by Jayne Bamber
Mrs. Weston smiled wryly up at Emma, spelling out a word with the alphabet letters on the table: H-U-M-B-U-G.
Emma responded with a hollow laugh, although in some respects she rather agreed with Mr. Knightley’s grim outlook on the matter. Even she herself, with significant advantages over her friend in fortune, station and education, would scarcely be able to compete with the sophisticated young ladies of the London ton, having no experience in moving among such elevated circles. Although she did not wish to do her friend the disservice of doubting her ability to fit in, she did worry, and all the more so because such a thought had likely not occurred to Harriet herself.
Glancing down at the letter, Mr. Knightley continued, “It says here that she is to arrive in London in a week’s time! She, a girl with only the limited means they have thus allowed her for the entire eighteen years of her life, to make her way to them! They could come into Surrey and collect her with very little inconvenience to themselves, and yet they do not even intend to trouble themselves to leave London. No, she is to answer their summons, and as Mrs. Goddard feels herself so ill-used by her brother, and rightly so in my opinion, even her aunt is neither able nor willing to convey her there. I know nothing of her mother, but I had occasion to meet her father, this Sir Gerald, on one occasion last autumn, and it is just the thoughtless sort of behavior I would expect of him.”
Emma looked at Mr. Knightley with curiosity. “You know her father? Did you know…?”
“Of course not,” he replied. “I met him briefly at a ball given by mutual friends – rather, given in honor of mutual friends, by perfect strangers. It was when I was visiting John and Isabella in London in September. This Lady Catherine was not present, though it was a nuptial ball given for her own nephew; she would not deign to attend, as the ball was given by a gentleman formerly engaged in trade, and she thought it beneath her dignity. Yet apparently it is not beneath her dignity to bear a child in secret and abandon her in a different county for eighteen years before parading her illegitimacy before all the world. I do wish the best for Harriet, but I have little faith that her parents will prove to be the sort of people you have hoped and imagined them to be, and I cannot like this scheme at all.”
Emma chewed her lip, considering. To lose her dearest friend in the world, aside from Mrs. Weston, pained Emma greatly. To think that she was losing Harriet to a family that might not be worthy of Harriet’s goodness only made the prospect of parting with her more painful, and Emma struggled to fight back tears.
“I am sorry,” Mr. Knightley said. “I ought not to have spoken so harshly.”
Emma sheepishly averted her eyes. “I am happy for her, and I think it shall turn out well,” she said, wishing she meant it more. Mr. Knightley looked at her with no little sympathy; he had always seen right through her.
“I know you only want what is best for your friend, whether or not it is what is best for you, Emma my dearest,” Mrs. Weston said in her usual conciliatory manner. “Mr. Knightley, what if we were to take Harriet to London? I know John must still have some business that needs to be resolved in London, that you might attend to for him, and I can accompany you, for propriety’s sake as well as for Harriet’s own well-being. Should you mind very much if I were to go away for a few days, Emma?”
Emma thought that she should mind it very much indeed, but she recognized all the good sense of the plan. In truth, the only alternative for Harriet would be to travel alone by post, and that would never do. “I would by no means stand in the way of what is best for Harriet. Of course you must go, and make sure her parents are good people. If they are unkind or unpleasant, you must carry her back to Highbury directly!”
Mr. Knightley stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I can be away from Donwell for a week or two, and I had been thinking of going to Town soon, anyhow. There was a fire at John’s house in Brunswick Square, and the new tenants we found left the place in quite a shambles. It would be easier to oversee the repairs in person, for I think he ought to sell the place entirely, rather than simply renting it. There was another matter I have been considering, and it involves you, Emma.”
Mrs. Weston glanced up at Mr. Knightley and breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh good, you are finally going to tell her.”
“Tell me what,” Emma asked nervously. Though he was nearly twenty years her senior, Mr. Knightley had long been one of her dearest friends, and as much as she confided in him, she had hoped he was always equally candid – had he been concealing something from her?
Mr. Knightley shifted uncomfortably in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, and then uncrossing them again. “I happened to meet your cousin, Lady Rebecca Fitzwilliam, at the very same ball where I encountered Sir Gerald.”
Emma regarded him in some confusion. “Why should you not wish to tell me that you had seen Cousin Rebecca? I am sure it can be nothing to me, as I have not seen her since I was practically a child. She is nearly a stranger to me, though I believe she and Isabella were much closer.”
“Yes,” Mr. Knightley replied. “I understand she and Isabella saw each other occasionally in London, where Lady Rebecca chiefly resides. She is rather like you, in some ways – confident, with a fanciful temperament, though I suspect her of being rather devious. She expressed a sudden eager interest in visiting with you, when she discovered my connection to your family, though it was my belief at the time that she merely meant to needle me by implying that she might be less than a good influence on your behavior, and so I concealed my having met with her from you, for fear of exposing you to any sort of mischief on her part.”
“Mischief? What sort of mischief? Surely my cousin Rebecca is a very fine lady, too grand even to notice me, I think.”
“Do not abuse yourself so, Emma,” Mrs. Weston said gently. “Mr. Knightley imparted his encounter with her fully to me when he returned from Town, and I am not so unfavorably disposed toward your cousin, even if she has rather neglected you. I think it odd that she should not have at least sent her condolences after…. But then again, I know nothing of the lady, nor the particulars.”
Mr. Knightley grimaced. “In her defense, I will say that it was John’s wish that we not involve that side of the family. He looks upon the Fitzwilliams in particular as rather a headache – they are lively and impudent people, and John has never cared for them.”
Emma nodded, a sudden, blurry memory coming back to her – a visit from her Fitzwilliam cousins in her thirteenth year. Had Isabella had a brief partiality for their cousin Richard, the one who had joined the army? She had been so young the last time she had seen them, but it did seem a familiar notion to her that John Knightley, not yet her brother-in-law at the time, had not been keen on his wife’s relations during their visit, and even her father had found their presence at Hartfield fatiguing.
“Hmmm,” Emma sighed. “Is she truly a bad sort of person?”
Swatting at little George, who had been messing with her fichu, Mrs. Weston cocked her head to one side and stared expectantly at Mr. Knightley.
“I daresay our friend thinks I am being ungenerous,” he replied with playful frustration. “I shall not say that I dislike your cousin Lady Rebecca so very much – rather that I distrusted her a little. Do you not recall, when first you met Harriet, that you took it into your head to make a match between her and Mr. Elton?”
“Yes,” Emma huffed. “Fool that I was! I truly had no idea his attention was directed elsewhere, though I daresay now he may be regretting the opportunity he has missed!”
“Yes, and as you may recall, I attempted to dissuade you from your attempts at playing matchmaker, even before you were obliged to abandon the scheme, after….”
After my world was shattered? After Mr. Elton spurned my friend and attempted to prey upon my grief? “I see,” Emma said, though she was not sure what her dealings with Mr. Elton had to do with her cousin Rebecca.
“What I mean is,” Mr. Knightley continued, “I got the distinct impression that your cousin shares
a similar inclination to orchestrate the lives of others according to her own fancy, and I thought her interest in you, given your own proclivity for matchmaking at the time, must be a bad thing indeed. I distrusted the influence she might have upon you, with the great similarity in your temperaments. However, I begin to see now that if she is still really interested in you, her companionship might be a very fine thing for you, with Miss Smith now leaving Highbury.”
Emma chewed her lip again. It had only been five months ago that Mr. Knightley had scolded her for the attempt at matchmaking with Harriet and Mr. Elton, and yet how long ago it seemed now, when such tragedy had befallen her family. How she longed to return to the days when her greatest worry was merely that Mr. Knightley disapproved of her! “I forgive you for not telling me sooner, though it was rather high-handed of you,” she replied. As she had not heard from Rebecca, despite her cousin’s expressed interest in visiting Highbury, Emma could only suppose that it could all come to nothing, and she merely shrugged. “I daresay it matters not.”
“But should you like a visit from your cousin,” Mrs. Weston prompted her. “I believe it could be arranged. Mr. Knightley and I can leave here on the first of March with Harriet, and return with Lady Rebecca instead. I am sure she could not refuse paying you a visit at such a time, and she did tell Mr. Knightley that she would like to come to know you better.”
Though Emma did not wish to appear a charity case to her relations, she was curious what sort of person Lady Rebecca might be, as Mr. Knightley thought them similar enough to at least be capable of getting into some sort of mischief together. A little mischief might be a fine thing indeed, when life had been so dismal during the longest, darkest winter of her life.
“I shall think on it,” she decided. “I would need John’s permission before formally inviting her to come to Hartfield, and I cannot promise my cousin any of the entertainments she might enjoy in London. I do not know that she would take any pleasure at all in staying at a house in mourning, though perhaps I shall at least write her a letter. Would you take it to her for me?”
“I shall,” Mr. Knightley replied, gazing earnestly at her. “And I will say this, I have begun to reconsider dismissing her influence on you as a necessarily evil thing. She is a lively woman, and I believe she would more than make up for the loss of Harriet’s company, if she were to consent to visit you. I cannot promise that Lady Rebecca will accept, for I cannot claim to know her well enough after only one meeting. She may prefer to become acquainted with Harriet, as I understand she is the niece of Harriet’s mother, Lady Catherine, meaning she is Harriet’s cousin as much as she is your own.”
Mrs. Weston moved to sit next to Emma, causing little Henry to toss his alphabet letters on the floor in frustration at her abandonment. “I think it a fine plan, Emma, a fine plan indeed.”
***
On the first of March, Harriet was conveyed to London to meet her parents. The journey from Highbury was a short one, though the two hours felt like an eternity. She was grateful to her friend Miss Woodhouse, who had contrived for Mr. Knightley and Mrs. Weston to accompany her to Town; without their supportive presence, she was sure she would have fallen to pieces with anxiety.
What would her parents be like? Though she had naturally wondered about them many times over the years, when faced now with the prospect of actually meeting them, she began to feel that she had not given it nearly enough thought. Certainly they must be very grand indeed, and she began to fear that they must be so high above her that she would inevitably be found wanting.
Her companions were all patience and benevolence during the drive into Town. “You have nothing to fear,” Mrs. Weston assured her. “I am sure all of your family is very eager to have you amongst them at long last. Though we know none of the particulars as to why they should seek you out now, I am sure it will all be made clear in time. Your mother’s letter said they are a large family, and you shall have brothers and sisters and cousins very near in age to yourself. That shall be a blessing indeed for you!”
"And you have a shared acquaintance with your friend Miss Woodhouse,” Mr. Knightley reminded her. “Lady Rebecca Fitzwilliam is both your cousin as well as Emma’s. Certainly you shall discover some common ground with her. I believe Mr. Darcy’s younger sister is just coming out into society, as well, and I daresay you will find a friend in her.”
“Quite so,” Mrs. Weston agreed. “I daresay you shall find my company quite unnecessary within a few days, once you have settled in. You shall see how they cherish you, and then we shall laugh about all this fuss over nothing.”
Harriet doubted very much that this would be the case, for her apprehension only increased as they arrived at her parents’ stately townhouse in Mayfair.
Mr. Knightley planned on staying near his brother’s house in Brunswick Square, and dropped Harriet and Mrs. Weston at the door of the grandest house Harriet had ever seen. They were greeted by the butler and housekeeper, both called Banks. Mr. Banks saw to their luggage while Mrs. Banks led them up to their guestrooms. Adjoining rooms had been arranged for Harriet and Mrs. Weston, and Mrs. Weston declared it very thoughtful of Harriet’s parents to have taken such a detail into consideration. “I am sure they must have thought of everything you may require for your comfort, Harriet,” she said as they were led upstairs.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am, but her ladyship is most adamant that you shall want for nothing, Miss Sutton,” the housekeeper replied.
Realizing that Miss Sutton was now how she was to be addressed, Harriet nodded and murmured some words of gratitude. Assuring them that their trunks would be brought up directly, the housekeeper took her leave, as Harriet took in her new bedroom in unreserved awe.
It was like living in a palace! She stood in shock for several minutes, soaking in every detail of the very feminine bedchamber that was to be hers. All of this is for me? The room was nearly four times the size of her room at Mrs. Goddard’s, which she had never thought was wanting. This – this was beyond anything. A large canopied bed dominated the center of the room, with elegant linens in shades of pink and ivory – a princess might sleep comfortably there!
There was a very stately vanity table with a large mirror on one side of the room beside a wide window with elegant damask drapes, offering a view of a quaint little garden beneath. On the other side of the room was a gilded wardrobe so capacious that she could not even begin to imagine ever filling it, though she supposed such things must be normal for ladies of her mother’s station. Altogether, the bedchamber looked as if it belonged to someone Harriet was not sure she could ever be.
Mrs. Weston came through the adjoining door a moment later, smiling serenely. “What do you think?”
“It is far too grand,” Harriet breathed. “Oh dear, do you think I shall ever grow accustomed to such finery?”
“I am certain you shall, and sooner than you think. No one ever minds having what is too good for them, though I am of the opinion that there is nothing too good for a sweet girl such as yourself. It is a testament, I think, to how highly your parents must esteem you.”
“Oh my, yes,” Harriet replied. “They must indeed, to go through so much trouble. But what if they think I am a very fine lady, and are disappointed to discover that I am not?”
“Let us have no more of that talk,” Mrs. Weston said. “Your father is brother to Mrs. Goddard, to whom he entrusted your care, and therefore they must have perfectly realistic expectations for you. If they wish to raise your station, you must learn to accept their generosity.”
“I suppose you are right,” Harriet admitted. Still, she was expecting every minute to wake up from nothing more than a very pleasant dream.
A moment later came a knock at the door, and Harriet suddenly tensed up, fearing it would be her parents. It was only another servant, who introduced herself as Sally – she was to be Harriet’s own lady’s maid.
“I’ve come to attend you. Your mother wishes to know if you require some time to
freshen up before joining her in the drawing room.” Turning to address Mrs. Weston, she added, “I believe my sister Sarah will be coming to attend you, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Sally,” Mrs. Weston replied, returning to her own room. A footman entered a moment later, bearing the trunk that contained all of Harriet’s worldly possessions. He set it down beside the wardrobe and left her alone with Sally, and Harriet regarded the little trunk fretfully; how small it looked, just as out of place in such a grand house as she herself must be.
“Will you be wanting to put on a new gown, Miss?”
“Please, call me Harriet.”
“Oh no, Miss, certainly not. I am to show you every proper respect.”
“Oh,” Harriet replied. “Perhaps, when there is no one else around, it might be our little secret? At least until I am more comfortable here.”
Sally responded with a sweet smile. “Mrs. Fitzwilliam said the very same thing, back when she was Miss Kate. Very well, it will be our little secret for now, only you must tell me at once if you change your mind.”
“Who is Mrs. Fitzwilliam?”
“That’s her ladyship’s niece by marriage. She was her ladyship’s ward last summer. Her ladyship brought her to Town in the autumn, with her nephew, master Robert. They were wed a few months back, so now she is Mrs. Fitzwilliam, and a very kind, very proper lady she is. None of us have ever had a cross word from her, and her ladyship quite dotes upon her.”
Sally gestured for Harriet to be seated at the vanity, and began brushing out her hair. “If it pleases you, Harriet, I know a few simpler styles Mrs. Fitzwilliam favors, and can fix you up in a trice. Will you be wanting a new gown?”
Harriet hesitated. She was already wearing her finest dress, though it was a little worse for wear from the carriage. “I think not,” she said ruefully. “Surely the gowns in my trunk must be even more wrinkled than this.”
“But her ladyship had some things set aside for you,” Sally replied. She set down the hairbrush and led Harriet over to the wardrobe, which she opened to reveal several very fine gowns. “She did not know your size, but there are a couple of old ones that used to belong to Mrs. Fitzwilliam, and a few that had been Miss de Bourgh’s.”