Chapter 4 Chathford House #2
“If we are together, she can hardly be turned aside.” Mary’s eyebrows arched to match her round lenses, so I added, “All that remains is overcoming the silly perception that, because Harriet’s parents are unknown, she will fail to bind.
When that is done, she can marry a suitable gentleman.
We could not continue our friendship if she marries poorly. ”
“You speak of her like she is a project!”
“Yes,” I said, pleased she understood. “Some years ago, I made an excellent match for my dear friend Miss Taylor. This is a better challenge.”
“A challenge?” Mary’s voice was tight. “Do you comprehend the issues she encounters? The prejudice?”
Perhaps she did not understand after all. “I am opposing prejudice.”
“With no experience of it. What if—”
Mary was cut off as a footman announced, “The master and mistress have arrived.”
We descended to the main floor and joined Mr. Darcy and Lizzy in a sitting room. The windows again overlooked the Thames, but now through autumn-bare branches. We strolled the room in pairs or threes, the tone formal and too bright. The violence of the day hovered unsaid.
This room was fully reopened, missing only carpets. The narrow floorboards gleamed, inlaid with ruby patterns of rosewood or cherry. The chairs and end tables were delicate Rococo curves awash in gilded filigree—a beautiful style, although out of fashion. The war discouraged French influence.
Harriet’s eyes were agog. Hartfield, my family home, had a comfortable country style that was the peak of fashion in Highbury, but it was far less shiny than this.
Mr. Darcy and Mr. Knightley strolled to the far window, their hands clasped behind their backs while they discussed whatever gentlemen discuss when ladies are out of hearing. Shooting. Horses. The near-murder of a wyfe.
The ladies gathered. I complimented the room’s restoration, and Georgiana agreed happily; she seemed recovered from the emotion of homecoming. Then she said, “My brother asked me to give you a message when you woke. I had forgotten until now.”
“He must tell me himself,” I said.
“He wishes to speak with you,” she said earnestly. “I am sure he will do so.”
“You make it seem serious!”
Lizzy, Mary, and Georgiana exchanged glances that did seem serious. But it had been a serious day.
Gingerly, I cast my mind back to the fears of the salon.
The injured maid had caused my collapse. The way she fell in a tumble of skirts, still as death. That image alone made me seek the defense of perfection. I pressed a gloved fingertip against the Rococo swirls of a chair and traced a soothing spiral of carved flower petals.
So, the cause was no surprise. But the scarlet potency surrounding me had been different. Even in memory, it vibrated and beckoned. As if I could grasp it and—
“Emma?” Lizzy said quizzically.
Blankly, I looked into her staring eyes. I tried to pull an echo of her question from my ears, but it was lost.
“Chathford House is beautiful,” I said. Compliments were safe. “And a large house, for London.”
“Is it?” Georgiana asked in a surprised tone. Her slender neck craned as she looked about, searching for an overlooked wing.
“Very large,” Mary said tightly, frowning at the raised gilt scrolls of the chair I was stroking.
“Oh.” A blush spread on Georgiana’s cheeks. “You think it excessive. I am sorry.”
“No! I did not… that is…” Mary bit her lip. The two women stared at each other. They seemed very distraught for such a modest disagreement.
“It is larger than I expected,” Lizzy said matter-of-factly. “But the space will go to good use. We need rooms for the school.”
“What a wonderful idea!” exclaimed Georgiana. She beamed a relieved smile at her friend.
“You have a school?” I asked Lizzy.
“My husband is a patron of education for those who cannot afford other teaching. I have added my own project, instruction for practical trades. There will be tremendous opportunities as mechanization grows. But practical trades require space, and the London school is overfull.”
“How wonderful to improve a life so profoundly,” I said. “Perhaps I could help a school in Surrey.”
Mary gave an annoyed snort. Lizzy shot her a quelling look.
“What are practical trades?” Harriet asked.
“Some are apprenticed trades,” Lizzy said. “Smithing. Coopering. But teaching those requires permission from the guilds. They are jealous of their exclusivity. Still, a visit from a lady disconcerts them enough that I make headway.”
“Trades for boys.” Harriet seemed disappointed.
“Not just boys. I am only unsure what is most helpful for the girls. Eventually, mechanization will reduce the need for brute strength, but girls without families need livelihoods now. I should hate to fall back on sewing. The wages are working poverty. Harness making is more promising. It is like sewing, just with leather, punches, and heavy needles. The wages are far higher.”
“The wages are higher because the wages are paid to men,” Mary said in a biting tone.
“I would like harness making!” Harriet exclaimed. “I adore horses. Miss Woodhouse’s groom always complains that he cannot find properly made harnesses.”
I blinked at that. He had never said a word to me.
Lizzy smiled. “Well, if you wish to learn, I have a harness maker who will teach ladies. But you should not make harnesses.” Harriet looked hurt, so Lizzy explained, “Teaching would be more valuable.”
“Teaching?” Harriet said in astonishment.
“Certainly. If you were willing to teach a practical trade, I would hire you in a moment. Few women are willing to instruct anything but a governess’s subjects.”
Harriet’s lips opened in stunned amazement.
“It is an amusing idea,” I interposed, disliking her reaction. “But no lady would teach, and Harriet is a lady.”
There was a breath before Lizzy said, “Of course. But I think ladies should not refuse to teach. I may teach, myself. Perhaps mechanized production… I am intrigued by the disagreement on threading for bolts. Only the pettiness of men could prolong such confusion. I certainly need an activity. Darcy has such competent estate managers that our household requires far less attention than Longbourn. There is only so much one can care about how well the silver is polished.”
“Oh, teaching would be so exciting!” Harriet said. “I help the young children at Mrs. Goddard’s with their reading! That is the school. Mrs. Goddard’s, that is. Where I live!”
“Harriet!” I exclaimed, laughing at her enthusiasm.
“Does your school have a name?” Harriet said. “Where is it?”
“It is the Martin School,” Lizzy said. “Only two miles from here.”
This was becoming alarmingly specific. “Harriet!” I said more firmly. “You must not lead Mrs. Darcy on. She requires serious applicants. You are marrying a gentleman.”
Lizzy beamed. “Goodness! What wonderful news.”
“If one will have me,” Harriet said in a distressed tone. Lizzy’s smile became confused.
A nudge on my toe made me look down. The tykeworm sat on his haunches by my feet. Most draca are disinterested in people, but tykes are an exception, affectionate with their bound wyves and, because they do not throw fire, safe indoors. A bound tyke was a prize in high society.
This tyke’s nutmeg-brown head lolled while he considered me, panting happily through black teeth edged like knives. The lamps reflected pinpricks in his inky eyes.
“He has followed you since he arrived,” Mary said. She was eyeing me narrowly. I had irritated her, but I was not sure how.
“We have only three bound draca in Highbury,” I said, testing a smile. “Perhaps he sees I am curious.”
“You may have an affinity for draca,” Georgiana said enthusiastically. “Mary has researched binding. Affinity varies among wyves, you know.”
“It varies greatly,” came Mr. Darcy’s voice behind me. He and Mr. Knightley had rejoined us. Mr. Knightley, though, had arrived only to make apologies for departing and say his farewells. He bowed elegantly to each lady. I raised an eyebrow, so he laughed and shook my hand.
Mr. Darcy saw him off with sincere courtesy but a noticeable sense of impatience. Then he turned to me and gave his own stiff bow.
“May we resume your tour of Chathford? I wish your opinion on a work of art.”