Emma (33 page)

Mrs Weston seemed oblivious to Emma’s silent concerns and prattled on with her suspicions, much to Emma’s annoyance for the subject. “I have heard him lamenting her having no instrument repeatedly, oftener than I should suppose such a circumstance would, in the common course of things, occur to him.”

“Very well, and if he had intended to give her one, he would have told her so.”

“There might be scruples of delicacy, my dear Emma. I have a very strong notion that it comes from him. I am sure he was particularly silent when Mrs Cole told us of it at dinner.”

Emma fought the urge to stomp her slippered foot. “You take up an idea, Mrs Weston, and run away with it, as you have many a time reproached me with doing. I see no sign of attachment—I believe nothing of the pianoforte—and proof only shall convince me that Mr Knightley has any thought of marrying Jane Fairfax.”

They combated the point some time longer in the same way, Emma rather gaining ground over the mind of her friend, for Mrs Weston was the most used of the two to yield, till a little bustle in the room showed them that tea was over, and the instrument in preparation, and at the same moment Mr Cole approaching to entreat Miss Woodhouse would do them the honour of trying it. Frank Churchill, of whom, in the eagerness of her conversation with Mrs Weston, she had been seeing nothing, except that he had found a seat by Miss Fairfax, followed Mr Cole, to add his very pressing entreaties, and as in every respect it suited Emma best to lead, she gave a very proper compliance.

She knew the limitations of her own powers too well to attempt more than she could perform with credit. She wanted neither taste nor spirit in the little things which are generally acceptable, and could accompany her own voice well. One accompaniment to her song took her agreeably by surprise—a second, slightly but correctly taken by Frank Churchill. Her pardon was duly begged at the close of the song, and everything usual followed. He was accused of having a delightful voice, and a perfect knowledge of music, which was properly denied, and that he knew nothing of the matter, and had no voice at all, roundly asserted. They sang together once more, and Emma would then resign her place to Miss Fairfax, whose performance, both vocal and instrumental, she never could attempt to conceal from herself, was infinitely superior to her own.

With mixed feelings, she seated herself at a little distance from the numbers round the instrument, to listen. Frank Churchill sang again. They had sung together once or twice, it appeared, at Weymouth. But the sight of Mr Knightley among the most attentive soon drew away half Emma’s mind, and she fell into a train of thinking on the subject of Mrs Weston’s suspicions, to which the sweet sounds of the united voices gave only momentary interruptions.

Her objections to Mr Knightley’s marrying did not in the least subside. She could see nothing but evil in it. It would be a great disappointment to Mr John Knightley, consequently to Isabella. A real injury to the children—a most mortifying change, and material loss to them all, a very great deduction from her father’s daily comfort—and as to herself, she could not at all endure the idea of Jane Fairfax being the recipient of Mr Knightley’s considerable talents—of Jane Fairfax sighing and gasping beneath his touch—of Jane Fairfax holding any sway at all over Mr Knightley’s attentions or anywhere at Donwell Abbey. A Mrs Knightley for them all to give way to! Including Emma! No—Mr Knightley must never marry. Little Henry must remain the heir of Donwell and Mr Knightley must remain ever her own, until she had finished with him, at the very least.

Presently Mr Knightley looked back, and came and sat down by her. They talked at first only of the performance. His admiration was certainly very warm, yet she thought, but for Mrs Weston, it would not have struck her. As a sort of touchstone, however, she began to speak of his kindness in conveying the aunt and niece, and though his answer was in the spirit of cutting the matter short, she believed it to indicate only his disinclination to dwell on any kindness of his own.

“I often feel concern,” said she, “that I dare not make our carriage more useful on such occasions. It is not that I am without the wish, but you know how impossible my father would deem it that James should put-to for such a purpose.”

“Quite out of the question, quite out of the question,” he replied, “but you must often wish it, I am sure.” And he smiled with such seeming pleasure at the conviction, that she must proceed another step.

“This present from the Campbells,” said she, “this pianoforte is very kindly given.”

“Yes,” he replied, and without the smallest apparent embarrassment. “But they would have done better had they given her notice of it. Surprises are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable. I should have expected better judgement in Colonel Campbell.”

From that moment, Emma could have taken her oath that Mr Knightley had had no concern in giving the instrument. But whether he were entirely free from peculiar attachment—whether there were no actual preference—remained a little longer doubtful. Towards the end of Jane’s second song, her voice grew thick.

“That will do,” said he, when it was finished, thinking aloud, “you have sung quite enough for one evening—now be quiet.”

Another song, however, was soon begged for. One more, they would not fatigue Miss Fairfax on any account, and would only ask for one more. And Frank Churchill was heard to say, “I think you could manage this without effort, the first part is so very trifling. The strength of the song falls on the second.”

Mr Knightley grew angry and Emma watched him with increasing alarm.

“That fellow,” said he, indignantly, “thinks of nothing but showing off his own voice. This must not be.” And touching Miss Bates, who at that moment passed near, “Miss Bates, are you mad, to let your niece sing herself hoarse in this manner? Go, and interfere. They have no mercy on her.”

Miss Bates, in her real anxiety for Jane, could hardly stay even to be grateful, before she stepped forward and put an end to all farther singing. Here ceased the concert part of the evening, for Miss Woodhouse and Miss Fairfax were the only young lady performers, but soon within five minutes the proposal of dancing—originating nobody exactly knew where—was so effectually promoted by Mr and Mrs Cole that everything was rapidly clearing away to give proper space. Mrs Weston, capital in her country-dances, was seated, and beginning an irresistible waltz, and Frank Churchill, coming up with most becoming gallantry to Emma, had secured her hand, and led her up to the top.

While waiting till the other young people could pair themselves off, Emma found time, in spite of the compliments she was receiving on her voice and her taste, to look about and see what became of Mr Knightley. This would be a trial. He was no dancer in general. If he were to be very alert in engaging Jane Fairfax now, it might augur something. There was no immediate appearance. No, he was talking to Mrs Cole—he was looking on unconcerned, Jane was asked by somebody else, and he was still talking to Mrs Cole.

Emma had no longer an alarm for Henry, his interest was yet safe, and she led off the dance with genuine spirit and enjoyment. Not more than five couple could be mustered, but the rarity and the suddenness of it made it very delightful, and she found herself well matched in a partner. They were a couple worth looking at.

Two dances, unfortunately, were all that could be allowed. It was growing late, and Miss Bates became anxious to get home, on her mother’s account. After some attempts, therefore, to be permitted to begin again, they were obliged to thank Mrs Weston, look sorrowful, and have done.

“Perhaps it is as well,” said Frank Churchill, as he attended Emma to her carriage. “I must have asked Miss Fairfax, and her languid dancing would not have agreed with me, after yours.” And here he placed a familiar kiss upon her bare knuckles. “I shall call upon you, Miss Woodhouse, if you will be gracious enough to accept me.”

Emma smiled warmly, not unaware that Mr Knightley looked on with some irritation. “You are always a welcome guest at Hartfield, Mr Churchill.”

“My hope is to be a particularly welcome guest of
Miss Woodhouse
.”

With risk to decency, Emma bowed her head and whispered, “That you are, sir.”

Chapter Nine

Emma did not repent her condescension in going to the Coles. The visit afforded her many pleasant recollections the next day, and all that she might be supposed to have lost on the side of dignified seclusion must be amply repaid in the splendour of popularity. She must have delighted the Coles—worthy people, who deserved to be made happy! And left a name behind her that would not soon die away.

Perfect happiness, even in memory, is not common, and there were two points on which she was not quite easy. She doubted whether she had not transgressed the duty of woman by woman, in betraying her suspicions of Jane Fairfax’s feelings to Frank Churchill. It was hardly right, but it had been so strong an idea that it would escape her, and his submission to all that she told was a compliment to her penetration, which made it difficult for her to be quite certain that she ought to have held her tongue.

The other circumstance of regret related also to Jane Fairfax, and there she had no doubt. She did unfeignedly and unequivocally regret the inferiority of her own playing and singing. She did most heartily grieve over the idleness of her childhood—and sat down and practised vigorously an hour and a half.

She was then interrupted by Harriet’s coming in, and if Harriet’s praise could have satisfied her, she might soon have been comforted.

“Oh! If I could but play as well as you and Miss Fairfax!”

“Don’t class us together, Harriet. My playing is no more like hers than a lamp is like sunshine.”

“Oh dear—I think you play the best of the two. I think you play quite as well as she does. I am sure I had much rather hear you. Everybody last night said how well you played.”

“Those who knew anything about it must have felt the difference. The truth is, Harriet, that my playing is just good enough to be praised, but Jane Fairfax’s is much beyond it.”

“Well, I always shall think that you play quite as well as she does, or that if there is any difference nobody would ever find it out. Mr Cole said how much taste you had, and Mr Frank Churchill talked a great deal about your taste, and that he valued taste much more than execution.”

“Ah! But Jane Fairfax has them both, Harriet.”

“Are you sure? I saw she had execution, but I did not know she had any taste. Nobody talked about it. And I hate Italian singing. There is no understanding a word of it. Besides, if she does play so very well, you know, it is no more than she is obliged to do, because she will have to teach. The Coxes were wondering last night whether she would get into any great family. How did you think the Coxes looked?”

“Just as they always do—very vulgar.”

“They told me something,” said Harriet rather hesitatingly, “but it is nothing of any consequence.”

Emma was obliged to ask what they had told her, though fearful of its producing Mr Elton.

“They told me—that Mr Martin dined with them last Saturday.”

“Oh!”

“He came to their father upon some business, and he asked him to stay to dinner.”

“Oh!”

“They talked a great deal about him, especially Anne Cox. I do not know what she meant, but she asked me if I thought I should go and stay there again next summer.”

“She meant to be impertinently curious, just as such an Anne Cox should be.”

“She said he was very agreeable the day he dined there. He sat by her at dinner. Miss Nash thinks either of the Coxes would be very glad to marry him.”

“Very likely. I think they are, without exception, the most vulgar girls in Highbury.”

Harriet had business at Ford’s. Emma thought it most prudent to go with her. Another accidental meeting with the Martins was possible, and in her present state, would be dangerous. Furthermore, lingering at Hartfield carried with it the confusing possibility of a visit from Frank Churchill, whom she very much wanted to see while at the same time dreading it entirely. She felt certain that he would require little encouragement towards baser activities should she guide him towards them. She felt equally certain that doing so carried the weight of decision in choosing Frank Churchill’s association in that week over Mr Knightley’s. A dilemma she was glad for, yet hesitated to accept, should her perverse pursuits lead her to lose both men in the process. For she felt quite assured that Mr Knightley would not take kindly to stepping back in favour of her receiving illicit instruction from the one man he seemed to respect the least. Yet it was Mr Churchill whose time at Highbury necessitated a quick resolve on her part, lest she lose the opportunity altogether. Avoidance, at this juncture, seemed the wisest course and so she went with Harriet immediately.

Harriet, tempted by everything and swayed by half a word, was always very long at a purchase, and while she was still hanging over muslins and changing her mind, Emma went to the door for amusement. Much could not be hoped from the traffic of even the busiest part of Highbury—Mr Perry walking hastily by, Mr William Cox letting himself in at the office-door, Mr Cole’s carriage-horses returning from exercise, or a stray letter-boy on an obstinate mule, were the liveliest objects she could presume to expect. And when her eyes fell only on the butcher with his tray, a tidy old woman travelling homewards from shop with her full basket, two curs quarrelling over a dirty bone and a string of dawdling children round the baker’s little bow-window eyeing the gingerbread, she knew she had no reason to complain, and was amused enough, quite enough still to stand at the door. A mind lively and at ease can do with seeing nothing, and can see nothing that does not answer.

She looked down the Randalls road. The scene enlarged. Two persons appeared, Mrs Weston and her son-in-law. They were walking into Highbury, to Hartfield of course, and the realisation set her belly to twist with anxiety. They were stopping, however, in the first place at Mrs Bates’, whose house was a little nearer Randalls than Ford’s, and had all but knocked, when Emma caught their eye. Immediately they crossed the road and came forward to her, and the agreeableness of yesterday’s engagement seemed to give fresh pleasure to the present meeting. Mrs Weston informed her that she was going to call on the Bateses, in order to hear the new instrument.