Emma and the Werewolves (17 page)

A noise arose from inside the shack. It
sounded like something huge and wet pulling its way up from the
floor. The whole house seemed to shake from the movement. Knightley
took a step back as the door flew open and the monster came into
view. It stood ten feet tall and had shattered the shack’s
doorframe as it emerged. There was no doubt it was the source of
the stench. Rotting flesh dangled from the more solid parts of its
mangled and misshapen body. The thing looked like a mound of human
and wolf remains held together by a sickening slime-like cover of
ooze. Knightley saw two distinct heads in the mass, one wolf and
one human. The wolf head sat above the human one and snarled at him
with a hellish rage as it moved towards him with a series of slow,
wet strides. The ooze covering its form was red and very
blood-like, just thicker as if it had congealed with something more
than just blood before becoming the mess that it was. It looked as
if the creature’s transformation from one form to the other had
gone horribly wrong and it had gotten caught in an in-between
state. Two human arms and one long wolf arm covered in ooze-slicked
fur reached for him. The aura of evil the monster gave off was
almost too much for him. It was beyond unnatural, beyond unholy.
And somehow, he could sense it was dead. This mess must have been
created during its reversion to human form after its demise.

Knightley retreated from
the creature, an easy feat given its slow movements, and threw two
well-aimed daggers into the spot where its heart should be. The
blades struck it and sank into the thing’s flesh but with no
effect. It gave no cry of pain or anger, nor did it slow in its
shamble towards him. Knightley’s heart thundered in his chest with
fear. The sun was up and the day was new. At any moment, someone
else could come wandering up the road and discover them. He had to
end this battle quickly and put the thing down as fast as he could,
but silver seemed powerless against it. Always . . . always the
silver of his knives had brought low the evil he faced. Its failure
with this abomination left him powerless before it. His mind raced,
searching for options, but he found none at hand. He drew two more
blades as the thing reached him at last. Darting under and past its
groping arms, he delivered twin wicked slashes along its left side.
Again there was no reaction to his attack. The wounds closed as
ooze flowed over them, sealing them shut. The monster whirled on
him with unexpected speed. Its right hand struck him heavily in the
chest and sent him flying several yards onto the road. He dropped
his weapons, trying to brace himself against the impact. He landed,
gravel crunching beneath him. The rocks tore into his palms and his
knives lay a few feet from him. He leapt to his feet and retrieved
them, hurling both at the thing’s face as it closed in on him once
more. The first blade missed the monster entirely but the second
struck home. It slid into the right eye of the human face below the
wolf head. Finally, the thing gave a cry of pain that sounded more
like a pain-wracked gargle. It turned from him and stomped off into
the woods, leaving him standing on the road. He knew he could not
risk being discovered. He had much left to do. However monstrous
this creature, the were-beasts were still loose and only he could
face them on equal ground in the dark of night.

With deep regret and self-loathing, he
turned and fled, letting the monster shamble off into the trees
alone. He hoped it wandered away deeper into the trees to seek a
new shelter until the sun set and the stars shone above. Knightley
prayed with all his heart it would encounter no one else until he
had a chance to face it again better prepared. In the meantime, he
headed home to make himself ready for the gathering at Hartfield he
soon was to attend.

There could hardly be a happier creature in
the world than Mrs. John Knightley, in this short visit to
Hartfield, going about every morning among her old acquaintance
with her five children, and talking over what she had done every
evening with her father and sister. She had nothing to wish
otherwise, but that the days did not pass so swiftly. It was a
delightful visit; perfect, in being much too short.

In general their evenings were less engaged
with friends than their mornings; but one complete dinner
engagement, and out of the house too, there was no avoiding, though
at Christmas. Mr. Weston would take no denial; they must all dine
at Randalls one day; even Mr. Woodhouse was persuaded to think it a
possible thing in preference to a division of the party.

How they were all to be conveyed, he would
have made a difficulty if he could, but as his son and daughter’s
carriage and horses were actually at Hartfield, he was not able to
make more than a simple question on that head; it hardly amounted
to a doubt; nor did it occupy Emma long to convince him that they
might in one of the carriages find room for Harriet also.

Harriet, Mr. Elton, and Mr. Knightley, their
own especial set, were the only persons invited to meet them; the
hours were to be early, as well as the numbers few; Mr. Woodhouse’s
habits and inclination being consulted in every thing.

The evening before this great event (for it
was a very great event that Mr. Woodhouse should dine out, on the
24th of December) had been spent by Harriet at Hartfield, and she
had gone home so much indisposed with a cold, that, but for her own
earnest wish of being nursed by Mrs. Goddard, Emma could not have
allowed her to leave the house. Emma called on her the next day,
and found her doom already signed with regard to Randalls. She was
very feverish and had a bad sore throat: Mrs. Goddard was full of
care and affection, Mr. Perry was talked of, and Harriet herself
was too ill and low to resist the authority which excluded her from
this delightful engagement, though she could not speak of her loss
without many tears.

Emma sat with her as long
as she could, to attend her in Mrs. Goddard’s unavoidable absences,
and raise her spirits by representing how much Mr. Elton’s would be
depressed when he knew her state; and left her at last tolerably
comfortable, in the sweet dependence of his having a most
comfortless visit, and of their all missing her very much. She had
not advanced many yards from Mrs. Goddard’s door, when she was met
by Mr. Elton himself, evidently coming towards it, and as they
walked on slowly together in conversation about the invalid—of whom
he, on the rumour of considerable illness, had been going to
inquire, that he might carry some report of her to Hartfield—they
were overtaken by Mr. John Knightley returning from the daily visit
to Donwell, with his two eldest boys, whose healthy, glowing faces
shewed all the benefit of a country run, and seemed to ensure a
quick despatch of the roast mutton and rice pudding they were
hastening home for. They joined company and proceeded together.
Emma was just describing the nature of her friend’s complaint; “a
throat very much inflamed, with a great deal of heat about her, a
quick, low pulse, etc., and she was sorry to find from Mrs. Goddard
that Harriet was liable to very bad sore-throats, and had often
alarmed her with them.” Mr. Elton looked all alarm on the occasion,
as he exclaimed, “A sore-throat! I hope not infectious. I hope not
of a putrid infectious sort. Has Perry seen her? Indeed you should
take care of yourself as well as of your friend. Let me entreat you
to run no risks. Why does not Perry see her?”

Emma, who was not really at
all frightened herself, tranquillised this excess of apprehension
by assurances of Mrs. Goddard’s experience and care; but as there
must still remain a degree of uneasiness which she could not wish
to reason away, which she would rather feed and assist than not,
she added soon afterwards—as if quite another subject,

“
It is so cold, so very
cold—and looks and feels so very much like snow, that if it were to
any other place or with any other party, I should really try not to
go out to-day—and dissuade my father from venturing; but as he has
made up his mind, and does not seem to feel the cold himself, I do
not like to interfere, as I know it would be so great a
disappointment to Mr. and Mrs. Weston. But, upon my word, Mr.
Elton, in your case, I should certainly excuse myself. You appear
to me a little hoarse already, and when you consider what demand of
voice and what fatigues to-morrow will bring, I think it would be
no more than common prudence to stay at home and take care of
yourself to-night.”

Mr. Elton looked as if he did not very well
know what answer to make; which was exactly the case; for though
very much gratified by the kind care of such a fair lady, and not
liking to resist any advice of her’s, he had not really the least
inclination to give up the visit; but Emma, too eager and busy in
her own previous conceptions and views to hear him impartially, or
see him with clear vision, was very well satisfied with his
muttering acknowledgment of its being “very cold, certainly very
cold,” and walked on, rejoicing in having extricated him from
Randalls, and secured him the power of sending to inquire after
Harriet every hour of the evening.

“
You do quite right,” said
she; “we will make your apologies to Mr. and Mrs.
Weston.”

But hardly had she so spoken, when she found
her brother was civilly offering a seat in his carriage, if the
weather were Mr. Elton’s only objection, and Mr. Elton actually
accepting the offer with much prompt satisfaction. It was a done
thing; Mr. Elton was to go, and never had his broad handsome face
expressed more pleasure than at this moment; never had his smile
been stronger, nor his eyes more exulting than when he next looked
at her.

“
Well,” said she to
herself, “this is most strange! After I had got him off so well, to
chuse to go into company, and leave Harriet ill behind! Most
strange indeed! But there is, I believe, in many men, especially
single men, such an inclination—such a passion for dining out—a
dinner engagement is so high in the class of their pleasures, their
employments, their dignities, almost their duties, that any thing
gives way to it—and this must be the case with Mr. Elton; a most
valuable, amiable, pleasing young man undoubtedly, and very much in
love with Harriet; but still, he cannot refuse an invitation, he
must dine out wherever he is asked. What a strange thing love is!
he can see ready wit in Harriet, but will not dine alone for
her.”

Soon afterwards Mr. Elton quitted them, and
she could not but do him the justice of feeling that there was a
great deal of sentiment in his manner of naming Harriet at parting;
in the tone of his voice while assuring her that he should call at
Mrs. Goddard’s for news of her fair friend, the last thing before
he prepared for the happiness of meeting her again, when he hoped
to be able to give a better report; and he sighed and smiled
himself off in a way that left the balance of approbation much in
his favour.

After a few minutes of
entire silence between them, John Knightley began with—

“
I never in my life saw a
man more intent on being agreeable than Mr. Elton. It is downright
labour to him where ladies are concerned. With men he can be
rational and unaffected, but when he has ladies to please, every
feature works.”

“
Mr. Elton’s manners are
not perfect,” replied Emma; “but where there is a wish to please,
one ought to overlook, and one does overlook a great deal. Where a
man does his best with only moderate powers, he will have the
advantage over negligent superiority. There is such perfect
good-temper and good-will in Mr. Elton as one cannot but
value.”

“
Yes,” said Mr. John
Knightley presently, with some slyness, “he seems to have a great
deal of good-will towards you.”

“
Me!” she replied with a
smile of astonishment, “are you imagining me to be Mr. Elton’s
object?”

“
Such an imagination has
crossed me, I own, Emma; and if it never occurred to you before,
you may as well take it into consideration now.”

“
Mr. Elton in love with me!
What an idea!”

“
I do not say it is so; but
you will do well to consider whether it is so or not, and to
regulate your behaviour accordingly. I think your manners to him
encouraging. I speak as a friend, Emma. You had better look about
you, and ascertain what you do, and what you mean to
do.”

“
I thank you; but I assure
you you are quite mistaken. Mr. Elton and I are very good friends,
and nothing more;” and she walked on, amusing herself in the
consideration of the blunders which often arise from a partial
knowledge of circumstances, of the mistakes which people of high
pretensions to judgment are for ever falling into; and not very
well pleased with her brother for imagining her blind and ignorant,
and in want of counsel. He said no more.

Mr. Woodhouse had so completely made up his
mind to the visit, that in spite of the increasing coldness, he
seemed to have no idea of shrinking from it, and set forward at
last most punctually with his eldest daughter in his own carriage,
with less apparent consciousness of the weather than either of the
others; too full of the wonder of his own going, and the pleasure
it was to afford at Randalls to see that it was cold, and too well
wrapt up to feel it. The cold, however, was severe; and by the time
the second carriage was in motion, a few flakes of snow were
finding their way down, and the sky had the appearance of being so
overcharged as to want only a milder air to produce a very white
world in a very short time.

Emma soon saw that her companion was not in
the happiest humour. The preparing and the going abroad in such
weather, with the sacrifice of his children after dinner, were
evils, were disagreeables at least, which Mr. John Knightley did
not by any means like; he anticipated nothing in the visit that
could be at all worth the purchase; and the whole of their drive to
the vicarage was spent by him in expressing his discontent.