Emma (36 page)

Before the middle of the next day, he was at Hartfield, and he entered the room with such an agreeable smile as certified the continuance of the scheme. It soon appeared that he came to announce an improvement.

“Well, Miss Woodhouse,” he almost immediately began, “your inclination for dancing has not been quite frightened away, I hope, by the terrors of my father’s little rooms. I bring a new proposal on the subject, a thought of my father’s, which waits only your approbation to be acted upon. May I hope for the honour of your hand for the two first dances of this little projected ball, to be given, not at Randalls, but at the Crown Inn?”

“The Crown!”

“Yes, if you and Mr Woodhouse see no objection, and I trust you cannot, my father hopes his friends will be so kind as to visit him there. Better accommodations he can promise them, and not a less grateful welcome than at Randalls. It is his own idea. Mrs Weston sees no objection to it, provided you are satisfied. This is what we all feel. Oh! You were perfectly right! Ten couple, in either of the Randalls rooms, would have been insufferable! Dreadful! I felt how right you were the whole time, but was too anxious for securing
anything
to like to yield. Is not it a good exchange? You consent—I hope you consent?”

Frank Churchill took her into a joyful spin about the room, ending more or less in the corner out of view of open doors.

“Oh! Mr Churchill, your exuberance is barely contained! Please have caution,” Emma warned, though she did not feel the passion she put into her words, rather liking the spontaneous spin.

“Say you give consent,” he said, his voice low and dark. Not at all suggestive of dancing but of other occupations they might engage in.

And now Emma had to be sure that the days of flirtation were not only that. “Give your meaning exactly, Mr Churchill. Do not play at double entendre if you wish to speak to me of other things.”

Frank Churchill looked satisfied in the extreme. “You understand me well. I am glad of it. I have wished for stolen moments with you and have ended up with rooms filled with people. At every occurrence have I tried to visit, only to be hindered with one or another on my arm, begging my duty to them when all I wish to have is charity at your feet.”

“My feet have no desire for your charity,” Emma teased.

“But they should, for such dainty slippers they are. Our time together is limited even now. Say you’ll grant me more than dances, Miss Woodhouse.”

“What more would you have of me?”

“Your lips upon mine if I dare speak the truth to you.” He appeared fearful of her answer, hinging upon her next words which she uttered with great care.

“Do you think me so forward as to say yea or nay to such a request? Could I be so? Would I be perceived the same after speaking?”

Frank Churchill captured her hands in his, stepping close to her. His bold gaze stared into her own as he kissed her lips. Soft as Knightley had, yet here the similarity ended. For where Mr Knightley’s kiss held resolve and determination, Frank Churchill’s lips remained soft, pliant and moist.

Emma lifted to her toes, wishing all the world for the same twisted sensation to seize her middle, the heat to slick her apex. None of those reactions she associated with kissing occurred. Mr Churchill, misinterpreting her ardour, pulled her close, his hand upon her bottom.

The sound of a passing servant tore them apart and Emma pressed her fingers to her lips, confused by her reaction—but not nearly as confused as when Frank Churchill resumed his conversation as though nothing had transpired moments prior.

“You consent to the Crown, do you not, Miss Woodhouse?” Frank asked.

“The Crown? For dancing?” she asked, startled back into their previous conversation.

“Exactly so, do you not agree, Mr Woodhouse?”

Emma turned suddenly, quite at a loss when she discovered that her father had entered the room. Her cheeks heated. How much had he seen? And yet he stood no wiser than he should appear, seeming all the world as though he had just arrived. She regained the direction of conversation with a little difficulty, saying, “It appears to me a plan that nobody can object to, if Mr and Mrs Weston do not. I think it admirable, and as far as I can answer for myself, shall be most happy— It seems the only improvement that could be. Papa, do you not think it an excellent improvement?”

She was obliged to repeat and explain it, before it was fully comprehended, then, being quite new, farther representations were necessary to make it acceptable.

No, he thought it very far from an improvement—a very bad plan—much worse than the other. A room at an inn was always damp and dangerous, never properly aired, or fit to be inhabited. If they must dance, they had better dance at Randalls. He had never been in the room at the Crown in his life—did not know the people who kept it by sight. Oh no—a very bad plan. They would catch worse colds at the Crown than anywhere.

“I was going to observe, sir,” said Frank Churchill, “that one of the great recommendations of this change would be the very little danger of anybody’s catching cold—so much less danger at the Crown than at Randalls! Mr Perry might have reason to regret the alteration, but nobody else could.”

“Sir,” said Mr Woodhouse, rather warmly, “you are very much mistaken if you suppose Mr Perry to be that sort of character. Mr Perry is extremely concerned when any of us are ill. But I do not understand how the room at the Crown can be safer for you than your father’s house.”

“From the very circumstance of its being larger, sir. We shall have no occasion to open the windows at all—not once the whole evening, and it is that dreadful habit of opening the windows, letting in cold air upon heated bodies, which—as you well know, sir—does the mischief.”

“Open the windows! But surely, Mr Churchill, nobody would think of opening the windows at Randalls. Nobody could be so imprudent! I never heard of such a thing. Dancing with open windows! I am sure, neither your father nor Mrs Weston—poor Miss Taylor that was—would suffer it.”

“Ah, sir—but a thoughtless young person will sometimes step behind a window-curtain, and throw up a sash, without its being suspected. I have often known it done myself.”

“Have you indeed, sir? Bless me! I never could have supposed it. But I live out of the world, and am often astonished at what I hear. However, this does make a difference, and perhaps, when we come to talk it over—but these sort of things require a good deal of consideration. One cannot resolve upon them in a hurry. If Mr and Mrs Weston will be so obliging as to call here one morning, we may talk it over, and see what can be done.”

“But unfortunately, sir, my time is so limited—”

“Oh!” interrupted Emma, “there will be plenty of time for talking everything over. There is no hurry at all. If it can be contrived to be at the Crown, papa, it will be very convenient for the horses. They will be so near their own stable.”

“So they will, my dear. That is a great thing. Not that James ever complains, but it is right to spare our horses when we can. If I could be sure of the rooms being thoroughly aired—but is Mrs Stokes to be trusted? I doubt it. I do not know her, even by sight.”

“I can answer for everything of that nature, sir, because it will be under Mrs Weston’s care. Mrs Weston undertakes to direct the whole.”

“There, papa! Now you must be satisfied— Our own dear Mrs Weston, who is carefulness itself. Do not you remember what Mr Perry said, so many years ago, when I had the measles? ‘If
Miss
Taylor
undertakes to wrap Miss Emma up, you need not have any fears, sir.’ How often have I heard you speak of it as such a compliment to her!”

“Aye, very true. Mr Perry did say so. I shall never forget it. Poor little Emma! You were very bad with the measles. That is, you would have been very bad, but for Perry’s great attention. He came four times a day for a week. He said, from the first, it was a very good sort—which was our great comfort, but the measles are a dreadful complaint. I hope whenever poor Isabella’s little ones have the measles, she will send for Perry.”

“My father and Mrs Weston are at the Crown at this moment,” said Frank Churchill, “examining the capabilities of the house. I left them there and came on to Hartfield, impatient for your opinion, and hoping you might be persuaded to join them and give your advice on the spot. I was desired to say so from both. It would be the greatest pleasure to them, if you could allow me to attend you there. They can do nothing satisfactorily without you.”

Emma was most happy to be called to such a council, and her father engaging to think it all over while she was gone, the two young people set off together without delay for the Crown. There were Mr and Mrs Weston, delighted to see her and receive her approbation, very busy and very happy in their different way, she, in some little distress, and he, finding everything perfect.

“Emma,” said she, “this paper is worse than I expected. Look! In places you see it is dreadfully dirty, and the wainscot is more yellow and forlorn than anything I could have imagined.”

“My dear, you are too particular,” said her husband. “What does all that signify? You will see nothing of it by candlelight. It will be as clean as Randalls by candlelight. We never see anything of it on our club-nights.”

The ladies here probably exchanged looks which meant, ‘Men never know when things are dirty or not’, and the gentlemen perhaps thought each to himself, ‘Women will have their little nonsenses and needless cares’.

One perplexity, however, arose, which the gentlemen did not disdain. It regarded a supper room. At the time of the ballroom’s being built, suppers had not been in question, and a small card room adjoining was the only addition. What was to be done? This card room would be wanted as a card room now, or, if cards were conveniently voted unnecessary by their four selves, still was it not too small for any comfortable supper? Another room of much better size might be secured for the purpose, but it was at the other end of the house, and a long awkward passage must be gone through to get at it. This made a difficulty. Mrs Weston was afraid of draughts for the young people in that passage, and neither Emma nor the gentlemen could tolerate the prospect of being miserably crowded at supper.

Mrs Weston proposed having no regular supper, merely sandwiches, etc, set out in the little room, but that was scouted as a wretched suggestion. A private dance without sitting down to supper was pronounced an infamous fraud upon the rights of men and women, and Mrs Weston must not speak of it again. She then took another line of expediency, and looking into the doubtful room, observed, “I do not think it
is
so very small. We shall not be many, you know.”

And Mr Weston at the same time, walking briskly with long steps through the passage, was calling out, “You talk a great deal of the length of this passage, my dear. It is a mere nothing after all, and not the least draught from the stairs.”

“I wish,” said Mrs Weston, “one could know which arrangement our guests in general would like best. To do what would be most generally pleasing must be our object—if one could but tell what that would be.”

“Yes, very true,” cried Frank, “very true. You want your neighbours’ opinions. I do not wonder at you. If one could ascertain what the chief of them—the Coles, for instance. They are not far off. Shall I call upon them? Or Miss Bates? She is still nearer. And I do not know whether Miss Bates is not as likely to understand the inclinations of the rest of the people as anybody. I think we do want a larger council. Suppose I go and invite Miss Bates to join us?”

“Well—if you please,” said Mrs Weston, rather hesitating, “if you think she will be of any use.”

“You will get nothing to the purpose from Miss Bates,” said Emma. “She will be all delight and gratitude, but she will tell you nothing. She will not even listen to your questions. I see no advantage in consulting Miss Bates.”

Emma was quite relieved to fall into triviality where reason failed her. For if left to herself, she would wonder at Frank Churchill and wonder at the difference between him and Mr Knightley. Above all, she thought she must be mistaken as to the younger’s effect on her and therefore must provide him another opportunity to better prove himself upon her senses. Yes, decided she. It was exactly the right decision. It was no wonder Frank Churchill had failed to impress her when she knew at any moment they might be discovered by any of several Hartfield occupants or visitors! With this determination in mind, she happily busied herself with the minutiae of planning and especially on the subject at hand of Miss Bates and her rambling gratitude.

“But she is so amusing, so extremely amusing! I am very fond of hearing Miss Bates talk. And I need not bring the whole family, you know.”

Here Mr Weston joined them, and on hearing what was proposed, gave it his decided approbation.

“Aye, do, Frank. Go and fetch Miss Bates, and let us end the matter at once. She will enjoy the scheme, I am sure, and I do not know a properer person for showing us how to do away difficulties. Fetch Miss Bates. We are growing a little too nice. She is a standing lesson of how to be happy. But fetch them both. Invite them both.”

“Both, sir! Can the old lady?”

“The old lady! No, the young lady, to be sure. I shall think you a great blockhead, Frank, if you bring the aunt without the niece.”

“Oh! I beg your pardon, sir. I did not immediately recollect. Undoubtedly if you wish it, I will endeavour to persuade them both.” And away he ran.

Long before he reappeared, attending the short, neat, brisk-moving aunt, and her elegant niece, Mrs Weston, like a sweet-tempered woman and a good wife, had examined the passage again, and found the evils of it much less than she had supposed before—indeed very trifling, and here ended the difficulties of decision. All the rest, in speculation at least, was perfectly smooth. All the minor arrangements of table and chair, lights and music, tea and supper, made themselves, or were left as mere trifles to be settled at any time between Mrs Weston and Mrs Stokes. Everybody invited, was certainly to come, Frank had already written to Enscombe to propose staying a few days beyond his fortnight, which could not possibly be refused. And a delightful dance it was to be.