I apologise for the long wait in between updates. Sorry everyone! I've been so busy, what with schoolwork and other stuff, for lack of a better word. Also I've been sick. Oh well. I'm happy everyone is enjoying this. )

- - -

Emma had no wish to speak to either Miss Taylor or her father by the time she set foot in the hallways of Hartfield, being so out of spirits for reasons she could not unearth, and having no desire to do so at the moment as to make the ordeal a rather hopeless, droll matter that seemed impossible to fix. Emma could retreat to her room to mull over everything that had happened to make her easy life suddenly so very complicated. How strange it would have been, to have looked two months ago and seen the future! To learn of Mr. Knightley's position on the brink of marriage, to have to correspond with Miss Purkey like a kind of sister-in-law to-be; it was altogether the most infuriating task there was! However, Mr. Knightley himself, in Emma's own defense, had been exceedingly mystifying. Being on the brink of matrimony, as mentioned, would it not be common to show even the slightest fathom of pride or happiness? She could not bear his mysterious behaviour. Emma had half a mind to confront him about it.

It so happened that soon after arriving home, Emma was enlightened, by Mr. Woodhouse, of her upcoming birth-day. All of the events that had postponed any thoughts of the kind were put out of Emma's head, and she dwelt on the subject of her birth-day for some time, until Miss Taylor knocked on her bedroom door and called her down to supper. She was in a flurry of spirits, and asked her father if she may have a ball at Hartfield. It was not unexpected that he said yes, and such a hearty yes it was, that Emma began thinking up preparations as soon as she began to eat.

She was endlessly thankful that Miss Taylor had the mindset not to disturb her thoughts by transferring them to afore-mentioned circumstances. A ball was just the thing to keep herself from thinking about the horrendous business of Miss Purkey.

- - -

It was around midday when Emma came across Miss Bates on her afternoon walk. The meeting would have been avoided altogether if Emma had any foresight on the matter; and though the circumstance was extraordinarily unwelcome (for Emma, with indignation, had not forgotten the comment Miss Bates had made only one day prior) she had come to grip with her spirits in well enough time to cry out a hello and try to move onward. Miss Bates, with the uncanny excitement of a bright-eyed youngster, would not have it; and impeding Emma's way with a good-natured smile and well-placed boot, made them fall in sync with each other and begin talking.

It is not to be misjudged that poor Emma, in such doleful spirits, bore any unkindness towards such a caring friend, but with Miss Bates came the restoration of Miss Purkey; and such a sensitive, dreadful subject was one that must be avoided on afternoon walks, as it will only lessen the pleasure of exercise. At least in Emma's mind it must have felt so; and being relatively free of the subject altogether, it was a kind of failure to be thinking about the insufferable woman when her mind had so long forbade it. However, it became clear in a manner of minutes that Miss Bates was not so in tune to empathy, or so uneager to beat around the bush, that she did not fail to mention Miss Purkey to her fair companion. It was brought up immediately, and Emma walked some ways in horrified silence before realising the value of gossip.

As it had been Emma's primary goal, from the beginning, to identify Miss Purkey's true character; and Miss Bates had the utmost knowledge, besides Mr. Knightley and the lady herself; would it not hurt to pry a little into her friend's mind? She would ask questions, and they would be answered; thus ascertaining her beliefs and solidifying them into unbiased truth.

Using a slight pause in Miss Bates's hurried speech to her advantage, Emma said, 'Pray, Miss Bates, I did not meet long with Miss Purkey as to ask her of her acquaintance with Mr. Knightley! How did they come to meet?'

'I would like to say it was completely like any other meeting, my dear Miss Woodhouse – but no; it was the most romantic thing ever! I dare say it has all been in our imaginations to meet a man (and such a man!) in a truly charming way. The story - according to Mother's friends - goes that at a ball some five or six years ago, Miss Purkey had been all alone in one of the corners, you know – quite a shy girl, dreadfully frightened of large crowds. She had been invited as family of the militia quartered there, and did not know a single soul. Poor thing! But she was immediately helped onto the dance floor by Mr. Knightley, whose chivalry, certainly Miss Woodhouse,' smiling at Emma, 'has not been lost on you.'

Emma laughed at Miss Bates's humble sincerity. 'Dear Miss Bates, surely you have read many more romantic entanglements than that! Mr. Knightley, surely, has a kind of gentility wanted in most men; but surely, Miss Bates,' now looking rather scornful, 'it does not warrant the promise of a romantic elopement of some sort!'

'Of course, my dear Miss Woodhouse, you would think such a thing!' cried Miss Bates in hearty enthusiasm. 'But you have heard but half the story.'

Emma blanched. 'Oh.'

Miss Bates, oblivious to Emma's discomfort, continued, 'They had been dancing three dances – three, Miss Woodhouse! Mr. Knightley was quite intent on his pretty partner! – when Miss Purkey tripped and turned her ankle. Mr. Knightley immediately went to her side and offered his arm; and when the poor creature could not move for pain, and he saw the stricken white of her face, he picked her up, just like that, and carried her home!'

Miss Bates looked positively exhilarated from the story, as if she had been dancing with Mr. Knightley herself, and it was this, along with everything else, that ground Emma's wilting nerves. 'How kind of him,' said she.

'Oh, indeed, but it was past kindness, Miss Woodhouse!' cried Miss Bates. 'Her two brothers offered to carry her, but Mr. Knightley would not have it. He was determined to carry her himself!'

Emma nodded, and in grasping the subject of her two brothers, said, 'What are the names of her brothers?'

Miss Bates frowned in thought. 'I believe the elder is William, and the younger James.'

Emma nodded again. 'I heard that her father had died and left her an estate.' She could not say this without a trace of suspicion that went unnoticed by Miss Bates. 'How very lucky of her.'

'Yes, she was the favourite out of all her brothers, and her father was always against the modern way and the idea of entailment. Quite a sophisticated man, very loving, and had the biggest heart in all of England! I had always wanted to meet him, but he was very sick, and died many years ago.'

'I was sorry to hear of it,' said Emma truthfully. 'I do not know what I would do if my father died. I would be heartbroken.'

'To be sure,' said Miss Bates, smiling sympathetically, 'any young woman would be dreadfully sorry to lose such an important figure in their life! Though it is only the thought of being alone which brings the long-term suffering, I am sure. You and Miss Purkey have such friends that it is impossible to see either of you without love, and especially you, Miss Woodhouse, even if your father passed away this very day.'

Emma had been listening to her words intently, and when Miss Bates finished, Emma was in no doubt that it was one of the most intelligent things she had ever said.

'Well,' said Emma, feeling much more respect for the lady, 'I pray that does not happen for a long time yet.'

- - -

Emma came back to the house in strange spirits; she was neither happy nor depressed, and could not think but for a few seconds at a time about something other than Mr. Knightley. The story Miss Bates told about Miss Purkey was more than Emma could bear. Any woman would fall hard in love with such charming gentility. Could she really blame Miss Purkey for feeling the need to know him better? Marry him, perhaps, even with his mystifying indifference? Miss Bates had been correct in saying that all women wanted that kind of fairytale beginning, whether it was practical or not. The only question that remained was whether or not Mr. Knightley reciprocated her amorous feelings. If she could only get that question answered, all would be solved.

She went into the house only to find Mr. Knightley had called on her father and that they were enjoying a glass of fine wine. He gave her his usual smile and she blushed, as if afraid he had been reading her thoughts.

'Won't you sit, Emma?' said Mr. Woodhouse. 'I do so enjoy your company, and Mr. Knightley and I were just starting to play a game of whist.'

Emma, who was in the process of going up the stairs, stopped and turned around, making her way towards the two men. 'Of course, Papa, but you know how much I despise whist.'

Mr. Knightley laughed. Her father said, 'My dear! You despise whist! I did not know!'

'Oh, Papa,' said Emma, 'I have hated it ever since Mr. Knightley won against me.'

'You are afraid I just might be superior in something,' said Mr. Knightley. 'You are a silly girl. Why not play now?'

Emma replied, 'Because you will beat me, and I cannot bear to lose.'

He smiled, amused. 'Mr. Woodhouse,' said he, turning his attention to her patient father, 'since your lovely daughter will not find it in her courage to play against us, I say we start the game and see how much she is missing out on.'

Mr. Woodhouse looked at his daughter. 'I hope you shall not feel left out, my dear.'

Emma smiled and shook her head. 'Enjoy yourself, Papa, by all means.'

It was not long before Mr. Woodhouse had quite enough of cards and wine. He declared himself to be excessively tired, thanked Mr. Knightley for the game, told Emma to put on a warmer shawl (despite her assurance she was quite fine), and left the room. The clock charmed and Emma, after sitting with Mr. Knightley in awkward silence for nearly a minute, rose from her seat.

'If you'll excuse me, Mr. Knightley –' she began, and before he could say a word, she left the room.

- - -

The rest of the evening seemed rather drab, and Emma mourned over the loss of the sunshine, as she would have welcomed another walk (though perhaps solitary instead); it was mostly because she was self-exiled and confined to her quarters, because of Mr. Knightley's presence, and would have nothing to do with him. The sight of him was driving her mad, as was his innocent indifference to that irking matter at hand. She both longed and dreaded the moment when he would finally tell her, once and for all, what his feelings were towards Miss Purkey. Emma knew that she did not quite have enough courage to ask him yet, and even though her boredom was excessive, she would rather sit and wait then have to confront.

However, not for the world could Emma keep all of these bothersome feelings to herself; so when Miss Taylor came into her room to take the clothes for laundering, Emma bade her to stay.

'I have to ask your opinion on something,' said Emma very secretively. 'I suppose you remember yesterday's events? I was about to tell you what was bothering me, and Mr. Knightley came upon us and embarrassed me. I am sure you remember that, at least,' she added, blushing; 'you must have thought something was very wrong if I could not confront Mr. Knightley about it.'

'I confess,' admitted Miss Taylor, 'I suspected something was very wrong indeed. You were in tears, my dear! Not since you were a small child had I seen you so upset.'

Emma nodded her head in agreement, her cheeks coloured silently. 'Well, it is all the more reason to tell you – you have always been my faithful friend and mentor. I suppose,' she began slowly, 'I suppose that I'm feeling rather angry, flustered, and confused. You do know,' said Emma quickly, as if a thought had just sprung out of midair, 'that Mr. Knightley was – though it is uncertain whether he still is – planning to marry?'

Miss Taylor looked shocked, but before she could say anything, Emma cried, 'It is so terribly stupid, when I think about it! But I loathe her so much!'

'Who, Emma?'

'The lady Mr. Knightley is to marry, of course!' cried Emma in great agitation. 'She's so horrid, I can hardly stand her! Though I must like her, because Mr. Knightley obviously does, and my father and my sister talk of her as if she were a deity! I quite detest the way they talk. She's such a sickly creature, stringy red hair all in knots, and a blotted face with little character, and she calls Mr. Knightley George! George, Miss Taylor! And she sends me letters!' Emma added, rushing to her writing desk and pulling out the latest one she had not yet found the time to burn. Miss Taylor looked at it.

'What is so wrong with her writing letters to you?' she asked quietly.

Emma brandished the letter violently. 'Have you read the letters, Miss Taylor? They are filled with rubbish, absolute nonsense, and she insists that I write her back!'

'Do you?'

'Of course I do!' cried Emma. 'It is the only proper thing to do! If I should not, she may think I dislike her!'

Miss Taylor could not help but laugh at such ludicrousness.

Emma looked sternly at her governess. 'I will not have her thinking I am vulgar and crass.'

They were both silent. Finally, Miss Taylor spoke:

'Do you want to know my opinion, little Emma?' said she, coming over to her agitated friend and smoothing down her hair. Emma nodded. 'Here it is. I do not see anything about this lady that should make you so angry, though I understand that you may be apt to see faults in her more than I, as I have not yet met her. However,' she continued thoughtfully, 'I do believe that what you are describing is jealousy.'

'I am hardly jealous,' said Emma indignantly, as though offended at the thought, 'because I am not being selfish. I am doing this all because Mr. Knightley deserves better.'

'You have been the only young woman in his life for as long as you can remember. It must be disconcerting, at the very least, to have someone else claiming his affections.'

Emma could not tell Miss Taylor that she was right; her young pride and her stubbornness would not allow it. And it was soon clear that she was much too concerned with the state of her feelings and the messages of her heart to give her governess the satisfaction of being correct in her assumptions. She supposed that because Miss Purkey was who she was, she had never a chance for Emma's affections, having them already lost in the rage of jealousy that enveloped Emma whenever she saw them together (or, even later, when she just heard the lady's name). Despite this revelation, Emma could not like Miss Purkey, even if she had, by Miss Taylor's standards, done no wrong.

By Emma's silence Miss Taylor knew herself heard, and she left the bedroom with the clothes before Emma could defend herself.