There was only a little spruce beer left in the glass; Knightley finished it and put the glass down.
“I met Weston on the road today; he taxed me—as a joke—with avoiding Randalls, and told me to come to tea on Saturday. I really think I must go, Madam. I have been avoiding Randalls, and I ought not to. I fear that more time spent in the presence of Churchill will not help me to be any more forbearing toward him, but I suppose there is some satisfaction in doing one’s duty.”
He reached down and stroked the cat for a moment. “I cannot say you are as good a listener as Homer was; and if anyone had told me six months ago that I would be telling my troubles to a cat—no offense intended, of course, Madam—I would not have believed them. But I may say that you are not quite as intolerable as I had thought you would be. I wish you a good night.”
He stood then and walked over to the window. It was cloudy and the moon gave very little light, but he gazed toward Hartfield just as he had done before. The thought of Emma there, deep in untroubled sleep, made him glad.
“Good night, my dear Emma. If I had asked you to marry me today, you would have had a sleepless night; it is better as it is. Sleep well, my love.”
He went to Hartfield late in the afternoon of the next day, bringing the greetings and news John’s letter had contained. As accustomed as he was to the sight of Emma, it was an effort of the will to keep himself from staring at her. She seemed almost to glow with health and good spirits—or could he hope that perhaps some of her joy came at seeing him? He tried to remember if she had always looked this happy when he was announced; perhaps she had and he had been blind to that as well.
“I suppose you have heard about this ball of the Weston’s,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “Emma has been very busy about it today.”
“No, sir, I had not.” His hopes faded; this explained her unusually cheerful looks.
“Yes, Mr. Knightley, the Westons are giving a ball!” Emma said. “And there will be musicians and a supper and enough guests to fill the room—all at the Crown. That is, we hope there is to be a ball. It is impossible to arrange such a thing in a day or two, you know, and so the ball cannot be held until next week. Mr. Churchill has written to Enscombe to ask that he may extend his stay by a day or two. Until we have Mrs. Churchill’s answer we may not depend on it absolutely.”
He ought to have expected something of the kind. Naturally, Churchill would have been the one to start this scheme; he must want another opportunity to display his talents to all of Highbury, and especially to Emma. And now he would be staying longer in Highbury because of it!
“But Mr. Churchill says he believes she will give consent,” Emma went on. “Is it not wonderful, Mr. Knightley? There has not been a ball in Highbury since—well, I cannot remember one. It will give such pleasure to all the neighbourhood!”
He wished she would not be so exuberant about it, as if she wanted to see Churchill showing off again. Some belligerent impulse to quell her enthusiasm made him say dismissively, “Very well. If the Westons think it worthwhile 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 choose pleasures for me.”
His tone stopped Emma short. She looked at him, surprised.
“You will come—you would not refuse to come!”
“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.”
“But you will see your friends; and if you will not dance yourself, at least you will have pleasure in seeing other people dance.”
“Pleasure in seeing dancing!” As if he could be amused by watching Frank Churchill dance! “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.”
A flash of some emotion passed across Emma’s face; Knightley thought it was anger, but he could not see why she should be angry. If he had no desire to dress in his finest clothes and stand about all evening, watching that—well, watching Churchill do his best to electrify the room with his skilful dancing, what should it matter to anyone but himself? He wanted to talk of something else, something they could not argue about. He remembered the letter.
“John says that the boys may be coming to Hartfield for a fortnight or so in May; if the visit comes to pass, I hope that you will share them with me. I enjoy their company quite as much as you do, you know.”
Her face softened at the mention of their nephews, and in the shared admiration of their little relations the rest of the visit passed in perfect amity.
18 February
Donwell Abbey
Dear John,
Yes, Weston’s son is still in Highbury. He was to leave in a very few days, but somehow he has contrived that the Westons will be giving a ball next week at the Crown, and therefore his going is deferred until after the Grand Occasion. I shall attend, of course, unless I am fortunate enough to be called away by some urgent necessity. You would not happen to desire my presence for any reason, I suppose?
Tell Bella that Madam Duval has found a source of amusement: my pencils. She discovered one on the floor the other day and batted it around for ten minutes before the noise of it rolling around the library was more than my nerves could bear. The next day she saw one on my desk (she was in my lap—yes, laugh at that if you will) and swatted it to the floor where it occupied her for quite some time. I have found three pencils in various corners of the library since then; I shall have to start hiding them.
How splendid that Isabella has found such a sweet friend in Miss Hartley! From your description she seems a perfectly delightful lady—and if you do anything to effect our introduction I shall make Bella the gift of a monkey to animate the nursery, and indeed the entire house.
Faithfully yours,
George
Knightley went to Randalls on Saturday with a mind resolute to do his duty to the Westons, and to be as affable to Frank Churchill as he could bear to be. He was surprised, therefore, to be greeted with the news that Churchill was not there.
“Frank asked me to make his apologies for not joining us,” said Weston. “He hopes you will not be offended by his absence.”
“Not at all.” Knightley was tempted to ask if Frank’s hair had needed cutting again, but restrained himself.
“He has gone to Hartfield,” explained Weston, “to give Emma the good news—he has just received word from Enscombe that he may stay a little longer, and the ball can proceed as planned.”
Weston said it with such certainty of giving delight that Knightley felt obliged to say, “Good news, indeed! It will be greatly enjoyed by all of Highbury, I am sure.”
“So we hope,” said Mrs. Weston. “Emma is very much looking forward to it.”
“As well she might,” said Knightley. “She loves to dance and rarely has opportunity.” He felt a slight pang at this admission; he ought to have shown more sympathy at Emma’s pleasure in the prospect of dancing.
“Yes, a ball is just the thing for a young lady,” said Weston. “And for a young man, too, eh? Nothing like a ball to promote affection. Music is the food of love, they say; isn’t that right? It is just as well there was no ball here five years ago, my dear—had I danced with you I certainly would have thrown over all my carefully-laid plans and married you within the month.” Weston winked at his wife and she smiled and blushed; Knightley looked away. The sheer happiness on their faces awakened the very longing in his heart that he was trying to lull to sleep.
He left Randalls an hour later, more troubled even than he had been before. Weston was right: a dance could very likely fuel whatever affection was between Emma and Churchill. The thought flitted across his mind that perhaps he could ask Emma to dance, and his heart had just time to leap at the thought before he pushed it down again. Everyone would mark such a completely unprecede
nted thing as Mr. Knightley dancing, and his object was to keep his behaviour unchanged. Moreover, if he danced with Emma after Churchill did, she would compare her two partners, and no doubt his dancing would be much inferior to Churchill’s. No, he could not dance with her. He would have to stand aside and watch, just as he had before.
Spencer conducted the service as usual on Sunday; Knightley fancied he could see a little depression of spirits in the curate, but otherwise he carried out his duties admirably for one who had lately experienced such a blow. He felt a kinship with Spencer, and indeed with Robert Martin, who was still suffering. Martin had in the last week rejected the opportunity to rent out the little cottage where he had planned to live with Harriet, because (Knightley guessed) although it must be heartbreaking to see the cottage standing empty when he had hoped to fill it, it would be more painful still to see it occupied by others. He ought to invite Spencer and Martin to Donwell some evening: the first meeting of The Society for Lovelorn Bachelors in Donwell. Then again, perhaps that would be unwise. It could scarcely be a lively party; none of them were the sort that would try to mask their sorrows with an evening of drinking and cards. And hours of polite talk might make them all more melancholy than they were before.
Knightley spent Monday and Tuesday going about his business as well as he could, putting aside the thought of the ball whenever it intruded into his consciousness. Thinking of it would do no good and only put him into a bad humour. He avoided Hartfield for the same reason; Emma would talk about the ball, and he would respond in some way he ought not, he was sure. It was better to keep away from the subject entirely until the ball itself; he would suffer through that evening somehow and then be done with it.
21 February
Wellyn House
Brunswick Square
Dear George,
Of course I have no need of you here; you must go to the ball and dance. Miss Gilbert has gone to visit her brother again; perhaps Mrs. Whitney will accompany her? I hear she quite enjoys dancing.
Bella says she is very glad Madam Duval has found a plaything and she hopes you will not really hide all your pencils. She also bids me tell you that she can sing “The Lass of Killashee” quite as well as her mama does and she will sing it for you when next you come. Perhaps she thinks you will take it to heart and find a winsome lass to woo. We live in hope…but I do not depend upon it.
I am, as always, your most cherished brother,
John
Larkins came to the Abbey for his usual meeting on Tuesday afternoon bristling with news.
“I suppose you have heard, Mr. Knightley, that Mr. Churchill has left Highbury?”
The quill fell from Knightley’s fingers as he stared at Larkins.
“Left Highbury? To go where?”
“To Yorkshire, I understand. It appears he was recalled by his relatives there only this morning, and set off without delay. There is great regret in Highbury over the cancellation of the ball.”
Churchill gone! His relief was so great he nearly clapped Larkins on the back and thanked him for bringing the information.
“Miss Bates fears her niece is very dejected by the news,” Larkins went on, “And Mr. Weston says Miss Woodhouse will be exceedingly disappointed.”
Very true, it was a misfortune for Emma. Though Knightley could not be sorry the ball was no more, he wished Emma might have had the pleasure of dancing. If he had not taken to heart (as he ought to have) the injunction to “rejoice with them that do rejoice”, at least he might now try to “weep with them that weep”.
Never had his business with Larkins been so swiftly dealt with, and the speed with which various matters were considered and dispatched left the poor bailiff almost gasping. He left for Hartfield as soon as Larkins was gone, and it struck him as he hurried along that he had used to walk this road with no other feelings than the mild anticipation of a pleasant visit with agreeable companions. How long had it been since he had walked past these same trees and cottages to Hartfield without any disquiet at all? It seemed a long, long time. The worry had begun when Emma befriended Harriet, and had only increased during those tedious weeks when Elton thought he was wooing Emma. Lately, of course, anxiety had been his constant companion on these walks as he dreaded the possibility of an attachment between Emma and Churchill. What a fool he was for not seeing that so much concern over Emma was cause for suspecting his own heart! But it had taken the genuine threat of Churchill’s attentions to Emma to wake him from his stupor. Grudgingly he acknowledged that he owed Churchill a small debt of gratitude for his awakening. He could even wish him well, so long as he stayed in Yorkshire.
And now he was walking the same road again with a mind…well, he could not say that his mind was free of apprehension, but he did feel a good measure of relief. The immediate threat was lifted: Churchill was gone, perhaps never to return. Knightley could not be so foolish as to offer for Emma now, but in time, perhaps, she might see him as something other than an interfering older relative.
Knightley arrived at Hartfield in time for tea, happy to see that although Emma was undoubtedly disappointed, she had a smile for him when he came in.
“I heard about the ball—that it must be abandoned,” said Knightley. “I am sorry for the thwarted expectations of so many.”
“Not for yourself, of course.”
“Well, no, I cannot say that. But you, Emma, who have so few opportunities of dancing—you are really out of luck; you are very much out of luck!” He spoke as kindly as he could and she seemed grateful for his sympathy.
“I think it is very well that they gave it up,” said Mr. Woodhouse. “It would have been a perilous thing to be dancing in a ball-room in February! In a house it is not so draughty, of course, and one knows the people who own the house. But at the Crown! It was a very imprudent idea.”
“Well, it is a comfort to know that there are two people, at least, who are not in mourning,” said Emma, smiling at her father.
“My dear, you must tell Mr. Knightley about Isabella’s letter. He will be very pleased to hear about little Bella—such a clever child!”
“Papa means that Isabella says Bella has learnt a song, and sings it very well.”
“Ah, yes, John told me of that; it is “The Lass of Kilashee”, I think:
For tho’ she scorned to give her hand
His patience constant won the day
He woo’d by stealth with sighs and smiles
And gently stole her heart away.”
“Yes, that is the song Isabella mentioned, is it not?” said Mr. Woodhouse. “My dear, you ought to write and remind Isabella not to let Bella sing too constantly. Remember that she had that little weakness in the throat a month or two ago; excessive singing will bring it back. Perry says…”
Mr. Woodhouse went on talking, but Knightley forgot to listen, arrested by the train of thought the song had suggested. He woo’d by stealth…
Indeed. Perhaps, though he could not pursue Emma openly, he might still begin to plan an assault on the stronghold of Emma’s heart. There was no need now for feverish haste in trying to secure Emma’s affections; he could rather, by kindness and smiles, win her gradually; there would be nothing hurried or pressing about his courtship. Love could ripen in its own time. And gently steal her heart away.
“Perhaps Mr. Knightley knows when Mr. Elton will return with his bride,” said Mr. Woodhouse, drawing Knightley’s attention back to the conversation.
“He is planning to return in a little more than a week, I believe,” said Knightley.
“He could not have married at a better time,” said Emma. “The new Mrs. Elton will usurp the ball as an item of interest to be talked over amongst the gossips.”
“And have the gossips determined what her leading qualities are yet? For of course they must establish such points before she appears in person. Tell me what they have decided; I am certain you have heard something of it.”
Emma laughed. “Miss Bates reports it all faithfully to
me, you may be sure. Miss Hawkins evidently excels at everything—a great authority on dress, a better musician than Miss Fairfax, and so skilful a card-player that no one will play with her for stakes higher than tuppence.”
“Poor woman, to have to endeavour to match such a reputation! Let us hope that she is not easily intimidated by the judgement of others.”
“Oh, they are all disposed to like her, you know; Mr. Elton is still a favourite, and whatever his wife is, she must be acceptable to the general populace.”
“True enough. She may count herself fortunate that she is coming to a society that is so easily pleased. I trust she will be just as eager to be impressed with us.”
“You need not worry, I am sure,” said Emma with a smile and a raised left eyebrow. “Only show her the Abbey, giving special attention to the things you are most proud of—your favourite milk-cow and fine new ram, for example—and she will give you all the admiration you could wish for.”
Knightley chuckled. “No doubt she will weep bitter tears that she married Mr. Elton before she had seen my poultry-yard.”
“Any woman would,” said Emma.
Any woman…like you, Emma?
Charity Envieth Not Page 28