Chapter 34
MYSTERIOUS ERRANDS
EMMA
I entered Pemberley’s great dining hall through a stone arch thick as a medieval castle wall, the root of some ancient foundation that supported the modern building.
I arrived alone. I had dressed in the last hour, but Harriet had not come to our room.
Her moods flickered, cool then friendly, all without cause.
More likely, due to her newfound sisterly independence.
Well, if independence meant she would go her own way, so be it.
That did not mean I could not assist her success.
I had chosen a ruby silk gown, slimly fitted.
Lines of tiny shell buttons decorated the breast while flat bows of red ribbon, all tied identically, adorned the shoulders and sleeves.
It was a defensive dress, heavy with aligned detail.
Luckily Lucy had looked in. She dismissed the chambermaid, then shaped bows and pinched buttons until the rows matched.
My cotton gloves formed the final defense. Their embroidery drew my gaze from the miasma glistening under chair legs and puddling beneath drapes.
When did I last touch Mr. Darcy? Three days. Too long.
This predinner gathering was social, although any gathering risked becoming another of Lord Wellington’s lectures on secrecy.
The dining hall held a tremendously long table, twenty-five feet at least, partially set for this evening’s dinner.
There were white linen runners and fifty unlit, white wax candles high and low in silver holders.
A few members of the court wandered the room already. Freed of the trip’s prohibition against extravagance, velvet and fur swished. Beads and ruffles rustled. The layers gave them puffy, irregular silhouettes that marred the symmetries of Pemberley’s décor.
A lord whose name I had forgotten greeted me with drawling languor. “Miss Woodhouse. I gather your day has been as boring as mine?”
That was a joke because we had both arrived at the scheduled time. After a week of watching Lord Wellington fume over late courtiers, I knew timeliness was not a royal virtue. “I am simply interested, my lord. And I have no rank that requires formal entrances.”
“You understate your prestige,” lord whoever said gallantly. He had reddened his lips and darkened his eyebrows with something greasy. “I am sure you will regularly brighten our court when these French interlopers are tossed out.”
The white-wigged, frowning chancellor of the Exchequer joined us. “Killed, I should hope,” he pronounced. “It is past time to crush Bonaparte. If Wellington had not been so soft on him, he would not have dared send troops to England.”
“I recall a dragon…” said lord whoever, one greased eyebrow arched.
“Nothing stout English shooters could not end. Think of Agincourt.”
“Agincourt was four hundred years ago. And with bows. Surely, it would be cannon. Like shooting pheasant, but bigger.”
I curtsied, left them debating tactics against dragons, and went to a window.
Pemberley’s front gardens were a grand landscape drawn in winter greens of olive, sage, and moss with damp browns from the bark and earth.
The plantings swept down the hill in flowing shapes pierced by a boisterous, rain-swollen stream.
Below, Pemberley lake was dark as wet slate.
Mary Bennet entered, surveyed the room, and strode to me. “Emma.”
I smiled, surprised she sought me out. “Good afternoon, Mary. Are you happy to be home?”
“Longbourn is my home—” she began curtly, then scowled. “Then again, Longbourn is properly Jane’s since she and Bingley bound, and presently overrun with children from the London school. Doubtless Jane is delighted, but I am unsure where home is.”
“That is an unpleasant feeling. I worry that my home will be occupied by French soldiers. I am sure they would ruin it.”
Tightly, Mary asked, “How is Nessy?”
“Happy to be out of coaches. Mrs. Reynolds found a toy rabbit for her. She was cuddled with it when I left.”
“Her medical condition, I meant.” Mary’s verbal delivery was peculiarly intense, even for her.
“Have you seen change? Improvement?” When I hesitated, she tossed her head, her straight hair flying.
“You know! You have… your insight. I have seen you do it. You lay a finger on her brow and then you know.”
“It is hard for me to speak of it.” What did she want? An admission of despair? “You see she is not well.”
“Why can you not heal her?” Mary whispered tensely. “What is missing?”
“I do not know. I have never healed anyone. I do not think I can. Mary, why are you upset?”
Her lips pressed tight, then she flew in a new direction. “Do you require more energy, or whatever this mystical force is? What if you held Mr. Darcy’s hand while trying?”
That would be a shameful display, but I answered simply, “It is not like that. The strength from Yuánchi settles my sensitivities, but it does not grant powers. It does not change me.” Mary scowled, so I added, “Do you not think I would try if it could help?” She took a breath, then, reluctantly, nodded.
Lizzy and Mr. Darcy had arrived and were circulating through the court crowd.
The Darcys’ dress suited the measured elegance of Pemberley, but the gathered silks and dangling scarves of the courtiers were unraveling the room’s balance.
A dragging hem tugged my gaze across the polished wooden floor, miasma burbling in its wake.
I was yanking my gloves brutally snug by the time Lizzy arrived and greeted us. Surprising myself, I asked, “Do you know where Harriet is?” The words emerged wistfully.
“I needed an errand done at the Lambton school,” Lizzy said. “She kindly offered.”
“What errand?” Mary said sharply.
“An errand,” Lizzy answered equally sharply. They glared at each other, Lizzy squinting oddly. It appeared I was not the only one in a sisterly standoff. Then Lizzy scooped up Mr. Darcy’s arm and pulled him toward Lord Wellington, who had just entered.
Mary tapped her toe, then turned to me. “Can you sense Yuánchi at a distance?”
“This is not the place for such questions,” I whispered. “Will you tell me what is wrong?”
“Please,” she implored. “Determine where he is.”
She was so sincere that I glanced around, then pressed my gloves together as if in prayer, filling my eyes with their design, and tried to feel the tug—the enthralling attraction—of Yuánchi.
He was near enough to sense, though not toward the lake or any of the windows. I turned slowly, head bowed, seeking, until the tug was directly forward. I straightened and found Mary had followed my turn to hover in front of me, looking apprehensive.
“He is directly behind you,” I said dryly, then added more nicely, “and distant. I cannot say how far, but into the hills. Near as far as I am able to sense him.”
Mary spun to look at the wall behind her, then studied each window in turn. “I know where.” She gave me an unwilling, “Thank you.”
Georgiana arrived next and came smilingly to Mary, speaking of plans for a music performance. Mary interrupted her with “I have an errand” and rushed from the room. Georgiana, disappointed, went to speak with Lizzy.
What were all these errands? Alone again, I stood for a while, then wondered if I should escape to some barren, calming corridor.
Pemberley had an endless supply. But before I did, a bustle rose, silence fell, and the royal family entered: the prince’s daughter by his old marriage, Princess Caroline, sixteen but womanly in an emerald gown; the Prince Regent himself, slightly graying and unpretentious in gentlemen’s evening dress but with a sheaf of medals on his breast; Lady Hertford, affixed to the prince’s arm, a scandal that had long since lost its bite; and last, poor King George, his hair a mess, wearing little more than a thick nightgown.
He was steered by two stern doctors while his head twisted blindly.
The king’s arrival was greeted with murmurs of “Your Majesty.” He had been paraded by his doctors before—they were hardly more than jailors—and each time, an irritated spark within me rose hotter.
People had ignored Papa this same way at the end of his illness.
He would sit stoically as if he did not notice, then fume and moan about it at night.
Whatever a person’s illness, this treatment was cruel. A king should either be dressed and greeted as a monarch or granted the dignity of solitude. Instead, his keepers prodded him about with snide contempt as if he were no more aware than a cow or sheep.
The court, as usual, had clustered around the prince like bees to a hive.
But my irritation launched my feet, and I found myself walking to the king.
One of his doctors, a wiry and grimacing man, waved me away, but I ignored him and curtsied, the court curtsy I had practiced when a dance instructor still called on Hartfield—a full sweep with one pointed toe, then sinking deeply on my back leg to wait with head bowed and gown spread.
I said, loudly enough to carry, “Your Majesty.”
The room quieted. Every pair of eyes pressed.
I hoped the king would recognize courtesy, but I did not expect him to respond—he had been thoroughly mad for years. Yet, in an old man’s hoarse voice, he said, “Rise.”
I recovered smoothly from the curtsy, thinking that my dance instructor would have been pleased, and looked into the clouded, hunting eyes of the king. His face roamed up and around the room, then toward me again. Fretfully, he said, “Who are you?” Gasps sounded from the court.
“Miss Woodhouse, sir.”
“What is this? Where am I?”
“Pemberley, sir.”
“Oh.” His lips, unevenly stubbled from a poor shave, thrust out like a petulant two-year-old’s. His lined face furrowed and became tragic. “War, is that it?”
I had no idea how to answer, but Princess Caroline rushed past me, her emerald gown flapping. “Grandpapa!”
The tragedy etching his face fell away like a shattered mask, and he beamed. “Darling girl!” She embraced him, and there were delighted whispers and approving taps of over-polished fingernails on palms.
Seeing the king happily engaged with his granddaughter, I backed away, then dodged the courtiers’ grasping congratulations until I was behind the mass of the crowd.
Mr. Knightley stood there, hands clasped behind his back. I halted, toes bent mid-step. I had steadfastly avoided him since he announced he would travel to the occupied south, but I found I was smiling happily.
“That was nicely done,” he said. “Boldly.”
He had come from practicing; I scented the pine rosin he rubbed on his violin bow. My smile wobbled amid rushing, conflicted feelings. I settled for asking, “Are you still leaving?”
“I must.” He angled his head toward the troupe of courtiers. “These indulgences rub me wrong. They mock my leisure.”
“Can you not invent a few hardships and be content to stay?”
“Most gentlemen would. Do you think that satisfactory?”
“I know you do not.” I surprised myself by announcing the brash resolution I had formed. “I am going to help Nessy.”
“You have some new insight?”
“I am simply determined.”
“Nessy is a sweet girl. Her illness is unfair.” He drew a breath. “But a child bedridden with consumption—”
“Do not! Do not say it is impossible.” If I was to be alone, could I not have these successes? Aid my sister. Aid Nessy.
He nodded slowly. “I admire your devotion. But there are other hurts in the world. Other callings for your care. I have seen a hundred lives transformed by the Freedom Society.”
“I cannot imagine helping a hundred lives. Helping one child is hard enough.”
Lizzy and Mr. Darcy had approached to a polite distance. Mr. Knightley nodded to them, and they joined us, complimenting me on my respect to his majesty.
“He reminded me of Papa,” I said honestly.
Mr. Darcy exchanged a glance with his wyfe, then said, “Elizabeth and I wish to extend an offer. You recall my mother’s condition?”
She had obsessions like mine. I nodded.
He lowered his voice. “After my father’s death, her symptoms worsened. She and I worked together to invent methods to manage her… compulsions. I have wondered if these methods could aid you. If you wish, we can discuss them tomorrow after breakfast. Elizabeth will accompany us.”
Mr. Knightley said nothing, but he folded his arms as if frustrated. I did not understand why he disapproved.
“Very well,” I said after a moment. “I will try.”
Lizzy smiled at me. “I hope you find Lady Anne’s methods useful. But I forgot that I am engaged after breakfast. Someone can attend in my place. Harriet, perhaps?” Lizzy’s attendance was clearly mere propriety, the third party required when an unmarried lady spent extended time with a gentleman.
“Perhaps,” I said. It would be a way to engage Harriet at breakfast, at least. “If not her, I am sure Mrs. Reynolds or Lucy can attend.”
Covertly, I was watching Mr. Darcy’s bare hand below his sleeve. But dinner would be an easier time to manage a touch. I would be ungloved, and if I hesitated near him, he would offer to escort me to my seat.
Lizzy, abruptly pensive, threaded her arm through her husband’s and said to him, “Please ensure you meet. I hope that Fènnù can be freed of that cursed dagger and healed. Emma will need strength to try.”
Surprised, I said, “I?”
Her smile was tired. “Yuánchi was destined to be your dragon, and Fènnù mine. Instead, we are hopelessly tangled. There must be a purpose to that.”
Her cheeks were sunken and her eyes bloodshot behind slit lashes. I wondered if she was ill. But even if I could bear to touch her, I would sense only the blaze of Yuánchi, not the quiet insight, good or bad, I felt with Nessy.
Lizzy turned to where Lord Wellington was calling for order. “Lord Wellington has promised to explain the security he and Darcy have invented. I am very curious about their new patrols.”
While the crowd grudgingly quieted, I stole a glance at Mr. Knightley. The black coils of his hair were raked back, accentuating his expression—frustrated but decided, although on what I did not know.