Emma: The Wild and Wanton Edition (37 page)

One perplexity, however, arose, which the gentlemen did not disdain. It regarded a supper-room. At the time of the ballroom’s being built, suppers had not been in question; and a small card-room adjoining, was the only addition. What was to be done? This card-room would be wanted as a card-room now; or, if cards were conveniently voted unnecessary by their four selves, still was it not too small for any comfortable supper? Another room of much better size might be secured for the purpose; but it was at the other end of the house, and a long awkward passage must be gone through to get at it. This made a difficulty. Mrs. Weston was afraid of draughts for the young people in that passage; and neither Emma nor the gentlemen could tolerate the prospect of being miserably crowded at supper.

Mrs. Weston proposed having no regular supper; merely sandwiches, &c., set out in the little room; but that was scouted as a wretched suggestion. A private dance, without sitting down to supper, was pronounced an infamous fraud upon the rights of men and women; and Mrs. Weston must not speak of it again. She then took another line of expediency, and looking into the doubtful room, observed,

“I do not think it
is
so very small. We shall not be many, you know.”

And Mr. Weston at the same time, walking briskly with long steps through the passage, was calling out,

“You talk a great deal of the length of this passage, my dear. It is a mere nothing after all; and not the least draught from the stairs.”

“I wish,” said Mrs. Weston, “one could know which arrangement our guests in general would like best. To do what would be most generally pleasing must be our object — if one could but tell what that would be.”

“Yes, very true,” cried Frank, “very true. You want your neighbours’ opinions. I do not wonder at you. If one could ascertain what the chief of them — the Coles, for instance. They are not far off. Shall I call upon them? Or Miss Bates? She is still nearer. And I do not know whether Miss Bates is not as likely to understand the inclinations of the rest of the people as any body. I think we do want a larger council. Suppose I go and invite Miss Bates to join us?”

“Well — if you please,” said Mrs. Weston rather hesitating, “if you think she will be of any use.”

“You will get nothing to the purpose from Miss Bates,” said Emma. “She will be all delight and gratitude, but she will tell you nothing. She will not even listen to your questions. I see no advantage in consulting Miss Bates.”

“But she is so amusing, so extremely amusing! I am very fond of hearing Miss Bates talk. And I need not bring the whole family, you know.”

Here Mr. Weston joined them, and on hearing what was proposed, gave it his decided approbation.

“Aye, do, Frank. Go and fetch Miss Bates, and let us end the matter at once. She will enjoy the scheme, I am sure; and I do not know a properer person for shewing us how to do away difficulties. Fetch Miss Bates. We are growing a little too nice. She is a standing lesson of how to be happy. But fetch them both. Invite them both.”

“Both sir! Can the old lady?” …

“The old lady! No, the young lady, to be sure. I shall think you a great blockhead, Frank, if you bring the aunt without the niece.”

“Oh! I beg your pardon, sir. I did not immediately recollect. Undoubtedly if you wish it, I will endeavour to persuade them both.” And away he ran.

Long before he reappeared, attending the short, neat, brisk-moving aunt, and her elegant niece — Mrs. Weston, like a sweet-tempered woman and a good wife, had examined the passage again, and found the evils of it much less than she had supposed before — indeed very trifling; and here ended the difficulties of decision. All the rest, in speculation at least, was perfectly smooth. All the minor arrangements of table and chair, lights and music, tea and supper, made themselves; or were left as mere trifles to be settled at any time between Mrs. Weston and Mrs. Stokes. Every body invited, was certainly to come; Frank had already written to Enscombe to propose staying a few days beyond his fortnight, which could not possibly be refused. And a delightful dance it was to be.

Most cordially, when Miss Bates arrived, did she agree that it must. As a counsellor she was not wanted; but as an approver, (a much safer character,) she was truly welcome. Her approbation, at once general and minute, warm and incessant, could not but please; and for another half-hour they were all walking to and fro, between the different rooms, some suggesting, some attending, and all in happy enjoyment of the future. The party did not break up without Emma’s being positively secured for the two first dances by the hero of the evening, nor without her overhearing Mr. Weston whisper to his wife, “He has asked her, my dear. That’s right. I knew he would!”

One thing only was wanting to make the prospect of the ball completely satisfactory to Emma — its being fixed for a day within the granted term of Frank Churchill’s stay in Surry; for, in spite of Mr. Weston’s confidence, she could not think it so very impossible that the Churchills might not allow their nephew to remain a day beyond his fortnight. But this was not judged feasible. The preparations must take their time, nothing could be properly ready till the third week were entered on, and for a few days they must be planning, proceeding and hoping in uncertainty — at the risk — in her opinion, the great risk, of its being all in vain.

Enscombe however was gracious, gracious in fact, if not in word. His wish of staying longer evidently did not please; but it was not opposed. All was safe and prosperous; and as the removal of one solicitude generally makes way for another, Emma, being now certain of her ball, began to adopt as the next vexation Mr. Knightley’s provoking indifference about it. Either because he did not dance himself, or because the plan had been formed without his being consulted, he seemed resolved that it should not interest him, determined against its exciting any present curiosity, or affording him any future amusement.

To her voluntary communications Emma could get no more approving reply, than,

“Very well. If the Westons think it worth while to be at all this trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, I have nothing to say against it, but that they shall not chuse pleasures for me. Oh! yes, I must be there; I could not refuse; and I will keep as much awake as I can; but I would rather be at home, looking over William Larkins’s week’s account; much rather, I confess. Pleasure in seeing dancing! not I, indeed — I never look at it — I do not know who does. Fine dancing, I believe, like virtue, must be its own reward. Those who are standing by are usually thinking of something very different.”

This Emma felt was aimed at her; and it made her quite angry. It was not in compliment to Jane Fairfax however that he was so indifferent, or so indignant; he was not guided by
her
feelings in reprobating the ball, for
she
enjoyed the thought of it to an extraordinary degree. It made her animated — open hearted — she voluntarily said;

“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, I hope nothing may happen to prevent the ball. What a disappointment it would be! I do look forward to it, I own, with
very
great pleasure.”

It was not to oblige Jane Fairfax therefore that he would have preferred the society of William Larkins. No! she was more and more convinced that Mrs. Weston was quite mistaken in that surmise. There was a great deal of friendly and of compassionate attachment on his side — but no love.

Alas! there was soon no leisure for quarrelling with Mr. Knightley. Two days of joyful security were immediately followed by the over-throw of every thing. A letter arrived from Mr. Churchill to urge his nephew’s instant return. Mrs. Churchill was unwell — far too unwell to do without him; she had been in a very suffering state (so said her husband) when writing to her nephew two days before, though from her usual unwillingness to give pain, and constant habit of never thinking of herself, she had not mentioned it; but now she was too ill to trifle, and must entreat him to set off for Enscombe without delay.

The substance of this letter was forwarded to Emma, in a note from Mrs. Weston, instantly. As to his going, it was inevitable. He must be gone within a few hours, though without feeling any real alarm for his aunt, to lessen his repugnance. He knew her illnesses; they never occurred but for her own convenience.

Mrs. Weston added, “that he could only allow himself time to hurry to Highbury, after breakfast, and take leave of the few friends there whom he could suppose to feel any interest in him; and that he might be expected at Hartfield very soon.”

This wretched note was the finale of Emma’s breakfast. When once it had been read, there was no doing any thing, but lament and exclaim. The loss of the ball — the loss of the young man — and all that the young man might be feeling! It was too wretched! Such a delightful evening as it would have been! Every body so happy! And she and her partner the happiest! “I said it would be so,” was the only consolation.

Her father’s feelings were quite distinct. He thought principally of Mrs. Churchill’s illness, and wanted to know how she was treated; and as for the ball, it was shocking to have dear Emma disappointed; but they would all be safer at home.

Emma was ready for her visitor some time before he appeared; but if this reflected at all upon his impatience, his sorrowful look and total want of spirits when he did come might redeem him. He felt the going away almost too much to speak of it. His dejection was most evident. He sat really lost in thought for the first few minutes; and when rousing himself, it was only to say,

“Of all horrid things, leave-taking is the worst.”

“But you will come again,” said Emma. “This will not be your only visit to Randalls.”

“Ah! (shaking his head) — the uncertainty of when I may be able to return! I shall try for it with a zeal! It will be the object of all my thoughts and cares! and if my uncle and aunt go to town this spring — but I am afraid — they did not stir last spring — I am afraid it is a custom gone forever.”

“Our poor ball must be quite given up.”

“Ah! that ball! why did we wait for any thing? why not seize the pleasure at once? How often is happiness destroyed by preparation, foolish preparation! You told us it would be so. Oh! Miss Woodhouse, why are you always so right?”

His words “seize the pleasure” seemed to echo between them. For some reason, they made Emma feel utterly wicked. She remembered the pleasure Harriet had spoken of more than once in a man’s arms. Her skin flushed hot. She was alone with Mr. Churchill. Would he try such a thing as Mr. Martin had with Harriet? Emma was surprized to find she did not think the thought entirely repellant. She spoke, shocked at the breathless quality of her voice, “Indeed, I am very sorry to be right in this instance. I would much rather have been merry than wise.” Her words seemed tinged with her thoughts, and she blushed farther. She had not meant her phrase to sound as licentious as it had, but now that the thought was out, Emma could not contain it. She suddenly hoped very much that Mr. Churchill would try to kiss her. Perhaps it would forever supplant the memory of Mr. Elton’s fumbling in the carriage.

“If I can come again, we are still to have our ball. My father depends on it. Do not forget your engagement.”

Emma looked graciously and — she hoped — a little coquettishly. She nibbled her lips, hoping to draw attention to them.

“Such a fortnight as it has been!” he continued without looking at her; “every day more precious and more delightful than the day before! every day making me less fit to bear any other place. Happy those, who can remain at Highbury!”

“As you do us such ample justice now,” said Emma, laughing, gaining his eyes “I will venture to ask, whether you did not come a little doubtfully at first? Do not we rather surpass your expectations? I am sure we do. I am sure you did not much expect to like us. You would not have been so long in coming, if you had had a pleasant idea of Highbury.” She flashed him a flirtatious grin.

He laughed rather consciously; and though denying the sentiment, Emma was convinced that it had been so.

“And you must be off this very morning?” Emma asked, looking up at him from beneath her lashes.

“Yes; my father is to join me here: we shall walk back together, and I must be off immediately. I am almost afraid that every moment will bring him.”

He seemed to be staring at her in a way he never had before. Encouraged, Emma continued with a slight smile. “Not five minutes to spare even for your friends Miss Fairfax and Miss Bates? How unlucky! Miss Bates’s powerful, argumentative mind might have strengthened yours.”

Something purely male flashed in his eyes, and Emma found herself quite breathless. “Yes,” Mr. Churchill said. “I
have
called there; passing the door, I thought it better. It was a right thing to do. I went in for three minutes, and was detained by Miss Bates’s being absent. She was out; and I felt it impossible not to wait till she came in. She is a woman that one may, that one
must
laugh at; but that one would not wish to slight. It was better to pay my visit, then”

He hesitated, got up, walked to a window. Emma felt a stab of disappointment. Was she doing this correctly? She must be a terrible flirt.

“In short,” said he, “perhaps, Miss Woodhouse — I think you can hardly be quite without suspicion”

He looked at her, as if wanting to read her thoughts. Her self-doubt vanished. It was the look of a man enthralled with beauty; it was a look of wanting. Emma’s mouth went dry. She hardly knew what to say. It seemed like the forerunner of something absolutely serious, which she did not wish. She had only been wishing for a kiss — something simple — to see if it was as truly horrible as she thought or if the action merited some fond feelings. Oh, dear — she had been flirting
too
well. Forcing herself to speak, therefore, in the hope of putting it by, she calmly said,

“You are quite in the right; it was most natural to pay your visit, then”

He was silent. She believed he was looking at her; probably reflecting on what she had said, and trying to understand the manner. She heard him sigh. It was natural for him to feel that he had
cause
to sigh. Emma knew she was being confusing at the moment.