Hetty’s letters to Jane had been near religious in their regularity, filled with news of home and Highbury, and nearly a year ago, Jane had visited the little village and stunned its populace (though not Hetty) with her beauty, poise, and talent before it was revealed the young woman was also a party to a secret engagement. The engagement had quickly become marriage to a very handsome, vaguely roguish man, Mr. Frank Churchill, whose actions, though questionable, had been revealed to have noble motives, and now Jane and Frank were happily in love, preparing for a family oftheir own. Though Jane’s letters were less frequent than they’d once been, they remained full of delightful news.
When Mrs. Bates did not respond to Hetty’s question, she repeated it, closer and louder. The old woman looked up. “Oh! Hetty! It’s you!”
Resisting the urge to snatch the letter from her mother’s hands she tried one final time, “IS IT FROM JANE, MOTHER?”
“There’s no need to shout, Hetty, really.”
Hetty straightened. “Of course not.”
“It’s a letter from Jane.”
With a prayer for sanity and patience, Hetty replied, “What does she say? Is she coming to Highbury?”
“She’s coming to Highbury!”
Joy burst in Hetty’s chest. “Lovely!”
“Isn’t it lovely?”
A deep breath. “It is.”
“She says,” the old woman shouted, turning the letter to the light for better reading. “She and Mr. Churchill will stay with Mr. and Mrs. Weston for a fortnight, and she looks forward to seeing us.”
“When?”
“Isn’t it lovely?”
“It is,” Hetty agreed. “And when will they arrive?”
“Of course we’ll have to have them to tea. You shall have to make lemon-drizzle cakes!”
She raised her voice again. “Yes, of course! When?”
The old lady blinked. “We can’t very well have them to tea before they arrive, can we, Hetty?”
“WHEN WILL THEY ARRIVE, MOTHER?”
As it was the first time the old woman heard the question, she calmly turned to check her source. “Thursday, three days’ time.”Mrs. Bates looked up. “They’ve been invited to the Knightleys’ Michaelmas Ball.”
Hetty straightened. “Michaelmas.”
Jane was returning on Michaelmas.
“Oh.” Something stuttered in Hetty’s chest, something she didn’t dare linger on, or allow purchase. It had been too many Michaelmases since—
Her mother was still shouting the news. “Of course they have, what with how Mrs. Weston and Mrs. Knightley are so very close. She was her governess, as you know. No matter the history of Jane and Mrs. Knightley, Mrs. Knightley is too polite to allow past feelings to get in the way of present invitations to Hartfield.”
Hetty had never thought Emma Knightleytoopolite, but she didn’t say so. Not that she had to keep quiet—her mother couldn’t hear her, anyway. “Jane also writes that Frank has news that abaronhas let Lorimer House!” Mrs. Bates looked to Hetty. “Have you heard about such a thing? Arealbaron? In Highbury?”
“Are there such a thing as false barons?” Hetty asked, the question rhetorical as she crossed the room to fetch her mother’s ear horn. If this was going to be a long conversation and Hetty was going to retain her sanity, the apparatus would be required. Hetty waited for her mother to lift the apparatus to her ear. “No, I have not heard anything of it.” It was the truth. There was nothing silly about barons coming to Highbury, so no one would have thought to mention it to Miss Bates.
“No need to shout, Hetty. Please.”
“Of course not.”
“Jane says that Frank’s father reports the baron has let the house for half a year, while he decides where he will set his seat! How exciting! Can you imagine! A baron!”
Hetty could not imagine.
