|
Emma
by Jane Austen
VOLUME III
CHAPTER VIII
The wretchedness of a scheme to Box Hill was in Emma's thoughts
all the evening. How it might be considered by the rest of the party,
she could not tell. They, in their different homes, and their different
ways, might be looking back on it with pleasure; but in her view
it was a morning more completely misspent, more totally bare of
rational satisfaction at the time, and more to be abhorred in recollection,
than any she had ever passed. A whole evening of back-gammon with
her father, was felicity to it. There, indeed, lay real pleasure,
for there she was giving up the sweetest hours of the twenty-four
to his comfort; and feeling that, unmerited as might be the degree
of his fond affection and confiding esteem, she could not, in her
general conduct, be open to any severe reproach. As a daughter,
she hoped she was not without a heart. She hoped no one could have
said to her, "How could you be so unfeeling to your father?--
I must, I will tell you truths while I can." Miss Bates should
never again--no, never! If attention, in future, could do away the
past, she might hope to be forgiven. She had been often remiss,
her conscience told her so; remiss, perhaps, more in thought than
fact; scornful, ungracious. But it should be so no more. In the
warmth of true contrition, she would call upon her the very next
morning, and it should be the beginning, on her side, of a regular,
equal, kindly intercourse.
She was just as determined when the morrow came, and went early,
that nothing might prevent her. It was not unlikely, she thought,
that she might see Mr. Knightley in her way; or, perhaps, he might
come in while she were paying her visit. She had no objection. She
would not be ashamed of the appearance of the penitence, so justly
and truly hers. Her eyes were towards Donwell as she walked, but
she saw him not.
"The ladies were all at home." She had never rejoiced
at the sound before, nor ever before entered the passage, nor walked
up the stairs, with any wish of giving pleasure, but in conferring
obligation, or of deriving it, except in subsequent ridicule.
There was a bustle on her approach; a good deal of moving and talking.
She heard Miss Bates's voice, something was to be done in a hurry;
the maid looked frightened and awkward; hoped she would be pleased
to wait a moment, and then ushered her in too soon. The aunt and
niece seemed both escaping into the adjoining room. Jane she had
a distinct glimpse of, looking extremely ill; and, before the door
had shut them out, she heard Miss Bates saying, "Well, my dear,
I shall say you are laid down upon the bed, and I am sure you are
ill enough."
Poor old Mrs. Bates, civil and humble as usual, looked as if she
did not quite understand what was going on.
"I am afraid Jane is not very well," said she, "but
I do not know; they tell me she is well. I dare say my daughter
will be here presently, Miss Woodhouse. I hope you find a chair.
I wish Hetty had not gone. I am very little able--Have you a chair,
ma'am? Do you sit where you like? I am sure she will be here presently."
Emma seriously hoped she would. She had a moment's fear of Miss
Bates keeping away from her. But Miss Bates soon came--"Very
happy and obliged"--but Emma's conscience told her that there
was not the same cheerful volubility as before--less ease of look
and manner. A very friendly inquiry after Miss Fairfax, she hoped,
might lead the way to a return of old feelings. The touch seemed
immediate.
"Ah! Miss Woodhouse, how kind you are!--I suppose you have
heard-- and are come to give us joy. This does not seem much like
joy, indeed, in me--(twinkling away a tear or two)--but it will
be very trying for us to part with her, after having had her so
long, and she has a dreadful headach just now, writing all the morning:--
such long letters, you know, to be written to Colonel Campbell,
and Mrs. Dixon. `My dear,' said I, `you will blind yourself'-- for
tears were in her eyes perpetually. One cannot wonder, one cannot
wonder. It is a great change; and though she is amazingly fortunate--such
a situation, I suppose, as no young woman before ever met with on
first going out--do not think us ungrateful, Miss Woodhouse, for
such surprising good fortune--(again dispersing her tears)--but,
poor dear soul! if you were to see what a headache she has. When
one is in great pain, you know one cannot feel any blessing quite
as it may deserve. She is as low as possible. To look at her, nobody
would think how delighted and happy she is to have secured such
a situation. You will excuse her not coming to you--she is not able--she
is gone into her own room-- I want her to lie down upon the bed.
`My dear,' said I, `I shall say you are laid down upon the bed:'
but, however, she is not; she is walking about the room. But, now
that she has written her letters, she says she shall soon be well.
She will be extremely sorry to miss seeing you, Miss Woodhouse,
but your kindness will excuse her. You were kept waiting at the
door--I was quite ashamed-- but somehow there was a little bustle--for
it so happened that we had not heard the knock, and till you were
on the stairs, we did not know any body was coming. `It is only
Mrs. Cole,' said I, `depend upon it. Nobody else would come so early.'
`Well,' said she, `it must be borne some time or other, and it may
as well be now.' But then Patty came in, and said it was you. `Oh!'
said I, `it is Miss Woodhouse: I am sure you will like to see her.'--
`I can see nobody,' said she; and up she got, and would go away;
and that was what made us keep you waiting--and extremely sorry
and ashamed we were. `If you must go, my dear,' said I, `you must,
and I will say you are laid down upon the bed.'"
Emma was most sincerely interested. Her heart had been long growing
kinder towards Jane; and this picture of her present sufferings
acted as a cure of every former ungenerous suspicion, and left her
nothing but pity; and the remembrance of the less just and less
gentle sensations of the past, obliged her to admit that Jane might
very naturally resolve on seeing Mrs. Cole or any other steady friend,
when she might not bear to see herself. She spoke as she felt, with
earnest regret and solicitude--sincerely wishing that the circumstances
which she collected from Miss Bates to be now actually determined
on, might be as much for Miss Fairfax's advantage and comfort as
possible. "It must be a severe trial to them all. She had understood
it was to be delayed till Colonel Campbell's return."
"So very kind! " replied Miss Bates. "But you are
always kind."
There was no bearing such an "always;" and to break through
her dreadful gratitude, Emma made the direct inquiry of--
"Where--may I ask?--is Miss Fairfax going?"
"To a Mrs. Smallridge--charming woman--most superior--to have
the charge of her three little girls--delightful children. Impossible
that any situation could be more replete with comfort; if we except,
perhaps, Mrs. Suckling's own family, and Mrs. Bragge's; but Mrs.
Smallridge is intimate with both, and in the very same neighbourhood:--lives
only four miles from Maple Grove. Jane will be only four miles from
Maple Grove."
"Mrs. Elton, I suppose, has been the person to whom Miss Fairfax
owes--"
"Yes, our good Mrs. Elton. The most indefatigable, true friend.
She would not take a denial. She would not let Jane say, `No;' for
when Jane first heard of it, (it was the day before yesterday,the
very morning we were at Donwell,) when Jane first heard of it, she
was quite decided against accepting the offer, and for the reasons
you mention; exactly as you say, she had made up her mind to close
with nothing till Colonel Campbell's return, and nothing should
induce her to enter into any engagement at present--and so she told
Mrs. Elton over and over again--and I am sure I had no more idea
that she would change her mind!--but that good Mrs. Elton, whose
judgment never fails her, saw farther than I did. It is not every
body that would have stood out in such a kind way as she did, and
refuse to take Jane's answer; but she positively declared she would
not write any such denial yesterday, as Jane wished her; she would
wait--and, sure enough, yesterday evening it was all settled that
Jane should go. Quite a surprize to me! I had not the least idea!--Jane
took Mrs. Elton aside, and told her at once, that upon thinking
over the advantages of Mrs. Smallridge's situation, she had come
to the resolution of accepting it.--I did not know a word of it
till it was all settled."
"You spent the evening with Mrs. Elton?"
"Yes, all of us; Mrs. Elton would have us come. It was settled
so, upon the hill, while we were walking about with Mr. Knightley.
`You must all spend your evening with us,' said she--`I positively
must have you all come.'"
"Mr. Knightley was there too, was he?"
"No, not Mr. Knightley; he declined it from the first; and
though I thought he would come, because Mrs. Elton declared she
would not let him off, he did not;--but my mother, and Jane, and
I, were all there, and a very agreeable evening we had. Such kind
friends, you know,Miss Woodhouse, one must always find agreeable,
though every body seemed rather fagged after the morning's party.
Even pleasure, you know, is fatiguing--and I cannot say that any
of them seemed very much to have enjoyed it. However, I shall always
think it a very pleasant party, and feel extremely obliged to the
kind friends who included me in it."
"Miss Fairfax, I suppose, though you were not aware of it,
had been making up her mind the whole day?"
"I dare say she had."
"Whenever the time may come, it must be unwelcome to her and
all her friends--but I hope her engagement will have every alleviation
that is possible--I mean, as to the character and manners of the
family."
"Thank you, dear Miss Woodhouse. Yes, indeed, there is every
thing in the world that can make her happy in it. Except the Sucklings
and Bragges, there is not such another nursery establishment, so
liberal and elegant, in all Mrs. Elton's acquaintance. Mrs. Smallridge,
a most delightful woman!--A style of living almost equal to Maple
Grove--and as to the children, except the little Sucklings and little
Bragges, there are not such elegant sweet children anywhere. Jane
will be treated with such regard and kindness!-- It will be nothing
but pleasure, a life of pleasure.--And her salary!-- I really cannot
venture to name her salary to you, Miss Woodhouse. Even you, used
as you are to great sums, would hardly believe that so much could
be given to a young person like Jane."
"Ah! madam," cried Emma, "if other children are
at all like what I remember to have been myself, I should think
five times the amount of what I have ever yet heard named as a salary
on such occasions, dearly earned."
"You are so noble in your ideas!"
"And when is Miss Fairfax to leave you?"
"Very soon, very soon, indeed; that's the worst of it. Within
a fortnight. Mrs. Smallridge is in a great hurry. My poor mother
does not know how to bear it. So then, I try to put it out of her
thoughts, and say, Come ma'am, do not let us think about it any
more."
"Her friends must all be sorry to lose her; and will not Colonel
and Mrs. Campbell be sorry to find that she has engaged herself
before their return?"
"Yes; Jane says she is sure they will; but yet, this is such
a situation as she cannot feel herself justified in declining. I
was so astonished when she first told me what she had been saying
to Mrs. Elton, and when Mrs. Elton at the same moment came congratulating
me upon it! It was before tea--stay--no, it could not be before
tea, because we were just going to cards--and yet it was before
tea, because I remember thinking--Oh! no, now I recollect, now I
have it; something happened before tea, but not that. Mr. Elton
was called out of the room before tea, old John Abdy's son wanted
to speak with him. Poor old John, I have a great regard for him;
he was clerk to my poor father twenty-seven years; and now, poor
old man, he is bed-ridden, and very poorly with the rheumatic gout
in his joints-- I must go and see him to-day; and so will Jane,
I am sure, if she gets out at all. And poor John's son came to talk
to Mr. Elton about relief from the parish; he is very well to do
himself, you know, being head man at the Crown, ostler, and every
thing of that sort, but still he cannot keep his father without
some help; and so, when Mr. Elton came back, he told us what John
ostler had been telling him, and then it came out about the chaise
having been sent to Randalls to take Mr. Frank Churchill to Richmond.
That was what happened before tea. It was after tea that Jane spoke
to Mrs. Elton."
Miss Bates would hardly give Emma time to say how perfectly new
this circumstance was to her; but as without supposing it possible
that she could be ignorant of any of the particulars of Mr. Frank
Churchill's going, she proceeded to give them all, it was of no
consequence.
What Mr. Elton had learned from the ostler on the subject, being
the accumulation of the ostler's own knowledge, and the knowledge
of the servants at Randalls, was, that a messenger had come over
from Richmond soon after the return of the party from Box Hill--
which messenger, however, had been no more than was expected; and
that Mr. Churchill had sent his nephew a few lines, containing,
upon the whole, a tolerable account of Mrs. Churchill, and only
wishing him not to delay coming back beyond the next morning early;
but that Mr. Frank Churchill having resolved to go home directly,
without waiting at all, and his horse seeming to have got a cold,
Tom had been sent off immediately for the Crown chaise, and the
ostler had stood out and seen it pass by, the boy going a good pace,
and driving very steady.
There was nothing in all this either to astonish or interest, and
it caught Emma's attention only as it united with the subject which
already engaged her mind. The contrast between Mrs. Churchill's
importance in the world, and Jane Fairfax's, struck her; one was
every thing, the other nothing--and she sat musing on the difference
of woman's destiny, and quite unconscious on what her eyes were
fixed, till roused by Miss Bates's saying,
"Aye, I see what you are thinking of, the pianoforte. What
is to become of that?--Very true. Poor dear Jane was talking of
it just now.-- `You must go,' said she. `You and I must part. You
will have no business here.--Let it stay, however,' said she; `give
it houseroom till Colonel Campbell comes back. I shall talk about
it to him; he will settle for me; he will help me out of all my
difficulties.'-- And to this day, I do believe, she knows not whether
it was his present or his daughter's."
Now Emma was obliged to think of the pianoforte; and the remembrance
of all her former fanciful and unfair conjectures was so little
pleasing, that she soon allowed herself to believe her visit had
been long enough; and, with a repetition of every thing that she
could venture to say of the good wishes which she really felt, took
leave.
|
