“To her credit, Darcy’s sister is markedly unencouraging. Also, the carriage has returned with Miss Bates and her mother.”
John sighed heavily. “What a treat is before us, gentlemen! Miss Bates never stops talking, and about what? Commonplace village gossip, as if I were eager to hear it all again.”
“She is good-hearted.”
“Says who? The woman repeats herself constantly, and she smiles too much. So silly, so satisfied, so endlessly prosing! Moreover, she is adept at dropping hints, by way of thanking everyone for their generosity.”
“It is not like you to be so unfeeling,” said George quietly. “Miss Bates is neither young, nor handsome, nor rich. With every passing year the smallness of her income decreases. Is it any wonder that she is grateful for philanthropy?”
“Philanthropy for herself,” grumbled John.
“You are in a mood, I see. There is no pleasing you.”
“Can you blame me? Admit it; you have no desire to kick your heels in the drawing room.”
“What about tea and seed cake?”
John’s head came up. “Serle’s seed cake? My dear George, why did you not say so before?”
As they came into the drawing room, Mary Bennet finished the song and then closed the instrument.
“Blissful silence,” whispered John to George. He crossed the room and found a seat near the window. Soon he was enjoying a generous slice of cake.
“My sweet,” called Mrs. Bennet, “be a dear and play a Christmas carol. Do sing for us as well. We would so enjoy it.”
She turned to Mr. Woodhouse. “What say you to While Shepherds Watched?”
George saw Mary Bennet purse up her lips, but she opened the music book and then propped it on the rack. Her singing voice was reedy and thin. Did her mother think to impress Mr. Woodhouse with such a performance?
Presently Miss Bennet had trouble with the turning of a page, and the book closed of its own accord. She gave a cry; her playing faltered. The silence was instantly filled by Miss Bates.
“My dear Mr. Woodhouse,” she cried, “what an excellent carriage you have! And how clever is the use of a sheepskin. I should never have thought of such a thing, but you are so clever, sir.”
George drew a long breath. Miss Bates did smile rather too much, and tonight her voice held a shrill note. Why was this?
“It is impossible to feel cold with such precautions,” she went on. “One is so fenced and so guarded from the weather, that not a breath of air could reach us.” She gave an awkward laugh. “It is a very cold evening, but in your carriage, sir, we knew nothing of the matter.”
By this time John had finished his cake. He rose to his feet and strolled across the room to join George.
Meanwhile, there was a quiet commotion at the pianoforte. “How difficult it is to play while singing!” said Miss Darcy. “I am never able to do it. Please, allow me to accompany you.”
Mary Bennet gave her a grateful look and made room on the bench.
Miss Darcy spread her fingers over the keys, competently played the opening measures, and then paused. “Since it is Christmas,” she said in her gentle way, “I suggest that we sing together—all of us.”
George felt his brows go up. An adroit rescue and a kindly one!
Mr. Coxe and the Gilbert brothers jumped to their feet and crowded round the pianoforte. Miss Darcy began again, and everyone sang:
While the others continued singing, George gave his brother a dig to the ribs.
“What?” whispered John.
“While shepherds washed their socks by night? Really, John!”
“Didn’t they?”
“You are as bad as your young sons.”
John merely laughed and resumed singing.
Presently the carol was finished. “What a fitting way to welcome the season!” cried Mr. Woodhouse. He turned to Mrs. Bennet. “And how tired you must be after such an eventful day!”
George heard his brother give a snort. Mrs. Bennet’s eyes sparkled, and her girlish smile was bright. She looked anything but tired!
“You must go to bed early, my dear Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “I recommend to you a little gruel before you go. You and I will have a nice basin of gruel together. My dear Emma,” he called, “suppose we all have a little gruel.”
“I’ll gladly partake,” cried Miss Bates. “And dear Mama as well.”
“And Mary too,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Come, my dear,” she called. “A nice basin of gruel will do you good.”
Mary Bennet’s expression was laughable, but she consented. Whether she would drink any was another matter!
The true marvel, however, was how instantly Miss Bates was persuaded. She had never taken gruel before. Why now?
After the guests departed and the drawing room was empty, Emma took him to task.
“How could you? Poor Miss Bates!”
George leaned against the mantelpiece. “Is she ill?” he said mildly. “I observed nothing out of the ordinary.”
“How is that possible? You, who are one of her oldest friends! Did you not see how jealous she was?”
“Jealous? Of whom?”
“The Bennets, of course. How could you invite them here? The Darcys are wonderful; they shall always be my friends. But Mrs. Bennet? George, she does nothing but flatter, and it has put Miss Bates in a quake of anxiety.”
“I am sorry,” said George. “Is Mrs. Bennet so very bad?”
“Of course my father is taken in,” continued Emma. “Any man would be.”
“Is he? My dear, it is not as if Mrs. Bennet is a beauty.”
“That shows how much you know! She certainly is. And she is cheerful and talks with enthusiasm on the subjects that Papa prefers. He is charmed.”
“Surely not.”
Emma brought her hands to her hips. “But he is. He told me so himself.”
George felt a surge of hope. As tempting as it was to confide in Emma, he knew this was not the time.
“Darcy tells me her greatest concern is finding a husband for Miss Bennet.”
“She is very welcome to Mr. Coxe. Although can you not see that he has eyes only for Miss Darcy?”
“And her fortune.”
“Georgiana is the dearest girl. Any gentleman would be delighted to marry her.”
George put his arms around Emma and drew her close. “Not me. There is only one woman for me.”
Emma pressed herself against his chest and gave a great sigh. “Do you suppose Mrs. Bennet expects Mary to marry my father?”
“She might,” said George fondly, “but I expect it will not happen. Mary Bennet scarcely speaks to him.”
“She is unfailingly polite.”
“Yes, but a mother cannot compel a daughter to like someone, let alone marry him. Do not forget that your father must propose.”
“I should hope not! Why would he think of such a thing? Mary Bennet is young enough to be his granddaughter.”
George pulled away to look a question.
“In theory, anyway,” Emma amended.
“Perhaps Mr. Coxe will come up to scratch.”
“Who would wish to marry him?”
George shrugged. “Miss Bennet might. You never know.”
“If only she were not placed alongside an heiress, who is not only beautiful but also extremely kind and talented.”
George could not hold back a smile. “Did you see Mrs. Elton’s face when she called this morning? And heard Miss Darcy play?”
Emma’s dimples appeared. “There was nothing like it. Georgiana is the much better performer, and yet she gives herself no airs.”