Emma and the Werewolves (67 page)

I
t
was a very
great relief to Emma to find
Harriet as desirous as herself to avoid a meeting. Their
intercourse was painful enough by letter. How much worse, had they
been obliged to meet!

Harriet expressed herself very much as might
be supposed, without reproaches, or apparent sense of ill-usage;
and yet Emma fancied there was a something of resentment, a
something bordering on it in her style, which increased the
desirableness of their being separate. It might be only her own
consciousness; but it seemed as if an angel only could have been
quite without resentment under such a stroke.

She had no difficulty in
procuring Isabella’s invitation; and she was fortunate in having a
sufficient reason for asking it, without resorting to invention.
There was a tooth amiss. Harriet really wished, and had wished some
time, to consult a dentist. Mrs. John Knightley was delighted to be
of use; any thing of ill health was a recommendation to her—and
though not so fond of a dentist as of a Mr. Wingfield, she was
quite eager to have Harriet under her care. When it was thus
settled on her sister’s side, Emma proposed it to her friend, and
found her very persuadable. Harriet was to go; she was invited for
at least a fortnight; she was to be conveyed in Mr. Woodhouse’s
carriage. It was all arranged, it was all completed, and Harriet
was safe in Brunswick Square.

Now Emma could, indeed, enjoy Mr.
Knightley’s visits; now she could talk, and she could listen with
true happiness, unchecked by that sense of injustice, of guilt, of
something most painful, which had haunted her when remembering how
disappointed a heart was near her, how much might at that moment,
and at a little distance, be enduring by the feelings which she had
led astray herself.

The difference of Harriet at Mrs. Goddard’s,
or in London, made perhaps an unreasonable difference in Emma’s
sensations; but she could not think of her in London without
objects of curiosity and employment, which must be averting the
past, and carrying her out of herself.

She would not allow any
other anxiety to succeed directly to the place in her mind which
Harriet had occupied. There was a communication before her, one
which she only could be competent to make—the confession of her
engagement to her father; but she would have nothing to do with it
at present. She had resolved to defer the disclosure till Mrs.
Weston were safe and well. No additional agitation should be thrown
at this period among those she loved—and the evil should not act on
herself by anticipation before the appointed time. A fortnight, at
least, of leisure and peace of mind, to crown every warmer, but
more agitating, delight, should be hers.

She soon resolved, equally
as a duty and a pleasure, to employ half an hour of this holiday of
spirits in calling on Miss Fairfax. She ought to go—and she was
longing to see her; the resemblance of their present situations
increasing every other motive of goodwill. It would be a secret
satisfaction; but the consciousness of a similarity of prospect
would certainly add to the interest with which she should attend to
any thing Jane might communicate.

She went—she had driven
once unsuccessfully to the door, but had not been into the house
since the morning after Box Hill, when poor Jane had been in such
distress as had filled her with compassion, though all the worst of
her sufferings had been unsuspected. The fear of being still
unwelcome, determined her, though assured of their being at home,
to wait in the passage, and send up her name. She heard Patty
announcing it; but no such bustle succeeded as poor Miss Bates had
before made so happily intelligible. No; she heard nothing but the
instant reply of, “Beg her to walk up;” —and a moment afterwards
she was met on the stairs by Jane herself, coming eagerly forward,
as if no other reception of her were felt sufficient. Emma had
never seen her look so well, so lovely, so engaging. There was
consciousness, animation, and warmth; there was every thing which
her countenance or manner could ever have wanted. She came forward
with an offered hand; and said, in a low, but very feeling
tone,

“
This is most kind, indeed!
Miss Woodhouse, it is impossible for me to express—I hope you will
believe—Excuse me for being so entirely without words.”

Emma was gratified, and would soon have
shewn no want of words, if the sound of Mrs. Elton’s voice from the
sitting-room had not checked her, and made it expedient to compress
all her friendly and all her congratulatory sensations into a very,
very earnest shake of the hand.

Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Elton
were together. Miss Bates was out, which accounted for the previous
tranquillity. Emma could have wished Mrs. Elton elsewhere; but she
was in a humour to have patience with every body; and as Mrs. Elton
met her with unusual graciousness, she hoped the rencontre would do
them no harm.

She soon believed herself to penetrate Mrs.
Elton’s thoughts, and understand why she was, like herself, in
happy spirits; it was being in Miss Fairfax’s confidence, and
fancying herself acquainted with what was still a secret to other
people. Emma saw symptoms of it immediately in the expression of
her face; and while paying her own compliments to Mrs. Bates, and
appearing to attend to the good old lady’s replies, she saw her
with a sort of anxious parade of mystery fold up a letter which she
had apparently been reading aloud to Miss Fairfax, and return it
into the purple and gold reticule by her side, saying, with
significant nods,

“
We can finish this some
other time, you know. You and I shall not want opportunities. And,
in fact, you have heard all the essential already. I only wanted to
prove to you that Mrs. S. admits our apology, and is not offended.
You see how delightfully she writes. Oh! she is a sweet creature!
You would have doated on her, had you gone. But not a word more.
Let us be discreet—quite on our good behaviour. Hush! You remember
those lines—I forget the poem at this moment:

“For when a lady’s in the case,

“You know all other things give place.”

Now I say, my dear, in our
case, for lady, read—mum! a word to the wise. I am in a fine flow
of spirits, an’t I? But I want to set your heart at ease as to Mrs.
S. My representation, you see, has quite appeased her.”

And again, on Emma’s merely turning her head
to look at Mrs. Bates’s knitting, she added, in a half whisper, “I
mentioned no names, you will observe. Oh! no; cautious as a
minister of state. I managed it extremely well.”

Emma could not doubt. It was a palpable
display, repeated on every possible occasion. When they had all
talked a little while in harmony of the weather and Mrs. Weston,
she found herself abruptly addressed with, “Do not you think, Miss
Woodhouse, our saucy little friend here is charmingly recovered? Do
not you think her cure does Perry the highest credit? (here was a
side-glance of great meaning at Jane.) Upon my word, Perry has
restored her in a wonderful short time! Oh! if you had seen her, as
I did, when she was at the worst!” And when Mrs. Bates was saying
something to Emma, whispered farther, “We do not say a word of any
assistance that Perry might have; not a word of a certain young
physician from Windsor. Oh! no; Perry shall have all the
credit.”

“
I have scarce had the
pleasure of seeing you, Miss Woodhouse,” she shortly afterwards
began, “since the party to Box Hill. Very pleasant party. But yet I
think there was something wanting. Things did not seem—that is,
there seemed a little cloud upon the spirits of some. So it
appeared to me at least, but I might be mistaken. However, I think
it answered so far as to tempt one to go again. What say you both
to our collecting the same party, and exploring to Box Hill again,
while the fine weather lasts? It must be the same party, you know,
quite the same party, not one exception.”

Soon after this Miss Bates came in, and Emma
could not help being diverted by the perplexity of her first answer
to herself, resulting, she supposed, from doubt of what might be
said, and impatience to say every thing.

“
Thank you, dear Miss
Woodhouse, you are all kindness. It is impossible to say—Yes,
indeed, I quite understand—dearest Jane’s prospects—that is, I do
not mean. But she is charmingly recovered. How is Mr. Woodhouse? I
am so glad. Quite out of my power. Such a happy little circle as
you find us here. Yes, indeed. Charming young man! that is—so very
friendly; I mean good Mr. Perry! such attention to Jane!” —And from
her great, her more than commonly thankful delight towards Mrs.
Elton for being there, Emma guessed that there had been a little
show of resentment towards Jane, from the vicarage quarter, which
was now graciously overcome. After a few whispers, indeed, which
placed it beyond a guess, Mrs. Elton, speaking louder, said, “Yes,
here I am, my good friend; and here I have been so long, that
anywhere else I should think it necessary to apologise; but, the
truth is, that I am waiting for my lord and master. He promised to
join me here, and pay his respects to you.”

“
What! are we to have the
pleasure of a call from Mr. Elton? That will be a favour indeed!
for I know gentlemen do not like morning visits, and Mr. Elton’s
time is so engaged.”

“
Upon my word it is, Miss
Bates. He really is engaged from morning to night. There is no end
of people’s coming to him, on some pretence or other. The
magistrates, and overseers, and churchwardens, are always wanting
his opinion. They seem not able to do any thing without him. ‘Upon
my word, Mr. E.,’ I often say, ‘rather you than I. I do not know
what would become of my crayons and my instrument, if I had half so
many applicants.’ —Bad enough as it is, for I absolutely neglect
them both to an unpardonable degree. I believe I have not played a
bar this fortnight. However, he is coming, I assure you: yes,
indeed, on purpose to wait on you all.” And putting up her hand to
screen her words from Emma— “A congratulatory visit, you know. Oh!
yes, quite indispensable.”

Miss Bates looked about her, so happily!

“
He promised to come to me
as soon as he could disengage himself from Knightley; but he and
Knightley are shut up together in deep consultation. Mr. E. is
Knightley’s right hand.”

Emma would not have smiled for the world,
and only said, “Is Mr. Elton gone on foot to Donwell? He will have
a hot walk.”

“
Oh! no, it is a meeting at
the Crown, a regular meeting. Weston and Cole will be there too;
but one is apt to speak only of those who lead. I fancy Mr. E. and
Knightley have every thing their own way.”

“
Have not you mistaken the
day?” said Emma. “I am almost certain that the meeting at the Crown
is not till to-morrow. Mr. Knightley was at Hartfield yesterday,
and spoke of it as for Saturday.”

“
Oh! no, the meeting is
certainly to-day,” was the abrupt answer, which denoted the
impossibility of any blunder on Mrs. Elton’s side. “I do believe,”
she continued, “this is the most troublesome parish that ever was.
We never heard of such things at Maple Grove.”

“
Your parish there was
small,” said Jane.

“
Upon my word, my dear, I
do not know, for I never heard the subject talked of.”

“
But it is proved by the
smallness of the school, which I have heard you speak of, as under
the patronage of your sister and Mrs. Bragge; the only school, and
not more than five-and-twenty children.”

“
Ah! you clever creature,
that’s very true. What a thinking brain you have! I say, Jane, what
a perfect character you and I should make, if we could be shaken
together. My liveliness and your solidity would produce perfection.
Not that I presume to insinuate, however, that some people may not
think you perfection already. But hush! not a word, if you
please.”

It seemed an unnecessary caution; Jane was
wanting to give her words, not to Mrs. Elton, but to Miss
Woodhouse, as the latter plainly saw. The wish of distinguishing
her, as far as civility permitted, was very evident, though it
could not often proceed beyond a look.

Mr. Elton made his appearance. His lady
greeted him with some of her sparkling vivacity.

“
Very pretty, sir, upon my
word; to send me on here, to be an encumbrance to my friends, so
long before you vouchsafe to come! But you knew what a dutiful
creature you had to deal with. You knew I should not stir till my
lord and master appeared. Here have I been sitting this hour,
giving these young ladies a sample of true conjugal obedience—for
who can say, you know, how soon it may be wanted?”

Mr. Elton was so hot and tired, that all
this wit seemed thrown away. His civilities to the other ladies
must be paid; but his subsequent object was to lament over himself
for the heat he was suffering, and the walk he had had for
nothing.

“
When I got to Donwell,”
said he, “Knightley could not be found. Very odd! very
unaccountable! after the note I sent him this morning, and the
message he returned, that he should certainly be at home till
one.”

“
Donwell!” cried his wife.
“My dear Mr. E., you have not been to Donwell! You mean the Crown;
you come from the meeting at the Crown.”

“
No, no, that’s to-morrow;
and I particularly wanted to see Knightley to-day on that very
account. Such a dreadful broiling morning! I went over the fields
too—(speaking in a tone of great ill-usage,) which made it so much
the worse. And then not to find him at home! I assure you I am not
at all pleased. And no apology left, no message for me. The
housekeeper declared she knew nothing of my being expected. Very
extraordinary! And nobody knew at all which way he was gone.
Perhaps to Hartfield, perhaps to the Abbey Mill, perhaps into his
woods. Miss Woodhouse, this is not like our friend Knightley! Can
you explain it?”