She understood the glance, and replied to his unspoken query.
“She is a sort of elegant creature that one cannot keep one's eyes from. I am always watching her to admire, and I do pity her from my heart.”
There was no pretence in that statement, at least. His spirits rose a little.
“It is a great pity that their circumstances should be so confined!” said Mr. Woodhouse. “A great pity indeed! and I have often wished—but it is so little one can venture to do—small, trifling presents of anything uncommon. Now we have killed a porker, and Emma thinks of sending them a loin or a leg.”
So Emma had heard Miss Bates’ comment that they had no pork left, and was quietly making them a gift of some. That was just like Emma. He was not even surprised to hear, a moment later, that she had sent them the whole hind-quarter. Some parts of Emma’s character were unexceptionable, and both Harriet and Miss Fairfax might be influenced for good by a friendship with her. So might Elton’s new wife, for that matter. But Emma did not know about her yet.
“Emma, I have a piece of news for you,” he said. “You like news—and I heard an article in my way hither that I think will interest you.”
“News! Oh yes, I always like news.” Her face was alight with curiosity, and he smiled at her eagerness.
“What is it?” she said. “Why do you smile so? Where did you hear it? At Randalls?”
Randalls? What sort of news would come from—and then he knew. Churchill.
“No, not at Randalls,” he said, pushing back the foolish irritation that her question had begotten. “I have not been near Randalls…”
The sound of the drawing room door opening interrupted him, and one look at those entering told him that he would not be able to resume his discourse any time soon—Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax had come to call.
“Oh! My dear sir, how are you this morning? My dear Miss Woodhouse—I come quite overpowered. Such a beautiful hind-quarter of pork! You are too bountiful! Have you heard the news? Mr. Elton is going to be married.”
If Knightley could not tell Emma himself, at least he was not denied the amusement of seeing Emma so surprised that she forgot to be composed. He saw her start and blush, and then after a moment of gaping slightly at Miss Bates, she recovered her poise and glanced to see if he had noticed. He smiled and said quietly,
“There is my news. I thought it would interest you.”
For an instant their eyes held, and he could see she understood that he knew what had happened between her and Elton.
“But where could you hear it?” exclaimed Miss Bates. “Where could you possibly hear it, Mr. Knightley? For it is not five minutes since I received Mrs. Cole's note—no, it cannot be more than five—or at least ten—for I had got my bonnet and spencer on, just ready to come out—I was only gone down to speak to Patty again about the pork—Jane was standing in the passage—were not you, Jane? For my mother was so afraid that we had not any salting-pan large enough. So I said I would go down and see, and Jane said, ‘Shall I go down instead? For I think you have a little cold, and Patty has been washing the kitchen.’ ‘Oh! my dear,' said I—well, and just then came the note. A Miss Hawkins—that’s all I know. A Miss Hawkins of Bath. But, Mr. Knightley, how could you possibly have heard it? For the very moment Mr. Cole told Mrs. Cole of it, she sat down and wrote to me. A Miss Hawkins—”
“I was with Mr. Cole on business an hour and a half ago,” said Knightley. “He had just read Elton's letter as I was shown in, and handed it to me directly.”
“Well! That is quite—I suppose there never was a piece of news more generally interesting. My dear sir, you really are too bountiful. My mother desires her very best compliments and regards, and a thousand thanks, and says you really quite oppress her.”
Mr. Woodhouse smiled beatifically and said, “We consider our Hartfield pork—indeed it certainly is—so very superior to all other pork, that Emma and I cannot have a greater pleasure than—”
But Miss Bates could not wait to hear the rest of her benefactor’s speech.
“Oh! my dear sir, as my mother says, our friends are only too good to us. If ever there were people who, without having great wealth themselves, had everything they could wish for, I am sure it is us. We may well say that ‘our lot is cast in a goodly heritage.’ Well, Mr. Knightley,” she said, turning to him, “and so you actually saw the letter. Well—”
“It was short, merely to announce—but cheerful, exulting, of course.” He glanced mischievously at Emma. He knew she could well imagine the style Elton would use on such an occasion. “He had been so fortunate as to—I forget the precise words—one has no business to remember them. The information was, as you state, that he was going to be married to a Miss Hawkins. By his style, I should imagine it just settled.”
Finally, Emma found her voice. “Mr. Elton going to be married! He will have everybody's wishes for his happiness.” A very correct and irreproachable sentiment, even if she would not have been able to say it while meeting his eye.
He quitted Hartfield at the same time as Miss Bates and her niece and escorted them back to their home. He was fortunate to spy Spencer coming out of Ford’s, and was able to excuse himself from Miss Bates’ pressing invitation to join them for some small refreshment by representing his need to talk to the curate. The rain that had long been threatening began to fall as the two men met.
“What brings you to Highbury, Spencer?”
“I was visiting someone who is ill, and I wanted to speak to Mr. Ford. I meant to speak to him yesterday, but hadn’t time.”
“I see you’re as busy as ever. Well, at least Elton’s return is in sight.”
“Elton is returning soon?”
“Oh—you won’t have heard yet. I say, the rain is getting heavy. Ford’s looks a little crowded—shall we step into the Crown to wait it out?”
“Yes, let’s.”
The Crown was comfortable in its faded glory, as was Mrs. Stokes who bustled up to greet them.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Knightley, Mr. Spencer. Heavens! Look at that rain come down. Was you wanting to hire a horse, Mr. Knightley? I’m sorry to say that Columbus was hired for the day by William Cox, but Paris is still in the stable...”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Stokes, I haven’t come for a horse,” said Knightley. “I’m afraid we have no business here except to keep dry.”
“By all means, sir. Go into the great room, if you please. Would you like I should build a fire there?”
“No, no, the shower will be soon over, I’m sure. If you will allow us to linger here until the rain stops we would be most grateful.”
“Of course, Mr. Knightley.”
The two men went into the great room and stood near the window, watching the rain form puddles on the ground outside.
“So Elton is returning, you say?”
“Yes, next week, in fact, but he will not stay long. According to the note he sent to Cole, he comes only to prepare the vicarage for his new bride.”
“New bride?” said Spencer, looking, if anything, slightly more shocked than Emma had.
“Yes. A woman he met in Bath, apparently.”
“But I thought…well, I suppose not,” said Spencer.
Knightley sighed. Everyone said the same thing. Though Miss Bates, to do her justice, had merely alluded to Mrs. Cole’s suspicions, and hinted that she herself did not think Mr. Elton was really a worthy match for Emma. Miss Bates had uncommonly good sense; Knightley liked her very much indeed.
“Well, I wish them joy, I am sure,” said Spencer.
“It will be a relief for you to confine your activities to Donwell once again, I think.”
“In some ways it will. But I have grown very fond of many in Highbury, and shall miss seeing them often. Do you think Elton would mind if I continued to call on some of them—Mrs. Plover, for example?”
“I can’t imagine he would object. How is Mrs. Plover faring?”
“Not very well.”
“
Her foot again, is it?
“Yes, the ulcer is worse. And of course, her son is a great worry to her.”
“Has he got into more trouble?”
“Not really, but she is afraid it is only for lack of opportunity. She calls him a ‘bad boy’, and I could not contradict her. She is inclined to blame herself, I think, but she has no reason to. From all I hear, she has been a good mother; it is only that he has been a difficult child from the beginning.”
“I believe he has. And, of course, she was widowed when he was very young. It might have made a difference if there had been a father in the home.”
“Yes, I was thinking about that,” said Spencer slowly. “It must be difficult for widows with any children, but especially for those with sons. I wonder how they manage?”
“You could ask Mrs. Hunt. She was widowed when her sons were young.”
“Did they turn out well?”
“They did. One died a few years ago, but the other is a captain in the Navy.”
“That is good to hear. Is that usual? I mean, do most boys who lose their fathers early still do well in life?”
Knightley searched his memory for a moment. “I can’t say, really. I think most of the widows I know re-married before long, and so have not raised their boys alone.”
“True. And of course, that is what St. Paul advised young widows to do—marry again. But it occurred to me that the widows of our day do not have it in their power to remarry if no one offers for them.”
“A considerable difficulty.”
“And I wonder,” said Spencer more earnestly, “if our Christian duty to care for widows and orphans might not extend to more than our contribution to the Poor Relief and giving baskets of food now and then. It might mean that single men ought to consider marrying widows with children.”
“Spencer,” said Knightley, “I agree with you in principle, but I really do not think I have it in me to marry Mrs. Plover.”
“Mrs. Plover!” exclaimed Spencer, looking thoroughly be-wildered.
“Were you not speaking of Mrs. Plover?”
“Oh! I suppose it was her situation that started me thinking, but I had no thought of her remarrying.”
“Then it was merely a philosophical abstraction that you were grappling with?”
“Not really, no. I was thinking of Mrs. Catherwood.”
“Ah, yes. Widowed, and with a blind son.”
“And her life at home rather difficult.”
“She told you so?’
“No, no, but I hear things.” He gave a faint grin. “I suppose I ought to ask you to keep that information to yourself, but I have no doubt that you have heard it already. Donwell far outstrips Diss in gossip.”
“I can well believe it. What with—well, never mind. So, you are trying to find a bachelor to marry Mrs. Catherwood?”
“Not you, Mr. Knightley,” said Spencer, blushing.
“Thank you—you relieve my mind. And I wouldn’t speak to Martin about it, either…the idea was not well-received when it was suggested to him.”
“Martin? No, I never thought of him.”
“You have someone else in mind?”
Spencer looked at the floor and then out the window. “Yes,” he said, “someone else.”
“I think he meant himself,” said Knightley to Madam Duval that evening in the library. She was curled up on his foot, as usual, but he knew she was not asleep because he could hear her purring. “A noble fellow. I wonder what the lady would say if he asked her? One would think she would be happy to have him, if only to secure a better life for herself and her son. But one never knows…look at Martin and Harriet Smith. I saw them today, you know. It was while we were at the Crown—we saw them through the window. Miss Smith was leaving Ford’s, and Martin came out after her. We couldn’t hear what he said, of course, but I think Spencer and I both held our breath, hoping that his speaking to her meant some kind of rapprochement between them. It couldn’t have been, though, because she seemed to thank him in a flurried kind of a way and then she hurried off, and he turned back with a face as grey as ash. I would like to forget the sight of his face, Madam.”
He wanted another splash of brandy, but he would have had to walk across the room to get it, and he didn’t like to disturb the cat.
“I did have one moment of complete satisfaction today, though,” he continued, reaching down to stroke the soft fur for a moment. “I found William Larkins when I came home from Highbury and said to him, ‘Have you heard the news, Larkins?’ He looked slightly panicked; no doubt he was worried that I might know something he didn’t. ‘And what news is that, Mr. Knightley?’ he said. I think he actually trembled a bit. ‘Why, that Mr. Elton is getting married to a Miss Hawkins of Bath.’ He was so affected by the news that he dropped the papers he was holding. I had a sudden fright that he would die of apoplexy on the spot. However, by the time I had helped him gather the papers together he was breathing all right, and I am hopeful that I have not shortened his life significantly.”
The cat looked up at him and gave a soft meow.
“Oh, his spirits might have drooped for an hour or so, but the opportunity to enlighten everyone else in Donwell must have restored his confidence by now. It was a very brief triumph, Madam—but it was gratifying all the same.”
19
Knightley saw a little too much of Elton during the week of his stay in Highbury. He reminded Knightley of a little boy who, put into breeches for the first time, forces himself on the notice of everyone he sees so that he might hear over and over what a big boy he is to leave dresses and pantalons behind him. Elton seemed to spend most of his time wandering around Highbury and even Donwell, hoping to be teased and congratulated by everyone he met. The triumph in his manner was regrettable, but Knightley could make allowances for him. After being rejected by a woman like Emma, it was no wonder that Elton would grasp at anything to soothe his pain. Finding another woman might numb a broken heart, even if she could not immediately heal it. And furthermore—No, no, no, that wasn’t right at all. What was he thinking? Elton didn’t have a broken heart, only an offended one. He had never loved Emma; it was only that his vanity had been flattered and he had been delighted at the prospect of such a sizable dowry. True, it was hard to imagine that any man could be confronted with such an enchanting portrait of womanhood as Emma and not be in love with her, but then he never had understood Elton.
The vicar’s brief stay in Highbury was nearing its end when Weston came to Donwell one afternoon and found Knightley in the kitchen garden, watching the under-gardeners prepare the hot-beds for planting.
“I must say, Knightley, you take more interest in your kitchen gardens than anyone else I know. Are you always in attendance at the sowing of spring vegetables?”
“Not usually, no,” said Knightley. “But I’m growing a new variety of strawberry this year—fragraria chiloensis—and I wanted to see that they were planted correctly. Apparently they produce bigger fruit than hautboys, but are more difficult to grow. And I don’t know that they will be any sweeter. Still, I thought it was worth trying. But I don’t suppose you came all the way to the Abbey to hear about my strawberries.”
“No, though if they turn out well, I hope you’ll let us have some of them—in the name of scientific enquiry, of course.” Weston winked. “No, what I really came about was the Crow’s Nest over at Langham. Do you know it?”
“Of course. More a tavern than an inn, though I think they have a room or two.”
“That’s the one. My housekeeper’s niece married the fellow that owns the place, and Mrs. Brown is worried about her—thinks there might be something amiss there. I thought you might know if she has any cause to worry. You are the magistrate for Langham, are you not?”
“Yes, but I don’t remember any trouble with the Crow’s Nest—not recently, at any rate. I can’t think of the proprietor’s name…Carson? Culver?”
“Cooper, I think.”
“That’s it. No, I don�
�t know anything against him, but I can ask a few questions. It wouldn’t surprise me greatly to discover something unlawful going on in the place—it’s not the haunt of the more respectable citizens of Langham.”
“Thank you, Knightley. I’d like to set Mrs. Brown’s mind at rest. She doesn’t usually worry about things, you know—level-headed woman. I hope there’s nothing in it, but there might be.” Weston stared absently at the espalier trees growing along the garden wall for a moment, murmuring, “She’s a good girl. Hope there’s nothing in it.”
He sighed and shook his head and then said, “So, Elton leaves for Bath again tomorrow, does he?”
“Yes. I heard him tell William Cox so. He said something about expecting to be gone for three weeks.”
“The population of Highbury is growing rapidly. Miss Fairfax is come, and Elton’s new wife will be here, and—I may as well tell you, Knightley—Randalls will be making its own contribution to the expansion.”
A feeling very like dread began to seep into Knightley’s soul. Churchill. He cleared his throat. “So your son’s visit is imminent, is it?”
“Frank? No, no. I expect a letter from him any day, but that is not the person I meant. I was speaking of a much younger person.”
It was the gleam in Weston’s eye rather than his words that brought enlightenment.
“A very young person, I see,” said Knightley, with all gloom of spirits vanished. “Excellent news! And the newcomer will arrive at the end of summer, I suppose?”
“We expect so.”
“Well, you have my very heartiest congratulations.”
8 February
Donwell Abbey
Dear John,
Tell Bella that Madam Duval is very well. She has caught another mouse, which event produced half a smile from Mrs. Hodges—the first one in over a year. Madam left the mouse on the sideboard, which event produced a gasp from Baxter—also the first one in over a year. You can see what a lively domestic life I have; all your fears on that score can be laid to rest.
Charity Envieth Not Page 21