Chapter Fourteen #2
“Madam, I know that Martin often brings you such offerings from his cousins at Abbey Mill Farm, but I thought you might enjoy a few simple things you do not often see from them. I have some freshly picked blueberries and blackberries, sweet peas, candied pears that my cook has canned for you, and some of her sweet buns, a jar of honey from my hives, and a selection of medicinal herbs for your household stores. Miss Fairfax, I have included a special headache poultice Mrs. Perry advised me of; I hope you are recovered from your last bout of megrim.”
“Headache! Jane, when did you have a headache?” Miss Bates looked aghast. Standing near her, Mr. Churchill raised his brows at Elizabeth, as if he were not the only one to have made a new conquest. Mrs. Bates smiled warmly, her eyes lit with mirth.
Elizabeth reflexively took a step back, wishing to avoid the notice of all.
She had been obliged to make some excuse for her agitation when Mr. Knightley insisted on bringing her home in his carriage, and she could hardly own to the real reason for it.
Jane’s letter had alarmed her and Mr. Churchill’s effusions had mortified her, but Mr. Darcy’s kiss and subsequent tenderness of speech had rendered her nearly insensible.
Her voice came out as but a squeak. “On Monday; it was a mere trifle.”
“You were quite unwell,” Mr. Knightley said, handing the basket off to Martin and taking a step closer to Elizabeth. “I ought to have called sooner to inquire after your recovery.”
“You are very kind, sir,” Miss Bates cried, looking utterly delighted at his solicitude. “Dear Jane never wishes to be a burden to anyone. You must have all the candied pears for yourself, my dear; I know they are your favorite.”
“I hope you are recovered,” Emma said, turning her attention from Miss Taylor to peer curiously at Elizabeth. “You have seemed merry enough the past few days; if you have been concealing some secret malady, I shall regret not letting you win at cards a little more often.”
“It was nothing,” Elizabeth said. “I had a letter from a friend I met at Weymouth, and she had much to lament. I perhaps walked too far as I read of her woes.”
“A friend from Weymouth,” Emma repeated, seizing on what Elizabeth ought not to have said. “A mutual acquaintance you may share with Mr. Churchill, perhaps? I understand you were there at the same time as Jane, sir.”
“Briefly,” Mr. Churchill said. “But if it is anybody we are both acquainted with, Miss Fairfax, I am sure I should wish they have only lovely things to say.”
“Oh, pish, leave poor Miss Fairfax alone.” Miss Taylor swatted playfully at Emma. “If we put you on trial every time you were out of sorts, Emma, we should speak of nothing else!”
Emma laughed and nodded her agreement. “Well, you have seemed merry enough for me this last week, Jane. Is she not uncommonly charming, Mr. Bingley? I am sure the sum of her time in Weymouth has rendered her so, for all her maudlin walks in the rain.”
Mr. Bingley made no answer beyond an awkward smile; they would do better to forget he had ever directed any of his easy charm at her , and Elizabeth could not account for why Emma should wish to inspire more of the same.
The Bateses’ parlor was far too small for nine people, and it was feeling smaller by the minute. Fortunately, Mr. Bingley decided to take his leave, as he had guests soon arriving. On his way out, he paused and looked askance at Mr. Knightley. “I say – I had thought Darcy was with you.”
Mr. Knightley shook his head. “He left Donwell above an hour ago.”
Mr. Bingley screwed up his face. “Ah, well, he cannot hide forever! We shall see you all at dinner tomorrow, I hope. Good day.” He hesitated, then crossed the room and took Emma’s hand in his, bowing deeply as he kissed her hand.
He met Mr. Churchill’s eye as he righted himself.
“If you gentlemen are walking toward the village, I shall happily accompany you.”
“Surely you would not deprive us of such fascinating company,” Emma cried, gazing curiously down at her hand. “I have heard Mr. Weston praise his son all my life, and dear Jane will tell me nothing of her impressions from Weymouth.”
Mr. Churchill looked very smug, and managed a sly wink in Elizabeth’s direction. She willed him away with all her heart, and he was merciful at last. “I suppose we need not tarry here; Father also wished me to meet another noteworthy family of Highbury – the Perrys, I believe?”
“My father quite depends upon them,” Emma said. “Mr. Bingley must see to his guests at Milton Hall, but Miss Taylor and I will go with you.”
She rose, and her companion did the same. As the gentlemen took their leave, Elizabeth caught her friend by the hand and detained her for a moment, aside from their companions. Emma obviously meant to work some sort of mischief, but two could play at that game.
“Dear Emma, I hope you do not mind if we miss our card game tomorrow – my aunt is taking me to a fitting at Mrs. Bartlett’s.”
“Of course – but I cannot wait to see what you shall be wearing at dinner! I suppose Isabella will insist we accept Mr. Bingley’s invitation, though I fear Papa will not be comfortable.” Emma smiled sadly and then gave a shaky sigh.
“I am sure it will be a wonderful evening,” Elizabeth said with a grin. “In fact, I will have a tremendous surprise for you.”
Emma perked up. “Oh? What sort of surprise?”
Elizabeth smirked and leaned in to whisper. “A secret surprise. I daresay you will detect it at once, but you must be patient for more answers than this. I shall make a secret signal to you when I am ready to tell you all.”
To demonstrate her signal, Elizabeth crossed her eyes and for a fleeting moment stuck out the tip of her tongue. Emma let out a giggle. “Jane Fairfax making faces at me – and sharing secrets at last! What a strange turn of events!”
“That I shall not deny,” Elizabeth said.
She pressed Emma’s hand warmly in hers, feeling really eager to confide in Emma once she had gone back to being herself again.
She knew Jane was not half so fond of the nonsensical and occasionally self-important creature, but Elizabeth hoped she might soon amend that.
Emma departed the cottage in a great flutter to ensure that Miss Taylor was walking with Mr. Weston, and she attached herself to Frank Churchill.
That may perhaps give Jane some pause, but at least Elizabeth could warn her sister.
The hour at which they were to meet was drawing near, and Elizabeth fairly shivered with impatience.
All the callers had gone but one; Mr. Knightley sat in one of the now available chairs and smiled at Elizabeth as he made himself comfortable.
Another time, she might enjoy a rousing conversation with him.
He was clever and well-read, droll but cheerful, and his conversation both interested and amused her.
Until his arrival with the basket, it had never occurred to her that he might form any design upon her – upon Jane – but now she could only gaze at the clock on the mantle and wish herself away.
“Jane, do sit down,” Miss Bates said sweetly, and Elizabeth did as she was bid.
“Shall we sample some of the honey and buns Mr. Knightley has brought us? You are always so good to us, sir – ever since you took over running the Abbey – what has it been, five years now? Am I not often writing to you, Jane, of how he indulges us? Oh, but I hope you will open up Donwell Abbey, with so many new people come amongst us – it has been far too long since we have seen the place – has it not been, Mother? I remember you brought me to pick strawberries there when I was a girl! And now we have Milton House! Have I not often said what a pity it is that the manor should remain empty? I am sure the Coles would have liked to have the place, but then perhaps they would not have brought so many new and interesting people into the neighborhood. And a husband for Miss Woodhouse! Ha! I believe she has always said she would never marry – well, I know some have speculated that if only Frank Churchill were to finally visit – but now it is too late for him…. But he is such a fine young man, so handsome and amiable, and so full of praise of Highbury!”
A well-timed cough from Mr. Knightley silenced Miss Bates’s cheerful musings.
He looked pained for a moment, and then glanced at Elizabeth as if in want of some rescue from this abundance of observations.
She smiled at him. “I confess I should like to see Donwell Abbey – in particular the strawberries.” This was safe enough, she supposed; Jane liked strawberries very well indeed.
“I am sure I shall do my part in entertaining the newcomers to Highbury, as well as the residents who have long been treasured here,” he said warmly. “I will attend the dinner tomorrow, and I understand my brother’s wife intends to do something at Hartfield after… after the banns are called.”
Elizabeth sensed a trace of something wistful in his tone. “For Emma, do you mean? Will that happen so soon?”
He shook his head. “I am sure I am the last person who could answer that, Miss Fairfax. You have become so friendly with Emma yourself that it is more likely you should tell me.”
Oh yes, there was definitely a mournful note in his voice.
Of all the principal personages of Highbury, Jane had said the least of Mr. Knightley, leaving Elizabeth to decipher him for herself.
At present, she was struck with the suspicion that the poor man harbored some disappointed sentiments where Emma was concerned, and she could not prevent the pity from seeping into her gaze.
Mr. Knightley stood abruptly. “Well, I believe I must be off. I hope you enjoy the honey and buns, and all my other humble offerings. Until tomorrow.” He began to give a bow and then stopped himself. “Shall I send my carriage round for you again?”
“You are very good to us indeed,” Miss Bates cried. “Of course we must accept! Jane will be wearing her new gown, and I should not like her to ruin it walking all that way, though she is always in such fine looks after a walk!”
Elizabeth felt her face heat as Mr. Knightley bowed again. “Of course; I could no more abide that than Miss Fairfax’s headache. Whatever is in my power, I shall be at your disposal. Good day to you, ladies.”
After Mr. Knightley took his leave, Miss Bates was full of exclamations.
She praised his kindness, and would have told a dozen stories of his fine deeds if Elizabeth had not been obliged to forestall her mother.
“I should love to hear of it another time, but we have been very crowded with callers and I am longing to stretch my legs outdoors for a while. I had hoped to hear again from that friend from Weymouth I mentioned – I shall pass the post office before I turn onto Lake Road….”
Miss Bates smiled knowingly. “You mean to walk by Lake Road again? Is that not where you encountered Mr. Knightley when you had your headache?”
“Hush, Fanny,” Mrs. Bates said with a rumbling laugh. “Our dear girl is one-and-twenty next month; she is entitled to a secret or two, would you not agree?”
Miss Bates gave her mother a sharp look, and bid her daughter enjoy a pleasant walk before leaving the room in an inexplicable huff.
Elizabeth donned a light, short-sleeved pelisse and set out before her grandmother could detain her with any mischievous inquiries, though she almost regretted that she might not return to the cottage to hear all Mrs. Bates’s satirical observations about their unusual number of visitors.
She made her way through the meadow that ran alongside Lake Road, which was named for the lake on Mr. Bingley’s property where Jane suggested they meet.
Jane knew the area, and the lake was not visible from Milton Hall, though it would be but a short walk from the manor for Jane, who would claim a desire for fresh air after the journey – it was just what Mr. Bennet would expect of his daughter.
As she entered the grove, her path to the lake brought Elizabeth past the place where she had spoken with Mr. Darcy when last she had seen him.
Where she had kissed him. She was all too aware that she had not immediately put a stop to it, and that moment of hesitation, of absolute enjoyment, had not left her mind for an instant.
The little lake was not far beyond this, and there Elizabeth was astonished to find that it was not Jane who sat on the dock, staring up at the clouds, bare feet skimming the surface of the water.