All settled down, and four out of the five were, as Mr Howard had
predicted, truly comfortable. Elizabeth had two causes of disquiet.
Firstly, she was in a house of strangers, where even more alarming
strangers might be announced at any hour. Secondly, she was not at
home, and had good reason from past experience to doubt whether Mr
Watson and his daughter Margaret could, or would, dine together
with any degree of comfort, the more so as she feared that the
dinner prepared without her supervision would not conduce to their
good-humour. However, no one was announced; a pleasant visit was
paid to the nursery; dinner, despite the vicinity of Osborne Castle,
was at an hour no later than that to which they were accustomed, and
afterwards, when they were settled in the parlour, helping Mrs Blake
to make small silk bags, which Mr Howard and Charles filled with
pot-pourri, she felt almost at her ease.
Charles enquired of his uncle as to how long the storm would last, and
on being answered seemed for once to doubt Mr Howard’s judgment, having
for his own opinion that the storm might well last a week, and that
it would be so pleasant to keep the Miss Watsons. Turning to Emma he
demanded:
“Would it not be delightful?”
Emma hesitated, and was saved from further confusion by Mrs Blake
saying:
“We will keep them as long as we can, Charles.”
Elizabeth, having gained some degree of confidence, felt the need
of establishing it, and was beginning to fix it on her mind that no
one could call in such weather, when a loud knock at the door made
her certain of the worst. But no denizen of the Castle followed the
maid-servant, who brought only a note for Mr Howard. After glancing at
it, he promptly sat down to the writing-table, wrote, folded and sealed
a letter, and handed it to the maid. Then, turning to the party, he
said:
“A note from Lady Osborne to invite, or shall I say require, my
presence this evening to make up her card-table. I have declined.”
“How glad I am!” cried his sister. “Such a night to ask you out,
though only across the park! But the Miss Watsons’ company affords a
sufficient apology even to Lady Osborne.”
“It is a sufficient one to myself,” said Mr Howard.
“We hear virtue has its own reward,” said Emma, “and your hospitality
to us is now repaid in kind. You would not let us encounter the snow,
and it is but just that you should be spared yourself.”
“Well, Edward, I should be glad if you had a living in the next county;
for you must know, Miss Watson, that the Castle is too near for our
convenience. We are under obligations which neither party can forget,
and Edward is compelled to sacrifice a great deal of time to the whims
of the great lady. You have no idea how exacting she is, and if my
brother were not one of the best-tempered of men, we never could go on
as well as we do.”
Here was food for wonder to Elizabeth. The Osbornes, though noble,
were not perfect; the Howards, with their good house, income, and
connections, had like others their own grievances, and cherished those
hopes of improving their lot which form the principal charm of life to
more than half the world.
“You must remember,” said Mr Howard, “that Lady Osborne presented me to
the living, and certainly means kindly.”
“That is quite the right thing for you to say, but neither gallantry
nor gratitude have the same claim on me. She certainly means kindly--to
herself--and to others when it is convenient.”
“No, you cannot mean what you say.”
“Indeed I do,” replied she smiling. “Does she suppose you altogether
indifferent to cold, and pleased to encounter such a storm?”
“If we were fifty miles from the Castle, Clara, you would then notice
the inconvenience we should suffer from the loss of many comforts which
it affords us, as you now notice the inconvenience of being distant
only half a mile.”
“We might not have so much game; Miss Osborne would not give me
flowers; we should not go to assemblies in their coach. On the other
hand, I should not be so plagued by our best maid marrying their groom
next month, because the ‘Osborne Arms’ will then be vacant. Nor would
the laundress tell me, when I complain of her clear starching, that
she had always helped in my Lady’s laundry, and the housekeeper had
been perfectly satisfied. And then we should not have to decipher her
ladyship’s handwriting, which is a labour itself.”
“Does Lady Osborne write so often?” enquired Elizabeth.
“She finds occasion to write to my brother several times a week,”
replied Mrs Blake, “and the messages and good advice for me are
included--but it is of the quality of her handwriting that I complain.
It is hardly to be separated one word from another. I was surprised at
the ease with which Edward read this last note.”
Mr Howard explained that having captured the words “card-table” and
“this evening,” the rest had been simple.
“Perhaps,” hazarded Emma, “Lady Osborne has the gout in her fingers. I
have heard that many old people are so afflicted, and I knew one old
lady----”
Emma never gained for her old acquaintance the sympathy of the
Parsonage parlour, for Mrs Blake was laughing with her hand to her
side, Mr Howard joined in, and Elizabeth laughed too, without in the
least knowing why. Charles only was silent and puzzled. Mrs Blake
controlled herself.
“No, no, Miss Emma, gout and old age will not do at all.”
“But,” Charles asserted, “she is an old lady. She has a big son.”
“Lord Osborne is not very big, Charles,” said his mother with a smile.
“Indeed, I think Lord Osborne a very fine young man, and I am sure Emma
does too. Do you not Emma?” interposed Elizabeth, who had only half
understood what was going on, but who could not hear Lord Osborne’s
name without recalling his admiration for Emma.
Mr Howard gave Emma an enquiring glance, and thereafter there was a
certain coldness and restraint in his manner of addressing her which
puzzled and rather vexed her. It was not, however, shaken off during
the rest of the evening, and only lessened by his being persuaded to
read aloud to them. In this manner the remainder of the evening was
spent.