Emma and the Werewolves (69 page)

The time was coming when
the news must spread farther, and other persons’ reception of it
tried. As soon as Mrs. Weston was sufficiently recovered to admit
Mr. Woodhouse’s visits, Emma having it in view that her gentle
reasonings should be employed in the cause, resolved first to
announce it at home, and then at Randalls. But how to break it to
her father at last! She had bound herself to do it, in such an hour
of Mr. Knightley’s absence, or when it came to the point her heart
would have failed her, and she must have put it off; but Mr.
Knightley was to come at such a time, and follow up the beginning
she was to make. She was forced to speak, and to speak cheerfully
too. She must not make it a more decided subject of misery to him,
by a melancholy tone herself. She must not appear to think it a
misfortune. With all the spirits she could command, she prepared
him first for something strange, and then, in a few words, said,
that if his consent and approbation could be obtained—which, she
trusted, would be attended with no difficulty, since it was a plan
to promote the happiness of all—she and Mr. Knightley meant to
marry; by which means Hartfield would receive the constant addition
of that person’s company whom she knew he loved, next to his
daughters and Mrs. Weston, best in the world.

Poor man! it was at first a considerable
shock to him, and he tried earnestly to dissuade her from it. She
was reminded, more than once, of having always said she would never
marry, and assured that it would be a great deal better for her to
remain single; and told of poor Isabella, and poor Miss Taylor. But
it would not do. Emma hung about him affectionately, and smiled,
and said it must be so; and that he must not class her with
Isabella and Mrs. Weston, whose marriages taking them from
Hartfield, had, indeed, made a melancholy change: but she was not
going from Hartfield; she should be always there; she was
introducing no change in their numbers or their comforts but for
the better; and she was very sure that he would be a great deal the
happier for having Mr. Knightley always at hand, when he were once
got used to the idea. Did he not love Mr. Knightley very much? He
would not deny that he did, she was sure. Whom did he ever want to
consult on business but Mr. Knightley? Who was so useful to him,
who so ready to write his letters, who so glad to assist him? Who
so cheerful, so attentive, so attached to him? Would not he like to
have him always on the spot? Yes. That was all very true. Mr.
Knightley could not be there too often; he should be glad to see
him every day; but they did see him every day as it was. Why could
not they go on as they had done?

Mr. Woodhouse could not be
soon reconciled; but the worst was overcome, the idea was given;
time and continual repetition must do the rest. To Emma’s
entreaties and assurances succeeded Mr. Knightley’s, whose fond
praise of her gave the subject even a kind of welcome; and he was
soon used to be talked to by each, on every fair occasion. They had
all the assistance which Isabella could give, by letters of the
strongest approbation; and Mrs. Weston was ready, on the first
meeting, to consider the subject in the most serviceable
light—first, as a settled, and, secondly, as a good one—well aware
of the nearly equal importance of the two recommendations to Mr.
Woodhouse’s mind. It was agreed upon, as what was to be; and every
body by whom he was used to be guided assuring him that it would be
for his happiness; and having some feelings himself which almost
admitted it, he began to think that some time or other—in another
year or two, perhaps—it might not be so very bad if the marriage
did take place.

Mrs. Weston was acting no
part, feigning no feelings in all that she said to him in favour of
the event. She had been extremely surprized, never more so, than
when Emma first opened the affair to her; but she saw in it only
increase of happiness to all, and had no scruple in urging him to
the utmost. She had such a regard for Mr. Knightley, as to think he
deserved even her dearest Emma; and it was in every respect so
proper, suitable, and unexceptionable a connexion, and in one
respect, one point of the highest importance, so peculiarly
eligible, so singularly fortunate, that now it seemed as if Emma
could not safely have attached herself to any other creature, and
that she had herself been the stupidest of beings in not having
thought of it, and wished it long ago. How very few of those men in
a rank of life to address Emma would have renounced their own home
for Hartfield! And who but Mr. Knightley could know and bear with
Mr. Woodhouse, so as to make such an arrangement desirable! The
difficulty of disposing of poor Mr. Woodhouse had been always felt
in her husband’s plans and her own, for a marriage between Frank
and Emma. How to settle the claims of Enscombe and Hartfield had
been a continual impediment—less acknowledged by Mr. Weston than by
herself—but even he had never been able to finish the subject
better than by saying— “Those matters will take care of themselves;
the young people will find a way.” But here there was nothing to be
shifted off in a wild speculation on the future. It was all right,
all open, all equal. No sacrifice on any side worth the name. It
was a union of the highest promise of felicity in itself, and
without one real, rational difficulty to oppose or delay
it.

Mrs. Weston, with her baby
on her knee, indulging in such reflections as these, was one of the
happiest women in the world. If any thing could increase her
delight, it was perceiving that the baby would soon have outgrown
its first set of caps.

The news was universally a surprize wherever
it spread; and Mr. Weston had his five minutes share of it; but
five minutes were enough to familiarise the idea to his quickness
of mind. He saw the advantages of the match, and rejoiced in them
with all the constancy of his wife; but the wonder of it was very
soon nothing; and by the end of an hour he was not far from
believing that he had always foreseen it.

“
It is to be a secret, I
conclude,” said he. “These matters are always a secret, till it is
found out that every body knows them. Only let me be told when I
may speak out. I wonder whether Jane has any suspicion.”

He went to Highbury the next morning, and
satisfied himself on that point. He told her the news. Was not she
like a daughter, his eldest daughter? he must tell her; and Miss
Bates being present, it passed, of course, to Mrs. Cole, Mrs.
Perry, and Mrs. Elton, immediately afterwards. It was no more than
the principals were prepared for; they had calculated from the time
of its being known at Randalls, how soon it would be over Highbury;
and were thinking of themselves, as the evening wonder in many a
family circle, with great sagacity.

In general, it was a very
well approved match. Some might think him, and others might think
her, the most in luck. One set might recommend their all removing
to Donwell, and leaving Hartfield for the John Knightleys; and
another might predict disagreements among their servants; but yet,
upon the whole, there was no serious objection raised, except in
one habitation, the Vicarage. There, the surprize was not softened
by any satisfaction. Mr. Elton cared little about it, compared with
his wife; he only hoped “the young lady’s pride would now be
contented;” and supposed “she had always meant to catch Knightley
if she could;” and, on the point of living at Hartfield, could
daringly exclaim, “Rather he than I!” But Mrs. Elton was very much
discomposed indeed. “Poor Knightley! poor fellow! sad business for
him. She was extremely concerned; for, though very eccentric, he
had a thousand good qualities. How could he be so taken in? Did not
think him at all in love—not in the least. Poor Knightley! There
would be an end of all pleasant intercourse with him. How happy he
had been to come and dine with them whenever they asked him! But
that would be all over now. Poor fellow! No more exploring parties
to Donwell made for her. Oh! no; there would be a Mrs. Knightley to
throw cold water on every thing. Extremely disagreeable! But she
was not at all sorry that she had abused the housekeeper the other
day. Shocking plan, living together. It would never do. She knew a
family near Maple Grove who had tried it, and been obliged to
separate before the end of the first quarter.

* * * *

Chapter XVIII

T
ime passed on. A
few more to-morrows,
and the party from London would be arriving. It was an alarming
change; and Emma was thinking of it one morning, as what must bring
a great deal to agitate and grieve her, when Mr. Knightley came in,
and distressing thoughts were put by. After the first chat of
pleasure he was silent; and then, in a graver tone, began with, “I
have something to tell you, Emma; some news.”

“
Good or bad?” said she,
quickly, looking up in his face.

“
I do not know which it
ought to be called.”

“
Oh! good I am sure. I see
it in your countenance. You are trying not to smile.”

“
I am afraid,” said he,
composing his features, “I am very much afraid, my dear Emma, that
you will not smile when you hear it.”

“
Indeed! but why so? I can
hardly imagine that any thing which pleases or amuses you, should
not please and amuse me too.”

“
There is one subject,” he
replied, “I hope but one, on which we do not think alike.” He
paused a moment, again smiling, with his eyes fixed on her face.
“Does nothing occur to you? Do not you recollect? Harriet
Smith.”

Her cheeks flushed at the name, and she felt
afraid of something, though she knew not what.

“
Have you heard from her
yourself this morning?” cried he. “You have, I believe, and know
the whole.”

“
No, I have not; I know
nothing; pray tell me.”

“
You are prepared for the
worst, I see—and very bad it is. Harriet Smith marries Robert
Martin.”

Emma gave a start, which
did not seem like being prepared—and her eyes, in eager gaze, said,
“No, this is impossible!” but her lips were closed.

“
It is so, indeed,”
continued Mr. Knightley; “I have it from Robert Martin himself. He
left me not half an hour ago.”

She was still looking at him with the most
speaking amazement.

“
You like it, my Emma, as
little as I feared. I wish our opinions were the same. But in time
they will. Time, you may be sure, will make one or the other of us
think differently; and, in the meanwhile, we need not talk much on
the subject.”

“
You mistake me, you quite
mistake me,” she replied, exerting herself. “It is not that such a
circumstance would now make me unhappy, but I cannot believe it. It
seems an impossibility! You cannot mean to say, that Harriet Smith
has accepted Robert Martin. You cannot mean that he has even
proposed to her again—yet. You only mean, that he intends
it.”

“
I mean that he has done
it,” answered Mr. Knightley, with smiling but determined decision,
“and been accepted.”

“
Good gracious!” she cried.
“Well!” —Then having recourse to her workbasket, in excuse for
leaning down her face, and concealing all the exquisite feelings of
delight and entertainment which she knew she must be expressing,
she added, “Well, now tell me every thing; make this intelligible
to me. How, where, when? Let me know it all. I never was more
surprized—but it does not make me unhappy, I assure you. How—how
has it been possible?”

“
It is a very simple story.
He went to town on business three days ago, and I got him to take
charge of some papers which I was wanting to send to John. He
delivered these papers to John, at his chambers, and was asked by
him to join their party the same evening to Astley’s. They were
going to take the two eldest boys to Astley’s. The party was to be
our brother and sister, Henry, John—and Miss Smith. My friend
Robert could not resist. They called for him in their way; were all
extremely amused; and my brother asked him to dine with them the
next day—which he did—and in the course of that visit (as I
understand) he found an opportunity of speaking to Harriet; and
certainly did not speak in vain. She made him, by her acceptance,
as happy even as he is deserving. He came down by yesterday’s
coach, and was with me this morning immediately after breakfast, to
report his proceedings, first on my affairs, and then on his own.
This is all that I can relate of the how, where, and when. Your
friend Harriet will make a much longer history when you see her.
She will give you all the minute particulars, which only woman’s
language can make interesting. In our communications we deal only
in the great. However, I must say, that Robert Martin’s heart
seemed for him, and to me, very overflowing; and that he did
mention, without its being much to the purpose, that on quitting
their box at Astley’s, my brother took charge of Mrs. John
Knightley and little John, and he followed with Miss Smith and
Henry; and that at one time they were in such a crowd, as to make
Miss Smith rather uneasy.”

He stopped. Emma dared not
attempt any immediate reply. To speak, she was sure would be to
betray a most unreasonable degree of happiness. She must wait a
moment, or he would think her mad. Her silence disturbed him; and
after observing her a little while, he added, “Emma, my love, you
said that this circumstance would not now make you unhappy; but I
am afraid it gives you more pain than you expected. His situation
is an evil—but you must consider it as what satisfies your friend;
and I will answer for your thinking better and better of him as you
know him more. His good sense and good principles would delight
you. As far as the man is concerned, you could not wish your friend
in better hands. His rank in society I would alter if I could,
which is saying a great deal I assure you, Emma. You laugh at me
about William Larkins; but I could quite as ill spare Robert
Martin.”