"And Mrs. Elton has always wanted to be going somewhere," said Emma demurely, and not without some suppressed glee. "I think America might be far enough to satisfy even her! But what about her desire for Italy? Can that be done away with?"
"We are being precipitate," said Mr. Knightley, "we do not know that they will go anywhere at all. Now I am aware that they are open to the idea of settling elsewhere for the purpose of retrenchment, however, I shall lay this American project before Elton, and keep on the watch for other prospects that may present themselves. As justice of the peace, and with my brother's law business in London, I hear of various openings, from time to time. Something we must find to help out the good Eltons."
CHAPTER THREE
America!" exclaimed Mrs. Elton. "Mr. Elton, have you taken leave of your senses? You know we have our trip to Italy in T contemplation. How could you think that I would ever consent to go out to a land of savages?"
It was after dinner, the children were asleep, and the Eltons were seated one each side of the fire, looking into their future.
"They are not savages in America, my love. Boston is a very fine city - very handsome - and I am offered a most desirable living, in one of the most important churches. You do not consider how much faster a man of the cloth can get on, in this new country. Why, I should have the importance that, here at home, might scarcely belong to a bishop. In England, you know, it is uncertain what I might make of myself, without influence, connections. In America, my own merit would determine the thing."
"Oh, Mr. Elton, how can you say you have no connections!" his wife protested. "There is my brother Mr. Suckling, and Mr. Knightley would surely do anything for you."
"I have been in Highbury these dozen years, Augusta, and my position is not altered a jot for the better, rather for the worse," he complained. "Your brother has no influence in the Church; and Knightley is not to be depended upon for preferment. Though, to give him his due, it was he who put me in the way of this Boston business."
"I understand. He wishes to be rid of us - or rather, his wife does, and he is ruled by her. I always knew how it would be. But if we are to be exiled, why must it be to America? Why not Italy, where we can see so many fine paintings? There are no paintings at all in America."
"You are mistaken, my love; there are some very fine ones in Boston, and everything else you like there besides. A high exclusive society - a lady such as yourself might move in the very first ranks, Augusta. Remember they are not used to English people of the best breeding and education: you will be sure to take the city by storm, and rank as a regular Queen of society."
Mrs. Elton was visibly flattered at the prospect, and her husband pressed his advantage.
"It is the New World you know," he continued, "and everything is bigger and better there. We should have a much bigger house, and be able to afford fine gowns for the girls. If we do not choose to return, Philip Augustus shall have the advantage of a Harvard education."
"Oh! How you talk!" said Mrs. Elton, and picked up her sewing with a discontented expression that might have been called a scowl, had it not been upon a lady's face. "As if that were the equal of an Oxford one. No, I beg you will not refer to this matter again, the mere idea distresses me."
If Mr. Elton was prudent enough not to mention the American scheme for some little time, that was not the case with Mrs. Elton's neighbours, who, once the news was spread about, never stopped talking about it at all. The residents of Highbury were not given to travelling, as a rule; and the news that the Eltons were to go abroad on a journey - to Italy or to America did not much signify - created a positive sensation.
Mr. Cole wanted to know if Mr. Elton would convert the Indians, and Mrs. Goddard pleaded with his wife very earnestly to do something about the slave trade. Miss Bates was the most agitated of all, and walked up to the parsonage to talk about it with Mrs. Elton, even though she was growing very stout, and the walk left her puffy and breathless.
"America! Bless me! Only think! What ever would Jane have said? It is at such times as these that I miss her most sadly, Mrs. Elton, as I am sure you do. How she should have enjoyed hearing an account of your plans! It is post time that is the emptiest time of the day to me, you know, for that is when I recollect that I am never to receive a letter from Jane, and never can write to her, either, where she is. But I shall write to dearest Frank. The news may cheer him a little, if anything could: it is barely a twelvemonth since Jane left us, you know, and how I wish that she might have gone with you to the great prairies, which are such a cure for the consumption. Perhaps she might still have been here, had it been thought of."
"We are not going to the prairies," said Mrs. Elton shortly, "if we go to America at all it will be to Boston, which is a very different thing; but I have no idea of it. I am in hopes that Mr. Elton will come to his senses about Italy."
"Boston! Italy! Only think, how you do fly about! Fancy going so far away, quite across the sea! At least, Boston is across the sea. Italy, I do not quite know. There is the Mediterranean, I believe. A very odd place; I never know if it is spelt with two t's, or one, or two r's, or perhaps even three; it is so unaccountable. I always say it has a heathenish sound. Not that I have cause to talk of the Mediterranean so very often, but lately, since you have been thinking of going out, I have said the name two or three times, and very strange it sounds. And so it does not make you nervous, to go such a distance from home? I do not believe I ever knew any one who journeyed so far before. To be sure, there is Mrs. Dixon who married and went to Ireland - and Frank took poor Jane to Switzerland - I am so glad that she saw the mountains, while she was still alive. The snow on top of them she said, was very frightful. I am sure I should have been frightened to death, myself, of the snow falling down. Avalanching, I believe, it is called, and very dangerous it is. But little Jane declares that she admires the Alps, of all things. Enscombe, you know, is positively full of the fine engravings they brought back - a great many of them, of different mountains I should say. I never saw so fine a house as Enscombe - we were all so happy there. Everyone so happy."
Miss Bates put her handkerchief to her eyes, and shook her head dolefully. She had made her home at Enscombe in Yorkshire for some years after the death of her old mother; and had nursed her niece devotedly in her sad illness. In gratitude Frank Churchill had settled a sum on her which was sufficient to relieve her from want in her own old age, and now she was returned to her native Highbury where she felt most comfortably at home. The Churchills' little daughter divided her Highbury time between Miss Bates and the Westons, and the next piece of news to be spread through the parlours and drawing-rooms of Highbury, was that of the girl's arrival, which was most joyfully announced by Miss Bates to Mrs. Elton, on the very next day.
"She is with the Westons at this very moment - and will remain for a month or six weeks - sure, she is as happy as possible with their little girls, and Mrs. Weston is so kind but then her papa has promised she shall make a stay with her Aunt Hetty, too, on condition I do not ply her with too many seed-cakes and good things. He is as careful of her health, after what happened to her poor mother, as even Mr Woodhouse himself could be, poor dear Mr. Woodhouse, who was always such a proverb for carefulness."
"Yes, Mr. Woodhouse is much to be regretted; a fine old gentleman, and always devoted to me, positively," Mrs. Elton replied, with some complacency, "quite an admirer of mine. I remember him very kindly - and it must be these eight years since he went. Yet, on the whole, a good thing for the Knightleys; his death was quite a release for them."
"A good thing! I am quite shocked, Mrs. Elton, how could the loss of dear old Mr. Woodhouse be a good thing?"
"Why, you recollect that the Knightleys were able to get into Donwell Abbey then; and I am sure Knightley could not have wished the removal were even one day later. It was rather too much to be absolutely living at Hartfield with the old gentleman. I felt quite sorry for Knightley, though he took it with the greatest good nature."
"My dear Mrs. Elton! No one could be less likely than Mr. Knightley to entertain such thoughts. I am sure he regretted his dear father-in-law most sincerely."
"Oh, well, I know you are a great favourite with Knightley, Miss Bates," said Mrs. Elton carelessly, "and to be sure, he has done considerable to assist Mr. Elton. It is entirely due to him that this Boston post is offered, and I understand it is splendid, quite splendid. We are quite in Knightley's debt."
This was perhaps more true than Mrs. Elton was aware; for between her husband and Mr. Knightley, some money transactions had been arranged, that had relieved Mr. Elton from certain embarrassments, and which he fully intended to pay back, some day or other.
"Is it so very fine, indeed? That is quite what I should have expected from dear Mr. Knightley. He is generous to a fault. Such good neighbours as we do have in Highbury even when I was so happy at Enscombe, you know, my heart was always longing after my good friends here."
"I am sure it was," said Mrs. Elton, only half-attending. "I am sure I shall everlastingly be missing you all, when I am at Boston."
And so insensibly, hardly knowing how it happened, Mrs. Elton's talked-about trip to Italy, turned into the absolute fact of emigration to the New World; and almost before she was aware, the arrangements were concluded. A curate was found, inexpensive and hard working, who might be lodged in the village; and a gentleman was to be installed at the vicarage with the view of using it as a shooting-box at certain seasons of the year.
Passage was arranged, clothing and amenities for the journey packed into trunks, and which of the servants were to stay at the vicarage and which to depart, was decided. The Eltons would take out with them a maid-of-all-work and a manservant, and acquire other help according to what their establishment in Boston required. The last of the preparations for their departure on the first of June, was the expected round of calls to take leave; and they were celebrated in so many dinners by their neighbours that in their final fortnight in Highbury they never once dined at home, as every one wanted to hear all the particulars of their great adventure that was to come.
The very last dinner party was given by the Knightleys, and it was a select affair: Mr. and Mrs. John Knightley, Mr. Frank Churchill, Miss Bates, the Coles, and the Westons, were all gathered to do the Eltons honour. Not since her wedding, had such a party been collected especially for her, Mrs. Elton was complacently aware; it would almost have been worth leaving the world she knew, to be so feted, were it not for the disconcerting suspicion that the éclat of the celebration might gain something from the guests' delight in getting rid of her.
However, Mrs. Elton was not capable of containing such an unflattering reflection about herself for very long, and she rejoiced in a very comfortable, preening contemplation of her position in society, which was only to be surpassed by the prominence she would enjoy in Boston.
"I do not expect so very much from the place," she told Mrs. Knightley, "I am not so ignorant as to think it is a mere unintellectual landscape, as the modern poet says; Boston, you know, is the capital of culture in America, quite the capital of culture."
"I hope you shall be extremely comfortable in your new home," said Mrs Knightley civilly, "you will soon be acquainted with all your parishioners, and I am sure you will lack for nothing, in either a social, or a material way."
"Oh! surely not. Boston has the very newest sort of emporiums, I have heard. Every sort of thing that one could possibly want, is to be had there. In fact, I expect a city, like Boston, will be far livelier than an out-of-the-way little place like Highbury. We will dine with so many families, and have such charming concerts, and go to picture-galleries every day - it will be quite a civilized life."
Emma, diverted as well as annoyed by Mrs. Elton's air of importance, tried to catch her husband's eye, but he was calmly occupied in the carving of a majestic saddle of mutton, and did not observe.
"And it is a healthy place?" asked Mrs. Weston anxiously. "I have heard there are swamps in America, where agues and plagues are very rampant."
"Not in Boston, my dear Anne," her husband assured her. "The Eltons will find themselves in a bracing climate, I believe, such as will stimulate health."
"Quite cold in winter. You will freeze, unless you have a very sound brick house with good fires," murmured Mr. John Knightley, with a shudder. He had never been able to conceive how any man with a good house could leave it and cross an ocean for another, but as the Eltons were no particular loss in his estimation, he kept his strictures largely to himself.
"How shocking!" said his wife, "I do hope little Philip Augustus and Selina and Gussie will not be too chilly. The sweet children! You must bring plenty of woollen blankets with you, Mrs. Elton."
"I hope you mean to write to us, Mrs. Elton. We will look forward to your letters, quite anxiously," Mrs. Weston assured her kindly. "You will be our American correspondent."
"Yes, Elton, we will look to you for political intelligence," said Mr. Knightley, passing him a plate of mutton. "You will tell us all about Mr. James Monroe and Mr. John Quincey Adams, and their doings."
"Oh! You will be living in a place with a President," exclaimed Miss Bates. "To think of no longer living in a kingdom. The idea makes me quite dizzy. And our two countries have been so often at war. I wonder if they will again."
"They are not at the present time, Miss Bates, and there is no likelihood of such a thing. The Eltons will be perfectly safe," she was assured on all sides.
"Yes, once they have crossed the sea. That, I confess, is the part that frightens me more than anything. Are you not frightened, Mrs. Elton? You may be ill, you know, upon the sea. Oh! I cannot bear to think of it. It is a particularly frightful element."
"Not in the least, a sea voyage is what many ladies have accomplished," Augusta said confidently, "and modern arrangements make all so comfortable. I am sure I shall be a very good sailor. Mine is the very temperament for it. My nerves, my resources, you know, are not like anybody else's. I have a firm resolve, and I am perfectly resolved I shall not be ill. I believe it is only your weak, fainting sort of ladies, who succumb to such vapours."
"Well, you may be very sure that all your old neighbours wish you a safe journey, and Godspeed," said Mr. Knightley good-naturedly.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Medusa set sail from Liverpool the second week in June, with Mr. and Mrs. Elton, their three children, and their two servants aboard. Her first sight of the dock was a considerable shock to Mrs. Elton. As the family stood closely together, with their portmanteaux and boxes arrayed about them, she was conscious of a rising sense of discomfort. The Eltons were not being distinguished in any way among the throng, or treated as passengers of pre-eminent importance. People of all sorts and kinds, large families of emigrants, sailors and stewards, visitors and pet animals, dogs, cats, and parrots in cages, caused a scene of bustling confusion that could not fail to bewilder those fresh from a quiet place like Highbury; and the Eltons stood at a loss, without a conductor or any one at all to receive them, or to tell them what to do or where they should be. Mr. Elton saw the expression of dismay upon his wife's face, and made an attempt to cheer her spirits.
"Only look, what a fine ship ours is, my dear. Is it not trim, and stout? Quite a beauty, I declare. Although I ought not to say 'it'; a ship is usually referred to as 'she' you know."
Mrs. Elton shifted her apprehensive gaze from the dock and the people around her, to the ship itself, and her expression did not vary. "It is so small," she protested. "How ever can all these people, and their goods, be carried inside, with safety? I am sure it cannot be safe, Philip."
"Depend upon it, Augusta, the seamen know their business," her husband said with confidence. "It is larger than it looks. Do not be afraid."
"Papa, papa, is that the ship? Shall we sink in it?" asked little Philip Augustus in piercing tones, that raised a shudder in several anxious-appearing persons standing about.
"Hush! hush, my dear, of course we shall not
sink, what a thing to say. It is perfectly safe. Only see, the captain over there, with his brass buttons - that is Captain Jennings. He will not let anything happen to us."
"Do you think he is a very safe man?" Mrs. Elton queried nervously.
"Certainly, certainly so. Captain Jennings is as safe as houses. He has a fine reputation. Do you know what a reputation is, little Philip?"
Somehow, with all the confusion and swarms of people, order was in the course of the morning duly brought out of chaos, and passengers and belongings alike were stowed aboard. There was another bad moment when the Eltons perceived that the private, first class cabin they had taken, was a mere bolt hole, scarcely broad enough to fit themselves inside, with the three children in one tiny bunk and Mr. and Mrs. Elton in the other. The servants must fare as best as they might in the common steerage quarters below. To make things worse, a terrible creaking of boards was heard, as the ship moved about in its berth, weighted heavily down by freight and human cargo.
"Will it always be moving about so dreadfully?" asked Mrs. Elton querulously. "If it is no worse, I think - I believe that I shall be a good sailor enough, and not be ill. I do not feel at all ill thus far."
"We are still in port, my love," said Mr. Elton, feeling not unanxious himself, "but we were wise in breakfasting lightly, and I am sure we need anticipate no evil consequences."
"But here is no room for our trunks. How are we to be served, for a voyage of weeks in duration, perhaps, with our goods not to hand, and our servants not near?"
At that moment a sailor with a cheery face and long strings of hair, poked his face into the cabin. "Good afternoon. I am Edward, and you must tell me what you require to make you comfortable. We shall be embarking presently, sir, and tea will then be serving in the saloon. Fresh eggs and pork and greens and baking goods have all been taken aboard, and the feeding will be very fine, you will see. The Medusa has better food than almost any other ship I have ever served in."
Mrs Elton in Amercia Page 8
