Emma and the Werewolves (8 page)

* * * *

Chapter VII

T
he
very day of
Mr. Elton’s going to London
produced a fresh occasion for Emma’s services towards her friend as
well as a new terror in Highbury. Harriet had been at Hartfield, as
usual, when the news came. The night of the past evening had
brought more death to them all. Mr. Johnson, a kind man of good
measure, had set out the night before on the simple errand of
fetching the apothecary for his ailing wife as she had been running
a most high and worrisome fever only to never return. His wife had
passed on in their home during his absence but her death was
natural and though sad not out of the ordinary as she had also
appeared overly billous. Mr. Johnson’s body had been found by Mr.
Martin dangling from a tree as if hung but not be any rope. The
whole of his mangled and limbless remains turned in the breeze of
the dawn as it spun on the chords of the man’s on innards which
were tied stoutly around the tree’s branches. Mr. Martin had
confessed to being sick from the sight and swore it would forever
haunt him for the rest of his days. A meeting was to be called
later that day to address the happenings of the village. No mere
animal could have tied such knots nor defiled Mr. Johnson so. Soon
after breakfast and a short while of talkikng, Harriet had gone
home to check on her kin only to return again to dinner. Neither
Emma or her father had attended the meeting of the day. Thus
Harriet returned with news of what had transpired. A party of
hunters was to be formed and sent after whatever stalked the woods
around them. She told them that Mr. Knightley had been present and
strongly urged against just such action but the voices of the other
men overrode his own. As she had began her trip back to Hartfield,
she herself had seen a group of five armed men, Mr. Martin among
them, headed off in search of the fiend that lurked in the
darkness. Mr Martin had not had the time to speak to her nor had
Mr. Knightley not been with them. But soon their topic of
conversion reverted to things more pleasant and typical. With an
agitated, hurried look, Harriet spoke announcing something
extraordinary to have happened to her as well that she was longing
to tell. Half a minute brought it all out. She had heard, as soon
as she got back to Mrs. Goddard’s, that Mr. Martin had been there
an hour before after the meeting, and finding she was not at home,
nor particularly expected, had left a little parcel for her from
one of his sisters, and gone away; and on opening this parcel, she
had actually found, besides the two songs which she had lent
Elizabeth to copy, a letter to herself; and this letter was from
him, from Mr. Martin, and contained a direct proposal of marriage.
“Who could have thought it? She was so surprized she did not know
what to do. Yes, quite a proposal of marriage; and a very good
letter, at least she thought so. And he wrote as if he really loved
her very much—but she did not know—and so, she was come as fast as
she could to ask Miss Woodhouse what she should do.” Emma was
half-ashamed of her friend for seeming so pleased and so
doubtful.

“
Upon my word,” she cried,
“the young man is determined not to lose any thing for want of
asking. He will connect himself well if he can.”

“
Will you read the letter?”
cried Harriet. “Pray do. I’d rather you would.”

Emma was not sorry to be pressed. She read,
and was surprized. The style of the letter was much above her
expectation. There were not merely no grammatical errors, but as a
composition it would not have disgraced a gentleman; the language,
though plain, was strong and unaffected, and the sentiments it
conveyed very much to the credit of the writer. It was short, but
expressed good sense, warm attachment, liberality, propriety, even
delicacy of feeling. She paused over it, while Harriet stood
anxiously watching for her opinion, with a “Well, well,” and was at
last forced to add, “Is it a good letter? or is it too short?”

“
Yes, indeed, a very good
letter,” replied Emma rather slowly, “so good a letter, Harriet,
that every thing considered, I think one of his sisters must have
helped him. I can hardly imagine the young man whom I saw talking
with you the other day could express himself so well, if left quite
to his own powers, and yet it is not the style of a woman; no,
certainly, it is too strong and concise; not diffuse enough for a
woman. No doubt he is a sensible man, and I suppose may have a
natural talent for—thinks strongly and clearly—and when he takes a
pen in hand, his thoughts naturally find proper words. It is so
with some men. Yes, I understand the sort of mind. Vigorous,
decided, with sentiments to a certain point, not coarse. A better
written letter, Harriet (returning it) than I had
expected.”

“
I do hope he returns from
the hunt safely.”

“
Oh, Mr. Martin is an
earthy sort. I am sure he can handle himself well enough,” Emma
assured her.

“
Well,” said the still
waiting Harriet; back to being fixated on the letter again,
“well—and—and what shall I do in regards to him, Ms.
Woodhouse?”

“
What shall you do! In what
respect? Do you mean with regard to this letter?”

“
Yes.”

“
But what are you in doubt
of? You must answer it of course—and speedily.”

“
Yes. But what shall I say?
Dear Miss Woodhouse, do advise me.”

“
Oh no, no! the letter had
much better be all your own. You will express yourself very
properly, I am sure. There is no danger of your not being
intelligible, which is the first thing. Your meaning must be
unequivocal; no doubts or demurs: and such expressions of gratitude
and concern for the pain you are inflicting as propriety requires,
will present themselves unbidden to your mind, I am persuaded. You
need not be prompted to write with the appearance of sorrow for his
disappointment.”

“
You think I ought to
refuse him then,” said Harriet, looking down.

“
Ought to refuse him! My
dear Harriet, what do you mean? Are you in any doubt as to that? I
thought—but I beg your pardon, perhaps I have been under a mistake.
I certainly have been misunderstanding you, if you feel in doubt as
to the purport of your answer. I had imagined you were consulting
me only as to the wording of it.”

Harriet was silent. With a little reserve of
manner, Emma continued:

“
You mean to return a
favourable answer, I collect.”

“
No, I do not; that is, I
do not mean—What shall I do? What would you advise me to do? Pray,
dear Miss Woodhouse, tell me what I ought to do.”

“
I shall not give you any
advice, Harriet. I will have nothing to do with it. This is a point
which you must settle with your feelings.”

“
I had no notion that he
liked me so very much,” said Harriet, contemplating the letter. For
a little while Emma persevered in her silence; but beginning to
apprehend the bewitching flattery of that letter might be too
powerful, she thought it best to say, “I lay it down as a general
rule, Harriet, that if a woman doubts as to whether she should
accept a man or not, she certainly ought to refuse him. If she can
hesitate as to ‘Yes,’ she ought to say ‘No’ directly. It is not a
state to be safely entered into with doubtful feelings, with half a
heart. I thought it my duty as a friend, and older than yourself,
to say thus much to you. But do not imagine that I want to
influence you.”

“
Oh! no, I am sure you are
a great deal too kind to—but if you would just advise me what I had
best do—No, no, I do not mean that—As you say, one’s mind ought to
be quite made up—One should not be hesitating—It is a very serious
thing. It will be safer to say ‘No,’ perhaps. Do you think I had
better say ‘No?’”

“
Not for the world,” said
Emma, smiling graciously, “would I advise you either way. You must
be the best judge of your own happiness. If you prefer Mr. Martin
to every other person; if you think him the most agreeable man you
have ever been in company with, why should you hesitate? You blush,
Harriet. Does any body else occur to you at this moment under such
a definition? Harriet, Harriet, do not deceive yourself; do not be
run away with by gratitude and compassion. At this moment whom are
you thinking of?”

The symptoms were
favourable. Instead of answering, Harriet turned away confused, and
stood thoughtfully by the fire; and though the letter was still in
her hand, it was now mechanically twisted about without regard.
Emma waited the result with impatience, but not without strong
hopes. At last, with some hesitation, Harriet said—

“
Miss Woodhouse, as you
will not give me your opinion, I must do as well as I can by
myself; and I have now quite determined, and really almost made up
my mind—to refuse Mr. Martin. Do you think I am right?”

“
Perfectly, perfectly
right, my dearest Harriet; you are doing just what you ought. While
you were at all in suspense I kept my feelings to myself, but now
that you are so completely decided I have no hesitation in
approving. Dear Harriet, I give myself joy of this. It would have
grieved me to lose your acquaintance, which must have been the
consequence of your marrying Mr. Martin. While you were in the
smallest degree wavering, I said nothing about it, because I would
not influence; but it would have been the loss of a friend to me. I
could not have visited Mrs. Robert Martin, of Abbey-Mill Farm. Now
I am secure of you for ever.”

Harriet had not surmised her own danger, but
the idea of it struck her forcibly.

“
You could not have visited
me!” she cried, looking aghast. “No, to be sure you could not; but
I never thought of that before. That would have been too dreadful!
What an escape! Dear Miss Woodhouse, I would not give up the
pleasure and honour of being intimate with you for any thing in the
world.”

“
Indeed, Harriet, it would
have been a severe pang to lose you; but it must have been. You
would have thrown yourself out of all good society. I must have
given you up.”

“
Dear me! How should I ever
have borne it! It would have killed me never to come to Hartfield
any more!”

“
Dear affectionate
creature! You banished to Abbey-Mill Farm! You confined to the
society of the illiterate and vulgar all your life! I wonder how
the young man could have the assurance to ask it. He must have a
pretty good opinion of himself.”

“
I do not think he is
conceited either, in general,” said Harriet, her conscience
opposing such censure; “at least, he is very good natured, and I
shall always feel much obliged to him, and have a great regard
for—but that is quite a different thing from—and you know, though
he may like me, it does not follow that I should—and certainly I
must confess that since my visiting here I have seen people—and if
one comes to compare them, person and manners, there is no
comparison at all, one is so very handsome and agreeable. However,
I do really think Mr. Martin a very amiable young man, and have a
great opinion of him; and his being so much attached to me—and his
writing such a letter—but as to leaving you, it is what I would not
do upon any consideration.”

“
Thank you, thank you, my
own sweet little friend. We will not be parted. A woman is not to
marry a man merely because she is asked, or because he is attached
to her, and can write a tolerable letter.”

“
Oh no; and it is but a
short letter too.”

Emma felt the bad taste of her friend, but
let it pass with a “very true; and it would be a small consolation
to her, for the clownish manner which might be offending her every
hour of the day, to know that her husband could write a good
letter.”

“
Oh! yes, very. Nobody
cares for a letter; the thing is, to be always happy with pleasant
companions. I am quite determined to refuse him. But how shall I
do? That shall I say?”

Emma assured her there would be no
difficulty in the answer, and advised its being written directly,
which was agreed to, in the hope of her assistance; and though Emma
continued to protest against any assistance being wanted, it was in
fact given in the formation of every sentence. The looking over his
letter again, in replying to it, had such a softening tendency,
that it was particularly necessary to brace her up with a few
decisive expressions; and she was so very much concerned at the
idea of making him unhappy, and thought so much of what his mother
and sisters would think and say, and was so anxious that they
should not fancy her ungrateful, that Emma believed if the young
man had come in her way at that moment, he would have been accepted
after all.

This letter, however, was written, and
sealed, and sent. The business was finished, and Harriet safe. She
was rather low all the evening, but Emma could allow for her
amiable regrets, and sometimes relieved them by speaking of her own
affection, sometimes by bringing forward the idea of Mr. Elton.

As the girls carried on at Hartfield, the
party of hunters made their way deeper into the woods surrounding
Highbury. Mr. Hyatt was in charge of the party being a man known as
an excellent hunter and figure of authority. The rest were made up
of Mr. Jones, Mr. Thomas, Mr. Rathbone, and of course, Mr. Martin.
Their hike was a long one and their muskets grew heavy in their
hands as they traveled. There was no sign of anything out of place
in the woods around them. Mr. Hyatt could find no tracks that might
belong to the killer. They carried on though determined to bring
justice to bare for the sake of poor Mr. Johnson. By the time, the
sun was sinking in the sky, even the most resolute among them were
growing weary. They stopped not far from the river to the north of
Highbury to take a rest and get their bearings as a thunderous
growl sounded in the distance. Leaping to their feet, at the
thought it might belong to a bear as they knew of no other creature
who could make such loud and angry cry, they rushed in the
direction from whence it came. When they reached the area, nothing
was to be found but a small pool of blood upon the grass around a
gnawed upon human arm which surely must have belonged to Mr.
Johnson. The scene and circumstances were unnerving and rightly so.
They were tired and dared not continue on with their hunt into the
night. Agreeing to disband and resume their mission the next day,
the group broke in half, heading off in clusters towards their
homes.