Emma and the Werewolves (4 page)

Harriet Smith was the natural daughter of
somebody. Somebody had placed her, several years back, at Mrs.
Goddard’s school, and somebody had lately raised her from the
condition of scholar to that of parlour-boarder. This was all that
was generally known of her history. She had no visible friends but
what had been acquired at Highbury, and was now just returned from
a long visit in the country to some young ladies who had been at
school there with her.

She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty
happened to be of a sort which Emma particularly admired. She was
short, plump, and fair, with a fine bloom, blue eyes, light hair,
regular features, and a look of great sweetness, and, before the
end of the evening, Emma was as much pleased with her manners as
her person, and quite determined to continue the acquaintance.

She was not struck by any
thing remarkably clever in Miss Smith’s conversation, but she found
her altogether very engaging—not inconveniently shy, not unwilling
to talk—and yet so far from pushing, shewing so proper and becoming
a deference, seeming so pleasantly grateful for being admitted to
Hartfield, and so artlessly impressed by the appearance of every
thing in so superior a style to what she had been used to, that she
must have good sense, and deserve encouragement. Encouragement
should be given. Those soft blue eyes, and all those natural
graces, should not be wasted on the inferior society of Highbury
and its connexions. The acquaintance she had already formed were
unworthy of her. The friends from whom she had just parted, though
very good sort of people, must be doing her harm. They were a
family of the name of Martin, whom Emma well knew by character, as
renting a large farm of Mr. Knightley, and residing in the parish
of Donwell—very creditably, she believed—she knew Mr. Knightley
thought highly of them—but they must be coarse and unpolished, and
very unfit to be the intimates of a girl who wanted only a little
more knowledge and elegance to be quite perfect. She would notice
her; she would improve her; she would detach her from her bad
acquaintance, and introduce her into good society; she would form
her opinions and her manners. It would be an interesting, and
certainly a very kind undertaking; highly becoming her own
situation in life, her leisure, and powers.

She was so busy in admiring those soft blue
eyes, in talking and listening, and forming all these schemes in
the in-betweens, that the evening flew away at a very unusual rate;
and the supper-table, which always closed such parties, and for
which she had been used to sit and watch the due time, was all set
out and ready, and moved forwards to the fire, before she was
aware. With an alacrity beyond the common impulse of a spirit which
yet was never indifferent to the credit of doing every thing well
and attentively, with the real good-will of a mind delighted with
its own ideas, did she then do all the honours of the meal, and
help and recommend the minced chicken and scalloped oysters, with
an urgency which she knew would be acceptable to the early hours
and civil scruples of their guests.

Upon such occasions poor
Mr. Woodhouses feelings were in sad warfare. He loved to have the
cloth laid, because it had been the fashion of his youth, but his
conviction of suppers being very unwholesome made him rather sorry
to see any thing put on it; and while his hospitality would have
welcomed his visitors to every thing, his care for their health
made him grieve that they would eat.

Such another small basin of thin gruel as
his own was all that he could, with thorough self-approbation,
recommend; though he might constrain himself, while the ladies were
comfortably clearing the nicer things, to say:

“
Mrs. Bates, let me propose
your venturing on one of these eggs. An egg boiled very soft is not
unwholesome. Serle understands boiling an egg better than any body.
I would not recommend an egg boiled by any body else; but you need
not be afraid, they are very small, you see—one of our small eggs
will not hurt you. Miss Bates, let Emma help you to a little bit of
tart—a very little bit. Ours are all apple-tarts. You need not be
afraid of unwholesome preserves here. I do not advise the custard.
Mrs. Goddard, what say you to half a glass of wine? A small
half-glass, put into a tumbler of water? I do not think it could
disagree with you.”

Emma allowed her father to
talk—but supplied her visitors in a much more satisfactory style,
and on the present evening had particular pleasure in sending them
away happy. The happiness of Miss Smith was quite equal to her
intentions. Miss Woodhouse was so great a personage in Highbury,
that the prospect of the introduction had given as much panic as
pleasure; but the humble, grateful little girl went off with highly
gratified feelings, delighted with the affability with which Miss
Woodhouse had treated her all the evening, and actually shaken
hands with her at last!

* * * *

Interlude

K
nightley looked around his
bed-room.
The walls were adorned with crosses and paintings. He was very much
a man of faith and taste. His faith was being tested though. No one
else in all of Highbury or the surrounding country knew or would
admit to the truth of the horror that had come to their part of the
world. He alone, with only the help of God, was left to take a
stand against the supernatural evil that stalked the night.
Knightley knew he couldn’t do it all on his own. He merely was one
man and they were many—many and so powerful. A single beast would
have no trouble ripping apart an entire hunting party if one was
sent after it and unlucky enough to actually find it. Only the Lord
Himself knew just how many of those who went missing were now
infected by the evil of the original pack and beasts themselves.
Only by God’s grace had he had been able to eliminate a few of the
things already. Somehow, when in their presence, it was as if he
himself gained strength beyond that of a normal man. His reflexes
were sharper, his senses keener, than he would have thought
possible. He could not explain it.

Knightley looked over the weapons spread out
across the length of the table before him. Eight silver knives and
a single pistol stared back at him. Never would he have believed he
would become a warrior in the war between Good and Evil.

He picked up one of the
daggers and held the blade to the flesh of his cheek as he prayed,
asking God for wisdom, strength, and the courage to carry
on.

* * * *

Chapter IV

H
arriet Smith’s intimacy at
Hartfield
was soon a settled thing. Quick and decided in her ways, Emma lost
no time in inviting, encouraging, and telling her to come very
often; and as their acquaintance increased, so did their
satisfaction in each other. As a walking companion, Emma had very
early foreseen how useful she might find her. No one liked to walk
alone with the recent events that took place in Highbury. Safety in
numbers was fast becoming the region’s motto. In that respect Mrs.
Weston’s loss had been important. Her father never went beyond the
shrubbery, where two divisions of the ground sufficed him for his
long walk, or his short, as the year varied; and since Mrs.
Weston’s marriage her exercise had been too much confined. She had
ventured once alone to Randalls, but it was not pleasant; and a
Harriet Smith, therefore, one whom she could summon at any time to
a walk, would be a valuable addition to her privileges. But in
every respect, as she saw more of her, she approved her, and was
confirmed in all her kind designs.

Harriet certainly was not
clever, but she had a sweet, docile, grateful disposition, was
totally free from conceit, and only desiring to be guided by any
one she looked up to. Her early attachment to herself was very
amiable; and her inclination for good company, and power of
appreciating what was elegant and clever, shewed that there was no
want of taste, though strength of understanding must not be
expected. Altogether she was quite convinced of Harriet Smith’s
being exactly the young friend she wanted—exactly the something
which her home required in this time of darkness. Such a friend as
Mrs. Weston was out of the question. Two such could never be
granted. Two such she did not want. It was quite a different sort
of thing, a sentiment distinct and independent. Mrs. Weston was the
object of a regard which had its basis in gratitude and esteem.
Harriet would be loved as one to whom she could be useful. For Mrs.
Weston there was nothing to be done; for Harriet every
thing.

Her first attempts at
usefulness were in an endeavour to find out who were the parents,
but Harriet could not tell. She was ready to tell every thing in
her power, but on this subject questions were vain. Emma was
obliged to fancy what she liked—but she could never believe that in
the same situation she should not have discovered the truth.
Harriet had no penetration. She had been satisfied to hear and
believe just what Mrs. Goddard chose to tell her; and looked no
farther.

Mrs. Goddard, and the
teachers, and the girls and the affairs of the school in general,
including their new rules and the recent addition of men to look
over the grounds at night, formed naturally a great part of the
conversation—and but for her acquaintance with the Martins of
Abbey-Mill Farm, it must have been the whole. But the Martins
occupied her thoughts a good deal; she had spent two very happy
months with them, and now loved to talk of the pleasures of her
visit, and describe the many comforts and wonders of the place.
Emma encouraged her talkativeness—amused by such a picture of
another set of beings, and enjoying the youthful simplicity which
could speak with so much exultation of Mrs. Martin’s having “two
parlours, two very good parlours, indeed; one of them quite as
large as Mrs. Goddard’s drawing-room; and of her having an upper
maid who had lived five-and-twenty years with her; and of their
having eight cows, two of them Alderneys, and one a little Welch
cow, a very pretty little Welch cow indeed; they had more before
the trouble came to Highbury. Whatever was behind the
disappearances of its inhabitants had no qualms about taking cattle
as well. Though these poor beasts were not to vanish but rather to
be discovered in the light of the dawn, torn and rendered into
pieces, scattered about and left to rot. At least that was the fate
of their remains that whatever creature murdered them didn’t
consume. Emma and Harriet also spoke of Mrs. Martin’s saying as she
was so fond of the little Welch cow, it should be called her cow;
and of their having a very handsome summer-house in their garden,
where some day next year they were all to drink tea: a very
handsome summer-house, large enough to hold a dozen
people.”

For some time she was amused, without
thinking beyond the immediate cause; but as she came to understand
the family better, other feelings arose. She had taken up a wrong
idea, fancying it was a mother and daughter, a son and son’s wife,
who all lived together; but when it appeared that the Mr. Martin,
who bore a part in the narrative, and was always mentioned with
approbation for his great good-nature in doing something or other,
was a single man; that there was no young Mrs. Martin, no wife in
the case; she did suspect danger to her poor little friend from all
this hospitality and kindness, and that, if she were not taken care
of, she might be required to sink herself forever.

With this inspiriting
notion, her questions increased in number and meaning; and she
particularly led Harriet to talk more of Mr. Martin, and there was
evidently no dislike to it. Harriet was very ready to speak of the
share he had had in their moonlight walks and merry evening games;
and dwelt a good deal upon his being so very good-humoured and
obliging. She felt no danger being out with him. Mr. Martin was a
tough sort of man in his own way and an excellent marksman. He
always walked with his rifle these days and carried it on their
times together. He had gone three miles round one day in order to
bring her some walnuts, because she had said how fond she was of
them, and in every thing else he was so very obliging. He had his
shepherd’s son into the parlour one night on purpose to sing to
her. She was very fond of singing. He could sing a little himself.
She believed he was very clever, and understood every thing. He had
a very fine flock, which he guarded closely, and, while she was
with them, he had been bid more for his wool than any body in the
country. She believed every body spoke well of him. His mother and
sisters were very fond of him. Mrs. Martin had told her one day
(and there was a blush as she said it) that it was impossible for
any body to be a better son, and therefore she was sure, whenever
he married, he would make a good husband. Not that she wanted him
to marry. She was in no hurry at all.

Well done, Mrs. Martin! thought Emma. You
know what you are about.

“
And when she had come
away, Mrs. Martin was so very kind as to send Mrs. Goddard a
beautiful goose—the finest goose Mrs. Goddard had ever seen. Mrs.
Goddard had dressed it on a Sunday, and asked all the three
teachers, Miss Nash, and Miss Prince, and Miss Richardson, to sup
with her.”

“
Mr. Martin, I suppose, is
not a man of information beyond the line of his own business? He
does not read?”

“
Oh yes! that is, no—I do
not know—but I believe he has read a good deal—but not what you
would think any thing of. He reads the Agricultural Reports, and
some other books that lay in one of the window seats—but he reads
all them to himself. But sometimes of an evening, before we went to
cards, he would read something aloud out of the ‘Elegant Extracts,’
very entertaining. And I know he has read the ‘Vicar of Wakefield.’
He never read the ‘Romance of the Forest,’ nor ‘The Children of the
Abbey.’ He had never heard of such books before I mentioned them,
but he is determined to get them now as soon as ever he
can.”