Chapter 2 #2
Plumtree affected great astonishment. “You astound me, Barlowe. Are you sure such pleasures don’t fall under the category of inappropriate behavior? Or are you gathering material for your Sunday sermon?”
“Now you’re talking nonsense,” the curate replied in a cross tone.
Plumtree laughed. “I am, indeed, which is most unfair of me. I will do my best to atone for my behavior by finding you a partner. You’re one of the few eligible men in the village, so there must be at least one young lady who will be eager to dance with you.”
After sketching bows to Emma and George, he led the blushing curate away.
“What an interesting young man,” she said, watching them go.
“Which one,” George dryly replied.
She laughed. “They do seem a mismatched pair. Mr. Barlowe is so terribly shy, while Mr. Plumtree is …”
“An impertinent puppy.”
“But a charming one, nevertheless. I wonder what his story is?”
“You must be sure to ask his father when next you see him.”
Emma regarded her beloved with a degree of disfavor. “Now who’s impertinent? And heaven knows this village could use a few more eligible gentlemen like Mr. Plumtree. I’m afraid Mr. Barlowe hardly counts in that respect.”
Her husband adopted an expression of mock alarm. “Emma, your words strike fear into my heart. I was under the impression that your matchmaking days were over. ”
“Dearest, I’m simply stating facts. Besides, Mr. Plumtree is quite an attractive young man. I’m sure he needs no help from me in that regard.”
Well … perhaps just a little.
George’s knowing expression suggested that he’d surmised what she was thinking—not that she had any intention of admitting to the truth of it.
And, really, her matchmaking efforts, such as they were, had ended with her marriage.
Still, one couldn’t help but feel for the young ladies of Highbury, who stood in dire need of a new crop of eligible bachelors.
“I stand corrected, my Emma,” her husband wryly replied. “Now, shall I fetch you a glass of wine?”
She glanced over to the doorway. “Later, perhaps. I see Mrs. Weston is waving to me from across the room.”
“And I see Dr. Hughes. He wished to buttonhole me about some matter of business, although I cannot imagine what.”
The village’s physician, who also served as coroner, was pontificating to a resigned-looked Mr. Cox, Highbury’s resident solicitor, over by the fireplace.
“You have my sympathies, dearest.”
An amused snort was his only reply. Emma wended her way to the doorway of the room where Mrs. Weston chatted with Mrs. Cole, one of Highbury’s leading residents.
“There you are, my dear,” said Mrs. Weston. “Your father has been wondering what’s become of you.”
“I’ll visit him as soon as I check on the great hall.”
“Mrs. Knightley, what a splendid occasion,” enthused Mrs. Cole. “Only imagine—Mr. Woodhouse and Miss Bates to be married!”
“Yes, it was quite the surprise,” Emma replied. “A happy one, naturally.”
“I would be thrilled to host a dinner party for them in a few weeks’ time. Both Miss Bates and your father deserve some well-earned fussing.”
Father would no doubt think one party was quite enough fussing. “That’s very kind of you, but we cannot ask you to put yourself out, ma’am.”
The always-cheerful woman—sometimes a bit too cheerful— beamed at her.
“Nonsense. Now if you’ll excuse me, I see Mrs. Cox.
” She glanced around, looking conspiratorial.
“Young William is in his cups and causing quite a bit of a commotion in the great hall. I thought to drop a word in his mother’s ear. ”
Emma sighed as Mrs. Cole bustled off. “Is it possible to hold an event at Donwell without one of the Cox children behaving badly? I suppose I must go and assess the damage.”
“I’m sure it’s not as bad as Mrs. Cole suggested,” Mrs. Weston replied. “William is with his sisters, after all.”
“Oh, joy. My cup overflows.”
While both sisters could be annoying, the eldest, Miss Anne Cox, was surely the most impertinent girl in Highbury—if not the county.
Mrs. Weston laughed. “I’ll come with you. We’ll have a chat along the way.”
“I feel as if we’ve barely exchanged a word in a week,” Emma replied as she linked arms with her friend.
After the death of Emma’ s mother, Mrs. Weston—then Miss Taylor—had taken up residence at Hartfield as governess, handed the care of two grief-stricken girls.
She’d managed Emma and Isabella with tender affection, becoming almost a second mother to them.
Once Isabella married John, Emma and Miss Taylor had grown ever closer.
And although it had been a day of great joy when her beloved governess became Mrs. Weston, there was sorrow, too.
Emma had lost her anchor and for some months she’d floated adrift.
Thankfully, she’d found her course in time. Falling in love with George, and having that love so generously returned, had brought Emma to safe harbor.
“You must forgive me. I’ve been so busy with my daughter.”
“How is little Anna?” Emma asked. “It sounded like she had a dreadful cold.”
“Mr. Perry says she is well on the mend, even though Mr. Weston is inclined to doubt him.”
“Then Mr. Weston should have another chat with our good apothecary tonight to assuage his worries. Mr. Perry has been here all evening. Father insisted he come early to oversee the refreshments, so as to ascertain that nothing harmful would be served.”
“I hope you had the foresight to hide the cakes.”
“Mrs. Hodges was—”
She broke off when Prudence Parr hurried toward them from the great hall. The girl looked terribly flustered, with her mobcap askew and her normally rosy cheeks bleached white. She almost rushed past them until Emma put out a hand.
“Prudence! Is everything all right?”
The maid jerked to a halt. “Oh, Mrs. Knightley … excuse me, madam, I didn’t see you there. Or you, Mrs. Weston. Forgive me.”
She bobbed an off-kilter curtsy. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she clutched one hand into the starched fabric of her apron, wrinkling it. Her entire attitude suggested one of considerable distress.
“My dear child,” Mrs. Weston kindly said, “whatever is the matter?”
“I … oh, nothing,” she stammered.
A thought darted into Emma’s head. “Has someone been pestering you, Prudence?”
Like William Cox?
It was entirely possible that William, in his cups, might have importuned Prudence. Some males, especially in these social settings, were notorious for their shabby treatment of female servants. It was a state of affairs Emma had always despised.
Prudence’s gaze slid sideways. “No, nothing like that, Mrs. Knightley. I’m … it’s just the migraine. I’m very prone to them. Mrs. Hodges said I should go up to my room and lie down until it passes.”
Emma had never heard mention of Prudence suffering from migraines. Still, the girl looked quite ill. “Yes, you should. I’m sorry you’re not well.”
Prudence wrung her hands in her apron. “I apologize, Mrs. Knightley, and with so much work to be done tonight.”
Emma patted her shoulder. “We have more than enough staff for tonight. Take as much time as you need.”
The girl heaved a grateful sigh. “Thank you, madam. It’s very kind of you.”
Then she picked up her skirts and all but fled in the direction of the back stairs.
Mrs. Weston grimaced. “I hope Prudence is not coming down with something worse than a headache. She was waiting on your father and Mrs. Bates earlier in the evening.”
“Which we will not mention to Father. But I’ll ask Mrs. Hodges to check on Prudence later.”
As they approached the hall, the chatter of voices and the gay notes of a country-dance loudly swelled.
“What a din,” exclaimed Mrs. Weston.
“Understandable, since most of the—”
Another young woman burst into the corridor and rushed toward them.
Mrs. Weston sighed. “Susan Cox appears upset, too.”
“Her dratted brother, no doubt.”
Susan came to a halt, looking rattled but possessing enough sense to dip a shallow curtsy.
“How are you, Susan?” Mrs. Weston asked.
“Fine, ma’am,” she nervously replied. “It’s ever so nice a party, Mrs. Knightley. Anne was just saying that the dancing is quite good—although not as good as the dancing at Mr. Weston’s ball last year.”
Emma refrained from rolling her eyes. “Is something wrong, Miss Cox? You seem discomposed.”
“I … I’m going to fetch my mother. William isn’t feeling well, and Mama will know what to do with him.”
“I surmise that your brother has become inebriated,” Emma dryly replied.
The girl hesitated, and then gloomily nodded. Of all the Cox children, she was the least annoying. One also had to remember that she was the youngest and of course under the influence of her unfortunate siblings.
“Where is your brother now?” Emma asked.
“One of the footmen was helping Anne take him to the long gallery.” She wrinkled her nose. “And help clean him up. William tripped and fell into one of the tables.”
Give me patience, Lord.
“Which table?”
“The one with the punch bowl. But the bowl was almost empty,” Susan hastily added. “So it didn’t make much of a mess, except on William.”
“There’s justice, I suppose,” said Emma. “All right, go find your mother. And I would suggest it might be time to take William home.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Knightley,” she said, flinging the words over her shoulder as she fled.
“Disgraceful,” Emma huffed. “It is beyond me how a respectable couple like the Coxes managed to produce such unpleasant children.”
“Should we go check on William and Anne?”
“Only if you wish to see me box their ears.”
Mrs. Weston choked on a laugh.
They turned toward the great hall. At the massive stone arch that framed the entrance, they paused to observe the merriment.
“You’ve made a splendid job of it, Emma,” Mrs. Weston commented. “How clever to place the musicians up in the balcony and out of the way.”
A reminder of Donwell’s antique origins, the great hall boasted a timbered ceiling and a carved wooden screen beneath the balcony. Normally a space imbued with a rarified sense of peace, the hall currently resembled a packed assembly room at a public ball.
The cacophony of voices threatened to overwhelm the music. Although most of the floor had been cleared for dancing, trestle tables, benches, and chairs ringed the perimeter of the room. It seemed that every seated person was engaged in a shouting match to be heard over the music.
The refreshment tables near the front entrance of the hall were staffed by two of Hartfield’s footmen. Off to the side stood a smaller table for the punch bowl. The abbey’s groom, seconded to work the party, was setting up a new punch bowl with Mr. Weston’s cheerful assistance.
Mrs. Weston smiled. “How fortunate that my husband happened to be in the hall when the accident occurred.”
“Indeed. There is nothing more satisfying than an excellent husband.”
Her friend cast her an amused glance. “I obviously agree.”
“Mr. Weston is a splendid man, and I will always take a great deal of pleasure in the triumph of promoting your match.”
Her friend twinkled at her. “He would have found his way there eventually, but your assistance was appreciated nonetheless.”
“As is right and proper. But look at Mr. Hughes, who is almost as boring as his cousin, and he’s trapped poor Mr. Weston behind the table. Don’t you think you should rescue your husband? Dr. Hughes is bound to appear at any moment and join them, and then Mr. Weston will become desperate.”
Mrs. Weston laughed. “Emma, Dr. Hughes is a very good man—if a trifle pompous. It was kind of you to invite him.”
“Miss Bates was in charge of the invitations, with the predictable result that almost everyone within a five-mile radius of Highbury has descended upon us like marauding Saxons. Now, go rescue your husband.”
For the next half hour, Emma circled the room, checking on the partygoers and even managing a cup of punch and a pleasant chat with Mrs. Goddard. Now, though, it was past time to check on her father and Isabella.
Slipping into the relative quiet of the long gallery—thankfully absent of Coxes—she turned toward the library. The noise of the party faded, and she found herself enjoying the welcome peace of the old stone building after enduring the commotion of the hall.
She’d almost reached the library when the door flew open and Miss Bates burst forth in a frantic flurry of skirts. The spinster all but skidded to a halt in front of her.
“Miss Bates,” Emma exclaimed. “Whatever is the matter?”
The little spinster flapped her arms like a duck about to take flight. “Oh, Mrs. Knightley, you must come! There’s been a terrible accident!”