Emma and the Werewolves (35 page)

“
One can suppose nothing
else,” added Mrs. Cole, “and I was only surprized that there could
ever have been a doubt. But Jane, it seems, had a letter from them
very lately, and not a word was said about it. She knows their ways
best; but I should not consider their silence as any reason for
their not meaning to make the present. They might chuse to surprize
her.”

Mrs. Cole had many to agree
with her; every body who spoke on the subject was equally convinced
that it must come from Colonel Campbell, and equally rejoiced that
such a present had been made; and there were enough ready to speak
to allow Emma to think her own way, and still listen to Mrs.
Cole.

“
I declare, I do not know
when I have heard any thing that has given me more satisfaction! It
always has quite hurt me that Jane Fairfax, who plays so
delightfully, should not have an instrument. It seemed quite a
shame, especially considering how many houses there are where fine
instruments are absolutely thrown away. This is like giving
ourselves a slap, to be sure! and it was but yesterday I was
telling Mr. Cole, I really was ashamed to look at our new grand
pianoforte in the drawing-room, while I do not know one note from
another, and our little girls, who are but just beginning, perhaps
may never make any thing of it; and there is poor Jane Fairfax, who
is mistress of music, has not any thing of the nature of an
instrument, not even the pitifullest old spinet in the world, to
amuse herself with. I was saying this to Mr. Cole but yesterday,
and he quite agreed with me; only he is so particularly fond of
music that he could not help indulging himself in the purchase,
hoping that some of our good neighbours might be so obliging
occasionally to put it to a better use than we can; and that really
is the reason why the instrument was bought—or else I am sure we
ought to be ashamed of it. We are in great hopes that Miss
Woodhouse may be prevailed with to try it this evening.”

Miss Woodhouse made the proper acquiescence;
and finding that nothing more was to be entrapped from any
communication of Mrs. Cole’s, turned to Frank Churchill.

“
Why do you smile?” said
she.

“
Nay, why do
you?”

“
Me! I suppose I smile for
pleasure at Colonel Campbell’s being so rich and so liberal. It is
a handsome present.”

“
Very.”

“
I rather wonder that it
was never made before.”

“
Perhaps Miss Fairfax has
never been staying here so long before.”

“
Or that he did not give
her the use of their own instrument which must now be shut up in
London, untouched by any body.”

“
That is a grand
pianoforte, and he might think it too large for Mrs. Bates’s
house.”

“
You may say what you
chuse—but your countenance testifies that your thoughts on this
subject are very much like mine.”

“
I do not know. I rather
believe you are giving me more credit for acuteness than I deserve.
I smile because you smile, and shall probably suspect whatever I
find you suspect; but at present I do not see what there is to
question. If Colonel Campbell is not the person, who can
be?”

“
What do you say to Mrs.
Dixon?”

“
Mrs. Dixon! very true
indeed. I had not thought of Mrs. Dixon. She must know as well as
her father, how acceptable an instrument would be; and perhaps the
mode of it, the mystery, the surprize, is more like a young woman’s
scheme than an elderly man’s. It is Mrs. Dixon, I dare say. I told
you that your suspicions would guide mine.”

“
If so, you must extend
your suspicions and comprehend Mr. Dixon in them.”

“
Mr. Dixon. Very well. Yes,
I immediately perceive that it must be the joint present of Mr. and
Mrs. Dixon. We were speaking the other day, you know, of his being
so warm an admirer of her performance.”

“
Yes, and what you told me
on that head, confirmed an idea which I had entertained before. I
do not mean to reflect upon the good intentions of either Mr. Dixon
or Miss Fairfax, but I cannot help suspecting either that, after
making his proposals to her friend, he had the misfortune to fall
in love with her, or that he became conscious of a little
attachment on her side. One might guess twenty things without
guessing exactly the right; but I am sure there must be a
particular cause for her chusing to come to Highbury instead of
going with the Campbells to Ireland. Here, she must be leading a
life of privation and penance; there it would have been all
enjoyment. As to the pretence of trying her native air, I look upon
that as a mere excuse. In the summer it might have passed; but what
can any body’s native air do for them in the months of January,
February, and March? Good fires and carriages would be much more to
the purpose in most cases of delicate health, and I dare say in
her’s. I do not require you to adopt all my suspicions, though you
make so noble a profession of doing it, but I honestly tell you
what they are.”

“
And, upon my word, they
have an air of great probability. Mr. Dixon’s preference of her
music to her friend’s, I can answer for being very
decided.”

“
And then, he saved her
life. Did you ever hear of that? A water party; and by some
accident she was falling overboard. He caught her.”

“
He did. I was there—one of
the party.”

“
Were you really? Well! But
you observed nothing of course, for it seems to be a new idea to
you. If I had been there, I think I should have made some
discoveries.”

“
I dare say you would; but
I, simple I, saw nothing but the fact, that Miss Fairfax was nearly
dashed from the vessel and that Mr. Dixon caught her. It was the
work of a moment. And though the consequent shock and alarm was
very great and much more durable—indeed I believe it was half an
hour before any of us were comfortable again—yet that was too
general a sensation for any thing of peculiar anxiety to be
observable. I do not mean to say, however, that you might not have
made discoveries.”

The conversation was here interrupted. They
were called on to share in the awkwardness of a rather long
interval between the courses, and obliged to be as formal and as
orderly as the others; but when the table was again safely covered,
when every corner dish was placed exactly right, and occupation and
ease were generally restored, Emma said,

“
The arrival of this
pianoforte is decisive with me. I wanted to know a little more, and
this tells me quite enough. Depend upon it, we shall soon hear that
it is a present from Mr. and Mrs. Dixon.”

“
And if the Dixons should
absolutely deny all knowledge of it we must conclude it to come
from the Campbells.”

“
No, I am sure it is not
from the Campbells. Miss Fairfax knows it is not from the
Campbells, or they would have been guessed at first. She would not
have been puzzled, had she dared fix on them. I may not have
convinced you perhaps, but I am perfectly convinced myself that Mr.
Dixon is a principal in the business.”

“
Indeed you injure me if
you suppose me unconvinced. Your reasonings carry my judgment along
with them entirely. At first, while I supposed you satisfied that
Colonel Campbell was the giver, I saw it only as paternal kindness,
and thought it the most natural thing in the world. But when you
mentioned Mrs. Dixon, I felt how much more probable that it should
be the tribute of warm female friendship. And now I can see it in
no other light than as an offering of love.”

There was no occasion to
press the matter farther. The conviction seemed real; he looked as
if he felt it. She said no more, other subjects took their turn;
and the rest of the dinner passed away; the dessert succeeded, the
children came in, and were talked to and admired amid the usual
rate of conversation; a few clever things said, a few downright
silly, but by much the larger proportion neither the one nor the
other—nothing worse than everyday remarks, dull repetitions, old
news, and heavy jokes.

The ladies had not been
long in the drawing-room, before the other ladies, in their
different divisions, arrived. Emma watched the entree of her own
particular little friend; and if she could not exult in her dignity
and grace, she could not only love the blooming sweetness and the
artless manner, but could most heartily rejoice in that light,
cheerful, unsentimental disposition which allowed her so many
alleviations of pleasure, in the midst of the pangs of disappointed
affection. There she sat—and who would have guessed how many tears
she had been lately shedding? To be in company, nicely dressed
herself and seeing others nicely dressed, to sit and smile and look
pretty, and say nothing, was enough for the happiness of the
present hour. Jane Fairfax did look and move superior; but Emma
suspected she might have been glad to change feelings with Harriet,
very glad to have purchased the mortification of having loved—yes,
of having loved even Mr. Elton in vain—by the surrender of all the
dangerous pleasure of knowing herself beloved by the husband of her
friend.

In so large a party it was not necessary
that Emma should approach her. She did not wish to speak of the
pianoforte, she felt too much in the secret herself, to think the
appearance of curiosity or interest fair, and therefore purposely
kept at a distance; but by the others, the subject was almost
immediately introduced, and she saw the blush of consciousness with
which congratulations were received, the blush of guilt which
accompanied the name of “my excellent friend Colonel Campbell.”

Mrs. Weston, kind-hearted and musical, was
particularly interested by the circumstance, and Emma could not
help being amused at her perseverance in dwelling on the subject;
and having so much to ask and to say as to tone, touch, and pedal,
totally unsuspicious of that wish of saying as little about it as
possible, which she plainly read in the fair heroine’s
countenance.

They were soon joined by some of the
gentlemen; and the very first of the early was Frank Churchill. In
he walked, the first and the handsomest; and after paying his
compliments en passant to Miss Bates and her niece, made his way
directly to the opposite side of the circle, where sat Miss
Woodhouse; and till he could find a seat by her, would not sit at
all. Emma divined what every body present must be thinking. She was
his object, and every body must perceive it. She introduced him to
her friend, Miss Smith, and, at convenient moments afterwards,
heard what each thought of the other. “He had never seen so lovely
a face, and was delighted with her naivete.” And she, “Only to be
sure it was paying him too great a compliment, but she did think
there were some looks a little like Mr. Elton.” Emma restrained her
indignation, and only turned from her in silence.

Smiles of intelligence
passed between her and the gentleman on first glancing towards Miss
Fairfax; but it was most prudent to avoid speech. He told her that
he had been impatient to leave the dining-room—hated sitting
long—was always the first to move when he could—that his father,
Mr. Knightley, Mr. Cox, and Mr. Cole, were left very busy over
parish business—that as long as he had staid, however, it had been
pleasant enough, as he had found them in general a set of
gentlemanlike, sensible men; and spoke so handsomely of Highbury
altogether—thought it so abundant in agreeable families—that Emma
began to feel she had been used to despise the place rather too
much. She questioned him as to the society in Yorkshire—the extent
of the neighbourhood about Enscombe, and the sort; and could make
out from his answers that, as far as Enscombe was concerned, there
was very little going on, that their visitings were among a range
of great families, none very near; and that even when days were
fixed, and invitations accepted, it was an even chance that Mrs.
Churchill were not in health and spirits for going; that they made
a point of visiting no fresh person; and that, though he had his
separate engagements, it was not without difficulty, without
considerable address at times, that he could get away, or introduce
an acquaintance for a night.

She saw that Enscombe could
not satisfy, and that Highbury, taken at its best, might reasonably
please a young man who had more retirement at home than he liked.
His importance at Enscombe was very evident. He did not boast, but
it naturally betrayed itself, that he had persuaded his aunt where
his uncle could do nothing, and on her laughing and noticing it, he
owned that he believed (excepting one or two points) he could with
time persuade her to any thing. One of those points on which his
influence failed, he then mentioned. He had wanted very much to go
abroad—had been very eager indeed to be allowed to travel—but she
would not hear of it. This had happened the year before. Now, he
said, he was beginning to have no longer the same wish.

The unpersuadable point, which he did not
mention, Emma guessed to be good behaviour to his father.

“
I have made a most
wretched discovery,” said he, after a short pause. “I have been
here a week to-morrow—half my time. I never knew days fly so fast.
A week to-morrow! And I have hardly begun to enjoy myself. But just
got acquainted with Mrs. Weston, and others! I hate the
recollection.”

“
Perhaps you may now begin
to regret that you spent one whole day, out of so few, in having
your hair cut.”

“
No,” said he, smiling,
“that is no subject of regret at all. I have no pleasure in seeing
my friends, unless I can believe myself fit to be seen.”