Emma in Love (5 page)

But a closer inspection of the old lady proved to be of more concern than a pair of broken spectacles. For, whatever Miss Bates might say on the subject of her mother's health, old Mrs. Bates did not appear well at all. Her breathing was slow and quiet, but irregular and punctuated with little gasps: that she had made an outstanding effort to comment on the gift of pork accounted only too well for the sleep which had immediately succeeded it.

“I had hoped to invite you and your mother to dinner,” said Emma as Mrs. Bates lapsed once more into a comatose state; and she blamed herself as she spoke for a lack of delicacy in putting her dinner always at the head of every subject, for it was evident that old Mrs. Bates could not go out in company and that her daughter must stay and care for her. Nevertheless, Emma persevered: if she could not bring news home that Miss Bates and her mother came to Donwell Abbey, then Jane Fairfax must be counted on. And it was Jane she chased. There was no question of Miss Bates marrying John Knightley.— These thoughts flashed across Emma's mind, but she censured herself for them.

“We shall be delighted to come,” said Miss Bates, to Emma's surprise. “Why, my mother cannot forget – last
summer, was it already? – that Mrs. Hodges did so well with the dessert—”

“And Miss Fairfax,” said Emma. “Will her friend mind, if she does not accompany her to Donwell on this occasion? There is not room at the dining-room table, now we have Mr. Knightley's brother in the house.”

“Mrs. Hodges is most accomplished,” said Miss Bates. “She made a perfect tart.”

Emma, still standing by the fireside of the little room, glanced at Miss Bates in consternation.

“A raspberry tart,” said Miss Bates, as Emma made her farewells with all the good manners required on the occasion of the departure of the squire's wife from a simple abode. “Be careful at the turning, dear Mrs. Knightley. Yes, Mother and I will be delighted to accept. But of Jane I cannot give any assurances. Watch how you go, Mrs. Knightley!”

And, as Emma let herself from the narrow hall she distinctly heard, from above and in Miss Bates's unmistakable tones, the word “Bollocks!”

Emma left the Bates household confused and unhappy. She knew she must report to Mr. Knightley that the health of old Mrs. Bates was certain to render any kind of a party being attended by her at Donwell Abbey an impossibility; and at the same time she knew Mr. Knightley well enough to imagine him declaring, with no little triumph, that the dinner need now not take place. It might be simpler – and Emma thought this with some unease – to avoid any reference to the old lady's condition: if the daughter (and here Emma refused to think of Miss Bates's own state, both physical and mental: the conclusion might prove too shocking and distressing) declared her mother well enough to go out in company, then surely that should be
good enough for the hosts? It was hard indeed to decide which to do. In the meantime, Mrs. Bates's spectacles were in pieces: it was Emma's duty, without a doubt, to find a man with some knowledge of putting them together again; and it was with considerable relief that Emma saw Mr. Perry walking up the street, his doctor's bag in one hand and the other waving genially at her as he came.

“My dear Mrs. Knightley! It is some weeks since I was last at the Abbey, and on that occasion it was to bring James better news of his daughter Hannah's prospects for recovery. You are all well, I trust?”

“Yes,” replied Emma, who was here able to smile with a degree of complacency – for the coachman James, brought by her from Hartfield at the time of Mr. Woodhouse's death, had suffered agonies at the fever of his daughter Hannah, employed at Randalls; and Emma, just as much as Mr. Perry, had ministered to the sick girl with calf's foot jelly and the cold compresses advised by her father's old doctor. “We are in splendid health at Donwell Abbey. But—” and here Emma lowered her voice, so Mr. Perry, standing in the street, walked along several feet to hear her. “But I am just come from Miss Bates and her mother. I was most awkward, I stepped too fast on their shaky floor and a pair of spectacles were broken—”

“Do not fret,” said Mr. Perry, and in his tones Emma
remembered the wrappings-up against the winter cold, at her father's house, and the measles and chicken-pox all attended by him, with Mrs. Weston in tow; and she smiled most entrancingly, once again. From the corner of her eye she could see a movement in the street, otherwise so quiet at midday, but she would not say, had she been demanded to think back on that time, that she had extended the smile a few seconds longer as a result of it.

“I have invited Mrs. Bates to dinner,” said Emma simply – for she understood Mr. Perry still saw her as a child, with all the directness of her early years. “I must ask you, Mr. Perry, whether it is advisable for Mrs. Bates to go out.— Even if we make the meal begin and end at a much earlier hour. Can she survive the carriage ride, the excitement of company? It seems she sleeps, and wishes only to sleep more.”

“Mrs. Bates is old,” said Mr. Perry. As he spoke, Emma looked innocently along the street, and saw – she had been right to expect some curiosity on the part of the denizens of Highbury – two young men on horseback who came at a leisurely pace down the length of the thoroughfare, and paused outside Ford's as if to look with the greatest seriousness into the shop window. “It is not Mrs. Bates who concerns me,” said Mr. Perry. “No, I fear it is not, Mrs. Knightley.”

Emma, who was now overtly occupied in examining
these arrivals in the village, seemed not to hear him. Instead, she burst out: “It is Frank Churchill! Indeed it is! I do not know why I show surprise at his being here. Mrs. Weston said he was coming, after all. But I suppose there have been many occasions in the past when Mr. Churchill's visit was earnestly expected, and he did not come. But here he is. And with him—”

“There will very likely be a rapid deterioration,” pronounced Mr. Perry, who gave evidence of being a good deal less interested in the gentlemen on horseback than his companion. “There must be toleration – Mr. Knightley should be informed, if she is to be a guest in polite society. She would not object in the least to my warning you of this, dear Emma!”

The use of the childhood address brought Emma to her senses. She saw she had hardly heard a word of Mr. Perry's discourse – and he, a busy man, had only wished to answer her question with tact and accuracy. That he also observed the distracted state of the young woman whose position was unrivalled in Highbury and the surrounding country, was a distinct possibility. No more than wishing her, in those distant days at Hartfield, to expose herself to the vagaries of a thunderstorm, with its attendant risk of being struck by lightning – nor of permitting his little charge to run barefoot in the snow, however much she begged to – did Mr. Perry desire Emma Knightley to manifest her interest, before a
growing number of people, in the visiting gentlemen in Highbury.

The reason for Emma's being unable to take her eyes away was quite plain: Frank Churchill, once considered the handsomest man in the small society formed by Randalls, Hartfield and the others of that important circle, was now surpassed – and by his comrade, the other equestrian come amongst them.

It must be Captain Brocklehurst, thought Emma; but, seeing Mr. Perry's eyes upon her, she did not put her conjecture into words. “So we are quite safe to proceed with our dinner at Donwell?” said Emma instead; and Mr. Perry, glad her intelligent gaze was now trained on him once more, continued with his assurances.

“You have nothing to fear, Mrs. Knightley. So long as the odd lapse – it is a concomitant of the disease, regrettably – does not offend anyone present. And I may be certain that all at Donwell Abbey will be as tolerant of what may at first appear to be remiss behaviour as you are – and as your late father, the esteemed Mr. Woodhouse was, dear Mrs. Knightley!”

It was usual for a mention of Mr. Woodhouse to bring a sigh to Emma's lips, even on occasion a tear to her eye; but as Frank Churchill and his companion dismounted and came towards her to present their compliments, Mr. Perry was able to observe only a heightening of colour in the cheeks of the mistress of Donwell Abbey; and, had
he not known better, he would have diagnosed scarlet fever, or rubella at the very least.

“Mrs. Knightley, may I present my brother-in-law Captain Brocklehurst?”

Frank Churchill was bowing: he looked highly amused; and Emma for a moment wished him at the other end of the earth. She knew he knew her; or the worst side of her, at any rate, was known only too well, by the young man who had indulged in hypocrisy and deceit – in espionage and treachery – in order to disguise his engagement to Jane Fairfax by seeming to court Emma Woodhouse.

Emma held out her hand, but she did not look directly at the stranger. That Captain Brocklehurst should bring so powerful a reminder of Frank Churchill's further treachery – worse, far worse, in abandoning poor Jane at the church door, when news came by express of the conditions of his aunt's will, than a mere flirtation – was intolerable for poor Jane. And here they were, standing outside the house of Jane's aunt, no less!— where the jilted girl had been happy, the house she thought of as home, despite the kindness of Colonel and Mrs. Campbell, in rearing and educating her, which Miss Bates could never have afforded to do. It was shameful! But Captain Brocklehurst was quite the handsomest man – when Emma did at last raise her eyes to his – that she, or the village of Highbury, populous though it
might increasingly be, had ever seen. He was taller than Frank; his hair was dark and very smooth; his features were of that perfect symmetry so seldom found in English men. Yet he had not a hint of the foreigner about him; and from the very first, his quiet and well-spoken words could do little other than charm, though in the politest possible way.

“I trust we shall all meet at Randalls,” said Emma; and, as this came after a description almost vulgar in its fulsomeness, from Mr. Churchill, of the glories of Donwell Abbey, she could think well to herself that she had defended Jane Fairfax, and had not succumbed to the allure of the two young men.

Jane shall come to dinner. How right Mr. Knightley was to decry my wish to invite Mrs. Weston on the same evening, thought Emma; for the party rose once more in her mind, and the spectre of Jane, surrounded by hideous apparitions from a marriage which could never now take place, made her shudder at her thoughtless and impulsive intent. Of course Jane has gone out walking: wretched creature, she came from her obligations as governess on one of the scarce hours she has to herself, with the express intention of visiting her aunt and her aunt's mother. Then – learning Mr. Churchill was in the vicinity – dreading coming across him – and even more painful to her, the brother of the woman Mr. Churchill found easy, for reason of fifty thousand pounds, to
marry – no, it is too horrible! But it is saved. I shall not invite Mr. Churchill to Donwell Abbey, and he may make of it what he likes!

Mr. Perry, who had been attempting to disengage himself from the group for some minutes announced in the firm tones of a busy medical man that he was on his way to visit the Bates household: he must be excused, but time this morning was short. “There is old John Abdy to see to,” said Mr. Perry. “He will not last out the summer. His son John Abdy has applied several times to the parish council for relief – his sister, widowed, wishes to return to the family, but there is not money enough to make the barn habitable. She could care for her father, if she brought her children and lived there – but it is not to be.”

“Mrs. Knightley will wave her magic wand, I have no doubt,” said Frank Churchill, with a smile which Emma found odious in its desire to ingratiate. “Why, if I am not mistaken, old Abdy was twenty-seven years clerk to the parish; he worked for Mr. Woodhouse. The largesse of Mr. Knightley can surely be counted on here!”

“Mrs. Knightley, please give my most sincere regards to your husband,” said Mr. Perry, who appeared as genuinely offended by Mr. Churchill's intrusion into the matter as did Emma. “You tell me old Mrs. Bates has suffered a breakage of her spectacles. As I call on her now in any case, you may rest easy in the knowledge
that I shall take them with me to the young lady who works in my dispensary: she is remarkably nimble with her fingers!”

“But I insist, my dear Mrs. Knightley!” said Frank, stepping forward as if he had seen nothing of the effect caused by his most recent piece of impertinence. “I have mended old Mrs. Bates's spectacles before. Pray permit me to do so again.” And so saying – without, as Emma noted with a glow of indignation, a thought for the unsuitability of his visit to the aunt of the young woman whose life and prospects he had so unthinkingly ruined – Frank Churchill stepped into the house that was but a few steps down the street from them, and mounted the stairs.

Without waiting – for she was left alone in the company of Captain Brocklehurst, Mr. Perry having scuttled after Frank, to prevent his causing too unpleasant a jolt to Miss Bates and her mother – Emma mounted into her chaise, took the reins and departed for home.

She did not look back, as the length of the street was gone down; Harriet Martin came out of Ford's, a bolt of cloth in her hand, and she received a wave and a greeting, no more. Emma was anxious to return to the Abbey; she wished for the clarity of vision of Mr. Knightley, after undergoing the slick charm of Frank Churchill; but she could not help reflecting, as she went,
that Captain Brocklehurst was quite the handsomest man she had ever seen.

It is often to be observed in those whose nature and circumstances produce a character accustomed to control and oversee the lives of others, that the unexpected is less easy to digest and understand than it is for those who have the habit of acquiescence and obedience to the demands of others. A scenario, whether domestic or abroad, which appears quite different from the one foreseen, may cause discomfiture, even rage: and it is probable that the closer to home the surprise turns out to be, the greater the need to restore order on the part of the incumbent dictator of the daily round.