Chapter 11 Handsome, Clever, and Rich
HANDSOME, CLEVER, AND RICH
EMMA
The door closed, sealing me in the walls of Chathford, but my soul stayed in the night, a giddy leaf riding a mighty scarlet ocean. Every step I had taken toward the creature thrilled me. That siren still called, vital and intoxicating, but forbidden. Lost.
Lizzy’s young maid, Lucy, curtsied. “Ma’am. May I help with your coat?”
Only long practice hid my turmoil. “I do not wish to take you from your mistress’s tasks.”
“It’s no bother, ma’am. Mrs. Darcy is no work at all!”
“How nice.” The scarlet surged, flooded my lungs, ebbed. Lucy raised an impatient eyebrow.
I said, “Can you keep a secret?”
Lucy’s face flushed with excitement. “She showed you! Oh, I knew she would. You are so pretty, he must like you. He’s the most amazing thing alive!”
“He is very wonderful. But this is another secret.” Lucy grew a proud inch, and I smiled at her. “I play a silly game. I do not like to see my winter clothes while they come off. Will you help me?”
She gave a dubious nod, and I closed my eyes. Quick fingers replaced my leather gloves with cotton, then undid clasps and silk ties on my front. My heavy pelisse slipped away. Layers of scarlet seemed to sheet away with it.
The touches stopped. “My bonnet,” I said through tight teeth.
“Sorry, ma’am.” The bow under my chin was undone. The cotton lining lifted from my hair.
“Are they put away?” I asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I opened my eyes and beamed at her. “There! Was that not fun?”
“That was strange, ma’am.” She winced. “Mrs. Darcy says I am to say what I think.”
“How nice,” I said again. The scarlet flood had receded, but I was still immersed in Darcys. “Where is Harriet?”
Lucy led me to the drawing room. I waited at the threshold, and Harriet came over, her forehead creasing. “Miss Woodhouse, you are so pale!” Every eye in the room turned, curious and overly aware.
“Let us visit our room,” I said. Harriet took a candle, and we climbed a daze of stairs and halls before I sat on my bed.
Harriet lit candles and sat beside me. “What is wrong?”
Papa’s death. The most fabulous creature in the world, lost. “We must leave. Return to Highbury and the lives we know.”
“Oh,” she said, diminished.
I had expected that. “Do not fret. Country gentlemen are superior to city gentlemen in any case. I shall simply insist that you are able to bind. But London has been all horrors.”
Harriet’s chin set with unexpected determination. “I have been scared sometimes, but it is not all horrors. There are good things, too. We have friends that help us.”
“You cannot mean that you wish to stay?”
“Oh… We should do whatever you choose, Miss Woodhouse. You know best…” She trailed off, but her lips shaped soundless thoughts.
I patted her hand. “Harriet, always speak your mind. I would welcome advice from someone who is not a Darcy or a Bennet. They are too full of secrets and legends.”
Harriet bit her lip, her eyes pure black in the sparse light. “If I should speak… I know you are not well, Miss. Not since old Mr. Woodhouse passed.”
Startled, my gaze fled her eyes, hunting the room before settling on a candle flame. “What have you imagined! I am perfectly well.”
“You are not yourself, Miss.” She took my hand.
“You hardly leave Hartfield house. You speak of Mr. Woodhouse always. It is as if you are still caring for him, day and night, like at the end. It was a hard end, Miss Woodhouse. You were a brave daughter. But do you not see that, for you, the memories in Hartfield are horrible too? Do you not see how much better you have been in London?”
“Better?” The word was shocked from my throat.
“Yes, better! Like you were before. We ride in coaches, and when they let the step down, you do not stare for minutes before you enter. We meet people, and you speak and smile, instead of falling silent to fix your clothes, over and over.”
“I cannot do those things! I am too—” I bit away the foolish denial—too careful—and used my ultimate proof. “I know how they talk about me. Emma Woodhouse is handsome, clever, and rich. Everyone says so!”
Harriet whispered, “Not everyone. Not anymore.” Unexpectedly, she squeezed me in an embrace, her cheek on my shoulder. “But I know you are still Emma Woodhouse. Who has been so kind to me. That is why I came with you to London. To help you.”
My breath squeezed past a jagged shape in my throat. Help me? Help the mistress of Hartfield?
“It seems I have been mistaken,” I managed. “I thought I was a good friend.”
“You are a good friend,” she said. “You have made my life wonderful. Cannot I help yours?”
I laughed, and it was as coarse as a beggar. All this time, I had been secretly mocked. Pitied by a girl in a boarding school.
Despair made the truth easier. “Then help me! I must leave London. The Darcys say I am some healer from legend, as if that is good, and I should be proud or happy. They do not understand it is dreadful. Each time they speak, they announce my sin. Harriet, if I had married and bound, I might have saved Papa!”
Harriet uttered a long “Oh…” Then, puzzled, she added, “Married whom?”
That question was so practical—so futile—that it calmed my racing pulse. “I do not know.”
Harriet crossed her arms, musing. “Only a very fine gentleman could have married you.” She became still. Cautiously, she said, “Mr. Elton?”
“No!” Anger drew me rigid—at myself for letting him hurt Harriet, and at him for hurting me.
“Mr. Elton is vile. We shall both despise him forever.” I shook my head to drive him from my thoughts and felt curls rustle.
“Marriage does not interest me. But if I married, it would be someone far better mannered. And richer. And more handsome.”
Harriet giggled. “Like Mr. Darcy! But you are tired of Darcys.”
A memory rushed to mind—Mr. Knightley defending me from the violence by the river. But that hardly seemed well mannered.
I filled my lungs and sighed it all back out again.
“It is Bennets who are wearing me down. Perhaps I can find a lost Darcy cousin. Then at dinner, Lizzy will call out ‘Darcy!’ and the whole table will turn.” Harriet gave an impertinent laugh, which cheered me up.
Enough talk of marriage. “The Darcys have bound a dragon.”
Harriet leaned from her perch on the bed to see me better. “Truly?” I nodded. Her face lit. “Oh, it is like Princess Una and her Redcrosse dragon!”
“I do not think Lizzy battled the Errour crawler. But, yes. It is secret, of course. Like everything here.”
The last of the churning scarlet had drained while we talked. My shame had drained with it. All that was left was Emma Woodhouse, sitting on a bed. The space inside my ribs and limbs felt hollowed, but not empty. I was lighter, like a bird.
“Did you see the dragon?” Harriet pressed. “Is it as big as a horse, like Princess Una’s?”
I raised my eyebrows dramatically. “Bigger!”
“I should love to see it!”
“It is a ‘him.’ Lizzy’s maid has visited, so I am sure Lizzy will take you. I will not go, though.”
“Is he too frightening?”
Each time Yuánchi’s gem eyes had met mine, they had pulled at my soul. “He is too wonderful.”
“Oh. May we stay in London, then? With our friends?”
While I had stood, enthralled that this hallowed creature sought me, Lizzy’s face had been wretched. “We are too dependent on our friends. I will ask Lizzy to recommend lodgings in London, and we will move there.”
Firmly, Harriet said, “I wish to visit Mrs. Darcy’s school.”
“We have already agreed to that.” I touched Harriet’s hand. “We will visit the Darcys. But we had a purpose in visiting London. I must establish your right to bind.”
"Why do you think I can bind?”
“It only matters that society thinks you can bind. Then you can marry a gentleman.”
“What if I do not wish to marry a gentleman?” Harriet said stubbornly.
She had dared formidable London and survived terrors. Naturally, she would have new ideas. But obligation burned in my breast. I had failed Papa. I would not fail her.
“I shall not give you any advice,” I said slowly.
“Only remember that a woman is never secure without a proper marriage. Even my own situation is precarious.” Harriet frowned.
I interlaced my fingers, pressed my gloves snug until my knuckles ached, and chose to reveal more.
“Papa became fond of you in his last year. He felt as I do. He wished you would marry a gentleman.”
Harriet cocked her head. “That is considerate. I do miss him. He was a nice old man.” She sighed good-naturedly. “Shall we ask Mary for help, then?”
“That is my last resort. Mary Bennet dislikes me.” Harriet’s surprise was so innocent that I laughed. “I am quite convincing on my own. I will write a letter tonight and post it before breakfast. Let us see what I stir up.”