Emma and the Werewolves (47 page)

“
You may well class the
delight, the honour, and the comfort of such a situation together,”
said Jane, “they are pretty sure to be equal; however, I am very
serious in not wishing any thing to be attempted at present for me.
I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mrs. Elton, I am obliged to any
body who feels for me, but I am quite serious in wishing nothing to
be done till the summer. For two or three months longer I shall
remain where I am, and as I am.”

“
And I am quite serious
too, I assure you,” replied Mrs. Elton gaily, “in resolving to be
always on the watch, and employing my friends to watch also, that
nothing really unexceptionable may pass us.”

In this style she ran on;
never thoroughly stopped by any thing till Mr. Woodhouse came into
the room; her vanity had then a change of object, and Emma heard
her saying in the same half-whisper to Jane, “Here comes this dear
old beau of mine, I protest! Only think of his gallantry in coming
away before the other men! what a dear creature he is; I assure you
I like him excessively. I admire all that quaint, old-fashioned
politeness; it is much more to my taste than modern ease; modern
ease often disgusts me. But this good old Mr. Woodhouse, I wish you
had heard his gallant speeches to me at dinner. Oh! I assure you I
began to think my caro sposo would be absolutely jealous. I fancy I
am rather a favourite; he took notice of my gown. How do you like
it? Selina’s choice—handsome, I think, but I do not know whether it
is not over-trimmed; I have the greatest dislike to the idea of
being over-trimmed—quite a horror of finery. I must put on a few
ornaments now, because it is expected of me. A bride, you know,
must appear like a bride, but my natural taste is all for
simplicity; a simple style of dress is so infinitely preferable to
finery. But I am quite in the minority, I believe; few people seem
to value simplicity of dress,—show and finery are every thing. I
have some notion of putting such a trimming as this to my white and
silver poplin. Do you think it will look well?”

The whole party were but
just reassembled in the drawing-room when Mr. Weston made his
appearance among them. He had returned to a late dinner, and walked
to Hartfield as soon as it was over. He had been too much expected
by the best judges, for surprize—but there was great joy. Mr.
Woodhouse was almost as glad to see him now, as he would have been
sorry to see him before. John Knightley only was in mute
astonishment. That a man who might have spent his evening quietly
at home after a day of business in London, should set off again,
and walk half a mile to another man’s house, for the sake of being
in mixed company till bed-time, of finishing his day in the efforts
of civility and the noise of numbers, was a circumstance to strike
him deeply. A man who had been in motion since eight o’clock in the
morning, and might now have been still, who had been long talking,
and might have been silent, who had been in more than one crowd,
and might have been alone! Such a man, to quit the tranquillity and
independence of his own fireside, and on the evening of a cold
sleety April day rush out again into the world! Could he by a touch
of his finger have instantly taken back his wife, there would have
been a motive; but his coming would probably prolong rather than
break up the party. John Knightley looked at him with amazement,
then shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I could not have believed
it even of him.”

Mr. Weston meanwhile, perfectly unsuspicious
of the indignation he was exciting, happy and cheerful as usual,
and with all the right of being principal talker, which a day spent
anywhere from home confers, was making himself agreeable among the
rest; and having satisfied the inquiries of his wife as to his
dinner, convincing her that none of all her careful directions to
the servants had been forgotten, and spread abroad what public news
he had heard, was proceeding to a family communication, which,
though principally addressed to Mrs. Weston, he had not the
smallest doubt of being highly interesting to every body in the
room. He gave her a letter, it was from Frank, and to herself; he
had met with it in his way, and had taken the liberty of opening
it.

“
Read it, read it,” said
he, “it will give you pleasure; only a few lines—will not take you
long; read it to Emma.”

The two ladies looked over it together; and
he sat smiling and talking to them the whole time, in a voice a
little subdued, but very audible to every body.

“
Well, he is coming, you
see; good news, I think. Well, what do you say to it? I always told
you he would be here again soon, did not I? Anne, my dear, did not
I always tell you so, and you would not believe me? In town next
week, you see—at the latest, I dare say; for she is as impatient as
the black gentleman when any thing is to be done; most likely they
will be there to-morrow or Saturday. As to her illness, all nothing
of course. But it is an excellent thing to have Frank among us
again, so near as town. They will stay a good while when they do
come, and he will be half his time with us. This is precisely what
I wanted. Well, pretty good news, is not it? Have you finished it?
Has Emma read it all? Put it up, put it up; we will have a good
talk about it some other time, but it will not do now. I shall only
just mention the circumstance to the others in a common
way.”

Mrs. Weston was most comfortably pleased on
the occasion. Her looks and words had nothing to restrain them. She
was happy, she knew she was happy, and knew she ought to be happy.
Her congratulations were warm and open; but Emma could not speak so
fluently. She was a little occupied in weighing her own feelings,
and trying to understand the degree of her agitation, which she
rather thought was considerable.

Mr. Weston, however, too eager to be very
observant, too communicative to want others to talk, was very well
satisfied with what she did say, and soon moved away to make the
rest of his friends happy by a partial communication of what the
whole room must have overheard already.

It was well that he took every body’s joy
for granted, or he might not have thought either Mr. Woodhouse or
Mr. Knightley particularly delighted. They were the first entitled,
after Mrs. Weston and Emma, to be made happy; from them he would
have proceeded to Miss Fairfax, but she was so deep in conversation
with John Knightley, that it would have been too positive an
interruption; and finding himself close to Mrs. Elton, and her
attention disengaged, he necessarily began on the subject with
her.

* * * *

Chapter XVIII

“
I
hope I shall soon
have the pleasure of introducing my son to you,”
said Mr. Weston.

Mrs. Elton, very willing to suppose a
particular compliment intended her by such a hope, smiled most
graciously.

“
You have heard of a
certain Frank Churchill, I presume,” he continued, “and know him to
be my son, though he does not bear my name.”

“
Oh! yes, and I shall be
very happy in his acquaintance. I am sure Mr. Elton will lose no
time in calling on him; and we shall both have great pleasure in
seeing him at the Vicarage.”

“
You are very obliging.
Frank will be extremely happy, I am sure. He is to be in town next
week, if not sooner. We have notice of it in a letter to-day. I met
the letters in my way this morning, and seeing my son’s hand,
presumed to open it—though it was not directed to me—it was to Mrs.
Weston. She is his principal correspondent, I assure you. I hardly
ever get a letter.”

“
And so you absolutely
opened what was directed to her! Oh! Mr. Weston— (laughing
affectedly) I must protest against that. A most dangerous precedent
indeed! I beg you will not let your neighbours follow your example.
Upon my word, if this is what I am to expect, we married women must
begin to exert ourselves! Oh! Mr. Weston, I could not have believed
it of you!”

“
Aye, we men are sad
fellows. You must take care of yourself, Mrs. Elton. This letter
tells us—it is a short letter—written in a hurry, merely to give us
notice—it tells us that they are all coming up to town directly, on
Mrs. Churchill’s account—she has not been well the whole winter,
and thinks Enscombe too cold for her—so they are all to move
southward without loss of time.”

“
Indeed! from Yorkshire, I
think. Enscombe is in Yorkshire?”

“
Yes, they are about one
hundred and ninety miles from London. A considerable
journey.”

“
Yes, upon my word, very
considerable. Sixty-five miles farther than from Maple Grove to
London. But what is distance, Mr. Weston, to people of large
fortune? You would be amazed to hear how my brother, Mr. Suckling,
sometimes flies about. You will hardly believe me—but twice in one
week he and Mr. Bragge went to London and back again with four
horses.”

“
The evil of the distance
from Enscombe,” said Mr. Weston, “is, that Mrs. Churchill, as we
understand, has not been able to leave the sofa for a week
together. In Frank’s last letter she complained, he said, of being
too weak to get into her conservatory without having both his arm
and his uncle’s! This, you know, speaks a great degree of
weakness—but now she is so impatient to be in town, that she means
to sleep only two nights on the road. So Frank writes word.
Certainly, delicate ladies have very extraordinary constitutions,
Mrs. Elton. You must grant me that.”

“
No, indeed, I shall grant
you nothing. I Always take the part of my own sex. I do indeed. I
give you notice—You will find me a formidable antagonist on that
point. I always stand up for women—and I assure you, if you knew
how Selina feels with respect to sleeping at an inn, you would not
wonder at Mrs. Churchill’s making incredible exertions to avoid it.
Selina says it is quite horror to her—and I believe I have caught a
little of her nicety. She always travels with her own sheets; an
excellent precaution. Does Mrs. Churchill do the same?”

“
Depend upon it, Mrs.
Churchill does every thing that any other fine lady ever did. Mrs.
Churchill will not be second to any lady in the land for”
—

Mrs. Elton eagerly interposed with,

“
Oh! Mr. Weston, do not
mistake me. Selina is no fine lady, I assure you. Do not run away
with such an idea.”

“
Is not she? Then she is no
rule for Mrs. Churchill, who is as thorough a fine lady as any body
ever beheld.”

Mrs. Elton began to think she had been wrong
in disclaiming so warmly. It was by no means her object to have it
believed that her sister was not a fine lady; perhaps there was
want of spirit in the pretence of it; and she was considering in
what way she had best retract, when Mr. Weston went on.

“
Mrs. Churchill is not much
in my good graces, as you may suspect—but this is quite between
ourselves. She is very fond of Frank, and therefore I would not
speak ill of her. Besides, she is out of health now; but that
indeed, by her own account, she has always been. I would not say so
to every body, Mrs. Elton, but I have not much faith in Mrs.
Churchill’s illness.”

“
If she is really ill, why
not go to Bath, Mr. Weston? To Bath, or to Clifton?” “She has taken
it into her head that Enscombe is too cold for her. The fact is, I
suppose, that she is tired of Enscombe. She has now been a longer
time stationary there, than she ever was before, and she begins to
want change. It is a retired place. A fine place, but very
retired.”

“
Aye—like Maple Grove, I
dare say. Nothing can stand more retired from the road than Maple
Grove. Such an immense plantation all round it! You seem shut out
from every thing—in the most complete retirement. And Mrs.
Churchill probably has not health or spirits like Selina to enjoy
that sort of seclusion. Or, perhaps she may not have resources
enough in herself to be qualified for a country life. I always say
a woman cannot have too many resources—and I feel very thankful
that I have so many myself as to be quite independent of
society.”

“
Frank was here in February
for a fortnight.”

“
So I remember to have
heard. He will find an addition to the society of Highbury when he
comes again; that is, if I may presume to call myself an addition.
But perhaps he may never have heard of there being such a creature
in the world.”

This was too loud a call for a compliment to
be passed by, and Mr. Weston, with a very good grace, immediately
exclaimed, “My dear madam! Nobody but yourself could imagine such a
thing possible. Not heard of you! I believe Mrs. Weston’s letters
lately have been full of very little else than Mrs. Elton.”

He had done his duty and could return to his
son.

“
When Frank left us,”
continued he, “it was quite uncertain when we might see him again,
which makes this day’s news doubly welcome. It has been completely
unexpected. That is, I always had a strong persuasion he would be
here again soon, I was sure something favourable would turn up—but
nobody believed me. He and Mrs. Weston were both dreadfully
desponding. ‘How could he contrive to come? And how could it be
supposed that his uncle and aunt would spare him again?’ and so
forth—I always felt that something would happen in our favour; and
so it has, you see. I have observed, Mrs. Elton, in the course of
my life, that if things are going untowardly one month, they are
sure to mend the next.”

“
Very true, Mr. Weston,
perfectly true. It is just what I used to say to a certain
gentleman in company in the days of courtship, when, because things
did not go quite right, did not proceed with all the rapidity which
suited his feelings, he was apt to be in despair, and exclaim that
he was sure at this rate it would be May before Hymen’s saffron
robe would be put on for us. Oh! the pains I have been at to dispel
those gloomy ideas and give him cheerfuller views! The carriage—we
had disappointments about the carriage; one morning, I remember, he
came to me quite in despair.”