Emma and the Werewolves (36 page)

The rest of the gentlemen being now in the
room, Emma found herself obliged to turn from him for a few
minutes, and listen to Mr. Cole. When Mr. Cole had moved away, and
her attention could be restored as before, she saw Frank Churchill
looking intently across the room at Miss Fairfax, who was sitting
exactly opposite.

“
What is the matter?” said
she.

He started. “Thank you for
rousing me,” he replied. “I believe I have been very rude; but
really Miss Fairfax has done her hair in so odd a way—so very odd a
way—that I cannot keep my eyes from her. I never saw any thing so
outree! Those curls! This must be a fancy of her own. I see nobody
else looking like her! I must go and ask her whether it is an Irish
fashion. Shall I? Yes, I will—I declare I will—and you shall see
how she takes it; whether she colours.”

He was gone immediately;
and Emma soon saw him standing before Miss Fairfax, and talking to
her; but as to its effect on the young lady, as he had
improvidently placed himself exactly between them, exactly in front
of Miss Fairfax, she could absolutely distinguish
nothing.

Before he could return to his chair, it was
taken by Mrs. Weston.

“
This is the luxury of a
large party,” said she: “one can get near every body, and say every
thing. My dear Emma, I am longing to talk to you. I have been
making discoveries and forming plans, just like yourself, and I
must tell them while the idea is fresh. Do you know how Miss Bates
and her niece came here?”

“
How? They were invited,
were not they?”

“
Oh! yes—but how they were
conveyed hither? the manner of their coming?”

“
They walked, I conclude.
How else could they come? A brave and foolish thing at night, don’t
you think?”

“
Very true. Well, a little
while ago it occurred to me how very sad it would be to have Jane
Fairfax walking home again, late at night, and cold as the nights
are now. And as I looked at her, though I never saw her appear to
more advantage, it struck me that she was heated, and would
therefore be particularly liable to take cold. Poor girl! I could
not bear the idea of it; so, as soon as Mr. Weston came into the
room, and I could get at him, I spoke to him about the carriage.
You may guess how readily he came into my wishes; and having his
approbation, I made my way directly to Miss Bates, to assure her
that the carriage would be at her service before it took us home;
for I thought it would be making her comfortable at once. Good
soul! she was as grateful as possible, you may be sure. ‘Nobody was
ever so fortunate as herself!’ —but with many, many thanks— ‘there
was no occasion to trouble us, for Mr. Knightley’s carriage had
brought, and was to take them home again.’ I was quite surprized;
very glad, I am sure; but really quite surprized. Such a very kind
attention—and so thoughtful an attention! the sort of thing that so
few men would think of. And, in short, from knowing his usual ways,
I am very much inclined to think that it was for their
accommodation the carriage was used at all. I do suspect he would
not have had a pair of horses for himself, and that it was only as
an excuse for assisting them.”

“
Very likely,” said Emma,
“nothing more likely. I know no man more likely than Mr. Knightley
to do the sort of thing—to do any thing really good-natured,
useful, considerate, or benevolent. He is not a gallant man, but he
is a very humane one; and this, considering Jane Fairfax’s
ill-health, would appear a case of humanity to him; and for an act
of unostentatious kindness, there is nobody whom I would fix on
more than on Mr. Knightley. I know he had horses to-day—for we
arrived together; and I laughed at him about it, but he said not a
word that could betray.”

“
Well,” said Mrs. Weston,
smiling, “you give him credit for more simple, disinterested
benevolence in this instance than I do; for while Miss Bates was
speaking, a suspicion darted into my head, and I have never been
able to get it out again. The more I think of it, the more probable
it appears. In short, I have made a match between Mr. Knightley and
Jane Fairfax. See the consequence of keeping you company! What do
you say to it?”

“
Mr. Knightley and Jane
Fairfax!” exclaimed Emma. “Dear Mrs. Weston, how could you think of
such a thing? Mr. Knightley! Mr. Knightley must not marry! You
would not have little Henry cut out from Donwell? Oh! no, no, Henry
must have Donwell. I cannot at all consent to Mr. Knightley’s
marrying; and I am sure it is not at all likely. I am amazed that
you should think of such a thing.”

“
My dear Emma, I have told
you what led me to think of it. I do not want the match—I do not
want to injure dear little Henry—but the idea has been given me by
circumstances; and if Mr. Knightley really wished to marry, you
would not have him refrain on Henry’s account, a boy of six years
old, who knows nothing of the matter?”

“
Yes, I would. I could not
bear to have Henry supplanted. Mr. Knightley marry! No, I have
never had such an idea, and I cannot adopt it now. And Jane
Fairfax, too, of all women!”

“
Nay, she has always been a
first favourite with him, as you very well know.”

“
But the imprudence of such
a match!”

“
I am not speaking of its
prudence; merely its probability.”

“
I see no probability in
it, unless you have any better foundation than what you mention.
His good-nature, his humanity, as I tell you, would be quite enough
to account for the horses. He has a great regard for the Bateses,
you know, independent of Jane Fairfax—and is always glad to shew
them attention. My dear Mrs. Weston, do not take to match-making.
You do it very ill. Jane Fairfax mistress of the Abbey! Oh! no, no;
every feeling revolts. For his own sake, I would not have him do so
mad a thing.”

“
Imprudent, if you
please—but not mad. Excepting inequality of fortune, and perhaps a
little disparity of age, I can see nothing unsuitable.”

“
But Mr. Knightley does not
want to marry. I am sure he has not the least idea of it. Do not
put it into his head. Why should he marry? He is as happy as
possible by himself; with his farm, and his sheep, and his library,
and all the parish to manage; and he is extremely fond of his
brother’s children. He has no occasion to marry, either to fill up
his time or his heart.”

“
My dear Emma, as long as
he thinks so, it is so; but if he really loves Jane
Fairfax—”

“
Nonsense! He does not care
about Jane Fairfax. In the way of love, I am sure he does not. He
would do any good to her, or her family; but—”

“
Well,” said Mrs. Weston,
laughing, “perhaps the greatest good he could do them, would be to
give Jane such a respectable home.”

“
If it would be good to
her, I am sure it would be evil to himself; a very shameful and
degrading connexion. How would he bear to have Miss Bates belonging
to him? To have her haunting the Abbey, and thanking him all day
long for his great kindness in marrying Jane? ‘So very kind and
obliging! But he always had been such a very kind neighbour!’ And
then fly off, through half a sentence, to her mother’s old
petticoat. ‘Not that it was such a very old petticoat either—for
still it would last a great while—and, indeed, she must thankfully
say that their petticoats were all very strong.’”

“
For shame, Emma! Do not
mimic her. You divert me against my conscience. And, upon my word,
I do not think Mr. Knightley would be much disturbed by Miss Bates.
Little things do not irritate him. She might talk on; and if he
wanted to say any thing himself, he would only talk louder, and
drown her voice. But the question is not, whether it would be a bad
connexion for him, but whether he wishes it; and I think he does. I
have heard him speak, and so must you, so very highly of Jane
Fairfax! The interest he takes in her—his anxiety about her
health—his concern that she should have no happier prospect! I have
heard him express himself so warmly on those points! Such an
admirer of her performance on the pianoforte, and of her voice! I
have heard him say that he could listen to her for ever. Oh! and I
had almost forgotten one idea that occurred to me—this pianoforte
that has been sent here by somebody—though we have all been so well
satisfied to consider it a present from the Campbells, may it not
be from Mr. Knightley? I cannot help suspecting him. I think he is
just the person to do it, even without being in love.”

“
Then it can be no argument
to prove that he is in love. But I do not think it is at all a
likely thing for him to do. Mr. Knightley does nothing
mysteriously.”

“
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.”

“
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 shewed them that tea
was over, and the instrument in preparation; and at the same moment
Mr. Cole approaching to entreat Miss Woodhousewould 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
surprize—a second, slightly but correctly taken by Frank Churchill.
Her pardon was duly begged at the close of the song, and every
thing 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 at
Donwell Abbey. A Mrs. Knightley for them all to give way to! No—Mr.
Knightley must never marry. Little Henry must remain the heir of
Donwell.

Presently Mr. Knightley
looked back, and came and sat down by her. They talked at first
only of the performance, but soon he leaned close to her and
whispered, “Have you seen this Selena again?”

“
No,” she answered in all
honesty. At this, Mr. Knightley seemed to be willing to let the
subject pass and continue with his enjoyment of the party and her
company. Emma could not help but notice how much more rested and
presentable he was. She was glad for it and hoped whatever troubles
he’d faced were now over. 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. Surprizes are foolish
things. The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is
often considerable. I should have expected better judgment in
Colonel Campbell.”