Chapter Six #2
Mrs. Bartlett received these requests with pleasure that bordered on relief, and she displayed a few fashion plates that showed styles similar to what Elizabeth had described. As the two women worked out the changes between them, Mrs. Bates and her daughter gaped at Elizabeth with astonishment.
By the time Elizabeth had settled with the seamstress that an off the rack emerald silk could be modified in time for the party, and the other dresses finished a few days later, Miss Bates looked as if she might fall over. “Jane, whatever has come over you?”
Mrs. Bates smirked, her eyes sparkling with unspoken jest as they departed the shop. “I suppose you have learned some new confidence in contradicting your aunt’s penchant for lace?”
“Nobody who has heard Lady Gresham commission a ballgown could do otherwise,” Elizabeth drawled.
In truth, Elizabeth had always been left to her own devices in purchasing clothing; her father happily funded her visits to the modiste in Meryton on the condition that he heard nothing at all about ribbon and lace.
She had been confidently making her fashion taste known since Lady Amelia’s death, and perhaps that lady’s constant state of over-trimming had made Elizabeth’s preferences markedly different.
“Oh, my dear Jane, have you never liked the gowns you have gotten in Highbury before? I am glad you have spoken up, if what I have chosen for you is not what you would wish.” Miss Bates sniffed a little, looking truly mortified.
Elizabeth could not bear to wound her mother, even if she did now have serious doubts about Fanny Bates’s wardrobe, and what Mr. Bennet might think. “No, no, my darling m- aunt. I suppose my preferences may have altered while I was away, that is all.”
Miss Bates nodded forlornly. “I suppose Lady Gresham’s taste must be very grand, after so many years of having her pick of fine cloth in my brother’s warehouses.”
“Yes.” Elizabeth frowned, but was fortunately struck with a small stroke of genius as she contrived an excuse that would mollify her mother. “Miss Campbell is soon to marry Mr. Dixon, and I can hardly say what a to-do it was, ordering her trousseau!”
Miss Bates smiled. “Oh! I had not thought of that! Yes, now that you mention it, I recall often thinking Diana must be very fussy about her attire, from all that you have told me. Well, that explains it – I am sure you have never complained of your clothes before, but then you are nearly of age, now! I daresay you begin to think of a trousseau of your own eye long!”
“No indeed,” Elizabeth assured her mother. “You could introduce me to the handsomest, cleverest, most generous fellow in Christendom, and I am sure I should rather spend my days with you and Grandmother. I might wish our little family a bit larger, but I am far from wanting to start one of my own.”
Mrs. Bates still eyed Elizabeth with satirical surprise, but Miss Bates was very well pleased by Elizabeth’s answer.
“Well, I would wish you with me always, my dear Jane, for the cottage always seems brighter when you are in residence! I cannot think why you should choose to be dull at home with us, when you might have gone to Ireland with the Campbells, but you are such a good girl. And we may not be so very dull, with new neighbors among us! I hear it is a young gentleman of vast fortune from trade who has rented the manor house the Coles wished to purchase – I daresay they must be very cross with him – and how strange that such a large manor should never have a name! But I have heard it from Mrs. Perry, whose brother is the agent for the estate, that he is a handsome gentleman – I forget his name – and he brought with him an even handsomer friend who has ten thousand a year! That is very clever of him, is it not?”
“Vastly clever,” Elizabeth agreed at once. “Indeed, with such an income, he is quite entitled to be considered the handsomer of the pair; I rather pity his friend, who has only his charms to recommend him.”
Miss Bates looked aghast. “No indeed, I am sure they are both very rich. Not that such things matter, of course, if they are unpleasant sort of people, but that is not likely. I daresay they shall both be half in love with Miss Woodhouse already. She is such a charming girl, always asking after you, and listening so cheerfully when I read her your letters.”
Elizabeth was abundantly curious about Miss Woodhouse.
Jane had said only that though they were of the same age, their dispositions were not suited to true friendship; they were cordial, but spoke little when in company with their neighbors.
Miss Woodhouse’s character, apart from being overindulged and yet inexperienced, was still a blank to Elizabeth.
Fortunately, it was a short walk to Hartfield, where Elizabeth’s curiosity would be very well gratified.
The spacious parlor was already teeming with activity.
The old gentleman who could only be Mr. Woodhouse sat by the fire with a blanket in his lap, staring with a look of alarm at the rowdy play of the five Knightley children.
One of them was being tossed through the air, onto a sofa, by a man Elizabeth recognized at once.
She had been briefly introduced to her father’s solicitor, John Knightley, when she was in London, on her way to Weymouth.
She flinched for a moment as he nodded his greeting to her, and it occurred to Elizabeth that he must have registered her resemblance to her sister when she met him with her father.
He knew there were two of her, and if she made the slightest misstep in his presence, he may suppose the reason for it.
It was fortunate for Elizabeth that Jane brought with her to Weymouth a large sketchbook, most of which had already been filled with sketches of her relations, friends, and neighbors in Highbury.
Thus Elizabeth had no trouble in discerning which sister was Mrs. Isabella Knightley and which was Emma Woodhouse.
The third lady present was addressed as Miss Taylor, the governess who still resided with the family.
Mrs. Knightley was largely occupied in scolding her energetic children and mollifying her fussy father, but Miss Woodhouse and Miss Taylor received their guests warmly. “Adult company,” Miss Woodhouse said with a wry smile. “You are more welcome than ever.”
Elizabeth smiled back at her, suppressing a jest as she considered what Jane might say. “I am sure you must adore any visit from your nieces and nephews; they are very fine children.”
“They can have little to say that would amuse me as much as the tales of your recent travels, which leave me mad with envy.” There was a twinkle of mischief in Miss Woodhouse’s eye, as if she were daring her guests to reveal something more interesting than what had been in Miss Bates’s letters.
“My goodness; I have only been to Weymouth to see my aunt.” Elizabeth shrank back a little, fearing it was fairly written across her face that she had been about some fascinating intrigue, and kept an astounding secret.
“She has not visited you here in Highbury in so long, but I recall she is very fashionable and gregarious ,” Miss Woodhouse said, emphasizing the last word.
Elizabeth felt she understood the young woman a little better already.
Jane was far more reserved, which may be a disappointment to Miss Woodhouse.
With her sister now a mother living chiefly in London, she had only her governess for a companion.
Elizabeth spent a great deal of time with Charlotte and Maria Lucas, but she was friendly with several other young ladies in Meryton – this was the chief consolation to be found in seldom travelling from home.
Though she thought it a great pity Miss Woodhouse should neither travel nor have friends her own age, Elizabeth could not oblige her. She must be sweet and reticent Jane, not lively Lizzy.
“My aunt is far more fortunate than I, in having a great many friends to always be visiting or entertaining,” Elizabeth said simply.
“Oh, she is terribly grand,” Miss Bates agreed.
“Why, when Jane wrote to me of her aunt’s guest list, I was astonished at so many elegant people all together at once – but you know, Jane, though I would not say so in my letters to you, I rather suspected she intended a bit of matchmaking with so many gentlemen! ”
“Really?” Miss Woodhouse sat up a little straighter at this. “I have developed a little matchmaking scheme of my own. What do you say, Miss Fairfax, to a match between Mr. Weston and my dear Miss Taylor? Are they not perfectly suited?”
“Oh, hush!” Miss Taylor swatted at her with a playful smile.
Elizabeth looked over at her mother, curious how she would react, after what had been said of the late Mr. Gardiner’s hope to unite his half-sister and his former associate.
But Miss Bates, to Elizabeth’s tremendous relief, seemed sincerely pleased by the notion.
“I wonder Miss Woodhouse could part with you – but she is so generous. And what a happy coincidence that Randalls should be so close to Hartfield! It has been many years since there was a family at Randalls, but I daresay when we are there tomorrow, we shall be in perfect agreement that it wants a woman’s touch!
Pray, do not blush, Miss Taylor – I shall keep your secret – I am the very soul of discretion. ”
Elizabeth smiled in spite of herself – her mother certainly could keep a secret – and so could her daughters!
The subject of Mr. Weston’s party was broached as tea was served, but as Miss Bates and Miss Taylor spoke of Mr. Weston’s excellent discernment in hiring Nettie Watford as his cook, Miss Woodhouse rolled her eyes with a wicked look about her as she moved closer to Elizabeth.