Emma and the Werewolves (53 page)

Harriet kissed her hand in
silent and submissive gratitude. Emma was very decided in thinking
such an attachment no bad thing for her friend. Its tendency would
be to raise and refine her mind—and it must be saving her from the
danger of degradation.

* * * *

Chapter V

I
n
this state of
schemes, and hopes, and
connivance, June opened upon Hartfield. To Highbury in general it
brought no material change. The Eltons were still talking of a
visit from the Sucklings, and of the use to be made of their
barouche-landau; and Jane Fairfax was still at her grandmother’s;
and as the return of the Campbells from Ireland was again delayed,
and August, instead of Midsummer, fixed for it, she was likely to
remain there full two months longer, provided at least she were
able to defeat Mrs. Elton’s activity in her service, and save
herself from being hurried into a delightful situation against her
will.

Mr. Knightley, who, for
some reason best known to himself, had certainly taken a dislike to
Frank Churchill, was only growing to dislike him more. He began to
suspect him of some double dealing in his pursuit of Emma. That
Emma was his object appeared indisputable. Every thing declared it;
his own attentions, his father’s hints, his mother-in-law’s guarded
silence; it was all in unison; words, conduct, discretion, and
indiscretion, told the same story. But while so many were devoting
him to Emma, and Emma herself making him over to Harriet, Mr.
Knightley began to suspect him of some inclination to trifle with
Jane Fairfax. He could not understand it; but there were symptoms
of intelligence between them—he thought so at least—symptoms of
admiration on his side, which, having once observed, he could not
persuade himself to think entirely void of meaning, however he
might wish to escape any of Emma’s errors of imagination. She was
not present when the suspicion first arose. He was dining with the
Randalls family, and Jane, at the Eltons’; and he had seen a look,
more than a single look, at Miss Fairfax, which, from the admirer
of Miss Woodhouse, seemed somewhat out of place. When he was again
in their company, he could not help remembering what he had seen;
nor could he avoid observations which, unless it were like Cowper
and his fire at twilight, “Myself creating what I saw,” brought him
yet stronger suspicion of there being a something of private
liking, of private understanding even, between Frank Churchill and
Jane.

He had walked up one day after dinner, as he
very often did, to spend his evening at Hartfield. Emma and Harriet
were going to walk; he joined them; and, on returning, they fell in
with a larger party, who, like themselves, judged it wisest to take
their exercise early, as the weather threatened rain; Mr. and Mrs.
Weston and their son, Miss Bates and her niece, who had
accidentally met. They all united; and, on reaching Hartfield
gates, Emma, who knew it was exactly the sort of visiting that
would be welcome to her father, pressed them all to go in and drink
tea with him. The Randalls party agreed to it immediately; and
after a pretty long speech from Miss Bates, which few persons
listened to, she also found it possible to accept dear Miss
Woodhouse’s most obliging invitation.

As they were turning into the grounds, Mr.
Perry passed by on horseback. The gentlemen spoke of his horse.

“
By the bye,” said Frank
Churchill to Mrs. Weston presently, “what became of Mr. Perry’s
plan of setting up his carriage?”

Mrs. Weston looked surprized, and said, “I
did not know that he ever had any such plan.”

“
Nay, I had it from you.
You wrote me word of it three months ago.”

“
Me!
impossible!”

“
Indeed you did. I remember
it perfectly. You mentioned it as what was certainly to be very
soon. Mrs. Perry had told somebody, and was extremely happy about
it. It was owing to her persuasion, as she thought his being out in
bad weather did him a great deal of harm. You must remember it
now?”

“
Upon my word I never heard
of it till this moment.”

“
Never! really, never!
Bless me! how could it be? Then I must have dreamt it—but I was
completely persuaded—Miss Smith, you walk as if you were tired. You
will not be sorry to find yourself at home.”

“
What is this? What is
this?” cried Mr. Weston, “about Perry and a carriage? Is Perry
going to set up his carriage, Frank? I am glad he can afford it.
You had it from himself, had you?”

“
No, sir,” replied his son,
laughing, “I seem to have had it from nobody. Very odd! I really
was persuaded of Mrs. Weston’s having mentioned it in one of her
letters to Enscombe, many weeks ago, with all these particulars—but
as she declares she never heard a syllable of it before, of course
it must have been a dream. I am a great dreamer. I dream of every
body at Highbury when I am away—and when I have gone through my
particular friends, then I begin dreaming of Mr. and Mrs.
Perry.”

“
It is odd though,”
observed his father, “that you should have had such a regular
connected dream about people whom it was not very likely you should
be thinking of at Enscombe. Perry’s setting up his carriage! and
his wife’s persuading him to it, out of care for his health—just
what will happen, I have no doubt, some time or other; only a
little premature. What an air of probability sometimes runs through
a dream! And at others, what a heap of absurdities it is! Well,
Frank, your dream certainly shews that Highbury is in your thoughts
when you are absent. Emma, you are a great dreamer, I
think?”

Emma was out of hearing. She had hurried on
before her guests to prepare her father for their appearance, and
was beyond the reach of Mr. Weston’s hint.

“
Why, to own the truth,”
cried Miss Bates, who had been trying in vain to be heard the last
two minutes, “if I must speak on this subject, there is no denying
that Mr. Frank Churchill might have—I do not mean to say that he
did not dream it—I am sure I have sometimes the oddest dreams in
the world—but if I am questioned about it, I must acknowledge that
there was such an idea last spring; for Mrs. Perry herself
mentioned it to my mother, and the Coles knew of it as well as
ourselves—but it was quite a secret, known to nobody else, and only
thought of about three days. Mrs. Perry was very anxious that he
should have a carriage, and came to my mother in great spirits one
morning because she thought she had prevailed. Jane, don’t you
remember grandmama’s telling us of it when we got home? I forget
where we had been walking to—very likely to Randalls; yes, I think
it was to Randalls. Mrs. Perry was always particularly fond of my
mother—indeed I do not know who is not—and she had mentioned it to
her in confidence; she had no objection to her telling us, of
course, but it was not to go beyond: and, from that day to this, I
never mentioned it to a soul that I know of. At the same time, I
will not positively answer for my having never dropt a hint,
because I know I do sometimes pop out a thing before I am aware. I
am a talker, you know; I am rather a talker; and now and then I
have let a thing escape me which I should not. I am not like Jane;
I wish I were. I will answer for it she never betrayed the least
thing in the world. Where is she? Oh! just behind. Perfectly
remember Mrs. Perry’s coming. Extraordinary dream,
indeed!”

They were entering the
hall. Mr. Knightley’s eyes had preceded Miss Bates’s in a glance at
Jane. From Frank Churchill’s face, where he thought he saw
confusion suppressed or laughed away, he had involuntarily turned
to hers; but she was indeed behind, and too busy with her shawl.
Mr. Weston had walked in. The two other gentlemen waited at the
door to let her pass. Mr. Knightley suspected in Frank Churchill
the determination of catching her eye—he seemed watching her
intently—in vain, however, if it were so—Jane passed between them
into the hall, and looked at neither.

There was no time for farther remark or
explanation. The dream must be borne with, and Mr. Knightley must
take his seat with the rest round the large modern circular table
which Emma had introduced at Hartfield, and which none but Emma
could have had power to place there and persuade her father to use,
instead of the small-sized Pembroke, on which two of his daily
meals had, for forty years been crowded. Tea passed pleasantly, and
nobody seemed in a hurry to move.

“
Miss Woodhouse,” said
Frank Churchill, after examining a table behind him, which he could
reach as he sat, “have your nephews taken away their
alphabets—their box of letters? It used to stand here. Where is it?
This is a sort of dull-looking evening, that ought to be treated
rather as winter than summer. We had great amusement with those
letters one morning. I want to puzzle you again.”

Emma was pleased with the thought; and
producing the box, the table was quickly scattered over with
alphabets, which no one seemed so much disposed to employ as their
two selves. They were rapidly forming words for each other, or for
any body else who would be puzzled. The quietness of the game made
it particularly eligible for Mr. Woodhouse, who had often been
distressed by the more animated sort, which Mr. Weston had
occasionally introduced, and who now sat happily occupied in
lamenting, with tender melancholy, over the departure of the “poor
little boys,” or in fondly pointing out, as he took up any stray
letter near him, how beautifully Emma had written it.

Frank Churchill placed a
word before Miss Fairfax. She gave a slight glance round the table,
and applied herself to it. Frank was next to Emma, Jane opposite to
them—and Mr. Knightley so placed as to see them all; and it was his
object to see as much as he could, with as little apparent
observation. The word was discovered, and with a faint smile pushed
away. If meant to be immediately mixed with the others, and buried
from sight, she should have looked on the table instead of looking
just across, for it was not mixed; and Harriet, eager after every
fresh word, and finding out none, directly took it up, and fell to
work. She was sitting by Mr. Knightley, and turned to him for help.
The word was blunder; and as Harriet exultingly proclaimed it,
there was a blush on Jane’s cheek which gave it a meaning not
otherwise ostensible. Mr. Knightley connected it with the dream;
but how it could all be, was beyond his comprehension. How the
delicacy, the discretion of his favourite could have been so lain
asleep! He feared there must be some decided involvement.
Disingenuousness and double dealing seemed to meet him at every
turn. These letters were but the vehicle for gallantry and trick.
It was a child’s play, chosen to conceal a deeper game on Frank
Churchill’s part.

With great indignation did
he continue to observe him; with great alarm and distrust, to
observe also his two blinded companions. He saw a short word
prepared for Emma, and given to her with a look sly and demure. He
saw that Emma had soon made it out, and found it highly
entertaining, though it was something which she judged it proper to
appear to censure; for she said, “Nonsense! for shame!” He heard
Frank Churchill next say, with a glance towards Jane, “I will give
it to her—shall I?” —and as clearly heard Emma opposing it with
eager laughing warmth. “No, no, you must not; you shall not,
indeed.”

It was done however. This gallant young man,
who seemed to love without feeling, and to recommend himself
without complaisance, directly handed over the word to Miss
Fairfax, and with a particular degree of sedate civility entreated
her to study it. Mr. Knightley’s excessive curiosity to know what
this word might be, made him seize every possible moment for
darting his eye towards it, and it was not long before he saw it to
be Dixon. Jane Fairfax’s perception seemed to accompany his; her
comprehension was certainly more equal to the covert meaning, the
superior intelligence, of those five letters so arranged. She was
evidently displeased; looked up, and seeing herself watched,
blushed more deeply than he had ever perceived her, and saying
only, “I did not know that proper names were allowed,” pushed away
the letters with even an angry spirit, and looked resolved to be
engaged by no other word that could be offered. Her face was
averted from those who had made the attack, and turned towards her
aunt.

“
Aye, very true, my dear,”
cried the latter, though Jane had not spoken a word— “I was just
going to say the same thing. It is time for us to be going indeed.
The evening is closing in, and grandmama will be looking for us. My
dear sir, you are too obliging. We really must wish you good
night.”

Jane’s alertness in moving,
proved her as ready as her aunt had preconceived. She was
immediately up, and wanting to quit the table; but so many were
also moving, that she could not get away; and Mr. Knightley thought
he saw another collection of letters anxiously pushed towards her,
and resolutely swept away by her unexamined. She was afterwards
looking for her shawl—Frank Churchill was looking also—it was
growing dusk, and the room was in confusion; and how they parted,
Mr. Knightley could not tell.

He remained at Hartfield
after all the rest, his thoughts full of what he had seen; so full,
that when the candles came to assist his observations, he must—yes,
he certainly must, as a friend—an anxious friend—give Emma some
hint, ask her some question. He could not see her in a situation of
such danger, without trying to preserve her. It was his
duty.

“
Pray, Emma,” said he, “may
I ask in what lay the great amusement, the poignant sting of the
last word given to you and Miss Fairfax? I saw the word, and am
curious to know how it could be so very entertaining to the one,
and so very distressing to the other.”