not at all suited to Mr. Knightley.”

  “But Emma,” Jane said gently, “you have been wrong on that score in the past.”

  Emma smiled. “I have been terribly wrong on so many things, but in this I am right. You see, the knowledge of it is not in my head where all my wrong notions have been. This knowledge is in my heart and that is why I know it to be true.”

  “We are arrived,” Elizabeth said as the carriage rolled to a stop. “Let the contrition begin.”

  Elizabeth, Jane and Emma were led into the Mallory’s drawing room. There were blushes and stammerings on all sides, except on the part of Mrs. Nandy, Miss Mallory’s companion, and the Colonel, who stood back and watched the scene with amusement.

  Elizabeth was grateful to see the Colonel, and even more grateful that Miss Bingley had not inserted herself into the visit. She supposed Emily Mallory’s defense of Mrs. Bennet’s peas had put the lady off.

  Jane expressed their regret at being remiss in calling and asked Miss Mallory to be so kind as to call on them at Longbourn. Miss Mallory feigned ignorance of any slight and accepted with all alacrity.

  Once the embarrassment of a first meeting such as this had passed, they spent a pleasant half hour over tea. Elizabeth could not think why they hadn’t come sooner. Of course, she could think, but just at the moment it was pleasant not to.

  She did feel lighter in spirit. Two of the missteps she’d made were well on their way to a remedy. The last, her accusation against Mr. Darcy, would not be remedied. That, she must learn to live with and be satisfied that she’d learnt something from her rush to judgment.

  Elizabeth, Jane and Emma spent the carriage ride back to Longbourn discussing Emily Mallory. Even now, as they walked through the front doors, Jane commented on how pleasant the conversation had been and Emma reaffirmed her admiration of the almond biscuits served with the tea.

  Their conversation came to an abrupt halt as Mrs. Bennet flew down the hall toward them. In a hurried whisper, she said, “Where have you been so long? Mr. Bingley is here!”

  Mrs. Bennet grabbed Jane’s arm. “Go! Go to the drawing room!”

  “Please, mama,” Jane said calmly, “give us a moment to remove our bonnets.”

  “Us?” Mrs. Bennet said in wonder. “There is no us. Emma and Lizzy will go elsewhere, and I do not care where! You are to go in on your own.”

  Jane laid a hand on her mother’s arm. “Mama, that would be unseemly.”

  “Unseemly, you say?” Mrs. Bennet said in a huff. “How do you suppose a girl receives an offer of marriage? Is it to be shouted across a drawing room? Is it to be relayed by a footman in the dining room? Of course you must go alone. Do hurry, Jane!”

  Now, Jane became flustered. “But you cannot know that he would—”

  “You cannot know either if you do not go in!” Mrs. Bennet said.

  Mrs. Bennet unpinned Jane’s bonnet and cast it aside. She marched Jane to the drawing room door and said loudly, “Ah, Mr. Bingley, here is Jane. Elizabeth and Emma are just…going somewhere. I, myself must go do…something.”

  With that, she closed the drawing room door.

  Elizabeth and Emma looked at each other in wonder. Then they hurried to Mrs. Bennet, who was just now pressing her ear against the door.

  What followed was a quarter hour of pure delight. At least, for Jane, but perhaps less so for Emma as it must revisit one of her recent mistakes. Mr. Bingley explained how he had been instantly struck by Jane Bennet, but then had paused when Emma alerted him to the idea that Miss Elizabeth Bennet preferred him. What a tangle he’d found himself in, to admire one sister and fear causing hurt feelings in the other! When Emma had confessed that it had all been a fiction, he saw his way ahead clear and vowed he would express all that was in his heart.

  Then, he did express all that was in his heart. Jane Bennet was perfection, Jane Bennet was to be held above all other women, Jane Bennet was the only lady for Charles Bingley and finally, with what Elizabeth thought was a dramatic flourish, Charles Bingley would throw himself off a bridge if Jane Bennet refused him.

  As it happened, Mr. Bingley’s person was in no danger of broken bones or drowning, as Jane Bennet did not refuse him.

  Mrs. Bennet, perhaps not the most sensible woman in the world, had one particular skill which had no equal. When a daughter’s marriage was within her sights, she became as any skilled sea captain, navigating her ship through high seas and dangerous reefs.

  The instant she heard Jane accept, Mrs. Bennet threw the drawing room door open. Mr. Bingley was congratulated, and then speedily walked to Mr. Bennet. Elizabeth would not have been surprised to find out that Mrs. Bennet had hidden his horse, so that he might not escape until the thing was done.

  Now, Mr. Bennet regarded Charles Bingley before him. M
r. Bingley had asked his permission to marry Jane, assured him of Jane’s willingness, then outlined the state of his funds and what Jane’s pin money would be, which turned out to be extravagant. It was all exceedingly satisfactory.

  Mr. Bennet did feel, if he were to closely examine himself, somewhat bemused. Mrs. Bennet had declared in all confidence that the single gentlemen arriving to the neighborhood would marry her daughters. Mr. Bennet had laughed and teased and viewed the whole idea as only another of his wife’s ill-considered opinions.

  And yet, here was a second man wishing to marry one of his daughters. He’d barely recovered from the shock of being asked for Mary! Jane, of course, was not such a shock, though he could hardly believe Mrs. Bennet’s predictions had come true. Perhaps he might, going forward, give more credence to her opinions than he had been in the habit of doing. She appeared to know more about the business of getting girls married than he would ever have guessed.

  Mr. Bennet tented his fingers. “Mr. Bingley, all you have said during this interview is everything a father wishes to hear, but for failing to mention one important matter—do you love my Jane?”

  Mr. Bingley blushed furiously, which Mr. Bennet took to be a very good sign.

  Stammering, Mr. Bingley said, “I have told Miss Bennet that I would jump off a bridge if she refused me, and I meant it. I would have to look further afield than this neighborhood for a bridge high enough, but I was prepared to do it, sir!”

  Mr. Bennet attempted to keep the laughter from his voice. Jump off a bridge, indeed. He said, “London bridge would do very well, but then I suppose there is no need, since my daughter has accepted you.”

  “And do you, Mr. Bennet?” Mr. Bingley said anxiously. “Do you give your permission?”

  “Oh certainly,” Mr. Bennet said. “Let it never be said that John Bennet caused some young buck to go galloping off in search of bridges to fling himself off.”

  The day of the Netherfield ball found Longbourn a merry place.

  Directly after breakfast, Elizabeth and Jane helped Emma organize her things, as they were not certain precisely which day Mr. Weston would arrive, but it could be as soon as the morrow. Emma had received no letter alerting her to it, but then she suspected that one had been sent and gone astray. They laughed at how often one of them folded something, only to be refolded by Marta.

  All three spoke of meeting again, the likelihood being they would have to come to Hartfield as the chances of Mr. Woodhouse venturing far afield were slim.

  Shortly after they had organized Emma’s things, Mr. Bingley arrived to the house. He ought to have been at Netherfield preparing for the evening, but he’d left the other inhabitants of his house to confer with the housekeeper, butler and cook. He and Jane had much to speak of, and they took over a little corner of the drawing room to do just that.

  Emma’s spirits rose ever higher when she received a letter from Harriet Smith. It turned out that Harriet had misread her own feelings. On a Wednesday when she hoped to encounter Mr. Knightley in Highbury, she had encountered both Mr. Knightley and Mr. Martin walking together. Seeing the two gentlemen side by side struck Harriet exceedingly. Mr. Knightley might have Donwell Abbey, but he did not have Mr. Martin’s height or broad shoulders. Really, if Harriet were to be brutally frank, Mr. Knightley appeared rather small next to Mr. Martin.

  What ensued was a charming conversation between Harriet and Mr. Martin, Mr. Knightley eventually drifting away from the pair. Harriet did not like to think she had disappointed Mr. Knightley but, after all, she must follow her own heart.

  Emma Woodhouse found herself supremely satisfied with Harriet Smith’s heart, though she could not agree that Mr. Knightley was in any way small. A gigantic farmer might entice Harriet Smith, but Emma did not see the charm in it.

  Kitty and Lydia had, for once, forgone a trip to Meryton. They conspired together over ribbons, some of which Elizabeth was certain had been taken from her room and the rest from Jane’s. After scattering ribbons everywhere, both sisters put their heads together and pored over a letter, giggling and pointing at it. Elizabeth presumed it was from their friend Miss Jinks, who was just then on a European tour.

  Mary played the pianoforte and, for once, nobody complained. Mr. Collins turned the pages for her, and Mary found that if she engaged in conversation while playing it had the same effect as Elizabeth’s tickles. The distraction of talking kept her mind from thinking of what notes to hit next, thereby avoiding slowing her fingers to her usual ponderous and heavy progression. The result was a light and pleasant background music.

  If there were one person who was less satisfied with the state of things, it must be Elizabeth Bennet. She could not conceive of how she would face Mr. Darcy at the ball. She must speak to him, a letter such as she had received could not go unremarked. But what on earth should she say?

  She supposed she might just say what she knew to be true—she could not be relied upon to judge another’s character and would refrain from rushing to conclusions in future.

  She only hoped that vow was actually true. It seemed a part of her nature to rush to mistaken assumptions. Was it possible to train one’s nature? Perhaps not, but she did think she could rein in some of her worst impulses by paying greater attention to those around her who appeared to have an innate better judgement.

  Hill interrupted Elizabeth’s thoughts, the housekeeper appearing at the drawing room door with a look of abject terror writ large on her features. Elizabeth had not seen the lady so frightened since she’d had to tell Mrs. Bennet that the kitchen was on fire, thanks to a hapless new maid who’d not understood the flammability of kitchen towels.

  “Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” Hill squeaked out. She then turned on her heel and disappeared.

  Lady Catherine? Elizabeth rose, as did everybody who had been seated. A tall woman of middle age and stern countenance limped into the room with the use of a sturdy cane.

  Mr. Collins rushed to present himself, bowing low. “Lady Catherine!” he cried. “We did not anticipate the pleasure!”

  “It is no pleasure, Mr. Collins,” the lady said imperiously.

  Mr. Collins was momentarily stymied. He collected himself and said, “Well! May I present my fiancée? Miss Mary Bennet?”

  Mary curtsied.

  “The lecturing one?” Lady Catherine said, her features full of disapproval.

  “What?” Mr. Collins cried. “No. No. Certainly not.”

  Lady Catherine’s eyes scanned the room. “I wish to speak to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Alone.”

  Elizabeth looked up in surprise. Why should Lady Catherine wish to speak to her? Surely, the lady was here to see her clergyman, or her clergyman’s intended bride. She was neither.

  The rest of the inhabitants of the room, while as surprised as Elizabeth, also appeared rather terrified. They filed out with all speed and Elizabeth found herself alone with this uninvited guest.

  “Shall I ring for tea, Lady Catherine?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Certainly not,” the lady answered.

  Elizabeth attempted to keep the surprise from her features. The lady had responded as if Elizabeth had offered her a bottle of cheap gin.

  “Would you care to be seated?” Elizabeth asked.

  Lady Catherine stared at the Bennet’s furniture and said, “Hardly.”

  Elizabeth felt a flicker of irritation run through her. She did not know what the lady wanted with her, but she was not to be cowed. Mr. Collins might tremble in front of her majesty, but Elizabeth Bennet did not.

  “Pray, Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth said, “as I cannot offer you tea or a chair, how may I assist you?”

  Lady Catherine’s look was one of derision. “Do not pretend you do not comprehend the meaning of my visit.”

  Elizabeth wrinkled her brow. How on earth was she to know why an unknown lady had come to see her?

  “I am afraid I do not comprehend the meaning of your visit at all,” Elizabeth said. “I might account for your arrival had y
ou wished to speak to Mary, she being Mr. Collins’ intended. As to why you should seek me out, I cannot guess at it.”

  Lady Catherine leaned on her cane and Elizabeth thought it must be a very stubborn woman who would so clearly need to sit down and refuse to do it.

  “I see you are a bold sort of a girl,” Lady Catherine said. “I cannot say I am surprised by it. As you would feign ignorance of my meaning, I will tell it to you. Mr. Collins wrote to me, informing me of the unwelcome news that Mr. Darcy, my own nephew, had paid you some slight attention.”

  Elizabeth pressed her lips together to stop herself from speaking. Why the lady should concern herself with her nephew’s business she did not know, but she could not help but feel the sting of the lady’s insult. Unwelcome news, she called it. What sort of news had Mr. Collins written? Mr. Darcy had not paid her any sort of particular attention that might be remarked upon. At least, she did not think so.

  “Naturally,” Lady Catherine went on, “he is a young man and might be tempted here and there, but it signifies nothing. Darcy is from a fine family and will marry high. Such dalliances as these are to be forgotten as soon as he decamps to London and his friends. You must know this, of course, your family being of little consequence. I only wished to assure myself that the girl in question had not read more into it than there is. Which is nothing.”

  Elizabeth was dumbfounded. The lady had traveled this great distance to inform her of her little consequence? Had she actually been spoken to as if she were an errant milk maid making eyes at the master of the house?

  “Well?” Lady Catherine said, her voice rising. “Has he proposed?”

  Proposed? Where on earth would she get such an idea? What, precisely, had Mr. Collins written in that letter?

  “I will have an answer, Miss Bennet.”

  Lady Catherine would have an answer. Elizabeth found herself grown tired of this ridiculous interrogation. Who was this woman, to come charging into the house and demanding answers? She was clearly mistaken in whatever her assumptions were.