by Joan Aiken
Another set formed, and the ball proceeded.
Jane went home from it thinking better even than before of Mr Knightley (if that were possible) and worse of the Eltons, which was not at all difficult.
On the day succeeding the ball, a dramatic event occurred at Highbury, involving Mr Frank Churchill and Miss Harriet Smith. Jane Fairfax did not witness it, but was, in the course of time, told about it by a large number of persons who had not been at the scene either, but knew all about it from one source or another.
Frank, expected back at Richmond by the middle of the day, was due to leave early in the morning. — He did, however, contrive a short call at the Bateses’, on pretext of returning Aunt Hetty’s scissors which he had borrowed during the ball to trim a candle-wick. Miss Bates being out at church he had achieved five minutes’ private conversation with Jane in which they both agreed that Elton had behaved odiously to poor Harriet, and that his wife was unremittingly vulgar.
“Emma was in such a rage about it — she was saying to me that Elton had behaved disgracefully.”
“Whereas Mr Knightley behaved beautifully,” said Jane, wishful to get away from the subject of Emma, who seemed to recur a great deal in Frank’s conversation at present.
“Knightley is a very decent fellow. I am sorry that he has taken such a strong dislike to me. I cannot think why!” said Frank cheerfully.
Then he insisted on talking about Switzerland.
“Since we can make no immediate plans,” he declared, “let us prepare far-distant ones. I shall take you one day to Geneva — the Castle of Chillon — oh, how you will love those lakes and mountains. How their background will set off your beauty!”
“Oh, how unpractical you are!” sighed Jane. But nonetheless she was a little soothed by his promises, and by the fact that he had contrived to come and see her.
It was not until later in the day that, from Mrs Goddard, they heard of his subsequent adventure. Having taken a shortcut on foot and arranged to meet his chaise a mile beyond Highbury, he had heard female cries of distress as he walked forward, and found Harriet Smith and Miss Bickerton, a fellow-pupil at Mrs Goddard’s, being harried by a band of gypsies in a deep, narrow lane. Miss Bickerton had managed to escape the troop by climbing up the bank and running across a field, Miss Smith, trembling and terrified, had given the gypsies a shilling and was being assailed by demands for more.
The troop, mostly children, were at once frightened off by young Mr Churchill, who then escorted the petrified, palpitating Miss Smith to the nearest house (Hartfield, as it happened) where she immediately fainted.
Such an adventure as this — a fine young man and a lovely young woman thrown together in such romantic circumstances — could hardly fail of suggesting certain ideas to the ready minds and readier tongues of Highbury. Within half a day gossip had Mr Churchill and Miss Smith marked down as a most peculiarly interesting couple; and Jane, who, whatever and among all her jealous anxieties, could not impute to Frank the smallest interest in foolish little Harriet, could breathe easy for a while.
One of the worst evils of their situation, she had decided, was the growth of misunderstandings and misapprehensions which, based perhaps in the first place on small, inadvertent errors, had no chance of being talked away in the natural course of communication, but grew and festered.
She was assured by Frank that he had no real interest in Emma Woodhouse, and yet, when she saw his manner to her, and, even more, the way in which Emma received these attentions, it was hard for Jane to remain tranquil and unperturbed. — Emma would have him in a moment if he offered, I am sure of it, she thought. Oh! how trapped I feel here, how I wish that I could get away and occupy my mind with something sensible, instead of these morbid fancies. — I wonder if Emma feels trapped here too?
During the week following the ball at the Crown a fair was held in Highbury; this was an annual event, instituted centuries ago as a horse- and hiring-fair; there were still nowadays to be found a few booths selling cloth, leather articles, tools, produce, and cheeses, but the greater part of the proceedings were now given over to sports, merriment, fortune-telling, maypole- and morris-dancing, and the sale of knick-knacks. Jane, as a child, had always longed to visit the fair, but it was not patronised by the gentry. “There are too many rough, rude doings,” had said Aunt Hetty, “it is not an affair for gently-bred little folk. Mrs Woodhouse never takes Isabella or Emma, you may be sure!” and so small Jane had sighed out her longing from a distance, listening through an open bedroom window to the joyful sounds of kettledrum, pipes, and fiddle in the big meadow behind the George and Dragon.
Only half seriously she had once suggested to Frank that this would be an occasion when formality might be waived, if he wished to escort her and Harriet Smith (who, likewise, had been heard one day voicing a plaintive wish to see the jollifications, and being most decidedly set down by Emma, who told her that it was a noisy, tawdry affair, in no way befitting the notice of persons of quality).
Frank, however, had shown a reluctance to accede to Jane’s suggestions; greatly though he would enjoy accompanying his dear Jane and little Miss Smith to the village junketings, he doubted if his aunt would countenance another visit to Highbury quite so soon after the ball; the matter was therefore left indefinite; and, by the day of the fair, Jane still had not heard from him. Boldly, therefore, she resolved to ignore convention, to see and enjoy the festivity for herself; and she communicated her intention to Harriet Smith, who was overjoyed to be her companion. Accordingly the two young ladies, having paid their sixpence at the gate, began with caution to explore the aisles between the canvas booths.
“Oh, Miss Fairfax, is not this entertaining? Do look at the little pigs in that pen — and the sheep-shearing, oh, how fast they do it! — Gracious me! What enormous cheeses! Only see those muslins, how very cheap, I wonder if I should buy a length? Or a kerchief, or a posy? But then one would have to carry them. And here are mops and pails, but I do not wish to purchase a mop … Oh, Miss Fairfax, a fortune-teller! Only a penny! Should we have our fortunes told?”
But Jane, with a slight shiver, dragged the over-enthusiastic Miss Smith away from the fortune-teller’s booth, with its tinsel moon and stars; she felt far too uncertain of her own future to wish to put it to the question.
“Let us watch the maypole-dancing,” she proposed instead.
“Oh yes! Let us!” agreed Harriet with perfect docility.
The maypole-dancing was pure delight, with its white garlanded pole and light-footedly expert boys and girls, each holding the end of a different-coloured ribbon, twining these into webs and patterns, sometimes closely enfolding the pole, sometimes spread out into an airy curtain. The music made one long to be in there dancing also …
“If only Frank were here to enjoy this with me,” thought Jane, at that moment honestly longing for him; and the next instant she saw Frank himself, on the opposite side of the circular space round the maypole, in the company of Emma Woodhouse. At the same time he saw Jane — looked amused and delighted and self-congratulatory; then he, along with Emma, was eagerly threading his way through the crowd towards Miss Smith and herself. His explanations for arriving thus unexpectedly, and with the wrong lady, were entirely reasonable:
“Was not this famous? At the very last, his aunt had relented, so rode at top speed to Highbury; learned that Miss Fairfax and Miss Smith had gone to the fair on their own — doughty young ladies! — Had started off, accordingly, in search of them, and by the post office had encountered Miss Woodhouse who, pleased by the music in the distance, had finally allowed him to persuade her …”
All this was run through very gaily, and the smile he gave Jane was entirely confident, full of affection. But had he not — Jane asked herself — been giving just such another smile to Miss Woodhouse a moment before?
“Now, ladies, what would you wish to see next?” said he. “The Learned Pig? The blacksmith’s shop? The fish stall? Miss Fairfax, would not your aunt enjo
y a fine fresh fish for her supper? I am entirely at your service.”
“Oh — good gracious!” cried out Harriet. “Look, Miss Woodhouse — there is Mr Martin with his sisters —” pointing to a ruddy-faced young farmer accompanying a pair of plain, sensible-looking girls. “Oh, should I not go and bid them good-day?”
“No, no, certainly not,” said Emma, “they have not seen you, there is not the least occasion to go out of your way to distinguish them. Mr Churchill, I thank you for your escort; and I must aver that the fair is just as I expected: a noisy, vulgar romp, worth a five-minutes’ visit, no more. I shall now be equally obliged for your company back to Hartfield; and, Harriet, I think you had best return with me; spending more than a brief time at such an event as this will do you no credit; let us hope that no one of consequence in Highbury has noticed you here.”
“Very well, Miss Woodhouse,” murmured Harriet, quite quenched; and Jane, deprived of her companion, had no option but to quit the scene with the others.
She was silent on the return walk and when Frank asked if, having escorted Miss Woodhouse home, he might call on her aunt and grandmother, she replied to him coolly that they would not be at home; they were bidden to the vicarage later that day.
“Sooner you than I!” said Emma. “Then, Mr Churchill, you are kindly welcome to come in and entertain my father, who is always happy to see you.”
May, with its primroses and hawthorn blossom, was warming into June when the Eltons gave a party.
Mrs Elton, arriving in Highbury, had been greatly shocked at the inferior standards of the social evenings there, at the want of ice, the smallness of the rooms, the pitiful quantity and quality of rout-cakes, and the unblushing use of dog-eared packs of cards that had plainly been dealt and shuffled many times before. — She now proposed to make a return for all the hospitality she had received by one very superior and prestigious party.
“Will it be necessary for us to invite the Woodhouses?” she said to her husband. He, after due consideration, replied,
“I fear we must, my love; old Mr W is, after all, the chief churchwarden; but let us wait to invite them until a week after all the other invitations have been sent out; that will show proud Miss Emma at what value we hold her!”
This small piece of spite had an effect which he had not foreseen: apprised in advance of this gala by Mr Knightley and other friends who had received invitations, Emma was able to be ready with a previous engagement of her own: she was so very sorry but that was the evening on which her sister, Mrs Isabella Knightley, was to be with them to collect the little boys, John and Henry … So, honour was satisfied on both sides.
Frank happened to be spending that evening with his father and stepmother and was graciously included in their invitation; he was, of course, happy for a chance to be anywhere in company with Jane, especially in a large concourse of people where, it was to be hoped, his attentions to her might not be remarked.
As it fell out, the younger and more frivolous members of the party were assembled at a large table, playing Speculation, while the older and more sober guests were on the other side of the room, engaged in whist. Frank Churchill contrived to get himself seated by Jane, who had never played Speculation before, and he amused himself by teaching her the fine points of the game and, in general, looking after her hand. Mr Knightley, among the whist players, began to notice, across the room, what he interpreted as signs of unusual intelligence between the pair — certainly looks of great, almost proprietorial admiration, of far more than mere liking, on the gentleman’s side, and a kind of consciousness, of some deeper understanding, on the part of the lady.
Knightley was troubled; he had always, since her childhood, had a considerable regard for Jane Fairfax, and he could not endure the notion that she might have become involved in any kind of clandestine relation — especially with young Mr Churchill, to whom, from the start, for reasons only known to himself, he had taken a strong dislike. — He studied them with greater attention, and, moving their way when the cards were at an end and the company standing in a loose group near the fire, waiting for carriages, heard Frank say in a low tone:
“Do you know what I count as my most treasured possession?”
The talk in the group had been about what should be saved first in a conflagration, supposing one had only a moment in which to choose.
Jane shook her head, deliberately moving away from him, searching with her eyes for her aunt.
“A small handful of letters,” Frank said. “A packet no bigger than would fit into the palm of a glove — that should be my first object —”
But Jane had left him and was saying to Miss Bates, “Aunt Hetty, should we not go home? It grows late and Grandmamma will be anxious —”
“May I not escort you home?” began Frank, but she shook her head vehemently, and was out of the door before he could attract the attention of his father and stepmother.
This looks very bad, thought Knightley to himself; this has all the air of downright collusion. Just what I would have thought of Frank Churchill — an idle, trifling sort of fellow! But how can Jane Fairfax, a girl of superior discretion and understanding — how can she have become so enmeshed?
A week later another series of events brought him yet stronger suspicions.
The Westons and their son had been out walking, and had persuaded Miss Bates and her niece to accompany them. It was a fine June evening and, not far from Hartfield, they encountered Mr Knightley escorting Harriet and Emma homewards from a stroll down Donwell Lane. At Hartfield gates Emma, who knew it was exactly the sort of visiting that would please her father best, urged them all to go in and drink tea with him.
As they were turning in at Hartfield gates, Mr Perry passed on his horse.
“Did Perry, then, never set up his carriage?” asked Frank idly.
“Carriage?” said Mrs Weston. “I did not know that he had any such plan.”
“Nay, I had it from you! You wrote me of it three months ago.”
“Me? Impossible! I never heard of such a plan.”
“Never? Really, never? Then I must have dreamed it. I am a great dreamer,” Frank said laughing. “I dream of all my friends at Highbury when I am away, and when I have gone through them, then I dream of Mr Perry.”
“Why, to own the truth,” cried Miss Bates, “there was such an idea last spring, for Mrs Perry herself mentioned it to my mother — but it was quite a secret, and only thought of about three days — Mrs Perry thought she had prevailed on him to buy a carriage. Jane, don’t you remember grandmamma’s telling us of it — where is Jane? Oh, just behind. Extraordinary that Mr Churchill should have such a dream!”
Mr Knightley saw, or thought he saw, in Frank Churchill’s face, confusion suppressed, or laughed away; he had involuntarily turned towards Jane, but she was behind, busy with her shawl. Mr Knightley suspected in Frank Churchill the determination of catching her eye — he seemed watching her intently — in vain, however, Jane passed between them into the hall and looked at neither.
“Miss Woodhouse,” said Frank Churchill later, when they were all seated at the large round table, having drunk tea, “Miss Woodhouse, did your nephews take away their alphabets? We had great amusement with those letters one morning. I want to puzzle you again.”
Emma, pleased with the thought, produced the box, and the table was quickly scattered over with the letters that she had written on small squares of board for the two little boys.
Frank was now, Knightley observed with strong disapprobation, directing a great deal of attention — what could only be categorized as flirtatious attention — towards Emma, as if to throw a veil over his real thoughts or intentions; after he and Emma had mutually amused one another for a good many minutes by forming words for the other to solve, he, with a rather too casual air, pushed a word in front of Miss Fairfax, who applied herself to it. Frank was next to Emma, Jane opposite them, and Mr Knightley was so placed as to see them all. The word was discovered and, with a f
aint smile, re-jumbled and pushed away. Harriet Smith, eager after every fresh word, directly took it up. She was sitting next to 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 all connected was beyond his comprehension. How the delicacy, the discretion, of his favourite could have been so laid asleep! He feared there must be some decided involvement. Disingenuousness and double dealing seemed to meet him at every turn.
Continuing to watch, he saw a short word prepared for Emma and given to her with a look sly and demure. She 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, and Mr Knightley, darting his eye towards it, saw the word to be Dixon. Jane Fairfax was evidently displeased: looking up, seeing herself watched, she blushed more deeply than Knightley had ever perceived her and saying only, “I did not know that proper names were allowed,” pushed the letters angrily away and turned to her aunt.
“Ay, very true!” cried the latter. “It is time for us to be going, indeed.”
Frank Churchill anxiously pushed towards Jane another collection of letters, but these were ignored.
Jane, wrapped in her shawl, bidding goodnight to Mr Knightley, felt in his parting salutation a gravity, a coldness, a displeasure which, from him, she had never expected to receive; on the walk home with Aunt Hetty, listening to her aunt’s chat, she answered never a word, but walked in silence, sunk in despondency, impotence, and a bitter feeling of injustice.
While Knightley, for his part, strode furiously back to Donwell, feeling that the arrival of Frank Churchill at Highbury had corrupted his two favourite people in it: Emma Woodhouse and Jane Fairfax had both, in different ways, been injured by the young man’s company and had become sly and spiteful on the one hand, deceitful and secretive on the other. — He wished to heaven that the contemptible young puppy had never left Yorkshire.
