possess a regrettable tendency to attract misfortune. Indeed, so convinced was he of their ill luck that Emma was forced to embroider the truth by suggesting that Mr. Darcy’s purpose in coming to Highbury was to assist Mr. Knightley in apprehending the poultry thieves terrorizing the neighborhood. This intelligence raised Mr. Darcy considerably in Mr. Woodhouse’s regard, for in his opinion one could not be overaggressive regarding such persons.
It was Mrs. Darcy, however, who in the end most completely earned Mr. Woodhouse’s solicitude. In this coup she received unwitting assistance from Frank Churchill, who called to determine whether his uncle’s body could yet be released. Upon being told that Mr. Knightley was presently occupied with Mr. Perry and Mr. Darcy, he sat with the ladies and Mr. Woodhouse to pass the time until Mr. Knightley was at liberty to see him. Emma ordered tea, and as they waited for it, Mr. Churchill enquired after Mrs. Darcy’s headache.
As Emma had not known her guest suffered any discomfort, she wondered how Frank had heard of it. Mrs. Darcy, however, smiled.
“It is much improved, thank you.”
“Have you the headache, Mrs. Darcy?” exclaimed Mr. Woodhouse, his thin face and slight frame becoming animated by the subject. He gripped the arms of his chair as he leaned forward. “Why did you not speak of it sooner? I would have sent for Mr. Perry posthaste.”
“It troubled me yesterday; I feel quite better.”
Her recuperation did little to placate his apprehension. There was no one more generously the object of Mr. Woodhouse’s sympathy than a fellow invalid, and he would not be denied the pleasure of commiseration. His watery eyes lit with interest. “Does it pain you still?”
“Not at all,” she assured him as tea was brought in. “Indeed, I am altogether recovered.”
Emma poured tea. Serle had also sent up a warm plum cake, which Emma sliced to serve to her guests, and dry toast for Mr. Woodhouse.
“Even so, you ought not indulge overmuch, or it could return,” Mr. Woodhouse said. “Plum cake is far too rich for a recovering constitution. Do not jeopardize your hard-won health, Mrs. Darcy. Emma, tell Serle to send up dry toast for her.”
Emma, hoping to spare her new friend from this little peculiarity of her father’s — of serving food to guests but then insisting they not eat it — handed a serving of cake to Mrs. Darcy. “I think plum cake will not adversely affect Mrs. Darcy’s head, Papa.”
“One cannot be too cautious. In fact, my dear, we should summon Perry from the study immediately. Surely Mr. Knightley has done with him by now.”
After some little debate between father and daughter, the apothecary was allowed to remain undisturbed, but dry toast was brought up for Mrs. Darcy. Elizabeth politely nibbled upon it between surreptitious tastes of cake.
Before long, Thomas Dixon entered. “Fresh from Piccadilly,” he announced, “my mission fully executed. I come bearing fabric and wallpaper samples. The upholstery, however, I reconsidered. Though I would never utter this in the presence of Miss Bates, her furnishings are so worn that she needs must replace the pieces altogether. I have selected new furniture — my friend Ridley helped me decide. He has a marvelous eye for such things. The furniture maker awaits only my confirmation to execute the order.”
“On whose authority were these items purchased?” Frank Churchill asked.
“Your wife’s.”
“Indeed?” Frank began to say more, but instead lapsed into silent contemplation.
Emma handed Frank a cup of tea. Apparently, Jane had not broached the subject with her new husband, an oversight Emma hardly found astonishing. Even the faultless Jane Fairfax Churchill must be hard-pressed to introduce a discussion of redecorating her aunt’s tired old rooms, into conversations dominated by funeral preparations. Seeking to avert any conjugal disharmony that might result from the omission — and the danger of Frank’s subsequently rejecting the entire enterprise — Emma thought it prudent to voice a few words in its favor. The project, after all, advanced not only Miss Bates’s domestic happiness, but also his own: if new furniture could help bring about a match for Jane’s spinster aunt, the young Churchills would be relieved of responsibility for her care and comfort… not to mention spared the possibility of her taking up residence with them. Though Frank could not, of course, be directly told of Emma’s matchmaking scheme and its benefit to himself, he must not unknowingly thwart it.
“When viewed in light of the more weighty matters commanding your attention in recent days, changing out draperies is so trivial a subject that doubtless your bride either wished to spare you the trouble of contemplating it, or herself forgot it in the course of other conversations,” Emma suggested. “But during previous visits to your new aunt and grandmother, a gentleman of your discernment could not help but observe that they might be made more comfortable by the improvement of a few aesthetic details in their apartment.”
Frank rewarded her with a smile reminiscent of their former rapport. “Perhaps a few.”
She returned to the tea table and sliced a piece of cake for him. “And having already proved yourself possessed of a generous spirit — who but you would have arranged for a pianoforte to grace their sitting room? — surely you wish to do more for them, now that you have the means. Under other circumstances, you no doubt would have initiated the project yourself. I am certain you wish to assure their continued independence.”
“New wallpaper and furniture will preserve their independence?”
“And draperies!” Mr. Dixon added. “Do not forget the draperies!”
“And draperies.” Frank turned to Emma. “Freedom can be purchased with brocade?”
“Yes.” Emma smiled. Then she crossed to Frank, handed him the cake, and said in a tone so soft only he could hear, “At least, yours can.”
His eyes narrowed as he tried to puzzle out her meaning. She resumed her seat beside Mrs. Darcy.
“As you are in mourning,” Emma continued, loudly enough for all to hear, “with more serious arrangements occupying your notice, Mr. Dixon has been so kind as to assume the management of this comparatively trifling matter.”
“Indeed, I am pleased to be of use,” said Mr. Dixon.
“Did you make certain that the draperies are of a heavy fabric?” Mr. Woodhouse asked. “Take care that they are strong enough to withstand drafts.” It was difficult to determine whom he eyed with greater fretfulness — Mr. Dixon, who had been entrusted with so critical a selection, or Frank, who had started to eat the plum cake and seemed quite in danger of enjoying it.
He appeared to settle on Mr. Dixon. In truth, Emma mused, in this instance her father’s perpetual fear of drafts was not unfounded. In winter months, the Bates’s sitting room inspired a new definition of “airiness,” and there was a reason the chair nearest the fireplace was permanently reserved for old Mrs. Bates. But then Mr. Woodhouse’s gaze happened to stray toward Mrs. Darcy, who had been so reckless as to finish her cake.
“Oh, dear, Mrs. Darcy! Are you still feeling well?”
Emma sought a subject to distract him. “Shall I see what today’s post brought? Perhaps there is a letter for you.” She hoped the day’s mail would include a note from her sister confirming their arrival in London. Whilst Emma had no reason to doubt a successful journey, Isabella’s departures always left Mr. Woodhouse nervous until he knew she and her family were as safe in Brunswick Square as anybody could be who breathed London air.
A servant brought in the mail, which included the much-anticipated letter from Isabella. As he read the note aloud to the assembled company — for surely they all, too, waited anxiously upon the news — Emma broke the plain seal of another letter addressed solely to her.
She quickly discovered that it was not a letter at all, but a message of an entirely different sort.
The verse was unsigned. Frowning, Emma read the lines to herself once more.
“What have you there, Emma? It is not bad news, I hope?”
