7 the funeral of mrs. bates
For more than two decades, the name Mrs. Churchill had been hated in Highbury, for Mr. Weston’s late wife’s sister-in-law was the subject of many complaints. Mrs. Churchill was the one whose pride and jealousy had prevented the handsome young Frank Churchill from spending any time in Highbury. Mrs. Churchill had invented illnesses, had demanded attention from her nephew, and had been an obstacle to his making plans for his future. She was considered an especial hindrance to his choosing a wife, because her pride and jealousy would have certainly found something terribly wrong with any young lady chosen by her nephew, and she was known for her influence over her husband, who allegedly held the purse strings. Although several women in Highbury were considered by one faction or another as suitable brides – Emma Woodhouse by the Westons and many others, and Harriet Smith by Emma Woodhouse herself – an actual marriage with Mr. Frank Churchill was deemed impossible, because Mrs. Churchill would do everything to prevent it.
Those living in Highbury considered Mrs. Churchill as a hindrance to the future happiness of their favorite tended to dismiss her illnesses and pains as mere caprice. Then she died, quite suddenly in Richmond. Those in Highbury could not pretend to feel sorrow – even though none save Mr. Weston and his son had ever met her in the flesh, they had hated her in spirit too long to grieve – although a few who were more alert to their tendencies to self-contradiction acknowledged that perhaps her long-mentioned illnesses and sufferings had been genuine instead of imaginary. But Highbury did not have much time to examine its collective conscience and berate itself for its tendency to judge at a distance. Shortly after that, the startling news came out: Mr. Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax were engaged! Long engaged! Secretly engaged! Everyone was surprised, terribly surprised.
Since then Jane and Frank had married and so the former Miss Fairfax was now the current Mrs. Churchill. The name which for so many years had been mentioned with distaste was now uttered with pleasure and pride. Nowhere was this more evident than in Mr. Weston, who had suffered the most from the haughtiness of the first Mrs. Churchill.
“They have come,” Mr. Weston announced outside the church to the Knightleys, as Mr. Woodhouse and Mr. and Mrs. Knightley approached the church, in their most somber attire, to attend Mrs. Bates’s funeral. “They have come in their own carriage, and have just used it to fetch Miss Bates from her apartment. Yes, they have come,” he announced to the next arrivals, the Coles, “even though Jane has not been well since—“ and then he stopped speaking.
Many weddings had occurred among the Highbury principals in the last two years: Anne Taylor had become Mrs. Weston; Augusta Hawkins was now married to Highbury’s vicar, Mr. Elton; Harriet Smith had accepted Mr. Robert Martin; and of course Emma Woodhouse had become the bride of Mr. George Knightley. These pairings had all been blessed with children. Jane Fairfax’s union with Mr. Frank Weston Churchill was the only one without offspring. Hopes of a child had been rumored several months ago, followed by bitter disappointment and concern for Jane Churchill’s safety. Miss Bates had not been able to keep silence on the matter, of course, and her worries about the health of her niece had been shared with all the women in Highbury.
“Of course,” said Emma Knightley, forestalling Mr. Weston from venturing into what was usually strictly female territory. Mr. Weston was an open-hearted man, also not known for keeping quiet. The child in question would have been his own grandchild, so naturally in this subject his heart and his words flowed almost as readily as Miss Bates’s.
Mrs. Weston caught her husband’s arm and squeezed it, which also helped stanch the flow of words, and Mr. Weston more soberly accepted the Coles’ congratulations on the return of his son and daughter-in-law to Highbury. Emma’s lips twitched as she repressed a smile; it was difficult to feel a great deal of sorrow at the death of a woman who had lived well beyond her three score years and ten, and she could understand that for Mr. Weston the occasion offered more joy than grief. Mr. Knightley said they looked forward to seeing Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, either at Randalls or at Hartfield, when circumstances allowed it. Then they turned to Mr. Woodhouse and assisted him inside.
Highbury’s church was one of the few places that Mr. Woodhouse would go to outside of his own house. If Mr. Woodhouse did not attend services once a week, as he did most Sundays, an excursion to the parish church would have been too great a departure from his usual habits to ask of him, even for the sake of burying his old friend Mrs. Bates. But as Mr. Woodhouse attended church Sundays and holidays, it was possible for him to come on this weekday, and to take his usual place in his pew.
The funeral was attended by all who were expected. There were a few doddering old women who remembered the aged Mrs. Bates when she was young, and many others of middling years who recalled her when she was a hale and hearty matron. Most people came to support Miss Bates and to get a glimpse of the Churchills. While Highbury pressed its way into the church, Emma was pleased that the position of the Woodhouse pew gave her plenty of opportunity to study the visitors from London. Although she certainly preferred Mr. Knightley to any other man, there was no denying the fact that Mr. Frank Churchill was tall and good-looking, to a degree rarely seen in Highbury, and hence a guilty pleasure to observe.
“No one was more beloved than your grandmamma, my dear,” Miss Bates said to her niece Jane Churchill, leaning on her nephew-in-law’s strong arm, while mourners continued to fill the pews in the back.
“No, Aunt,” said Jane, whose wan face bespoke sorrow. Her clothes were finer than they had been in the past – she wore the most elegant black crepe that a large income could buy – but Emma thought Jane did not look happier than she had when she had lived in Highbury about a year ago. Back then, Jane had been troubled by the uncertainties in her future, but she must have been delighting in the knowledge of her secret engagement to Frank Churchill, Emma mused. Then Emma was overcome by shame: who was she to judge Jane Churchill? Why on earth should Jane Churchill appear happy just now? It was, after all, a funeral – the funeral of Jane’s dear grandmamma, who had raised her when she was little and had loved her all her life. How sad would she, Emma, feel when her own father died? How wan would she look?
“A fine wreath sent by the Campbells, and flowers from the Dixons,” Mrs. Elton whispered to Mrs. Cole, but so loudly that others could hear.
Under lowered lashes, Emma studied Mrs. Elton, her serious reflections usurped by her curiosity about her foe. She thought Mrs. Elton was more pleased with herself than usual – which was saying something – but decidedly, the vicar’s wife had a greater than normal air of contentment. Was it merely because she was the vicar’s wife, and hence enjoying a role of importance at this funeral, certainly the most significant event of the season in Highbury, thanks to the appearance of the Churchills? Or had something else happened to contribute to her self-satisfaction?
Mr. Elton came out in his surplice and began the service. It was a proper funeral for a proper vicar’s wife – solemn, but not overly sad, except for her daughter and her granddaughter. Miss Bates wept – she did not sob aloud, but tears streamed down her face – and Jane Churchill’s lips trembled as she supported her aunt.
Mr. Elton made a point of mentioning Mrs. Bates’s connection to the church – where she had spent decades as the vicar’s wife – and what a mainstay she had been to the Highbury parish. During this reference Emma saw Mr. Elton glancing briefly at his wife, and Mrs. Elton giving a tight little nod of approval; evidently the Eltons had decided it was more important to praise Mrs. Bates in front of her wealthy granddaughter than it was to pretend that Mrs. Elton was the epitome of vicar’s wives.
The procession from the church to the freshly dug grave was short. Mr. Elton, as the vicar, was in the lead, followed directly by Mrs. Bates’s coffin, which was carried by Mr. Weston, Mr. Frank Churchill, Mr. Cole and Mr. Knightley. Next came the principal mourners: Mrs. Bates’s daughter, Miss Bates, and Mrs. Bates’s granddaughter, Jane Fai
rfax Churchill. After that it was a matter of Highbury precedence: Mrs. Knightley, of course, Mrs. Weston, Mrs. Elton and Mrs. Cole and then the village’s lesser denizens, including the Perrys and the Coxes and Mrs. Goddard, the local schoolmistress.
The plain casket was lowered into the grave, next to the casket in which Mr. Bates himself had been buried nearly thirty years before. The neat churchyard, with the dappled sunlight shining through the spruce trees, was a pretty place to rest, thought Emma, supporting her father’s arm as Mr. Elton intoned a prayer. A young maid, one of the Cole daughters, came forward rather self-importantly with a basket of small evergreen branches; everyone trailed by and took one and tossed it into the grave, then paused to say a word to Miss Bates.
Afterwards, many of the mourners went to a reception at the Crown Inn. Some might find it odd for a minister’s widow to be celebrated in an inn, but Miss Bates’s apartment was too small, and the Crown Inn was such a fixture in Highbury – its owners so respectable – that no one except the very retiring Mr. Woodhouse could make any objection. Whenever there was a funeral or important occasion for which the resident did not have adequate space and that resident had sufficient funds to hire the Crown Inn, the Crown Inn was engaged. The bread and cold meats were supplied at a distance by the Campbells, who had raised Jane as their own and so had been a friend of Mrs. Bates for many years.
So it was in the Crown Inn that the principals met again, drinking sherry and eating. Mr. Knightley, aware of time being spent away from the harvest, only stayed long enough to offer condolences to the principals, and then used the Woodhouse carriage to go to Donwell, where he would change into farming clothes. Emma and her father remained in the Crown, waiting for the carriage to return and to take them back to Hartfield. Her father had insisted on coming, thinking that he would be strong enough, and had expressed his condolence to Mrs. Churchill and to Miss Bates in person as Mrs. Bates had been a lifetime friend. Both ladies were sensible of the honor being done, but after voicing his gentle sorrow and eating a very little piece of bread – Mr. Woodhouse stayed away from the meats, for he did not trust the cooks at the Crown Inn, despite their having fed nearly half of Highbury at one point or another to no ill effect – Emma had to find him a place near the fireplace to sit, and to distract him until their carriage returned from delivering Mr. Knightley to Donwell Abbey. At first Mr. Woodhouse kept himself busy by staring at all the people and the room itself – into which he had hardly stepped during his life – but soon the novelty and wonder of his being in a different room began to fade.
“It is not warm enough,” Mr. Woodhouse objected. “This great room is too drafty.”
“Then, Papa, why don’t we move your chair a little closer to the fire. Is that better?”
“I suppose.” The old man frowned. “Do you think James will return soon? But the horses must be tired. They will walk very slowly.”
“Dear Papa, I don’t think the horses will mind pulling the carriage to Donwell and back. They are not like people – they can go much further than people without getting tired.”
“Mr. Woodhouse, how considerate of you to come.” That was Mrs. Weston, who, from her many years living at Hartfield, could see when Emma needed a little assistance in keeping Mr. Woodhouse occupied. “Your appearance means a great deal to Miss Bates and Mrs. Churchill.”
Mrs. Weston sat down beside Mr. Woodhouse, and Emma took advantage of her friend’s presence to rise to go to the window to look and see if the carriage was coming. She stepped behind a curtain, and after a moment two people moved closer to her, speaking in low voices, apparently not realizing she could hear. The voices belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Churchill.
“You know I must return to my uncle tomorrow,” said Frank Churchill. “Are you sure you wish to stay in Highbury?”
“Yes,” said Jane, “my aunt needs me now. Besides, I need to help her sort through my grandmother’s things.”
But how long could that take? Emma wondered. Mrs. Bates had owned very little and Jane Churchill struck her as very methodical. Miss Bates, too, despite her talkative nature, was orderly in her habits.
“Then why not stay with my parents? They would be happy to have you stay with them at Randalls, and it would be much more comfortable for you. I, too, would be happier knowing that you were warm and dry and had more servants at hand.”
Emma silently concurred with Frank Churchill that living with the Westons would be far more pleasant than staying with Miss Bates and her apartment of only three rooms.
“You need not be concerned about me, Frank,” Jane said. “I have lived with my aunt and my grandmother in the past, and now that my grandmother is – gone – there will be more room for me. Besides, I don’t think my aunt realizes the emptiness she will feel. My aunt has spent the last years taking care of her mother, and if she is alone too long she will suffer.”
Emma, unable to help overhearing, tried to swallow her disappointment. If she could choose which Churchill were to spend time in Highbury, she would definitely select Frank Churchill instead of his wife Jane. Frank was amusing and charming while Jane, though lovely and talented, was terribly reserved. However, Emma’s heart applauded, for she believed that Jane was right; Miss Bates did need her niece’s attention now. It would be a sacrifice for Jane, and from the way he sounded, for Frank Churchill too, but it was the kindest attention that Jane Churchill could show. And what would become of Miss Bates in the future? Thanks to her niece’s marriage, at least poverty did not loom, but the ever-busy Miss Bates would need something to do.
Recalling where she was, Emma glanced again outside, and ascertained that the Woodhouse carriage had still not come back from Donwell. She moved away from behind the window curtain, evidently surprising Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, who jumped a little at her sudden appearance.
“Mrs. Knightley!” exclaimed Frank Churchill. “We did not see you behind the curtain.”
“My apologies,” Emma said, thinking that she was making a habit of coming unawares upon others. “I did not mean to startle you or to listen to a private conversation, but I was looking for our carriage which has taken Mr. Knightley to Donwell. My father, you understand, is anxious to return to Hartfield.”
Jane recovered her equanimity first. “We apologize to you. We were not discussing anything particularly private, only my intention to remain a little while in Highbury.”
“Yes, I overheard,” Emma confessed. “All of Highbury will welcome you, Mrs. Churchill, although it is unfortunate that your visit has been precipitated by such a sad event.”
Frank reached his hand out to touch the curtain. “A very pretty hiding place! I must remember it if I ever want to eavesdrop on an important conversation – but it is our fault, as we moved to this part of the room, and as Jane said, it is of no consequence.” He smiled at Emma, but she could not help feeling he was concerned that he had said something indiscreet – or that he had been about to do so, and that she had missed it. He turned back to his wife. “Very well, my dear, you always do what is right. You know that party I must attend – uncle is desperate to have me with him – but I will make sure you are comfortable and I want you to come back soon. As soon as you are ready, my father will certainly loan you his carriage, or you can always hire the carriage from the Crown.”
“Of course, when grandmamma’s things are settled and I am at ease about my aunt.”
“Frank!” called Mr. Weston. “I have something I want to show you!”
Frank left them to examine a painting on the wall of the Crown Inn – it showed a local stream that had been Mr. Weston’s favorite fishing spot as a boy – and Emma felt that she could finally properly address Jane. She offered condolences on the death of her grandmother.
“You are very kind,” Jane replied, her eyes shining with unshed tears; for once Emma felt that the lovely and accomplished Jane Fairfax Churchill was not hiding behind a wall of reserve. “How is your father, Mrs. Knightley?”
But Mrs. Elton usurped Mrs. Chu
rchill’s attention before Emma could reply. “Jane – my dear Mrs. Churchill – your aunt says you plan to stay with her for a while in Highbury. Mr. Elton and I are so looking forward to spending more time with you. And my little boy Philip – you will be absolutely delighted with him, I assure you. Of course, all of us mothers think our children are perfect, but I think you will find him especially charming.”
Mrs. Churchill murmured something about looking forward to seeing Mrs. Elton’s baby and, trying to be inclusive, politely added that she looked forward to seeing Mrs. Knightley’s little son, too.
“Oh, little Knightley can’t even sit up on his own yet,” said Mrs. Elton, and then as if she had realized she had gone too far – Mr. Woodhouse was a large donor to the church – she continued with an affected laugh, “I’m sure he will in a month or two but infants are not so interesting until they do, are they?” She rapidly changed the subject: “Jane, as long as you’re here, we would be happy to lend you our carriage if you and your aunt should need it,” Mrs. Elton continued, and then, putting her hand on Jane’s shoulder, drew her away. “Although Mr. E is going up to London tomorrow – he meant to go a few days ago, but stayed for your grandmother’s funeral. But after that our coach and our horses will be at your disposal.”
“Mr. Elton is going to London?” asked Emma politely. “To visit his mother and his sisters?”
“Yes. Mrs. Elton – I mean my mother-in-law, not myself – is considering moving in with one of her daughters and wants to get rid of some of things. There is a piece of furniture to which Mr. E is particularly attached – it belonged to his father – and Mrs. Elton will no longer have room for it.”
The Highbury Murders Page 6