Unexpected Friends & Relations

by Jayne Bamber

  Mr. Knightley grimaced, but made the first reply. “I think it a rather foolish gift of Colonel Campbell – for such a gift must certainly lend itself to inspiring a great deal of gossip in a small community as this. It may be a token of his familial esteem for her, but is easily misconstrued as something more. Beyond that, she is now a governess, and as such I think it a wildly impractical thing. She might only wear the necklace on her days away from Hartfield, for it is of such a length about her neck that my niece and nephews might easily reach for it, as children are often tempted to grab at any shiny thing that catches their fancy. It would only cause Miss Fairfax disappointment and mortification were the necklace to be broken in such a circumstance.”

  Mrs. Weston and Rebecca, who had been sitting close enough to hear, exchanged a look of mirth at Mr. Knightley’s ill-humor, and Mr. Knightley himself abruptly moved away from them, leaving Emma alone with Mr. Parker and Mr. Churchill. It became increasingly apparent, after some minutes of conversation, that Mr. Churchill in particular wished to be alone with Emma, and began to signal this to his friend in various ways. “Poor Miss Fairfax is sitting all alone over there – even her aunt looks rather too tired to converse with her.”

  When Mr. Parker did not take this hint, he began again sometime later, “I understand my father’s curiosity is not yet satisfied about your notion for the racing track atop the great cliff at Sanditon – have you had no opportunity to explain the plan to him?”

  And later, “It is very good of Mr. John Knightley to treat Miss Fairfax with such kindness. He must think himself fortunate indeed in his choice of governess, though it is a pity she was obliged to take up such a position. How well you performed with her, and yet now she seems so very dull.”

  At that moment Mr. Parker was staring rather intensely at Miss Fairfax, who was standing exactly opposite. He turned to Emma and Mr. Churchill with a humorous expression. “Thank you for rousing me,” said he. “I was rather struck – that is, Miss Fairfax has done her hair in so odd a way – so very odd a way that I could not keep my eyes from her. I never saw anything so unusual. Those curls! This must be a fancy of her own. I see nobody else looking like her! I was going to ask her whether it is an Irish fashion. Shall I? Yes, I will – I declare I will – and you shall see how she takes it, whether she blushes.”

  He was gone immediately, and Emma soon saw him standing before Miss Fairfax and talking to her, but as to its effect on the young lady, he had improvidently placed himself exactly between them, in front of Miss Fairfax, and Emma could distinguish nothing at all.

  Mr. Churchill would claim the distinction of her sole attention with his friend now otherwise engaged, and Emma was happy to bestow it. He was lively enough on his own, so much so that he only seemed the lesser when held in comparison with the unusually high spirits of his friend. In his own right he was certainly cheerful enough that he did not disappoint the ideal she had long imagined of him.

  He spoke with great intelligence and animation, and his ideas so closely compared with her own in respect to Highbury and all of its environs, that Emma could easily find herself well pleased with his conversation. That anyone was observing them so alone together, or alone as any two people might be in such a large gathering, was of course on Emma’s mind, and it amused her, while she listened as attentively as she could, to likewise imagine what her friends and neighbors must be thinking.

  Did they make a fine couple? A finer couple perhaps than she and Mr. Parker might make? Surely nobody in the neighborhood could have known anything of Mr. Parker before his arrival, and therefore any thoughts they might have had for Emma were more likely to be for Mr. Churchill. Did that make it more agreeable, or less so, that she should fancy him? Did she fancy him? She knew it was too early to determine if she had a preference for either gentleman, and wondered if Rebecca’s making her own opinion so quickly known to her would in any way influence her own judgement.

  Emma had long been accustomed to making her own decisions – of enjoying such independence of mind and action alike, and in wanting very little advice from any of her acquaintance, that receiving it now, no matter the degree of kindness intended, could only make her chafe. That any of her neighbors, or even dear Mrs. Weston, might wish for her to prefer Frank Churchill was fine enough in thought, but in deed she was not sure how she felt, or how she might act.

  She paid Mr. Churchill every civility, and really enjoyed that they were on such cordial terms, and so synchronous in all their thoughts and feelings, but beyond that she had reached no conclusion. A period of reflection would be needed, perhaps sooner than later, for her to consider in great depth both of the gentlemen she had so recently become acquainted with – their merits each examined, their dispositions compared thoroughly, before she could conclude whether her heart had been touched by either, whether it was likely to be, and whether she even wished it at all.

  Until such a time as she could enjoy the privacy such delightful reflection would require, she endeavored to maintain an interest in Mr. Churchill’s conversation, as well as that of Mr. Parker, when he inevitably returned to them, and that each of them gave every appearance of desiring the greater share of her attentions could only give her more to reflect upon when she was at liberty to do so.

  18

  Kent, April

  Several days of rain followed the ball at Cranbrook, during which time the visitors at the respective homes of the neighborhood saw little of one another. Georgiana and Lydia did not come to the dower house for their lessons, as the tutors Lady Catherine had hired, and who were staying at the inn in Hunsford, would not venture forth to attend their pupils during such inclement weather.

  Harriet found her mother duly enraged by this obstinacy on the first day they failed to arrive, but ere long her father had coaxed her mother into finer spirits, and the subsequent days of rain were spent more cheerfully, in the exchanging of histories between Harriet and her parents. They would know every detail of her life, in all the years of their separation – in short, everything. No detail was too small or too mundane to amuse them, and Harriet grew so loquacious in their company as to begin to believe herself an accomplished storyteller indeed.

  She sketched the characters of all her acquaintance – the other girls at Mrs. Goddard’s school, the Martin sisters, Mr. Martin – omitting her brief attraction to him – and even his kindly mother. She talked of her friendship with Miss Woodhouse, which had led to her acquaintance with all the other principal inhabitants of the area, and imbued her descriptions with a great many humorous anecdotes, fond praise, and even some imitations of speech and mannerisms. Her depiction of Miss Bates caused no little hilarity, for Miss Bates had so much conversation that it was not difficult for a casual observer to quickly take her measure, and deliver a true likeness – her tone of voice, rapid speech, incomplete sentences peppered with self-deprecation and mundane observations – though Harriet may have felt some little guilt at her mimicry, her parents found her play-acting vastly diverting.

  Over the next few days she learned a great deal about them, as well. Though her mother’s history was largely a tragic one, Harriet was touched by the strength of her mother’s character and the vibrancy of her spirit, and grateful to learn more about her half-sister Anne, whose tragic death, so very recent, had left a mark upon her mother’s heart.

  Her father was an open book, and laid out his own story for her, which was no less tragic, though in a different way. Her mother had had but one other child, while he had had five. Three of them were yet unknown to Harriet, though through her father’s stories of their youth, she came to know them better.

  After passing one such day engrossed in many hours of such an occupation, Harriet’s reflections took on a rather serious nature – she began to compare all that she had heard of her half-siblings’ childhoods; their years of growing up together seemed so entirely pleasant to Harriet. They had been given much that she had not, despite the inconvenience of their mother’s origins.

>   To have two parents, to have brothers and sisters, to grow up knowing they should never want for anything, to be so sure of their place in the world, or at least significantly more so than she had ever done, seemed enough to offset every other misfortune – Harriet felt an emotion she had never so fully experienced, and it was rather like envy.

  It had occurred to her, over the course of her parents’ respective monologues, that both of them had lost their spouses many years prior, for her father had been a widower these ten years or more, and her mother a widow twice that time. She began to wonder, though she would never presume to ask, why her parents, who felt such an unmistakable affection for one another, should have waited so long to marry, and to bring her back into their lives.

  It was a heavy thought, and once it had begun to take form, there was no banishing it. She began to feel quite fully, for many hours as she lay awake in her bed, exactly what she had lost. Had her parents married as soon as they had both been at liberty to do so, she might have had ten years yet with them. How very different her life might have been! Ten years ago she was a child, only eight years old, with her character not yet decided, and her whole youth ahead of her still.

  Harriet began to wonder what sort of person she might have become, had this been the case. Certainly she should not be so very anxious amongst company, so aware of her own faults, so very deficient in personal accomplishments. She would be quite the equal of everyone around her, having received all the benefits of the sort of education her father’s other daughters had been given. In some small way, Harriet realized that she had been robbed of something that could never be gotten back. The opportunity to be sure of herself, to truly belong to her family, to grow up alongside siblings rather than strangers, to be comforted by her mother when she cried, to be scolded by her father when she misbehaved. Sleep did not come easily that night, nor soon, after she had cried so many tears of confusion.

  The following day there was something to cheer her – a break in the rain. The walk from the dower house to Rosings was a short one, but very muddy, and though it threatened to resume raining at any moment, it was agreed upon at the dower house that the attempt must be undertaken – they would go to the manor.

  Determined not to let her twilight musings dampen the felicity she had experienced the last several days in the comfort of her parents’ snug little home, Harriet felt the company of the other young people at Rosings would be just the thing to restore her spirits. She found Kate perhaps a little more cheerful than everyone else at Rosings, for she was to expect all the joy a visit from her sister Mary could bring. Mary’s letter was produced, having already been read aloud the day before to the others at the house, and was now repeated to Harriet – Mary would arrive within the week, finding the society in Surrey not at all to her taste, and Rebecca’s cousin Miss Woodhouse so thoroughly recovered from her painful ordeal of the previous autumn as to make Mary’s presence unnecessary.

  “If only Miss Woodhouse could come visit us here,” Harriet mused, “and Lady Rebecca, too, of course.”

  Kate had a ready explanation for this. “I received a second letter, just this morning – Rebecca paints a rather different picture; though Miss Woodhouse is indeed in better spirits than she had been before, it appears my sister Mary has been unlucky in love. This much I have not shared with anyone else,” she whispered most confidentially to Harriet. “I think, however, some scheme must be concocted betwixt us to lift her spirits. There are gentlemen enough at Cranbrook that one of them might take a fancy to her, but I think we really must do something special for her ourselves.”

  The gentlemen had been scarce since the rains had begun, from what Harriet was to understand. Nobody lamented this louder than Lydia, and though Harriet had grown somewhat fonder of her than she had ever expected to, Lydia’s disappointment at the disproportionately female companionship to be had at Rosings was unsurprising, and too often expressed to be endearing.

  The gentlemen did appear, ere long. Seizing upon the same opportunity as Harriet and her parents had, they made their way to Rosings, for there had been little sport at Cranbrook since the weather turned against them, and they were all in want of some occupation.

  Mr. Rushworth was the first to recommend himself to Harriet, in suggesting that they begin their scheme of reading The Romance of the Forest, but Lydia had been so out of humor from the want of their company that having it now bestowed upon her put her in the mood for anything but reading.

  Georgiana would have been happy to read with them – she declared that it was so, and Mr. Willoughby so eagerly seized upon the subject of books himself, and would have happily read aloud to them all, but for the fact he was instantly distracted by his equal desire to converse with Georgianna on such a subject as might occupy the two of them, to the exclusion of all others, for quite some time.

  In the end, it was Mr. Henry Crawford who seized upon just the idea to please them all – or rather, most of them, for they were too large a party now to all be of one mind. It had come to Harriet’s notice that despite Mr. Crawford’s being so affably disposed toward everybody, and eager to address the whole party with equal amiability, Mr. Rushworth was often inexplicably displeased with him, and determined to contradict him, though in such an awkward and agitated manner that he was often scarcely intelligible at all.

  Seeming really determined to show Mr. Rushworth the full capacity of his sociability, as they were all idling in the drawing room watching the rain resume once more, Mr. Crawford addressed him thus, “Rushworth, my good man, we are all in want of some indoor occupation, to be sure, and it puts me in mind of a little scheme we once had when we were at Mansfield Park – we never got our theatrical, and I am sure I have never recovered from the loss.”

  “Theatrical,” Kate cried, her interest instantly captured, and she applied to Mrs. Crawford for some explanation.

  Mrs. Crawford gave a diffident laugh – she was ever prone to affably dismissing the whims of her high-spirited husband. “Good Heavens, that again! I hardly think a rendition of Lovers’ Vows would please anybody!”

  “Perhaps not,” Mr. Crawford agreed. “Indeed, it was very wrong of us to choose such a shocking script. Sir Thomas Bertram was well within his rights to be dismayed by such a scheme. However, I am not convinced that some manner of theatrical would not suit us very well indeed. I am certain Mr. Rushworth here was really most eager to give his two-and-forty speeches, were you not, sir?”

  His hands behind his back, Mr. Rushworth gave a little bow and nod of his head by way of agreement, and he stepped a little nearer the group, willing at last to hear Mr. Crawford out.

  “You see, Fanny,” Mr. Crawford declared. “Poor Mr. Rushworth has not made two-and-forty speeches in the whole course of his stay here in Kent, I am quite sure of it. He must have his moment – so must we all!”

  Several others of their party were decidedly in favor of the theatrical scheme – the Middletons, Lydia Bennet, Mr. Tilney, Mr. Audley, and Mr. Willoughby being the foremost amongst them, and with both Lady Catherine and Sir Gerald not presently in the room, Harriet boldly declared that she, too, felt some interest in the plan.

  “Only there are so very many of us,” she observed. “If we were to perform a little theatrical here, we must make certain that it be such a one as to provide everybody their share in it.”

  A great many suggestions were put forth, and all equally refuted by one or another amongst them. Mrs. Crawford, and indeed most of the married ladies, began to declare that they should not wish to play-act, or if they must, they should only want a small part, a very small part indeed.

  “And of course we cannot all be acting,” Mr. Crawford said. “To whom, then, should we perform? We are all of us wanting an audience sometimes, I think.”

  Kate and Robert, being master and mistress of the house, agreed that they could not dislike the idea – they thought it a perfectly suitable occupation, should the weather persist in disobliging them from any other pursuit. Kate
even ventured that she might be of assistance by way of creating some manner of scenery for them. “I am sure I could create a very suitable backdrop – I have my paint things here, and you know any old tapestry might be made up as a sort of backdrop, so long as the right sort of play is selected – perhaps one in a more natural setting? I am certain I could paint a very grand landscape in very little time – as long as it might take you to rehearse, I am sure.”

  Mr. Willoughby, who had already insisted that he would act in Shakespeare or nothing at all, quickly brought forth the winning idea – A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

  “It is just the thing for us, I am sure,” he declared, standing up to strike a commanding, dramatic pose. “Do you not all quite long for summer – or at least the return of sunshine? There is a sufficient amount of parts – just enough that anyone who wishes to act might do so, with enough people excluded to make up a sufficient audience, containing parts both romantic in nature and otherwise, and in exactly the sort of natural setting Mrs. Fitzwilliam might be able to create a backdrop for. The costumes might be easily arranged, for any old garments might be made up new in a trice, and it is such a familiar play to us all, I am sure – for I know I am not the only lover of Shakespeare amongst us – that the lines might be learned in so reasonable an amount of time as we might make a performance within a fortnight.”

  To such sensible arguments as these, there could be no acceptable rebuttal, and it was decided. They were just upon the point of dividing the parts amongst themselves – a copy of the book had been retrieved from the library, a list of principal roles quickly written out, and a system devised by which each part might be assigned randomly so as to forestall any arguments – when Lady Catherine and Sir Gerald returned to the assembled party.

  Sir Gerald was delighted with the scheme; Lady Catherine was dismayed. The young people were all in uproar – all the same arguments made over again, and betwixt all these, and Sir Gerald’s own considerable influence over his wife, Lady Catherine was brought around to the idea, gently reminded that she was no longer mistress of the house herself, and made to acknowledge that so long as this scheme extended no further than the confines of those already present, she should be perfectly satisfied. That Harriet should participate was another concern. Lady Catherine would not wish her to do anything so indecorous, was willing only to allow Harriet to be relegated to a member of the audience. Harriet’s disappointment was nearly complete, when all her friends and relations took up her cause so eagerly that she was not obliged to argue with her parents directly.