Emma and the Werewolves (32 page)

He stepped towards her and
put his hands on her shoulders. Emma let out a gasp of surprise
from the bold move on his part. She looked into his eyes. He
brought his face close to hers. “Emma, I have the highest regard
for you, but you don’t know this woman or what she is capable of?
You must stay away from her. Do you understand me?”

Emma nodded. Mr. Knightley
released his hold on her and turned back to the desk. “Go home,
Emma,” he said. “Nights in Highbury are still far from
safe.”

Emma couldn’t find a way to argue with this
and was still reeling from when he held her. She heeded his wisdom
and departed without another word.

After he heard the door shut from Emma’s
exit, he pulled open the drawer of his desk and stared down at the
black mask and loose silver dagger he had so hurriedly swept into
it during Emma’s visit. The whole of Highbury would think him
insane if they knew the truth of how he spent his nights. He was
under no delusion they would see him as a hero. No, more likely
they would call him a murderer and point to the corpses he left in
his wake, which were once again the forms of men and women, slain
by his blades. It disturbed him greatly that this Selena had come
to Emma. What was that about? She must be the woman he’d
encountered the night the pack as a whole confronted him. She must
be their queen. Still, why drag Emma into this? What was her
motive? Did she plan on using her against him? Suddenly, Mr.
Knightley realized Emma had never delivered her message. It was too
late now and there was nothing for it. His fear for her life had
gotten the best of him. He prayed that ignorance of whatever word
Selena had sent would not come back to haunt him.

He picked up his mask and held it to his
face, pressing it tightly against his cheek. Tonight, he would not
hunt. When darkness fell, he would be at Hartfield, lurking in the
shadows, keeping watch over those close to him.

* * * *

Chapter VI

T
he
next morning brought
Mr. Frank Churchill
again. He came with Mrs. Weston, to whom and to Highbury he seemed
to take very cordially. He had been sitting with her, it appeared,
most companionably at home, till her usual hour of exercise; and on
being desired to chuse their walk, immediately fixed on Highbury.
“He did not doubt there being very pleasant walks in every
direction, but if left to him, he should always chuse the same.
Highbury, that airy, cheerful, happy-looking woods of Highbury,
would be his constant attraction, for he did not for a second
believe all the tales of the beast.” Highbury, with Mrs. Weston,
stood for Hartfield; and she trusted to its bearing the same
construction with him. They walked thither directly.

Emma had hardly expected
them: for Mr. Weston, who had called in for half a minute, in order
to hear that his son was very handsome, knew nothing of their
plans; and it was an agreeable surprize to her, therefore, to
perceive them walking up to the house together, arm in arm. She was
wanting to see him again, and especially to see him in company with
Mrs. Weston, upon his behaviour to whom her opinion of him was to
depend. If he were deficient there, nothing should make amends for
it. But on seeing them together, she became perfectly satisfied. It
was not merely in fine words or hyperbolical compliment that he
paid his duty; nothing could be more proper or pleasing than his
whole manner to her—nothing could more agreeably denote his wish of
considering her as a friend and securing her affection. And there
was time enough for Emma to form a reasonable judgment, as their
visit included all the rest of the morning. They were all three
walking about together for an hour or two—first round the
shrubberies of Hartfield then into the estate itself. The estate
had long been cleaned up from the wolves’ attack. Emma shuddered at
the memory of the blood staining the yard. Her recollection of poor
Chad’s mangled form being dragged away from the yard was dreadful.
He had been young, a strong man, and to see him die in such fashion
was not right. She wished she had Mr. Knightley’s faith in those
moments for his heart told him that God had a plan for all things
and nothing escaped His notice. Emma, however, wondered how a
loving God could let such things come to pass. She shook off her
dark thoughts and refocused herself on her guest. He was properly
delighted with every thing; admired Hartfield sufficiently for Mr.
Woodhouse’s ear; and when their going farther was resolved on,
confessed his wish to be made acquainted with the whole village,
and found matter of commendation and interest much oftener than
Emma could have supposed.

Some of the objects of his
curiosity spoke very amiable feelings. He begged to be shewn the
house which his father had lived in so long, and which had been the
home of his father’s father; and on recollecting that an old woman
who had nursed him was still living, walked in quest of her cottage
from one end of the street to the other; and though in some points
of pursuit or observation there was no positive merit, they shewed,
altogether, a good-will towards Highbury in general, which must be
very like a merit to those he was with. During this, he took the
time to quiz of the recent events in the village and surrounding
woods, for they were a topic of conversation for all, even if not
one generally broached in public or during the light of day unless
need called for it. “Emma, what is all this madness I hear of
Highbury being plagued by a devil?”

“
It started months ago.
There have been many deaths since and many efforts to catch the
beast, demon, or whatever it is that brings this fear to us. No one
has ever seen it,” she lied. She and Harriet once encountered the
thing that must be the fiend responsible, but to this day had told
no one of what they had seen on that lonely road.

He shook his head at this. “How can you all
be so sure there is only one fiend to be held accountable for all
these deaths I have heard of? Would it not make more sense if it
were a pack? I heard about the wolves that came to your home. Do
you not suppose they are the culprits and that their brethren who
did not meet their end that day still roam free and hungry?”

Emma and her father had
kept it to themselves about the bodies on Hartfield’s lawn that
dark afternoon. No one had reason to question them. Everyone
believed all the bodies that were carried away and burnt after the
rain had stopped. It was assumed that they were victims of the
wolves. No one believed two of them were the wolves themselves.
Only she had seen the change and remembered it. Her father had
buried his memories of that day so deep inside his mind that he
could be sincere in claiming to have no knowledge of it. His
denial, however, did not alleviate the haunting truth of her
version of the events of that terrible afternoon in the rain. She
could not explain what had transpired and thought it best left
unquestioned. Such was a rare thing for her with her tendency to
overturn even the largest stones to see what lay beneath, but this
time she simply was unable to do so.

Finally, she spoke. “I imagine a pack of
wolves is as good a guess as to who and what our killers are,” she
offered, “but you are new here. Despite our troubles, good and
beauty abound. Let us talk no more of this.”

He reluctantly dropped the line of
conversation and turned once again to more trivial and happier
matters, enjoying his time with her.

Emma watched and decided, that with such
feelings as were now shewn, it could not be fairly supposed that he
had been ever voluntarily absenting himself; that he had not been
acting a part, or making a parade of insincere professions; and
that Mr. Knightley certainly had not done him justice.

Their first pause was at the Crown Inn, an
inconsiderable house, though the principal one of the sort, where a
couple of pair of post-horses were kept, more for the convenience
of the neighbourhood than from any run on the road; and his
companions had not expected to be detained by any interest excited
there; but in passing it they gave the history of the large room
visibly added; it had been built many years ago for a ball-room,
and while the neighbourhood had been in a particularly populous,
dancing state, had been occasionally used as such; but such
brilliant days had long passed away, and now the highest purpose
for which it was ever wanted was to accommodate a whist club
established among the gentlemen and half-gentlemen of the place. He
was immediately interested. Its character as a ball-room caught
him; and instead of passing on, he stopt for several minutes at the
two superior sashed windows which were open, to look in and
contemplate its capabilities, and lament that its original purpose
should have ceased. He saw no fault in the room, he would
acknowledge none which they suggested. No, it was long enough,
broad enough, handsome enough. It would hold the very number for
comfort. They ought to have balls there at least every fortnight
through the winter. Why had not Miss Woodhouse revived the former
good old days of the room? She who could do any thing in Highbury!
The want of proper families in the place, and the conviction that
none beyond the place and its immediate environs could be tempted
to attend, were mentioned; but he was not satisfied. He could not
be persuaded that so many good-looking houses as he saw around him,
now with so many sitting vacant, could not furnish numbers enough
for such a meeting; and even when particulars were given and
families described, he was still unwilling to admit that the
inconvenience of such a mixture would be any thing, or that there
would be the smallest difficulty in every body’s returning into
their proper place the next morning. He argued like a young man
very much bent on dancing; and Emma was rather surprized to see the
constitution of the Weston prevail so decidedly against the habits
of the Churchills. He seemed to have all the life and spirit,
cheerful feelings, and social inclinations of his father, and
nothing of the pride or reserve of Enscombe. Of pride, indeed,
there was, perhaps, scarcely enough; his indifference to a
confusion of rank, bordered too much on inelegance of mind. He
could be no judge, however, of the evil he was holding cheap. It
was but an effusion of lively spirits.

At last he was persuaded to move on from the
front of the Crown; and being now almost facing the house where the
Bateses lodged, Emma recollected his intended visit the day before,
and asked him if he had paid it.

“
Yes, oh! Yes,” he replied.
“I was just going to mention it. A very successful visit: I saw all
the three ladies; and felt very much obliged to you for your
preparatory hint. If the talking aunt had taken me quite by
surprize, it must have been the death of me. As it was, I was only
betrayed into paying a most unreasonable visit. Ten minutes would
have been all that was necessary, perhaps all that was proper; and
I had told my father I should certainly be at home before him—but
there was no getting away, no pause; and, to my utter astonishment,
I found, when he (finding me nowhere else) joined me there at last,
that I had been actually sitting with them very nearly
three-quarters of an hour. The good lady had not given me the
possibility of escape before.”

“
And how did you think Miss
Fairfax looking?”

“
Ill, very ill—that is, if
a young lady can ever be allowed to look ill. But the expression is
hardly admissible, Mrs. Weston, is it? Ladies can never look ill.
And, seriously, Miss Fairfax is naturally so pale, as almost always
to give the appearance of ill health. A most deplorable want of
complexion.”

Emma would not agree to
this, and began a warm defence of Miss Fairfax’s complexion. “It
was certainly never brilliant, but she would not allow it to have a
sickly hue in general; and there was a softness and delicacy in her
skin which gave peculiar elegance to the character of her face.” He
listened with all due deference; acknowledged that he had heard
many people say the same—but yet he must confess, that to him
nothing could make amends for the want of the fine glow of health.
Where features were indifferent, a fine complexion gave beauty to
them all; and where they were good, the effect was—fortunately he
need not attempt to describe what the effect was.

“
Well,” said Emma, “there
is no disputing about taste. At least you admire her except her
complexion.”

He shook his head and laughed. “I cannot
separate Miss Fairfax and her complexion.”

“
Did you see her often at
Weymouth? Were you often in the same society?”

At this moment they were approaching Ford’s,
and he hastily exclaimed, “Ha! this must be the very shop that
every body attends every day of their lives, as my father informs
me. He comes to Highbury himself, he says, six days out of the
seven, and has always business at Ford’s. If it be not inconvenient
to you, pray let us go in, that I may prove myself to belong to the
place, to be a true citizen of Highbury. I must buy something at
Ford’s. It will be taking out my freedom. I dare say they sell
gloves.”

“
Oh! yes, gloves and every
thing. I do admire your patriotism. You will be adored in Highbury.
You were very popular before you came, because you were Mr.
Weston’s son—but lay out half a guinea at Ford’s, and your
popularity will stand upon your own virtues.”

They went in; and while the
sleek, well-tied parcels of “Men’s Beavers” and “York Tan” were
bringing down and displaying on the counter, he said, “But I beg
your pardon, Miss Woodhouse, you were speaking to me, you were
saying something at the very moment of this burst of my amor
patriae. Do not let me lose it. I assure you the utmost stretch of
public fame would not make me amends for the loss of any happiness
in private life.”