“He saw footprints before the gate?” repeated Emma. This detail gave credence to Harriet’s story, which Emma had been doubting. “Did you study them yourself?”
“No, Mrs. Knightley, since I never saw the gypsies’ feet and don’t know what sort of shoes they were wearing, I did not think it would do any good. Besides, I was too frightened to go outside. I’ve been nervous ever since, but Robert can’t stay with me every minute.”
“It does not look frightening,” remarked Emma, staring out the window. The scene was as bucolic as anyone could wish: a dozen chickens in their coop, a few buildings, buckets and a pitchfork. The garden looked like many kitchen gardens in early autumn, with the spikes of onions still sticking out of the ground, turnips and parsnips likewise showing their tops, a few pumpkins giving color to the bed, whereas the leaves from other vegetables such as runner beans which had already been harvested and stored in jars for the coming winter were starting to wither. Beyond the gate, which appeared so innocent from where she stood, were a few trees and some shrubbery. The trees were a mixture of spruce and birch; the latter’s leaves already sprinkled with gold. She did not understand how Harriet could have declined investigating, especially if her husband Robert was with her to protect her.
“No, it doesn’t, does it? It is the middle of the day, but now I am afraid to stir out of my own front door. Or rather, my back door,” Harriet amended.
“Do you mind if I take a look?” Emma asked, putting the twin she was holding on the sofa beside Harriet, and then pulling on her cloak.
“Are you not frightened?” asked Harriet, her blue eyes wide. “Of course you are not, Mrs. Knightley; what am I thinking? You are not a weak-spirited creature like myself.”
“Nonsense, you are not weak-spirited,” Emma said, although she had been thinking that very thing about Harriet just a moment before. “You are not sleeping because of the babies, and that makes you fanciful. And although I am as frail as you are, I can see from here that no strangers are around, and as you say, it is the middle of the day. Besides, my coachman James will hear me if I cry out.”
Despite Emma’s reassurances, Harriet’s terror was so great that Emma could not help absorbing some of her friend’s fear as she opened the door and walked out into the yard, and she had to repeat her own arguments to encourage herself to continue. The dog Ginger, usually indoors with Harriet, bounded outside with her. Emma was relieved for its company as she went over to the much-maligned gate, whose hinges needed oiling. She glanced back in the direction and waved. In the bright sunlight it was virtually impossible to see inside the cottage, but she hoped that if Harriet were watching, her confident smile – she tried to smile confidently – would reassure her friend.
The air was crisp but the sun was strong. Emma kept an eye out on the thick, overgrown shrubbery – it would be possible for someone to be hiding in it – but that person would have to be hiding in the bushes for some time now, without making a sound, and to what purpose? She looked at the ground and although there was evidence of footprints, it was impossible for her to tell how many, when they had been made – presumably since the last rain four days ago – or who had made them.
Emma went around to the front of the house, spoke to James and asked if he had seen anyone. The coachman said he had seen the milkmaid Sue, and from a distance, a shepherd tending his sheep and what looked like Robert Martin in his field – but no strangers and nothing suspicious. She told James she would be a while longer, and went back inside to Harriet, who was greatly relieved that Mrs. Knightley had come back inside – accompanied by the dog Ginger – completely unharmed.
Did you recognize anyone? How many people did you see? Can you describe them? To these questions Emma received no coherent, confident answer – there might have been two people, there might have been three, or even more, as the gate blocked the view and Harriet had been too frightened to look out the window for more than a short time. Still, Harriet was adamant on two points. She had seen someone, or some ones, and that occurrence had terrified her. She was certain something was wrong; that the unknown persons had had evil intent. Yet whoever it was had not taken anything; Harriet could say this because her husband Robert had looked through everything, going around the house and checking the animals and the outer buildings as well.
Emma recalled that Mrs. Weston’s turkeys had been pilfered several years ago and mentioned that to her friend.
“Just so!” cried Harriet.
Emma was surprised that, given how anxious Harriet was, that Mr. Martin had left Harriet to herself.
“I did not want him to go, but it is the middle of the day and there is the harvest – the harvest cannot wait. Besides, as you see, they appear to have cleared off – Robert looked everywhere. Besides, again, Sue is with the cows and Tom,” – a sallow-faced youth who helped with the harvest – “is sometimes on the property so I am not quite alone. And if there was someone bad in the area, then going to Donwell Abbey sooner rather than later was necessary, so Robert is planning to go to see Mr. Knightley this afternoon – he could be there now. Mr. Knightley could hardly arrange to get rid of the bad people if he does not know they exist.”
“I cannot argue with you,” said Emma, because this time Harriet’s reasoning was fairly sound – and when it was not, arguing was likewise out of the question. She also felt a swelling of pride in her husband, at how everyone in Donwell and Highbury turned to him to solve problems.
One of the babies sneezed and waved its small fists and Emma judged it was time to change the subject. They discussed the fact that Harriet was expecting again; the joyful event was still seven months away. They spoke of Mrs. Martin, and the letter she had sent from Bath and how she and her daughter Elizabeth were enjoying the Pump Room. And the latest gossip – Elizabeth Martin, Harriet’s sister-in-law, was being courted by William Cox, a lawyer. “Mrs. Martin thinks Elizabeth should accept William Cox’s proposal, but Elizabeth wants to think about it.”
They briefly discussed the death of Mrs. Bates: “Miss Bates must be so sad!” Harriet exclaimed, and for a moment looked sorrowful and sympathetic, until the other child woke and began to wail at which point she returned to her own concerns.
Emma judged Harriet was in a better mood and that she had done all she could for her for the time being. The milkmaid was back inside, and so Harriet was not quite alone. “Will you be all right if I depart? I must continue to Donwell Abbey.”
“Oh! Yes!” Harriet thanked Emma over and over for her visit, the assistance and the basket of provisions, and said that Mrs. Knightley had done her a world of good. “You are so kind to me.”
“Try to get some rest, dear Harriet,” Emma advised, although she did not know how or if her young friend would be able to follow such advice.
“Yes. Rest more, of course,” Harriet repeated, and then yawned so grandly that Emma thought young Mrs. Martin might fall asleep then and there. Emma made sure the twins were not in danger of falling or harming themselves in any other way, then put on her cloak and departed.
James helped her into the carriage and then climbed up himself and started. Before they were more than five minutes away from the Martin cottage, Robert Martin himself came around the bend in the lane. Emma tapped on the roof to signal for the carriage to stop, then lowered the window and called out to him.
“Mrs. Knightley,” Robert Martin acknowledged, bowing slightly.
“Robert Martin,” said Emma, who was relieved for this manner of meeting, which would force them to keep their meeting short. Emma and Robert Martin had never moved in the same circle; his status in Highbury was both too low for her to notice and yet too high for her assistance. Robert Martin naturally resented Emma’s influence, as Harriet’s refusal of his first proposal had delayed his present happiness for almost a year.
So, they had no reason to be friends, and even some reason for animosity; still, Emma was glad to see him. His return would greatly reassure his wife. They exchanged greetings and Robe
rt Martin reported to her that he had spoken with Mr. Knightley and so far there had been no more sign of any gypsies.
“But you are sure someone was there,” Emma persisted, who continued to doubt Harriet’s story, as those footprints could have made any time, by anyone.
“Yes, someone was there,” said Robert Martin.
“Thank you. Your wife will be glad to see you,” she said, and Robert Martin reciprocated with the observation that her husband would be glad to see her. It was as if neither could understand their partners’ unaccountable taste, but did not deny it was so.
She waved farewell; he awkwardly inclined his head, then she let James know he should continue. The horses clopped forward, and the carriage rolled on. The road was fairly good between the Abbey-Mill Farm and Donwell Abbey. She scanned for suspicious gypsies – looking left and right – but except for a few crows pecking some apples on the ground and a flock of sheep in the distance, she saw no one more alarming than William Larkins.
She thought with satisfaction of her visit to Harriet. Emma felt she had done all she could for her friend during her short visit. She had offered her moral and practical support; she had brought bread and honey and had made her tea. Still, Harriet – sweet and indecisive Harriet – needed more substantial assistance during this difficult time. The best scheme would be a girl to help, at least part time, with some of the work, but Emma did not know of anyone suitable and was not sure if she could suggest such a thing to the Martin household. Robert Martin might not be able to afford it, and if Emma tried to offer temporary assistance, he still might object out of pride. She would have to think of some way to arrange it.
In the meantime she was resolved to send over another basket of bread and some nourishing stew the next day – easy fare, quick to prepare – and to include with the provisions a new jug to replace the one she had startled poor Harriet into shattering.
6 Carriage ride to hartfield
Emma had spent more time at the Abbey-Mill Farm than she expected, so by the time that she reached Donwell Abbey the sun was low in the sky. If they wanted to return to Hartfield before her father started to worry – and they both knew how easily Mr. Woodhouse worried, especially about his precious daughter – they had to depart at once. Mr. Knightley was disappointed not to be able to show his wife the improvements being made to his cider press. Donwell Abbey, like so many former monasteries that had become estates, was famous for its apple orchards, and Mr. Knightley was always interested in finding a way to improve the output of his trees and find other uses for his fruit.
Emma appreciated good cider, but she had never thought much about the work that went into making it: tending trees, picking the fruit, sorting them, then crushing them until the juice flowed, and she could only muster moderate enthusiasm for the process. She apologized for being late but said they needed to get home to her father and their baby.
Mr. Knightley, in a good humor because the harvest looked promising, nevertheless sighed as he settled into the Woodhouse carriage. Emma knew it was hard for him to leave Donwell Abbey every day – she tried to look at it as her future home, which of course it was, but she still felt a strong attachment to Hartfield. She wondered if she had inherited some of her father’s character after all, for her father’s preference for his own home was very strong – or if she just wanted to return to Hartfield because her father and her son were currently there, and if in her later life she would be just as attached to Donwell Abbey as she was now to Hartfield.
Although Mr. Knightley disliked departing from his estate, he knew he would return the next day – or the day after that, as on the morrow there was the funeral for Miss Bates – and so he was able to depart with tolerable equanimity. His sigh, although interpreted by his wife as reluctance, was due more to fatigue, for the day’s work had been strenuous. Mr. Knightley was actually relieved to be returning comfortably in his wife’s carriage, especially as James and the horses would take him more quickly than his own two feet to warm fires, a good dinner – Mr. Knightley would never admit it to Hodges, his cook at Donwell Abbey, but Serle, the Hartfield cook, was better – and his child. After failing to interest wife in the improvements he was making to his cider press, he inquired after the health and spirits of her friend.
The topic of Harriet Martin was more interesting to Mrs. Knightley than the details of farming. She was eager to know what Robert Martin had told him about Harriet’s sighting of gypsies. Did Mr. Knightley, after speaking with Robert Martin, think that Harriet was in any danger?
Mr. Knightley told Emma what he and Robert Martin had discussed, and the account given by Mr. Knightley was consistent with what Harriet had told Emma – which was not surprising, as both originated with that young matron. Mr. Knightley was convinced, because Robert Martin was convinced, that Harriet Martin had seen someone or some people at the back gate, but whether she had sighted strangers – and especially dangerous strangers – could not be determined.
“Do you think Harriet could be imagining danger?” Mr. Knightley asked as the coach turned along a curve and then went downhill.
Emma considered. She did not think Harriet would deliberately invent something fearful, but Harriet’s power of observation was not the most acute. Harriet was extremely overtired, and it was possible that in her fatigued state, that she had failed to recognize friends, or that she had simply been unnecessarily alarmed by strangers.
“I agree. From Martin’s description, it could have been as simple as some people losing their way, and wanting to ask for direction.”
“But why would they come to the back and not the front?” Emma inquired.
Perhaps no one had answered the front gate, or perhaps they were simply crossing the field.
Emma had a few other ideas. Perhaps one of the servants at Abbey-Mill Farm was expecting friends or acquaintances, and these people were not known to Harriet. Or perhaps Elizabeth Martin had an admirer who did not realize that she was away in Bath – or perhaps Harriet had a secret admirer. After speculating on possibilities, she asked Mr. Knightley what action, as a local magistrate, he would take.
“We will keep an eye out for suspicious strangers, but even if someone trespassed along that path,” – for that path was private property – “ that path is so commonly used that it would be wrong to make a case against anyone, even if they were trespassing.”
They discussed whether or not to inform Mr. Woodhouse of the sighting of potential strangers. Although Emma enjoyed the mystery and the prospect of excitement, the Knightleys knew that these very qualities would injure Mr. Woodhouse’s tranquility.
Emma considered. She did not like to keep anything from her father, partly because he could find out anyway, but she agreed that, from the way Mr. Knightley put it, it could be a fuss about nothing. Besides, she reflected silently, worrying her father with the prospect or possibility of gypsies could make it more difficult for her to go about when and if she wanted to. Not that she was concerned for her own sake – the roads to Randalls and to Highbury were short and well-traveled – but she did not want to distress her father.
“Very well, we will not mention it and we will be reassuring if anyone else does. What topic should we choose to amuse my father?”
Harriet’s fatigue, they decided, would be the best subject for diverting Mr. Woodhouse. Mr. Woodhouse enjoyed any description of ill-health, and fatigue was a close relative to illness – but without the morbid association with death – and as Mr. Woodhouse had always been fond of Harriet, and as he was gentle and generous in his way, he could enter into schemes for finding ways to relieve her from his exhaustion. Mrs. Bates’s funeral, scheduled for the morrow, could not be avoided but they would have to touch upon it with delicacy.
“I am worried about you, Emma,” said Mr. Knightley, as the carriage rumbled through Hartfield’s iron sweep-gate.
“About me? But why?” asked Emma, surprised that anyone could consider her, healthy, wealthy, and a happily married mother with a littl
e boy, to be an object of concern. “Do I not seem in good health and good spirits?”
“You are the picture of excellent health and the embodiment of good spirits,” said Mr. Knightley, with a smile. But then, with more seriousness, he continued. “And you have a lively mind – a mind which I fear has been too confined by circumstance.”
“Really,” said Emma, pondering her husband’s observations, as the carriage pulled to a halt before the entrance.
“I think it explains your tendency to extend your imagination in other areas,” said Mr. Knightley. He opened the carriage door, descended, then turned and waited to help her out.
“You believe that I am spending too much time wondering about the people who may – or who may not have – passed Harriet’s back gate. Or even the Eltons’ finances.”
“These things are harmless enough,” said Mr. Knightley, “but you, who have so much intelligence and imagination, deserve a better scope for your powers.”
“Such as?” Emma asked, curious. She nodded at James, who drove the carriage and the horses towards the stable.
“Ah, my dear, if only I knew! It would help if you were interested in farming.”
“Does that require much imagination?” asked Emma.
“Sometimes,” said Mr. Knightley.
Mr. and Mrs. Knightley then proceeded through Hartfield’s front door, opened for them by the butler, who took her coat. The butler then handed her a note from the Westons. In it Mrs. Weston satisfied Emma’s curiosity by letting her know that Mr. and Mrs. Churchill had indeed come down from London for Mrs. Bates’s funeral. Also, given that the Westons had guests, and that they would be attending the service in the morning themselves, would Emma explain to dear Mr. Woodhouse that she and little Anna Weston would not be calling the following morning?
As they entered the parlor to greet Mr. Woodhouse, sitting before his fire, Emma wondered at her own lack of imagination, for self-pity had never entered any of her fantasies. As she took a seat beside her father, her life seemed rich enough to her. She had friends and she had family and she had enough money – not just to provide herself with a comfortable life, but enough to be generous and to assist her friends.
The Highbury Murders Page 5