Emma and the Werewolves (14 page)

“
Very true,” said Harriet.
“Poor creatures! one can think of nothing else.”

“
And really, I do not think
the impression will soon be over,” said Emma, as she crossed the
low hedge, and tottering footstep which ended the narrow, slippery
path through the cottage garden, and brought them into the lane
again. “I do not think it will,” stopping to look once more at all
the outward wretchedness of the place, and recall the still greater
within.

“
Oh! dear, no,” said her
companion.

They walked on. The lane
made a slight bend; and when that bend was passed, Mr. Elton was
immediately in sight. His hand darted for the gun on his hip before
he realized it was them. He quickly withdraw it upon seeing who
they were and began to express his deepest regrets for his action
but Emma cut him off,

“
Ah! Harriet, here comes a
very sudden trial of our stability in good thoughts. Well,
(smiling,) I hope it may be allowed that if compassion has produced
exertion and relief to the sufferers, it has done all that is truly
important. If we feel for the wretched, enough to do all we can for
them, the rest is empty sympathy, only distressing to
ourselves.”

Harriet could just answer, “Oh! dear, yes,”
before the gentleman joined them. The wants and sufferings of the
poor family, however, were the first subject on meeting. He had
been going to call on them. His visit he would now defer; but they
had a very interesting parley about what could be done and should
be done. Mr. Elton then turned back to accompany them.

“
To fall in with each other
on such an errand as this,” thought Emma; “to meet in a charitable
scheme; this will bring a great increase of love on each side. I
should not wonder if it were to bring on the declaration. It must,
if I were not here. I wish I were anywhere else.”

Anxious to separate herself from them as far
as she could without straying too far from the safety of their
presence, she soon afterwards took possession of a narrow footpath,
a little raised on one side of the lane, leaving them together in
the main road. But she had not been there two minutes when she
found that Harriet’s habits of dependence and imitation were
bringing her up too, and that, in short, they would both be soon
after her. This would not do; she immediately stopped, under
pretence of having some alteration to make in the lacing of her
half-boot, and stooping down in complete occupation of the
footpath, begged them to have the goodness to walk on, and she
would follow in half a minute. They did as they were desired; and
by the time she judged it reasonable to have done with her boot,
she had the comfort of farther delay in her power, being overtaken
by a child from the cottage, setting out, according to orders, with
her pitcher, to fetch broth from Hartfield. To walk by the side of
this child, and talk to and question her, was the most natural
thing in the world, or would have been the most natural, had she
been acting just then without design; and by this means the others
were still able to keep ahead, without any obligation of waiting
for her. She gained on them, however, involuntarily: the child’s
pace was quick, and theirs rather slow; and she was the more
concerned at it, from their being evidently in a conversation which
interested them. Mr. Elton was speaking with animation, Harriet
listening with a very pleased attention; and Emma, having sent the
child on, was beginning to think how she might draw back a little
more, when they both looked around, and she was obliged to join
them.

Mr. Elton was still
talking, still engaged in some interesting detail; and Emma
experienced some disappointment when she found that he was only
giving his fair companion an account of the yesterday’s party at
his friend Cole’s, and that she was come in herself for the Stilton
cheese, the north Wiltshire, the butter, the cellery, the
beet-root, and all the dessert.

“
This would soon have led
to something better, of course,” was her consoling reflection; “any
thing interests between those who love; and any thing will serve as
introduction to what is near the heart. If I could but have kept
longer away!”

They now walked on together quietly, till
within view of the vicarage pales, when a sudden resolution, of at
least getting Harriet into the house, made her again find something
very much amiss about her boot, and fall behind to arrange it once
more. She then broke the lace off short, and dexterously throwing
it into a ditch, was presently obliged to entreat them to stop, and
acknowledged her inability to put herself to rights so as to be
able to walk home in tolerable comfort.

“
Part of my lace is gone,”
said she, “and I do not know how I am to contrive. I really am a
most troublesome companion to you both, but I hope I am not often
so ill-equipped. Mr. Elton, I must beg leave to stop at your house,
and ask your housekeeper for a bit of ribband or string, or any
thing just to keep my boot on.”

Mr. Elton looked all happiness at this
proposition; and nothing could exceed his alertness and attention
in conducting them into his house and endeavouring to make every
thing appear to advantage. The room they were taken into was the
one he chiefly occupied, and looking forwards; behind it was
another with which it immediately communicated; the door between
them was open, and Emma passed into it with the housekeeper to
receive her assistance in the most comfortable manner. She was
obliged to leave the door ajar as she found it; but she fully
intended that Mr. Elton should close it. It was not closed,
however, it still remained ajar; but by engaging the housekeeper in
incessant conversation, she hoped to make it practicable for him to
chuse his own subject in the adjoining room. For ten minutes she
could hear nothing but herself. It could be protracted no longer.
She was then obliged to be finished, and make her appearance.

The lovers were standing together at one of
the windows. It had a most favourable aspect; and, for half a
minute, Emma felt the glory of having schemed successfully. But it
would not do; he had not come to the point. He had been most
agreeable, most delightful; he had told Harriet that he had seen
them go by, and had purposely followed them; other little
gallantries and allusions had been dropt, but nothing serious.

“
Cautious, very cautious,”
thought Emma; “he advances inch by inch, and will hazard nothing
till he believes himself secure.”

Still, however, though every thing had not
been accomplished by her ingenious device, she could not but
flatter herself that it had been the occasion of much present
enjoyment to both, and must be leading them forward to the great
event.

* * * *

Chapter XI

M
r.
Elton must now
be left to himself. It was
no longer in Emma’s power to superintend his happiness or quicken
his measures. The coming of her sister’s family was so very near at
hand, that first in anticipation, and then in reality, it became
henceforth her prime object of interest; and during the ten days of
their stay at Hartfield it was not to be expected—she did not
herself expect—that any thing beyond occasional, fortuitous
assistance could be afforded by her to the lovers. They might
advance rapidly if they would, however; they must advance somehow
or other whether they would or no. She hardly wished to have more
leisure for them. There are people, who the more you do for them,
the less they will do for themselves.

Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, from having
been longer than usual absent from Surry, were exciting of course
rather more than the usual interest. Till this year, every long
vacation since their marriage had been divided between Hartfield
and Donwell Abbey; but all the holidays of this autumn had been
given to sea-bathing for the children, and it was therefore many
months since they had been seen in a regular way by their Surry
connexions, or seen at all by Mr. Woodhouse, who could not be
induced to get so far as London, even for poor Isabella’s sake; and
who consequently was now most nervously and apprehensively happy in
forestalling this too short visit.

He thought much of the evils of the journey
for her, and not a little of the fatigues of his own horses and
coachman who were to bring some of the party the last half of the
way; but his alarms were needless; the sixteen miles being happily
accomplished without any incidents to speak of, and Mr. and Mrs.
John Knightley, their five children, and a competent number of
nursery-maids, all reaching Hartfield in safety. The bustle and joy
of such an arrival, the many to be talked to, welcomed, encouraged,
and variously dispersed and disposed of, produced a noise and
confusion which his nerves could not have borne under any other
cause, nor have endured much longer even for this; but the ways of
Hartfield and the feelings of her father were so respected by Mrs.
John Knightley, that in spite of maternal solicitude for the
immediate enjoyment of her little ones, and for their having
instantly all the liberty and attendance, all the eating and
drinking, and sleeping and playing, which they could possibly wish
for, without the smallest delay, the children were never allowed to
be long a disturbance to him, either in themselves or in any
restless attendance on them.

Mrs. John Knightley was a
pretty, elegant little woman, of gentle, quiet manners, and a
disposition remarkably amiable and affectionate; wrapt up in her
family; a devoted wife, a doating mother, and so tenderly attached
to her father and sister that, but for these higher ties, a warmer
love might have seemed impossible. She could never see a fault in
any of them. She was not a woman of strong understanding or any
quickness; and with this resemblance of her father, she inherited
also much of his constitution; was delicate in her own health,
over-careful of that of her children, had many fears and many
nerves, and was as fond of her own Mr. Wingfield in town as her
father could be of Mr. Perry. They were alike too, in a general
benevolence of temper, and a strong habit of regard for every old
acquaintance.

Mr. John Knightley was a tall,
gentleman-like, and very clever man; rising in his profession,
domestic, and respectable in his private character; but with
reserved manners which prevented his being generally pleasing; and
capable of being sometimes out of humour. He was not an
ill-tempered man, not so often unreasonably cross as to deserve
such a reproach; but his temper was not his great perfection; and,
indeed, with such a worshipping wife, it was hardly possible that
any natural defects in it should not be increased. The extreme
sweetness of her temper must hurt his. He had all the clearness and
quickness of mind which she wanted, and he could sometimes act an
ungracious, or say a severe thing.

He was not a great
favourite with his fair sister-in-law. Nothing wrong in him escaped
her. She was quick in feeling the little injuries to Isabella,
which Isabella never felt herself. Perhaps she might have passed
over more had his manners been flattering to Isabella’s sister, but
they were only those of a calmly kind brother and friend, without
praise and without blindness; but hardly any degree of personal
compliment could have made her regardless of that greatest fault of
all in her eyes which he sometimes fell into, the want of
respectful forbearance towards her father. There he had not always
the patience that could have been wished. Mr. Woodhouse’s
peculiarities and fidgetiness were sometimes provoking him to a
rational remonstrance or sharp retort equally ill-bestowed. It did
not often happen; for Mr. John Knightley had really a great regard
for his father-in-law, and generally a strong sense of what was due
to him; but it was too often for Emma’s charity, especially as
there was all the pain of apprehension frequently to be endured,
though the offence came not. The beginning, however, of every visit
displayed none but the properest feelings, and this being of
necessity so short might be hoped to pass away in unsullied
cordiality. They had not been long seated and composed when Mr.
Woodhouse, with a melancholy shake of the head and a sigh, called
his daughter’s attention to the sad changes in Highbury and at
Hartfield itself since she had been there last.

“An air of fear fills this village,” Mr.
John Knightley commented upon their journey. “Tell us, what has
transpired here? When last we visited, this place was among one of
the most glowing on the face of this earth.”

“It is hard to speak of . . .” Mr. Woodhouse
replied, trying to avoid the topic, but Emma could see it would not
be laid to rest so easily as her father would have.

“Have you not read the letters we have sent?
I am sure I wrote you of the woes which have befallen
Highbury.”

“Indeed, I have but . . . . Wait, you are
saying this killer, or killers, who have been preying upon those
who dwell here is still at large?”

Emma nodded, clearly uncomfortable. “Yes.
Whatever creature or beast behind the terrors still roams
free.”

Mr. John Knightley appeared shocked. “Has
this town not banded together and sent a party after it?”

“Many, but with no results,” Emma answered.
“The beast appears as adept at vanishing as it is at murder.”

“Could you not call for help from London? I
know many men there who would be willing to travel here and face
this beast of yours.” John Knightley’s offer was sincere, if
borderline insulting, implying that Highbury could not handle its
own affairs.

“Enough!” Mrs. Knightley said, quieting them
all. “Drop this horrific topic. We are seated for a meal and it is
no place for such talk.”