Emma and the Werewolves (48 page)

She was stopped by a slight fit of coughing,
and Mr. Weston instantly seized the opportunity of going on.

“
You were mentioning May.
May is the very month which Mrs. Churchill is ordered, or has
ordered herself, to spend in some warmer place than Enscombe—in
short, to spend in London; so that we have the agreeable prospect
of frequent visits from Frank the whole spring—precisely the season
of the year which one should have chosen for it: days almost at the
longest; weather genial and pleasant, always inviting one out, and
never too hot for exercise. When he was here before, we made the
best of it; but there was a good deal of wet, damp, cheerless
weather; there always is in February, you know, and we could not do
half that we intended. Now will be the time. This will be complete
enjoyment; and I do not know, Mrs. Elton, whether the uncertainty
of our meetings, the sort of constant expectation there will be of
his coming in to-day or to-morrow, and at any hour, may not be more
friendly to happiness than having him actually in the house. I
think it is so. I think it is the state of mind which gives most
spirit and delight. I hope you will be pleased with my son; but you
must not expect a prodigy. He is generally thought a fine young
man, but do not expect a prodigy. Mrs. Weston’s partiality for him
is very great, and, as you may suppose, most gratifying to me. She
thinks nobody equal to him.”

“
And I assure you, Mr.
Weston, I have very little doubt that my opinion will be decidedly
in his favour. I have heard so much in praise of Mr. Frank
Churchill. At the same time it is fair to observe, that I am one of
those who always judge for themselves, and are by no means
implicitly guided by others. I give you notice that as I find your
son, so I shall judge of him. I am no flatterer.”

Mr. Weston was musing.

“
I hope,” said he
presently, “I have not been severe upon poor Mrs. Churchill. If she
is ill I should be sorry to do her injustice; but there are some
traits in her character which make it difficult for me to speak of
her with the forbearance I could wish. You cannot be ignorant, Mrs.
Elton, of my connexion with the family, nor of the treatment I have
met with; and, between ourselves, the whole blame of it is to be
laid to her. She was the instigator. Frank’s mother would never
have been slighted as she was but for her. Mr. Churchill has pride;
but his pride is nothing to his wife’s: his is a quiet, indolent,
gentlemanlike sort of pride that would harm nobody, and only make
himself a little helpless and tiresome; but her pride is arrogance
and insolence! And what inclines one less to bear, she has no fair
pretence of family or blood. She was nobody when he married her,
barely the daughter of a gentleman; but ever since her being turned
into a Churchill she has out-Churchill’d them all in high and
mighty claims: but in herself, I assure you, she is an
upstart.”

“
Only think! well, that
must be infinitely provoking! I have quite a horror of upstarts.
Maple Grove has given me a thorough disgust to people of that sort;
for there is a family in that neighbourhood who are such an
annoyance to my brother and sister from the airs they give
themselves! Your description of Mrs. Churchill made me think of
them directly. People of the name of Tupman, very lately settled
there, and encumbered with many low connexions, but giving
themselves immense airs, and expecting to be on a footing with the
old established families. A year and a half is the very utmost that
they can have lived at West Hall; and how they got their fortune
nobody knows. They came from Birmingham, which is not a place to
promise much, you know, Mr. Weston. One has not great hopes from
Birmingham. I always say there is something direful in the sound:
but nothing more is positively known of the Tupmans, though a good
many things I assure you are suspected; and yet by their manners
they evidently think themselves equal even to my brother, Mr.
Suckling, who happens to be one of their nearest neighbours. It is
infinitely too bad. Mr. Suckling, who has been eleven years a
resident at Maple Grove, and whose father had it before him—I
believe, at least—I am almost sure that old Mr. Suckling had
completed the purchase before his death.”

They were interrupted. Tea was carrying
round, and Mr. Weston, having said all that he wanted, soon took
the opportunity of walking away.

After tea, Mr. and Mrs. Weston, and Mr.
Elton sat down with Mr. Woodhouse to cards. The remaining five were
left to their own powers, and Emma doubted their getting on very
well; for Mr. Knightley seemed little disposed for conversation;
Mrs. Elton was wanting notice, which nobody had inclination to pay,
and she was herself in a worry of spirits which would have made her
prefer being silent.

Mr. John Knightley proved
more talkative than his brother. He was to leave them early the
next day; and he soon began with—

“
Well, Emma, I do not
believe I have any thing more to say about the boys; but you have
your sister’s letter, and every thing is down at full length there
we may be sure. My charge would be much more concise than her’s,
and probably not much in the same spirit; all that I have to
recommend being comprised in, do not spoil them, and do not physic
them.”

“
I rather hope to satisfy
you both,” said Emma, “for I shall do all in my power to make them
happy, which will be enough for Isabella; and happiness must
preclude false indulgence and physic.”

“
And if you find them
troublesome, you must send them home again.”

“
That is very likely. You
think so, do not you?”

“
I hope I am aware that
they may be too noisy for your father—or even may be some
encumbrance to you, if your visiting engagements continue to
increase as much as they have done lately.”

“
Increase!”

“
Certainly; you must be
sensible that the last half-year has made a great difference in
your way of life.”

“
Difference! No indeed I am
not.”

“
There can be no doubt of
your being much more engaged with company than you used to be.
Witness this very time. Here am I come down for only one day, and
you are engaged with a dinner-party! When did it happen before, or
any thing like it? Your neighbourhood is increasing, and you mix
more with it. A little while ago, every letter to Isabella brought
an account of fresh gaieties; dinners at Mr. Cole’s, or balls at
the Crown. The difference which Randalls, Randalls alone makes in
your goings-on, is very great.”

“
Yes,” said his brother
quickly, “it is Randalls that does it all.”

“
Very well—and as Randalls,
I suppose, is not likely to have less influence than heretofore, it
strikes me as a possible thing, Emma, that Henry and John may be
sometimes in the way. And if they are, I only beg you to send them
home.”

“
No,” cried Mr. Knightley,
“that need not be the consequence. Let them be sent to Donwell. I
shall certainly be at leisure.”

“
Upon my word,” exclaimed
Emma, “you amuse me! I should like to know how many of all my
numerous engagements take place without your being of the party;
and why I am to be supposed in danger of wanting leisure to attend
to the little boys. These amazing engagements of mine—what have
they been? Dining once with the Coles—and having a ball talked of,
which never took place. I can understand you—(nodding at Mr. John
Knightley)—your good fortune in meeting with so many of your
friends at once here, delights you too much to pass unnoticed. But
you, (turning to Mr. Knightley,) who know how very, very seldom I
am ever two hours from Hartfield, why you should foresee such a
series of dissipation for me, I cannot imagine. And as to my dear
little boys, I must say, that if Aunt Emma has not time for them, I
do not think they would fare much better with Uncle Knightley, who
is absent from home about five hours where she is absent one—and
who, when he is at home, is either reading to himself or settling
his accounts.”

Mr. Knightley seemed to be trying not to
smile; and succeeded without difficulty, upon Mrs. Elton’s
beginning to talk to him. Very quickly he disengaged and excused
himself from the gathering for a walk in the more peaceful silence
of the trees. As night fell, he changed his path to aim for Donwell
and rest. He was sure the others understood his need to be alone,
if just for a bit, after such an event. His eyes went wide and his
heart thundered in his chest as he felt the power flow into him.
There was evil nearby! He had no weapon. There had been no sign of
the demon or the wolves for so long. His guard had slipped. All of
his gear rested tucked away and hidden at Dowell. Knightley cursed
himself for being so careless as to believe the two evils could
have killed each other off.

“
Knightley,” a voice rasped
at him from behind the trunk of a large tree. He cautiously
approached, not knowing what to expect.

A battered woman lay in the
grass by the tree. She crawled towards him as he stared at her.
There was no question this woman was the queen of the wolves and
the one Emma had named Selena. Gone now was her beauty and regal
manner. Before him was a poor wretch whose legs were broken in many
spots. One of her arms wore no skin. Blood oozed from its muscle
and sinew as she moved. Her left eye was but a hole in her
shattered face, and her nose, broken and bent. “Knightley,” she
called again. He knew it was only her supernatural origin that kept
life within her body.

“
Selena? Yes, Emma told me
your name. What has happened to you?”

“
The demon, Knightley! It
has won,” she gasped and then collapsed to the dirt as her eyes
rolled back into her head to reveal only white.

Knightley, against his better judgment,
knelt beside her. She was unconscious and perhaps even dying. Her
wounds were not healing as they should. According to all that knew
of her kind, only silver should have been able to slay her or wound
her beyond the regenerative properties of her flesh.

He reached out and took her head in his
hand, lifting it. As he did, he felt her die. As her soul passed on
to the fires of Hell, it touched him, showing him the truth of what
had taken place during the time he’d neither seen nor heard of her
and her children. Knightley’s own form toppled beside hers as it
shook with a spasm and his mind replayed all that transpired
leading to her death.

He saw Selena’s initial
hopes of using Emma against him to weaken him and use as a means to
bring him down. This never bore fruit as the demon came after her
and her children with a vengeance. It began to stalk them, picking
them off one or two at time as they sought their own prey. Their
numbers were already lessened from the night they had stood against
him as one. Selena knew something must be done if she was to save
her tribe. She gathered her children to her and they hid deep in
the woods as the hunters became the hunted. They argued amongst
themselves as to what must be done, but in the end, Selena held
control of them. It was decided, in order to defeat the demon, they
must seek out Knightley’s help. Selena went to Emma to have her
deliver a message which she hoped would bring him to their cause
until the true evil was defeated, but he had never replied. Emma
hadn’t done as Selena ordered her and the message was never
received. Thus without Knightley at their side, Selena and her
dwindling number of kin made a stand alone. The battle was bloody
and fierce. The wolves swarmed the demon when it came for them,
gnashing at it with their teeth and rending it with their claws,
but it was too powerful. It tore through them as if they were
nothing, killing all but her. Selena, barely escaping with her
life, had been in a state akin to hibernation as her wounds mended
as best her failing body could manage. Long had she crawled through
the forest, fearful the thing would find her and finish her before
her job was done. At last, tonight, she found what she sought—a
means to have herself and her children avenged through Knightley.
She knew he would act. He could do nothing else because the demon,
now fully entrenched in this world, was a power beyond imagining
and soon, at a time of its choosing, would rear its abominable head
once more and claim the lives and very souls of all who dwelt in
Highbury.

Knightley awoke from Selena’s fever
dream-like blast of memories and felt the cold flesh of a corpse
touching his skin. He rolled away from her remains and scrambled to
his feet. His mind raced with fear. The demon would be coming and
when it did, he must be ready. He took off at a run for Donwell.
There was much to do and little time, he worried, to do it in.

* * * *

VOLUME III

* * * *

Chapter I

A
very little quiet reflection
was
enough to satisfy Emma as to the nature of her agitation on hearing
this news of Frank Churchill. She was soon convinced that it was
not for herself she was feeling at all apprehensive or embarrassed;
it was for him. Her own attachment had really subsided into a mere
nothing; it was not worth thinking of; but if he, who had
undoubtedly been always so much the most in love of the two, were
to be returning with the same warmth of sentiment which he had
taken away, it would be very distressing. If a separation of two
months should not have cooled him, there were dangers and evils
before her: caution for him and for herself would be necessary. She
did not mean to have her own affections entangled again, and it
would be incumbent on her to avoid any encouragement of
his.