Emma (16 page)

Mr Woodhouse had so completely made up his mind to the visit that in spite of the increasing coldness, he seemed to have no idea of shrinking from it, and set forward at last most punctually with his eldest daughter in his own carriage, with less apparent consciousness of the weather than either of the others—too full of the wonder of his own going and the pleasure it was to afford at Randalls to see that it was cold, and too well wrapped up to feel it. The cold however was severe, and by the time the second carriage was in motion, a few flakes of snow were finding their way down, and the sky had the appearance of being so overcharged as to want only a milder air to produce a very white world in a very short time.

Emma soon saw that her companion was not in the happiest humour. The preparing and the going abroad in such weather, with the sacrifice of his children after dinner, were evils, were disagreeables at least, which Mr John Knightley did not by any means like. He anticipated nothing in the visit that could be at all worth the purchase, and the whole of their drive to the vicarage was spent by him in expressing his discontent.

“A man,” said he, “must have a very good opinion of himself when he asks people to leave their own fireside, and encounter such a day as this, for the sake of coming to see him. He must think himself a most agreeable fellow. I could not do such a thing. It is the greatest absurdity—actually snowing at this moment! The folly of not allowing people to be comfortable at home—and the folly of people’s not staying comfortably at home when they can! If we were obliged to go out such an evening as this—by any call of duty or business, what a hardship we should deem it, and here are we, probably with rather thinner clothing than usual—setting forward voluntarily, without excuse, in defiance of the voice of nature, which tells man in everything given to his view or his feelings to stay at home himself, and keep all under shelter that he can. Here are we setting forward to spend five dull hours in another man’s house, with nothing to say or to hear that was not said and heard yesterday, and may not be said and heard again tomorrow. Going in dismal weather, to return probably in worse, four horses and four servants taken out for nothing but to convey five idle, shivering creatures into colder rooms and worse company than they might have had at home.”

Emma did not find herself equal to give the pleased assent which no doubt he was in the habit of receiving, to emulate the “Very true, my love,” which must have been usually administered by his travelling companion, but she had resolution enough to refrain from making any answer at all. She could not be complying, she dreaded being quarrelsome—her heroism reached only to silence. She allowed him to talk, and arranged the glasses, and wrapped herself up, without opening her lips. So unlike the general amiableness of his brother. She wondered how Mr John Knightley and Mr Knightley could be brothers. She harboured no question that if Mr Knightley had sat beside her during the carriage ride, he would not have babbled endlessly about circumstances he could not change, but rather looked ahead to the provisions of the evening festivities with general pleasantness.

Although, she allowed, if she had been alone in the carriage with Mr Knightley and not the disagreeable brother, she might also have had thoughts about his lips and his person and their influence upon her mood. Which made her consider if Mr Knightley, left alone with her again, would attempt to once more instruct her in the passionate nature of women. She experienced no little amount of warmth over the thought. Perhaps more warmth than offered by the footwarmer placed at their feet. However, it wasn’t her feet that burned.

They arrived, the carriage turned, the step was let down, and Mr Elton, spruce, black, and smiling, was with them instantly. Emma thought with pleasure of some change of subject. Mr Elton was all obligation and cheerfulness, he was so very cheerful in his civilities indeed, that she began to think he must have received a different account of Harriet from what had reached her. She had sent while dressing, and the answer had been, “Much the same—not better.”

“
My
report from Mrs Goddard’s,” said she presently, “was not so pleasant as I had hoped— ‘Not better’ was
my
answer.”

His face lengthened immediately, and his voice was the voice of sentiment as he answered.

“Oh! No—I am grieved to find—I was on the point of telling you that when I called at Mrs Goddard’s door, which I did the very last thing before I returned to dress, I was told that Miss Smith was not better, by no means better, rather worse. Very much grieved and concerned—I had flattered myself that she must be better after such a cordial as I knew had been given her in the morning.”

Emma smiled and answered, “My visit was of use to the nervous part of her complaint, I hope, but not even I can charm away a sore throat, it is a most severe cold indeed. Mr Perry has been with her, as you probably heard.”

“Yes—I imagined—that is—I did not—”

“He has been used to her in these complaints, and I hope tomorrow morning will bring us both a more comfortable report. But it is impossible not to feel uneasiness. Such a sad loss to our party today!”

“Dreadful! Exactly so, indeed. She will be missed every moment.”

This was very proper, the sigh which accompanied it was really estimable, but it should have lasted longer. Emma was rather in dismay when only half a minute afterwards he began to speak of other things, and in a voice of the greatest alacrity and enjoyment.

“What an excellent device,” said he, “the use of a sheepskin for carriages. How very comfortable they make it, impossible to feel cold with such precautions. The contrivances of modern days indeed have rendered a gentleman’s carriage perfectly complete. One is so fenced and guarded from the weather, that not a breath of air can find its way unpermitted. Weather becomes absolutely of no consequence. It is a very cold afternoon—but in this carriage we know nothing of the matter. Ha! Snows a little I see.”

“Yes,” said John Knightley, “and I think we shall have a good deal of it.”

“Christmas weather,” observed Mr Elton. “Quite seasonable, and extremely fortunate we may think ourselves that it did not begin yesterday, and prevent this day’s party, which it might very possibly have done, for Mr Woodhouse would hardly have ventured had there been much snow on the ground, but now it is of no consequence. This is quite the season indeed for friendly meetings. At Christmas everybody invites their friends about them, and people think little of even the worst weather. I was snowed up at a friend’s house once for a week. Nothing could be pleasanter. I went for only one night, and could not get away till that very day se’nnight.”

Mr John Knightley looked as if he did not comprehend the pleasure, but said only, coolly, “I cannot wish to be snowed up a week at Randalls.”

At another time Emma might have been amused, but she was too much astonished now at Mr Elton’s spirits for other feelings. Harriet seemed quite forgotten in the expectation of a pleasant party.

“We are sure of excellent fires,” continued he, “and everything in the greatest comfort. Charming people, Mr and Mrs Weston. Mrs Weston indeed is much beyond praise, and he is exactly what one values, so hospitable, and so fond of society. It will be a small party, but where small parties are select, they are perhaps the most agreeable of any. Mr Weston’s dining room does not accommodate more than ten comfortably, and for my part, I would rather under such circumstances fall short by two than exceed by two. I think you will agree with me”—turning with a soft air to Emma—“I think I shall certainly have your approbation, though Mr Knightley perhaps, from being used to the large parties of London, may not quite enter into our feelings.”

“I know nothing of the large parties of London, sir—I never dine with anybody.”

“Indeed!” In a tone of wonder and pity. “I had no idea that the law had been so great a slavery. Well, sir, the time must come when you will be paid for all this, when you will have little labour and great enjoyment.”

“My first enjoyment,” replied John Knightley, as they passed through the sweep-gate, “will be to find myself safe at Hartfield again.”

Chapter Fourteen

Some change of countenance was necessary for each gentleman as they walked into Mrs Weston’s drawing room. Mr Elton must compose his joyous looks, and Mr John Knightley disperse his ill-humour. Mr Elton must smile less, and Mr John Knightley more, to fit them for the place. Emma only might be as nature prompted, and show herself just as happy as she was.

To her it was real enjoyment to be with the Westons. Mr Weston was a great favourite, and there was not a creature in the world to whom she spoke with such unreserve as to his wife, not anyone to whom she related with such conviction of being listened to and understood, of being always interesting and always intelligible, the little affairs, arrangements, perplexities and pleasures of her father and herself. She could tell nothing of Hartfield in which Mrs Weston had not a lively concern, and half an hour’s uninterrupted communication of all those little matters on which the daily happiness of private life depends was one of the first gratifications of each.

This was a pleasure which perhaps the whole day’s visit might not afford, which certainly did not belong to the present half-hour, but the very sight of Mrs Weston, her smile, her touch, her voice was grateful to Emma, and she determined to think as little as possible of Mr Elton’s oddities or of anything else unpleasant and enjoy all that was enjoyable to the utmost. Excepting one thing.

The misfortune of Harriet’s cold had been pretty well gone through before her arrival. Mr Woodhouse had been safely seated long enough to give the history of it, besides all the history of his own and Isabella’s coming, and of Emma’s being to follow, and had indeed just got to the end of his satisfaction that James should come and see his daughter, when the others appeared, and Mrs Weston, who had been almost wholly engrossed by her attentions to him since returning to his side, was able to turn away and welcome her dear Emma to the conversation.

“Why did you not speak of it earlier?” Mrs Weston wanted to know when Emma told her of the kiss and all the thoughts she’d had following it. “There have been many opportunities before now.”

“But none so unreserved as this, when Mr Weston or my father have not been present to bear it witness.” She linked her arm with Mrs Weston’s and took a turn to the room adjoining the festivities.

“Has he done or said anything since?” Mrs Weston asked, barely above a whisper.

“Nothing, although I would not be opposed to it. At the time I felt quite differently, vexed as I was that he used such a device to prove me ruled more by a passionate nature than by sense. No, at the time I wanted nothing more than to slap his cheek! Yet he behaved as if nothing had transpired, returned to simple conversation from before it, and all my senses were scrambled beyond bearing. I did not know what to make of the sensation.”

“How very forward of him, to have risked such a thing! Imagine if your father had seen!”

“Father had gone for a walk, but certainly one of the servants could have done, or Father could have returned from a shorter walk than expected. He has been known to do so.”

“What did you do when he made no explanation?”

Here Emma could but blush. She knew her dear Mrs Weston would not judge her harshly. They had often talked of such things in the privacy of their friendship, but since she had married Mr Weston, they had not spoken of intimacies as they used to. Still, this was Mrs Weston, tried and true friend, confidant above all others and equal in all machinations. “I rather liked it. Truthfully, I did not wish for it to end and have often thought of that moment with a mind to repeat it, but Mr Knightley has given me no true cause to believe he would revisit the kiss, or encourage it.”

“One thing I have learned of marriage, Emma, is there are times a woman must take matters into her own hands. If you wish it to recur, you must pursue the opportunity and make it recur.”

Emma could not foresee a circumstance where that would be possible. And what if he rejected her advance? Would he see it as proof of her weak feminine mind, chastise her immaturity and claim a win of the previous argument? Was he not as affected as she?

The discussion perplexed her in its conclusion, as she had no method of revisiting the circumstances of the kiss with Mr Knightley, and as much as she admitted her enjoyment to Mrs Weston, her true desire was to discover what other intimate fascinations Mr Knightley would uncover between their sexes. It was with this preoccupation that Emma returned to the party.

Emma’s preferred project of forgetting Mr Elton in favour of the perplexing Mr Knightley made her rather sorry to find, when they had all taken their places, that he was close to her. The difficulty was great of driving his strange insensibility towards Harriet, from her mind, while he not only sat at her elbow, but was continually obtruding his happy countenance on her notice, and solicitously addressing her upon every occasion. Instead of forgetting him, his behaviour was such that she could not avoid the internal suggestion of
Can it really be as my brother imagined? Can it be possible for this man to be beginning to transfer his affections from Harriet to me? Absurd and insufferable!
Yet he would be so anxious for her being perfectly warm, would be so interested about her father, and so delighted with Mrs Weston, and at last would begin admiring her drawings with so much zeal and so little knowledge as seemed terribly like a would-be lover, and made it some effort with her to preserve her good manners.

For her own sake she could not be rude, and for Harriet’s, in the hope that all would yet turn out right, she was even positively civil, but it was an effort, especially as something was going on amongst the others, in the most overpowering period of Mr Elton’s nonsense, which she particularly wished to listen to. She heard enough to know that Mr Weston was giving some information about his son. She heard the words “my son”, and “Frank”, and “my son”, repeated several times over, and from a few other half-syllables very much suspected that he was announcing an early visit from his son—but before she could quiet Mr Elton, the subject was so completely past that any reviving question from her would have been awkward.