Chapter 20

Sting

"Do not hide your wounds—for even flowers bloom within the cobblestone fractures and damaged fragments make up the most intricate mosaics. Promise me that you will never conceal your cracks, for I will only ever see them as places in which to fill with love."


She remembered the feeling well from when she was a small child. It had the same sensation, even if the source was different.

The sting she felt now had arisen out of thin air, one moment she was peaceable—hopeful even, she and her husband were conciliatory and without disagreement and in a fleeting moment it had suddenly set in, the sharp pain without even a hint of warning.

It hadn't had any warning when she was a little girl either. She had been playing happily in the tall grass before the underbrush of the tree line at Hartfield. One moment happy as any child and the next reeling back in pain, a burning sensation on each arm—crying did nothing to help the sting and she ran back to Hartfield panicked and with tear-stained cheeks.

It was a day off for Miss Taylor, so it was Cook that Emma ran too, curling her arms to her own chest in pain and fear.

"Ay, sweetheart it is nettle, stings like the dickens that," Cook agreed, after pulling one of the frightened girl's arms away from her against the child's attempt to cocoon.

"Don't ya worry—I'll get the right plant from the back garden and make you a poultice, that sting, and the swelling will be gone in a heartbeat and you'll feel right as rain—as if you'd never touched that awful stingin' nettle," Cook promised.

It had worked. Cook smears a nasty smelling green lumpy paste along both of Emma's arms and the burning stopped after a few long minutes.

If that sting had been against her arms, then the sensation she felt now almost felt as if it had evoked swelling and a burning around her heart. Any time she thought of the moment or the words that were spoken, a feeling of constricting or swelling arose. It felt just as tangible as the burn from the nettle plant but it was inflicted by no such source, and as a result, she had the inkling that there was no such poultice for this.

He had used the word placated, she shuttered. He had spoken it as if she were a tyrant or some figure to be appeased. Or perhaps it was not appeasement in that sense but rather an attempt to mollify—not to appease her anger—no for she was not an angry person, but instead to mollycoddle or pacify her—as if he likened her to a child or infant lacking the maturity to be dealt with rationally.

And then to offer her a puppy, as if the idea was the same—to care for and raise a child was not at all similar to that of an animal. What must he think of her to even suggest it?

It hurt more on reflection than it had at the time. At the time she hadn't really considered the critiques and claims but the overall picture. He did not wish a family with her. He saw their marriage as only a façade.

"Auntie Emma, Auntie Emma," it was the tugging at the skirt of her dress that caused her to turn from where she stood looking out the window towards the bustle of the street—taking in nothing but looking occupied with watching those who passed by to the outside observer. Now she looked with her full attention at her eldest nephew.

She bent down to be eye level with Henry, seeing that George stood behind him from her periphery but not moving her eyes to take in more than his legs, "Yes?" she cooed happily, hoping her own eyes sparkled half as much as Henry's bright blue eyes did.

"Are you coming to sail toy boats with us? We are going to the big pond today with the rowboats, and I was hoping you would see the giant swan we saw there last time," he asked excitedly.

She wasn't sure if his uncle had put him up to in and she refused to lift her eyes to take in his face. She wasn't sure what would hurt more, his boyish grin suggesting that he had or seeing an expression of apathy? For what if he had not put Henry up to it—certainly that would hurt far more.

"Not this time Henry," she said softly, patting his head lightly in a soothing gesture.

"Awh, but Auntie Emma that is what you said last time," he pouted.

"Some other time Henry, I plan to work on my needlepoint and tell princess stories to baby Emma and spend more time with your mother—she is my only sister after all,"

"Ohh allllright," he sighed, "but it is your last day and I am afraid you won't get to see the giant swan, it is really the biggest one ever—you should have seen Little Georgie's face when he saw him—he was so frightened—Bella and I couldn't stop laughing!"

"You shouldn't tease your brother," Emma reminded, patting his head again gently, and standing to her full height, "I do hope you all have fun," she offered with a weak smile to the room at large—finally seeing John and little Bella and both Georges, one she looked past not wishing to take in his face and the other she watched squawking and struggling against his father as he helped him put on his coat—albit against the little boy's wishes.

He stopped her in the hallway between their room and the room where Isabella spent her days in bed. It was only her and Baby Emma at her hip, who were in proximity near enough to hear him.

"If we are at odds that is one thing but do not make the children feel it by keeping yourself removed from their company, or at least do not sequester yourself away on my account." He told her, his hand at her elbow but not in any fashion more than an action to bid her stay while he spoke.

"That you think I would is rather telling of your opinion of me," she told him, "I had actually wondered about staying on in London an extra week to be with my sister. The doctor will allow her light walking out of doors next week and I would wish to be here to support her and keep her company. Would you permit me that?" she asked.

"Of course, anything," he told her, and she fought back the wince.

"Then I am pleased," she said, almost an unintended impression of the Cole's eldest daughter who always seemed, to Emma at least, nine parts false for every one part sincerity. At present, she hated the hollowness of her own tone and felt it almost belonged to another person entirely.

"But I surmise it will not change the fact that you will not be joining us on today's excursion," he said flatly.

"That is correct, it is as I told Henry, I intend to spend time with my sister," she repeated before moving to glide by him to continue her journey to Isabella's bedside.


It the remaining day and a half of George's stay dragged on, then it was also true that the extra week he had conceded to dashed by at a rapid pace.

Isabella had been enjoying the last few days so much, they had visited and walked to each of her favourite parks and Emma even delighted Henry by witnessing the giant swan.

Emma had the privilege of meeting Isabella's friend, Mary Musgrove and her sister in law Henrietta—who had called on her, they were visiting London from Uppercross in Somerset and Isabella for the first time since Emma arrival received other company.

Their visit had been altogether entertaining as Mary and Isabella had a similar personality and seemed very content to trade stories on the topics of household sicknesses, precautions for avoiding illness, the most current information on the bringing up of children and the things mothers often missed out upon. Mary for her part was relieved to be visiting and having the afternoon away from her own busy family.

It seemed as if Emma's first week in London had been mundane and the second filled with variety and entertainment. It felt if nothing else that it was over too quickly. For no sooner had she gotten used to the empty sound of her own quiet room and sleeping alone, and then she was packing an readying herself for her trip back to Highbury— to Donwell and whatever it held for her.

Returning to Donwell felt effortless in its own right, as it the very place was an old friend welcoming her home. Her oldest friend seemed almost unfazed by her return from the week of absence and he was only at Donwell for a single day when she returned but he seemed unchanged as if they hadn't had a fight in London the week before.

He behaved so naturally that she didn't even think it was purposeful aversion when he was called away to Leighton Hall the day after her return. It was then that she took time to herself and after quickly realizing that she had had enough of her own company –put effort into connecting with her Highbury friends, Harriet first and then the effusive Ms. Bates, and Ms. Bates there was certainly more to say, for Ms. Bates herself had had far more to say than Harriet had. Harriet had helped with a Sunday school picnic but beyond that had little to report, but she was glad to see Emma returned and gladly accepted her invite to take tea at Donwell later in the week.

Ms. Bates was of even at a higher level of zeal and superfluousness—it would seem this was brought on by gratitude, or so Emma would come to find out.

"All of Highbury is overjoyed to have you back Emma," she promised, "oh and dear Mr. Knightley has been so kind to us these recent weeks as well—Oh and not that he isn't always kind but rather that his kindness, while you both were away in London, is far greater than we could have asked or even deserved. Truly far greater! He had seen to it, in advance even—he has such a presence of mind and is ever the gentleman. He had seen to it in advance that a Donwell carriage would bring us to the supper at the Allan's. Oh, and what a kind man your husband is for he said it this way exactly—he said that while you both were away in London, you would have no need for your carriage that evening " she told her. "Oh, and the wisdom and foresight he had, for it had rained all day and well into the evening—Mama was ill and alas I could not attend with Jane. But it was your carriage that allowed Jane to attend the supper party and what a kind thing for she is rather serious by nature and it is so important that young ladies have a chance to enjoy things like dinner parties. And to think of it because of Mr. Knightley's foresight she was able to attend without a drop of rain—not a single drop she said! It was such a kindness! Again far greater a kindness than we ever could have deserved but we were so grateful and Jane certainly enjoyed the evening with her friend Eliza, and I suppose it is like any relation but I always feel especially touched when a kindness is paid to a loved one, perhaps more than if the same kindness paid to me directly. We are grateful, so very grateful. "

"And Jane—oh if you don't mind me saying so—she did look so lovely and her dresses I know are not the latest style but she has such a lovely face and her expression is always so soft and genuine, she is such a darling girl our Jane—"

The testimony of Jane's look, personality and comportment railed on for far longer than Emma would have wished, followed by a retelling of the supper at the Allan's and the conversations Jane had taken part in, the menu and the decorations and then more superfluous thanks for the use of a Donwell carriage that permitted Jane to enjoy such a party.

It seemed that her gratitude overpowered any other sort of news from the town and Emma determined that she would wait until the next visit before enquiring after what she had missed while she was away.

It was late that evening when he did return to Donwell, supper was long over and the fire had long been left to crack and wane.

"I'm sorry for the delay," he told her.

She nodded and waived it off cordially, he had sent a rider with a message to the same effect—suggesting that she and the household not wait up—he would deal with his own horse if it came to it.

She noted that he looked tired.

"Are you alright?" he asked. The room was dim but she was quite certain he was removing his boots as he asked it.

"Yes, fine, thank you," she told him –but they weren't really.

For how could they be?

But they weren't any different either—for what had changed?

Not the circumstance—merely her awareness of how things really were. She had been ignorant of what was apparently their reality and he could not be blamed for that.

"Alright," he offered sounding somewhat unconvinced and she wondered to herself when she had become so good at reading him—or maybe she was full of her own self-aggrandized thoughts and all her estimations were, in fact, wild miscalculations. Yes, she remembered that feeling well—feeling so capable of arithmetic only to see the results after the sheet was scored and learning that believed answers were just that, miscalculations.

"It was a nice thing you did for the Bates, lending your carriage," she told him, if they were to be normal then she would have to be normal—silence was not her normal.

"Yes, Ms. Bates has not stopped thanking me, I'm almost regretful for the thanks and fanfare it has brought –but we were away and certainly not to be using it, it seemed the best things to offer it to their service for the evening. "

"I plan to visit Mrs. Weston tomorrow, our standing invitation to tea," she reminded him.

"I'm called back to Leighton as the matter was not fully resolved, I should not be near so long, perhaps early afternoon," he explained.

"Very well," she agreed,


Hello all, I wanted to make this chapter twice as long but realized it would likely take me another week to produce that and many have asked that my updates be a little faster. I love writing this story and I do plan to finish it. Any feedback is greatly appreciated.

Question time!

Tell me what you want to see happen in this story :) Tell me what parts you like best about Emma the book- like if you wanted to see one thing from the original plot in this story what would you want to see?

Thanks!