The Trouble With Emma. Katie Oliver
for Lizzy’s party next Sunday, Miss Em.” Reluctantly, Martine handed the pug back to Charlotte and finished emptying out the sack. “We’re makin’ the desserts, me and your dad – lemon drizzle, and raspberry trifle, and maybe a few apple pies to welcome your sister and her new ’usband home next weekend.”
“Goodness! That’s rather a lot,” Emma said. “Is there anything else we need for the party? I’m going into Litchfield this morning. I can easily pick up a few things and bring them back before I go to the bake sale.” She turned to pick up the car keys.
“No, we’re good. Mum’s coming round to help with the extra cleaning next week, and she’s stitchin’ up a new pair of curtains for the kitchen.”
Emma eyed her in surprise. “Oh? But surely your mother doesn’t have time to help with the cleaning chores here at Litchfield. And I do hope she didn’t spend an inordinate amount of money on curtain fabric.”
Heaven knew what kind of godawful kitchen creation Mrs Davies would come up with – garish colours and a surplus of ruffles came to mind – but regardless of how dreadful it looked, Emma would be obliged to ooh and ah and, worse still, hang them at the window over the sink.
“She got the fabric at the end-of-season clearance sale last summer,” Martine said. Her hands paused on the box of cake flour. “She wanted to do somethin’ nice for you and your dad, Miss Em,” she added shyly, “seeing as you’ve both been so good to us, always givin’ me clothes and pies and whatnot to take home.”
“That’s very kind of her, I’m sure.” Emma managed a stiff smile. “Please thank her for me.” She picked up her purse and turned to go.
And although her expression was unremarkable as she opened the kitchen door and left, inwardly she seethed with a mixture of affront and mortification.
Things have surely reached the lowest of points, Emma thought with dismay as she slid behind the wheel of Mr Bennet’s Mini, when one is obliged to accept charity from one’s very own housemaid.
She pressed her lips together and started the engine, and with a sharp turn of the wheel, headed to Litchfield.
Weston’s Bakery was busy when Emma arrived. There was a queue of customers at the till and another waiting to be served. Boz and his Saturday assistant, Viv, were run off their feet just to keep up.
Nonetheless, “Good mornin’, Emma!” Boz called out as she came inside the shop. “Just can’t stay away, can you?”
“It seems I cannot.” She answered his grin with a smile and felt her earlier irritation smooth itself out and recede, like a tide. How could anyone remain grumpy in the face of such unrelenting good will?
He handed over two boxes of doughnuts to his customer. “There you are, Mrs Winkleman. I hope you and Mr W enjoy every delicious morsel. Now, if you’ll step over to the till, Viv’ll ring you up.” Boz turned back to Emma. “Changed your mind about the job, then?”
With a murmured apology to the nearest customer in the queue, Emma made her way to the glass display case in front of Boz and leaned forward. “Yes, I have.” She kept her voice low. “I’d like the job. But I prefer to keep it between the two of us for the moment, if you don’t mind.”
He took his tongs and lifted out two sticky buns for the next customer. “Whatever you want, Miss Emma.” He winked. “Our little secret. Although it won’t be a secret come Tuesday, when you turn up at seven to start your first day.”
Her eyes widened. “Seven o’clock?” she murmured, dismayed. “But…that’s awfully early, isn’t it?”
“Need to train you, don’t I?” He placed the sticky buns in a box, scrawled ‘SB-2’ in black marker on the lid, and handed it over to his customer. “We open at nine, so that’ll give us plenty of time to go over everything. I’ll show you how to work the till and give you a little tour.”
“All right.” She turned to go. “Oh…and before I forget, daddy asked me to thank you for the cream horns. He all but fell on the box when I brought them home.”
“Glad he liked ’em. They sell out fast; I don’t usually have any on hand very long. So – I’ll see you at seven on Tuesday morning, then?”
Emma nodded. “I’ll be here.” She hesitated. “Thank you, Boz.”
“Oh, bosh.” He waved her off. “It’s you who’s doing me the favour. But I warn you – you’ll be busy. Behind this handsome exterior lurks a dedicated man of business. A titan of tarts, a prince of patisserie –”
“And the chief of chinwags,” Viv cut in. “Kindly stop flappin’ your gob and fetch us more fairy cakes, Boz,” Viv said. “We’re nearly out. And don’t listen to a word he says, love,” she added as she glanced over at Emma. “It’s ninety percent bollocks.”
As Emma made her way to the door, it flew open with a jangle of the bell, and she found herself face to face with Mrs Cusack.
“Good morning, Miss Bennet,” the woman said, startled. She eyed the girl’s empty hands. “What brings you here?”
Emma thought quickly. “I came to thank Boz for the cream horns he sent my father.”
Mrs Cusack nodded. “They do go down a treat, don’t they?” She turned to a slender young woman standing behind her. “Miss Bennet, I’d like to introduce my niece, Miss Isabella Fairfax. She’s visiting for the summer.” She beamed. “Isabella, this is Emma Bennet, our former vicar’s eldest daughter. He has three,” she added. “Elizabeth just got married and Emma and Charlotte are…still at home.”
Isabella extended a hand. “How nice to meet you, Miss Bennet.”
“Emma, please. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. I hope you enjoy your stay at Litchfield.”
Curious, Emma studied Miss Fairfax. She was of average height and quite attractive, with clear grey eyes and a trim figure; but her smile was warm and pleasant.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” Isabella said. “I look forward to getting to know you and your sisters.”
“Well, Lizzy’s on her honeymoon at present,” Emma explained, “and Charlotte’s away at school during the week. But I’m here, and as your aunt so rightfully observed,” she added, with a telling glance at Mrs Cusack, “still at home and on the shelf.”
“Oh, not for long, I’m sure!” the older woman exclaimed, flustered. “You’re a lovely girl, Emma, indeed you are, and too clever by half for most of the men hereabouts.” She paused and eyed her niece with obvious pride. “Isabella is a hat designer, you know, and quite talented. She’s attending Central Saint Martin’s and doing very well there.”
“How very impressive of you!” Emma eyed the girl with renewed interest…and just a smidgen of jealousy. “You must tell me more about it.”
“Of course. Although there’s nothing much to tell just yet.”
“I’m sure there will be, given time. Do you know anyone else here in Litchfield, Miss Fairfax?”
A guarded expression flickered – very briefly – across the girl’s face. “Me? No, not a soul. And please, call me Isabella.”
Emma turned back to Mrs Cusack. “Why don’t you both come to Lizzy’s welcome home party next Sunday? We’re having it at Litchfield Manor from twelve until two. I can introduce Isabella to all of our neighbours. I know my sister and Mr Darcy would love to see you, Mrs Cusack, and I’m sure they’ll be as anxious to welcome your niece to Litchfield as I am.”
Which wasn’t entirely true on either count, Emma knew. She doubted if Elizabeth or Hugh would much care who showed up at their party on Sunday.