Chapter Six
After an excellent evening of cake and games, the two sisters laid in Isabella's old bed, just as they used to, chatting and catching up to no ends. Having never set foot outside of the town of Highbury, young Emma was fascinated with every minute detail that her dear sister had to impart – the decoration and furnishing of the new couple's home at Brunswick Square, the fashionable society in London that John loathed but Isabella admired, the fine shops on the Mall and St. James's Street, the eye-dazzling Bond Street loungers, the Buckingham house used by the Royal Family, the famous St. Paul's Cathedral, Hyde Park, and Piccadilly; then there was the hustles and bustles of town life so different from the quiet ones in the country, the long hard hours of John's barrister profession, the dirty and smoky streets that their papa feared so much which Isabella dared not to mention in her letters, and the nauseating stenches and head-pounding noises produced from the multitudes of urban trades - fortunately Brunswick Square was situated several miles away from these deplorable conditions, Isabella and John's health was safe from all significant harms.
When the small hours of the morning arrived and Emma's heavy eyelids almost shut tight, she could faintly hear Isabella calling her name.
"Emma…"
"Hmm…" moaned the little sister.
"How would…" uttered the big sister.
"What…"
"How would you…" It seemed an effort for Isabella to find the right words to say. "How would you like…"
"Hmmmm… y-e-s…" The thirteen-year-old was drifting into slumber quick.
"How would you like to be… an aunt?" The last word came out of Isabella shyly.
"W-h-a-t…" The voice of the sleepy child was fading.
"How would you like to be an aunt?" Isabella's tiny voice increased a little.
"Me... not... a-n-t?" The child was talking in her sleep.
"No, Emma... Aunt!" Isabella spoke up a little more still.
"Hmmmm..." moaned Emma.
The big sister knew if she kept on waiting, her little sister would be falling into deep slumber and could not be roused.
"Emma!" Isabella gave the arm of the sleeping angel an exasperated-tug, speaking aloud, "AUNT, Emma, AUNT!"
"AUNT?" Isabella's words rang in Emma's ears. The child sprang sitting straight up!
"What do you mean Isabella?" grasping at Isabella's arm, Emma begged for clarification.
"You know what I mean, you silly girl!" Isabella sat up next to Emma, looking down at her hands, blushing very prettily.
Emma gasped, "You mean… you mean…" the thirteen-year-old rubbed her round eyes, "you are… with child?"
Isabella nodded, still looking down with a demure smile.
The little sister squealed!
"That is the most wonderful news, Isabella! You will be a mother and I shall be an aunt!" Emma got off the bed dancing about the chamber.
"Can you feel the baby? You look just the same, Isabella? When did you know? Are you certain? How did you know? Have you told anyone? John? Mr. Knightley? Papa? When will the baby come out? Does it hurt now? Will you wobble like a duck? Baby stockings… caps… oh! I need to learn to knit… right, of course... and sew..." the excited Emma went on and on.
Isabella giggled! "Too many questions, you silly goose, I can hardly answer all of them!"
"Well then… ah… tell me - are you sure? You see, you look just the same, Isabella, do not you know until you are big? That is how I tell when Mrs. Isabel is in family way!"
"No, Emma, a woman need not wait until she becomes big to know…"
"But how?"
"She just knows! I have consulted Doctor Wingfield, our London doctor, with my state of health, and he said I was indeed with child."
"Does John know?"
Isabella blushed prettily again, "Yes… John knows!" her voice grew very tender.
"Is he excited? Oh, that Ogre…" Emma checked herself immediately, "ah… I mean John must be excited!"
The mother-to-be nodded sweetly.
"Does Mr. Knightley know? He shall be Uncle Knightley and I shall be Aunt Emma!" The thirteen-year-old clapped her hands jovially.
"No, not yet! But John will write to Brother George after I give you the news… I wished you be the first to know, Emma!"
"I am so happy for you, Isabella!" Happy smiles kept spilling over the little sister's face, but even while basking in the joy of an expectant aunt, Emma did not forget her father, "When will you tell Papa, Isabella?"
Isabella turned anxious, "That is the thing, Emma... I am afraid of telling Papa!"
Emma temporarily set aside her excitement to listen attentively to her dear sister.
"You know how Papa is against all changes! As he is still not convinced that my marriage to John is a good thing for me, I am afraid when Papa finds out that I am with child, he will be greatly distressed!"
"Or sink into a pit!" Emma sighed, "You are right, Isabella! Papa is fearful of childbirths, I am certain that he shall be depressed by the news!"
"What shall I do, Emma? You are the cleverest one in our family… you must help me break the news to Papa!"
"Ah... pray do not worry, Isabella… we... we shall find a way to tell your good tidings to Papa!"
Emma really had not an inkling of how to disclose Isabella's state of health to her papa without sinking him too low. And this was all too new to her as well! She knew not how a lady learnt that she was with child, or how she became pregnant, what it was like to have a life inside her body, or what to expect during those long months of carriage. Often times she could craft stories upon stories to convince her papa into believing an idea that he would otherwise be against, but how was she to tell her papa that Isabella was with child – she did not know! With the hope that a good night sleep would bring her the wit she needed, the dear child pulled the covers over her head and fell into slumbers next to her dear sister.
It was breakfast hour at Hartfield, Emma, Isabella, Mr. Woodhouse, and Miss Taylor all gathered at the dining table in the dining-room. Toast, bacon, poached eggs, smoked herrings, apricot preserves, milk and fresh fruits, and thin gruel were served. Mr. Woodhouse was contented to have both his daughters by his side, and the ache in his skinny belly caused by over-jolliness had all dissipated; he looked down merrily at his bowl of gruel and happily slurped the thin mixture.
Both Emma and Isabella were very fond of fresh preserves, while Emma took her heaping servings and spread them on her toast, Isabella only stared at her plate, hardly touching the hearty meal.
Miss Taylor had noticed Isabella's empty gazes; out of the goodness of her heart, the kind governess asked gently, "Are you unwell, Isabella? You have not taken a bite of your breakfast, my dear!"
Isabella was startled.
"Huh… yes, Miss Taylor, I am well, thank you!" Isabella answered Miss Taylor politely but her eyes were on her little sister.
Emma instantly read Isabella's mind. She cursed inwardly at herself, for her restful night of sleep did not give her the wit that she had hoped for, she still had not the faintest idea on how to convey Isabella's news to their papa.
Unfortunately Mr. Woodhouse caught Miss Taylor's question to Isabella and he looked up to see his daughter's colour.
"You look pale, Isabella my dear!" the father commented gravely.
"I am not pale, Papa… " said Isabella nervously.
"You are pale, my Poor Isabella, the travelling from London must have fatigued you... It is all Mr. John Knightley's fault; he had to take you so far away! Look what he had done to you!" Mr. Woodhouse had not forgiven his son-in-law for removing his daughter all the way to London. The look of fatigue on Isabella's face had unleashed the grudge that the father hid in his breast; the indulgent father was agitated to an unprecedented extent.
"Pray, Papa, I am very well… I am not fatigued… I am just not hungry…" Isabella eyes were welling up.
"Eat something, Isabella..." Emma lowered her voice urging her sister quietly, hoping to curb her papa and sister's distress, "it will make you feel better!"
Knowing her morning sickness might produce undesirable effect from partaking breakfast, Isabella whispered shakily, "But I cannot…"
Mr. Woodhouse was neither known for his wit nor his hearing – but Fate had brought Isabella's whispered words to her papa's ears.
"Why cannot you eat?" The indulgent father sounded stern - and he was never stern!
"I… I… just cannot, Papa…" Isabella began to weep.
"It is all John Knightley's fault!" Mr. Woodhouse reproached his absent son-in-law again.
Isabella's tender heart could not bear her father's harsh reproaches of her beloved husband; she picked up her fork, pricked at the eggs on her plate and delivered tiny forkfuls to her mouth.
Comforted by his daughter's willingness to partake nourishment, the father returned to his gruel; but then only a minute later, a burping sound from Isabella met his ears, and when he looked up, the food that Isabella had just swallowed were all accounted for on her plate!
"Good Grief! What happened to you, my Poor Isabella?" the father cried out, "Call Mr. Perry immediately! My poor child is ill!"
"No Papa, pray… I am not ill… there is no need to call for Mr. Perry!" Isabella got up from her chair, moving to the side of her father and begged.
Emma panicked! "Think, think, Emma... think quick!" The thirteen-year-old kept telling herself, but her wit deserted her.
Mr. Woodhouse continued to blame the absent John Knightley scornfully, and by now Isabella was sobbing miserably while Miss Taylor was busy removing and replacing her plates.
"It is all John Knightley's fault!" The father repeated these words over and over again, and Isabella's sobs grew louder and louder.
In the moment of her witlessness, Emma called out abruptly – "Isabella is with child!"
"What?" Mr. Woodhouse turned to Emma.
"Isabella is with child, Papa... she is not ill!" Mr. Knightley had often said that the truth would set one free - Emma prayed to Heaven that her friend was right!
The agitated father turned his stare at his eldest daughter.
"We should all be happy for Isabella, should we not?" Emma said to her father, hoping he would turn to her to discover her patent cherub-like smile, "She will be a mother, Papa, is not it wonderful?"
The agitated father stared emptily into the air; slowly he put his elbows on the table and sank his head into his hands - not the effect that Emma was hoping for! Without looking up, the father lamented, "My Poor Isabella… it is hopeless... childbirth shall ruin you!"
"But Papa," Isabella knelt by Mr. Woodhouse's side, begging with her hands on her father's arm, "I shall be fine, Papa, Doctor Wingfield is the best doctor in London, he assures me that I shall have a safe childbirth!"
From the deeply distressed look on her papa's face, Emma knew she had committed a mistake in betraying the intelligence. Now that she had plunged her sister into deeper peril, how was she to salvage her... and... to redeem herself? She needed... she needed a distraction, yes, she thought - she needed to distract them!
"Doctor Wingfield! Who is doctor Wingfield?" Mr. Woodhouse asked scornfully, "How could anyone trust a town doctor… what does the fellow know?"
Her father's sternness had turned Isabella's sob into a hysterical cry.
Distraction… distraction - Emma kept searching for a distraction, where were they when she needed them!
"Where do babies come from?" Emma blurted out suddenly, did not even know how it came to her mind, this distraction might not be a clever one, but it would do for now.
But no one heard her!
The child decided to scream from her lungs, "Could someone pray tell me where babies come from?"
Everyone heard! Everyone went silent! Everyone stared at the child!
Distraction indeed! Emma thought that she must have treaded on a matter of import!
She surveyed the stunned expressions on her papa, Isabella and Miss Taylor.
To ascertain that her distraction was truly working, Emma asked again with a delightful grin, "Could someone pray tell me where babies come from?"
As all the stunned faces were turning red, the clever child bravely seized the moment to save her sister. She pressed on, "You know, no one ever explains to me how a lady gets in the family way before… Could someone tell me, pray?"
An intense silence swept across the entire dining-room.
Distract and Conquer! Indeed! Clever Emma smiled victoriously!
Then – the curious Emma decided that this must be a worthy subject to explore. To begin her quest, the child first asked her governess, "Miss Taylor, why do so many ladies come to be with child soon after they wed?" Miss Taylor's eyes quickly moved away from her charge, the poor governess looked down wordlessly and did not look up again for the rest of the meal.
Perhaps Miss Taylor did not know! Emma thought.
Then the child shifted to her sister, "Isabella, what did you and John do to put you in the family way?" Isabella's jaw dropped to her chest, her cheeks and ears turned flame-red! Immediately she returned to her chair and started chomping on a piece of toast.
Emma thought it strange, but as long as Isabella was no longer in hysteria, all must be well!
While Miss Taylor and his eldest daughter were facing Emma's agonizingly embarrassing questions, Mr. Woodhouse quietly buried himself in his bowl of thin gruel (his head was ducked so low in his bowl that when he looked up there was a drop of gruel on the tip of his nose!) wishing his youngest daughter would spare him from - the question!
Unfortunately, no one at the table escaped. Feeling completely righteous, Emma turned to her father next, and asked bold-facedly, "Papa – what did you and Mama do to get Mama pregnant with Isabella and me?"
Poor Mr. Woodhouse choked – gruel came flying out of his mouth! The red-faced old gentleman looked down and around to avoid his daughter's question and her inquisitive gaze; he swallowed hard and then said, "Ah… Miss Taylor… could you… could you pass… that…" his finger pointing shakily, "I mean… the… bacon, pray?"
Emma was astonished! Her papa never ate bacon for its grease was too rich for his digestion, why would he wish it now? She wondered. Nonetheless, if his craving for bacon stopped him from blaming John and terrifying poor Isabella, it would not hurt for him to try a piece or two!
"Yes… sir… ah… we are almost out of bacon, let me fetch more from the kitchen!" The governess flew out of the dining-room with a plate half-full of bacon in her hand.
"Well… I think I shall have bacon some other day… ah… I shall retire to my armchair… by myself!" Mr. Woodhouse also disappeared from the dining-room in a swiftness that no one had ever seen in him before.
"I shall be in my chamber if anyone wishes to see me!" Isabella declared hastily and left the dining-room without a trace.
Sitting alone at the table, Emma was bewildered. "Was it something I said?" The newly thirteen-year-old could tell everyone left because of her, but she knew not why.
"Strange!"
The child shook her head, put the last piece of toast on her plate, scooped a heaping dollop of preserves from the bowl, spread it on her toast, and enjoyed!