Emma and the Werewolves (52 page)

It was a very extraordinary thing! Nothing
of the sort had ever occurred before to any young ladies in the
place, within her memory; no rencontre, no alarm of the kind; and
now it had happened to the very person, and at the very hour, when
the other very person was chancing to pass by to rescue her! It
certainly was very extraordinary! And knowing, as she did, the
favourable state of mind of each at this period, it struck her the
more. He was wishing to get the better of his attachment to
herself, she just recovering from her mania for Mr. Elton. It
seemed as if every thing united to promise the most interesting
consequences. It was not possible that the occurrence should not be
strongly recommending each to the other.

In the few minutes’ conversation which she
had yet had with him, while Harriet had been partially insensible,
he had spoken of her terror, her naivete, her fervour as she seized
and clung to his arm, with a sensibility amused and delighted; and
just at last, after Harriet’s own account had been given, he had
expressed his indignation at the abominable folly of Miss Bickerton
in the warmest terms. Every thing was to take its natural course,
however, neither impelled nor assisted. She would not stir a step,
nor drop a hint. No, she had had enough of interference. There
could be no harm in a scheme, a mere passive scheme. It was no more
than a wish. Beyond it she would on no account proceed.

Emma’s first resolution was
to keep her father from the knowledge of what had passed, —aware of
the anxiety and alarm it would occasion: but she soon felt that
concealment must be impossible. Within half an hour it was known
all over Highbury. It was the very event to engage those who talk
most, the young and the low; and all the youth and servants in the
place were soon in the happiness of frightful news. The last
night’s ball seemed lost in the gipsies. Poor Mr. Woodhouse
trembled as he sat, and, as Emma had foreseen, would scarcely be
satisfied without their promising never to go beyond the shrubbery
again. It was some comfort to him that many inquiries after himself
and Miss Woodhouse (for his neighbours knew that he loved to be
inquired after), as well as Miss Smith, were coming in during the
rest of the day; and he had the pleasure of returning for answer,
that they were all very indifferent—which, though not exactly true,
for she was perfectly well, and Harriet not much otherwise, Emma
would not interfere with. She had an unhappy state of health in
general for the child of such a man, for she hardly knew what
indisposition was; and if he did not invent illnesses for her, she
could make no figure in a message.

The gipsies did not wait for the operations
of justice; they took themselves off in a hurry. The young ladies
of Highbury might have walked again in safety before their panic
began, and the whole history dwindled soon into a matter of little
importance but to Emma and her nephews: in her imagination it
maintained its ground, and Henry and John were still asking every
day for the story of Harriet and the gipsies, and still tenaciously
setting her right if she varied in the slightest particular from
the original recital.

* * * *

Chapter IV

A
very few days had
passed after this
adventure, when Harriet came one morning to Emma with a small
parcel in her hand, and after sitting down and hesitating, thus
began:

“
Miss Woodhouse—if you are
at leisure—I have something that I should like to tell you—a sort
of confession to make—and then, you know, it will be
over.”

Emma was a good deal surprized; but begged
her to speak. There was a seriousness in Harriet’s manner which
prepared her, quite as much as her words, for something more than
ordinary.

“
It is my duty, and I am
sure it is my wish,” she continued, “to have no reserves with you
on this subject. As I am happily quite an altered creature in one
respect, it is very fit that you should have the satisfaction of
knowing it. I do not want to say more than is necessary—I am too
much ashamed of having given way as I have done, and I dare say you
understand me.”

“
Yes,” said Emma, “I hope I
do.”

“
How I could so long a time
be fancying myself! . . .” cried Harriet, warmly. “It seems like
madness! I can see nothing at all extraordinary in him now. I do
not care whether I meet him or not—except that of the two I had
rather not see him—and indeed I would go any distance round to
avoid him—but I do not envy his wife in the least; I neither admire
her nor envy her, as I have done: she is very charming, I dare say,
and all that, but I think her very ill-tempered and disagreeable—I
shall never forget her look the other night! However, I assure you,
Miss Woodhouse, I wish her no evil. No, let them be ever so happy
together, it will not give me another moment’s pang: and to
convince you that I have been speaking truth, I am now going to
destroy—what I ought to have destroyed long ago—what I ought never
to have kept—I know that very well (blushing as she spoke).
However, now I will destroy it all—and it is my particular wish to
do it in your presence, that you may see how rational I am grown.
Cannot you guess what this parcel holds?” said she, with a
conscious look.

“
Not the least in the
world. Did he ever give you any thing?”

“
No—I cannot call them
gifts; but they are things that I have valued very
much.”

She held the parcel towards her, and Emma
read the words Most precious treasures on the top. Her curiosity
was greatly excited. Harriet unfolded the parcel, and she looked on
with impatience. Within abundance of silver paper was a pretty
little Tunbridge-ware box, which Harriet opened: it was well lined
with the softest cotton; but, excepting the cotton, Emma saw only a
small piece of court-plaister.

“
Now,” said Harriet, “you
must recollect.”

“
No, indeed I do
not.”

“
Dear me! I should not have
thought it possible you could forget what passed in this very room
about court-plaister, one of the very last times we ever met in it!
It was but a very few days before I had my sore throat—just before
Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley came—I think the very evening. Do not
you remember his cutting his finger with your new penknife, and
your recommending court-plaister? But, as you had none about you,
and knew I had, you desired me to supply him; and so I took mine
out and cut him a piece; but it was a great deal too large, and he
cut it smaller, and kept playing some time with what was left,
before he gave it back to me. And so then, in my nonsense, I could
not help making a treasure of it—so I put it by never to be used,
and looked at it now and then as a great treat.”

“
My dearest Harriet!” cried
Emma, putting her hand before her face, and jumping up, “you make
me more ashamed of myself than I can bear. Remember it? Aye, I
remember it all now; all, except your saving this relic—I knew
nothing of that till this moment—but the cutting the finger, and my
recommending court-plaister, and saying I had none about me! Oh! my
sins, my sins! And I had plenty all the while in my pocket! One of
my senseless tricks! I deserve to be under a continual blush all
the rest of my life. Well—(sitting down again)—go on—what
else?”

“
And had you really some at
hand yourself? I am sure I never suspected it, you did it so
naturally.”

“
And so you actually put
this piece of court-plaister by for his sake!” said Emma,
recovering from her state of shame and feeling divided between
wonder and amusement. And secretly she added to herself, “Lord
bless me! when should I ever have thought of putting by in cotton a
piece of court-plaister that Frank Churchill had been pulling
about! I never was equal to this.”

“
Here,” resumed Harriet,
turning to her box again, “here is something still more valuable, I
mean that has been more valuable, because this is what did really
once belong to him, which the court-plaister never did.”

Emma was quite eager to see
this superior treasure. It was the end of an old pencil, —the part
without any lead.

“
This was really his,” said
Harriet. “Do not you remember one morning? no, I dare say you do
not. But one morning—I forget exactly the day—but perhaps it was
the Tuesday or Wednesday before that evening, he wanted to make a
memorandum in his pocket-book; it was about spruce-beer. Mr.
Knightley had been telling him something about brewing spruce-beer,
and he wanted to put it down; but when he took out his pencil,
there was so little lead that he soon cut it all away, and it would
not do, so you lent him another, and this was left upon the table
as good for nothing. But I kept my eye on it; and, as soon as I
dared, caught it up, and never parted with it again from that
moment.”

“
I do remember it,” cried
Emma; “I perfectly remember it. Talking about spruce-beer. Oh!
yes—Mr. Knightley and I both saying we liked it, and Mr. Elton’s
seeming resolved to learn to like it too. I perfectly remember it.
Stop; Mr. Knightley was standing just here, was not he? I have an
idea he was standing just here.”

“
Ah! I do not know. I
cannot recollect. It is very odd, but I cannot recollect. Mr. Elton
was sitting here, I remember, much about where I am now.”
—

“
Well, go on.”

“
Oh! that’s all. I have
nothing more to shew you, or to say—except that I am now going to
throw them both behind the fire, and I wish you to see me do
it.”

“
My poor dear Harriet! and
have you actually found happiness in treasuring up these
things?”

“
Yes, simpleton as I was!
but I am quite ashamed of it now, and wish I could forget as easily
as I can burn them. It was very wrong of me, you know, to keep any
remembrances, after he was married. I knew it was—but had not
resolution enough to part with them.”

“
But, Harriet, is it
necessary to burn the court-plaister? I have not a word to say for
the bit of old pencil, but the court-plaister might be
useful.”

“
I shall be happier to burn
it,” replied Harriet. “It has a disagreeable look to me. I must get
rid of every thing. There it goes, and there is an end, thank
Heaven! of Mr. Elton.”

“
And when,” thought Emma,
“will there be a beginning of Mr. Churchill?”

She had soon afterwards
reason to believe that the beginning was already made, and could
not but hope that the gipsy, though she had told no fortune, might
be proved to have made Harriet’s. About a fortnight after the
alarm, they came to a sufficient explanation, and quite
undesignedly. Emma was not thinking of it at the moment, which made
the information she received more valuable. She merely said, in the
course of some trivial chat, “Well, Harriet, whenever you marry I
would advise you to do so and so” —and thought no more of it, till
after a minute’s silence she heard Harriet say in a very serious
tone, “I shall never marry.”

Emma then looked up, and immediately saw how
it was; and after a moment’s debate, as to whether it should pass
unnoticed or not, replied, “Never marry! This is a new
resolution.”

“
It is one that I shall
never change, however.”

After another short
hesitation, “I hope it does not proceed from—I hope it is not in
compliment to Mr. Elton?”

“
Mr. Elton indeed!” cried
Harriet indignantly. “Oh! no” and Emma could just catch the words,
“so superior to Mr. Elton!”

She then took a longer time
for consideration. Should she proceed no farther? should she let it
pass, and seem to suspect nothing? Perhaps Harriet might think her
cold or angry if she did; or perhaps if she were totally silent, it
might only drive Harriet into asking her to hear too much; and
against any thing like such an unreserve as had been, such an open
and frequent discussion of hopes and chances, she was perfectly
resolved. She believed it would be wiser for her to say and know at
once, all that she meant to say and know. Plain dealing was always
best. She had previously determined how far she would proceed, on
any application of the sort; and it would be safer for both, to
have the judicious law of her own brain laid down with speed. She
was decided, and thus spoke—

“
Harriet, I will not affect
to be in doubt of your meaning. Your resolution, or rather your
expectation of never marrying, results from an idea that the person
whom you might prefer, would be too greatly your superior in
situation to think of you. Is not it so?”

“
Oh! Miss Woodhouse,
believe me I have not the presumption to suppose—Indeed I am not so
mad. But it is a pleasure to me to admire him at a distance—and to
think of his infinite superiority to all the rest of the world,
with the gratitude, wonder, and veneration, which are so proper, in
me especially.”

“
I am not at all surprized
at you, Harriet. The service he rendered you was enough to warm
your heart.”

“
Service! oh! it was such
an inexpressible obligation! The very recollection of it, and all
that I felt at the time—when I saw him coming—his noble look—and my
wretchedness before. Such a change! In one moment such a change!
From perfect misery to perfect happiness!”

“
It is very natural. It is
natural, and it is honourable. Yes, honourable, I think, to chuse
so well and so gratefully. But that it will be a fortunate
preference is more that I can promise. I do not advise you to give
way to it, Harriet. I do not by any means engage for its being
returned. Consider what you are about. Perhaps it will be wisest in
you to check your feelings while you can: at any rate do not let
them carry you far, unless you are persuaded of his liking you. Be
observant of him. Let his behaviour be the guide of your
sensations. I give you this caution now, because I shall never
speak to you again on the subject. I am determined against all
interference. Henceforward I know nothing of the matter. Let no
name ever pass our lips. We were very wrong before; we will be
cautious now. He is your superior, no doubt, and there do seem
objections and obstacles of a very serious nature; but yet,
Harriet, more wonderful things have taken place, there have been
matches of greater disparity. But take care of yourself. I would
not have you too sanguine; though, however it may end, be assured
your raising your thoughts to him, is a mark of good taste which I
shall always know how to value.”