'Yes I should; I am sure I should,' she said serenely.
'Nonsensical girl!'
I could not help my eyes following her as we went in, and I saw that the Coles had gone out of their way to please her. She was received with a cordial respect which could not but gratify her, and she was given all the consequence she could wish for. When the Westons arrived, their brightest smiles were for her, and Mr Weston's son went straight to her side.
I wanted to like him, but I could not. Insufferable puppy! To go to London for a haircut! And then to go straight away to Emma, and ignore the rest of the party!
I did not want to watch the two of them, but I found I could not help myself. He is of an age with her, he is handsome and charming, and what is more, the Westons wish the match. I have long suspected it, and now I am sure of it. They look upon her already as a daughter-in-law. But I cannot abide the thought of Emma being married to Frank Churchill!
To a good man, yes, one who knows her in all her moods, who can laugh at her follies and rejoice in her virtues; who will not allow her to give in to her worst instincts; one who knows her, and who, knowing her, will still love her, and love her as she should be loved.
And that man is not Frank Churchill.
I spent the rest of the evening in an unhappy state and paid little attention to the conversation over dinner. Elton and his interesting situation were talked over; Miss Fairfax's new pianoforte was discussed; and Emma talked all the time to Frank Churchill.
What could he have to say to her that was so amusing? She seemed to value his every word. I heard some mention of Weymouth, but nothing that seemed to warrant such close attention.
I was glad when dinner came to an end. The ladies left us, and the talk turned to politics. Frank Churchill took no part in the discussion. As I watched him, I could not help thinking that there was something unsettled about him, something that did not ring true. He was very taken with Emma, and mentioned her often, but I thought his remarks were shallow and immature.
The talk moved on to parish business.
'I can have nothing of interest to add,' he said, standing up, 'and so I will go and join the ladies. Perhaps I might be able to entertain them.'
Weston looked pleased at this gallantry, and Cole remarked, when he had left the room: 'An agreeable young man.'
Hah! That was not my view of him, but I did not say so.
When we had finished with parish business, we moved through to the drawing-room, and I saw that he was sitting next to Emma. On her being spoken to by Mr Cole, however, his eyes wandered to Miss Fairfax. I hoped he might be switching his affections, but no such thing. As soon as Emma spoke to him, he was all attention again.
To turn my thoughts from this gloomy scene, I engaged Harriet in conversation, for she was sitting by herself. I asked her what she had been reading, and she told me she had been reading a romance. She looked nervously at Emma as she said so, and a further question elicited the information that she had been reading it at Mrs Goddard's and not at Hartfield. She talked about the book intelligently, however, and it was clear she had given it much thought.
I saw Emma glance at me several times, and look concerned. She supposed I was finding her little friend wanting. But Harriet is much improved, and there is a sweetness to her nature that will always recommend her to people of sense. She, at least, does not fly off to London for a haircut on a whim.
My attention was caught by a bustle round the pianoforte, and Emma was called upon to sing. I was just enjoying the song when Churchill, the coxcomb, joined her, unasked. Everyone complimented him on his voice, though I could not think it was anything out of the ordinary.
Miss Fairfax then played, and her music was, as always, superior. She played with a perfect mastery of the instrument, and sang with a sweetness of tone. But, somehow, I did not like to listen to her as much as I liked to listen to Emma.
I went to sit with Emma, and once the music was over, we fell into conversation.
'I often feel concerned that I dare not make
our
carriage more useful on such occasions,' she said, commending me on bringing the Bateses. '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,' she said.
'It is quite out of the question,' I said, but I was pleased with her kind thought. 'You must often wish it, I am sure.'
Her thoughts seemed to dwell on Miss Fairfax.
'This present from the Campbells--this pianoforte is very kindly given,' she said.
It had been the talk of the evening, that Miss Fairfax had received a pianoforte.
I agreed, but said they would have done better had they given her notice of it.
'Surprises are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable,' I said.
Miss Fairfax and Mr Churchill were still singing, but Miss Fairfax's voice was growing thick, and I had to urge Miss Bates to step in.
Emma did not seem to like my interference, but her displeasure was soon forgotten when singing gave way to dancing, and Frank Churchill claimed her hand.
I was obliged to sit and watch them, and to listen to Mr Cole when he said had never seen anything finer, though I privately thought that Frank Churchill's dancing was remarkably wooden. There was no grace to his movements, and twice he forgot the steps.
Tuesday 9 March
As I was passing Miss Bates's house on my way to Kingston this morning, she hailed me from the window.
I asked after her niece, and cut short her effusive thanks for the use of my carriage by asking if she wanted anything from Kingston. She could not think of anything, but invited me in, and I was inclined to accept her offer as she said that Emma was there. I was just about to go inside when I learned that Frank Churchill was there as well, so I declined.
I had no wish to see the two of them together, nor indeed any desire to see Frank Churchill again.
Wednesday 10 March
I dined with the Coxes this evening. The Coles were there, as were the Bateses, Mrs Goddard, the Otways, Graham and Mr Longridge.
After dinner, there was some sensible discussion about ways to relieve the poor, but as soon as we rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room, the talk was all of a coming ball.
'It was Mr Churchill's idea,' said Miss Cox. 'He and Miss Woodhouse were so taken with the dancing at your house, Mrs Cole, that they wanted to continue it, and so they have decided to hold a ball at the Crown. Mother and I just happened to pass Mr Churchill when he was hurrying to see Miss Bates, to ask her opinion on the size of the room.'
'Ay, just the person to ask,' said Mr Longridge kindly.
'I do not know when I have been more gratified,' said Miss Bates, taking up the tale. 'Mother and I were just sitting down to a dish of tea when who should walk in but Mr Frank Churchill! I was just thanking him for mending mother's glasses--so kind! So obliging! For mother cannot see without them, and she could not wear them without the rivet, for you know it was quite impossible--what was I speaking of? Oh yes, the ball. Mr Churchill asked me to go and give my opinion and he would not take no for an answer, and Jane was invited, too, of course, for I am sure no one knows more about elegant gatherings than Jane, through having been to so many with the Campbells. I went across to the Crown and told them the rooms were perfectly large enough, and no draughts to be feared, as long as the windows are kept closed. Mr Churchill was so obliging as to secure Miss Woodhouse's hand for the first two dances, so we will all be treated to some dancing of the most superior kind.'
Miss Fairfax looked distressed, and I thought she must be ill indeed if the thought of a ball did not lift her spirits, for I cannot believe her distress was at Emma being singled out in this way. Miss Fairfax is too generous for that.
Miss Fairfax was the only person who was silent, however. Everyone else broke out into conversation. As they discussed the ball, I found myself wondering why Churchill should be asking Emma for the first two dances. It was not his place to do so, though everyone else seems pleased with the idea. I found myself wishing I had asked her first.
However, the ball will very likely come to nothing as he is to return to his aunt in a few days' time. I find myself hoping that he will never come back.
Thursday 11 March
Emma was full of the ball, and my hope that it would not take place proved a vain one. When I visited Hartfield, Emma could talk of nothing else. Frank Churchill had appealed to his aunt, who had graciously declared she could manage without him, with the result that he was to stay for a week beyond his appointed time.
I tried to be generous, for Emma has little enough to entertain her, but my tongue would not do what I wished it to do.
'If the Westons think it worth while to be at all this trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, I have nothing to say against it, but they shall not choose pleasures for me,' I said.
'But you will be there?' Emma asked me, with a trace of anxiety.
I almost asked her what it was to her, but I managed to restrain myself just in time.
'Oh! yes, I must be there,' I said. 'I could not refuse; and I will keep as much awake as I can; but I would rather be at the Abbey, I confess.'
'Surely you would rather be at the Crown, instead of sitting at home with your accounts?' she asked.
'I cannot see why,' I answered bad-temperedly.
'Because you will have an opportunity of dancing.'
'I do not care to dance,' I remarked.
'You will at least take pleasure in seeing it,' she said.
'Pleasure in seeing dancing! Not I, indeed. I never look at it. I do not know who does. Fine dancing, I believe, like virtue, must be its own reward. Those who are standing by are usually thinking of something very different.'
I felt annoyed with myself for saying it, but I could not take any pleasure in seeing Emma dance with Mr Churchill.
Emma was quite angry, and I am not surprised. I was being churlish. Moreover, I was implying that her belief that people enjoyed to see fine dancing sprang from the vanity of those who were dancing, and that is not the case. I know it as well as she. And yet I could not be gracious with the thought of Frank Churchill in my mind.
Why I am so opposed to him I do not know. He is young and foolish and has odd fancies, but there is no real harm in him. And yet I cannot like him, do what I may. If Emma had not taken such a fancy to him, then it might have been different, but to hear her constantly talking about him puts me out of temper. He is no different from other young men his age, and I cannot see why she finds him so interesting.
Saturday 13 March
I have been punished for my gracelessness, for I find that Emma's happiness is to be lost. Frank Churchill has had a letter from his uncle saying that his aunt is unwell, and that he must go home. I am sure the letter had more to do with his aunt's selfishness than any illness. She could not bear to think of her nephew enjoying himself, that was all.
And I, I am almost as bad, for I could not bear to think of it, either. It was a warning to me, indeed, not to let bad temper rule my life.
'I am sorry for you, Emma, truly sorry,' I said, when I joined her and her father for supper. 'You, Emma, who have so few opportunities for dancing, you are really out of luck; you are very much out of luck!'
I could tell how disappointed she was.
'We should not have delayed,' she said. 'We could have held the ball with far fewer arrangements.'
Mr Woodhouse, however, was glad it was not to go ahead. 'I am sorry for your disappointment, Emma,' he began, 'but I cannot think it a bad thing. No, I cannot think it a bad thing at all. Mrs Weston was all for saying there were no draughts, but an inn, my dear, must always have them, and you would probably have taken cold.'
Even in her disappointment, Emma did not grow impatient with him.
'We inspected the inn most particularly, Papa, you know we did,' she said. 'Besides, I have not despaired of holding the ball. Mr Churchill must be with us again soon, Papa, and then it will go ahead.'
She spoke bravely, but I could tell by her tone she did not believe it.
I tried to cheer her by inviting her and her father to the Abbey tomorrow for dinner. Mr Woodhouse goes out so little that Emma is often forced to spend her time at home, but he is familiar with the Abbey, and after a little persuasion, I hoped he might give his consent.
It seemed as though he would do so, but at the last moment he decided that the horses would not like it, and invited me to Hartfield instead.
I was happy to accept. I could not promise Emma a ball, but I could promise her a cheerful evening with her friends, and a chance to talk of her lost ball to her heart's content.
Monday 15 March
I was hoping that, now Frank Churchill is not in front of her, Emma would quickly forget him, but it is not to be. She talked of nothing but him this morning, or so it seemed to me.
The Westons joined us at Hartfield, and they were only too glad to talk of him. They did everything they could to promote his virtues with Emma, and I grew more and more impatient with every word. They have a right to be delighted with their son, but they do not have a right to expect everyone else to be delighted with him as well.
Tuesday 16 March
I do not want to see Emma marry Frank Churchill, and so I said to Routledge this evening when, having travelled to London this morning to deal with a matter of business, I dined with him at the club.
'Churchill is not the man for Emma,' I said. 'He would encourage her rasher ideas, and lead her into temptation. He would be always jaunting off to London to have his hair cut or some other freak, and she would not like it. What is amusing in an acquaintance, and allowable in a friend, is less comfortable in a husband.'