By Bethany Delleman
This reading of Emma I noticed something strange, everything in Highbury has been in suspended animation for the last two years. Here are all the things that have been stagnant:
1. Mr. Weston has not seen his son in two years, as the Churchills did not go to London as usual and Frank has not visited
2. Jane Fairfax has not visited in two years because she could not be spared from the Campbells
3. Mr. Elton arrived in Highbury two years ago and has made no progress in marrying (despite not liking to live alone)
4. The Woodhouses have not been to Donwell in two years, which makes me suspect no one has visited because Knightley likes them so much
No wonder Emma’s imagination is running wild, nothing has happened in two years! And then when Miss Taylor gets married it’s like a domino that sets off all the other events.
This is the real story of why nothing happened in Highbury…
—–
Mr. Woodhouse had never been so very distressed in his life as he was on the day of his eldest daughter’s marriage. Dear Isabella! Poor Isabella! How had she been so foolish as to fall in love? And she had not fallen in love prudently, to a man perhaps only half a mile off. No, she was moving to London. Sixteen miles! Mr. Woodhouse would never see her again. Why did Mr. John Knightley feel the need to have a profession? It was most distasteful.
Mr. Woodhouse had tried for many weeks to put her off. He had told her of all the disadvantages: there was bad air in London, she would lose the good counsel of Mr. Perry, he would miss her terribly, poor Emma would lose her sister, poor Miss Taylor to lose a good friend, and think of the difficulty in removing so far away! Nothing could be done. Isabella was quite determined and after a very long engagement (Mr. Woodhouse doing what he could do lengthen it), she was married and gone. Mr. Woodhouse was left only with Emma, who was but thirteen years old and therefore could have no ideas of marrying any time soon.
Years passed away in beautiful, exquisite sameness, the most agreeable state in the world! Emma was at Hartfield and Mr. Knightly was at Donwell Abbey, visiting them nearly every day. Miss Taylor agreed, after Emma’s sixteenth birthday, to stay on with them permanently as her companion and Isabella visited (though not as often as Mr. Woodhouse wished). He was beginning to feel that nothing would ever go wrong again. But then a very disagreeable thing happened, quite unpleasant!
The vicar of Highbury died.
Mr. Woodhouse must now listen to an unfamiliar curate and must consult with Mr. Knightley on who would be appointed next to the living. How distasteful, how cruel! It was putting him quite out of sorts. When they finally did offer the living to a man, he was a young man and unmarried (Knightley’s idea of course!). What if this new vicar would marry and steal a girl away from her home? Mr. Woodhouse’s agitation was high, he had no idea what to do. Was there no way to stop things from changing?
Emma tried to reassure him, Miss Taylor to soothe, and Mr. Knightley to distract, but nothing could help. Mr. Woodhouse needed to know that nothing would ever change. He needed to be sure. Emma’s announcement that she would never marry did nothing to calm his nerves. What if she was to fall in love? That did sometimes happen to young, irrational people; it was their curse.
Mr. Woodhouse might have gone on in worry forever if he had not received the most curious note from London:
Dear Mr. Woodhouse,
I believe we have a mutual interest in preventing anything untoward from happening in Highbury. If you would agree to a meeting with my sisters, I believe we might be able to help you a great deal. Only say that you will allow us to come and have Emma out visiting on the 1st of September at 2:00 in the afternoon.
Mrs. Churchill
The Coven
He hardly knew what to think of the note, it had a strange symbol drawn on it and he did think that September was a very dangerous time for visiting (it may be damp!), but he was worried enough to write back a positive answer. Emma and Miss Taylor could visit with Mrs. and Miss Bates and Mr. Woodhouse would have the house to himself.
Everything was arranged and almost as soon as Emma was away (with a small hint of displeasure), the door was opened to four women. They were all dressed in the same strange way: long black robes and hats which came to a point. Mr. Woodhouse was almost overwhelmed by the oddness of their dress, but recollecting himself, he offered them a seat and some gruel, if they would want it.
“No, thank you,” said Mrs. Churchill, “my sisters and I are all quite well. Please, allow me to introduce you to my sisters, Mrs. Rushworth and Mrs. Norris. The other girl,” she pointed to a younger woman who was wearing robes of grey instead of black, “is our trainee, Miss Hawkins.”
Mr. Woodhouse greeted them all warmly, as was his way, and then asked, “I am not quite sure what you mean to do, Mrs. Churchill. Your note was very short.”
“Mr. Woodhouse, I have heard all about your wish for Highbury to remain always the same from a very unfortunate connection-” she paused, “ahem, from Mr. Weston, he is a friend of yours?”
“Yes, a very good friend. Excellent fellow. Oh, you are that Mrs. Churchill.”
“Quite so. I have been wanting my nephew, Frank, to spend more time with me, but he is always asking to visit his father in Highbury. It is beyond my power to put a stop to it, but if you really have an ardent wish for nothing to change in Highbury, we could enact a very powerful spell to that effect.”
“You cannot understand how much I wish it, Mrs. Churchill, I would have everything stay as it is forever. I never want dear Emma to marry or Miss Taylor to leave or, God forbid, for anyone else to die. Even Mr. Knightley- sometimes an idea comes into my head that he might marry and I am filled with terror. If it might be done, preventing change, then I beg you to do it.”
“We cannot prevent death, Mr. Woodhouse,” said Mrs. Churchill gravely, “but everything else we may do.”
Mrs. Rushworth and Mrs. Norris sent Miss Hawkins out to retrieve their cauldron, which she dragged in without any help, scrapping it nosily across the floor.
“Before we begin,” said Mrs. Norris in a voice so grating that Mr. Woodhouse found he would rather not hear, “You must tell me, has anyone in town already formed an attachment? The lower classes do not matter, they never do, but someone connected to you. Has Emma, Miss Taylor, or Mr. Knightley already fallen in love?”
Mr. Woodhouse declared, “No, nothing of the sort. I am sure they are all unattached.” He never anticipated marriage and was always completely surprised when one occurred. He was therefore, a very bad judge.
“Good, no attachments will form once our spell is enacted, no one currently in Highbury will be able to even think of love! But if an attachment had already come about, unknown to yourself, it would have the power to break the curse- ahem, spell. It would however, be far more difficult than usual for a couple to get married. The man may never come to the point, he will constantly be distracted by something and the woman will hardly think of him.”
Mr. Woodhouse nodded. He saw no difficulty at all.
Mrs. Rushworth asked next, “Do you have any desire to marry, sir?”
“No, certainly not!”
“A shame,” said she, looking about the house as if to say, “I would trade living with my wretched aunt for this”. But then she continued, “You would need to marry before the spell, it will affect everyone equally.”
Mrs. Norris chimed in, “You are very sure? Your dear daughter does not want a doting stepmother?”
This suggestion made Mr. Woodhouse even more resolved (though he did not quite know why), “Proceed, I will never marry again. My poor, dear, departed wife cannot be replaced.”
Mrs. Churchill pushed the other two back to the cauldron, “No one is out of town right now whom you would wish back?”
“No, I believe everyone is at home. But wait, what about Poor Isabella? Would she still be able to visit? I very much love to see Isabella and the little children, if they are not too noisy.”
Mrs. Churchill said, “Anyone with a strong connection to Highbury, and hers is very strong, sir, will continue to visit on their regular schedule. However, no one new will come to town. The world might even forget for a time that Highbury exists.”
This was all excellent news! Mr. Woodhouse had some worries, however, “Can you write all of this down? My memory is not what it was.”
Miss Hawkins was set to work writing and Mr. Woodhouse was content. This seemed a most admirable plan and Mr. Woodhouse supplied everything they asked for: three drops of his blood (this was somewhat frightening but done), and then a token from each person he wished particularly to have trapped in time: some hair from Emma, a court plaster Mr. Knightley had touched, and the end of a pencil that was Miss Taylor’s, with the lead all gone. Everything was placed in the cauldron and the women began to chant.
Mr. Woodhouse took his paper with all the instructions and explanations and looked it over. He was very happy, too happy to even contemplate how strange it was to allow a coven of witches into his house. Everything was perfect and it would be perfect forever.
Mrs. Churchill turned to Mr. Woodhouse again, “The potion is nearly ready, you will need to drink all of it.”
“Drink!” he exclaimed, “Oh! I am not sure, I usually do not imbibe anything not prepared by Serel. She understands my poor stomach perfectly- is this very rich? I did not suppose-”
“It is the only way!” Mrs. Churchill cried, “The potion must feed off your wish and to do so it must be in your body.”
“Madam, you do not know how intolerant my stomach can be!”
Miss Hawkins came back in from the carriage and whispered to Mrs. Norris, “Our magic glass broke on the way from London.”
“There is nothing magic about it, just go buy a new goblet in town,” Mrs. Norris hissed.
By the time she had returned, Mr. Woodhouse had finally agreed to drink the potion.
“Now,” said Mrs. Norris, “There is the small matter of our payment…”
—–
Emma Woodhouse had escaped from Miss Bates as soon as she could and returned home, leaving Miss Taylor talking prosperously (she hoped) with Mr. Weston. Seeing a strange carriage in the sweep and a young woman dragging a cauldron, she slipped in through a servant’s entrance and silently approached the room where her father was talking to four very strangely dressed women. Their hats were very peculiar! As she listened though, she became more and more distressed. Emma had not, heretofore, believed in magic, but these women sounded very convincing. She wanted to burst into the room and stop them, but when she tried the door, she could not even grip the handle. There was nothing she could do!
There was one piece of information that caught Emma’s attention. An attachment already come about. Emma knew of such an attachment! She was sure that Mr. Weston meant to propose to Miss Taylor. She had been watching them for two years now, while not daring mention it to her father. Emma knew her path, she must bring them together by any means within her power. She must break the curse!
—–
Miss Augusta Hawkins wished more than anything that she could marry soon and become a full member of the coven. Only married women were permitted to be full members. She had been in training for three years now and wished to be done. With all of her duties, it was unlikely she would have time to find a man. Her short stays in Bath were her best chance of that now. She walked to Ford’s to purchase the glass goblet. As she returned to Hartfield, she passed by a very fine young man. He smiled at her and Augusta blushed. He was just the sort of man she might like to marry.
When she told Mrs. Rushworth about the encounter, she laughed, “Dear Miss Hawkins, do you forget? He will have no mind for love when the curse is cast! You will have to find someone in Bath.”
Miss Hawkins sighed, “A great shame.”
Mrs. Rushworth laughed, “A shame? In all of Mrs. Norris’s long years leading this coven, we have never met a person ever who wished to cast this particular curse on themselves! This was a most instructive day for you, I am sure.”
Miss Hawkins nodded and looking longingly out the window. However, she had made a mistake, she had not noticed the magical symbol drawn on the wall and the motto below it: If you buy something at Ford’s, you are a true citizen of Highbury. She was destined to return to Highbury. No one would make Miss Hawkins an offer for three long years, until she met Mr. Elton again in Bath…
—-
For two years, the dreadful curse held. No one in Highbury could think of doing anything out of routine. Mr. Knightley maintained Donwell, visited the Woodhouses, and rode to Kingston on a perfect tri-weekly schedule. The Knightley family in London came at their exact appointed times for visits. Miss Taylor was devoted to Emma and thought nothing of her own future happiness. Frank Churchill stayed at Enscombe and Jane Fairfax, whose visits had always been irregular, never stirred from town. It would have been very likely that if Emma had not known about the curse, she would have gone quite out of her mind!
Everything was extremely orderly and exactly as Mr. Woodhouse liked. He was in high spirits. He did not know that his own daughter was plotting to ruin his happiness.
Emma was trying very hard to complete the match that would break the curse. She had stolen and copied out her father’s instructions and hung them on her mirror so study them daily. It was difficult, the curse had a strange effect on her memory. Every morning she was reminded and every day she planned how Mr. Weston and Miss Taylor may meet. She invited him for tea, for dinner, accidentally ran into him during their daily walk (with the greatest ease since he followed a very simple three-day schedule) and plotted to fall in with him at Ford’s.
Emma always tried to get away from Miss Taylor whenever she saw Mr. Weston, but Miss Taylor was hard to get rid of! Her mind was always bent towards Emma, a symptom no doubt of the curse, and whenever Emma tried to fall behind, leave a room, or look intently at some gloves, Miss Taylor seemed to go instantly to her side. Emma had never before in her life wished for a person to love her less!
Then something changed.
As powerful as the witches’ curse had been, it could not prevent death. The owner of Randalls died and his heirs put it up for sale. Mr. Weston’s love of the small estate had indeed begun before the curse and he purchased it in all haste. Emma now had another method of attack; would he not wish for a mistress for such a fine house? Would Miss Taylor not be the perfect addition to his felicity? It was still a very uphill battle! Mr. Weston often did not remember he owned a new house and walked to his former small one in Highbury. Luckily, no one had yet moved in! Emma, without an ally or confidant, pressed on.
One fair day in early summer, Emma and Miss Taylor met Mr. Weston in their walk. It was a beautiful day, a perfect day for proposals by Emma’s reckoning. She tried to think of a reason to escape, there was only one she could fix on that might leave Miss Taylor with her beau. She said begrudgingly, “I must give Miss Bates a note from my father.”
Miss Taylor nodded; her eyes most promisingly fixed on Mr. Weston. Emma walked as slowly as she could to the door and was admitted, “Miss Woodhouse! How good of you to come. I was just saying to my mother, when I spied you out the window, that it would be so very pleasant if Miss Woodhouse was to visit us…”
Emma sighed inwardly. If her great sacrifice this day did not secure the engagement, she would have suffered grievously for nothing. She spent a few minutes dwelling on the happy idea before listening again.
“-apples, Mr. Knightley said the apple trees are already very full, quite laden with small fruit, and he has promised us a barrel in the autumn, as always. For you know he is always so good to us. Quite blessed we are, the most fortunate that ever lived. There is not a thing we want that our friends do not find a way to give us.”
Emma steeled herself for at least ten more minutes of this kind of noise. She nodded, ate the offered cake, and smiled. It was the same cake that Patty had been baking every single week. Emma could hardly eat it; she had eaten so much of this exact cake! In a herculean effort, she choked it down.
“I really must be going,” Emma finally said, cutting Miss Bates off mid-sentence and standing, “and please come for the evening, my father would be most obliged.” She knew the invitation would be accepted; it was part of Miss Bates four-day routine.
Emma left the house in severe anxiety, Miss Taylor and Mr. Weston were still together, standing in the very spot she had left them. Miss Taylor was smiling, but she often smiled. Emma approached them as cautiously as she could, hoping to catch a word or look that would tell her it had been accomplished.
Miss Taylor turned suddenly towards her, “Oh Emma! Mr. Weston,” she looked back at him, as if to recollect what had been said, “Mr. Weston has proposed and I have accepted!”
“Dear Miss Taylor! I am delighted!” Emma embraced her friend and looked about her. Had anything changed? She could not tell. How would she know? She tried to listen to her friend’s happy report and responded as she could, but in truth she was focused on everything in Highbury. Did anyone move amiss?
Emma’s first clue was that evening, when Mr. Knightley did not come visit as usual. Mr. Woodhouse was so distressed by Miss Taylor’s engagement that he did not notice this small change.
Her second clue was an strawberry cake instead of pound cake baked by Patty, Emma was in raptures. She visited Miss Bates twice that week to celebrate. Mr. Woodhouse was getting very worried.
Her third clue was a letter from Isabella, the Knightleys would not come that September, they were going to try sea bathing. Emma was delighted. Mr. Woodhouse wrote frantically to Mrs. Churchill. The answer was dire: there was nothing to be done. The curse was broken. Highbury was free.
Emma attended the wedding in high spirits. She had done it; it was all her own triumph. No one in Highbury except herself seemed to even know there had been a curse! This was entirely confirmed when Mr. Knightley came to visit and said, after Emma bragged about her efforts, “I do not understand what you mean by ‘success,’. Success supposes endeavour. Your time has been properly and delicately spent, if you have been endeavouring for the last four years to bring about this marriage. A worthy employment for a young lady’s mind! But if, which I rather imagine, your making the match, as you call it, means only your planning it, your saying to yourself one idle day, ‘I think it would be a very good thing for Miss Taylor if Mr. Weston were to marry her,’ and saying it again to yourself every now and then afterwards, why do you talk of success? Where is your merit? What are you proud of? You made a lucky guess; and that is all that can be said.”
“If only you knew,” Emma thought to herself in great satisfaction, “if only you knew.”
Emma believed that if she could help along a match as difficult as this one, something as simple as getting Mr. Elton a wife must be easy…
FINIS (or is it?)
If you want to know what the Coven did next, check out Carrie-Sue by Amelia Marie Logan
For more, check out my homepage or my debut novel, Prideful & Persuaded (available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited)
For more short stories, go here
For my Mansfield Park variation, here Unfairly Caught