Emma: The Wild and Wanton Edition (33 page)

“My dear Emma, I have told you what led me to think of it. I do not want the match — I do not want to injure dear little Henry — but the idea has been given me by circumstances; and if Mr. Knightley really wished to marry, you would not have him refrain on Henry’s account, a boy of six years old, who knows nothing of the matter?”

Emma was already shaking her head vigorously before Mrs. Weston had even finished her question. “Yes, I would. I could not bear to have Henry supplanted.” Could not bear to have Mr. Knightley marry Jane Fairfax. “Mr. Knightley marry! No, I have never had such an idea, and I cannot adopt it now. And Jane Fairfax, too, of all women!”

“Nay, she has always been a first favourite with him, as you very well know.”

A favourite? Oh, dear. Emma supposed he had been shewing her some partiality of late. Emma’s stomach turned violently, and Emma placed a trembling hand over her stomach to quiet it. “But the imprudence of such a match!” Ah, another thing to object to. She was in no way his equal!

“I am not speaking of its prudence; merely its probability.”

“I see no probability in it, unless you have any better foundation than what you mention. His good-nature, his humanity, as I tell you, would be quite enough to account for the horses.” Yes, certainly, Emma assured herself as soon as the words had left her. Mr. Knightley was good. That must be the only reason for his actions. “He has a great regard for the Bateses, you know, independent of Jane Fairfax — and is always glad to shew them attention. My dear Mrs. Weston, do not take to match-making. You do it very ill. Jane Fairfax mistress of the Abbey!” At that thought, Emma remembered that, if it were to be so, Emma could no longer drop by to visit her dear friend. She squeezed her knees together to avoid standing up abruptly. “Oh! no, no; every feeling revolts. For his own sake, I would not have him do so mad a thing.” Deep in her gut, Emma knew she was not protesting “for his own sake.” A terrible image had arisen in Emma’s mind: Mr. Knightley pulling Miss Fairfax into his lap the way Mr. Elton had done to Emma in the carriage. Mr. Knightley’s arms around Miss Fairfax. His lips pressing fervently upon hers. His tongue licking along her bottom lip. His arms growing more insistent. That mysterious part of his body prodding Miss Fairfax in the hip. Emma was just working up a faint when Mrs. Weston spoke again —

“Imprudent, if you please — but not mad. Excepting inequality of fortune, and perhaps a little disparity of age, I can see nothing unsuitable.”

Emma barely heard her. Her mind was still embroiled in Mr. Knightley’s passionate embrace of Miss Fairfax. Like the phantom she had imagined twice before, he appeared in Emma’s mind’s eye. His kisses were growing more fervent as he pressed them to Miss Fairfax’s cheek and began to trail them down her neck. “But Mr. Knightley does not want to marry,” Emma protested weakly, trying desperately to stop this new fantasy — this most displeasing fantasy. “I am sure he has not the least idea of it. Do not put it into his head.” Or mine, she internally begged, turning from the shadow of Mr. Knightly lowering Miss Fairfax to the chaise in the corner to bend her back across the arm and begin kissing her décolletage. “Why should he marry? He is as happy as possible by himself; with his farm, and his sheep, and his library, and all the parish to manage; and he is extremely fond of his brother’s children. He has no occasion to marry, either to fill up his time or his heart.” Mr. Knightley’s hand was now upon Jane Fairfax’s breast, and he was pulling the neckline of her dress down even further. Emma gasped when he slowly lapped Jane’s nipple.

“My dear Emma, as long as he thinks so, it is so; but if he really loves Jane Fairfax — ”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them, the phantom tryst in the corner had blessedly disappeared. But its effects still lingered. Emma would never be able to shake the image of her Mr. Knightley making love to Miss Fairfax.

The subconscious referral to Mr. Knightley as “hers” was what finally sobered Emma completely. “Nonsense!” Emma exclaimed vehemently. “He does not care about Jane Fairfax.” And I do not care about him, she schooled herself. She did not even care overmuch about Mr. Churchill, and he was who she should be focusing on! She tried to remind herself of how repulsive kisses were in general. Of Mr. Elton’s horrid breath and his persistent body. She shivered, not at all sure that she would feel the same revulsion she had felt with Mr. Elton if Mr. Knightley had tried the same thing. Even more disturbed by her line of thought, Emma soldiered on: “In the way of love, I am sure he does not. He would do any good to her, or her family; but — ”

“Well,” said Mrs. Weston, laughing, “perhaps the greatest good he could do them, would be to give Jane such a respectable home.”

“If it would be good to her, I am sure it would be evil to himself; a very shameful and degrading connexion.” Marriage was the end. Emma knew this. Bolstered by this reminder of how abhorrent the institution was, and how sure Mr. Knightley would be to agree with her given his persisting single state, Emma relaxed marginally. “How would he bear to have Miss Bates belonging to him? To have her haunting the Abbey, and thanking him all day long for his great kindness in marrying Jane? ‘So very kind and obliging! But he always had been such a very kind neighbour!’ And then fly off, through half a sentence, to her mother’s old petticoat. ‘Not that it was such a very old petticoat either — for still it would last a great while — and, indeed, she must thankfully say that their petticoats were all very strong.’” This final thought at once calmed the rest of Emma’s fears. She would strictly refuse to think of Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax in the throes of passion. It would never be. Mr. Knightley — nay any body of good sense — would never marry Miss Fairfax for the baggage she must bring with her.

“For shame, Emma! Do not mimic her. You divert me against my conscience. And, upon my word, I do not think Mr. Knightley would be much disturbed by Miss Bates. Little things do not irritate him. She might talk on; and if he wanted to say any thing himself, he would only talk louder, and drown her voice. But the question is not, whether it would be a bad connexion for him, but whether he wishes it; and I think he does. I have heard him speak, and so must you, so very highly of Jane Fairfax! The interest he takes in her — his anxiety about her health — his concern that she should have no happier prospect! I have heard him express himself so warmly on those points! Such an admirer of her performance on the pianoforte, and of her voice! I have heard him say that he could listen to her forever. Oh! and I had almost forgotten one idea that occurred to me — this pianoforte that has been sent here by somebody — though we have all been so well satisfied to consider it a present from the Campbells, may it not be from Mr. Knightley? I cannot help suspecting him. I think he is just the person to do it, even without being in love.”

Emma had tensed at a couple of Mrs. Weston’s more accurate points, but the mention of the pianoforte put them aside. “Then it can be no argument to prove that he is in love. But I do not think it is at all a likely thing for him to do. Mr. Knightley does nothing mysteriously.”

“I have heard him lamenting her having no instrument repeatedly; oftener than I should suppose such a circumstance would, in the common course of things, occur to him.”

“Very well; and if he had intended to give her one, he would have told her so.”

“There might be scruples of delicacy, my dear Emma. I have a very strong notion that it comes from him. I am sure he was particularly silent when Mrs. Cole told us of it at dinner.”

“You take up an idea, Mrs. Weston, and run away with it; as you have many a time reproached me with doing. I see no sign of attachment — I believe nothing of the pianoforte — and proof only shall convince me that Mr. Knightley has any thought of marrying Jane Fairfax.” In fact, Emma could not bear the thought of Mr. Knightley being gone from her forever for Miss Fairfax — of all people. And so, therefore, it was entirely impossible. Emma would not allow the thought to take root any further. But even as she made that solemn vow, she remembered again how enthralled the phantom of Mr. Knightley had looked as he buried his face in Miss Fairfax’s charmsThey combated the point some time longer in the same way; Emma rather gaining ground over the mind of her friend; for Mrs. Weston was the most used of the two to yield; till a little bustle in the room shewed them that tea was over, and the instrument in preparation; and at the same moment Mr. Cole approaching to entreat Miss Woodhouse would do them the honour of trying it. Frank Churchill, of whom, in the eagerness of her conversation with Mrs. Weston, she had been seeing nothing, except that he had found a seat by Miss Fairfax, followed Mr. Cole, to add his very pressing entreaties; and as, in every respect, it suited Emma best to lead, she gave a very proper compliance.

She knew the limitations of her own powers too well to attempt more than she could perform with credit; she wanted neither taste nor spirit in the little things which are generally acceptable, and could accompany her own voice well. One accompaniment to her song took her agreeably by surprize — a second, slightly but correctly taken by Frank Churchill. Her pardon was duly begged at the close of the song, and every thing usual followed. He was accused of having a delightful voice, and a perfect knowledge of music; which was properly denied; and that he knew nothing of the matter, and had no voice at all, roundly asserted. They sang together once more; and Emma would then resign her place to Miss Fairfax, whose performance, both vocal and instrumental, she never could attempt to conceal from herself, was infinitely superior to her own.

With mixed feelings, she seated herself at a little distance from the numbers round the instrument, to listen. Frank Churchill sang again. They had sung together once or twice, it appeared, at Weymouth. But the sight of Mr. Knightley among the most attentive, soon drew away half Emma’s mind; and she fell into a train of thinking on the subject of Mrs. Weston’s suspicions, to which the sweet sounds of the united voices gave only momentary interruptions. Emma inwardly groaned as her worries inwardly tripled. Her objections to Mr. Knightley’s marrying did not in the least subside. She could see nothing but evil in it. It would be a great disappointment to Mr. John Knightley; consequently to Isabella. A real injury to the children — a most mortifying change, and material loss to them all; a very great deduction from her father’s daily comfort — and, as to herself, she could not at all endure the idea of Jane Fairfax at Donwell Abbey. A Mrs. Knightley for them all to give way to! No — Mr. Knightley must never marry. Little Henry must remain the heir of Donwell. Emma steadily ignored the increasingly loud voice inside that declared Mr. Knightley must not marry because Emma was sure she could not bear it.

Presently Mr. Knightley looked back, and came and sat down by her. Emma immediately wished her heartbeat would calm. This was not the first time she had needed to forget imagining Mr. Knightley in the throes of passion, but the previous times, he had been in the throes of passion with
Emma
! Imagining him with someone who was not herself had proven to be debilitating. They talked at first only of the performance. His admiration was certainly very warm; yet she thought, but for Mrs. Weston, it would not have struck her. As a sort of touchstone, however, she began to speak of his kindness in conveying the aunt and niece; and though his answer was in the spirit of cutting the matter short, she believed it to indicate only his disinclination to dwell on any kindness of his own. Or did she only hope it to be so, and therefore was imagining his disconnected air? She pressed on to find out for sure.

“I often feel concern,” said she, “that I dare not make our carriage more useful on such occasions. It is not that I am without the wish; but you know how impossible my father would deem it that James should put-to for such a purpose.”

“Quite out of the question, quite out of the question,” he replied; “but you must often wish it, I am sure.” And he smiled with such seeming pleasure at the conviction, that she must proceed another step.

“This present from the Campbells,” said she, “this pianoforte is very kindly given.”

“Yes,” he replied, and without the smallest apparent embarrassment. “But they would have done better had they given her notice of it. Surprizes are foolish things. The pleasure is not enhanced, and the inconvenience is often considerable. I should have expected better judgment in Colonel Campbell.”

Relief flooded in from all sides. From that moment, Emma could have taken her oath that Mr. Knightley had had no concern in giving the instrument. This was surely a good sign! But whether he were entirely free from peculiar attachment — whether there were no actual preference — remained a little longer doubtful. Towards the end of Jane’s second song, her voice grew thick.

“That will do,” said he, when it was finished, thinking aloud, “you have sung quite enough for one evening — now be quiet.”

Another song, however, was soon begged for. “One more; they would not fatigue Miss Fairfax on any account, and would only ask for one more.” And Frank Churchill was heard to say, “I think you could manage this without effort; the first part is so very trifling. The strength of the song falls on the second.”

Mr. Knightley grew angry. Emma returned to her worry.

“That fellow,” said he, indignantly, “thinks of nothing but shewing off his own voice. This must not be.” He left Emma to her embroiled thoughts as he crossed the room, and touching Miss Bates, who at that moment passed near, “Miss Bates, are you mad, to let your niece sing herself hoarse in this manner? Go, and interfere. They have no mercy on her.”

Miss Bates, in her real anxiety for Jane, could hardly stay even to be grateful, before she stept forward and put an end to all farther singing. Here ceased the concert part of the evening, for Miss Woodhouse and Miss Fairfax were the only young lady performers; but soon (within five minutes) the proposal of dancing — originating nobody exactly knew where — was so effectually promoted by Mr. and Mrs. Cole, that every thing was rapidly clearing away, to give proper space. Mrs. Weston, capital in her country-dances, was seated, and beginning an irresistible waltz; and Frank Churchill, coming up with most becoming gallantry to Emma, had secured her hand, and led her up to the top.