Emma (17 page)

Now it so happened that in spite of Emma’s resolution of never marrying, there was something in the name, in the idea of Mr Frank Churchill, which always interested her. She had frequently thought—especially since his father’s marriage with Miss Taylor—that if she
were
to marry, he was the very person to suit her in age, character and condition. He seemed by this connection between the families quite to belong to her. She could not but suppose it to be a match that everybody who knew them must think of. That Mr and Mrs Weston did think of it she was very strongly persuaded, and though not meaning to be induced by him, or by anybody else, to give up a situation which she believed more replete with good than any she could change it for, she had a great curiosity to see him, a decided intention of finding him pleasant, of being liked by him to a certain degree, and a sort of pleasure in the idea of their being coupled in their friends’ imaginations.

With such sensations, Mr Elton’s civilities were dreadfully ill-timed, but she had the comfort of appearing very polite, while feeling very cross—and of thinking that the rest of the visit could not possibly pass without bringing forward the same information again, or the substance of it, from the open-hearted Mr Weston. So it proved, for when happily released from Mr Elton, and seated by Mr Weston at dinner, he made use of the very first interval in the cares of hospitality, the very first leisure from the saddle of mutton, to say to her, “We want only two more to be just the right number. I should like to see two more here, your pretty little friend, Miss Smith, and my son—then I should say we were quite complete. I believe you did not hear me telling the others in the drawing room that we are expecting Frank. I had a letter from him this morning, and he will be with us within a fortnight.”

Emma spoke with a very proper degree of pleasure, and fully assented to his proposition of Mr Frank Churchill and Miss Smith making their party quite complete.

Her eyes lit upon Mr Knightley, who’d been listening with interest. She did not know why his regard left her breathless and quite embarrassed at the simple conversation, only that she felt as though she had garnered Mr Knightley’s displeasure at the direction of conversation regarding both Harriet and Frank Churchill. Why that would be she could not guess.

“He has been wanting to come to us,” continued Mr Weston, oblivious to the silent exchange, “ever since September. Every letter has been full of it, but he cannot command his own time. He has those to please who must be pleased, and who—between ourselves—are sometimes to be pleased only by a good many sacrifices. But now I have no doubt of seeing him here about the second week in January.”

“What a very great pleasure it will be to you! And Mrs Weston is so anxious to be acquainted with him that she must be almost as happy as yourself.”

“Yes, she would be, but that she thinks there will be another put-off. She does not depend upon his coming so much as I do, but she does not know the parties so well as I do. The case, you see, is—but this is quite between ourselves, I did not mention a syllable of it in the other room. There are secrets in all families, you know. The case is, that a party of friends are invited to pay a visit at Enscombe in January, and that Frank’s coming depends upon their being put off. If they are not put off, he cannot stir. But I know they will, because it is a family that a certain lady of some consequence at Enscombe has a particular dislike to, and though it is thought necessary to invite them once in two or three years, they always are put off when it comes to the point.

“I have not the smallest doubt of the issue. I am as confident of seeing Frank here before the middle of January, as I am of being here myself, but your good friend there”—nodding towards the upper end of the table—“has so few vagaries herself, and has been so little used to them at Hartfield, that she cannot calculate on their effects, as I have been long in the practice of doing.”

“I am sorry there should be anything like doubt in the case,” replied Emma, “but am disposed to side with you, Mr Weston. If you think he will come, I shall think so too, for you know Enscombe.”

“Yes—I have some right to that knowledge, though I have never been at the place in my life. She is an odd woman! But I never allow myself to speak ill of her, on Frank’s account, for I do believe her to be very fond of him. I used to think she was not capable of being fond of anybody, except herself, but she has always been kind to him in her way—allowing for little whims and caprices, and expecting everything to be as she likes. And it is no small credit, in my opinion, to him, that he should excite such an affection, for, though I would not say it to anybody else, she has no more heart than a stone to people in general, and the devil of a temper.”

Emma liked the subject so well that she began upon it to Mrs Weston, very soon after their moving into the drawing room, wishing her joy—yet observing that she knew the first meeting must be rather alarming. Mrs Weston agreed to it, but added that she should be very glad to be secure of undergoing the anxiety of a first meeting at the time talked of, “for I cannot depend upon his coming. I cannot be so sanguine as Mr Weston. I am very much afraid that it will all end in nothing. Mr Weston I dare say has been telling you exactly how the matter stands?”

“Yes—it seems to depend upon nothing but the ill-humour of Mrs Churchill, which I imagine to be the most certain thing in the world.”

“My Emma!” replied Mrs Weston, smiling. “What is the certainty of caprice?” Then turning to Isabella, who had not been attending before—“You must know, my dear Mrs Knightley, that we are by no means so sure of seeing Mr Frank Churchill, in my opinion, as his father thinks. It depends entirely upon his aunt’s spirits and pleasure, in short, upon her temper. To you—to my two daughters—I may venture on the truth. Mrs Churchill rules at Enscombe, and is a very odd-tempered woman, and his coming now, depends upon her being willing to spare him.”

“Oh, Mrs Churchill, everybody knows Mrs Churchill,” replied Isabella, “and I am sure I never think of that poor young man without the greatest compassion. To be constantly living with an ill-tempered person must be dreadful. It is what we happily have never known anything of, but it must be a life of misery. What a blessing that she never had any children! Poor little creatures, how unhappy she would have made them!”

Emma did not reflect too deeply on her words, as her own beloved sister did indeed live with such an ill-tempered person in the form of Mr John Knightley, who had so recently condemned her spirits on the ride to Randalls. Still, she wished she had been alone with Mrs Weston. She should then have heard more. Mrs Weston would speak to her with a degree of unreserve which she would not hazard with Isabella, and she really believed would scarcely try to conceal anything relative to the Churchills from her, excepting those views on the young man of which her own imagination had already given her such instinctive knowledge. But at present there was nothing more to be said.

Mr Woodhouse very soon followed them into the drawing room. To be sitting long after dinner was a confinement that he could not endure. Neither wine nor conversation was anything to him, and gladly did he move to those with whom he was always comfortable.

While he talked to Isabella, however, Emma found an opportunity of saying, “And so you do not consider this visit from your son as by any means certain. I am sorry for it. The introduction must be unpleasant, whenever it takes place, and the sooner it could be over, the better. Do you fear at all his displeasure owning to your difference from his mother?”

“Yes, though I believe him to be a different sort than she, or I would not be so eager for you to meet him, dear Emma. And every delay makes one more apprehensive of other delays. Even if this family, the Braithwaites, are put off, I am still afraid that some excuse may be found for disappointing us. I cannot bear to imagine any reluctance on his side, but I am sure there is a great wish on the Churchills’ to keep him to themselves. There is jealousy. They are jealous even of his regard for his father, believing he was the reason for the death of Frank’s mother, though they would never be so bold as to announce it plainly. In short, I can feel no dependence on his coming, and I wish Mr Weston were less sanguine.”

“He ought to come,” said Emma. “If he could stay only a couple of days, he ought to come, and one can hardly conceive a young man’s not having it in his power to do as much as that. A young
woman
, if she fall into bad hands, may be teased, and kept at a distance from those she wants to be with, but one cannot comprehend a young
man
’s being under such restraint as not to be able to spend a week with his father, if he likes it.”

“One ought to be at Enscombe, and know the ways of the family, before one decides upon what he can do,” replied Mrs Weston. “One ought to use the same caution, perhaps, in judging of the conduct of any one individual of any one family. But Enscombe, I believe, certainly must not be judged by general rules,
she
is so very unreasonable, and everything gives way to her.”

“But she is so fond of the nephew, he is so very great a favourite. Now, according to my idea of Mrs Churchill, it would be most natural, that while she makes no sacrifice for the comfort of the husband, to whom she owes everything, while she exercises incessant caprice towards
him
, she should frequently be governed by the nephew, to whom she owes nothing at all.”

“My dearest Emma, do not pretend, with your sweet temper, to understand a bad one, or to lay down rules for it. You must let it go its own way. I have no doubt of his having, at times, considerable influence, but it may be perfectly impossible for him to know beforehand
when
it will be.”

Emma listened, then coolly said, “I shall not be satisfied, unless he comes.”

“He may have a great deal of influence on some points,” continued Mrs Weston, “and on others very little, and among those on which she is beyond his reach, it is but too likely, may be this very circumstance of his coming away from them to visit us.”

Chapter Fifteen

Mr Woodhouse was soon ready for his tea, and when he had drunk his tea he was quite ready to go home, and it was as much as his three companions could do to entertain away his notice of the lateness of the hour before the other gentlemen appeared. Mr Weston was chatty and convivial, and no friend to early separations of any sort, but at last the drawing room party did receive an augmentation. Mr Elton, in very good spirits, was one of the first to walk in. Mrs Weston and Emma were sitting together on a sofa. He joined them immediately, and with scarcely an invitation, seated himself between them.

Emma, in good spirits too from the amusement afforded her mind by the expectation of Mr Frank Churchill, was willing to forget his late improprieties and be as well satisfied with him as before, and on his making Harriet his very first subject, was ready to listen with most friendly smiles.

He professed himself extremely anxious about her fair friend—her fair, lovely, amiable friend. Did she know? Had she heard anything about her, since their being at Randalls? He felt much anxiety—he must confess that the nature of her complaint alarmed him considerably. And in this style he talked on for some time very properly, not much attending to any answer, but altogether sufficiently awake to the terror of a bad sore throat, and Emma was quite in charity with him.

But at last there seemed a perverse turn. It seemed all at once as if he were more afraid of its being a bad sore throat on her account, than on Harriet’s—more anxious that she should escape the infection, than that there should be no infection in the complaint. He began with great earnestness to entreat her to refrain from visiting the sick-chamber again, for the present—to entreat her to
promise
him
not to venture into such hazard till he had seen Mr Perry and learnt his opinion, and though she tried to laugh it off and bring the subject back into its proper course, there was no putting an end to his extreme solicitude about her.

She was vexed. It did appear—there was no concealing it—exactly like the pretence of being in love with her, instead of Harriet. An inconstancy, if real, the most contemptible and abominable! And she had difficulty in behaving with temper.

He turned to Mrs Weston to implore her assistance. Would not she give him her support? Would not she add her persuasions to his, to induce Miss Woodhouse not to go to Mrs Goddard’s till it were certain that Miss Smith’s disorder had no infection? He could not be satisfied without a promise—would not she give him her influence in procuring it?

“So scrupulous for others,” he continued, “and yet so careless for herself! She wanted me to nurse my cold by staying at home today, and yet will not promise to avoid the danger of catching an ulcerated sore throat herself. Is this fair, Mrs Weston? Judge between us. Have not I some right to complain? I am sure of your kind support and aid.”

Emma saw Mrs Weston’s surprise, and felt that it must be great, at an address which, in words and manner, was assuming to himself the right of first interest in her, and as for herself, she was too much provoked and offended to have the power of directly saying anything to the purpose. She could only give him a look, but it was such a look as she thought must restore him to his senses, then left the sofa, removing to a seat by her sister, and giving her all her attention.

She had not time to know how Mr Elton took the reproof, so rapidly did another subject succeed, for Mr John Knightley now came into the room from examining the weather, and opened on them all with the information of the ground being covered with snow, and of its still snowing fast, with a strong drifting wind, concluding with these words to Mr Woodhouse, “This will prove a spirited beginning of your winter engagements, sir. Something new for your coachman and horses to be making their way through a storm of snow.”

Poor Mr Woodhouse was silent from consternation, but everybody else had something to say, everybody was either surprised or not surprised, and had some question to ask, or some comfort to offer. Mrs Weston and Emma tried earnestly to cheer him and turn his attention from his son-in-law, who was pursuing his triumph rather unfeelingly.