Cousin Prudence Read online

  “You shall eat as you are accustomed, Miss Blenkinsop,” said George, “a heavier evening meal as we your cousins eat, or fruit if you wish something lighter; I think you are not keen on gruel?”

  “I cannot consider it in any way a benefit to the digestion unless one is an invalid,” said Prudence in relief that she was not to be made to eat the stuff. “I shall fall in, Cousin George, with the habit you and Cousin Emma pursue.”

  This was a substantial meal of stuffed baked trout, removed with a ham, rabbit stew, a ragout of seasonal vegetables, brawn and concluded with baked apples, the apples being the last of those laid down over the winter and not good enough, as Emma said, to eat any other way. The household did not eat such extensive meals as many, for the very sight of too much rich food could move Mr Woodhouse to feel upset by it; but there was plenty, and plenty of bread too. Prudence was hungry and did justice to her meal. She also defiantly used the correct cutlery.

  Mr Woodhouse was moved to hope that feasting too extensively would not prove ill for an empty stomach; and Prudence counted to ten in realising that he accounted her half starved, not merely several hours fasting since her last meal. It was an insult to her father; but she swallowed her indignation.

  It had been apparent throughout the meal, when Mr Woodhouse was moved to join conversation on one thing or another that he was singularly ill informed in so many respects that it was most charitable to regard him as afflicted and to be tolerant accordingly.

  Chapter 5

  Mr Woodhouse was amazed how quickly poor Prudence learned to fit in with a respectable family. He credited Emma with the ability to teach the poor girl to speak and behave. After all did not poor Emma always seem to be helping others out?

  Prudence found Mr Woodhouse trying but was kind to him and escaped conversation with him as often as possible. She and Emma spent many delightful hours poring over fashion plates and planning their visit to London.

  “We can’t be expected to make a big splash of course,” said Emma, “because for one thing, John and Isabella don’t have the sort of house that includes a ballroom so if we have a ball for you we shall have to hire some room; and we won’t be meeting any of what you might term society; but there are plenty of people we might meet and introduce you to without getting involved with any of the vulgarian set. We might hope to introduce you to enough people, who know people, to get you introduced to some of the more prestigious entertainments; and there will be theatre trips of course, and riding in Hyde Park or walking in St James’ park where we may hope that you attract the notice of such young men as will beg their mamas to invite you to their own entertainments. Though we must hope for some tall ones,” she said doubtfully. Prudence laughed.

  “It is a sad affliction being such a Long Meg, I do assure you!” she said “I am as tall as my father – he’s well built, they call him ‘Bull’ Blenkinsop for being built like a bull, and when he’s angered he lowers his head in the manner of a bullock about to charge. I can see it does not come from my mother’s side of the family; I wish I truly remembered her, for all I recall is a lovely smile. Your smile recalls her to me, dear Emma.”

  Emma kissed her cousin affectionately.

  “We are in similar case, Pru, in such lack of memories of our mothers,” she said, “but oh! What a lovely thing to say, that I should recall her to you! I have always thought that I resemble my mother the most!”

  “There is enough then of your father’s side of the family in you,” said Prudence, “and you have enough beauty for a host of families! You are very beautiful, I think you will not lack people wanting to dance with YOU in London”

  “I do like to dance,” said Emma, “but I like most to dance with Mr Knightley,” she flushed slightly. Dancing with George was always a great thrill to her, even though they had been married some months!

  The decorative nature of the caller who arrived next day had all the maids finding an excuse to pass the study where he had been placed in order to peer at him and giggle flirtatiously. Emma tripped downstairs in response to being brought word that a young gentleman was here to see a young lady. He did not appear to know the name of the young lady he wished to see, so, said the maid, Jennifer, whom Cowley had sent to find Mrs Emma.

  Emma tripped into the study.

  “Good morning,” she said, “I have been told you are come visiting; I am Mrs Knightley; how may I help you?”

  The young gentleman was very young; not, Emma fancied, even into his twenties and he was indeed, as Jennifer had whispered, a very beautiful young man indeed. His hair was dark and curled thickly off his forehead and he had a delicate cast to his features with eyelashes any woman might envy. He was also possessed of a good pair of shoulders despite the slenderness of youth and muscular calves; which suited the Corinthian style to which he appeared to aspire.

  He blushed as he rose, thrusting out a hand.

  “Oh, Mrs Knightley; I am Arthur Alver; I fear it was not you that I came to see…though I am most awfully pleased to have met you of course; only it is about an apology that I was to make in writing and that I wrote to a Miss Somebody whose name quite escapes me because my puppy ate it after I had written it, and as I had written her name down, I had not therefore committed it to memory.”

  Emma vowed to the end of her life that she did not quite know how she had the fortitude to manage not to laugh out loud at such a very puppy-like youth who turned big brown soulful eyes on her as though asking for a caress when he expected a whipping.

  “I expect you may mean Miss Blenkinsop,” she said.

  He brightened.

  “Why indeed yes! That was the name. Do you think now I am here she will be satisfied with a spoken apology? My Uncle Gervase was most particular that she wished a written one but because of Flurry – he’s a black springer spaniel you know – it’s sort of gone.”

  “I am almost certain that my Cousin Prudence will be more than happy to accept you apology in person,” said Emma hoping that Pru would do so. “You will be the young gentleman whose coach had an unfortunate affinity for hers on the road, I assume?”

  “I nicked her chaise with the wheel of my phaeton,” said Mr Alver mournfully, “and my own wheel came off later. It was shockingly bad driving and Uncle Gervase has told me so very thoroughly. I did not know until he told me that I had tipped her into the ditch.”

  “Well I shall go and find her and you shall tell her yourself,” said Emma, escaping.

  Prudence watched Emma bury herself in a cushion in the drawing room where they had been congenially occupied in sewing to dissolve into whoops of mirth.

  Presently Emma emerged and managed to explain.

  Prudence rarely remained angry for long over any matter; and she too was able to chuckle at Emma’s description.

  “He sounds as though his uncle should not let him out without leading reins!” she said. “Well I shall go to the poor young man and put him out of his misery; you had better accompany me, dear Emma, as a chaperone.”

  Emma was nothing loath; the situation had some hilarity to it yet.

  The Honourable Mr Arthur Alver, having got over the shock of how tall Miss Blenkinsop was, managed to stumble through his apology and his explanation over why there was no written apology.

  “Very well, Mr Alver,” said Prudence, “as I understand your uncle has said all that is proper on learning to drive properly we shall say no more about it.”

  “By jove the most splendid thing has come out of it though!” said Arthur, “because Uncle Gervase is teaching me all sorts of tricks to help me drive better; and he’s a famous whip you know, one of the sans pareils amongst the Corinthian set!”

  “Hmm, well, I might have wished he had done so sooner, but better late than never,” said Prudence. “I admit that I can perceive the thrill of speed; it must be very exhilarating.”

  Mr Alver waxed enthusiastic; and Emma ended up inviting him to take pot luck with them for dinner.

  Mr Alver accepted with enthusi
asm.

  “For,” he said, “I had not hoped to bespeak a decent meal in any inn by this time and it will be too late to turn out the servants to cook at Alver House if I push on to London but with a meal under my belt I shall feel quite sanguine about riding on into town, for even with any delay it can be no more than two hours away.”

  “It is sixteen miles; a good horse should make that in two hours without unduly tiring your mount,” said Emma.

  George raised an eyebrow over their youthful guest and his obvious – to him – sudden and violent infatuation with Emma. Emma had not noticed. George always found it amusing that such a romantic and would-be matchmaker as his darling Emma was yet so incapable of noticing the romantic fervour of others!

  Once Arthur had rode on his way, promising to look out for the family during the season, Mr Woodhouse drew Prudence aside and asked,

  “What do you know of this young man, dear Prudence?”

  “Why uncle Henry, beside that he tipped me into a ditch – he had come here solely to apologise you know - I know nothing save that he is the nephew of an obnoxiously arrogant man called Alverston who did at least leave his groom to render Joseph assistance in removing my chaise from the ditch,” she said.

  “And this Mr Alverston would not wait and assist you himself?” asked Mr Woodhouse indignantly.

  “So I too thought odd, though apparently this young Mr Alver was on his way to do something foolish which Alverston – and I am given to understand by his groom that it is Lord, not Mr – wished to stop him doing,” said Prudence, “one has to assume that any man must put family first I suppose. I do not know all the facts so I suppose I should not judge; bar that I found his manner overbearing” she added.

  “Lord Alverston?” Mr Woodhouse was impressed despite himself. “well to have wrung an apology from the nephew of a lord is quite something, my dear Prudence; my felicitations!”

  “Why should I not have?” said Prudence tartly, “he was at fault. He is a silly boy, this Mr Alver, but amiable enough. It is plain however that he goes in lively fear of his uncle; which strikes me as poor spirited.”

  “Not an accusation which may be levelled at you, my dear cousin” murmured George.

  Prudence beamed at him. Cousin George was a good man; he could check her impetuosity and spirited outbursts as her dear papa checked her, without being offensive about it. He was worthy of her beautiful and wonderful cousin Emma!

  Chapter 6

  Prudence had been there only a few days, but Emma thought blissfully it was as though she had always been there as a little sister.

  “I would so have liked a little sister,” she confided to George, “and when I was the silly girl who made so many blunders, it would have been to guide her and arrange her life for her. But Pru is the little sister I never had and she truly is a friend in the same way as my dear Mrs Weston was when she was my governess; someone to talk to and speak of those things one does not confide to a gentleman, be he the dearest gentleman on earth,” at which she smiled coquettishly up at her husband, who kissed her tenderly.

  “I quite understand, my dearest Emma,” he said, “that Prudence has turned out to have as lively a mind as yourself, means that you do not find her as… tedious as some might be. Though I fear you would come close to pulling caps if the pair of you disagreed!”

  Emma laughed.

  “Oh Prudence is so convivial and open that we have even discussed that; and she has told me that to fall out in the idiom of Yorkshire is to ‘fratch’; it is such an ugly word, and so appropriate for an ugly display of disharmony! We have sworn that if we start to fight, one of us is to say that ugly word and it will then bring us to our senses. Is that not a good idea?”

  “Admirable,” said Mr Knightley, “Providing one of you manages to remember to say it to pull yourselves up short; perhaps I should undertake to use the word if a situation arises that both of you are so incensed that you both forget.”

  Emma cried out in delight.

  “Why George! How very clever you are!” she said “Though I am almost sure we shall not need you to do so, yet it is an admirable solution should we be too consumed by our own visions to recall our vow!”

  George was perhaps less optimistic than Emma over how often he might be required to intercede once the lustre of novelty had worn off having a cousin; but he merely smiled. Sometimes with Emma it was better that some things were left unsaid.

  When Emma’s sister and brother-in-law and their five offspring arrived, well accoutred with the necessary nursery maids and luggage, Emma felt that her life was at a pinnacle. Their journey had been somewhat prolonged since the rain had been falling again and the carriage must make its laborious way through mud and potholes, for the Weald Clay on which Highbury stood made for a heavy and glutinous mud that clung tenaciously to the wheels. Isabella looked tired and the children were fretful as the nursery maids whisked them away; but Emma was just delighted that they had all arrived safely for this was one of the highlights of life for her.

  She had all her family around her and she might have the ordering of their every comfort.

  This for Isabella was to lie down with hartshorn to restore her after the journey, and for John to be encouraged to speak of his doings in London and Emma only had cause to frown at him when it became obvious that he meant to tease poor papa over his misapprehensions about Prudence.

  This was in response to Henry Woodhouse singing the praises of Emma as a teacher and poor Prudence as an apt pupil.

  John sighed and once Emma had diverted her father with a question about whether he felt able to have a dinner party and invite the Westons – which would occupy him in much debate – John Knightley said, in a low voice, to Prudence,

  “You are very patient with Mr Woodhouse; thank you my dear Cousin Prudence for your forbearance! It must have been very trying at times!”

  Prudence smiled.

  “Indeed – I am to call you Cousin John? – indeed Cousin John it has been a trifle wearing at times. I was much angered at first, perceiving it as an insult to my own dear papa who has seen that I want for nothing; but I have come to realise that Uncle Henry means well although he may not be superior in understanding.”

  “You are a kind girl and a credit to your father,” said John. “Isabella was much upset at first by the way in which our dear papa wrote but George came to explain the whole and she looks forward to meeting you properly. She becomes very fatigued by a journey; but I wish you will take her out of herself. Your Uncle is inclined to foster a belief in her that she is more an invalid than is in fact the case, as you will see for yourself so I am not indiscreet.”

  Prudence nodded.

  “Why I shall hope that she may wish to see the watercolour sketches of flowers I have made in Yorkshire; many I thought common I have not yet seen here in the walks I have been on so far with Emma; though I have seen here flowers I have never seen before though Emma designates them common weeds. I am far from being a botanist, but papa has always encouraged me to draw and to design; so that I may feel I have some part of the mill in submitting designs to print onto the cloth.”

  “Surely your father does not expect you to work at the mill?” John was shocked.

  “Oh! No” said Prudence, “but if my designs are good, then it is a shame to waste my talents, is it not? Naturally when he submits them to the block cutters he does not tell them that they have been executed by a woman. My art is anonymous but it makes me feel very accomplished to see a design of mine on a bolt of cloth for sale.”

  Isabella arose presently that Prudence might be properly presented to her; and kissed her fondly with a wish to inspect her watercolours that very evening.

  “It is a strange yet fascinating thing that flowers in different parts of the country should be different!” she marvelled. “Is there much else that you find different to Yorkshire here in Highbury?”

  Prudence considered.

  “The voices and speech of the servants are different; f
ortunately the way in which my Governess spoke and taught me to speak is very little different to the way people speak locally here. Also it is a much less hilly scenery; and there are more cattle and crops in the fields by what little I have seen rather than sheep as are most common in Yorkshire.”

  Prudence decided not to bother to tell Isabella that wool was still spun and woven as well as cotton though it required subtle differences to the looms for optimising one fibre or the other. She did not think Isabella would be interested and would, moreover, not be comfortable with any references to the source of Prudence’s wealth.

  Emma, despite her youthful snobbery, had been quite fascinated.

  Isabella was still fatigued and Emma suggested that she and Prudence might borrow the oldest John Knightley children and take them for a walk. There was a watery sun struggling from behind the clouds that had blanketed the skies for so many days, when it had not been foggy, and though the ground was wet, Emma promised to keep to well founded paths and roads where pounded chalk had been added to the paths to combat the sticky mud somewhat.

  Isabella readily gave permission; for their Aunt Emma was a prime favourite with the small Knightleys. The nursery maids duly relinquished young Henry, now almost eight, as he declared self-importantly – the almost was a matter of opinion – and little John, a couple of years his brother’s junior and happy to answer to being five.

  Emma promised a bedtime story to Bella who was inclined to become stormy that she was not invited on a walk – the sort of walk that would satisfy her brothers being too fatiguing for a mite not yet four – and they set off across the fields towards the village.

  “You must meet everyone eventually my dear Prudence, but I have enjoyed having my cousin all to myself!” declared Emma happily, “but if we should happen to meet anyone – Henry not up there – then I shall take delight in introducing you. There will be much speculation you know – I said NO Henry, and if you don’t come down we shall go straight home – because the village is a hotbed of gossip.”