Emma (35 page)

He shook his head with a smile, and looked as if he had very little doubt and very little mercy. Soon afterwards he began again.

“How much your friends in Ireland must be enjoying your pleasure on this occasion, Miss Fairfax. I dare say they often think of you, and wonder which will be the day, the precise day of the instrument’s coming to hand. Do you imagine Colonel Campbell knows the business to be going forward just at this time? Do you imagine it to be the consequence of an immediate commission from him, or that he may have sent only a general direction, an order indefinite as to time, to depend upon contingencies and conveniences?”

He paused. She could not but hear, she could not avoid answering.

“Till I have a letter from Colonel Campbell,” said she, in a voice of forced calmness, “I can imagine nothing with any confidence. It must be all conjecture.”

“Conjecture—aye, sometimes one conjectures right, and sometimes one conjectures wrong. I wish I could conjecture how soon I shall make this rivet quite firm. What nonsense one talks, Miss Woodhouse, when hard at work, if one talks at all. Your real workmen, I suppose, hold their tongues, but we gentlemen labourers if we get hold of a word—Miss Fairfax said something about conjecturing. There, it is done. I have the pleasure, madam”—to Mrs Bates—“of restoring your spectacles, healed for the present.”

He was very warmly thanked both by mother and daughter. To escape a little from the latter, he went to the pianoforte, and begged Miss Fairfax, who was still sitting at it, to play something more.

“If you are very kind,” said he, “it will be one of the waltzes we danced last night, let me live them over again. You did not enjoy them as I did, you appeared tired the whole time. I believe you were glad we danced no longer, but I would have given worlds—all the worlds one ever has to give—for another half-hour.”

She played.

“What felicity it is to hear a tune again which
has
made one happy! If I mistake not that was danced at Weymouth.”

She looked up at him for a moment, coloured deeply, and played something else. He took some music from a chair near the pianoforte, and turning to Emma, said, “Here is something quite new to me. Do you know it? Cramer. And here are a new set of Irish melodies. That, from such a quarter, one might expect. This was all sent with the instrument. Very thoughtful of Colonel Campbell, was not it? He knew Miss Fairfax could have no music here. I honour that part of the attention particularly, it shows it to have been so thoroughly from the heart. Nothing hastily done, nothing incomplete. True affection only could have prompted it.”

Emma wished he would be less pointed, yet could not help being amused, and when on glancing her eye towards Jane Fairfax she caught the remains of a smile—when she saw that with all the deep blush of consciousness, there had been a smile of secret delight—she had less scruple in the amusement, and much less compunction with respect to her. This amiable, upright, perfect Jane Fairfax was apparently cherishing very reprehensible feelings.

He brought all the music to her, and they looked it over together. Emma took the opportunity of whispering, “You speak too plain. She must understand you.”

“I hope she does. I would have her understand me. I am not in the least ashamed of my meaning.”

“But really, I am half ashamed, and wish I had never taken up the idea.”

“I am very glad you did, and that you communicated it to me. I have now a key to all her odd looks and ways. Leave shame to her. If she does wrong, she ought to feel it.”

“She is not entirely without it, I think.”

“I do not see much sign of it. She is playing
Robin
Adair
at this moment—
his
favourite.”

Shortly afterwards Miss Bates, passing near the window, descried Mr Knightley on horse-back not far off.

“Mr Knightley, I declare! I must speak to him if possible, just to thank him. I will not open the window here, it would give you all cold, but I can go into my mother’s room, you know. I dare say he will come in when he knows who is here. Quite delightful to have you all meet so! Our little room so honoured!”

She was in the adjoining chamber while she still spoke, and opening the casement there, immediately called Mr Knightley’s attention, and every syllable of their conversation was as distinctly heard by the others, as if it had passed within the same apartment.

“How d’ye do? How d’ye do? Very well, I thank you. So obliged to you for the carriage last night. We were just in time, my mother just ready for us. Pray come in, do come in. You will find some friends here.”

So began Miss Bates, and Mr Knightley seemed determined to be heard in his turn, for most resolutely and commandingly did he say, “How is your niece, Miss Bates? I want to enquire after you all, but particularly your niece. How is Miss Fairfax? I hope she caught no cold last night. How is she today? Tell me how Miss Fairfax is.”

And Miss Bates was obliged to give a direct answer before he would hear her in anything else. The listeners were amused, and Mrs Weston gave Emma a look of particular meaning. But Emma still shook her head in steady scepticism, for she knew what Mrs Weston did not. Emma only hoped she still had the right of it and that she had not misplaced good judgement on Mr Knightley for all his fawning over Miss Fairfax.

“So obliged to you! So very much obliged to you for the carriage,” resumed Miss Bates.

He cut her short with, “I am going to Kingston. Can I do anything for you?”

“Oh dear, Kingston—are you? Mrs Cole was saying the other day she wanted something from Kingston.”

“Mrs Cole has servants to send. Can I do anything for
you
?”

“No, I thank you. But do come in. Who do you think is here? Miss Woodhouse and Miss Smith, so kind as to call to hear the new pianoforte. Do put up your horse at the Crown, and come in.”

“Well,” said he, in a deliberating manner, “for five minutes, perhaps.”

“And here is Mrs Weston and Mr Frank Churchill too! Quite delightful, so many friends!”

“No, not now, I thank you. I could not stay two minutes. I must get on to Kingston as fast as I can.”

“Oh! do come in. They will be so very happy to see you.”

“No, no, your room is full enough. I will call another day, and hear the pianoforte.”

“Well, I am so sorry! Oh! Mr Knightley, what a delightful party last night, how extremely pleasant. Did you ever see such dancing? Was not it delightful? Miss Woodhouse and Mr Frank Churchill, I never saw anything equal to it.”

“Oh! very delightful indeed, I can say nothing less, for I suppose Miss Woodhouse and Mr Frank Churchill are hearing everything that passes. And”—raising his voice still more—“I do not see why Miss Fairfax should not be mentioned too. I think Miss Fairfax dances very well, and Mrs Weston is the very best country-dance player, without exception, in England. Now, if your friends have any gratitude, they will say something pretty loud about you and me in return, but I cannot stay to hear it.”

“Oh! Mr Knightley, one moment more, something of consequence—so shocked! Jane and I are both so shocked about the apples!”

“What is the matter now?”

“To think of your sending us all your store apples. You said you had a great many, and now you have not one left. We really are so shocked! Mrs Hodges may well be angry. William Larkins mentioned it here. You should not have done it, indeed you should not. Ah! He is off. He never can bear to be thanked. But I thought he would have stayed now, and it would have been a pity not to have mentioned… Well”—returning to the room—“I have not been able to succeed. Mr Knightley cannot stop. He is going to Kingston. He asked me if he could do anything…”

“Yes,” said Jane, “we heard his kind offers, we heard everything.”

“Oh! Yes, my dear, I dare say you might, because you know, the door was open, and the window was open, and Mr Knightley spoke loud. You must have heard everything to be sure. ‘Can I do anything for you at Kingston?’ said he, so I just mentioned… Oh! Miss Woodhouse, must you be going? You seem but just come—so very obliging of you.”

Emma found it really time to be at home. The visit had already lasted long, and on examining watches, so much of the morning was perceived to be gone, that Mrs Weston and her companion taking leave also, could allow themselves only to walk with the two young ladies to Hartfield gates, before they set off for Randalls.

Chapter Eleven

It may be possible to do without dancing entirely. Instances have been known of young people passing many, many months successively without being at any ball of any description, and no material injury accrued either to body or mind, but when a beginning is made—when the felicities of rapid motion have once been, though slightly, felt—it must be a very heavy set that does not ask for more.

Frank Churchill had danced once at Highbury, and longed to dance again, and the last half-hour of an evening which Mr Woodhouse was persuaded to spend with his daughter at Randalls was passed by the two young people in schemes on the subject. Frank’s was the first idea, and his the greatest zeal in pursuing it, for the lady was the best judge of the difficulties, and the most solicitous for accommodation and appearance. But still she had inclination enough for showing people again how delightfully Mr Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse danced—for doing that in which she need not blush to compare herself with Jane Fairfax. And even for simple dancing itself, without any of the wicked aids of vanity. To assist him first in pacing out the room they were in to see what it could be made to hold—then in taking the dimensions of the other parlour, in the hope of discovering, in spite of all that Mr Weston could say of their exactly equal size, that it was a little the largest.

His first proposition and request, that the dance begun at Mr Cole’s should be finished there—that the same party should be collected, and the same musician engaged—met with the readiest acquiescence. Mr Weston entered into the idea with thorough enjoyment, and Mrs Weston most willingly undertook to play as long as they could wish to dance, and the interesting employment had followed, of reckoning up exactly who there would be, and portioning out the indispensable division of space to every couple.

“You and Miss Smith, and Miss Fairfax, will be three, and the two Miss Coxes five,” had been repeated many times over. “And there will be the two Gilberts, young Cox, my father, and myself, besides Mr Knightley. Yes, that will be quite enough for pleasure. You and Miss Smith and Miss Fairfax will be three, and the two Miss Coxes five, and for five couple there will be plenty of room.”

But soon it came to be on one side, “But will there be good room for five couple? I really do not think there will.”

On another, “And after all, five couple are not enough to make it worthwhile to stand up. Five couple are nothing, when one thinks seriously about it. It will not do to
invite
five couple. It can be allowable only as the thought of the moment.”

Somebody said that
Miss
Gilbert was expected at her brother’s, and must be invited with the rest. Somebody else believed
Mrs
Gilbert would have danced the other evening, if she had been asked. A word was put in for a second young Cox, and at last, Mr Weston naming one family of cousins who must be included, and another of very old acquaintance who could not be left out, it became a certainty that the five couple would be at least ten, and a very interesting speculation in what possible manner they could be disposed of.

The doors of the two rooms were just opposite each other. Might not they use both rooms, and dance across the passage? It seemed the best scheme, and yet it was not so good but that many of them wanted a better. Emma said it would be awkward, Mrs Weston was in distress about the supper, and Mr Woodhouse opposed it earnestly, on the score of health. It made him so very unhappy, indeed, that it could not be persevered in.

“Oh! No,” said he, “it would be the extreme of imprudence. I could not bear it for Emma! Emma is not strong. She would catch a dreadful cold. So would poor little Harriet. So you would all. Mrs Weston, you would be quite laid up, do not let them talk of such a wild thing. Pray do not let them talk of it. That young man”—speaking lower—“is very thoughtless. Do not tell his father, but that young man is not quite the thing. He has been opening the doors very often this evening, and keeping them open very inconsiderately. He does not think of the draught. I do not mean to set you against him, but indeed he is not quite the thing!”

Mrs Weston was sorry for such a charge. She knew the importance of it, and said everything in her power to do it away. Every door was now closed, the passage plan given up, and the first scheme of dancing only in the room they were in resorted to again, and with such goodwill on Frank Churchill’s part, that the space which a quarter of an hour before had been deemed barely sufficient for five couple, was now endeavoured to be made out quite enough for ten.

“We were too magnificent,” said he. “We allowed unnecessary room. Ten couple may stand here very well.”

Emma demurred. “It would be a crowd—a sad crowd, and what could be worse than dancing without space to turn in?”

“Very true,” he gravely replied, “it was very bad.” But still he went on measuring, and still he ended with, “I think there will be very tolerable room for ten couple.”

“No, no,” said she, “you are quite unreasonable. It would be dreadful to be standing so close! Nothing can be farther from pleasure than to be dancing in a crowd—and a crowd in a little room!”

“There is no denying it,” he replied. “I agree with you exactly. A crowd in a little room—Miss Woodhouse, you have the art of giving pictures in a few words. Exquisite, quite exquisite! Still, however, having proceeded so far, one is unwilling to give the matter up. It would be a disappointment to my father—and altogether—I do not know that—I am rather of opinion that ten couple might stand here very well.”

Emma perceived that the nature of his gallantry was a little self-willed, and that he would rather oppose than lose the pleasure of dancing with her, but she took the compliment, and forgave the rest. Had she intended ever to
marry
him, it might have been worthwhile to pause and consider, and try to understand the value of his preference and the character of his temper. But for all the purposes of their acquaintance—and that, she owned, had expanded over the past week with what she knew of men and women together and her desire to trifle only a little with Mr Churchill to discover if it was the same with all men as it had been with Mr Knightley—he was quite amiable enough to see the job through.