The Knightleys Add to Hartfield

~ An Emma Story for Jen on the Occasion of Her Birthday ~

Mrs. Emma Knightley, nee Woodhouse, joint mistress of Hartfield and Donwell Abbey, had just been seen by a physician.

She had wanted it to be as private as possible, so she had waited until Mr. Knightley had gone to the Abbey and her father had been sent to call on Mrs. Bates. Emma had been the one to encourage her father to leave the house, for a change, and stay for a simple, wholesome tea. She hinted strongly that Mrs. Bates might even be up to a game of backgammon. Only then could the doctor be summoned.

It was a short visit, with the doctor quickly confirming her suspicions.

A child! It was her fondest wish, despite what Mrs. Elton (who had been married longer but had no children – such a blessing) continuously said concerning her own friends’ confinements.

A child! Then she and Harriet would have children roughly the same age, although Mrs. Martin was a few months ahead of her, and it would not quite do to actually allow them to play together…. She bit her lip as she stared in her mirror and tried to discern if she looked any different. She could find nothing new in her reflection.

A child! One that would surely play happily with John and Isabella’s children, even if her nephew might not now inherit Donwell Abbey. She patted at a few fallen tendrils of hair as she decided her sister’s children were just going to have to learn to fend for themselves.

A child! What would they name it? She giggled as the name Sprightly Knightley popped into her head. Although Sprite was an endearment worth remembering if the child should be a girl...

If it were a boy, he would be named for his father, naturally. George A. Knightley II sounded so well! It was a shame Mrs. Weston’s daughter would be older than he, especially should he inherit Hartfield and the abbey. Imagine a son who would be able to call Randalls, Hartfield and Donwell his!

A child! How exciting! She and Mrs. Weston had discussed it in an offhand way just the other day, and her dear Mrs. Weston had performed the oddest ritual. She had threaded a needle and suspended it over Emma’s hand. It had moved around in a circle, and she was told that meant it would be a boy. Naturally, Emma had scoffed at such a silly thing. Especially since the needle had gone rather wonky after that. According to Mrs. Weston, she was destined to have four children! She certainly hoped now that they were not to be had all at once, although she had heard of twins (or was it triplets?) being born nine years apart. And there was something rather mystical about having four boys.

A child! Her stomach was flat now, she thought as she smoothed the front of her gown, but in another couple of months she wondered if she was going to be one of those sort who required a servant to carry her wherever she went. And to keep her in bed day and night. She smiled to herself, it might be quite delightful should Mr. Knightley feel the inclination to carry her everywhere himself!

She had no sooner set foot outside her room when one of Hartfield’s burlier footmen announced a visitor – Mrs. Elton. Emma was still eyeing his capabilities as a carrier and wondering how someone like him might keep someone abed who did not wish to rest, as she followed him to the drawing room.

"My dear Miss Woodhouse – Oh, I shall never get used to saying Mrs. Knightley, although my friends say I have a mind like an iron trap. I have had such wonderful news from Miss Bates – my dearest Jane is increasing! I know I may speak of such things to you, now that we are both old married women together. I have told her I shall come for her lying in, of course."

"Oh?" Emma asked politely. "Has she asked for you?"

"Don’t be silly! I’m sure she would have thought of it sooner or later. How you do like to jest, Miss, er, Mrs. K!"

Emma felt strongly like making little kissing noises to accompany such a statement.

A maid and footman brought in tea and cakes, and Mrs. Elton began to gorge herself on the cream buns. Emma watched her in revulsion and quietly asked the maid for a large slab of Cheddar cheese. That’s what she wanted!

If the maid thought anything odd in the request, she chalked it up to a mild infection. After all, hadn’t the doctor called earlier?

A slice of cheese was dispatched forthwith, but Emma had to turn it down by the time it arrived, because Mrs. Elton had launched into the most gruesome stories concerning childbirth. Indeed, Emma would have been surprised to find Mrs. Elton’s much-touted friends with a whole, healthy babe among them, what with all her talk of deformities, illness and death.

When Mrs. Elton finally left, it was time for her father to return. He was ushered into his favorite chair by the fire with much ceremony, but she did not wish to tell him first. She did not want to hear him worry over her health, or tell her she should not endanger herself so, as he had done to Isabella any number of times. No, it would be most unfortunate for Mr. Knightley to walk in on such an auspicious announcement and realize she had not informed him first.

Later that evening, when it was just the two of them, Emma and her husband, she sat in front of her mirror in her dressing gown, brushing out her blonde hair. Mr. Knightley sat in bed among his pillows and Emma could just make out the designs she herself had painted on the wall over his head.

"Are you content here at Hartfield?" she asked. "Do you wish some days we were in your rooms at Donwell?"

"I am content to be where you are, as you well know."

"But the Abbey must be so quiet… Hartfield is quiet, too. Except when John and Isabella are here, with the children." She put down her brush and came to bed. "I enjoy the noise, you know. Everyone, even Father, is so much livelier with the children about. Don’t you agree?"

"Just where are you going with this, Emma? I know when you are trying to come around to some point."

She laughed. "You know me too well, my dearest friend. I am trying to tell you that we are going to have an addition to Hartfield."

And in true Jane Austen fashion, those moments of joy between the two parents-to-be are left private. However, the reactions of Emma’s friends and family must be recorded for posterity.

Mr. Woodhouse gave her a kiss on the forehead and recommended she eat gruel and stay out of drafts. He set Mrs. Bates to knitting her a warm shawl, and Miss Bates was left with the gratifying task of spreading the lovely, lovely news, which she did without haste.

But what Miss Bates enjoyed most was sharing Emma’s joy with her. She would make the excursion to Hartfield, a letter from Jane tucked in her reticule, and sit for a cozy chat before the briskly burning fire that Mr Woodhouse insisted upon.

"Oh Miss Woo . . . I mean Mrs Knightley – I do beg your pardon, but after years of calling you Miss it is a habit too hard to break – but when you become a mother it would be awkward indeed if I were to call you so – I must learn to say Mrs Knightley, for you have now been Mrs Knightley for quite some time, have you not? Almost as long as my dear Jane has been Mrs Churchill. Did I tell you I have a letter from Jane? I did? Oh, well, I am sure you have been waiting in anticipation of her news while I have been rattling on about inconsequential things. The letter is right here in my reticule – I must read it to you. See the elegant paper that Jane uses now she is Mrs Churchill? I remember the day of her marriage as if it were yesterday and now she is expecting her first child – as are you – yes she remarks upon it in her letter, for you must know that I announced your happy news to her immediately, knowing that our dear Jane and you are so close as to be almost sisters, and that you would want her to know at the soonest possible moment. Jane is so sweet. She sends you her congratulations and goes on to say, ‘I hope that Mrs Knightley fares better than me for I have been a little unwell of the morning.' A little unwell. What can she mean by that Miss . . . Mrs Knightley? It worries me that she may indeed be ill."

"Miss Bates," said Emma. "It is usual for a woman who is increasing to be a trifle nauseous. I myself find some things difficult to eat. Sometimes even the soft-boiled eggs my father recommends are quite off-putting, and then instead I happily eat haricots and braised pork hocks. I do not think your Jane means anything more than this slight indisposition of the stomach."

"Miss . . . Mrs Knightley you set my mind to rest, indeed you do, for Jane mentions in the very next line how she enjoys preserves so very much. But is it not very kind of my Jane to wish your health to be better than hers? So thoughtful and unselfish she is, and she always has been so from a very little girl. And I know her child will be just like her. Oh how I wish she were settled nearer so that your child and hers could grow up together just as she and you did, my dear Miss . . . Mrs Knightley. To see the two little girls practicing their piano together, though of course it could be two little boys and then they would be running down to the pond to catch frogs, ugh! Such slimy creatures, I hope they do not bring them back to frighten their mothers with. But of course it could be a boy and a girl, or a girl and a boy, depending which of you has the son and which the daughter, and then they would go for walks together and grow up to become sweethearts. Would that not be wonderful if they were to marry and we would all be one happy family? But of course it might be two boys and two girls and then that would never happen. But then, each of you will undoubtedly bear more children and then those children might . . ."

"Yes, Miss Bates. I do catch your point and the possibilities are quite endless."

"Indeed Miss . . . Mrs Knightley. Jane, in her letter agrees with me and says it is a pity you are not both living closer. She also asks after your little dogs – is that not kind? She has such a love of animals. And I assured her that your dogs are just as she remembers – the sweetest pair imaginable. They will be so protective of the new baby, do you not think so? I have heard tell that is often the case, unless, of course, they should take an aversion to it, which I am most assured they should not. I did mention this concern to Jane when I wrote her and she says that she thinks your dogs will bear the addition with equanimity. Dearest Jane! Do you know that she is still playing the piano? I do hope that you are not neglecting the instrument, Miss . . . Mrs Knightley, for you do play remarkably well, though nothing as to compare to Jane, of course, but that is hardly to be expected. Jane says the music soothes the little one. What a novel idea! But perhaps you should make an extra effort to continue to play."

"I assure you, Miss Bates, that I play as often as my husband wishes, for he enjoys music very much."

"He did so enjoy listening to Jane . . ."

Emma allowed Miss Bates to ramble on, for to stop the running tide of her conversation would be nigh on impossible. As Miss Bates spoke Emma thought upon what she would like for her luncheon. She had a strange craving for a plate of black-eyed peas with a side dish of boiled peanuts but she was quite sure such exotic foods were not to be had in the kitchens of Hartfield. Perhaps Knightley would ride to Portsmouth and take a schooner to . . . no. Sending him off to the Americas would take so long she might have a completely different craving by the time he should return. She instead set her mind to thinking of names again. Unsightly Knightley? She giggled. No child of hers and George’s could be unsightly.

Emma was relieved Miss Bates had left before the arrival of her expected visitors. She had invited Mrs. Weston and Mrs. Martin over for tea to share the news with them. The physician had left behind a unique and very progressive instrument he had used to confirm that Emma was indeed with child. It was nothing more than a small stick . . . she had been a bit mortified when he'd told her what she was to do with it! But she complied, and when she brought it back to him he observed two distinctive blue lines.

Emma lingered in the anteroom in front of the foyer, until she heard the bell and answered the door herself. No sooner had she opened it to welcome her two dearest friends had she shown them the stick. They both shrieked with delight and grinned and hugged her as soon as they saw it! It is not to be wondered at that they both knew exactly what it meant, though it was such a progressively unique device, for they were both with child themselves and had all been attended by the same physician!

Just then Emma's two little dogs, Winsley and Boston, ran to the door to greet them. No one had been able to figure out why Emma would name one of them after a city in America, but at least the source of that name was more discernable than poor little Winsley's moniker! "Oh my poor babies," cried Emma. "They have both been ill all morning."

"Oh dear," said Harriet. "What is the matter with them?"

"I am afraid they have been vomiting, and for my sake!"

"Sympathy vomiting," said Mrs. Weston, "what a curious thing."

The three women spent the remainder of the afternoon together. They were all delighted to be experiencing the state of confinement at the same time. Sharing the experiences of the next nine months would only strengthen their friendship. When she had finally farewelled her friends, Emma wrote to her sister to tell her the good news. Within a few days she received a response from Isabella:

Isabella sent page after page of information and advice, which was practical and non-horrifying. That was more than Emma could say for Mrs. Elton, who continued to predict a child with stumps for arms and an exposed brain unless she followed her advice.

"I do not profess to be a physician, but my friends tell me I am practically a doctor! And if I should be so blessed as to produce children for my dear Mr. E., I should be a true proficient!" she would say. And then, "But you must not eat beans, for that will make the child be born with a tiny head. And yet, you must not neglect to eat anything you crave, for everyone knows that the child will be born with weak eyesight. And you must under no circumstances take Port, for you know if you do the child could bear a stain. And what if the stain should be on the face?" She would fan herself distractedly. "Just such a disaster happened to my friend Caroline Hartwell, Miss Caroline Bingley that was, whose little daughter bears a most unsightly spot above her brow. A beauty mark, Caroline calls it but you must not credit it. A port wine spot, a stain indeed."

After Emma was visited by the voluble Mrs. Elton, she dreamt of children with three eyes, spotted all over with purple marks in the shape of casks. She woke up with a gasp and clutched at her dear husband who had been sleeping by her side.

Mr Knightley was well accustomed to such nighttime attacks. He held Emma and soothed her, kissing her cheek tenderly to get her mind off her disturbing dreams. The kisses were soft and gentle and wet. Wet? Emma wiped the side of her face. Why were her husband’s kisses so wet? She turned her head and a long, pink tongue slurped up the side of her nose.

Jen woke up with a start. Winston was on her lap, licking at her face. Bosley was snuffling against her side with his nose. The TV was on. It was then that she remembered that she had been watching the Gwyneth Paltrow version of Emma before she had drifted off to sleep. She shook her head – what a realistic dream! She had been Mrs Knightley. She sighed, and rubbed her stomach.

"Sorry Alaska," she said. "I was hoping to secure Donwell Abbey for you."

Just then she heard a noise from the stairs, and as she was about to get up to investigate, all her Bennetgirl sisters came rushing from the stairs and through the kitchen. Aaaron was leading them, carrying a lovely chocolate, peanut butter ice-cream cake.

"Happy Birthday Jen," they cried in unison. "Hope you have the best day ever!"


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