Chapter Eleven
Their arrival at Hartfield was first received by the enraptured Miss Taylor. The governess had spent hours between her employer's side and the Hartfield front gate anxiously awaiting her charge's return. She cared very little that Emma was carried into the house by their neighbour Mr. Knightley, so long as she was returned safely, the truth could come later, or not.
But it was quite different with the young lady's papa. Mr. Woodhouse had a fright at the sight of his gentleman-friend carrying his youngest daughter into the drawing-room. The nervous father demanded to know what had happened to his dear child! – Her ankle was injured at his stable, sir! Mr. Knightley respectfully replied. – Mr. Perry must be sent for at once! – His Donwell footman had been dispatched to fetch the apothecary to Hartfield. – Why was not his child conveyed home immediately? – It was his fault; he should have brought her home sooner. – The gentleman-neighbour had accepted full responsibilities.
Emma was pained by the scene. She wished her friend did not have to suffer her papa's unjust chastiser; it was her fault and she would have borne the responsibility had not Mr. Knightley told her beforehand that it was best for him to take the blame, as her father was prone to depression, the image of his daughter sleeping in a stable on a bed of hay catching cold and damp surely would cast the father down and possibly unleashed his many maladies; and what was more, the tale of Wobble would be revealed! Mr. Woodhouse might reproach him, but Mr. Knightley trusted that his long-standing friendship with the old gentleman would prevent her father from holding grudges overnight. Mr. Knightley assured Emma that he would return for breakfast the next day, and peace shall surely be restored.
As promised, Mr. Knightley returned to Hartfield for breakfast the morning after, Mr. Woodhouse received the gentleman in his customary cordial manners – one could never tell that peace was once lost the night before.
However, Mr. Knightley did not return alone... Tucked away in a willow egg-basket was a certain golden fur-ball waiting to be pampered by the young Mistress of Hartfield, who, for her injured ankle, was under strict order by the apothecary to walk as little as possible and must be confined to her bedchamber until her swelling and bruises receded. It was a scheme that Emma had devised during their horseback ride to Hartfield: Mr. Knightley was to transport Wobble concealed in a basket to Hartfield through the small gate by the kitchen, where Miss Taylor would receive and deliver the puppy to Emma's bedchamber, escaping Mr. Woodhouse's notice; and at night, the Donwell Master would retrieve the spaniel through the same way (only in reversed order) before his returning to the Abbey, just so that he could repeat the same act the very next day. Now, why would the very sensible Mr. Knightley be willing to comply with such fanciful secret scheme? Temporary insanity! - was the gentleman's sole explanation.
Their scheme went on flawlessly for several days. The old gentleman-father went on merrily living his habitual life undisturbed by the furtive existence of the puppy at Hartfield. With an over abundance of cuddles and kisses, singing of nursery songs, crawling and rolling together on her bedchamber floor, and the patient nursing of one spoonful of milk at a time, Wobble was growing exceedingly well under the tender care of young Emma. Their Timing was perfect as well. When Emma's ankle had completely healed, Wobble was becoming far too lively for Mr. Knightley to transport him in an egg-basket. Their journeys between Donwell and Hartfield were fast becoming wrestling matches of man and cunning little beast. Succumbing to his frustration, the gentleman had at last declared himself no longer insane and declined his part in the secret play.
Time with Wobble was now spent at the Abbey instead. Daily, Miss Taylor would accompany Emma the one mile journey to Donwell Abbey, the governess would then return to Hartfield to attend to her employer while her charge stayed at the Abbey for most of the afternoon spending time with her puppy. Emma had taught Wobble how to climb stairs, step by step, foot by foot, and let him sniffed at everything and acquainted with everyone at Donwell. They had spent hours exploring the Abbey and its gardens, familiarizing the blind spaniel with his surroundings. In spite of his sightlessness, Wobble was growing just as rumbustious as any sighted canine could be; the little furry loved to run, tumble and roll everywhere. Whereas Emma always took him to the gardens for his walks, Mr. Knightley would take Wobble on a lead on longer walks out in the fields. He had also begun to teach the pup commands – sit, drop, heel, wait, give - needless to say praises and affection were given in abundance to the puppy from both his mistress and his master.
Then one particular afternoon...
In the Donwell library, where behind his enormous writing desk, Mr. Knightley was engrossed in planning the crop harvest in the coming season, and in another corner, Emma and Wobble were practising his newly learnt trick – handshake. The puppy would sit on his tail, and at the sound of his mistress's command 'Hand, hand, Boy!' he would lift his front paw for Emma to shake.
Wobble's focus was diverted suddenly; the puppy wagged his tail enthusiastically when he heard his master's voice from the other side of the library.
"Emma, William Larkins will be here shortly, why do not you and Wobble go for a walk in the gardens?" Mr. Knightley spoke without looking up from his work.
"But, Mr. Knightley, we just returned from the gardens half an hour ago! Must we take another walk so soon?" pleaded Emma.
"Ah..." still looking down at his harvesting plan, Mr. Knightley made another suggestion, "Mrs. Mayson has baked Manchester Pudding for you, why do not you ask Mrs. Hodges to serve it in the drawing-room for you?"
"That is very kind of Mrs. Mayson, but I am not hungry, Mr. Knightley!" Emma pouted, sinking down into an armchair with Wobble wriggling in her arms.
"Humph..." Mr. Knightley uttered, searching for another suggestion.
"I know what you are trying to do, Mr. Knightley!" Emma said saucily. "You wish to remove me from the library, do not you? Why is it that you never let me stay in the same room when Mr. Larkins comes?"
Mr. Knightley finally looked up and Emma immediately appealed to his attention by saying, "Mr. Larkins is the sternest man I know! Do you notice that he scowls at me every time?" She was growing cross as she spoke. "I dare say he does not approve of me - he must think you spend far too much time visiting Hartfield with Papa and me!" she frowned, "But I have much more sense than he thinks... I know when to be quiet when I ought to and I promise that if you would let me stay you shall not notice my presence during your meeting!"
Mr. Knightley's eyes sparkled remarkably, "Ah, annoyed that not everyone in Highbury thinks you are wonderful, Miss Woodhouse?"
"Surely not!" she replied, lifting her chin and nose, and looked away.
Mr. Knightley laughed; when he finished laughing, his sensitivity resumed. "You know, Emma, William Larkins does not disapprove of you, nor is he in the habit of approving anyone. That's just the way he is. He does not scowl at you, I assure you..."
Emma interjected, "And I assure you that he does scowl at me, and he frowns at me, you know!" The young Hartfield Mistress wrinkled her nose at the image of the Donwell bailiff frowning at her.
Mr. Knightley shook his head amusingly at his young friend. "He frowns at everyone, Emma. In fact, he frowns even when he smiles."
Searching her memories, Emma muttered, "I do not think I have ever seen him smile..."
"That is my point, Emma – he frowns when he smiles!"
"You are not convincing me, Mr. Knightley! I know he dislikes me!"
Mr. Knightley rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he said, "I shall say this once more, Emma – William Larkins does not dislike you."
"If he does not dislike me... then... is your meeting so secretive that I must be kept away?"
"No, Emma, what we discuss is not so secretive that you must be kept away."
"Then why cannot I stay?" the young lady pressed.
Mr. Knightley compressed his lips for a moment, pondering how much he should tell her. He lowered his voice, almost as if speaking to himself, "It is not you who must be kept away..."
Emma's sharp hearing caught his mumbling. "Then who?" her curiosity was piqued.
Mr. Knightley compressed his lips again. Lifting his brows, his gaze travelled from Emma to the golden spaniel on her lap.
Emma was indignant!
"Why must Wobble be kept away?" the young lady demanded. "He is the gentlest puppy one would ever meet, and he does not bark until your ears rung like some dogs do. Look at him - he is such a good-natured well-mannered dog! He will not make but the tiniest noise at your meeting... if I must not be kept away from your meeting, then I insist that Wobble and I stay!" Not that Emma really wished to stay for their meeting, but the thought of her Wobble being slighted irked her, hence she must insist.
Mr. Knightley shook his head at his spoiled friend, who could turn stubborn on a whim when she could not get her way. "Emma, I would not have asked if I did not have a good reason. Just excuse us for the time being, and you and Wobble will be welcomed to return to the library once Larkins leaves."
"But why? If Wobble and I must remove from the library, do not we deserve a reason?" She added audaciously, "And if there is not a sufficient reason, both of us shall stay!"
This spoiled child, Mr. Knightley thought, could really try his patience at times! Right then, the footman came in to announce, "Mr. Larkins, sir."
"Send him in," Mr. Knightley supplied.
His eyes immediately beckoned Emma to take Wobble out of the library, but Emma would not comply. She said unyieldingly, "Give us a good reason and we shall leave you two to your meeting!"
Mr. Knightley bit his lip – William Larkins would be walking in any moment and he would not lecture his friend in front of his bailiff – his determination was wavering unexpectedly; with exasperation and haste, he said to Emma, "William Larkins has a fear for canines, Emma! Now, take Wobble somewhere, would you?"
Emma's large hazel eyes widened. "Oh!"
She curtsied with a smile and led her puppy out of the library seconds before William Larkins stepped in.
"We shall need labourers for these tasks: Reaping, Gathering, Sheaf-making, Stook-building, Raking, Carting, and Gleaning. Has sufficient labour been arranged for all of them, Larkins?" asked Mr. Knightley, running down the list of tasks on his harvesting plan.
"Arrangements have been made for many of the tasks, sir. The labourers are excited to have harvest work already lined up for them before the season begins, I do not anticipate difficulties in employing sufficient labours for the rest of the tasks," William Larkins replied.
"Pools of labourers shall be required for haymaking as well."
"Certainly, Mr. Knightley. Traditionally the tasks of raking up and raking out, building, unbuilding and rebuilding haycocks were carried out mostly by women in the village, but there will be plenty of willing men when the tasks call for more workers."
"Very well. What about the corn harvest? As corn is late-harvesting, once cut, the processing shall be a matter of urgency - we must learn from our lessons last year and outrun the autumn storms."
"Certainly... sir... " something just knocked at the heel of the Donwell bailiff and had taken his mind off his meeting; he paused to see what it was – it was a cricket ball. The distracted bailiff resumed, "Certainly, sir. The cold September last year was most unexpected. The hail storm destroyed most of our ripened corn. Since all our labourers are... ah... are... " he felt something nudging at his heel - it must be the ball again; he decided to ignore it.
"Since all our labourers are... ah... are..." the nudging was growing stronger, the bailiff was annoyed. He kept his eyes on the Donwell Master, but out of frustration he swore under his breath, "Blasted ball!"
"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Knightley asked bewilderedly.
"Ah... I am sorry, sir. Ahem... as I was saying, since all our labourers are familiar with our rigid sequence, so long as the autumn weather does not deviate too much from its normal course, the corn harvest should not suffer the same fate as it did last... ah...last... " The nudging had turned into a tugging now and it was far too annoying to ignore, the bailiff looked down - with every intention to kick the ball away.
Ahhhhh!
A loud cry bursting out of William Larkins, in fractions of a second, the bailiff flew halfway across the library and hid behind one of the armchairs by the mantelpiece.
Mr. Knightley jumped to his feet searching for the reason of William Larkins' scream – his enormous writing desk had obscured part of the view of the floor, but he could see a cricket ball lying by the curved-leg under the armchair.
"What is the matter, Larkins?" moving away from his desk, Mr. Knightley asked with great concern – he had never heard the unaffected William Larkins screamed like a child before.
"Ah... ah... sir..." the bailiff stammered, pointing his trembling finger at the golden canine halfway across the library.
And at that very moment – Behold! The young Mistress of Hartfield entered in.
"There you are, my little boy!" Emma walked over to the spaniel, which was standing and wagging his fluffy tail happily. "I have been looking all over for you, little Wobble!" The young lady picked up the golden puppy, cooing and smiling at him most affectionately.
Then, her eyes travelled to the person behind the armchair, half a giggle leaked out of her while the other half suppressed. "Good afternoon, Mr. Larkins!" Emma curtsied, flaunting the puppy in her arms.
Mr. Knightley narrowed his penetrating eyes as he watched the scene unfolding in front of him.
"Are you well, Mr. Larkins? You look awfully pale today!" Emma asked earnestly, but the amusing gleam in her scintillating eyes did not escape the Master of Donwell – the gentleman was not pleased!
William Larkins took a half-bow nervously, all the while staring at the canine in the young lady's arms.
"Emma, what are you and Wobble doing in the library?" Mr. Knightley asked stiffly.
"Mr. Knightley, Wobble and I were playing fetch outside the library, and the ball rolled off so we came looking for it." Emma managed to say it with a straight face.
"The ball just happened to roll into the library?" asked Mr. Knightley, most suspiciously.
"Of course!" she shrugged. "By and by, has anyone seen a cricket ball lying somewhere?" Emma asked, purposely scanning the room.
William Larkins' frightful stare shifted from the canine to the ball by the curved-leg of the armchair – the very armchair that he was using as a shield.
Following the shift of William Larkins' gaze, the young lady saw the ball and gasped, "Thank you, Mr. Larkins!" She let the puppy down the floor, "Go get it, Boy!" and Wobble took off following the scented trail of the cricket ball fast approaching the armchair – and William Larkins!
The bailiff yelped! With fear in his eyes he ran to the window and wrapped himself behind the heavy drapes.
Midway through his sniffing, Wobble lost his interest in the ball; he began to follow the scent of the person behind the heavy drapes. The spaniel barked and wagged his tail energetically, begging the attention from the owner of the scent he had sniffed!
"Go away... you...you... you ferocious beast... go away!" William Larkins begged.
Wobble seemed to think William Larkins was playing with him, the more movement the frightened bailiff made, the more enthusiastic his barking and wagging became.
Emma giggled joyously! "I think Wobble likes you, Mr. Larkins!"
Cold sweats were dripping from William Larkins' forehead. The poor man looked like he was about to faint.
"Drop, Wobble!" Mr. Knightley commanded sharply.
The spaniel was schooled well – at the sound of his master's command, Wobble immediately dropped to his knees and stayed very still; his enthusiastic barking faded to obedient-whimpers.
"That is enough, Emma!" Mr. Knightley called out sternly.
In two long strides he had reached the golden pup, scooping him up with one hand and the cricket ball the other. Another long stride, he was in front of Emma, whose giggles had faded along with her puppy's barks.
Mr. Knightley took hold of Emma's elbow, half-escorting half-pulling her out of the library. He shut the door behind him before he spoke.
"That was badly done, Emma! How could you do this to William Larkins?" his tone was severe.
Taken aback by his sternness, Emma's pink cheek turned pale. "It was all a joke, Mr. Knightley!" she pleaded hurriedly, "You know I would never mean any harm for anyone... Wobble was so little and gentle, he would not have hurt Mr. Larkins... you could see that, could not you?"
"Have not I told you that William Larkins had a fear for canines?" He looked at her with piercing eyes.
"Yes... but... but I thought 'fear' as in 'just a little afraid of dogs'... and... " Emma's heart pounded so fast that she could hear it in her ears, "and... I thought after his initial fright, he would not find Wobble fearsome after all... I did not think that Mr. Larkins would be afraid of Wobble the way he did..." she tried hard to explain.
"Emma, William Larkins was attacked by a strayed hound when he was a young boy - the canine dragged him by his leg for several yards before his father was able to stop the attack with a rake. The laceration on his leg was so severe that it had left a deep scar on him not just on his leg, but in his heart! He has been fearful of canines of all kinds and sizes all his life!"
Mr. Knightley turned his back at Emma in frustration.
Emma could not believe what she just heard! What had she done to William Larkins? Her stomach instantly fell into a pit. Her heart had sunk so low that it felt like she could hardly breathe. She reached out her hand to Mr. Knightley, but her blurred vision had made it difficult to distinguish his shoulder from his arm. She dropped her hand, slowly moved inches closer to him, and spoke brokenly to his back in a very small voice.
"I am so very... very... sorry, Mr. Knightley... I did not know..."
She heard his long sigh. Tears of remorse rippled down her cheeks silently. In the same small voice, she whispered to his back again, "Why did you not tell me, Mr. Knightley?"
Without turning around, he said to her, "I did not tell you because there was no reason to bring up this awful tragedy from his past. William Larkins would not wish it, nor would I! And if you would have listened and left us alone, Emma... he would not have to suffer your humiliation!" Though his tone was softer, the disappointment was unmistakable in his voice.
Mr. Knightley opened the door, entered into the library without turning, shutting it behind him quietly, leaving the fourteen-year-old to her own horrid reflection.
How could she... how could she do this to William Larkins? She kept repeating Mr. Knightley's question to herself. Why did not she listen to him and leave them alone? Did she not see the fear in William Larkins' eyes? Why did she let Wobble run after the poor man? How unforgivable she was in subjecting William Larkins to such humiliation!
She felt disgusted at herself! She was thoroughly ashamed of her own conduct. Large tear drops were streaming down her cheeks. Sadly, she bent down to pick up the whimpering Wobble in her arms and muffled her loud sobs in the puppy's soft coat.
An hour later, inside the Donwell library, the meeting between the Master of Donwell and his bailiff was coming to close.
"And have you placed the order for the gloves for the reapers, Larkins? The gloves will prevent their hands being pricked by thistles as they curved them round the corn when using the serrated sickle."
"The order was placed yesterday, sir."
"Very well."
"Would that be all, Mr. Knightley?"
"That would be all, Larkins."
Mr. Knightley went forward to open the library door for his bailiff. And when he opened the door, he was surprised to see Emma standing outside the library with her head hung low.
Emma slowly looked up, her nose and eyes were red.
"May I speak with Mr. Larkins?" she asked quietly.
"I shall be waiting outside," Mr. Knightley said softly, removing himself from the scene.
William Larkins and Emma were standing across from each other. The fearfulness in the man's eyes that Emma saw an hour ago had vanished, but the disdainful stare he had for the fourteen-year-old was undeniably visible. Emma's own shame had shrunk her to about an inch tall; she could barely meet the bailiff's eyes, but the stolen glimpses of his disdainful stare had chilled her entire person to shivers. Nonetheless, she had stood outside of the library for a whole hour waiting for this moment – whatever it would cost her, she must mend her own folly!
Looking down at her wrung-hands, she began humbly, "Mr. Larkins, I am terribly, terribly sorry for what I did!"
The bailiff's silence, as well as his scornful look, was unwavering.
Emma sneaked a small glance at his hard face and quickly looked back down. In a voice that fully reflected how small she felt for what she did, she continued.
"I know my conduct was inexcusable and I am ashamed of what I did! I shall not blame you if you shall hate me for the rest of your life – but pray be assured that I never meant to do you harm. It was a childish prank of utter insensitivity - I should never have done it! I only... only hope that somewhere... somewhere in your heart... you would find the grace to forgive me!"
Mr. Knightley had been standing outside the library waiting patiently, and, anxiously for his dear friend and faithful bailiff. William Larkins was a man of few words, though Mr. Knightley could not hear his reply to Emma's apology, he heard every word that his young friend had said. Her remorsefulness was unmistakable. And somehow, he felt part of Emma's guilt in himself as well. Why did he tell her that William Larkins had a fear for canines? If he had not betrayed the intelligence, she would not have fallen into the temptation of turning it into a senseless act!
Nonetheless, what was done could not be undone. As much as he was infuriated at Emma for putting William Larkins in the dreadful situation, he was proud of her for having the courage to own her mistakes. And that was the good-natured Emma Woodhouse that he knew, that he was so very fond of – Heaven knew how her recklessness exasperated him at times, but she was never heartless, and her sensibility had never allowed her to overlook her own faults!
Ere long, William Larkins and Emma emerged from the library. The bailiff was well known for his expressionless face, which, Mr. Knightley felt exceedingly relieved when he saw that it had resumed its usual state. Emma's bright red nose had faded to pink, and her swollen eyes no longer red, but soft hazel. The gentleman could almost see the relieved smile hidden behind her tear-stained cheeks!
"Good-day, Miss Woodhouse." William Larkins bowed politely to Emma, inclining his head to Mr. Knightley, and took his leave.
"Good-day, Mr. Larkins!" Emma curtsied gratefully in return.
Mr. Knightley and Emma were now standing alone in the hallway, silently.
"I take that..." Mr. Knightley spoke softly, "it went well?"
Emma nodded awkwardly; she was too ashamed to meet his eyes.
"It is time for me to escort you back to Hartfield," Mr. Knightley said kindly.
Still looking down, "Thank you, Mr. Knightley!" said Emma, in her very small voice.
"You're welcome, Emma," Mr. Knightley said casually, arching his back and stretching his arms. "After being trapped in the library for the entire day, a mile walk would surely do me good."
"No..." Emma finally looked up. She reached a hand and laid it on his forearm. Looking into his eyes, she said with great sincerity, "Thank you, Mr. Knightley!"
He understood her meaning.
"You're very welcome, Emma!" returned Mr. Knightley, with the warmest regard.
A/N: Thank you very much for reading! :-)