“Mrs. Knightley! I daresay you are the last person I expected to find paying social calls today. I should think the events of last night would continue to absorb your attention.”
Emma could not imagine why, when they were absorbing enough of Mrs. Elton’s for them both. “There is little more to be done for Mr. Churchill, beyond treating his passing with respect.”
Harriet, who had closed the door and now stood behind the Eltons, regarded them all with wide eyes. “ ‘Mr. Churchill’s passing’? Has something happened to Frank Churchill?”
“To his uncle,” Emma said before either of the Eltons could leap in with their version of events. “Edgar Churchill took ill and died last night. It is all very sad for Frank, certainly, but we can rejoice in the fact that Mr. Churchill lived long enough to celebrate his nephew’s marriage.” She hoped that would put an end to the subject.
Mrs. Elton pushed aside a pair of pillows to seat herself on the sofa. A pat on the space beside her commanded her husband to sit. Only the width of the small table now separated Emma from the couple, a proximity she found unpleasantly intimate.
“It was shocking to witness his violent death throes right in the middle of dinner,” Mrs. Elton said. “Has Perry yet determined what made him so ill?”
Emma had no intention of offering information to feed Mrs. Elton’s appetite for scandal. She left the question unanswered and instead introduced the couple to Mrs. Darcy.
“Mr. Knightley and Mr. Darcy are acquainted through the Earl of Chatfield,” she added. Let Mrs. Elton, with her Maple Grove and its barouche-landau, ruminate on that.
Mr. Elton appeared impressed. “Did you attend the Donwell dinner party?” he asked Mrs. Darcy. “I do not recall having seen you last night.”
“My husband and I arrived late to Donwell Abbey.”
“That is too bad,” Mrs. Elton said. “It was a nice little affair while it lasted. Almost equal to the soirees I have attended at Maple Grove. Everybody in Highbury is talking about it.”
Of that, Emma had no doubt.
Mrs. Elton looked about the room with a critical eye. “What a charming little house you have. Exceedingly cozy.” Her gaze fell upon the paper Emma had left on the table. “What is this?”
“A charade.” Harriet moved forward to rescue it.
“Oh — do such games still amuse you? Since my own marriage, I have not time for such trifles.” She took up the page before Harriet reached it. “Mr. E., no doubt you can solve this, for it begins, ‘A place of worship… ’” She read the remaining lines aloud. “Well, that is just delightful, Harriet. I suppose it must have occupied Mrs. Knightley and Mrs. Darcy for some time.”
“Actually, Mrs. Knightley guessed it immediately,” said Harriet, “and Mrs. Darcy soon after.”
“Indeed? And what is the solution? I would work it out myself, but I do not want to miss a moment’s conversation while I study it.”
“My dear, it is Abbey Mill Farm,” Mr. Elton said.
“Oh — Well, I suppose it is. How clever. Clever in its simplicity.” She cast the paper aside. Harriet stared at it a minute, looking very much as if she wanted to snatch it up from the table and spare it from any further notice by Mrs. Elton. But Mrs. Elton appearing to have done with it, Harriet simply found a seat and perched on its edge.
“I am so glad, Harriet, that you are able to intersperse diversions with your new duties as a wife. Of course, my own obligations as the vicar’s helpmeet consume so many of my hours. — Not that I am complaining, mind you. It is work I do quite willingly. As, I am sure, do you. You must be very happy in your new establishment.”
Harriet began to reply, but Mrs. Elton’s interest in her happiness did not extend so far as wanting to hear any assurance of it. Before Harriet had uttered two words, Mrs. Elton brought the discussion back to her favorite subject — herself.
“On our way here, we called upon the Bates ladies.” She cast a pointed glance at Emma. “It was kind of you to provide Miss Bates with a new gown. I believe it was almost as becoming as the one I helped her make for the wedding. I refer to Frank and Jane’s wedding, of course, but who knows? Perhaps she will participate in another wedding before long.”
Emma refused to pose the question Mrs. Elton sought to provoke. Harriet, however, could not resist.
“Has someone in the village announced an engagement?”
“No — not yet. But I have hopes that Miss Bates herself will find such happiness as we four married ladies enjoy.”
“Miss Bates! Imagine that! With whom?”
“Why, Harr — no, I ought not say a word! But I suspect Miss Bates has lately been on the mind of a certain eligible man in the village.”
“Harry Simon?” Emma’s tone revealed what she thought of Mrs. Elton’s choice.
Mrs. Elton appeared startled by Emma’s penetration. “Mr. Simon? Why ever would you think I refer to him?”
“Were you not about to say the name ‘Harry’?”
“Harry? Heavens, no! I began to say ‘Harriet.’ ”
Yes, Emma thought. And the Prince of Wales was engaged to dine at the vicarage on Wednesday.
“Harriet… of course,” Emma said. “Well, I am relieved you did not mean Mr. Simon. Miss Bates can do better.”
Mrs. Elton’s lips curved into a forced smile inconsonant with the haughty glare of her eyes. “I know you cannot mean one of the gentlemen you put in her way last night. None of them have come calling today.”
Nor would they, Emma ruefully acknowledged to herself. They were all fled. Fellow diners dropping dead hardly encouraged the forming of romantic attachments. Edgar Churchill’s death had utterly undone Emma’s plan.
“I would say that left to her own resources, or anybody else’s, Miss Bates’s chances of marrying are rather hopeless,” Mrs. Elton continued. “Anybody’s resources but mine, that is.”
Emma froze as a dreadful thought entered her mind. Mrs. Elton had pointedly observed that none of Emma’s potential suitors had visited Miss Bates this morning. Had Harry Simon? Was he in the cramped sitting room on Broadway Lane wooing the spinster even now? She must call upon Miss Bates immediately to discourage whatever machinations Mrs. Elton had initiated.
“Well, we shall see whether aught comes of your efforts.” She picked up her basket and began to take leave of Harriet.
The moment she escaped, Emma strode away from the farmhouse at a pace that would have left most other companions struggling to keep up with her. Mrs. Darcy, however, matched her gait with no difficulty, a feat that might have raised her still further in Emma’s regard had Emma’s mind not been altogether employed by apprehension over what evils could even then be occurring in a certain brick house in Highbury.
“I take it we have another errand to perform?” Mrs. Darcy asked.
“We must call upon Miss Bates directly. I hope to find her unengaged — in all senses of the word.”
“Is your objection to Mr. Simon, or to Mrs. Elton’s presumption?”
Despite her ire, Emma noted with approval Mrs. Darcy’s discernment. Her new acquaintance had more quickness about her than did any of Emma’s other female associates, even her beloved Mrs. Weston.
“Mr. Simon is, sadly, not altogether right in the mind. And Miss Bates is a spinster who already has an elderly, deaf mother to care for — she does not need the additional burden of caring for him. Further, while Mr. Simon seems a gentle man, he is not a
“Have you someone particular in mind?”
“There were several candidates at last night’s party, but they have left the village along with the other guests.” She silently cursed once again the ill fortune that had brought Edgar Churchill’s death to their door. Why could he not have expired a se’nnight hence, in Yorkshire?
“Is there no one local?”
Emma considered whether there might be someone in Highbury whom she had overlooked, but could think of
