Emma (26 page)

“As to who, or what Miss Hawkins is, or how long he has been acquainted with her,” said Emma, resigning herself to the subject, “nothing, I suppose, can be known. One feels that it cannot be a very long acquaintance. He has been gone only four weeks.”

Nobody had any information to give, and after a few more wonderings, Emma said, “You are silent, Miss Fairfax—but I hope you mean to take an interest in this news. You, who have been hearing and seeing so much of late on these subjects, who must have been so deep in the business on Miss Campbell’s account—we shall not excuse your being indifferent about Mr Elton and Miss Hawkins.”

“When I have seen Mr Elton,” replied Jane, “I dare say I shall be interested—but I believe it requires
that
with me. And as it is some months since Miss Campbell married, the impression may be a little worn off.”

“Yes, he has been gone just four weeks, as you observe, Miss Woodhouse,” said Miss Bates, “four weeks yesterday. A Miss Hawkins! Well, I had always rather fancied it would be some young lady hereabouts, not that I ever—Mrs Cole once whispered to me—but I immediately said, ‘No, Mr Elton is a most worthy young man—but—’ In short, I do not think I am particularly quick at those sort of discoveries. I do not pretend to it. What is before me, I see. At the same time, nobody could wonder if Mr Elton should have aspired—Miss Woodhouse lets me chatter on, so good-humouredly. She knows I would not offend for the world. How does Miss Smith do? She seems quite recovered now. Have you heard from Mrs John Knightley lately? Oh! Those dear little children. Jane, do you know I always fancy Mr Dixon like Mr John Knightley? I mean in person—tall, and with that sort of look—and not very talkative.”

“Quite wrong, my dear aunt, there is no likeness at all.”

“Very odd! But one never does form a just idea of anybody beforehand. One takes up a notion, and runs away with it. Mr Dixon, you say, is not, strictly speaking, handsome?”

“Handsome! Oh! No—far from it—certainly plain. I told you he was plain.”

“My dear, you said that Miss Campbell would not allow him to be plain, and that you yourself—”

“Oh! As for me, my judgement is worth nothing. Where I have a regard, I always think a person well-looking. But I gave what I believed the general opinion, when I called him plain.”

“Well, my dear Jane, I believe we must be running away. The weather does not look well, and grandmama will be uneasy. You are too obliging, my dear Miss Woodhouse, but we really must take leave. This has been a most agreeable piece of news indeed. I shall just go round by Mrs Cole’s, but I shall not stop three minutes, and Jane, you had better go home directly—I would not have you out in a shower! We think she is the better for Highbury already. Thank you, we do indeed. I shall not attempt calling on Mrs Goddard, for I really do not think she cares for anything but
boiled
pork, when we dress the leg it will be another thing. Good morning to you, my dear sir. Oh! Mr Knightley is coming too. Well, that is so very— I am sure if Jane is tired, you will be so kind as to give her your arm. Mr Elton, and Miss Hawkins! Good morning to you.”

Emma, alone with her father, had half her attention wanted by him while he lamented that young people would be in such a hurry to marry—and to marry strangers too—and the other half she could give to her own view of the subject of her lacking maidenhead. Emma wished to be alone with her thoughts about what had occurred with Mr Knightley, and whether it would occur again, and if he had been sincere when saying it would hurt less so when she was again conquered by his hardened shaft. Already she wished to revisit the moments with him, not only in memory, but in person. Had he stayed even a little longer, she would have contrived a scheme to hold him at Hartfield, perhaps long enough for Father to nod off in his chair after dinner and for her to escape with Mr Knightley into the far-off reaches of the above-stairs. Oh! She wished for it heartily. She was ready to have at it again and again if it always guaranteed the same outcome! Yet for the near arrival of Harriet, Emma could not entertain the thought more.

Mr Elton now pulled her thoughts away from Knightley to her loyalty to Harriet, lest she not have been a true friend, and she considered the news with the weight it merited. She could not seem to take it in any way lightly when Harriet discovered the marriage. No. She must think on it, to do her dear friend a measure of justice before her return to Hartfield.

The marriage was to her an amusing and a very welcome piece of news, as proving that Mr Elton could not have suffered long, but she was sorry for Harriet. Harriet must feel it—and all that she could hope was, by giving the first information herself, to save her from hearing it abruptly from others. It was now about the time that she was likely to call. If she were to meet Miss Bates in her way! And upon its beginning to rain, Emma was obliged to expect that the weather would be detaining her at Mrs Goddard’s, and that the intelligence would undoubtedly rush upon her without preparation.

The shower was heavy, but short, and it had not been over five minutes, when in came Harriet, with just the heated, agitated look which hurrying thither with a full heart was likely to give, and the “Oh! Miss Woodhouse, What do you think has happened!” which instantly burst forth, had all the evidence of corresponding perturbation. As the blow was given, Emma felt that she could not now show greater kindness than in listening, and Harriet, unchecked, ran eagerly through what she had to tell.

She had set out from Mrs Goddard’s half an hour ago—she had been afraid it would rain—she had been afraid it would pour down every moment—but she thought she might get to Hartfield first—she had hurried on as fast as possible, but then, as she was passing by the house where a young woman was making up a gown for her, she thought she would just step in and see how it went on, and though she did not seem to stay half a moment there, soon after she came out it began to rain, and she did not know what to do, so she ran on directly, as fast as she could, and took shelter at Ford’s—Ford’s was the principal woollen-draper, linen-draper, and haberdasher’s shop united, the shop first in size and fashion in the place.

And so, there she had set, without an idea of anything in the world, full ten minutes, perhaps—when, all of a sudden, who should come in—to be sure it was so very odd! But they always dealt at Ford’s—who should come in, but Elizabeth Martin and her brother!

“Dear Miss Woodhouse! Only think. I thought I should have fainted. I did not know what to do. I was sitting near the door—Elizabeth saw me directly, but he did not, he was busy with the umbrella. I am sure she saw me, but she looked away directly, and took no notice, and they both went to quite the farther end of the shop, and I kept sitting near the door! Oh dear, I was so miserable! I am sure I must have been as white as my gown. I could not go away, you know, because of the rain, but I did so wish myself anywhere in the world but there. Oh dear, Miss Woodhouse—well, at last, I fancy, he looked round and saw me, for instead of going on with her buyings, they began whispering to one another.

“I am sure they were talking of me, and I could not help thinking that he was persuading her to speak to me—do you think he was, Miss Woodhouse?—for presently she came forward—came quite up to me, and asked me how I did, and seemed ready to shake hands, if I would. She did not do any of it in the same way that she used, I could see she was altered, but however, she seemed to
try
to be very friendly, and we shook hands, and stood talking some time, but I know no more what I said—I was in such a tremble! I remember she said she was sorry we never met now, which I thought almost too kind! Dear Miss Woodhouse, I was absolutely miserable!

“By that time, it was beginning to hold up, and I was determined that nothing should stop me from getting away—then—only think! I found he was coming up towards me too—slowly you know, and as if he did not quite know what to do, and so he came and spoke, and I answered—and I stood for a minute, feeling dreadfully, you know, one can’t tell how, then I took courage, and said it did not rain, and I must go, and so off I set, and I had not got three yards from the door, when he came after me, only to say, if I was going to Hartfield, he thought I had much better go round by Mr Cole’s stables, for I should find the near way quite floated by this rain. Oh dear, I thought it would have been the death of me!

“So I said, I was very much obliged to him, you know I could not do less, then he went back to Elizabeth, and I came round by the stables—I believe I did—but I hardly knew where I was, or anything about it. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, I would rather done anything than have it happen, and yet, you know, there was a sort of satisfaction in seeing him behave so pleasantly and so kindly. And Elizabeth, too. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, do talk to me and make me comfortable again.”

Very sincerely did Emma wish to do so, but it was not immediately in her power. She was obliged to stop and think. She was not thoroughly comfortable herself, neither in thought nor form, having herself just escaped discovery of her indiscretion and yet not having had time to clean before being set upon with the news of Mr Elton—and now this, with Harriet. But the young man’s conduct, and his sister’s, seemed the result of real feeling, and she could not but pity them, nor could she ignore the need she read in Harriet’s gaze.

As Harriet described it, there had been an interesting mixture of wounded affection and genuine delicacy in their behaviour. But she had believed them to be well-meaning, worthy people before, and what difference did this make in the evils of the connection? It was folly to be disturbed by it. Of course, he must be sorry to lose her—they must be all sorry. Ambition, as well as love, had probably been mortified. They might all have hoped to rise by Harriet’s acquaintance, and besides, what was the value of Harriet’s description? So easily pleased—so little discerning. What signified her praise?

She exerted herself, and did try to make her comfortable, by considering all that had passed as a mere trifle, and quite unworthy of being dwelt on. “It might be distressing, for the moment,” said she, “but you seem to have behaved extremely well, and it is over—and may never—can never, as a first meeting, occur again, and therefore you need not think about it.”

Harriet said, “Very true,” and she “would not think about it”, but still she talked of it—still she could talk of nothing else, and Emma at last, in order to put the Martins out of her head, was obliged to hurry on the news, which she had meant to give with so much tender caution, hardly knowing herself whether to rejoice or be angry, ashamed or only amused, at such a state of mind in poor Harriet—such a conclusion of Mr Elton’s importance with her!

Mr Elton’s rights, however, gradually revived. Though she did not feel the first intelligence as she might have done the day before, or an hour before, its interest soon increased, and before their first conversation was over, she had talked herself into all the sensations of curiosity, wonder and regret, pain and pleasure, as to this fortunate Miss Hawkins, which could conduce to place the Martins under proper subordination in her fancy.

Emma learned to be rather glad that there had been such a meeting. It had been serviceable in deadening the first shock, without retaining any influence to alarm. As Harriet now lived, the Martins could not get at her without seeking her where hitherto they had wanted either the courage or the condescension to seek her, for since her refusal of the brother, the sisters never had been at Mrs Goddard’s, and a twelvemonth might pass without their being thrown together again, with any necessity, or even any power of speech.

Chapter Four

Human nature is so well disposed towards those who are in interesting situations that a young person who either marries or dies is sure of being kindly spoken of.

A week had not passed since Emma had lost her virginity and Emma’s musings might have been about that, had not she been distracted by other gossip, which she could idly engage in and resume her preoccupations about intimacy at a time when circumstances were less entertaining. The subject of conversation could be none other than the topic of Mr Elton—or Miss Hawkins as the case may be—and Emma was obliged to tuck away her own private thoughts for ones much more public and accepting of polite debate.

Miss Hawkins’ name was first mentioned in Highbury before she was, by some means or other, discovered to have every recommendation of person and mind, to be handsome, elegant, highly accomplished and perfectly amiable. When Mr Elton himself arrived to triumph in his happy prospects and circulate the fame of her merits, there was very little more for him to do than to tell her Christian name and say whose music she principally played.

Mr Elton returned a very happy man. He had gone away rejected and mortified—disappointed in a very sanguine hope, after a series of what appeared to him strong encouragement, and not only losing the right lady, but finding himself debased to the level of a very wrong one. He had gone away deeply offended—he came back engaged to another—and to another as superior, of course, to the first, as under such circumstances what is gained always is to what is lost. He came back gay and self-satisfied, eager and busy, caring nothing for Miss Woodhouse, and defying Miss Smith.

The charming Augusta Hawkins, in addition to all the usual advantages of perfect beauty and merit, was in possession of an independent fortune, of so many thousands as would always be called ten, a point of some dignity, as well as some convenience. The story told well, he had not thrown himself away—he had gained a woman of ten thousand pounds or thereabouts, and he had gained her with such delightful rapidity. The first hour of introduction had been so very soon followed by distinguishing notice, the history which he had to give Mrs Cole of the rise and progress of the affair was so glorious—the steps so quick, from the accidental rencontre, to the dinner at Mr Green’s, and the party at Mrs Brown’s—smiles and blushes rising in importance, with consciousness and agitation richly scattered—the lady had been so easily impressed, so sweetly disposed—had in short, to use a most intelligible phrase, been so very ready to have him that vanity and prudence were equally contented.