by Joan Aiken
Her thoughts were running on these lines as she sat on a stile three-quarters of a mile outside the village, after re-reading Frank’s letter — for it was a fine warm afternoon of late March — when, unexpectedly close, she heard voices, and saw Emma and Harriet Smith approaching along a footpath.
“Ah, good-day, Miss Fairfax!” cried Emma cordially. “Is it not charming weather? We, as you see, have been gathering catkins for our drawing programme. — Do you receive good news from your friends in Ireland?” for Jane, blushing, had hastily stuffed the sheets of Frank’s letter into her muff. She thought she saw Emma’s eyes on the paper. Annoyed, Jane blushed even deeper at the recollection of Frank and Emma’s light-hearted teasing on the subject of Matt Dixon. How could they? How could Frank talk of Matt Dixon in such a manner, in such a context, when he at least knew how much the name really meant to her?
She answered Emma composedly that her friends in Ireland were well, and that they had repeatedly invited her to join them — which, after all, was the truth; but that at present she would not leave her aunt and grandmother.
“Ah, very dutiful — very right,” said Emma. “Is it not, Harriet?”
“Oh yes! Miss Woodhouse!”
Jane thought Harriet a tedious little creature. Her conversation seemed to consist entirely of “Oh, yes, Miss Woodhouse! Oh, no, Miss Woodhouse!” How could Emma put up with it, day after day? Not, in truth, that she has much alternative, thought Jane. Then she wondered briefly how Harriet had taken the defection of Mr Elton. Had she been in love with Elton? Had she been greatly grieved? She seemed cheerful enough now.
“I am having a little dinner party next week,” said Emma. “For Mr and Mrs Elton. We must pay proper attention to our new-married pair, must we not? I have persuaded Papa that it is our duty and he has — reluctantly — agreed, provided there be no more than eight persons. Mr and Mrs Weston of course will come, and Mr Knightley — Harriet is unable, for she has a previous engagement —” (here Harriet did look a little conscious) “— will you graciously make up our table, Miss Fairfax? Mr Knightley, I know, always enjoys talking to you.”
Jane could not help a small glow at these words, though she suspected they were spoken mainly in mockery. — She thanked and accepted.
On the day of the dinner party, which was a wet one, heavy with sleety April showers, Mr and Mrs Elton offered to pick up Jane in their carriage. — She had far rather the offer had come from Mr Knightley; she was not very happy to arrive at Hartfield under the aegis, as it were, of the Eltons. — Coming to Hartfield was always a little strange, a little painful for Jane, because, although the house did not seem to welcome her now, so much of her childhood was connected with it; she could never enter the grounds, or the rooms, without recalling those long, fulfilled, peaceful days of childhood, those tranquil hours at the piano, with Mrs Woodhouse silently listening in the next room; and the strange unhappy week spent with the newly-bereaved Emma. Does she ever think of those days? Jane wondered.
To her surprise and pleasure she had discovered, earlier in the day, that Mr John Knightley was also to be one of the guests. She had met him in the village with his two little boys. It seemed that he had come down from London to escort these, the eldest of his children, who were to pay a visit to their grandfather and aunt. — To do Emma justice, she does seem to be an affectionate aunt, thought Jane. — But how will Mr Woodhouse endure such an enlargement of his group, if he cannot tolerate more than eight people round the dinner table? And how will Mr John Knightley enjoy being plunged into the middle of a social gathering? Of old, Jane knew him for a somewhat taciturn, unsociable individual.
Fortunately for Mr Woodhouse’s peace of mind, Mr Weston had been unexpectedly summoned to town, and was not able to present himself at dinner-time. The numbers around the table were no more than they should be.
Mr John Knightley, who had always, in his quiet, reserved way, been fond of Jane, talked to her before dinner, while his brother and Mrs Weston engaged the Eltons.
“I hope you did not venture far, Miss Fairfax, this morning, or I am sure you must have been wet?”
“I went only to the post office,” said Jane, “and reached home before the rain was much. It is my daily errand. A walk before breakfast does me good.”
“Not a walk in the rain, I imagine,” he said drily. “When you have lived to my age you will begin to think that letters are never worth going through the rain for.”
“I cannot expect,” said Jane, “that simply growing older should make me indifferent about letters.”
“Letters are no matter of indifference; they are generally a very positive curse.”
“I can easily believe that letters are very little to you!” cried Jane. “You have everybody dearest to you always at hand! I, probably, never shall again; and therefore, till I have outlived all my affections, a post office, I think, must always have power to draw me out, even in worse weather than today.”
Mr Woodhouse, approaching, remarked, “I am very sorry to hear, Miss Fairfax, of your being out this morning in the rain. Young ladies should take care of themselves. Young ladies are delicate plants. — My dear, did you change your stockings?”
“Yes, sir, I did indeed; and I am very much obliged by your kind solicitude.”
Mrs Elton, catching part of this conversation, now opened fire upon Jane.
“My dear Jane, what is this I hear? — Going to the post office in the rain? This must not be! You sad girl, how could you do such a thing? — Mrs Weston, did you ever hear the like? You and I must positively assert our authority! We will not allow her to do such a thing again! There must be some arrangement made, there must indeed. The man who fetches our letters every morning (one of our men, I forget his name) shall bring yours to you.”
“You are extremely kind,” said Jane, alarmed, “but I cannot give up my early walk.”
“My dear Jane, say no more about it — consider that point as settled.”
“Excuse me,” said Jane earnestly. “I cannot by any means consent to such an arrangement —”
Unintentionally, she caught Emma’s eye. A deep intelligence seemed to flash between them.
She has guessed something, thought Jane. She knows something. But knows what?
Hastily, almost at random, she began speaking again — about the post office — its efficiency in despatching letters to their correct destinations — the great variety of hand-writings — their general indecipherability; the talk turned next to similarities of hand-writing within a family — Emma’s writing and that of her sister Isabella were cited as examples.
Emma herself suddenly struck in, rather wide of the point at issue.
“Mr Frank Churchill writes one of the best gentleman’s hands I ever saw.”
Good God! thought Jane, transfixed. Then she did see his letter! She recognised his writing on the paper in my hand, last week in the meadow!
The rest of the discussion was no more than a confused murmur in Jane’s mind; she was deeply relieved when dinner was announced, not long after, and she heard Mrs Elton say, with her artificial laugh:
“Must I go first? I really am ashamed of always leading the way!”
Emma gave Jane a smiling, sidelong conscious glance as she took the other girl’s arm and led her to the dining-room; any observer might have considered the appearance of goodwill as highly becoming to the beauty and grace of each.
After dinner Mrs Elton, ignoring her hostess in a manner which Jane could not help finding ill-bred and highly inappropriate to the occasion, led Jane aside and after first giving her another scold on the folly of her walks to the post office, brought the conversation round to her future career.
“Here is April come,” she said. “I get quite anxious about you. Have you really heard of nothing?”
“I do not wish to make any inquiry yet.”
“Oh, my dear child, your inexperience really amuses me! Indeed, indeed, we must begin inquiring directly.”
“When I
am quite determined as to the time — which I am not at present,” said Jane firmly, “there are places in town — offices for the sale, not quite of human flesh, but of human intellect —”
“Oh, my dear, you quite shock me; — but, you know, it will not satisfy your friends to have you taking up with any inferior, commonplace situation —”
“I am quite serious,” said Jane positively, “in wishing nothing to be done till the summer.”
“And I am quite serious too, I assure you,” replied Mrs Elton gaily, “in resolving to be always on the watch, that nothing really unexceptionable may pass by —”
Vexed, harassed almost beyond endurance, Jane hardly knew how to make a polite response. Fortunately, soon afterwards, Mr Weston made his appearance among them. He was cheerful and exultant after a satisfactory day in London, and because of a letter from Frank which he had found at home and handed to his wife.
“Read it, read it: he is coming, you see; good news, I think! In town next week, you see. They will stay a good while when they do come, and Frank will be half his time with us!”
Turning to Mrs Elton, who was close at hand, Mr Weston said, “I hope, ma’am, I shall soon have the pleasure of introducing my son to you.”
Chapter 15
Soon the Churchills were known to be in London. Jane, returning with Aunt Hetty from a call on Mrs Cole, was thunderstruck, one morning, to see Frank in the street, on horseback. Though why should I be so startled? she reprimanded herself. Nothing is more natural, after all. — He had just ridden down for a couple of hours, he told them; had been at Randalls with his stepmother; in ten minutes or so, might he impose himself on them for a short visit? He was so eager to hear again that delightful upper register of Miss Fairfax’s new piano. And had she yet — with a conspiratorial smile at Jane — heard anything about it from Colonel Campbell?
He came — after considerably more than a ten-minute interval — listened to the piano, pronounced it even mellower in tone than he had recalled, and informed them with great satisfaction that the ball at the Crown Inn was once again under practical consideration.
Though happy to hear this news, Jane was not a little piqued to find that, after the encounter in the street, and before coming to call on them, he had been visiting at Hartfield. — He seemed unusually flushed and excited. Was that because he had been talking to Emma? There was no opportunity for a private word between them. All must be open, public, such as might be heard by any person. There seemed no end to the evils of their situation. Jane longed to ask him what was the matter, but found no possibility of doing so.
This was the only sight of Frank she was to be granted for ten days. He was often hoping, intending to come, but as often prevented. That his aunt was really ill was very certain. And it soon appeared that London was not the place for her. She could not endure its noise. Her nerves were under continual irritation and suffering; and by the ten days’ end a letter from Frank to his father communicated a change of plan. They were going to remove immediately to Richmond. Mrs Churchill had been recommended to the medical skill of an eminent practitioner there, and had otherwise a fancy for the place. A ready-furnished house was engaged for May and June.
Mr Weston was overjoyed. “Now we shall really have Frank in our neighbourhood! What are nine miles to an active young man — an hour’s ride! He will be able to visit us almost every day — Richmond is the very distance for easy intercourse. Now we can name a day for our ball — a May ball! What could be better? Even dear Mr Woodhouse can have no alarms on the score of draughts or damp.”
The day for the ball was fixed; but Jane, after so many alterations of plan, found herself almost indifferent to its arrival. What pleasure can it hold for me? she asked herself. And she prepared herself quietly and mechanically for the evening’s gaiety, piling up her hair in the Parisian style that she had once achieved for Rachel, interweaving it with spangles and beads.
“Oh, my dear! Your hair!” cried her aunt. “I am sure everyone will be — Well! It is so very —! And here is kind Mr Knightley’s carriage, ready to take Grandmamma to Hartfield. Mind, now, ma’am, you take your shawl — for the evenings are not warm — your large new shawl that Mrs Dixon sent you — our friends are so kind! — such a beautiful blue. Colonel Campbell rather preferred an olive, I remember, Jane said, but I am sure blue better becomes — there were three, Jane said, under consideration, but in the end the blue was chosen. Now, ma’am, I shall just run round from the ball so as to bring you home, for I know Mr Woodhouse does not like to sit up too late; you may expect me at half-past nine — our best regards of course to dear Mr Woodhouse — well, Jane, are you ready? Here now is Mr Elton’s carriage for us — dear me, so many carriages stopping at our door, people will think — and it is only just across the road, after all, no more than a hop, skip and jump — but, true, it rains just a little — or almost rains — what Patty would call a mizzle —”
Frank was at the door of the Crown to receive them, with smiles and umbrellas. His eyes told Jane how much he admired her looks. — She began to feel happier. And the large old spacious rooms looked very well, thronged with cheerful people who all knew one another, the darkened paint and stained paper softened and made mellow in a blaze of candlelight.
The Eltons had arrived already and been introduced to Frank; Jane heard Mrs Elton’s comments on him:
“A very fine young man indeed, Mr Weston! I am happy to say that I am extremely pleased with him — so truly the gentleman, without the least conceit or puppyism. You must know I have a vast dislike of puppies — quite a horror of them. They were never tolerated at my brother-in-law’s house, at Maple Grove. — Ah, Jane dear! Did the carriage collect you as it ought? You wear white — very right. I like to see a young girl — and your hair, always so clever. How do you like my gown? Do you approve this trimming? I rely on your taste. — How has Wright done my hair? What do you think of this fashion? Nobody can think of dress less than I do as a rule, — but, since this ball is given in compliment to me — I see very few pearls in the room except mine — even Miss Woodhouse does not — What do you think of this lace? Is it not charming? — So: Frank Churchill is a capital dancer! We shall see if our styles suit. A very fine young man, certainly, is Frank Churchill; I like him very well.”
Frank, happening to catch Jane’s eye at this moment, gave her a wink, a slow deliberate wink on the side of his face away from Mrs Elton; Jane gasped, choked into her fan, and quickly looked away. But her spirits rose.
They sank again, quickly, when the ball opened; Mr Weston with Mrs Elton led the way, Frank followed with Emma Woodhouse, having claimed the promise made by her to him when they inspected the room. Jane, dejected, must settle for dancing with Mr Elton, whose style did not suit her at all, thought he evidently thought well of it himself, for he bowed and flourished and was in a continual course of smiles.
Mr Knightley, Jane observed, was not dancing; he stood among the older men and looked rather gloomy; Jane thought, not for the first time, how handsome and distinguished he appeared among the bulky country squires and thickset shoulders. Why did he come to the ball, if not to dance? she wondered. She had far rather he had been her partner than Elton. The evils of her patronage by the Eltons were incalculable. She wished there were some way — any way — in which she might distance herself from them.
Even more so did she wish it just before the supper interval when she saw Mr Elton give poor Harriet Smith a sharp and surely undeserved snub. Invited by Mrs Weston to dance with Miss Smith, the only young lady at that moment sitting down, he replied in a loud carrying tone: “Miss Smith — oh! I had not observed. But I am an old married man, Mrs Weston — my dancing days are over.”
As he had been dancing with Jane herself not half an hour before, she could imagine with what surprise and mortification Miss Smith heard these words — especially since Mr Elton and his wife were now exchanging meaning smiles.
Next moment Mr Knightley stepped forward and invited Harr
iet to dance.
Jane, standing next them in the set, partnered this time by Frank, saw that Harriet’s eyes were swimming with tears, and that she was directing towards Mr Knightley a gaze almost of worship. Poor little thing, she looked as if she had been reprieved from the scaffold. This should, at any rate, cure her of any partiality for Mr Elton, thought Jane. What an odious piece of behaviour! — She was pleased to observe the villain in question retreat to the card-room looking decidedly foolish.
Supper was announced, and now Jane must feel more comfortable, for Frank escorted her to the supper-room, along with Aunt Hetty, newly returned from seeing old Mrs Bates home after her evening with Mr Woodhouse. “I ran away, as I said I should, to help grandmamma to bed, and got back, and nobody missed me. Dear Jane, how shall we ever recollect half the dishes for grandmamma? Soup too! Bless me! I should not be helped so soon, but it smells most excellent —”
“Will you dance with me again?” Frank asked Jane after supper.
“Would not that look too particular?”
“Oh, no, I am sure not.”
“Should you not dance with Miss Woodhouse?” she said rather coldly.
“No, why? See, she is walking on to the floor with Knightley. And looks very happy to do so.”
“Oh well — in that case —”
“Come, Miss Woodhouse, Miss Otway, Miss Fairfax,” cried Mrs Weston, “What are you all doing? Come, Emma, set your companions an example. You are all lazy! Everybody is asleep!”
