Emma and the Werewolves (41 page)

It was not to oblige Jane
Fairfax therefore that he would have preferred the society of
William Larkins. No! she was more and more convinced that Mrs.
Weston was quite mistaken in that surmise. There was a great deal
of friendly and of compassionate attachment on his side—but no
love.

Alas! there was soon no
leisure for quarrelling with Mr. Knightley. Two days of joyful
security were immediately followed by the over-throw of every
thing. A letter arrived from Mr. Churchill to urge his nephew’s
instant return. Mrs. Churchill was unwell—far too unwell to do
without him; she had been in a very suffering state (so said her
husband) when writing to her nephew two days before, though from
her usual unwillingness to give pain, and constant habit of never
thinking of herself, she had not mentioned it; but now she was too
ill to trifle, and must entreat him to set off for Enscombe without
delay.

The substance of this
letter was forwarded to Emma, in a note from Mrs. Weston,
instantly. As to his going, it was inevitable. He must be gone
within a few hours, though without feeling any real alarm for his
aunt, to lessen his repugnance. He knew her illnesses; they never
occurred but for her own convenience.

Mrs. Weston added, “that he could only allow
himself time to hurry to Highbury, after breakfast, and take leave
of the few friends there whom he could suppose to feel any interest
in him; and that he might be expected at Hartfield very soon.”

This wretched note was the
finale of Emma’s breakfast. When once it had been read, there was
no doing any thing, but lament and exclaim. The loss of the
ball—the loss of the young man—and all that the young man might be
feeling! It was too wretched! Such a delightful evening as it would
have been! Every body so happy! and she and her partner the
happiest! “I said it would be so,” was the only
consolation.

Her father’s feelings were
quite distinct. He thought principally of Mrs. Churchill’s illness,
and wanted to know how she was treated; and as for the ball, it was
shocking to have dear Emma disappointed; but they would all be
safer at home.

Emma was ready for her visitor some time
before he appeared; but if this reflected at all upon his
impatience, his sorrowful look and total want of spirits when he
did come might redeem him. He felt the going away almost too much
to speak of it. His dejection was most evident. He sat really lost
in thought for the first few minutes; and when rousing himself, it
was only to say, “Of all horrid things, leave-taking is the
worst.”

“
But you will come again,”
said Emma. “This will not be your only visit to
Randalls.”

“
Ah! (shaking his head)—the
uncertainty of when I may be able to return! I shall try for it
with a zeal! It will be the object of all my thoughts and cares!
and if my uncle and aunt go to town this spring—but I am
afraid—they did not stir last spring—I am afraid it is a custom
gone for ever.”

“
Our poor ball must be
quite given up.”

“
Ah! that ball! why did we
wait for any thing? why not seize the pleasure at once? How often
is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation! You
told us it would be so. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, why are you always so
right?”

“
Indeed, I am very sorry to
be right in this instance. I would much rather have been merry than
wise.”

“
If I can come again, we
are still to have our ball. My father depends on it. Do not forget
your engagement.”

Emma looked graciously.

“
Such a fortnight as it has
been!” he continued; “every day more precious and more delightful
than the day before! every day making me less fit to bear any other
place. Happy those, who can remain at Highbury!”

“
As you do us such ample
justice now,” said Emma, laughing, “I will venture to ask, whether
you did not come a little doubtfully at first? Do not we rather
surpass your expectations? I am sure we do. I am sure you did not
much expect to like us. You would not have been so long in coming,
if you had had a pleasant idea of Highbury.”

He laughed rather consciously; and though
denying the sentiment, Emma was convinced that it had been so.

“
And you must be off this
very morning?”

“
Yes; my father is to join
me here: we shall walk back together, and I must be off
immediately. I am almost afraid that every moment will bring
him.”

“
Not five minutes to spare
even for your friends Miss Fairfax and Miss Bates? How unlucky!
Miss Bates’s powerful, argumentative mind might have strengthened
yours.”

“
Yes—I have called there;
passing the door, I thought it better. It was a right thing to do.
I went in for three minutes, and was detained by Miss Bates’s being
absent. She was out; and I felt it impossible not to wait till she
came in. She is a woman that one may, that one must laugh at; but
that one would not wish to slight. It was better to pay my visit,
then”

He hesitated, got up, walked to a
window.

“
In short,” said he,
“perhaps, Miss Woodhouse—I think you can hardly be quite without
suspicion” —

He looked at her, as if wanting to read her
thoughts. She hardly knew what to say. It seemed like the
forerunner of something absolutely serious, which she did not wish.
Forcing herself to speak, therefore, in the hope of putting it by,
she calmly said,

“
You are quite in the
right; it was most natural to pay your visit, then” —

He was silent. She believed he was looking
at her; probably reflecting on what she had said, and trying to
understand the manner. She heard him sigh. It was natural for him
to feel that he had cause to sigh. He could not believe her to be
encouraging him. A few awkward moments passed, and he sat down
again; and in a more determined manner said,

“
It was something to feel
that all the rest of my time might be given to Hartfield. My regard
for Hartfield is most warm” —

He stopt again, rose again, and seemed quite
embarrassed. He was more in love with her than Emma had supposed;
and who can say how it might have ended, if his father had not made
his appearance? Mr. Woodhouse soon followed; and the necessity of
exertion made him composed.

A very few minutes more,
however, completed the present trial. Mr. Weston, always alert when
business was to be done, and as incapable of procrastinating any
evil that was inevitable, as of foreseeing any that was doubtful,
said, “It was time to go;” and the young man, though he might and
did sigh, could not but agree, to take leave.

“
I shall hear about you
all,” said he; that is my chief consolation. I shall hear of every
thing that is going on among you. I have engaged Mrs. Weston to
correspond with me. She has been so kind as to promise it. Oh! the
blessing of a female correspondent, when one is really interested
in the absent! she will tell me every thing. In her letters I shall
be at dear Highbury again.”

A very friendly shake of
the hand, a very earnest “Good-bye,” closed the speech, and the
door had soon shut out Frank Churchill. Short had been the
notice—short their meeting; he was gone; and Emma felt so sorry to
part, and foresaw so great a loss to their little society from his
absence as to begin to be afraid of being too sorry, and feeling it
too much.

It was a sad change. They
had been meeting almost every day since his arrival. Certainly his
being at Randalls had given great spirit to the last two
weeks—indescribable spirit; the idea, the expectation of seeing him
which every morning had brought, the assurance of his attentions,
his liveliness, his manners! It had been a very happy fortnight,
and forlorn must be the sinking from it into the common course of
Hartfield days. To complete every other recommendation, he had
almost told her that he loved her. What strength, or what constancy
of affection he might be subject to, was another point; but at
present she could not doubt his having a decidedly warm admiration,
a conscious preference of herself; and this persuasion, joined to
all the rest, made her think that she must be a little in love with
him, in spite of every previous determination against
it.

“
I certainly must,” said
she. “This sensation of listlessness, weariness, stupidity, this
disinclination to sit down and employ myself, this feeling of every
thing’s being dull and insipid about the house! I must be in love;
I should be the oddest creature in the world if I were not—for a
few weeks at least. Well! evil to some is always good to others. I
shall have many fellow-mourners for the ball, if not for Frank
Churchill; but Mr. Knightley will be happy. He may spend the
evening with his dear William Larkins now if he likes.”

Mr. Knightley, however, shewed no triumphant
happiness. He could not say that he was sorry on his own account;
his very cheerful look would have contradicted him if he had; but
he said, and very steadily, that he was sorry for the
disappointment of the others, and with considerable kindness
added,

“
You, Emma, who have so few
opportunities of dancing, you are really out of luck; you are very
much out of luck!”

It was some days before she saw Jane
Fairfax, to judge of her honest regret in this woeful change; but
when they did meet, her composure was odious. She had been
particularly unwell, however, suffering from headache to a degree,
which made her aunt declare, that had the ball taken place, she did
not think Jane could have attended it; and it was charity to impute
some of her unbecoming indifference to the languor of
ill-health.

* * * *

Chapter XIII

E
mma continued to entertain
no doubt of
her being in love. Her ideas only varied as to the how much. At
first, she thought it was a good deal; and afterwards, but little.
She had great pleasure in hearing Frank Churchill talked of; and,
for his sake, greater pleasure than ever in seeing Mr. and Mrs.
Weston; she was very often thinking of him, and quite impatient for
a letter, that she might know how he was, how were his spirits, how
was his aunt, and what was the chance of his coming to Randalls
again this spring. But, on the other hand, she could not admit
herself to be unhappy, nor, after the first morning, to be less
disposed for employment than usual; she was still busy and
cheerful; and, pleasing as he was, she could yet imagine him to
have faults; and farther, though thinking of him so much, and, as
she sat drawing or working, forming a thousand amusing schemes for
the progress and close of their attachment, fancying interesting
dialogues, and inventing elegant letters; the conclusion of every
imaginary declaration on his side was that she refused him. Their
affection was always to subside into friendship. Every thing tender
and charming was to mark their parting; but still they were to
part. When she became sensible of this, it struck her that she
could not be very much in love; for in spite of her previous and
fixed determination never to quit her father, never to marry, a
strong attachment certainly must produce more of a struggle than
she could foresee in her own feelings.

“
I do not find myself
making any use of the word sacrifice,” said she. “In not one of all
my clever replies, my delicate negatives, is there any allusion to
making a sacrifice. I do suspect that he is not really necessary to
my happiness. So much the better. I certainly will not persuade
myself to feel more than I do. I am quite enough in love. I should
be sorry to be more.”

Upon the whole, she was equally contented
with her view of his feelings.

“
He is undoubtedly very
much in love—every thing denotes it—very much in love indeed! and
when he comes again, if his affection continue, I must be on my
guard not to encourage it. It would be most inexcusable to do
otherwise, as my own mind is quite made up. Not that I imagine he
can think I have been encouraging him hitherto. No, if he had
believed me at all to share his feelings, he would not have been so
wretched. Could he have thought himself encouraged, his looks and
language at parting would have been different. Still, however, I
must be on my guard. This is in the supposition of his attachment
continuing what it now is; but I do not know that I expect it will;
I do not look upon him to be quite the sort of man—I do not
altogether build upon his steadiness or constancy. His feelings are
warm, but I can imagine them rather changeable. Every consideration
of the subject, in short, makes me thankful that my happiness is
not more deeply involved. I shall do very well again after a little
while—and then, it will be a good thing over; for they say every
body is in love once in their lives, and I shall have been let off
easily.”

When his letter to Mrs.
Weston arrived, Emma had the perusal of it; and she read it with a
degree of pleasure and admiration which made her at first shake her
head over her own sensations, and think she had undervalued their
strength. It was a long, well-written letter, giving the
particulars of his journey and of his feelings, expressing all the
affection, gratitude, and respect which was natural and honourable,
and describing every thing exterior and local that could be
supposed attractive, with spirit and precision. No suspicious
flourishes now of apology or concern; it was the language of real
feeling towards Mrs. Weston; and the transition from Highbury to
Enscombe, the contrast between the places in some of the first
blessings of social life was just enough touched on to shew how
keenly it was felt, and how much more might have been said but for
the restraints of propriety. The charm of her own name was not
wanting. Miss Woodhouse appeared more than once, and never without
a something of pleasing connexion, either a compliment to her
taste, or a remembrance of what she had said; and in the very last
time of its meeting her eye, unadorned as it was by any such broad
wreath of gallantry, she yet could discern the effect of her
influence and acknowledge the greatest compliment perhaps of all
conveyed. Compressed into the very lowest vacant corner were these
words— “I had not a spare moment on Tuesday, as you know, for Miss
Woodhouse’s beautiful little friend. Pray make my excuses and
adieus to her.” This, Emma could not doubt, was all for herself.
Harriet was remembered only from being her friend. His information
and prospects as to Enscombe were neither worse nor better than had
been anticipated; Mrs. Churchill was recovering, and he dared not
yet, even in his own imagination, fix a time for coming to Randalls
again.