Emma and the Werewolves (54 page)

Emma was extremely confused. She could not
endure to give him the true explanation; for though her suspicions
were by no means removed, she was really ashamed of having ever
imparted them.

“
Oh!” she cried in evident
embarrassment, “it all meant nothing; a mere joke among
ourselves.”

“
The joke,” he replied
gravely, “seemed confined to you and Mr. Churchill.”

He had hoped she would
speak again, but she did not. She would rather busy herself about
any thing than speak. He sat a little while in doubt. A variety of
evils crossed his mind. Interference—fruitless interference. Emma’s
confusion, and the acknowledged intimacy, seemed to declare her
affection engaged. Yet he would speak. He owed it to her, to risk
any thing that might be involved in an unwelcome interference,
rather than her welfare; to encounter any thing, rather than the
remembrance of neglect in such a cause.

“
My dear Emma,” said he at
last, with earnest kindness, “do you think you perfectly understand
the degree of acquaintance between the gentleman and lady we have
been speaking of?”

“
Between Mr. Frank
Churchill and Miss Fairfax? Oh! yes, perfectly. Why do you make a
doubt of it?”

“
Have you never at any time
had reason to think that he admired her, or that she admired
him?”

“
Never, never!” she cried
with a most open eagerness. “Never, for the twentieth part of a
moment, did such an idea occur to me. And how could it possibly
come into your head?”

“
I have lately imagined
that I saw symptoms of attachment between them—certain expressive
looks, which I did not believe meant to be public.”

“
Oh! you amuse me
excessively. I am delighted to find that you can vouchsafe to let
your imagination wander—but it will not do—very sorry to check you
in your first essay—but indeed it will not do. There is no
admiration between them, I do assure you; and the appearances which
have caught you, have arisen from some peculiar
circumstances—feelings rather of a totally different nature—it is
impossible exactly to explain: there is a good deal of nonsense in
it—but the part which is capable of being communicated, which is
sense, is, that they are as far from any attachment or admiration
for one another, as any two beings in the world can be. That is, I
presume it to be so on her side, and I can answer for its being so
on his. I will answer for the gentleman’s indifference.”

She spoke with a confidence which staggered,
with a satisfaction which silenced, Mr. Knightley. She was in gay
spirits, and would have prolonged the conversation, wanting to hear
the particulars of his suspicions, every look described, and all
the wheres and hows of a circumstance which highly entertained her:
but his gaiety did not meet hers. He found he could not be useful,
and his feelings were too much irritated for talking. That he might
not be irritated into an absolute fever, by the fire which Mr.
Woodhouse’s tender habits required almost every evening throughout
the year, he soon afterwards took a hasty leave, and walked home to
the coolness and solitude of Donwell Abbey.

* * * *

Chapter VI

A
fter being long fed
with hopes of a
speedy visit from Mr. and Mrs. Suckling, the Highbury world were
obliged to endure the mortification of hearing that they could not
possibly come till the autumn. No such importation of novelties
could enrich their intellectual stores at present. In the daily
interchange of news, they must be again restricted to the other
topics with which for a while the Sucklings’ coming had been
united, such as the last accounts of Mrs. Churchill, whose health
seemed every day to supply a different report, and the situation of
Mrs. Weston, whose happiness it was to be hoped might eventually be
as much increased by the arrival of a child, as that of all her
neighbours was by the approach of it.

Mrs. Elton was very much disappointed. It
was the delay of a great deal of pleasure and parade. Her
introductions and recommendations must all wait, and every
projected party be still only talked of. So she thought at first;
but a little consideration convinced her that every thing need not
be put off. Why should not they explore to Box Hill though the
Sucklings did not come? They could go there again with them in the
autumn. It was settled that they should go to Box Hill. That there
was to be such a party had been long generally known: it had even
given the idea of another. Emma had never been to Box Hill; she
wished to see what every body found so well worth seeing, and she
and Mr. Weston had agreed to chuse some fine morning and drive
thither. Two or three more of the chosen only were to be admitted
to join them, and it was to be done in a quiet, unpretending,
elegant way, infinitely superior to the bustle and preparation, the
regular eating and drinking, and picnic parade of the Eltons and
the Sucklings.

This was so very well understood between
them, that Emma could not but feel some surprise, and a little
displeasure, on hearing from Mr. Weston that he had been proposing
to Mrs. Elton, as her brother and sister had failed her, that the
two parties should unite, and go together; and that as Mrs. Elton
had very readily acceded to it, so it was to be, if she had no
objection. Now, as her objection was nothing but her very great
dislike of Mrs. Elton, of which Mr. Weston must already be
perfectly aware, it was not worth bringing forward again: it could
not be done without a reproof to him, which would be giving pain to
his wife; and she found herself therefore obliged to consent to an
arrangement which she would have done a great deal to avoid; an
arrangement which would probably expose her even to the degradation
of being said to be of Mrs. Elton’s party! Every feeling was
offended; and the forbearance of her outward submission left a
heavy arrear due of secret severity in her reflections on the
unmanageable goodwill of Mr. Weston’s temper.

“
I am glad you approve of
what I have done,” said he very comfortably. “But I thought you
would. Such schemes as these are nothing without numbers. One
cannot have too large a party. A large party secures its own
amusement. And she is a good-natured woman after all. One could not
leave her out.”

Emma denied none of it aloud, and agreed to
none of it in private.

It was now the middle of
June, and the weather fine; and Mrs. Elton was growing impatient to
name the day, and settle with Mr. Weston as to pigeon-pies and cold
lamb, when a lame carriage-horse threw every thing into sad
uncertainty. It might be weeks, it might be only a few days, before
the horse were useable; but no preparations could be ventured on,
and it was all melancholy stagnation. Mrs. Elton’s resources were
inadequate to such an attack.

“
Is not this most
vexations, Knightley?” she cried. “And such weather for exploring!
These delays and disappointments are quite odious. What are we to
do? The year will wear away at this rate, and nothing done. Before
this time last year I assure you we had had a delightful exploring
party from Maple Grove to Kings Weston.”

“
You had better explore to
Donwell,” replied Mr. Knightley. “That may be done without horses.
Come, and eat my strawberries. They are ripening fast.”

If Mr. Knightley did not
begin seriously, he was obliged to proceed so, for his proposal was
caught at with delight; and the “Oh! I should like it of all
things,” was not plainer in words than manner. Donwell was famous
for its strawberry-beds, which seemed a plea for the invitation:
but no plea was necessary; cabbage-beds would have been enough to
tempt the lady, who only wanted to be going somewhere. She promised
him again and again to come—much oftener than he doubted—and was
extremely gratified by such a proof of intimacy, such a
distinguishing compliment as she chose to consider it.

“
You may depend upon me,”
said she. “I certainly will come. Name your day, and I will come.
You will allow me to bring Jane Fairfax?”

“
I cannot name a day,” said
he, “till I have spoken to some others whom I would wish to meet
you.”

“
Oh! leave all that to me.
Only give me a carte-blanche. I am Lady Patroness, you know. It is
my party. I will bring friends with me.”

“
I hope you will bring
Elton,” said he: “but I will not trouble you to give any other
invitations.”

“
Oh! now you are looking
very sly. But consider—you need not be afraid of delegating power
to me. I am no young lady on her preferment. Married women, you
know, may be safely authorised. It is my party. Leave it all to me.
I will invite your guests.”

“
No,” he calmly replied,
“there is but one married woman in the world whom I can ever allow
to invite what guests she pleases to Donwell, and that one
is—”

“—
Mrs. Weston, I suppose,”
interrupted Mrs. Elton, rather mortified.

“
No—Mrs. Knightley; and
till she is in being, I will manage such matters
myself.”

“
Ah! you are an odd
creature!” she cried, satisfied to have no one preferred to
herself. “You are a humourist, and may say what you like. Quite a
humourist. Well, I shall bring Jane with me—Jane and her aunt. The
rest I leave to you. I have no objections at all to meeting the
Hartfield family. Don’t scruple. I know you are attached to
them.”

“
You certainly will meet
them if I can prevail; and I shall call on Miss Bates in my way
home.”

“
That’s quite unnecessary;
I see Jane every day: but as you like. It is to be a morning
scheme, you know, Knightley; quite a simple thing. I shall wear a
large bonnet, and bring one of my little baskets hanging on my arm.
Here, —probably this basket with pink ribbon. Nothing can be more
simple, you see. And Jane will have such another. There is to be no
form or parade—a sort of gipsy party. We are to walk about your
gardens, and gather the strawberries ourselves, and sit under
trees; and whatever else you may like to provide, it is to be all
out of doors—a table spread in the shade, you know. Every thing as
natural and simple as possible. Is not that your idea?”

“
Not quite. My idea of the
simple and the natural will be to have the table spread in the
dining-room. The nature and the simplicity of gentlemen and ladies,
with their servants and furniture, I think is best observed by
meals within doors. When you are tired of eating strawberries in
the garden, there shall be cold meat in the house.”

“
Well—as you please; only
don’t have a great set out. And, by the bye, can I or my
housekeeper be of any use to you with our opinion? Pray be sincere,
Knightley. If you wish me to talk to Mrs. Hodges, or to inspect
anything—”

“
I have not the least wish
for it, I thank you.”

“
Well—but if any
difficulties should arise, my housekeeper is extremely
clever.”

“
I will answer for it, that
mine thinks herself full as clever, and would spurn any body’s
assistance.”

“
I wish we had a donkey.
The thing would be for us all to come on donkeys, Jane, Miss Bates,
and me—and my caro sposo walking by. I really must talk to him
about purchasing a donkey. In a country life I conceive it to be a
sort of necessary; for, let a woman have ever so many resources, it
is not possible for her to be always shut up at home; and very long
walks, you know—in summer there is dust, and in winter there is
dirt.”

“
You will not find either,
between Donwell and Highbury. Donwell Lane is never dusty, and now
it is perfectly dry. Come on a donkey, however, if you prefer it.
You can borrow Mrs. Cole’s. I would wish every thing to be as much
to your taste as possible.”

“
That I am sure you would.
Indeed I do you justice, my good friend. Under that peculiar sort
of dry, blunt manner, I know you have the warmest heart. As I tell
Mr. E., you are a thorough humourist. Yes, believe me, Knightley, I
am fully sensible of your attention to me in the whole of this
scheme. You have hit upon the very thing to please me.”

Mr. Knightley had another reason for
avoiding a table in the shade. He wished to persuade Mr. Woodhouse,
as well as Emma, to join the party; and he knew that to have any of
them sitting down out of doors to eat would inevitably make him
ill. Mr. Woodhouse must not, under the specious pretence of a
morning drive, and an hour or two spent at Donwell, be tempted away
to his misery.

He was invited on good
faith. No lurking horrors were to upbraid him for his easy
credulity. He did consent. He had not been at Donwell for two
years. “Some very fine morning, he, and Emma, and Harriet, could go
very well; and he could sit still with Mrs. Weston, while the dear
girls walked about the gardens. He did not suppose they could be
damp now, in the middle of the day. He should like to see the old
house again exceedingly, and should be very happy to meet Mr. and
Mrs. Elton, and any other of his neighbours. He could not see any
objection at all to his, and Emma’s, and Harriet’s going there some
very fine morning. He thought it very well done of Mr. Knightley to
invite them—very kind and sensible—much cleverer than dining out.
He was not fond of dining out.”

Mr. Knightley was fortunate in every body’s
most ready concurrence. The invitation was everywhere so well
received, that it seemed as if, like Mrs. Elton, they were all
taking the scheme as a particular compliment to themselves. Emma
and Harriet professed very high expectations of pleasure from it;
and Mr. Weston, unasked, promised to get Frank over to join them,
if possible; a proof of approbation and gratitude which could have
been dispensed with. Mr. Knightley was then obliged to say that he
should be glad to see him; and Mr. Weston engaged to lose no time
in writing, and spare no arguments to induce him to come.