Emma, who was not really at all frightened herself, assured Mr. Elton of Mrs. Goddard’s experience and care.
Then, after a moment of contemplation, she added, “The day is so cold, so very cold—and looks and feels so very much like snow, Mr. Elton, that perhaps you should excuse yourself tonight from the Westons.”
“I can assure you, dear Miss Woodhouse, that the cold and snow agree with me quite pleasantly.”
Emma saw no breath coming from Mr. Elton’s nose or mouth and grew very concerned. “You appear to me a little hoarse already, and I think it would be common sense to stay at home and take care of yourself tonight.”
Mr. Elton looked as if he did not know what answer to make, for he had not the least inclination to give up the dinner.
But Emma, intending that he miss the dinner so that he might spend time with the ailing Harriet, blurted out, “We shall make your apologies to Mr. and Mrs. Weston.”
But hardly had she spoken when Mr. John Knightley offered Emma and Mr. Elton a seat in his carriage, and Mr. Elton promptly accepted the offer, Emma likewise obliging.
Mr. Elton had made up his mind. He was going to the Westons, and never had his pale, handsome face expressed more pleasure than at this moment; never had his smile been wider, his vampire scent stronger or more appealing, nor his eyes darker than when he gazed into Emma’s eyes.
Well, Emma thought to herself, this is most strange, that Mr. Elton would choose the dinner party and leave Harriet ill behind! Most strange indeed! But there is, I believe, in many single men such a passion for dining out that anything gives way to it, and this must be the case with Mr. Elton. A most amiable, pleasing young man and very much in love with Harriet, but still he cannot refuse a party invitation, even though he would consume nary a biscuit all evening. What a strange thing love is!
Soon afterwards Mr. Elton departed the carriage, and Emma felt there was a great deal of sentiment in his voice when assuring her that he would call at Mrs. Goddard’s for news of Harriet.
After a few minutes of entire silence, John Knightley said to Emma, “I never in my life saw a man more intent on being agreeable than Mr. Elton where ladies are concerned.” He must need sustenance very badly, he thought.
“Mr. Elton’s manners are not perfect,” replied Emma, “but there is such perfect good temper and goodwill in Mr. Elton as one cannot but value.”
“Yes, Emma,” said Mr. John Knightley presently, with some slyness, “he seems to have a great deal of goodwill towards you.” As if he could feast upon you all night, thought he.
“Me!” she replied with a smile of astonishment. “Are you imagining me to be Mr. Elton’s object of affection?”
“Such a thought has crossed my mind, I admit, Emma; and if it never occurred to you before, you may as well take it into consideration now.”
“Mr. Elton in love with me! What an idea!” exclaimed Emma. She knew that Mr. John Knightley had a special power to see the future, but she did not think it included the foretelling of a match between Mr. Elton and herself.
“I do not say it is so,” he said, “but you will do well to consider it and to regulate your behaviour accordingly. I think your manners are encouraging to him. I speak as a friend, Emma.”
“I thank you, John, but I am sure you are quite mistaken. Mr. Elton and I are very good friends and nothing more.”
Emma departed the carriage and walked on, not very pleased with her brother-in-law for imagining her blind and ignorant and in need of advice.
***
That evening, the cold had become severe. Mr. Woodhouse set out for Randalls with Isabella in his own carriage. By the time the second carriage was in motion, with Emma and Mr. John Knightley, a few flakes of snow were finding their way down, and the sky had the appearance of producing a very white world in a very short time.
Emma soon saw that her companion was not in the happiest humour. She could not see Mr. John Knightley’s breath, his skin was cold and pale, and his mood anticipated nothing in the visit that could be at all worth the effort; and the whole drive to the vicarage, to fetch Mr. Elton, was spent expressing his discontent.
“A man such as Mr. Weston,” said John Knightley, “must have a very good opinion of himself when he asks people to leave the coldness of their own fireside and travel on such a day as this for the sake of coming to see him. It is the greatest absurdity—it is actually snowing at this moment! Here we are, setting forward to spend five dull hours in another man’s house, with nothing to say or hear that was not said and heard yesterday and may not be said and heard again tomorrow. Going in dismal weather to return probably in worse.”
Emma dreaded being quarrelsome. She allowed him to talk and wrapped herself up without opening her lips.
They arrived at the vicarage, and Mr. Elton, smiling, was with them instantly. As the carriage continued on to the Westons’, Mr. Elton was so very cheerful that Emma began to think Harriet must be feeling better.
But when she inquired about her young friend, his face lengthened immediately, and his voice was one of sentiment as he answered, “Oh, no! I am grieved to find that, when I called at Mrs. Goddard’s door, I was told that Miss Smith was not better, by no means better—rather worse. Very much grieved and concerned was I.”
Emma answered, “It is a most severe cold indeed. Mr. Perry has been with her. I trust tomorrow morning will bring us both a more comfortable report. But it is impossible not to feel uneasiness. Such a sad loss to our party tonight!”
“Dreadful,” said Mr. Elton calmly. “Exactly so, indeed—she will be missed every moment.”
But Mr. Elton’s sigh should have lasted longer. Emma was rather in dismay when only half a minute afterwards he began to speak of other things and in a voice of the greatest enjoyment.
“How excellent,” said he, “the use of a sheepskin for carriages. How very comfortable they make it. The contrivances of modern days have indeed rendered a gentleman’s carriage perfectly complete. Ha! Snows a little, I see.”
“Yes,” grumbled John Knightley, “and I think we shall have a good deal more of it.”
“Christmas weather,” observed Mr. Elton. “Quite seasonable, and what a lovely chill! ’Tis quite the season indeed for friendly meetings. At Christmas everybody invites their friends about them. Nothing could be pleasanter.”
At another time, Emma might have been amused. But she was too much astonished now at Mr. Elton’s spirits for other feelings. Harriet seemed quite forgotten in the expectation of a pleasant party.
“Charming people, Mr. and Mrs. Weston,” continued Mr. Elton, “and everything in the greatest comfort. It will be a small party, but where small parties are select, they are perhaps the most agreeable of any, though Mr. Knightley perhaps is used to the large parties of London.”
“I know nothing of the large parties of London, sir—I never dine with anybody. My first enjoyment,” replied John Knightley as they passed through the Westons’ gate, “will be to find myself safe at Hartfield again.”
Chapter 14
A change of expression was needed for each gentleman as he walked into Mrs. Weston’s drawing room—Mr. Elton must compose his joyous looks, and Mr. John Knightley disperse his ill humour. Mr. Elton must smile less and Mr. John Knightley more.
Only Emma might act naturally and show herself just as happy as she was. To her it was real enjoyment to be with the Westons. Mr. Weston was a great favourite, and there was no one in the world to whom Emma spoke so freely as the former Miss Taylor—who would listen and understand, and always be interested in the little affairs, arrangements, perplexities, and pleasures of her father and herself.
The very sight of Mrs. Weston—her smile, her touch, her voice—was grateful to Emma, and she determined to think as little as possible of Mr. Elton’s oddities, or of anything else unpleasant, and enjoy all that was enjoyable to the utmost.
&
nbsp; The misfortune of Harriet’s cold had been pretty well gone through before her arrival. Mr. Woodhouse had been safely seated long enough to give the history of it, everyone wholly engrossed in their attention.
Emma’s attempt to forget Mr. Elton became difficult when in the drawing room she found herself seated next to him, far away from the fire. The attention he paid Emma was so great as she stared into the black void of his eyes that she could not help thinking, “Can it really be as my brother-in-law imagined? Can it be possible for this man to be beginning to transfer his affections from Harriet to me? Absurd and insufferable!”
Yet he was so concerned that she was warm enough—though he would have preferred to converse outside in the snow—and he was so interested about her father, and so delighted with Mrs. Weston, and admired Emma’s drawings with so much zeal, and behaved so much like a would-be lover as he stared at her neck that it took some effort to preserve her good manners.
For her own sake, she could not be rude; and for Harriet’s, in the hope that all would yet turn out right, she was even positively polite. But it was truly an effort, especially as another conversation was going on which she particularly wished to eavesdrop on.
Emma heard enough to learn that Mr. Weston was giving some information about his son, Frank Churchill. From a few half-syllables, she suspected he was announcing an impending visit from his son; but before she could quiet Mr. Elton, the subject was so completely past that any reviving question from her would have been awkward.
Now, it so happened that in spite of Emma’s resolution of never marrying, there was something about Mr. Frank Churchill that always interested her. She had been told he was strikingly handsome, with perfect white skin and large black eyes like Mr. Elton’s and Mr. Knightley’s—in fact, quite like so many other gentlemen in Highbury. How curious!
Emma had frequently thought—especially since Frank’s father, Mr. Weston, had married Miss Taylor—that if Emma were to marry, Frank Churchill was the very person to suit her in age, character, and condition. He seemed, by this connection between the families, quite to belong to her.
Emma had to suppose it was a match which had been thought of by everybody who knew them. She convinced herself that Mr. and Mrs. Weston thought of it; and she had a great curiosity to see Frank Churchill, a decided intention of finding him pleasant and of being liked by him, and a sort of pleasure in the idea of their being matched in their friends’ imaginations.
At the dinner table, Emma was seated next to Mr. Weston, who talked the whole time but never ate a thing. He recoiled in the most curious way, thought Emma, from the garlic-seasoned minced chicken, which she found herself consuming with delight, admittedly in a most unladylike fashion.
Mr. Weston then said, “We wish two more people were here tonight—your pretty little friend Miss Smith and my son—and then I should say we were quite complete. I believe you did not hear me telling the others in the drawing room that we are expecting Frank. I had a letter from him this morning, and he will be with us in a fortnight.”
Emma spoke with a very proper degree of pleasure and fully agreed that Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Smith would make their party quite complete.
“He has been wanting to visit,” continued Mr. Weston, “ever since September. Every letter has been full of it, but he could not get away; but now I have no doubt of seeing him here about the second week in January.”
“What a very great pleasure it will be to you!” said Emma. “And I know Mrs. Weston is so anxious to be acquainted with him that she must be almost as happy as yourself.”
“Yes, but she thinks there will be another delay. The case, you see—this is between ourselves, there are secrets in all families, you know—the case is, that it all depends on his aunt, Mrs. Churchill. She is an odd woman!
“But I never allow myself to speak ill of her, on Frank’s account. I used to think she was not capable of being fond of anybody except herself, but she has always been kind to Frank. I would not say this to anybody else, dear Emma, but Mrs. Churchill has no more heart than a stone to people in general and the devil of a temper.”
Emma liked the subject of Frank Churchill’s visit so well that she mentioned it to Mrs. Weston very soon after their moving into the drawing room after dinner. Mrs. Weston agreed but added, “I am very much afraid that it will all end in nothing. Mr. Weston, I daresay, has been telling you exactly how the matter stands?”
“Yes—it seems to depend upon the ill humour of Mrs. Churchill.”
Mrs. Weston smiled and nodded at Emma, then turning to Emma’s sister said, “You must know, my dear Isabella, that we are by no means sure of seeing Mr. Frank Churchill. It depends entirely upon his aunt. Mrs. Churchill rules at Enscombe, and his coming now depends upon her being willing to spare him.”
“Oh yes—Mrs. Churchill. Everybody knows Mrs. Churchill,” replied Isabella, “and I am sure I never think of that poor young man without the greatest compassion—a life of misery. What a blessing that she never had any children!”
“He ought to come,” said Emma. “If he could stay only a couple of days, he ought to come; and one can hardly conceive a young man’s not being able to spend a week with his father if he desires it.”
“My dearest Emma,” said Mrs. Weston, “do not pretend with your sweet temper to understand a bad one or to lay down rules for it. You must let it go its own way.”
Emma listened and then coolly said, “I shall not be satisfied unless he comes.”
Chapter 15
After dinner, Mr. Woodhouse was soon ready for his tea, and when he had drunk it was entirely ready to go home. It was as much as his three companions could do to convince him to stay.
Mr. Elton, in very good spirits, entered the drawing room. Mrs. Weston and Emma were sitting together on a sofa. He joined them immediately and, with scarcely an invitation, seated himself between them. His hand touched Emma’s and an electric shock nearly sent her flying off the sofa.
Emma quickly recovered and, still in good spirits from pondering the visit of Mr. Frank Churchill, was willing to forget Mr. Elton’s impropriety; and when he spoke of Harriet, Emma was ready to listen with most friendly smiles.
Mr. Elton declared himself extremely anxious about Emma’s fair, lovely, amiable friend. He confessed that the nature of Harriet’s illness alarmed him considerably. But then it seemed all at once that he was more anxious that Emma should escape the infection. He begged her with great earnestness to refrain from visiting the sick chamber again; and though Emma tried to laugh it off, there was no putting an end to Mr. Elton’s extreme concern about her.
Emma was vexed. It did appear—there was no concealing it now—that Mr. Elton was in love with her instead of Harriet, which, if true, was most contemptible and abominable! She had difficulty in minding her temper.
Mr. Elton turned to Mrs. Weston, and his large ebony eyes implored her assistance. “Would you not give me your support? Would you not add your persuasions to mine to induce Miss Woodhouse not to go to Mrs. Goddard’s till it was certain that Miss Smith’s disorder had no infection?”
Emma saw Mrs. Weston’s surprise. Emma was too provoked and offended to say anything directly. She could only give Mr. Elton such a look as she thought must restore him to his senses, and then Emma left the sofa, moving to a seat by Isabella and giving her sister all her attention.
Mr. John Knightley now came into the room from examining the weather, with the information that the ground was covered with snow and it was still snowing fast, with a strong, drifting wind, and predicted an imminent blizzard.
Poor Mr. Woodhouse was silent from consternation; but everybody else had something to say or some comfort to offer. Mrs. Weston and Emma tried earnestly to cheer him and turn his attention from his son-in-law John, who was pursuing his triumph rather unfeelingly.
“I admired your resolution very much, sir,” said Mr. John Knightle
y, “in venturing out in such weather. If one carriage is blown over, rest assured the other one will be at hand. I daresay we shall all be safe at Hartfield again before midnight.”
“What is to be done, my dear Emma?” was Mr. Woodhouse’s first exclamation. He looked to her for comfort, and her assurances of safety revived him a little.
Isabella’s alarm was equal to her father’s. The horror of being snowed in at Randalls while her children were at Hartfield was full in her imagination; she was eager for John and herself to set forward instantly through the drifted snow that might impede them.
“You had better order the carriage directly, my love,” said Isabella to her husband. “I daresay we shall be able to get along if we set off directly.”
They were still discussing the point when Mr. George Knightley, who had left the room immediately after his brother’s first report of the snow, came back again and told everyone that the snow was nowhere above half an inch deep, very few flakes were falling, the clouds were parting, and the full moon was bright in the evening sky.
But for Mr. Woodhouse the alarm could not be appeased, and all decided to leave. The bell was rung, the carriages came, and all stepped outside into the light snow.
Suddenly, and to everyone’s surprise and horror, four despicable creatures lunged from behind the tall privet near the house. The vampires—rags hanging from their bones, limbs thrashing, and fangs drooling—raced towards the assembled gentry.
The next sequence of events unfolded with blinding speed. Mr. Elton shielded Isabella and Mrs. Weston, who screamed in terror. Mr. Woodhouse fainted and collapsed on the ground. Mr. George Knightley dashed into the house and returned with two sabres, one of which he tossed to Mr. Weston, who expertly caught it. John Knightley dashed to his carriage and produced his hunting rifle. Emma deftly retrieved her wooden stake from beneath her bombazines, having practiced the exercise repeatedly at home.
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