Emma (32 page)

In so large a party it was not necessary that Emma should approach her. She did not wish to speak of the pianoforte, she felt too much in the secret herself, to think the appearance of curiosity or interest fair, and therefore purposely kept at a distance, but by the others the subject was almost immediately introduced, and she saw the blush of consciousness with which congratulations were received, the blush of guilt which accompanied the name of “my excellent friend Colonel Campbell”.

Mrs Weston, kind-hearted and musical, was particularly interested by the circumstance, and Emma could not help being amused at her perseverance in dwelling on the subject, and having so much to ask and to say as to tone, touch and pedal, totally unsuspicious of that wish of saying as little about it as possible which she plainly read in the fair heroine’s countenance.

They were soon joined by some of the gentlemen, and the very first of the early was Frank Churchill. In he walked, the first and the handsomest, and after paying his compliments en passant to Miss Bates and her niece, made his way directly to the opposite side of the circle, where sat Miss Woodhouse, and till he could find a seat by her, would not sit at all. Emma divined what everybody present must be thinking. She was his object, and everybody must perceive it. It gave her a thrill to have received his regard in such a public manner and she only hoped that she might test the limits of his particular attention.

She introduced him to her friend, Miss Smith, and at convenient moments afterwards heard what each thought of the other. He had never seen so lovely a face, and was delighted with her naivete. And she, “only to be sure it was paying him too great a compliment”, but she did think there were some looks a little like Mr Elton. Emma restrained her indignation, and only turned from her in silence.

Smiles of intelligence passed between her and the gentleman on first glancing towards Miss Fairfax, but it was most prudent to avoid speech. He told her that he had been impatient to leave the dining room—hated sitting long—was always the first to move when he could—that his father, Mr Knightley, Mr Cox and Mr Cole, were left very busy over parish business—that as long as he had stayed, however, it had been pleasant enough, as he had found them in general a set of gentlemanlike, sensible men, and spoke so handsomely of Highbury altogether—thought it so abundant in agreeable families—that Emma began to feel she had been used to despise the place rather too much.

She questioned him as to the society in Yorkshire—the extent of the neighbourhood about Enscombe, and the sort, and could make out from his answers that, as far as Enscombe was concerned, there was very little going on, that their visitings were among a range of great families, none very near, and that even when days were fixed, and invitations accepted, it was an even chance that Mrs Churchill were not in health and spirits for going, that they made a point of visiting no fresh person, and that, though he had his separate engagements, it was not without difficulty, without considerable address
at
times
, that he could get away, or introduce an acquaintance for a night.

She saw that Enscombe could not satisfy, and that Highbury, taken at its best, might reasonably please a young man who had more retirement at home than he liked. His importance at Enscombe was very evident. He did not boast, but it naturally betrayed itself, that he had persuaded his aunt where his uncle could do nothing, and on her laughing and noticing it, he owned that he believed—excepting one or two points—he could
with
time
persuade her to anything. One of those points on which his influence failed, he then mentioned. He had wanted very much to go abroad—had been very eager indeed to be allowed to travel—but she would not hear of it. This had happened the year before.
Now
, he said, he was beginning to have no longer the same wish.

The unpersuadable point which he did not mention, Emma guessed to be good behaviour to his father.

“I have made a most wretched discovery,” said he, after a short pause. “I have been here a week tomorrow—half my time. I never knew days fly so fast. A week tomorrow! And I have hardly begun to enjoy myself. But just got acquainted with Mrs Weston, and others! I hate the recollection.”

“Perhaps you may now begin to regret that you spent one whole day, out of so few, in having your hair cut.”

“No,” said he, smiling, “that is no subject of regret at all. I have no pleasure in seeing my friends, unless I can believe myself fit to be seen, and most importantly, fit to be seen by you, Miss Woodhouse.”

Emma tucked her chin on a blush, not stealing her hand away when his fingers brushed hers.

The rest of the gentlemen being now in the room, Emma found herself obliged to turn from him for a few minutes, and listen to Mr Cole. When Mr Cole had moved away, and her attention could be restored as before, she saw Frank Churchill looking intently across the room at Miss Fairfax, who was sitting exactly opposite.

“What is the matter?” said she.

He started. “Thank you for rousing me,” he replied. “I believe I have been very rude, but really Miss Fairfax has done her hair in so odd a way—so very odd a way—that I cannot keep my eyes from her. I never saw anything so outré! Those curls! This must be a fancy of her own. I see nobody else looking like her! I must go and ask her whether it is an Irish fashion. Shall I? Yes, I will—I declare I will—and you shall see how she takes it, whether she colours.”

He was gone immediately, and Emma soon saw him standing before Miss Fairfax, and talking to her, but as to its effect on the young lady, as he had improvidently placed himself exactly between them, exactly in front of Miss Fairfax—she could absolutely distinguish nothing.

Before he could return to his chair, it was taken by Mrs Weston.

“This is the luxury of a large party,” said she, “one can get near everybody, and say everything. My dear Emma, I am longing to talk to you. I have been making discoveries and forming plans, just like yourself, and I must tell them while the idea is fresh. Do you know how Miss Bates and her niece came here?”

“How? They were invited, were not they?”

“Oh! Yes—but how they were conveyed hither? The manner of their coming?”

“They walked, I conclude. How else could they come?”

“Very true. Well, a little while ago it occurred to me how very sad it would be to have Jane Fairfax walking home again, late at night, and cold as the nights are now. And as I looked at her, though I never saw her appear to more advantage, it struck me that she was heated, and would therefore be particularly liable to take cold. Poor girl! I could not bear the idea of it, so, as soon as Mr Weston came into the room, and I could get at him, I spoke to him about the carriage.

“You may guess how readily he came into my wishes, and having his approbation, I made my way directly to Miss Bates, to assure her that the carriage would be at her service before it took us home, for I thought it would be making her comfortable at once. Good soul! She was as grateful as possible, you may be sure. Nobody was ever so fortunate as herself!—but with many, many thanks—there was no occasion to trouble us, for Mr Knightley’s carriage had brought, and was to take them home again.

“I was quite surprised, very glad, I am sure, but really quite surprised. Such a very kind attention—and so thoughtful an attention! The sort of thing that so few men would think of. And in short, from knowing his usual ways, I am very much inclined to think that it was for their accommodation the carriage was used at all. I do suspect he would not have had a pair of horses for himself, and that it was only as an excuse for assisting them.”

Emma’s stomach felt in a tumble. It sat wrongly with her that Mr Knightley should be so generous with Jane Fairfax when all of Highbury already gave her more attention than she was due. But the more she thought on it, the more she determined his motivation appeared to come from another quarter and so she voiced it for her benefit and for Mrs Weston’s.

“Very likely,” said Emma, “nothing more likely. I know no man more likely than Mr Knightley to do the sort of thing—to do anything really good-natured, useful, considerate, or benevolent. He is not a gallant man, but he is a very humane one, and this, considering Jane Fairfax’s ill-health, would appear a case of humanity to him, and for an act of unostentatious kindness, there is nobody whom I would fix on more than on Mr Knightley. I know he had horses today—for we arrived together, and I laughed at him about it, but he said not a word that could betray.”

“Well,” said Mrs Weston, smiling, “you give him credit for more simple, disinterested benevolence in this instance than I do, for while Miss Bates was speaking, a suspicion darted into my head, and I have never been able to get it out again. The more I think of it, the more probable it appears. In short, I have made a match between Mr Knightley and Jane Fairfax. See the consequence of keeping you company! What do you say to it?”

“Mr Knightley and Jane Fairfax!” exclaimed Emma, a green beast twisting her good humour to bad. “Dear Mrs Weston, how could you think of such a thing? Mr Knightley! Mr Knightley must not marry! You would not have little Henry cut out from Donwell? Oh! No, no, Henry must have Donwell. I cannot at all consent to Mr Knightley’s marrying, and I am sure it is not at all likely. I am amazed that you should think of such a thing, nor would you have done if I had shared a bit of knowledge regarding Mr Knightley that I have kept to myself.”

“What knowledge? I leave Hartfield and I no longer hold your confidence? What has occurred that you keep me in suspense?”

Emma glanced about to be sure of their solitude. “Mr Knightley has recently agreed to become a…mentor of mine.”

“Being your mentor has little to do with his prospects and favouring Miss Fairfax. My dear Emma, I have told you what led me to think of it. I do not want the match—I do not want to injure dear little Henry—but the idea has been given me by circumstances, and if Mr Knightley really wished to marry, you would not have him refrain on Henry’s account, a boy of six years old, who knows nothing of the matter?”

“Yes, I would. I could not bear to have Henry supplanted. Mr Knightley marry! No, I have never had such an idea, and I cannot adopt it now. And Jane Fairfax, too, of all women! Mr Knightley is mine.”

“Yours? You no longer wish to share him with the rest of society? You, who have no intention of marriage for yourself, yet smile and nod at your own newcomer to Highbury? Nay, she has always been a first favourite with him, as you very well know.”

“But the imprudence of such a match!”

“I am not speaking of its prudence, merely its probability.”

“I see no probability in it, unless you have any better foundation than what you mention. His good-nature, his humanity, as I tell you, would be quite enough to account for the horses. He has a great regard for the Bateses, you know, independent of Jane Fairfax—and is always glad to show them attention. My dear Mrs Weston, do not take to match-making. You do it very ill. Jane Fairfax mistress of the Abbey! Oh! No, no, every feeling revolts. For his own sake, I would not have him do so mad a thing.”

“Imprudent, if you please—but not mad. Excepting inequality of fortune, and perhaps a little disparity of age, I can see nothing unsuitable.”

“But Mr Knightley does not want to marry. I am sure he has not the least idea of it. Do not put it into his head. Why should he marry? He is as happy as possible by himself, with his farm, and his sheep, and his library, and all the parish to manage, and he is extremely fond of his brother’s children. He has no occasion to marry, either to fill up his time or his heart.”

“My dear Emma, as long as he thinks so, it is so, but if he really loves Jane Fairfax—”

“Nonsense! He does not care about Jane Fairfax. In the way of love, I am sure he does not. He would do any good to her, or her family, but—”

“Well,” said Mrs Weston, laughing, “perhaps the greatest good he could do them would be to give Jane such a respectable home.”

“If it would be good to her, I am sure it would be evil to himself, a very shameful and degrading connection. How would he bear to have Miss Bates belonging to him? To have her haunting the Abbey, and thanking him all day long for his great kindness in marrying Jane? So very kind and obliging! But he always had been such a very kind neighbour! Then fly off, through half a sentence, to her mother’s old petticoat. Not that it was such a very old petticoat either—for still it would last a great while—and indeed, she must thankfully say that their petticoats were all very strong.”

“For shame, Emma! Do not mimic her. You divert me against my conscience. And upon my word, I do not think Mr Knightley would be much disturbed by Miss Bates. Little things do not irritate him. She might talk on, and if he wanted to say anything himself, he would only talk louder, and drown her voice. But the question is not whether it would be a bad connection for him, but whether he wishes it, and I think he does. I have heard him speak, and so must you, so very highly of Jane Fairfax! The interest he takes in her—his anxiety about her health—his concern that she should have no happier prospect! I have heard him express himself so warmly on those points! Such an admirer of her performance on the pianoforte, and of her voice! I have heard him say that he could listen to her forever. Oh! And I had almost forgotten one idea that occurred to me—this pianoforte that has been sent here by somebody—though we have all been so well satisfied to consider it a present from the Campbells, may it not be from Mr Knightley? I cannot help suspecting him. I think he is just the person to do it, even without being in love.”

“Then it can be no argument to prove that he is in love. But I do not think it is at all a likely thing for him to do. Mr Knightley does nothing mysteriously.” On this point she felt most convinced. On another—that she not confide her deepest secret concerning her agreement with Mr Knightley and their satisfaction in the arrangement—she held her tongue. A confidant Mrs Weston had been, but in explaining the lengths Emma had taken to secure her spinsterhood while exploring the diversions of sexual intercourse— Well! She could not begin to say such things to her, nor in such a polite company as the large gathering in which they were now engaged.