Emma and the Werewolves (22 page)

It was a great consolation
that Mr. Elton should not be really in love with her, or so
particularly amiable as to make it shocking to disappoint him—that
Harriet’s nature should not be of that superior sort in which the
feelings are most acute and retentive—and that there could be no
necessity for any body’s knowing what had passed except the three
principals, and especially for her father’s being given a moment’s
uneasiness about it.

These were very cheering thoughts; and the
sight of a great deal of snow on the ground did her further
service, for any thing was welcome that might justify their all
three being quite asunder at present.

The weather was most favourable for her;
though Christmas Day, she could not go to church. Mr. Woodhouse
would have been miserable had his daughter attempted it, and she
was therefore safe from either exciting or receiving unpleasant and
most unsuitable ideas. The ground covered with snow, and the
atmosphere in that unsettled state between frost and thaw, which is
of all others the most unfriendly for exercise, every morning
beginning in rain or snow, and every evening setting in to freeze,
she was for many days a most honourable prisoner. No intercourse
with Harriet possible but by note; no church for her on Sunday any
more than on Christmas Day; and no need to find excuses for Mr.
Elton’s absenting himself.

It was weather which might
fairly confine every body at home; and though she hoped and
believed him to be really taking comfort in some society or other,
it was very pleasant to have her father so well satisfied with his
being all alone in his own house, too wise to stir out; and to hear
him say to Mr. Knightley, whom no weather could keep entirely from
them, “Ah! Mr. Knightley, why do not you stay at home like poor Mr.
Elton?”

These days of confinement
would have been, but for her private perplexities, remarkably
comfortable, as such seclusion exactly suited her brother, whose
feelings must always be of great importance to his companions; and
he had, besides, so thoroughly cleared off his ill-humour at
Randalls, that his amiableness never failed him during the rest of
his stay at Hartfield. He was always agreeable and obliging, and
speaking pleasantly of every body. But with all the hopes of
cheerfulness, and all the present comfort of delay, there was still
such an evil hanging over her in the hour of explanation with
Harriet, as made it impossible for Emma to be ever perfectly at
ease.
There was also a new rumor the beast
had struck again during the snow. A traveler had stopped briefly at
Hartfield to warm himself and he told a tale of a house busted down
and all those inside slaughtered in the woods beyond Highbury. The
family named was the Browns, but of them Emma had little knowledge.
They were of a poorer sort of folk and kept to themselves. They
were rarely seen in town and often forgotten by all due to their
absence. She remembered meeting them only once at the store. Mr.
Brown was a bitter sort of man who had failed to rise in life. He
seemed brooding and discontent with all. Mrs. Brown was quiet and
Emma hadn’t heard her speak during their brief encounter. Their
children, however, a bright young boy by the name of Shannon and a
beautiful little girl whom Emma believed to be called Lisa, were
the opposite of their parents and she recalled them well. It was
for them her heart went out. She could not imagine dying in the
middle of the night as some beast from the depths of Hell itself
tore away the door and entered, bringing death with its claws. Her
father and the traveler had ushered her from the room before his
tale was complete, but as was her nature, she could not let things
be. She had snuck back to the doorway close enough to hear the end
of his tale. The family, every last one, was found mostly eaten.
Something had stripped the flesh from their very bones with its
teeth. The horror of it all was near unbearable. Emma retreated to
her room and locked herself inside for a moment to weep. With her
heart of hearts she prayed fervently that this . . . thing that
came in the night would be driven from Highbury.

She could no longer stand the fear that hung
in the air like the heaviness before a coming rain.

* * * *

Chapter XVII

M
r.
and Mrs. John
Knightley were not detained
long at Hartfield. The weather soon improved enough for those to
move who must move; and Mr. Woodhouse having, as usual, tried to
persuade his daughter to stay behind with all her children, was
obliged to see the whole party set off, and return to his
lamentations over the destiny of poor Isabella; which poor
Isabella, passing her life with those she doated on, full of their
merits, blind to their faults, and always innocently busy, might
have been a model of right feminine happiness.

The evening of the very day
on which they went brought a note from Mr. Elton to Mr. Woodhouse,
a long, civil, ceremonious note, to say, with Mr. Elton’s best
compliments, “that he was proposing to leave Highbury the following
morning in his way to Bath; where, in compliance with the pressing
entreaties of some friends, he had engaged to spend a few
weeks
in hopes of obtaining help to deal
with the monster that haunted Highbury. He hoped to return with
soldiers capable of making short work on the creature once and for
all,
and very much regretted the
impossibility he was under, from various circumstances of weather
and business, of taking a personal leave of Mr. Woodhouse, of whose
friendly civilities he should ever retain a grateful sense—and had
Mr. Woodhouse any commands, should be happy to attend to
them.”

Emma was most agreeably surprized. Mr.
Elton’s absence just at this time was the very thing to be desired.
She admired him for it, though not able to give him much credit for
the manner in which it was announced. Resentment could not have
been more plainly spoken than in a civility to her father, from
which she was so pointedly excluded. She had not even a share in
his opening compliments. Her name was not mentioned; and there was
so striking a change in all this, and such an ill-judged solemnity
of leave-taking in his graceful acknowledgments, as she thought, at
first, could not escape her father’s suspicion.

It did, however. Her father was quite taken
up with the surprize of so sudden a journey, and his fears that Mr.
Elton might never get safely to the end of it, and saw nothing
extraordinary in his language. It was a very useful note, for it
supplied them with fresh matter for thought and conversation during
the rest of their lonely evening. Mr. Woodhouse talked over his
alarms, and Emma was in spirits to persuade them away with all her
usual promptitude.

She now resolved to keep
Harriet no longer in the dark. She had reason to believe her nearly
recovered from her cold, and it was desirable that she should have
as much time as possible for getting the better of her other
complaint before the gentleman’s return. She went to Mrs. Goddard’s
accordingly the very next day, to undergo the necessary penance of
communication; and a severe one it was. She had to destroy all the
hopes which she had been so industriously feeding—to appear in the
ungracious character of the one preferred—and acknowledge herself
grossly mistaken and mis-judging in all her ideas on one subject,
all her observations, all her convictions, all her prophecies for
the last six weeks.

The confession completely
renewed her first shame—and the sight of Harriet’s tears made her
think that she should never be in charity with herself
again.

Harriet bore the
intelligence very well—blaming nobody—and in every thing testifying
such an ingenuousness of disposition and lowly opinion of herself,
as must appear with particular advantage at that moment to her
friend.

Emma was in the humour to
value simplicity and modesty to the utmost; and all that was
amiable, all that ought to be attaching, seemed on Harriet’s side,
not her own. Harriet did not consider herself as having any thing
to complain of. The affection of such a man as Mr. Elton would have
been too great a distinction. She never could have deserved him—and
nobody but so partial and kind a friend as Miss Woodhouse would
have thought it possible.

Her tears fell
abundantly—but her grief was so truly artless, that no dignity
could have made it more respectable in Emma’s eyes—and she listened
to her and tried to console her with all her heart and
understanding—really for the time convinced that Harriet was the
superior creature of the two—and that to resemble her would be more
for her own welfare and happiness than all that genius or
intelligence could do.

It was rather too late in
the day to set about being simple-minded and ignorant; but she left
her with every previous resolution confirmed of being humble and
discreet, and repressing imagination all the rest of her life. Her
second duty now, inferior only to her father’s claims, was to
promote Harriet’s comfort, and endeavour to prove her own affection
in some better method than by match-making. She got her to
Hartfield, and shewed her the most unvarying kindness, striving to
occupy and amuse her, and by books and conversation, to drive Mr.
Elton from her thoughts.

Time, she knew, must be allowed for this
being thoroughly done; and she could suppose herself but an
indifferent judge of such matters in general, and very inadequate
to sympathise in an attachment to Mr. Elton in particular; but it
seemed to her reasonable that at Harriet’s age, and with the entire
extinction of all hope, such a progress might be made towards a
state of composure by the time of Mr. Elton’s return, as to allow
them all to meet again in the common routine of acquaintance,
without any danger of betraying sentiments or increasing them.

Harriet did think him all
perfection, and maintained the non-existence of any body equal to
him in person or goodness—and did, in truth, prove herself more
resolutely in love than Emma had foreseen; but yet it appeared to
her so natural, so inevitable to strive against an inclination of
that sort unrequited, that she could not comprehend its continuing
very long in equal force.

If Mr. Elton, on his return, made his own
indifference as evident and indubitable as she could not doubt he
would anxiously do, she could not imagine Harriet’s persisting to
place her happiness in the sight or the recollection of him.

Their being fixed, so absolutely fixed, in
the same place, was bad for each, for all three. Not one of them
had the power of removal, or of effecting any material change of
society. They must encounter each other, and make the best of
it.

Harriet was farther
unfortunate in the tone of her companions at Mrs. Goddard’s; Mr.
Elton being the adoration of all the teachers and great girls in
the school; and it must be at artfield only that she could have any
chance of hearing him spoken of with cooling moderation or
repellent truth. Where the wound had been given, there must the
cure be found if anywhere; and Emma felt that, till she saw her in
the way of cure, there could be no true peace for
herself.

Emma found herself in need of a walk to
clear her mind. She bundled up against the cold and ventured out.
Her father stopped her, warning her against the weather, though she
could tell it was not a fear of her coming down ill that truly
stirred him. It remained unspoken on his part, but she knew his
fear was for her very life. The monster still lurked in the woods
of Highbury. Kissing him on the forehead, she kindly refused his
offer to send one of the guards with her and assured him she would
be fine. Emma strolled out under the stars. The night air was
indeed filled with a heavy chill. Her breath was visible in the
starlight as she made her way beyond the boundaries of
Hartfield.

She was not far from her father’s estate
when the sound of a twig snapping behind her made her whirl around
with a start. A woman stood on the path behind her. The woman’s
long black hair trailed down her bare shoulders. Emma’s breath
caught in a gasp as she realized the woman wore no clothes and was
stark naked.

The woman moved towards her like a cat.
“Hello, my dear,” she purred. “You may call me Selena. Please do
not be put off by my appearance. I assure you I am fine and not in
need of help.”

Emma felt the warm touch of Selena’s skin on
her own as the woman laid a palm on her cheek. “There’s no need to
be frightened. I have not come to take your life this night. I only
need to know what you can tell me of a man named Knightley.”

“
Mr. Knightley?” Emma
asked, her voice trembling and her head faint from the woman’s
touch. Something about it stirred the passions within
her.

“
Yes, him. I can smell him
on you. He sees you regularly. You are his friend, if not more.
Where does he live? What is his trade? Who, my dear, does he
love?”

Emma swooned and collapsed
into the woman’s waiting arms. She whispered all her heart and all
that she knew with her face pressed into Selena’s shoulder, the
musky scent of the woman’s hair intoxicating.

An hour later, Chad, the
newest addition to the men who stood guard over Hartfield, roused
Emma from her slumber where she lay on the freezing ground. Emma
stared at him as he lifted her into his arms and carried her back
to her father. She couldn’t remember what had happened. Had she
slipped and fallen, or was she so emotionally worn out from the
troubles of the affairs with Harriet that she had fainted from
exhaustion? Either way, her father would be upset beyond the point
of dealing with her, and it would take all her charm to talk her
way out of this incident if she wanted to roam here on the
morrow—assuming he learned of this, of course. Emma ordered Chad to
put her down as they entered the estate and solicited his word he
would not share the events of this evening with anyone. He obliged,
and feeling comfortable he would keep his mouth shut, she hurried
inside, seeking the warmth of the fire her father surely had
burning for her.