“Perhaps I ought to call tomorrow instead.”
“Not at all, not at all. Do go and call on Mrs. Weston; she will be glad to see you.”
So Knightley went on and fifteen minutes later he was seated in the drawing room, embarking on the subject of Emma and Harriet.
"I do not know what your opinion may be, Mrs. Weston,” he began, “of this great intimacy between Emma and Harriet Smith, but I think it a bad thing."
"A bad thing!” Mrs. Weston was truly surprised. “Do you really think it a bad thing? Why so?"
Knightley’s heart sank. She had not seen anything amiss, then. Bother! He would have to convince her. "I think they will neither of them do the other any good."
"You surprise me! Emma must do Harriet good; and by supplying her with a new object of interest, Harriet may be said to do Emma good. I have been seeing their intimacy with the greatest pleasure. How very differently we feel! Not think they will do each other any good! This will certainly be the beginning of one of our quarrels about Emma, Mr. Knightley."
Knightley grinned at that. They had “quarrelled” over Emma several times in the past—always good-naturedly—but Knightley, at least, had been serious about trying to correct the faults in Emma’s education.
"Perhaps you think I am come on purpose to quarrel with you, knowing Weston to be out, and that you must still fight your own battle."
Mrs. Weston protested that it made not the slightest difference, for she knew Mr. Weston to be entirely on her side of the question. They both agreed that it was fortunate for Emma to have secured a female companion after she had been used to it all her life.
“Mr. Knightley,” she continued, “I shall not allow you to be a fair judge in this case. You are so much used to live alone that you do not know the value of a companion; and perhaps no man can be a good judge of the comfort a woman feels in the society of one of her own sex after being used to it all her life.”
I do not know the value of a companion? thought Knightley. But Mrs. Weston was still speaking.
“I can imagine your objection to Harriet Smith. She is not the superior young woman which Emma's friend ought to be. But on the other hand as Emma wants to see her better informed, it will be an inducement to her to read more herself. They will read together. She means it, I know."
Well, at least Mrs. Weston saw something less than ideal in the friendship. Perhaps he could build on this. He reminded her that Emma had always had great plans for improving reading, but had never actually read the books, in spite of Miss Taylor’s urging. He knew he was on firm ground by saying that anything requiring industry and patience would never be mastered by Emma. Mrs. Weston, however, seemed to be reluctant to grant him that point, and so he elaborated.
"Emma is spoiled,” said he, “by being the cleverest of her family. At ten years old she had the misfortune of being able to answer questions which puzzled her sister at seventeen. She was always quick and assured, Isabella slow and diffident. And ever since she was twelve, Emma has been mistress of the house and of you all. In her mother she lost the only person able to cope with her. She inherits her mother's talents, and must have been under subjection to her."
"I should have been sorry, Mr. Knightley,” laughed Mrs. Weston, “to be dependent on your recommendation, had I quitted Mr. Woodhouse's family and wanted another situation; I do not think you would have spoken a good word for me to anybody. I am sure you always thought me unfit for the office I held."
“Yes,” said he, smiling. “You are better placed here; very fit for a wife, but not at all for a governess. But you were preparing yourself to be an excellent wife all the time you were at Hartfield. You might not give Emma such a complete education as your powers would seem to promise; but you were receiving a very good education from her, on the very material matrimonial point of submitting your own will, and doing as you were bid; and if Weston had asked me to recommend him a wife, I should certainly have named Miss Taylor.”
"Thank you,” said Mrs. Weston, acknowledging his humour with a graceful incline of her head. “There will be very little merit in making a good wife to such a man as Mr. Weston."
"Why, to own the truth, I am afraid you are rather thrown away, and that with every disposition to bear, there will be nothing to be borne. We will not despair, however. Weston may grow cross from the wantonness of comfort, or his son may plague him."
"I hope not that. It is not likely. No, Mr. Knightley, do not foretell vexation from that quarter."
"Not I, indeed. I only name possibilities. I do not pretend to Emma's genius for foretelling and guessing. I hope, with all my heart, the young man may be a Weston in merit, and a Churchill in fortune.” However unlikely that appears to be at the moment, he added silently.
“But Harriet Smith,” he continued, “I have not half done about Harriet Smith. I think her the very worst sort of companion that Emma could possibly have. She knows nothing herself, and looks upon Emma as knowing everything. She is a flatterer in all her ways; and so much the worse, because undesigned. Her ignorance is hourly flattery. How can Emma imagine she has any thing to learn herself while Harriet is presenting such a delightful inferiority? And as for Harriet, I will venture to say that she cannot gain by the acquaintance. Hartfield will only put her out of conceit with all the other places she belongs to. She will grow just refined enough to be uncomfortable with those among whom birth and circumstances have placed her home. I am much mistaken if Emma's doctrines give any strength of mind, or tend at all to make a girl adapt herself rationally to the varieties of her situation in life. They only give a little polish.”
“I either depend more upon Emma's good sense than you do, or am more anxious for her present comfort; for I cannot lament the acquaintance. How well she looked last night!”
“Oh! You would rather talk of her person than her mind, would you? Very well; I shall not attempt to deny Emma's being pretty.”
“Pretty! Say beautiful rather. Can you imagine any thing nearer perfect beauty than Emma altogether—face and figure?”
A sudden vision of how Emma had looked the night before came into his mind. Yes, she was beautiful. She was very beautiful.
“I do not know what I could imagine,” he said after trying for a moment to improve on the vision and failing, “but I confess that I have seldom seen a face or figure more pleasing to me than hers. But I am a partial old friend.”
“Such an eye! The true hazel eye—and so brilliant! Regular features, open countenance, with a complexion! Oh! What a bloom of full health, and such a pretty height and size; such a firm and upright figure. There is health, not merely in her bloom, but in her air, her head, her glance. One hears sometimes of a child being 'the picture of health’; now Emma always gives me the idea of being the complete picture of grown-up health. She is loveliness itself, Mr. Knightley, is not she?”
“I have not a fault to find with her person,” he replied. “I think her all you describe. I love to look at her” (even now he was strangely reluctant to put the picture of her out of his mind) “and I will add this praise, that I do not think her personally vain. Considering how very handsome she is, she appears to be little occupied with it; her vanity lies another way. Mrs. Weston, I am not to be talked out of my dislike of her intimacy with Harriet Smith, or my dread of its doing them both harm.”
“And I, Mr. Knightley, am equally stout in my confidence of its not doing them any harm. With all dear Emma's little faults, she is an excellent creature. Where shall we see a better daughter, or a kinder sister, or a truer friend? No, no. She has qualities which may be trusted; she will never lead any one really wrong; she will make no lasting blunder; where Emma errs once, she is in the right a hundred times."
It was useless; he could see that. The Westons would not aid him in separating the two young ladies. He gave way amiably, therefore, and said that he would not plague her about it any more, but would instead wait for the Christmas visit of John and Isabella, who would be sure to think as he d
id.
Mrs. Weston, however, dissuaded him from even that plan of action, saying that she did not think that Emma would listen to John and Isabella even were they to disapprove of her friendship with Harriet, as Mr. Woodhouse completely endorsed it. Furthermore, Isabella was easily worried and might fret over her sister.
This was all very true, and Knightley realized that there was nothing for it but to sit silently by and let Emma do as she pleased. He promised to keep quiet. It vexed him very much to leave her to her fate; his impulse was to protect her even from her own folly.
“I have a very sincere interest in Emma,” he said, explaining his wish to intervene as much to himself as to Mrs. Weston. “Isabella does not seem more my sister—has never excited a greater interest—perhaps hardly so great. There is an anxiety, a curiosity in what one feels for Emma. I wonder what will become of her.”
“So do I, very much,” said Mrs. Weston.
“She always declares she will never marry, which, of course, means just nothing at all. But I have no idea that she has yet ever seen a man she cared for.” That was a thought; what would Emma be like if she had seen such a man? Perhaps she would alter as John had when he had fallen in love with Isabella: apprehension and uncertainty would make her humble. “It would not be a bad thing for her to be very much in love with a proper object,” he said, thinking aloud. “I should like to see Emma in love, and in some doubt of a return; it would do her good. But there is nobody hereabouts to attach her, and she goes so seldom from home.”
“There does, indeed, seem as little to tempt her to break her resolution, at present," said Mrs. Weston, "as can well be; and while she is so happy at Hartfield, I cannot wish her to be forming any attachment which would be creating such difficulties on poor Mr. Woodhouse's account. I do not recommend matrimony at present to Emma, though I mean no slight to the state I assure you."
Mrs. Weston managed to say it very naturally, but Knightley knew from the way that she looked at her hands as she said it that she had other thoughts she was not expressing. He had been too closely acquainted with Hartfield for too many years not to be able to read the expressions and mannerisms of its inmates. It did not take him many moments to surmise what she was not saying; she likely had some young man in mind that would tempt Emma to break her resolution of remaining single, and he would be very much surprised if the young man was not Frank Churchill.
However, there was nothing he could say about that if Mrs. Weston said nothing, and although he himself had started the topic of Emma being in love, for some reason the thought of Emma marrying was one he was disinclined to dwell on. For the second time in two days he felt he ought to change the course of the conversation.
“What does Weston think of the weather?” was the first thing that came into his head. “Shall we have rain?”
Knightley stayed another quarter of an hour before excusing himself. He had plenty of time on the walk home to review the frustrating conversation. Oddly enough, the words that most needled him were “You are so much used to live alone that you do not know the value of a companion.” But I do, he argued with the ghost of Mrs. Weston. I do know the value of a companion. I may live alone but I have not yet retreated entirely from the world and become a hermit! Not know the value of a companion, indeed! One would think that to live alone condemns a man to be insensible to all human feeling and friendship! Ridiculous! There is nothing wrong with living alone.
“It is not good that the man should be alone.” The words darted into his mind, startling him and halting his steps for an instant. He was not prepared to do battle with that quotation. Very deliberately he pushed the whole subject out of his mind and strode on toward Donwell.
7
The day dawned sullenly, rain dribbling down the windows of the dressing room.
“I dine with the Gilberts this evening, Baxter,” said Knightley as the butler helped him on with his waistcoat.
“Yes, sir. Mrs. Hodges informed me this morning of the circumstance.”
Knightley’s lips quirked in amusement. He had received an invitation only the day before and had not spoken of it to anyone, but somehow he was not surprised that Baxter knew. Where his staff got their information was anyone’s guess, although he suspected that William Larkins was usually responsible. It was a wonder that Larkins had time to do any work at all, so much of his time being spent spreading intelligence of one kind or another.
“Well, Baxter, are you also knowledgeable about the guest list for this gathering?”
“Yes, Mr. Knightley.”
“And?” prompted Knightley.
“Young Mr. Gilbert, of course, the elder Mr. Gilbert’s sister Miss Gilbert, Miss Gilbert’s companion, Mr. Spencer, Mrs. Hughes, and yourself.”
“Thank you. I presume that the companion to Miss Gilbert was an unexpected addition to their party, thus necessitating my invitation in order to make an equal number of ladies and gentlemen.”
“I believe you are correct, sir,” said Baxter. “She is evidently a widow who has begun to accompany Miss Gilbert when she goes visiting. Would you prefer the grey coat? It is a trifle warmer than the black for such a day as this.”
“Yes, the grey. The rain is very heavy, and even if it lets up the roads will be muddy. Better send Thomas to get horses from the Crown for this evening. I will use the carriage and take Mr. Spencer and Mrs. Hughes with me. Would you send a message to Mrs. Hughes, saying that the carriage will be at her door at seven o’clock? I have a meeting at the Crown this morning, and will visit Spencer myself when I return.”
“Very good, sir. Your coat, sir.”
Baxter assisted Knightley in putting on the coat and gave it a final brush as expertly as Richards had ever done. Emma had been horrified when he had told her, at his old valet Richards’ retirement, that he did not intend to hire another valet but instead have Baxter perform those services.
“My dear Emma,” he had said, “I do not need a distinct servant to look after my attire. Baxter can manage it easily with his other duties. I can save…”
Her left eyebrow arched as she interrupted with “Oh, if it has to do with saving money on servants’ wages and the servant tax, then I can see there will be no dissuading you. Your living up to your position as landowner, magistrate, and head of the ancient Knightley family is nothing in comparison to the opportunity of economising.”
“No,” he said solemnly, “There is no hope of persuading me otherwise when I have occasion to save a guinea. And when Mrs. Hodges retires I shall have William Larkins take on her tasks as well as his own. He will scold the kitchen maids just as well as she, I dare say, and will learn to bake an apple tart that will rival even hers.”
Emma laughed in spite of herself to think of grim William Larkins fussing about the kitchen. “He could do the scolding bit very well, at least. And perhaps then you will have saved enough to purchase horses to ride and drive instead of always hiring them.”
“What?” he cried in mock horror. “Pay the tax for pleasure horses and hire another groom and lay out money to feed the beasts all so that I can put them to use once a fortnight? Emma, Emma, you know that putting the money into the estate yields better profits—”
“There! I knew you would not listen to the voice of reason, though I believe you protest loudly because you know I am right. You remind me of Shakespeare’s description of someone: ’e’en though vanquished he could argue still.’”
“I believe the author of that remark was Goldsmith, Emma. Though I can recall something Shakespeare did write that could be properly aimed at you.”
“And what might that be?”
“‘Get thee to a nunnery.’”
Knightley smiled at the memory of that conversation. Emma was to this day unconvinced that he did right by not keeping his own riding horses. And, he owned, she did have a point. The rain was still coming down and the wind felt icy as he left the house. It would be easy to use one of the home farm horses for saddle, as less scrupulous men did—t
he tax for farm horses being less than those kept for pleasure. But his conscience was rather finely-tuned in matters of honesty, and he never seriously entertained the notion.
He was thoroughly chilled by the time he reached the Crown. He scraped the mud off his boots and went to the little parlour where the vestry council held their meetings. Thankfully, Mrs. Stokes had built a prosperous fire and he warmed himself by it. Elton arrived shortly thereafter with a sheaf of papers, and Mrs. Stokes appeared with brandy. Knightley poured out two glasses and offered one to Elton, saying, “Terrible weather.”
“Yes, horrible. The mud just past the Mitchell farm was dreadful. I had to use the path that comes around by Mr. Cole’s stable.”
So Elton had come from Hartfield, had he? It was very early for a social call. Well, he might have been visiting the Mitchells. To put the matter beyond doubt, Knightley asked, “And how is Mr. Woodhouse this morning?”
“Pretty well, although storms make him nervous. It is a pity that poor Miss Woodhouse must always stay so near to him when he is anxious. He is fretful so much of the time! It will be much better for her when…” He let his sentence trail off and busied himself arranging the papers he had brought.
When…what? thought Knightley. When Mr. Woodhouse dies? When Miss Woodhouse marries? When she marries you? He took another sip of his brandy before replying as evenly as he could, “Miss Woodhouse would not wish to be anywhere else but with her father.”
“Yes, yes, of course, and very noble of her, I’m sure.”
Knightley was tempted out of sheer perversity to ask after the health of the Misses Carson, of Bath, who had been the aspiration of Elton before Miss Woodhouse had attained the ascendancy. He wavered, but then Cole and Weston bustled in and the moment was gone. Drinks were poured, hands were warmed at the fire, small talk was bantered about, and then Knightley cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, shall we begin?”
Charity Envieth Not Page 6