Edgar Churchill stood to one side, observing their exchange but not himself engaging in any business with the peddler. As Frank examined the snuff boxes and quizzed Mr. Deal as to their relative merits, Emma approached the elder Mr. Churchill.

"We are glad you came to Highbury," Emma said by way of opening. "Mr. Frank Churchill speaks so well of you whenever he visits that we have all been eager to make your acquaintance. I believe it means a great deal to him to be at once with both his father and the uncle who has been as a father to him these many years."

Edgar Churchill looked not at her, but toward Frank, who was engrossed in conversation with Mr. Deal. "I thought I would never be a father," he said.

His voice held wistfulness. Frank's marriage had no doubt brought on memories of Edgar's own, along with fresh grief for the late wife n.o.body missed but him. Emma wondered whether the senior Churchills' childless state had been a source of pain to them over the years. She had always thought of them, particularly the haughty and selfish Agnes Churchill, as regretting the lack of a legal heir more than the lack of a child in all of its immature, demanding physicality. Of the many impressions Emma had formed of the Churchills, that of nurturing parents had not been among them. But now, as Edgar gazed at Frank and the peddler, she saw that at least one of the Churchills knew what it meant to experience regret.

"You have a fine son, regardless of how he came to you."

Her remark had been intended to soothe, but instead he turned to her with a startled look. "What prompts you to say such a thing?"

Emma rued her loose tongue. She had insulted him, spoken too freely, too familiarly, about a delicate matter. "I beg your pardon. I meant only that Frank-"

"Frank is not my son; he is Mr. Weston's son." He looked past her shoulder. "Though he is my heir, I have never forgotten that."

Emma turned around. Mr. Weston had approached unheard, and looked as if he wished the conversation between her and Mr. Churchill had also gone unheard, to his ears. Mr. Weston was a man of such buoyant temperament that he deplored awkwardness and conflict, and was happiest when all around him were existing in perfect harmony.

Glancing from Emma to Mr. Churchill, he cleared his throat. "You have been most generous toward Frank, both you and Mrs. Churchill, and for your attentions to him all these years I am more thankful than I can ever express."

At the mention of his late wife, Edgar Churchill stiffened. Clearly, the gentleman still mourned deeply, in more than merely his attire. "Deprived of the opportunity to raise my own son, it was a privilege to raise yours."

His statement was oddly delivered, and made still more so by his bow and abrupt departure. He quit not only their conversation, but also the street itself, disengaging Frank from Mr. Deal to hasten him along to the Bates house. Frank handed payment to Mr. Deal and hurried off with his uncle.

"I am afraid that I offended Mr. Churchill," she said to Mr. Weston. "Though I am not quite certain how. I referred to Frank as his adopted son, but if anyone were to feel that appellation too keenly, I should think it would have been you."

"I doubt his displeasure arises from any words you uttered. He has not been quite himself since his arrival here. I believe Frank's marriage has put him in mind of his own son."

Emma's mind raced to comprehend him. "You cannot mean that Edgar Churchill has a natural child?"

"No, no-nothing like that. Mrs. Churchill ruled him so completely that he would not have dared take a mistress."

"Then whatever do you mean?"

Mr. Weston glanced around. Having a.s.sured himself that they would not be overheard, he nevertheless lowered his voice. "They had a child, a boy, early in their marriage, years before I met Frank's mother. She-Cecilia, my late wife-was a very young girl at the time, and was not fully aware of all that occurred. But while she was carrying Frank, she told me that her brother's wife had delivered a stillborn son. From the low talk of servants who a.s.sumed a child would neither attend nor comprehend their gossip, she formed the impression that it had been a difficult birth. Whatever occurred, Mrs. Churchill never carried another child. Cecilia knew no other details, as the episode was never spoken of at Ens...o...b.., but her dim memory of it caused her anxiety until our Frank was safely delivered."

"Do you suppose that is why they offered to raise Frank after your wife died? To replace their lost son?"

Mr. Weston, ever good-humored, chuckled. "No. They simply did not think me capable of properly raising a Churchill. And in that respect they were correct, for I would have raised a Weston." His expression grew more sober. "Too, by then they had aged to the point of relinquishing hope of ever having a child of their own. With no closer relation than Frank to whom to leave their estate, they wanted to control the upbringing of their heir. As Frank was growing up, I sometimes wondered whether I had made the proper choice in allowing them to do so, but I think he turned out a fine young man, whether despite or because of their influence."

Five.

Mr. Churchill, independent of his wife, was feared by n.o.body; an easy, guidable man, to be persuaded into anything by his nephew.

-Emma The evening of the Donwell dinner party began promisingly enough. The Westons, Churchills, and Bateses all arrived on schedule to join the Knightleys in receiving their many guests, and Miss Bates looked as handsome as Emma had ever seen her. The seamstress and her a.s.sistants had produced just the dress Emma had envisioned, and it became Miss Bates like nothing else she had ever owned. She had, in fact, been so moved by the gift when Emma presented it for a final fitting that she was silent for a full minute as she blinked back tears, before erupting in thankfulness. The shawl complemented the dress perfectly, just as Emma had known it would.

Miss Bates's hair, arranged by Emma's own lady's maid in a simple yet elegant style beneath a bandeau, framed her face becomingly. To Emma's surprise, she wore the very combs Emma had admired among Mr. Deal's wares. She wondered, however, that Miss Bates had indulged in purchasing them at the sacrifice of more pressing wants.

She told Miss Bates that she looked lovely, and meant it. "I was tempted by those combs myself when I saw them among the peddler's goods, but I am glad you bought them, for they look so nice in your hair."

"Oh, I did not buy them! I had been telling Mr. Deal all about Jane's good fortune in marrying Frank, and how Frank had lately had some of his late aunt's jewels reset in a pair of hair ornaments for Jane, when he produced these combs. They were so pretty, and such a story Mr. Deal told!-but he would not name a price. He insisted on giving them to me-positively insisted-said he hoped they would bring me good fortune. But I am already so blessed-we have such good friends-kind, dear friends, such as yourself-not to mention a new nephew who will now ensure Jane's happiness-How could I possibly be in want of more good fortune?"

Emma smiled. If only Miss Bates knew what fortune this night might bring.

Emma had identified three gentlemen on tonight's guest list as particularly promising candidates for Miss Bates's hand: the Reverend Mr. Wynnken, Mr. Timothy Nodd, and Major Oliver Barnes-Lincoln. All were unmarried gentlemen between the ages of two score and three. Each had a respectable profession-the church, the law, the army-that would enable him to provide Miss Bates a comfortable establishment suitable for a gentlewoman. These were also professions that would enable the groom to spend time out of the house-away from Miss Bates's chatter-as needed.

The guests began to arrive. Miss Bates greeted local families with the ease of familiarity, and persons less well known to her with delight.

"Mr. and Mrs. Perry! How good of you to come. Jane looks radiant, does she not? It must please you, Mr. Perry, to see Jane in such a fine state of health after your kind ministrations to her earlier this year. Yes, love does work wonders-Mrs. G.o.ddard! Indeed, it is a new gown . . . why, thank you, I am most obliged for the compliment; I do not think I have ever owned anything like it.-Oh, you are Major Barnes-Lincoln! Colonel Campbell speaks so highly of you, Major. You are most welcome in Highbury. How do you find it?"

Major Barnes-Lincoln replied that he liked it quite well, and lingered a few moments longer than necessary-at least, in Emma's hopeful perception-before seeking the company of Colonel Campbell.

Mrs. Elton, upon entering with her husband, was astonished to find Miss Bates in a new dress, and her approval of it was all hyperbole and insincerity. She took as a personal slight the notion that Miss Bates should have acquired the garment without her involvement. "My dear Miss Bates, you are such a sly creature! I never guessed you were planning a second gown all the while I toiled to make the first just so. Had I known, I could have advised you on this one as well. I see you chose a plain skirt-I would have suggested beadwork, or perhaps more ribbon."

"It was a surprise from Miss-Mrs. Knightley. Miss Woodhouse, I almost said. Forgive me, Mrs. Knightley, you are so recently married that I nearly forgot myself. But yes, the gown was a surprise-a most delightful surprise."

At this intelligence, Mrs. Elton's countenance hardened. "A surprise from Mrs. Knightley?" She turned to Emma with a smile that did not reach her eyes. "You must be very confident in your judgment, to risk imposing your own preferences on someone else."

Emma was happily spared the necessity of replying by the entrance of Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Dixon. When the butler announced the couple, Mrs. Elton immediately turned around to a.s.sess Jane's dearest friend-the former Miss Campbell-and her husband.

Emma averted her gaze, ashamed to recall the unkind speculation in which she had engaged last spring, that Jane Fairfax had developed an improper attachment to Mr. Dixon before his marriage to her friend. Had Emma kept the supposition to herself, she might now meet him without a blush, but she had carelessly shared her suspicions with Frank Churchill, who had encouraged her error so as to divert her notice from his own feelings for Jane. Though she had forgiven Frank his duplicity, she could not yet hear the name "Dixon" without mortification. Fortunately, Mr. Dixon himself remained unaware that he had ever been the object of calumnious conjecture.

A Mr. Thomas Dixon accompanied the Patrick Dixons. Thomas, Emma had been given to understand, was some sort of cousin, one of those adjunct relations that every family has and n.o.body else is quite sure as to which particular limb of the family tree they occupy. All she knew was that he was a younger son of some forgotten Irish landowner, and was dependent upon Patrick Dixon for his maintenance. Emma was surprised to learn that he had been among the party at Weymouth that had given rise to her suspicions regarding Jane Fairfax and Mr. Patrick Dixon, for neither Frank Churchill nor Jane-nor Miss Bates, who could be counted upon to blurt out every known particular about her niece at some point-had ever alluded to his presence at the spa town during the period of Frank and Jane's meeting and clandestine courtship.

Having heard that Thomas was a younger son, Emma had formed a picture in her mind of a young man. Upon meeting him in person, however, she was surprised to discover that he was in fact considerably older than Mr. Patrick Dixon. From the grey at his temples and the laughter-lines about his animated blue eyes, she would guess him to be in his middle forties. She also had not been expecting a gentleman of such flamboyant appearance. He was dressed to the nines in a formfitting bright blue double-breasted dress coat and a shirt so ruffled that it erupted from his waistcoat in an avalanche of lace. Snug yellow pantaloons and silk stockings accentuated his trim figure and led the eye to low-heeled patent leather pumps with jeweled buckles. His cravat was so intricately tied that Beau Brummell himself would approve; white gloves and a tall-crowned silk top hat completed the ensemble.

"Mrs. Knightley-it is already a delightful party, and it has barely begun!" Thomas Dixon clasped her hand and raised it to his lips. "May I say, you are wearing the most exquisite gown. And your slippers-they must have come from Willis in London."

When Emma confessed that they had not, Thomas Dixon nevertheless complimented her taste. "It is far superior to that lady's," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. "Her shoes are simply all wrong." Emma followed his gaze; he was looking at Mrs. Elton.

She liked him already.

At last, Emma had received all her guests and was free to mingle among them whilst awaiting the call to dinner. Major Barnes-Lincoln remained in conversation with Colonel Campbell, and had been joined by one of Mr. Weston's old militia acquaintances. Mr. Nodd and Mr. Wynnken were engaged in separate conversations of their own; Emma would steer Miss Bates toward one of them as soon as the spinster had done arranging her mother near the fire. Mr. Woodhouse was already seated nearby with Emma's sister, Mrs. Weston, and Mr. Perry, all of whom were a.s.suring him that the soup would not be over-rich, nor the pork over-salted, and that no harm would come of the diners' indulging in syllabub if the portions were kept quite small.

All was proceeding smoothly.

Nearly all, that is. Mr. Edgar Churchill seemed rather out of sorts as he stood off to one side of the crowded drawing room with Frank and Jane. Edgar held in his hand a gla.s.s of wine-his third-despite the fact that no one else drank. He had complained of thirst almost immediately upon his arrival, had of course been accommodated, and quickly swallowed two gla.s.ses. He now appeared much redder in the face than when Emma had received him. Frank's palm rested on the decanter, though Emma could not tell whether he stood ready to refill Edgar's gla.s.s yet again, or to prevent his uncle from doing so himself. She hoped it was the latter. Edgar needed no more wine at present. The hand supporting his winegla.s.s trembled, threatening to spill its contents on the Persian rug; the other fluttered nervously at his side, fingers thrumming against his leg.

The sooner dinner began and Edgar Churchill consumed food to offset the wine, the better.

Emma went to tell them that the formal procession to the dining room would commence presently. As the newest bride and guest of honor, Jane Churchill would enjoy the privilege of leading the way. When Mrs. Knightley reached the trio, however, she found their thoughts far from the imminent meal. Edgar was bitterly vocalizing his discomfort.

"Too hot-intolerably hot . . ." He tugged at his cravat as if it choked him. "Ridiculous to have a fire in a room with so many people. Idiotic notion-What, we are all invited to dinner only to be cooked ourselves?"

"The room is close, sir," said Frank, "but hardly intolerable."

"Do not presume to tell me what is intolerable."

"I am sure we will go in to dinner momentarily," said Jane. "Look, here is Mrs. Knightley now, probably come to inform us so."

"Indeed, yes," Emma said. "I antic.i.p.ate the butler's cue at any-"

"Why can we not go in now? For what are we kept waiting in this inferno?" He downed another half gla.s.s. "n.o.body tells me anything! A gentleman has a right to know certain matters."

Frank put his hand on Edgar's arm in an attempt to placate him. "Sir, a little patience-"

"Patience? I am out of patience! I spent it all; I have no more. And what did it buy?" He stared at Frank's hand on his arm, then raised his gaze to his face. "Deceit-that is what it bought me. A gentleman ought not be surprised by news of his son."

"I am deeply sorry, sir. I should have told you of my engagement. It was wrong of me to conceal it. Were it not for trepidation over how Jane would be received by my aunt-"

"She was so proud, too proud!" His rant was starting to draw the notice of others.

Emma's perfect evening was rapidly coming undone. Surely Edgar Churchill was not intoxicated before dinner even began? At least, she comforted herself, her scheme for Miss Bates was unaffected by Mr. Churchill's behavior. The spinster was even now smiling broadly as she conversed with Mr. Nodd. From this range, Emma could not hear the subject of their discourse-a good sign, she decided, for it suggested that Miss Bates's chatter was restrained at present, if only in volume.

The butler's welcome news that dinner was at last ready to be served brought Emma immense relief. She paired her guests in order of precedence, attributing to hunger the less than blissful expression that momentarily flashed across Mr. Nodd's countenance as Miss Bates took his arm. Edgar, however, caused her greater distress: he refused to take his place in the promenade. He provided no reason, merely obstinance, despite Frank and Jane's repeated efforts to mollify him.

Emma and Mr. Knightley sent the other guests ahead, hoping that once the drawing room emptied, Mr. Churchill would become more complacent. But his agitation only increased.

"Gone! Shut me out! Shut me out, they did! Who decided? Who decided he should go?" He fairly impaled Emma with an angry glare. "You!"

Emma had witnessed the effects of too much wine before, but never to such a degree. She was too stunned to respond, and was grateful that her husband had also stayed behind to help manage Mr. Churchill.

Mr. Knightley interposed himself between Emma and their agitated guest. "Mr. Churchill, perhaps you had better-"

Mr. Churchill ignored Mr. Knightley altogether, seeming to look right through him as he continued to address Emma. "Always directing everybody around you. Manipulating us all. How could you live with yourself?" He laughed hysterically. "Apparently, you could not."

"Mr. Churchill!" Guest or no, Mr. Knightley had done with politeness. "If you cannot act with civility, I shall be forced to have a servant conduct you back to Randalls. Perhaps a proper night's rest will enable you to regain command of yourself."

Edgar Churchill at last raised his gaze to Mr. Knightley's stern countenance. "You do not know what it is to mourn." He looked then at Emma. "And neither do you, Agnes."

Oh, dear. Edgar Churchill was farther gone than she had realized. His pupils were wide, his face all confusion.

"I am not Mrs. Churchill," Emma said gently.

"Are you not?" He looked about the room. "Where is she? Where did she go?" His voice cracked. "She was just here . . ."

He was still discomposed, but no longer belligerent. Emma pitied him. Mr. Knightley's glower softened.

"Mr. Churchill, if you are feeling indisposed, allow me to call for your carriage."

His unfocused gaze continued to sweep the room. "Where is Frank? Where is my son? I want my son."

Emma and Mr. Knightley exchanged glances. "It would be cruel to send him back to an unfamiliar house alone," she said. "And even if we did, I think he needs to eat something before he leaves."

"Do you believe him collected enough to join the other guests?"

"He is placed near Frank Churchill at the dining table. That should comfort him."

It was settled. Mr. Knightley took Mr. Churchill's winegla.s.s from him and set it on a nearby table, then he and Emma escorted Frank's uncle to the dining room. He moved slowly, his fit of temper apparently having depleted his energy. The continual thrumming of his left hand, however, bespoke a spirit not yet at ease.

When they entered the dining room, the rest of the party was-mercifully-so immersed in conversation that their entrance was scarcely noticed. Frank, however, had been watching the door. He observed his uncle's demeanor and immediately came to them. "Are you well, sir?"

Mr. Churchill attempted to speak, but his voice broke. He tried to force out words but hoa.r.s.eness had overtaken him. Perhaps it was just as well-he could not cause a further scene.

"Come." Frank led him to his chair. "We have been missing you."

Emma was glad that Mr. Perry happened to be placed across the table from Edgar Churchill. The apothecary was used to dealing with people in all manner of conditions and temperaments, and himself possessed a soothing demeanor. His conversation would help further steady the senior Mr. Churchill.

When all were seated, Emma's gaze took in the whole a.s.sembly. The guests of honor, Frank and Jane Churchill, exhibited the proper degree of newlywed felicity. Their friends shared their joy; their families-particularly Miss Bates-fairly radiated it. Miss Bates, in fact, seated (by no accident) between Mr. Nodd and Mr. Wynnken, and across from Major Barnes-Lincoln, wore a look of such happiness that in the candlelight she looked almost pretty, and Emma harbored hopes that the demands of chewing and swallowing would by necessity check the flow of her conversation enough to allow the gentlemen around her to partic.i.p.ate in it.

Mrs. Knightley met her husband's gaze and smiled. Their first dinner party, in both its official and tacit objectives, looked to be a success after all.

That was the last peaceful moment of the night.

Though Edgar Churchill had the courtesy to tolerate the soup course, somewhere between the fish and the pheasant the company nearly bore witness to a return of his bisque.

The heaving gentleman was hastily removed from the dining room to an empty bedchamber, where Mr. Perry attended him. Frank rose to accompany them, but upon being a.s.sured of Mr. Perry's having the situation well in hand, was persuaded to remain in the dining room with all of the people a.s.sembled there for his benefit. Emma and Mr. Knightley, their sense of obligation equally divided between their duty to one ill guest and responsibility to dozens of others, settled it between them that Mr. Knightley, more familiar with the Donwell household, would accompany the apothecary and his patient to oversee any provisions required to make Mr. Churchill more comfortable.

To Emma, meanwhile, fell the unenviable task of presiding over a dining table whose atmosphere had altered considerably. The unseemly intoxication of the groom's uncle, a gentleman of Edgar Churchill's stature, was a subject on everyone's minds but no one's tongues as they awkwardly tried to converse about any other subject in the world. Miss Bates had no trouble filling the uncomfortable silence, and Emma for once was grateful for her steady, cheerful chatter. The more she spoke, however, the more pained Mr. Wynnken appeared, and the major looked as if he very much wished that she, too, would retire from the room pleading indisposition. Mr. Nodd seemed in danger of nodding off altogether. Emma's matchmaking plans were unraveling before her eyes.

Mr. Woodhouse blamed the bisque. Rich food, he had long maintained, was never good for anybody's digestion, but especially for an elderly gentleman such as Edgar Churchill. (At nine-and-fifty, Mr. Woodhouse was yet on the light side of sixty, the year which, in his mind, marked the threshold of old age. In temperament and habits, however, Mr. Woodhouse had been old at thirty.) He pa.s.sionately attempted to dissuade everyone near him from so much as tasting the syllabub. Only Mrs. Elton complied-not out of doubts regarding the dessert's richness, but out of conviction of its inferiority to the syllabub served at Maple Grove.

When Mr. Knightley returned and reported that Mr. Churchill had fallen into slumber, a sense of ease rippled through the a.s.sembly. Edgar Churchill would sleep off his overindulgence. For the present, both he and his embarra.s.sing behavior could be quite guiltlessly forgotten.

Six.