Emma and the Vampires

by Wayne Josephson

  Copyright © 2010 by Wayne Josephson

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  Cover images © 2548 Portrait of a Man, 1809, Fabre, Francois Xavier (1766-1837)/© National Gallery of Scotland, Edinburgh, Scotland/The Bridgeman Art Library; Portrait of a girl wearing a red shawl, Westall, Richard (1765-1836) (attr. to)/Johnny van Haeften Gallery, London, UK/The Bridgeman Art Library; Portrait of a Lady in a Black Dress, 1825 (oil on canvas), Beechey, Sir William (1753-1839)/Private Collection/The Bridgeman Art Library

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  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Josephson, Wayne.

  Emma and the vampires / Jane Austen and Wayne Josephson.

  p. cm.

  1. Austen, Jane, 1775-1817—Parodies, imitations, etc. 2. Vampires—Fiction. 3. Fathers and daughters—Fiction. 4. Female friendship—Fiction. 5. Mate selection—Fiction. 6. Young women—England—Fiction. 7. England—Fiction. I. Austen, Jane, 1775-1817. Emma. II. Title.

  PS3610.O6785E46 2010

  813’.6—dc22

  2010010125

  To Peggy

  Chapter 1

  Emma Woodhouse—handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition—had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress her. Until the vampire attacks began.

  Emma resided with her affectionate, indulgent father at their estate, Hartfield, in the village of Highbury. She had been the mistress of the house ever since her sister Isabella’s marriage seven years past. Her mother had died too long ago for Emma to have had more than a vague remembrance of her caresses. In her mother’s place, an excellent woman named Miss Taylor had served as governess.

  Miss Taylor was less a governess than a friend—their relationship had more the intimacy of sisters. Miss Taylor imposed hardly any restraints on Emma, living together as mutual friends, and Emma doing just what she liked.

  The real evils, indeed, of Emma’s situation were the power of getting too much her own way and a disposition to think a bit too well of herself.

  These were disadvantages that would lead to dangers which were presently unperceived—everyone in Emma’s village was pale, this being England, so the vampire gentlemen of Highbury blended in quite nicely. Emma was blithely unaware when she found herself in their presence. And especially when she found herself attracted to them.

  A gentle sorrow came when Miss Taylor married. The wedding had every promise of happiness for Emma’s former governess. Her new husband, Mr. Weston, was a vampire of exceptional character, easy fortune, appealing scent, and eternally suitable age. He had the pale blue-coloured eyes of a vegan who feasted only on animal blood. Emma thought it slightly odd that Mr. Weston requested the wedding be held at midnight. The guests struggled to stay awake, but since Mr. Weston never slept, he was quite alert throughout the ceremony.

  How was Emma to bear the loss of Miss Taylor? With whom would she now share an intimate acquaintance?

  She dearly loved her father, but he was no companion for her. He could not equal her in conversation, and the disparity in their ages was much increased by his having been a hypochondriac all his life. And with the recent vampire attacks, he was quite fearful of leaving home.

  Emma’s sister Isabella, being settled in London sixteen miles off, was much too distant for daily contact. Many a long October and November evening must be endured at Hartfield before Christmas brought the next visit from Isabella, her husband, and their little children to fill the house and give her pleasant company again.

  Highbury, the large and populous village in which Hartfield was located, afforded Emma no possibility of new friends. The Woodhouses were the grandest family in town. All looked up to them. She had many acquaintances, but not one among them who could be considered a replacement for Miss Taylor.

  It was a melancholy change losing Miss Taylor, and Emma could only sigh over it. But she needed to act cheerful for her father. He was a nervous man, easily depressed, hating change of every kind. He was still not reconciled to his daughter Isabella’s marrying, when he now had to part with Miss Taylor too.

  “Poor Miss Taylor! I wish she were here again.”

  “But Papa, Mr. Weston is such a good-humoured, pleasant, and excellent man that he thoroughly deserves a good wife. We shall often visit with them. We must pay a dinner visit very soon.”

  “But—”

  “What is it, Papa?”

  “My dear, you know how I dread leaving the gates of Hartfield. I just heard of another young lady, a boarder at Mrs. Goddard’s school, being murdered by a vampire as she walked home from the village, her blood sucked completely dry.”

  “Yes, Papa, that was tragic indeed. I hope in my heart she was not pretty—it would have been such a waste! That makes the third attack in just a few months. It seems no one is safe in Highbury any more. But we would take the carriage to visit the Westons. That would relieve your worry, would it not?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “What is it now, Papa?”

  “It is just that Mr. Weston—he never eats. We shall arrive at dinner and there will be no food to sustain us.”

  Emma nodded at her father’s wisdom. “Perhaps we ought to visit for tea.”

  Her father smiled, and Emma hoped that a game of backgammon might help him through the evening.

  The backgammon table was set up, but before they could commence, Mr. George Knightley paid a call.

  Mr. Knightley was a strikingly handsome vampire who claimed to be thirty-seven but was actually two hundred thirty-seven, with alabaster skin and thick brown hair combed back off his high aristocratic forehead. He had deep purple circles under his eyes from never sleeping.

  A traditional vampire who favoured human blood, Mr. Knightley had not feasted for a great while and thus his eyes were black from need of sustenance. Being a gentleman, of course, he would never consider roaming about at night attacking young ladies to whom he had not been properly introduced.

  Mr. Knightley was not only an intimate friend of the Woodhouse family but an in-law as well—his younger brother John Knightley was married to Emma’s sister Isabella.

  He lived about a mile from Highbury at his estate, Donwell Abbey. Mr. Knightley was a frequent visitor and always welcome at Hartfield—tonight more welcome than usual, having come directly from John and Isabella’s house in London to say that everyone was well there.

  His visit this evening cheered Mr. Woodhouse for some time. Mr. Knightley had a reserved but pleasant manner which always did him good. And since his eyes never blinked, he flattered everyone with an uninterrupted gaze.

  Mr. Woodhouse gratefully observed, “It is very kind of you, Mr. Knightley, to come out at this late hour to call upon us. I am a
fraid you must have had a shocking walk, with so much danger lurking about.”

  “Not at all, sir. It is my favourite time of day—a beautiful moonlit night. I now find myself so warm that I must draw back from your great fire.” Lest, he thought, I should spontaneously combust into flames.

  “But you must have found your walk very damp. I wish you may not catch cold.”

  “Damp, sir!” exclaimed Mr. Knightley. “I thrive in the dampness and cold. The sun quite disagrees with me. And by the by, I have not wished you joy about the wedding. I trust it all went off well. How did you all behave? Who cried the most?”

  “Ah! Poor Miss Taylor!” said Mr. Woodhouse.

  “I should think she would indeed be crying on her nuptial night,” said Mr. Knightley, “from the anticipation of the coldness of her new husband’s—uh, skin. Well, at any rate, Miss Taylor has been accustomed to having two persons to please, sir—you and Emma. She will now have but one—her husband. It must be better to have only one to please than two.”

  “Especially when one of us is such a fanciful, troublesome creature!” said Emma playfully. “That is what you have in your head, I know. Mr. Knightley loves to find fault with me, Papa—it is all a joke. We always say what we like to one another.”

  Mr. Knightley was one of the few people who could see faults in Emma Woodhouse. In fact, he seemed to possess a strange ability to look into her mind and discern what she was thinking. He was the only one who ever told Emma of her faults. This was not agreeable to Emma—she wanted to be thought of as perfect by everybody.

  “Emma knows I never flatter her,” said Mr. Knightley. But she also knew how much he cared. On his advice, Emma now carried a wooden stake under her skirt, tied to her leg with a fashionable pink ribbon. Moreover, he instructed her in its proper use, all the while on tenterhooks that she should ever have occasion to employ the weapon against him.

  “I know that Emma will miss such a companion as Miss Taylor,” continued Mr. Knightley, “but she knows how much joy the marriage brings to her former governess.”

  “And you have forgotten the considerable joy to me,” said Emma. “I made the match myself, you know, four years ago; and to have it take place, when so many people said Mr. Weston would never marry again, may comfort me through anything.”

  Mr. Knightley shook his head at her. His piercing eyes stared at her, and he drew back, becoming paler even still, employing his special power to know that Emma embellished the truth.

  Her father fondly replied, “Ah! My dear, I wish you would not make matches. Pray do not make any more matches.”

  “I promise to make none for myself, Papa. But I must, indeed, for other people. It is the greatest amusement in the world! And after such success! Everybody said that Mr. Weston, who had been a widower so long, would never marry again. When I have had such success, dear Papa, you cannot think that I shall leave off matchmaking.”

  “I do not understand what you mean by success,” said Mr. Knightley. “I rather imagine your saying to yourself one idle day, ‘I think it would be nice if Mr. Weston were to marry Miss Taylor.’ You made a lucky guess, and that is all that can be said.”

  “A lucky guess is never merely luck,” said Emma. “There is always some talent in it. If I had not promoted Mr. Weston’s visits here, and given many little encouragements, it might not have come to anything after all.”

  “My dear,” replied Mr. Knightley, “a straightforward man like Weston”—whose heart never beats and lungs never breathe, he thought—“and a rational, unaffected woman like Miss Taylor may be safely left to manage their own concerns. You are more likely to have done harm than good by interfering.”

  “Emma never thinks of herself if she can do good to others,” rejoined Mr. Woodhouse, understanding only part of what he had just heard. “But, my dear, pray do not make any more matches—they are silly things.”

  “Only one more, Papa. Only for Mr. Elton, our dear vicar. Poor, pale Mr. Elton! I must look about for a wife for him. He has been here two whole years and has fitted up his house so comfortably—though his black curtains are curiously always drawn against the light of day. He must be very sad to live alone. It would be a shame to have him single any longer. I thought when he officiated the wedding ceremony last night for Miss Taylor and Mr. Weston, he looked so very much as if he would like to have a wedding for himself!”

  “Mr. Elton is a very handsome young man, to be sure,” said her father. “I have a great regard for him. On Sunday mornings, when he touches my hand at communion, a shock like lightning courses through my body, which must be the Lord himself working his miracles. I do find it curious that he never ventures near the holy water or symbols of the cross. Quite strange behaviour indeed for a man of God. Nevertheless, my dear, if you want to show him any attention, ask him to come and dine with us someday. That will be a much better thing.”

  “I agree with you entirely, sir,” said Mr. Knightley, although, he thought, considering the blackness of Mr. Elton’s eyes, I would imagine his hunger lies in something other than the repast you will offer. “Invite him to dinner, Emma, but leave him to choose his own wife. Depend upon it, any man who appears to be twenty-seven and never seems to age can take care of himself.”

  Chapter 2

  Mr. Weston was a native of Highbury, born into a respectable family of vegan vampires which, for the past two or three hundred years, had risen into gentility and property. He had received a good education and, after inheriting early in life a small fortune, had entered into the military.

  Young Captain Weston was a general favourite, much admired for his good looks, great strength, and amazing speed. Then he met a Miss Churchill, of a great and wealthy Yorkshire family. Nobody was surprised when they fell in love except her brother, who, having never seen Captain Weston, objected strongly.

  Miss Churchill, however, would not be dissuaded from the marriage. Thus the wedding took place, to the infinite mortification of her brother and sister-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, who promptly disowned her.

  Mrs. Weston loved her husband, but her extravagance caused them to live well beyond their means. She wanted to be both the wife of Captain Weston and the grand Miss Churchill of her family’s estate, Enscombe.

  Captain Weston had refrained from feasting on his wife, in order that she could bear children. After three years of marriage, Mrs. Weston succeeded in giving birth to a son named Frank. Sadly, however, Mrs. Weston died in childbirth.

  Captain Weston was now a widower with no fortune and a child to raise. But he was soon relieved when the boy’s aunt and uncle Mr. and Mrs. Churchill, having no children of their own, offered to take charge of little Frank.

  With some reluctance on the part of Captain Weston, the child with pallid skin and pale blue-coloured eyes like his father’s was given up to the care and wealth of the Churchills. They gave the child everything, including many pets—cats, dogs, and guinea pigs—all of which died mysteriously one after the other, their blood sucked dry.

  For Captain Weston, a complete change of life became necessary. He quit the military and engaged in business with his brothers, who were already established in London. He still had a small house in Highbury, where he spent most of his leisure days, feasting on small animals in the forest; and between his useful occupation and the pleasures of society, the next eighteen or twenty years of his life passed cheerfully away.

  He had, by that time, built up a satisfactory fortune; he was able to afford the purchase of a little estate near Highbury, called Randalls, which he had always longed for. He also had enough money to marry Miss Taylor, despite her small dowry.

  As for his little son Frank, the adoption by the boy’s uncle and aunt resulted in his assuming the name of Churchill on coming of age and becoming heir to the great family fortune.

  Mr. Weston saw Frank every year in London and was proud of his strong, swift, handsome son. He was not
quite so pleased, however, that Frank had taken to human blood, partaking of young ladies at various parties in London and at seaside resorts in the summer. Mr. Weston missed gazing into his son’s pale blue eyes, for now they were black or, after every feasting, blood red.

  Nonetheless, Mr. Weston’s fond reports of Frank as a very fine young man had made Highbury feel a sort of pride in him. Everyone was curious to finally see Mr. Frank Churchill. His coming to visit his father had been often talked of but never achieved. Now, upon his father’s marriage, it was generally assumed that the visit would take place.

  It was indeed time for Mr. Frank Churchill to meet them all, and the hope greatly strengthened when he wrote a letter to his new stepmother. Everyone in Highbury mentioned the handsome letter Mrs. Weston had received.

  “I suppose you have heard of the handsome letter Mr. Frank Churchill has written to Mrs. Weston?” said the ladies and gentlemen of Highbury to each other. “Mr. Woodhouse saw the letter, and he says he never saw such a handsome letter in his life,” they said.

  Mrs. Weston had formed a very favourable opinion of young Frank and greatly anticipated his visit. She felt herself a most fortunate woman, whose only regret was the separation from Emma and Mr. Woodhouse.

  Mrs. Weston knew that Emma missed her terribly. But dear Emma was no feeble character—she had sense, energy, and spirit that would bear her well. And Mrs. Weston knew that Emma had an extensive collection of fashionable ribbons with which to secure a wooden stake beneath her skirt—although she was confident that Emma would never have to use her lethal weapon against any members of their social circle.

  Chapter 3

  Mr. Woodhouse was eccentric. He liked very much to have his close friends come and visit him, but he had little intercourse with any families beyond that circle. His horror of late hours, large dinner parties, and attacks by bloodthirsty supernatural beings made him unfit for any acquaintances except those who would visit him on his own terms.