Emma and the Werewolves (3 page)

Captain Weston, who had been considered,
especially by the Churchills, as making such an amazing match, was
proved to have much the worst of the bargain; for when his wife
died, after a three years’ marriage, he was rather a poorer man
than at first, and with a child to maintain. From the expense of
the child, however, he was soon relieved. The boy had, with the
additional softening claim of a lingering illness of his mother’s,
been the means of a sort of reconciliation; and Mr. and Mrs.
Churchill, having no children of their own, nor any other young
creature of equal kindred to care for, offered to take the whole
charge of the little Frank soon after her decease. Some scruples
and some reluctance the widower-father may be supposed to have
felt; but as they were overcome by other considerations, the child
was given up to the care and the wealth of the Churchills, and he
had only his own comfort to seek, and his own situation to improve
as he could.

A complete change of life
became desirable. He quitted the militia and engaged in trade,
having brothers already established in a good way in London, which
afforded him a favourable opening. It was a concern which brought
just employment enough. He had still a small house in Highbury,
where most of his leisure days were spent; and between useful
occupation and the pleasures of society, the next eighteen or
twenty years of his life passed cheerfully away. He had, by that
time, realised an easy competence—enough to secure the purchase of
a little estate adjoining Highbury, which he had always longed
for—enough to marry a woman as portionless even as Miss Taylor, and
to live according to the wishes of his own friendly and social
disposition.

It was now some time since Miss Taylor had
begun to influence his schemes; but as it was not the tyrannic
influence of youth on youth, it had not shaken his determination of
never settling till he could purchase Randalls, and the sale of
Randalls was long looked forward to; but he had gone steadily on,
with these objects in view, till they were accomplished. He had
made his fortune, bought his house, and obtained his wife; and was
beginning a new period of existence, with every probability of
greater happiness than in any yet passed through. He had never been
an unhappy man; his own temper had secured him from that, even in
his first marriage; but his second must shew him how delightful a
well-judging and truly amiable woman could be, and must give him
the pleasantest proof of its being a great deal better to choose
than to be chosen, to excite gratitude than to feel it.

He had only himself to
please in his choice: his fortune was his own; for as to Frank, it
was more than being tacitly brought up as his uncle’s heir, it had
become so avowed an adoption as to have him assume the name of
Churchill on coming of age. It was most unlikely, therefore, that
he should ever want his father’s assistance. His father had no
apprehension of it. The aunt was a capricious woman, and governed
her husband entirely; but it was not in Mr. Weston’s nature to
imagine that any caprice could be strong enough to affect one so
dear, and, as he believed, so deservedly dear. He saw his son every
year in London, and was proud of him; and his fond report of him as
a very fine young man had made Highbury feel a sort of pride in him
too. He was looked on as sufficiently belonging to the place to
make his merits and prospects a kind of common concern.

Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of
Highbury, and a lively curiosity to see him prevailed, though the
compliment was so little returned that he had never been there in
his life. His coming to visit his father had been often talked of
but never achieved.

Now, upon his father’s marriage, it was very
generally proposed, as a most proper attention, that the visit
should take place. There was not a dissentient voice on the
subject, either when Mrs. Perry drank tea with Mrs. and Miss Bates,
or when Mrs. and Miss Bates returned the visit. Now was the time
for Mr. Frank Churchill to come among them; and the hope
strengthened when it was understood that he had written to his new
mother on the occasion. For a few days, every morning visit in
Highbury included some mention of the handsome letter Mrs. Weston
had received. “I suppose you have heard of the handsome letter Mr.
Frank Churchill has written to Mrs. Weston? I understand it was a
very handsome letter, indeed. Mr. Woodhouse told me of it. Mr.
Woodhouse saw the letter, and he says he never saw such a handsome
letter in his life.”

It was, indeed, a highly prized letter. Mrs.
Weston had, of course, formed a very favourable idea of the young
man; and such a pleasing attention was an irresistible proof of his
great good sense, and a most welcome addition to every source and
every expression of congratulation which her marriage had already
secured. She felt herself a most fortunate woman; and she had lived
long enough to know how fortunate she might well be thought, where
the only regret was for a partial separation from friends whose
friendship for her had never cooled, and who could ill bear to part
with her.

She knew that at times she must be missed;
and could not think, without pain, of Emma’s losing a single
pleasure, or suffering an hour’s ennui, from the want of her
companionableness: but dear Emma was of no feeble character; she
was more equal to her situation than most girls would have been,
and had sense, and energy, and spirits that might be hoped would
bear her well and happily through its little difficulties and
privations. And then there was such comfort in the very easy
distance of Randalls from Hartfield, so convenient for even
solitary female walking, and in Mr. Weston’s disposition and
circumstances, which would make the approaching season no hindrance
to their spending half the evenings in the week together.

Her situation was
altogether the subject of hours of gratitude to Mrs. Weston, and of
moments only of regret; and her satisfaction—her more than
satisfaction—her cheerful enjoyment, was so just and so apparent,
that Emma, well as she knew her father, was sometimes taken by
surprize at his being still able to pity ‘poor Miss Taylor,’ when
they left her at Randalls in the centre of every domestic comfort,
or saw her go away in the evening attended by her pleasant husband
to a carriage of her own. But never did she go without Mr.
Woodhouse’s giving a gentle sigh, and saying, “Ah, poor Miss
Taylor! She would be very glad to stay.”

There was no recovering
Miss Taylor—nor much likelihood of ceasing to pity her; but a few
weeks brought some alleviation to Mr. Woodhouse. The compliments of
his neighbours were over; he was no longer teased by being wished
joy of so sorrowful an event; and the wedding-cake, which had been
a great distress to him, was all eat up. His own stomach could bear
nothing rich, and he could never believe other people to be
different from himself. What was unwholesome to him he regarded as
unfit for any body; and he had, therefore, earnestly tried to
dissuade them from having any wedding-cake at all, and when that
proved vain, as earnestly tried to prevent any body’s eating it. He
had been at the pains of consulting Mr. Perry, the apothecary, on
the subject. Mr. Perry was an intelligent, gentlemanlike man, whose
frequent visits were one of the comforts of Mr. Woodhouse’s life;
and upon being applied to, he could not but acknowledge (though it
seemed rather against the bias of inclination) that wedding-cake
might certainly disagree with many—perhaps with most people, unless
taken moderately. With such an opinion, in confirmation of his own,
Mr. Woodhouse hoped to influence every visitor of the newly married
pair; but still the cake was eaten; and there was no rest for his
benevolent nerves till it was all gone.

There was a strange rumour in Highbury of
all the little Perrys being seen with a slice of Mrs. Weston’s
wedding-cake in their hands: but Mr. Woodhouse would never believe
it.

* * * *

Chapter III

M
r.
Woodhouse was fond
of society in his own
way. He liked very much to have his friends come and see him; and
from various united causes, from his long residence at Hartfield,
and his good nature, from his fortune, his house, and his daughter,
he could command the visits of his own little circle, in a great
measure, as he liked. He had not much intercourse with any families
beyond that circle; his horror of late hours, and large
dinner-parties, made him unfit for any acquaintance but such as
would visit him on his own terms. Fortunately for him, Highbury,
including Randalls in the same parish, and Donwell Abbey in the
parish adjoining, the seat of Mr. Knightley, comprehended many
such. Not unfrequently, through Emma’s persuasion, he had some of
the chosen and the best to dine with him: but evening parties were
what he preferred; and, unless he fancied himself at any time
unequal to company, there was scarcely an evening in the week in
which Emma could not make up a card-table for him.

Real, long-standing regard brought the
Westons and Mr. Knightley; and by Mr. Elton, a young man living
alone without liking it, the privilege of exchanging any vacant
evening of his own blank solitude for the elegancies and society of
Mr. Woodhouse’s drawing-room, and the smiles of his lovely
daughter, was in no danger of being thrown away.

After these came a second set; among the
most come-at-able of whom were Mrs. and Miss Bates, and Mrs.
Goddard, three ladies almost always at the service of an invitation
from Hartfield, and who were fetched and carried home so often,
that Mr. Woodhouse thought it no hardship for either James or the
horses. Had it taken place only once a year, it would have been a
grievance.

James now always traveled armed, especially
at night. Mr. Woodhouse had heeded his servant’s request for a
weapon and bought him not only a musket but a sidearm as well.
James had rather taken to his new holster and seldom let the pistol
leave his side these days even in the safest of places. Emma
supposed it made James feel more fashionable in a way.

Mr. Woodhouse had also hired two men from
London who were trained soldiers to take up residence at Hartfield
and keep watch over the grounds with James. They were seldom seen
however and seemed to have a natural talent for doing their duty
from the shadows. For this, Emma was very glad. They were not
pleasant men and she never felt the desire to associate with
them.

Mrs. Bates, the widow of a
former vicar of Highbury, was a very old lady, almost past every
thing but tea and quadrille. She lived with her single daughter in
a very small way, and was considered with all the regard and
respect which a harmless old lady, under such untoward
circumstances, can excite. Her daughter enjoyed a most uncommon
degree of popularity for a woman neither young, handsome, rich, nor
married. Miss Bates stood in the very worst predicament in the
world for having much of the public favour; and she had no
intellectual superiority to make atonement to herself, or frighten
those who might hate her into outward respect. She had never
boasted either beauty or cleverness. Her youth had passed without
distinction, and her middle of life was devoted to the care of a
failing mother, and the endeavour to make a small income go as far
as possible. And yet she was a happy woman, and a woman whom no one
named without good-will. It was her own universal good-will and
contented temper which worked such wonders. She loved every body,
was interested in every body’s happiness, quicksighted to every
body’s merits; thought herself a most fortunate creature, and
surrounded with blessings in such an excellent mother, and so many
good neighbours and friends, and a home that wanted for nothing.
The simplicity and cheerfulness of her nature, her contented and
grateful spirit, were a recommendation to every body, and a mine of
felicity to herself. She was a great talker upon little matters,
which exactly suited Mr. Woodhouse, full of trivial communications
and harmless gossip. Mrs. Goddard was the mistress of a School—not
of a seminary, or an establishment, or any thing which professed,
in long sentences of refined nonsense, to combine liberal
acquirements with elegant morality, upon new principles and new
systems—and where young ladies for enormous pay might be screwed
out of health and into vanity—but a real, honest, old-fashioned
Boarding-school, where a reasonable quantity of accomplishments
were sold at a reasonable price, and where girls might be sent to
be out of the way, and scramble themselves into a little education,
without any danger of coming back prodigies. Mrs. Goddard’s school
was in high repute—and very deservedly; for Highbury was reckoned a
particularly healthy spot: she had an ample house and garden, gave
the children plenty of wholesome food, let them run about a great
deal in the summer, and in winter dressed their chilblains with her
own hands. It was no wonder that a train of twenty young couple now
walked after her to church. She was a plain, motherly kind of
woman, who had worked hard in her youth, and now thought herself
entitled to the occasional holiday of a tea-visit; and having
formerly owed much to Mr. Woodhouse’s kindness, felt his particular
claim on her to leave her neat parlour, hung round with fancy-work,
whenever she could, and win or lose a few sixpences by his
fireside.

These were the ladies whom Emma found
herself very frequently able to collect; and happy was she, for her
father’s sake, in the power; though, as far as she was herself
concerned, it was no remedy for the absence of Mrs. Weston. She was
delighted to see her father look comfortable, and very much pleased
with herself for contriving things so well; but the quiet prosings
of three such women made her feel that every evening so spent was
indeed one of the long evenings she had fearfully anticipated. As
she sat one morning, looking forward to exactly such a close of the
present day, a note was brought from Mrs. Goddard, requesting, in
most respectful terms, to be allowed to bring Miss Smith with her;
a most welcome request: for Miss Smith was a girl of seventeen,
whom Emma knew very well by sight, and had long felt an interest
in, on account of her beauty. A very gracious invitation was
returned, and the evening no longer dreaded by the fair mistress of
the mansion.