by Jayne Bamber
On the second page, which Rebecca read aloud to them all, Marianne mentioned meeting their Mr. Elton, who had been seen at the Lower Rooms of the Bath Assembly on more than one occasion. He had apparently done as Mr. Knightley had predicted, in paying his addresses to a Miss Hawkins, the sister of Mr. Elton’s particular friend – Miss Hawkins was lately arrived from her sister’s house, Maple Grove, and her twenty thousand pounds had inspired an instant and ardent admiration in Mr. Elton; he began to profess it to all who would listen. One such listener was a Miss Isabella Thorpe, a young lady of little family and middling charms, who had sought to ingratiate herself with Marianne and her new friend, Miss Morland. Miss Thorpe had only lately become engaged to Miss Morland’s brother, the same James Morland who had inspired such tender feelings in Marianne’s sister, Margaret.
To Miss Thorpe’s apparent dismay, Mr. Morland’s portion was discovered to be significantly less than she had imagined, and though this would have been nothing to Margaret Dashwood, who had a viscount for a brother-in-law, Miss Thorpe was left to rely on her own artful designs, by which means she had endeavored – and succeeded – in compromising Mr. Elton, whose income was largely reported in Bath to be double that of Mr. Morland’s. Happy Margaret, to now receive the addresses of the young man who was already beginning to recover from the deception of such a false first attachment! Unhappy Mr. Elton, perhaps, who was obliged to give up his hopes of Miss Hawkins and her twenty thousand pounds, and settle for Miss Thorpe, who brought him only an abundance of affection, perhaps beyond what was appropriate for any maiden, particularly a vicar’s bride. The marriage was to take place the day after the writing of Marianne’s letter, which had been three days before Rebecca’s receiving it, and so the inhabitants of Highbury must be expecting very soon to witness the return of their vicar and his bride.
The reading of Marianne’s letter to all of her companions rewarded Rebecca with a vast array of reactions. Jane Fairfax, with a rare look of mischief, whispered something to John before blushing at her own apparent impertinence and moving away to attend the children. John guffawed heartily, and repeated the remark to his brother, who likewise gave a little laugh.
Emma was excessively diverted to hear of Mr. Elton’s folly, and declared that such a wife was no less than he deserved. Mr. Churchill expressed an eager wish to meet Mr. Elton, whom he had heard described in such widely disparate terms by the various inhabitants of Highbury as to make him infinitely curious to meet the man himself, and form his own opinion – though he had every confidence that it would be just what Emma herself thought.
Emma found such a remark quite to her liking, though she began to say that if the new Mrs. Elton was such a creature, who would forsake her betrothed to form designs on another man, she may yet grow to pity poor Mr. Elton.
With this Mr. Knightley was inclined to agree. Though he had never concealed his own feelings on Mr. Elton, he would not wish such a fate on anyone. “I am only glad that your cousin, Miss Mary, is not here to see their return,” he told Rebecca. “At least she was spared that much, and I hope your sister Marianne has not written her of the same news, which must only give her pain. Though I have made my sentiments known to you already on that score, I will admit that you would have chosen better for Mr. Elton than fate has done.”
“Ha ha,” she chided. “You know I never really meant for them to be matched together. For Mr. Elton, perhaps, a match with Mary might be a superior alternative than such a mercenary girl as this Miss Thorpe, but it could certainly only be an evil for Mary – I am sure she shall do better in Kent, and I am every day waiting for a letter from her confirming that it is so.”
As Mr. Knightley smiled his fond approval at her, Rebecca’s attention was caught by Mr. Churchill, who began to suggest that he could not like the notion of the new Mrs. Elton coming amongst them, and suggested that they might postpone the ball at the Crown, which was scheduled for a week hence. “It is a pity we should still hold the ball, anyhow,” said he, “with Sidney gone. He was quite a proponent of the plan, and I am sure it could be postponed until he is able to return to us. Certainly if we held the thing so soon after Mrs. Elton’s arrival, she would think it a compliment to her, which would not do.”
Emma laughed a little, but gave Mr. Churchill a quixotic look. “I am rather conflicted about the matter,” she admitted. “Much as I agree with you that certainly the new Mrs. Elton must not be permitted to make any such assumption, as such a person as she must surely do, I should scarcely wish to forgo the pleasure entirely on her account.”
“Or on Mr. Parker’s,” Rebecca replied with disdain.
“I am rather inclined to agree with John,” Mr. Knightley observed. “I cannot account for you wanting to have a ball at the Crown at all – it is much too small a space, and I hear it is rather drafty.”
Rebecca laughed at him. “It is little surprise that you should object to our scheme – it is exactly what I would expect. You were not consulted in the original planning of the thing, which must give you some offense, though you will not own to it.” After giving him a look of absolute confidence in her assumption, she addressed the rest of their group, “Mr. Knightley despises frivolity – he cannot endure dancing at all.”
“It is true,” said he. “Balls are far from my favorite amusement, though I hope I do at least pass myself off with some credit when I am obliged to attend them. Certainly I have attended two such events in the last half-year, and have danced with you at both of them. Was I really such a disagreeable partner?” He pretended to look wounded.
“Infinitely so at the first one, I am sure,” Rebecca drawled, giving him a teasing look. “You argued with me nearly the entire time, insisted that I was about the manner of mischief which you intended to discover, and you may have done, but it did little to recommend you to me.”
“Which was, of course, my primary object,” he quipped. “And what of the second occasion? I am sure I must have improved upon further acquaintance, for was I not successful in convincing you to join us here in Highbury? The night of the ball was when you gave your agreement to travel to Hartfield.”
Rebecca laughed merrily, and addressed herself to Emma, who had been whispering with Mr. Churchill. “Mr. Knightley would make himself the ambassador of all Highbury,” she exclaimed. “He takes all the credit of drawing me hence; none of it was your own merit, in his estimation.”
“Surely Miss Woodhouse’s company must be the chief attraction of Highbury,” Mr. Churchill declared, a statement which pleased Rebecca all the more so because, in addition to validating her own point, Emma gave a very pretty blush and exchanged a significant look with Mrs. Weston.
“And there you have it,” Rebecca told Mr. Knightley. “Besides, as you seem to claim that my dancing with you at a ball has motivated me to take up residence in another county entirely, it logically follows that another ball may yet lead to the same outcome!”
Here Mr. Knightley laughed sardonically at her. “Well! And here I was on the verge of asking you for the opening set! If that would drive you straight back to London, I am sure I must abstain, and content myself not to dance at all, which has ever been my habit.”
“I still think it a wrong thing,” Mr. Churchill replied, “to have the ball at all. Not at present, at least. Miss Fairfax,” he called out, as Miss Fairfax was at that moment returning to them, having tired of the children’s lively games. “We must hear your opinion, Miss Fairfax, for I believe the ball at the Crown was to be on one of your days away from Hartfield, and you were to be in attendance yourself. Might you forgo the immediate pleasure of dancing, in deference to waiting for Mr. Parker to return? It is just the sort of hospitable thing I am sure he would do for us, and we must not give him the cause to repine his ill-usage, or claim the superiority of his own home village.”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “That is a subject which I fear shall never be exhausted!”
“Oh, but Sanditon is so very superior! I have never been happier anywhe
re,” Miss Fairfax observed, before blushing and falling silent for a moment. “That is – certainly as far as hospitality goes, I do think it right that we wait, but of course it must be for Mr. Churchill to determine – it was all his idea, I am sure.”
They debated a few minutes more but nothing was agreed upon, beyond that Frank and Emma were sure to dance every dance, and Mr. Knightley none, and that the Eltons must be a most unwelcome presence.
***
That unwelcome presence was to beleaguer Highbury very soon. Of course, Mr. Elton had long been liked by most of the populace of Highbury since his arrival the previous summer, and none but those at Hartfield could bemoan his return. Mr. Knightley, having seen the newlyweds himself, came to bring them word of it a few days later, but with such ill-timing that Rebecca was moved to forestall his giving of the news.
They had been occupied in the climbing of trees when he happened upon them; ostensibly, to harvest the last of the season’s cherries. Emma and Mr. Churchill were in one tree, flirting together enough to please Rebecca, though not so overtly that John was moved to intervene. Rebecca was in another tree near them, and seeing Mr. Knightley make his approach, knew that he must disapprove of such a display.
He spoke first to his brother, who sat nearby with Mrs. Weston. Little Izzy was asleep in his lap, and the boys listened intently to a lesson from Jane Fairfax, who was reading aloud to them from a picture-book. Mr. Knightley spoke to them for a few minutes before catching Rebecca’s eye and waving at her. She glanced over at Emma and Mr. Churchill in the next nearest tree, and the two were whispering so amiably together that Rebecca was determined to detain Mr. Knightley before he could interrupt the lovers. She waved him over, and he approached directly, coming to stand under the tree, and Rebecca was obliged to reposition herself lest he see up her skirts.
“Will you come down? I have some news for you,” he called out to her.
“No indeed – I am sure these are to be the last cherries of the year, and I desire a pie above anything,” she replied back. “However, I have something for you, sir!”
He grinned. “Is it pie?”
“Not just yet,” she said with wicked glee, and began plucking cherries from the branch and pelting him with them, laughing merrily as he was obliged to dodge her attacks.
“If these are to be the last of the cherries, I wonder that you should waste them so!”
“Very much worth it,” she called down to him, and continued throwing fruit at him, enjoying his attempts to remove himself from her line of fire.
“Is that so? Well, I am not so defenseless as you might think!” He bent down, collecting the cherries she had thrown at him, and began tossing them back at her, missing the mark as often as he hit her.
Rebecca laughed, and moved with no little agility, letting the basket on her arm tumble to the ground so that she might get a better purchase on moving from limb to limb, and she continued to wage war with Mr. Knightley a few minutes longer. He instantly collected her basket, and began throwing the cherries within at her by the fistful – she dodged her head this way and that as he began to improve his aim, and even caught a few of the cherries mid-air and proceeded to devour them then and there.
Upon perceiving that Frank and Emma had come down from their tree to watch her and laugh, Rebecca began to move to the lower branches, and was on the lowest one, preparing to make her final descent to the ground, when the stickiness of her fingers from eating the cherries began to annoy her. She let go of her hold with one hand, to wipe it thoroughly on her skirts, and the motion of doing so caused her to lose her balance, and she slipped out of the tree.
It would have been a short drop, perhaps five or six feet, no more, but Mr. Knightley moved quickly and caught her in his arms. Though a gallant gesture, he had reacted too fast – his grasp on her was not so very sturdy, and she half-tumbled through his arms. Clasping ahold of Mr. Knightley’s coat to steady herself, she stumbled on a knobby tree root where it broke above the surface of the ground, and in doing so the two of them both toppled to the ground together, a great shambles of flailing arms and legs.
It was badly done of Rebecca, who landed on her back with a loud yelp of pain as Mr. Knightley tumbled down on top of her. He pushed himself up with his arms, his body still draped atop hers, his expression first stunned and then almost amused as he gazed down at her. Her first thought was how bright a shade of green his eyes were – she had never noticed before – but then perhaps she had, the day he had comforted her after telling her of Isabella’s death. She had almost kissed him then, or at least she thought it might have happened, and for an instant now she felt the same sensation. His face was very near hers, his lips pursed, his eyes burning into hers – his face tilted toward her, and then he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head and drew away, shifting his weight off of her. The dull ache of her rough landing subsided, replaced by an acute pain throbbing in her ankle, and she let out a groan of agony.
All this took place in the space of but a minute, though it felt much longer to Rebecca, adding to her sense of confusion as she scrambled to sit up and identify the source of her discomfort. She felt her face begin to contort with pain.
Mr. Knightley moved into a crouching position beside her, and had begun to stand when he turned to look at her. “Are you hurt?”
Rebecca pushed herself up into a sitting position, and leaned forward, both nervous over the pain in her ankle and keenly aware of the embarrassment she felt at being the foolish author of her own present folly. Emma, Mr. Churchill, Mrs. Weston and John were rushing to her side, and she turned her face away in dismay.
She had the fleeting image in her mind’s eye of her father, many years ago, scolding her and Isabella for climbing this very tree, and another of Mr. Woodhouse, some years later, admonishing them for doing the same; she felt that if Mr. Knightley were to chastise her for it now, she could not possibly bear it. For a dizzying moment, her mortification at taking such a tumble battled against the acute pain in her right ankle, though in the end the pain won out, and she let out another cry of agony.
She did not dare look up at Mr. Knightley, but heard him warn the others to keep some little distance as he ascertained her injury, and he tilted up her chin, making her look up at him as he asked permission to examine her ankle.
Her stocking had torn, and the hem of her dress was caught on the same knobbly tree root that had tripped her where it protruded from the ground. He tore the fabric of her dress away from the root and pushed her skirts up just a little, lifting her ankle gingerly as she indicated where it was causing her pain. Holding her calf in his hand, he gently took her foot in his other hand, and turned it in a circular motion. She winced, letting out only a small gasp as she gritted her teeth and looked in any other direction than Mr. Knightley. Next he pressed his fingers against the outside of her ankle, asking her to try to move it.
“It is twisted, but not broken,” was his prognosis. “John, you must send for Doctor Perry, just to be sure. Mrs. Weston, might you ask the housekeeper to fetch us a small block of ice and have it wrapped in soft cloth? A cold compress is just the thing for an injury such as this.”
There were various outcries of alarm from her companions as John hurried away to fetch the doctor, and at last Rebecca braved another glance up at Mr. Knightley. There was no look of judgement in his countenance, only concern, and something else – the sunlight around him was so bright that she soon grew dizzy, and blinked several times, determined that she would not swoon.
“I shall have to carry you back to the house, Rebecca,” said he.
She bit her lip, giving him a little nod as she averted her eyes once more. He directed her to wrap her arms about his neck, and once she had done so he quickly hoisted her up off the ground. She tightened her grip on him as he made some minor adjustments to his hold on her, but began to carry her as if she weighed nothing at all.
She was determined not to look up at him, nor back at Emma, who followed closely
behind, though Rebecca did happen to notice that as Emma trailed after them, so full of affectionate concern, her hand had sought out Mr. Churchill’s, and he kept hold of it the whole way back to the house.
At least some good has come of my nonsense, Rebecca thought, though she was still entirely mortified at the incident. That Mr. Knightley should witness such superior mischief gone awry, and had taken such care of her nonetheless, was not to be borne – she wished she had never climbed the tree at all, for she would not have had to endure the supreme indignity of displaying her own fragility, and of discovering the very pleasant sensation of being in Mr. Knightley’s strong, muscular arms.
Jane Fairfax went ahead of them and threw open the glass-paneled doors that led to the parlor, ushering the children aside so that Mr. Knightley could set Rebecca down on the sofa. He positioned her so that her leg was sufficiently elevated, and placed a cushion under her right foot, calling for the ice to be brought directly. Emma was at Rebecca’s side, clutching her hand, and Mr. Churchill lingered nearby. It was a few minutes yet before the ice could be brought in from the icebox in the kitchen, during which time Rebecca, in want of some distraction, sought out her cousin’s gaze, and resolved to laugh at herself. “It is a fine thing your Mr. Churchill has resolved to postpone the ball, is it not? I am sure I shall not be out-danced by Mrs. Elton when the time does come!”
Emma and Mr. Churchill laughed, apparently much relieved that she was in tolerable enough condition to make light of it all, and even Mr. Knightley gave an affable shake of his head. “That is just what you would say,” said he. “I am sure if you were not so very full of your usual irreverence, I should have worried that you had hit your head as well.”
Rebecca gave him a devilish grin, though inside she was still groaning. The ice was brought a moment later and applied directly to her ankle, giving her a little shock, and Mrs. Weston began to declare that her presence and Mr. Churchill’s must now be superfluous – they had meant to stay for dinner, but would go away for a little while, and return in the evening with Mr. Weston.