“I am very glad,” said Dr. Hughes, “that Miss Fairfax has opportunity to be in the company of new faces. Miss Bates’ circle is extremely affable, but a little restricted, and not at all what Miss Fairfax is accustomed to.”
“Very true, sir.” It still nettled him that Emma had not befriended Miss Fairfax after what had seemed to be a very promising beginning, and had left her to the mercy of Mrs. Elton. Anyone who had Miss Fairfax’s interests at heart must be troubled at this, and he felt that the next logical question from the rector would be why Miss Woodhouse did not proffer companionship to the lonely girl. He could not defend Emma in this; nevertheless, he could not bear the thought of Dr. Hughes thinking ill of her. Hastily, he introduced another subject.
“By the way, have you heard anything of how Mrs. Matthews is faring?”
“I believe she is as well as any new widow could be. Nothing can take away the distress of losing her husband, but at least she is spared the additional grief of being suddenly without support.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
“You are not surprised to hear about her little pension, I believe,” said Dr. Hughes wryly. “You must beware of letting your compassion get the better of your financial stability.”
“I hope she knows nothing of it.”
“No, no, I had it out of the farmer Bradley.”
“He volunteered the information? I had not thought him so indiscreet.”
“Ah, no…” Dr. Hughes looked uncomfortable. “He did not exactly volunteer it.”
“You asked him, then?”
“Not in so many words.”
“May I enquire…?”
Dr. Hughes sighed and said reluctantly, “I asked him if Mrs. Hughes and I might arrange a little pension for Mrs. Matthews, and he said it was only right that I should know…”
Knightley laughed. “Well, I am under no compulsion to take your advice, then. If my compassion will get me into trouble, I hate to think what yours will do.”
The meeting at the Crown the following Wednesday was rather tedious. Mr. Weston was not there, owing to illness, and the absence of such a sensible, cheerful man meant that ideas and proposals were less cogent and the arguments about them much longer than usual. Knightley was a little worried about Weston; he was not the sort of man who curtailed his activities for trifling colds, and he wondered if he was not seriously ill.
When the meeting adjourned, he stood indecisively outside the door of the Crown; he had not been at Hartfield for two days, and his inclination was to go there and look for another opportunity to be of service to Emma. On the other hand, he really ought to call at Randalls and be sure that Weston was not suffering from more than a mild complaint. Rather unwillingly, he turned and walked through the town toward Randalls.
As he passed Mrs. Goddard’s school, the door opened and Emma came out. His heart could not help the little leap it gave when she saw him and smiled. He stood and waited for her to come down the short path that led to the small gate he held open for her.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Knightley! I have just been admiring the telescope you took so much trouble for.”
“Then you approve it?”
“Very much! I have never seen one so fine. You truly are the most generous man.”
Well, that was something. If the telescope had not fulfilled the purpose for which he had chosen it, at least it had added to his virtues in Emma’s eyes.
“Are you going home?” he asked.
“No, to Randalls. Perhaps you have not heard that Mr. Weston is ill. I think it is not much more than a cold in the head, but I am constrained to deliver Serle’s receipt for neat’s foot jelly, at Papa’s insistence, in case the Westons’ cook might not know how to prepare it.”
They both smiled at the notion, but the situation was too well understood to need any comment.
“Should you mind if I accompanied you? I had planned to call and see how Mr. Weston is myself.”
“I would be very pleased to have your company,” said Emma, smiling up at him. “I fear I have still not grown accustomed to solitary walks. I only hope that William Larkins is not waiting anxiously, account-book in hand, for your return.”
Knightley laughed. “I am free of William Larkins’ notice for the afternoon. He is giving his attention to the mentoring of John Perkins, Mr. Gilbert’s new bailiff. At this very moment he is probably showing the young man the new drain Mr. Foote has installed.”
“Is that the farm where the little blind boy and his mother live?”
“It is. Have I told you of the Catherwoods?”
“No, but Mr. Spencer told Miss Bates all about them. Poor little fellow.”
“Yes, but I must say he is a favourite in Donwell now; everyone is eager to show him kindness.”
“Ah, that is very good. Still, he will not be a little boy forever. I do hope he will continue to be treated with kindness and sympathy.”
“Spencer had the same thought, and has some scheme in his mind for teaching the boy music or another skill as he grows, so that he will have a useful occupation.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” said Emma heartily. “It must be a relief to his mother, too. Think what she must have felt when she learned he was blind!”
Emma’s ready sympathy, so natural and artless, touched his heart. All the Woodhouses were kind, of course, but Emma had an intelligent compassion. She might laugh at the foibles of such as Mrs. Elton, but anyone in true distress was the object of her genuine concern. If only her compassion could be awakened toward Jane Fairfax! Jane’s health was indifferent, and more than that, she was suffering under the constant attentions of Mrs. Elton. If Emma had been more her companion, the poor girl would not have been compelled to spend so many hours in company with such tiresome hosts. He had hinted to Emma that she ought to be more Jane Fairfax’s friend, but perhaps he should make a more forthright appeal.
Emma interrupted his thoughts by saying, “Well! I hope William Larkins is a good teacher for Mr. Perkins. I cannot say I would care to be taught by him—I think he would frighten me with his stern propriety—but perhaps Mr. Perkins is made of something more resilient.”
“It is only Larkins’ way, Emma. I have never known him to be unkind.” It was in Knightley’s mind to add something about the solitary life of an old bachelor being poor soil for cultivating a gentle manner, but he stopped himself. That statement would likely be used by Emma to tease him about his bachelor life, and if he were drawn into a discussion about the comparative advantages of matrimony, he would be in exactly the position Spencer had warned him about. There was no telling what he might accidently reveal.
They arrived at Randalls to find Mrs. Weston at home to visitors, happy to report that although Mr. Weston was enduring a miserable cold, she had no doubt that he would be better by the morrow if he continued resting quietly in bed.
“But he is ill enough that he needs to be in his bed?” asked Knightley.
Mrs. Weston smiled. “I daresay he might sit quietly in the drawing room without any material harm being done, but with all the visitors who have come to enquire after his health this afternoon, he would have got very little rest if he had remained here. Although to say the truth, I fear he is almost equally restless knowing that he is being denied enjoyable conversation with our callers.”
“And there you see the burden that comes with being universally well-liked,” said Emma with a smile of her own. “I hope it has not given you cause to regret your marriage to such an amiable man. So we are not the first to express our anxiety about Mr. Weston? But at least I have brought, at Papa’s insistence, a receipt of Serle’s that may help to restore the invalid.”
“How very thoughtful! You will convey our heartfelt thanks to him, I know. Miss Bates brought a receipt for a salve that she said was remarkable for soothing a sore throat, and his cousin a book which he hoped Mr. Weston would find amusing, so we are very well supplied. I only fear the illness will not last long enough for all the remedies
to be tried.”
“Was Miss Fairfax with her aunt?” asked Knightley.
“No, Miss Bates said that she was spending the day with the Eltons—I believe they were to go walking together.”
“I do wonder at Miss Fairfax consenting to spend an entire day with them,” said Emma.
“We cannot suppose that she had any great enjoyment at the vicarage, my dear Emma,” said Mrs. Weston, “but it is better than being always at home. Her aunt is a good creature, but as a constant companion must be very tiresome. We must consider what Miss Fairfax quits before we condemn her taste for what she goes to.”
Here was the opening Knightley was looking for, and he made use of it.
“You are right, Mrs. Weston,” he said. “Miss Fairfax is as capable as any of us of forming a just opinion of Mrs. Elton. Could she have chosen with whom to associate, she would not have chosen her.” He looked at Emma and smiled to soften his reproof. “But she receives attentions from Mrs. Elton which nobody else pays her.”
There, perhaps that would make her think. And it did: he could see a slight blush on her cheeks.
“Such attentions as Mrs. Elton’s I should have imagined would rather disgust than gratify Miss Fairfax. Mrs. Elton’s invitations I should have imagined anything but inviting.”
“I should not wonder,” said Mrs. Weston, “if Miss Fairfax were to have been drawn on beyond her own inclination by her aunt's eagerness in accepting Mrs. Elton's civilities for her. Poor Miss Bates may very likely have committed her niece and hurried her into a greater appearance of intimacy than her own good sense would have dictated, in spite of the very natural wish of a little change.”
That would appeal to Emma’s compassionate side, thought Knightley. Now, if he could just remind Emma of the superior elegance of Jane Fairfax, it might prod her into cultivating a friendship with her on more grounds than just pity.
“Another thing must be taken into consideration, too,” said Knightley, after a moment’s thought about how the idea might be best conveyed, “Mrs. Elton does not talk to Miss Fairfax as she speaks of her. We all know the difference between the pronouns he or she and thou, the plainest-spoken amongst us; we all feel the influence of a something beyond common civility in our personal intercourse with each other—a something more early implanted. We cannot give anybody the disagreeable hints that we may have been very full of the hour before. We feel things differently. And besides the operation of this, as a general principle, you may be sure that Miss Fairfax awes Mrs. Elton by her superiority both of mind and manner, and that face to face, Mrs. Elton treats her with all the respect which she has a claim to. Such a woman as Jane Fairfax probably never fell in Mrs. Elton's way before—and no degree of vanity can prevent her acknowledging her own comparative littleness in action, if not in consciousness.”
He felt the eyes of them both upon him with something more than their usual interest; he felt that they were trying to discover his motive in saying such a thing; perhaps Emma could see that he was trying to manoeuvre her into a better friendship with Miss Fairfax. Her hazel eyes were too penetrating, and rather than stare back at her, he looked down at the floor. He noticed that the lower buttons of his gaiters had come unfastened, and he bent down to fasten them again.
“I know how highly you think of Jane Fairfax,” said Emma, her voice not quite natural.
Perhaps she thought that he overrated Miss Fairfax’s merit. But he had not spoken more than he really believed. “Yes,” he said, “anybody may know how highly I think of her.”
“And yet—” Emma’s voice caught, and he glanced up at her. The expression on her face was impish, but with a shade of something else—he couldn’t determine quite what.
“And yet, perhaps, you may hardly be aware yourself how highly it is. The extent of your admiration may take you by surprise some day or other.”
So, she had her own suspicions. Why had he not been more cautious in praising the lady? And had she speculated about this for some time, or was it his panegyric just now that had made her wonder? It was an easy enough thing to deny, of course, but it was exactly the kind of situation he had been so carefully trying to avoid—discussing attachments and matrimonial matters—and with Emma and Mrs. Weston! He could feel himself flushing, and hoped that the tugging he was doing on the thick leather would account for it.
“Oh, are you there? But you are miserably behindhand. Mr. Cole gave me a hint of it six weeks ago.”
He paused, hoping if she would tell him how long she had wondered the same thing. But she said nothing, and after a moment he went on.
“That will never be, however, I can assure you. Miss Fairfax, I dare say, would not have me if I were to ask her; and I am very sure I shall never ask her.” He finished with the buttons and sat upright again.
“You are not vain, Mr. Knightley. I will say that for you.”
She seemed to believe him; that was something to be thankful for. But then perhaps she had not suspected anything; perhaps it was her wish that he marry Miss Fairfax, and she had only been testing the idea with him! Perhaps she was trying to make a match between them. And if that was so, she obviously had no interest in him for herself. A chill gripped his heart; the thought that all his tenderly nourished hopes might die so suddenly here in the drawing room at Randalls paralyzed him for the instant. He ought to ask; it was best to know for certain. It was another moment, however, before he trusted himself to speak naturally.
“So you have been settling that I should marry Jane Fairfax.” His voice sounded flat, but he could do no better.
“No indeed I have not. You have scolded me too much for matchmaking for me to presume to take such a liberty with you. What I said just now meant nothing. One says those sort of things, of course, without any idea of a serious meaning. Oh! no, upon my word I have not the smallest wish for your marrying Jane Fairfax or Jane anybody. You would not come in and sit with us in this comfortable way if you were married.”
He could remember her protesting the idea when he had accused her of matchmaking with Elton and Harriet, and he was still sure she had not been honest then. But there was a different note in her voice now, and he really did think she was sincere. The constricted feeling around his chest began to lift; she did not desire him to marry another woman. And she had opened the way for him to put an end to her suspicions.
“No, Emma, I do not think the extent of my admiration for her will ever take me by surprise. I never had a thought of her in that way, I assure you.”
There, that would settle any doubts she might have as to his intentions. But perhaps he ought to make sure she knew that an alliance with Miss Fairfax was not even in the realm of possibility. He did not think her perfection, and he ought to tell Emma so.
“Jane Fairfax is a very charming young woman—but not even Jane Fairfax is perfect. She has a fault. She has not the open temper which a man would wish for in a wife.”
“Well,” said Emma, looking pleased, “and you soon silenced Mr. Cole, I suppose?”
“Yes, very soon. He gave me a quiet hint; I told him he was mistaken; he asked my pardon and said no more. Cole does not want to be wiser or wittier than his neighbours.”
Emma reflected that Mrs. Elton did, and that her self-satisfaction would prevent her from recognizing any amount of superior breeding or elegance in another woman. She was inclined to support Mrs. Weston’s idea that Miss Bates’ eagerness in promoting intimacy between Mrs. Elton and Jane was the true reason for so much time spent in each other’s company. Knightley watched Mrs. Weston during this speech. She seemed amused by something, and he was afraid he had not convinced her of his complete lack of interest in forming an attachment to Miss Fairfax.
“Jane Fairfax has feeling,” said Knightley, keen to make his sentiments absolutely clear. “I do not accuse her of want of feeling. Her sensibilities, I suspect, are strong, and her temper excellent in its power of forbearance, patience, self-control; but it wants openness. She is reserved—more reserved, I t
hink, than she used to be. And I love an open temper. No, till Cole alluded to my supposed attachment, it had never entered my head. I saw Jane Fairfax and conversed with her, with admiration and pleasure always—but with no thought beyond.”
There, he could say no more. He suddenly had a panicked idea that perhaps one of them might ask him what other qualities besides openness of temper he would require of a lady who might attach him. He could, of course, easily describe to them the characteristics of the woman who could win his heart, but it was impossible to think that he would reveal nothing about his affections in the course of such a speech. Therefore, he changed the subject to something completely innocuous, and in a very short while he said his farewells and escaped.
4
2 April
Wellyn House
Brunswick-square
Dear George,
The sudden death of the Hon. Reginald Howard means that instead of defending him against the accusations of The Crown next week as I expected to, I am at liberty to bring the boys to Hartfield. I will arrive on Wednesday and travel home again on Friday.
Henry and John desire me to say that they hope you will be at Hartfield when we arrive, but if you are not, we shall certainly be at Donwell on Thursday morning.
Bella desires me to say that she is sending a ribbon with her brothers so that Madam Duval can have a bow around her neck. Bella is a little afraid that you will tie the ribbon too tightly, but has been comforted by my assurance that I will remind you that such a thing is not good for cats.
Isabella desires me to say that little George asked for you the other day, and she is sure baby Emma would have asked for you if only she could talk.
I am now quite exhausted with delivering the messages of everyone else, and have nothing further to say.
Lend Me Leave Page 4
