The Woodhouse Talisman
(inspired by the Loc-Nar in the Heavy Metal movie. Originally written for an "Overdue Temper Tantrums" challenge at another site.)
The gem, now lost, had been in the Woodhouse family for a long time. A pale green, pearlescent, faintly glowing sphere about half an inch in diameter, it was said to confer on its bearer a sort of fearlessness in many things. It was said also that the jewel had a mind of its own, occasionally mischievous or even malevolent, capable of changing its appearance and inducing forgetfulness at will, and manifesting itself or vanishing when least expected. However it came about, Mr Woodhouse's ring – its most recent manifestation – had not been seen since he buried his dear wife, sixteen years ago.
In the early spring of 1814 it was found again by Robert Martin, who while on various errands had been trudging by the cemetery. His attention was drawn by a greenish flash in the sunlight. He bent down and perceived a handsome ring, the gemstone set into a heavy silver band untarnished by its sojourn in the ground. It could not have been lost long, he decided, and placing it on his left middle finger, he determined to locate the owner.
As he walked, he pondered his find. If only, he mused, if only Harriet had accepted him, she might well like to have a jewel such as this – set in a handsome pendant – and as it was certainly not the kind of thing he could afford, it occurred to him briefly also to wish the owner might not be found ... until he recollected again that Harriet was lost to him.
In front of Ford's he perceived Miss Woodhouse. She would have passed him by with nary an acknowledgement, but something in Robert snapped. There were things he must say. His courage rising, he greeted her, rather curtly.
"Mr Martin," Emma replied distantly.
"Miss Woodhouse, by what right do you meddle in the affairs of Miss Smith?" The words were no sooner out of his mouth, than Robert stopped and took stock of what he had just said. One of his class did not speak to a lady, a gentleman's daughter, in that manner. But other circumstances, relentless, were driving him on.
Emma, speechless at his affrontery, stared, and Robert, emboldened, continued, "Mr Knightley himself approved the match and encouraged me to make her an offer. And she refused it at your suggestion, in a letter clearly dictated by you! You allowed her not even the courtesy of telling me in person."
"I ...," Emma began.
"You persuaded her to look to Mr Elton, and we all know how that turned out. Miss Smith might have been happily married to me, and now she has nothing."
"She deserves better than ...," Emma retorted, her ire rising.
At that moment a cart rattled by, close enough that Robert jumped out of its way, and as he flung his arms out to balance himself, Emma saw something bright fall from his finger into the mud under the wheels.
Robert seemed to fall into himself, somehow. "Miss Woodhouse, forgive me," he stammered. "I know not what came over me. It is insupportable that I should speak thus to a lady."
But Emma's attention was now entirely taken up by the mysterious object and its retrieval. Try as she might, she could see no trace of it in the ground where the cart had been, and she had no inclination to risk her gown and dignity by bending down to dig. Robert Martin took advantage of her distraction to take leave with a hurried adieu. When Emma looked up, a good scolding on her tongue, he was gone.
Emma soon overcame her pique – how often did she come across Mr Martin anyway? – and not long afterwards forgot about the bright object as well.
It remained lost for another month, when a few dry days and a stiff wind exposed it once again to view. This time it was Harriet Smith who picked it up, after an unsuccessful foray after new ribbons at Ford's. She perceived it as a pendant – how lovely! – it matched her new gown exceedingly well – and not a speck of dirt! – and eagerly hung it around her neck, the ribbons entirely forgotten.
Harriet wore her new pendant proudly to the Crown for the ball a few days later. To her great disappointment, it garnered no compliments. It was almost as though the jewel was invisible to all but her.
Nevertheless, the ball was a source of much enjoyment to her until the supper dance, at which she had no partner. Mr Elton was sauntering about, but upon being encouraged by Mrs Weston to join the dancers as her partner, flatly refused.
Harriet felt the gemstone at her breast tremble. Uncharacteristically angered, she retorted, "Your dancing days are over, are they? Then why were you willing to dance with Mrs Gilbert, and why had you danced every dance before this one?"
Mr Elton found himself without the power of speech at this. Mrs Weston gently took Harriet's arm, as if attempting to calm her, but Harriet shook her off.
"What have I ever done to you, Mr Elton, except foolishly allow myself to fall in love with you, to wish for your offer? Was it so very different from the other young ladies at Mrs Goddards' who sighed over you and watched your every move from the windows?"
"Harriet, dear, come away," Mrs Weston whispered. Mr Knightley was approaching, drawn by the commotion. Mr Elton could summon nothing in reply, and upon receiving a severe look from Mr Knightley, disappeared into the card room.
Mr Knightley had heard only the last portion of Harriet's uncharacteristic outburst and although surprised at how articulately she had spoken, privately agreed that it needed to be stated. Aloud, he said only, "Do not let him make you fret, Miss Smith. Come, indulge me, and let us have this dance together."
Much happier now, Harriet partook of the dance with gusto, so much so that she did not notice the sour looks cast in her direction by Mrs Elton, nor was she aware that her pendant had come unclasped and fallen to the floor.
"I should not have spoken so to Mr Elton," she confessed to Mr Knightley during a pause in the dance. "It was very impolite of me." But already the event was beginning to recede in her memory.
Jane Fairfax found the pendant after the dance ended, kicked into a corner by the movements of the revellers. She too admired its beauty, but rather than draw attention to herself, she put it in her reticule and forgot about it until, more than a month later, she discovered it in her box of ornaments and decided it would perfectly suit her outfit for the Donwell Abbey strawberry picking.
At the Abbey, Emma marvelled at Jane's endurance of Mrs Elton's persistent recommendations of governess positions to neighbours of the Sucklings. She herself had weathered far too much about Maple Grove already. And then, suddenly, her wondering came to a quick end.
"Mrs Elton," Jane said in a voice firm enough to quell Mrs Elton's incipient reiteration that her friend call her Augusta. "I do not wish you to acquiesce on my behalf to this, or any other, post. Not now, and not ever. I have had quite enough of your officiousness. I shall make my own way in the world, in my own manner, without any of that hindrance that you have the effrontery to call help. Just who do you think you are, you jumped-up daughter of a Bristol merchant? Oh, and by the way, my name is Miss Fairfax to you, thank you very much."
Mrs Elton gaped, utterly incapable of a reply.
Bravo, Emma thought, overhearing much of this. Her opinion of Jane Fairfax soared accordingly. She watched Jane turn away as though to cut Mrs Elton, but not before catching the merest glimmer of green at her neck.
The incident faded into vagueness in Emma's mind until she was reminded of it later by Jane's desire to go home, unseen by the others. Jane still seemed cross but now Emma could discern no unusual ornament at her throat. Had she imagined it all?
Emma thought no more about it until the next day's expedition to Box Hill. After several unsuccessful attempts by Frank to amuse the company, his silly game of one thing very clever or three things very dull indeed had moved Miss Bates to admit to her many dull sayings and Emma to suggest that she must be limited to only three.
A silence fell over the company. Mr Knightley frowned, Frank laughed uneasily, and Mr Weston opened his mouth to propose a clever conundrum, but before anybody could say anything, Miss Bates burst out with, "Miss Woodhouse! How can you say such an unkind thing to an old friend! I know I rattle on sometimes, but must you remind everybody about it?"
Emma looked down, suddenly ashamed, but not before catching sight, so briefly that she had doubts, of a green stone around Miss Bates' neck. Was it the same she had seen on Jane the day before? But all was lost to her recollection after Mr Knightley scolded her for her unfeeling remark.
More than two months passed before Emma had any reason to think of green gems again; an eventful two months in which Frank's secret engagement came to light, Harriet disclosed her misguided infatuation, and Mr Knightley and Emma finally confessed their love to each other.
There was an obstacle: Mr Woodhouse would never consent to Emma's going away. How could she and Mr Knightley marry? They considered the options; waiting for the unthinkable, or having Mr Knightley come to live at Hartfield.
And then one day, Emma found the pendant in the flowers not far from Miss Bates' door. Picking it up, she knew with a certainty that it was her father's lost jewel. Had it not been a ring, the last time she had seen it? It was a small matter; now a pendant, it suited her perfectly, and she fixed it around her neck. Was it this long lost item she had perceived almost as an illusion on those odd occasions over the past half year? Had it accounted for the unusual divulging of home truths by such a disparate lot of people?
At Hartfield, Emma found her father in his usual querulous state, fretting about drafts and open doors and worrying that his gruel might not be of the proper consistency. At the dinner table, after a few too many complaints about the richness and unhealthiness of some of Emma's favourite dishes, her patience gave out.
"Father, Mr Knightley and I are engaged to be married."
"What? What? Married? You cannot marry. I cannot have you go away from Hartfield. All this marrying has been a bad influence on you. How can my old friend Knightley do such a treacherous thing? No! You cannot marry."
"Not marry? Father, I can and I shall marry Mr Knightley. You survived Isabella's marriage well enough, despite your constant complaining. You live and breathe still despite Mrs Weston's going away. I shall marry and you will bear it perfectly well, I dare say. I have had my fill of your fretfulness."
"Emma, Emma, what are you saying! You cannot go ..." But Mr Woodhouse stopped himself suddenly, his gaze fixed upon the ornament at Emma's neck. "Emma, is that my gemstone? Wherever did you find it? Where has it been all these years? Give it to me!"
As her father feebly snatched at it, Emma unclasped the pendant and handed it over. Amazingly, it became a ring as soon as it touched his hand.
The ring seated securely on his finger, Mr Woodhouse sat upright, his years seeming to fall away. Now he appeared a hale and hearty man of about sixty, rather than the octogenarian he had looked to be before.
"What am I saying?" he asked himself. "Of course you may marry Mr Knightley. I cannot think of a better man."
The customary basin of gruel was set before him.
Mr Woodhouse glared at the dish and the footman who had brought it. "Remove this disgusting swill at once," he commanded. "I wish to have some hearty slices of that roast beef."