Emma and the Werewolves (25 page)

At this moment, an ingenious and animating
suspicion entering Emma’s brain with regard to Jane Fairfax, this
charming Mr. Dixon, and the not going to Ireland, she said, with
the insidious design of farther discovery,

“
You must feel it very
fortunate that Miss Fairfax should be allowed to come to you at
such a time. Considering the very particular friendship between her
and Mrs. Dixon, you could hardly have expected her to be excused
from accompanying Colonel and Mrs. Campbell.”

“
Very true, very true,
indeed. The very thing that we have always been rather afraid of;
for we should not have liked to have her at such a distance from
us, for months together—not able to come if any thing was to
happen. But you see, every thing turns out for the best. They want
her (Mr. and Mrs. Dixon) excessively to come over with Colonel and
Mrs. Campbell; quite depend upon it; nothing can be more kind or
pressing than their joint invitation, Jane says, as you will hear
presently; Mr. Dixon does not seem in the least backward in any
attention. He is a most charming young man. Ever since the service
he rendered Jane at Weymouth, when they were out in that party on
the water, and she, by the sudden whirling round of something or
other among the sails, would have been dashed into the sea at once,
and actually was all but gone, if he had not, with the greatest
presence of mind, caught hold of her habit—(I can never think of it
without trembling!)—But ever since we had the history of that day,
I have been so fond of Mr. Dixon!”

“
But, in spite of all her
friends’ urgency, and her own wish of seeing Ireland, Miss Fairfax
prefers devoting the time to you and Mrs. Bates?”

“
Yes—entirely her own
doing, entirely her own choice; and Colonel and Mrs. Campbell think
she does quite right, just what they should recommend; and indeed
they particularly wish her to try her native air, as she has not
been quite so well as usual lately.”

“
I am concerned to hear of
it. I think they judge wisely. But Mrs. Dixon must be very much
disappointed. Mrs. Dixon, I understand, has no remarkable degree of
personal beauty; is not, by any means, to be compared with Miss
Fairfax.”

“
Oh! no. You are very
obliging to say such things—but certainly not. There is no
comparison between them. Miss Campbell always was absolutely
plain—but extremely elegant and amiable.”

“
Yes, that of
course.”

“
Jane caught a bad cold,
poor thing! so long ago as the 7th of November, (as I am going to
read to you,) and has never been well since. A long time, is not
it, for a cold to hang upon her? She never mentioned it before,
because she would not alarm us. Just like her! so considerate! But
however, she is so far from well, that her kind friends the
Campbells think she had better come home, and try an air that
always agrees with her; and they have no doubt that three or four
months at Highbury will entirely cure her and it is certainly a
great deal better that she should come here, than go to Ireland, if
she is unwell. Nobody could nurse her, as we should do.”

“
It appears to me the most
desirable arrangement in the world.”

“
And so she is to come to
us next Friday or Saturday, and the Campbells leave town in their
way to Holyhead the Monday following—as you will find from Jane’s
letter. So sudden! You may guess, dear Miss Woodhouse, what a
flurry it has thrown me in! If it was not for the drawback of her
illness—but I am afraid we must expect to see her grown thin, and
looking very poorly. I must tell you what an unlucky thing happened
to me, as to that. I always make a point of reading Jane’s letters
through to myself first, before I read them aloud to my mother, you
know, for fear of there being any thing in them to distress her.
Jane desired me to do it, so I always do: and so I began to-day
with my usual caution; but no sooner did I come to the mention of
her being unwell, than I burst out, quite frightened, with ‘Bless
me! poor Jane is ill!’ which my mother, being on the watch, heard
distinctly, and was sadly alarmed at. However, when I read on, I
found it was not near so bad as I had fancied at first; and I make
so light of it now to her, that she does not think much about it.
But I cannot imagine how I could be so off my guard. If Jane does
not get well soon, we will call in Mr. Perry. The expense shall not
be thought of; and though he is so liberal, and so fond of Jane
that I dare say he would not mean to charge any thing for
attendance, we could not suffer it to be so, you know. He has a
wife and family to maintain, and is not to be giving away his time.
Well, now I have just given you a hint of what Jane writes about,
we will turn to her letter, and I am sure she tells her own story a
great deal better than I can tell it for her.”

“
I am afraid we must be
running away,” said Emma, glancing at Harriet, and beginning to
rise— “My father will be expecting us. I had no intention, I
thought I had no power of staying more than five minutes, when I
first entered the house. I merely called, because I would not pass
the door without inquiring after Mrs. Bates; but I have been so
pleasantly detained! Now, however, we must wish you and Mrs. Bates
good morning.”

And not all that could be
urged to detain her succeeded, not even Harriet’s pleading look.
Harriet appeared far from ready to leave the safety of the Bates’
and venture back on the road to Hartfield. She regained the street,
Harriet in tow, happy in this, that though much had been forced on
her against her will, though she had in fact heard the whole
substance of Jane Fairfax’s letter, she had been able to escape the
letter itself.

On their journey home,
there was no sign of the thing they had seen earlier. As they
neared the place where they had encountered it, Emma demanded they
stop. Without fear, she marched herself to the place where it had
stood in the woods. The odor was one of rot and filth which still
lingered in the air despite the thing’s absence.

“
Emma,” Harriet called
after her from the road. “I thought you said it was dead? Where is
it, Emma? The dead don’t just get up and wander away.” Harriet’s
voice became more on edge with each word.

Emma knew that she wouldn’t
be able to control her and keep her in line for much longer. “Be
still, Harriet! There’s no need to fall to pieces. Let us keep our
heads about us and see what we can learn here.” Harriet looked
ready to bolt with or without her. Emma shot her an angry glare
which rooted Harriet to the spot where she stood. “Harriet,” Emma
warned.

Her confidence that Harriet
wouldn’t desert her somewhat restored, Emma knelt closer to the
ground, studying the odd misshapen foot prints before her. She
pulled out a handkerchief and placed it over her mouth and nose,
trying not to be sick from the disgusting odor and the sight before
her. As she looked closer, Emma saw worms moving on the ground
inside the indentions. No, they weren’t worms at all. They were
maggots—white, thick, and full of the meat of something that once
lived. Emma ignored them and concentrated on the print itself. She
was not a tracker but she had read of such things. The print looked
half beast and half human just like the thing itself had. The
tracks led away from the road, vanishing into the depths of the
woods.

“
Emma!” Harriet wailed
again.

Emma stood and walked back
to the road to her side. “There is nothing to fear, Harriet.
Something must have dragged the thing off into the woods,” she lied
to ease the girl’s mind. “It is truly gone now.”

* * * *

Chapter II

J
ane Fairfax was an
orphan, the only
child of Mrs. Bates’s youngest daughter.

The marriage of Lieut.
Fairfax of the _______ regiment of infantry, and Miss Jane Bates,
had had its day of fame and pleasure, hope and interest; but
nothing now remained of it, save the melancholy remembrance of him
dying in action abroad—of his widow sinking under consumption and
grief soon afterwards—and this girl.

By birth she belonged to Highbury: and when
at three years old, on losing her mother, she became the property,
the charge, the consolation, the fondling of her grandmother and
aunt, there had seemed every probability of her being permanently
fixed there; of her being taught only what very limited means could
command, and growing up with no advantages of connexion or
improvement, to be engrafted on what nature had given her in a
pleasing person, good understanding, and warm-hearted, well-meaning
relations.

But the compassionate feelings of a friend
of her father gave a change to her destiny. This was Colonel
Campbell, who had very highly regarded Fairfax, as an excellent
officer and most deserving young man; and farther, had been
indebted to him for such attentions, during a severe camp-fever, as
he believed had saved his life. These were claims which he did not
learn to overlook, though some years passed away from the death of
poor Fairfax, before his own return to England put any thing in his
power. When he did return, he sought out the child and took notice
of her. He was a married man, with only one living child, a girl,
about Jane’s age: and Jane became their guest, paying them long
visits and growing a favourite with all; and before she was nine
years old, his daughter’s great fondness for her, and his own wish
of being a real friend, united to produce an offer from Colonel
Campbell of undertaking the whole charge of her education. It was
accepted; and from that period Jane had belonged to Colonel
Campbell’s family, and had lived with them entirely, only visiting
her grandmother from time to time.

The plan was that she should be brought up
for educating others; the very few hundred pounds which she
inherited from her father making independence impossible. To
provide for her otherwise was out of Colonel Campbell’s power; for
though his income, by pay and appointments, was handsome, his
fortune was moderate and must be all his daughter’s; but, by giving
her an education, he hoped to be supplying the means of respectable
subsistence hereafter.

Such was Jane Fairfax’s
history. She had fallen into good hands, known nothing but kindness
from the Campbells, and been given an excellent education. Living
constantly with right-minded and well-informed people, her heart
and understanding had received every advantage of discipline and
culture; and Colonel Campbell’s residence being in London, every
lighter talent had been done full justice to, by the attendance of
first-rate masters. Her disposition and abilities were equally
worthy of all that friendship could do; and at eighteen or nineteen
she was, as far as such an early age can be qualified for the care
of children, fully competent to the office of instruction herself;
but she was too much beloved to be parted with. Neither father nor
mother could promote, and the daughter could not endure it. The
evil day was put off. It was easy to decide that she was still too
young; and Jane remained with them, sharing, as another daughter,
in all the rational pleasures of an elegant society, and a
judicious mixture of home and amusement, with only the drawback of
the future, the sobering suggestions of her own good understanding
to remind her that all this might soon be over.

The affection of the whole family, the warm
attachment of Miss Campbell in particular, was the more honourable
to each party from the circumstance of Jane’s decided superiority
both in beauty and acquirements. That nature had given it in
feature could not be unseen by the young woman, nor could her
higher powers of mind be unfelt by the parents. They continued
together with unabated regard however, till the marriage of Miss
Campbell, who by that chance, that luck which so often defies
anticipation in matrimonial affairs, giving attraction to what is
moderate rather than to what is superior, engaged the affections of
Mr. Dixon, a young man, rich and agreeable, almost as soon as they
were acquainted; and was eligibly and happily settled, while Jane
Fairfax had yet her bread to earn.

This event had very lately
taken place; too lately for any thing to be yet attempted by her
less fortunate friend towards entering on her path of duty; though
she had now reached the age which her own judgment had fixed on for
beginning. She had long resolved that one-and-twenty should be the
period. With the fortitude of a devoted novitiate, she had resolved
at one-and-twenty to complete the sacrifice, and retire from all
the pleasures of life, of rational intercourse, equal society,
peace and hope, to penance and mortification for ever.

The good sense of Colonel and Mrs. Campbell
could not oppose such a resolution, though their feelings did. As
long as they lived, no exertions would be necessary, their home
might be hers for ever; and for their own comfort they would have
retained her wholly; but this would be selfishness: what must be at
last, had better be soon. Perhaps they began to feel it might have
been kinder and wiser to have resisted the temptation of any delay,
and spared her from a taste of such enjoyments of ease and leisure
as must now be relinquished. Still, however, affection was glad to
catch at any reasonable excuse for not hurrying on the wretched
moment. She had never been quite well since the time of their
daughter’s marriage; and till she should have completely recovered
her usual strength, they must forbid her engaging in duties, which,
so far from being compatible with a weakened frame and varying
spirits, seemed, under the most favourable circumstances, to
require something more than human perfection of body and mind to be
discharged with tolerable comfort.