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Emma
by Jane Austen
VOLUME III
CHAPTER V
In 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 an early 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. nightley 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."
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.
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