“To be sure, so it is,” said Harriet, “though the Martins live very comfortably.”
“My dear Harriet, the misfortune of your birth ought to make you particularly careful as to your associates. Though we have precious little knowledge of your ancestry, there can be no doubt of your being a gentleman’s daughter, and you must support your claim to that station by everything within your power, or there will be plenty of people who would take pleasure in degrading you.”
“Yes, to be sure, I suppose there are. But when I visit at Hartfield, you are so kind to me, Miss Woodhouse, I am not afraid of what anybody can do.”
“I would have you firmly established in good society, Harriet. I want to see you permanently well connected, and to that end it will be advisable to have as few odd acquaintances as may be. And therefore, when Mr. Martin marries, I wish you not to be acquainted with his wife, who will probably be some mere farmer’s daughter without education.”
“To be sure. If he marries a very ignorant, vulgar woman, certainly I had better not visit her, if I can help it.”
Emma watched Harriet during their conversation and saw no alarming symptoms of love. Mr. Martin had been her first admirer, and Emma felt that Harriet would not oppose a more suitable arrangement by Emma.
***
They met Mr. Martin the very next day as they were walking on the Donwell road. He was on foot and, after looking very respectfully at Emma, gazed with great satisfaction at Harriet.
Emma was glad to have such an opportunity to survey him; and walking a few yards behind, while Harriet and he talked together, her quick eye soon became acquainted with Mr. Robert Martin.
His appearance was very neat and quite strong. All in all, Mr. Martin looked like a sensible young man, but had no other advantage; and when compared with real gentlemen, Emma thought he must lose all ground. Harriet was sensible of manner; Mr. Martin looked as if he did not know what manner was.
Harriet and Mr. Martin remained just a few minutes together, so Emma would not be kept waiting. Harriet then came running back to Emma with a smiling face, in a flutter of spirits, which Emma hoped very soon to compose.
“Imagine our happening to meet him! It was quite by chance, he said. Well, Miss Woodhouse, is he like what you expected? What do you think of him? Do you think him so very plain?”
“He is very plain, but that is nothing compared with his lack of gentility. I had no right to expect much, but I had no idea that he could be so very clownish, so totally without air. And those fangs! When he smiles and his black eyes glow, I daresay I imagine he thinks of you as his supper.”
“To be sure,” said Harriet, in a mortified voice, “he is not so genteel as real gentlemen. And yet he expressed his horror upon hearing the news of the vampire attack upon us. He was quite pleased that I had recovered from the shock, and he complimented you on your courage in saving my life. Those kind words could only have come from a gentleman, could they not?”
“I think, Harriet, since your acquaintance with me, you have been repeatedly in the company of some very real gentlemen, so you must be struck with the difference in Mr. Martin. I should be surprised if, after seeing those very gentlemen, you could be in company with Mr. Martin again without perceiving him to be a very inferior creature—and wondering at yourself for having ever thought him at all agreeable before. Do you not begin to feel that now? I am sure you must have been struck by his awkward look and the uncouthness of a loud voice.”
“Certainly he is not like Mr. Knightley. He has not such a fine air and way of walking as Mr. Knightley. And Mr. Knightley does not drool at a lady when he speaks. I see the difference plain enough. Mr. Knightley is so very fine a man!”
“Mr. Knightley’s air is so remarkably good that it is not fair to compare Mr. Martin with him. You might not see one in a hundred with gentleman so plainly written as in Mr. Knightley. But he is not the only gentleman you have seen. What about Mr. Weston and Mr. Elton? Compare Mr. Martin with either of them.”
“Oh, yes! There is a great difference. But Mr. Weston is almost an old man—forty or fifty.”
“Yes, but he seems never to grow older, which makes his good manners all the more valuable. The older a person grows, Harriet, the more important it is that their manners should not be bad—what is passable in youth is detestable in later age.”
“Would you think,” said Harriet, “that Mr. Martin’s ice-cold skin might grow warmer with age?”
Emma shook her head. “Mr. Martin is now awkward and abrupt; what will he be at Mr. Weston’s time of life?”
“There is no saying, indeed,” replied Harriet rather solemnly, “unless, as his mother says, he remains twenty-four.”
“Unlikely. He will be a completely gross, vulgar farmer, totally inattentive to appearances, and thinking of nothing but profit and loss. I have no doubt that he will thrive and be a very rich man in time—and his being illiterate and coarse need not disturb us.”
Emma paused a moment, then offered, “In one respect, perhaps, Mr. Elton’s manners are superior to Mr. Knightley’s or Mr. Weston’s. They have more gentleness. Mr. Elton is good-humoured, cheerful, obliging, gentle, and electrifying. And he possesses Mr. Martin’s ebony eyes. I do not know whether he has any desire to befriend either of us, and I have nary a clue what he does inside the darkened vicarage alone. But did I not tell you what he said about you the other day?”
Emma then repeated some warm personal praise which Harriet had drawn from Mr. Elton. Harriet blushed and smiled and said she had always thought Mr. Elton very agreeable. She then paused from her walk and, in a very ladylike and unobtrusive manner, adjusted the wooden stake beneath her skirt so that it would not rub a nasty callous between her thunderous thighs.
Mr. Elton then became the very person fixed on by Emma for driving the young farmer out of Harriet’s head. She thought it would be an excellent match. It had entered her brain during the very first evening of Harriet’s coming to Hartfield.
Mr. Elton’s situation was most suitable, quite the gentleman himself, and he had no family that could object to the doubtful birth of Harriet. He had a comfortable home for her and, Emma imagined, a very sufficient income; for though the vicarage of Highbury was not large, he was known to have some independent property.
Emma had already satisfied herself that Mr. Elton thought Harriet a beautiful girl. And a girl who could be gratified by a Robert Martin’s dripping fangs and arctic skin might very well be conquered by Mr. Elton’s admiring black eyes with dark circles.
Chapter 5
Your skin does not grow pale, Mrs. Weston, and your eyes do not turn red,” said Mr. Knightley, with great concern. “You choose not to become one of us?”
“We hope some day to have a child, Mr. Knightley. And so Mr. Weston finds sustenance among the raccoons at Randalls. Might I be so bold as to ask when you will find sustenance?”
“My dear Mrs. Weston,” he sniffed, “a gentleman feasts only on the blood of fellow aristocrats—they are much tastier than the common people. These wild, vagrant vampires who drift about the countryside like gypsies randomly attacking young women are not my brethren.”
“I wish you all the best, then,” smiled Mrs. Weston.
“How have you fared without the daily companionship of Miss Woodhouse?” he inquired.
“I miss Emma, of course, but since she has found her new friend—”
“I do not know what your opinion may be,” interrupted Mr. Knightley, “of this great intimacy between Emma and Miss Harriet Smith, but I think it is a bad thing.”
“A bad thing? Why?”
“I think neither of them will do the other any good—although I must say, it was indeed fortunate that Harriet was in the company of Emma when that vicious creature attacked her. This scourge, which heretofore has not affected our circle, is beginning to draw too close to home for my comfort. But I digress. All in
all, I still maintain that Emma’s acquaintance with Miss Harriet Smith will accrue no benefit whatsoever.”
“You surprise me, Mr. Knightley! Emma will indeed do Harriet good. I have been watching their intimacy with the greatest pleasure. How very differently we feel! This will certainly be the beginning of one of our quarrels about Emma!”
“My hearing is acute, Mrs. Weston. There is no need to shout.”
Mrs. Weston quieted her voice. “Mr. Knightley, you are so used to living alone that you do not know the value of a companion. And you have been without sustenance for so long that perhaps your mental clarity has been affected. No man can be a good judge of the comfort a woman feels in the company of her own sex. I can imagine your objection to Harriet Smith. She is not the superior young woman which a friend of Emma’s ought to be. But on the other hand, as she wants to see Harriet better informed, it will be an inducement to Emma to read more books. They will read together.”
“Emma has been meaning to read more books ever since she was twelve years old. She will never submit to anything requiring work and patience. Although I must admit she quite rose to the occasion with her slaying of that vampire. Nevertheless, when it comes to literary pursuits, where you failed to stimulate Emma as her governess, I may safely affirm that Harriet Smith will not stimulate her either.”
Mr. Knightley continued with unblinking eyes. “Emma is spoiled by being the cleverest of her family. At ten years old, she was able to answer questions which puzzled her sister Isabella at seventeen. She was always quick and assured; Isabella was slow and shy. And ever since she was twelve, Emma has been mistress of the house. When her mother died, she lost the only person able to cope with her.”
Mrs. Weston looked down. “I am sure you always thought me unfit as a governess for Emma.”
“Yes,” said he, smiling. “You are better placed here—very fit for a vampire’s wife but not at all for a governess. At Hartfield, you were preparing yourself to be an excellent wife and receiving a very good education from Emma—submitting to her will, doing as you were bid—and if Mr. Weston had asked me to recommend him a wife, I should certainly have named you, Miss Taylor.
“But Harriet Smith—I am not half done with 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. I will venture to say that Harriet cannot gain by the acquaintance. She will grow just refined enough to be uncomfortable with her equals. On the whole, I regard Harriet Smith’s value to Emma solely as a diversion for the bloodthirsty leeches that skulk about—better they prey on Miss Smith than on our fair Emma.”
“Mr. Knightley, indeed! To hear you speak so! I have more faith in Emma’s good sense than you do, for I cannot lament the acquaintance,” said Mrs. Weston. She added, “How well Emma looked last night!”
“I shall not attempt to deny Emma’s being pretty.”
“Pretty! Say beautiful, rather. Can you imagine anything nearer perfect beauty than Emma altogether—face and figure?”
“I do not know what I could imagine, but I confess that I have seldom seen a face or figure more pleasing to me than hers. She excites my venom, to be sure.”
“Oh! What a bloom of full health, and such a pretty height and size; such a firm and upright figure! Emma is loveliness itself, Mr. Knightley, is she not?”
“I have not a fault to find with her,” he replied. “I love to look at her, and I think of her at night—all night, to be precise, since I never sleep. If I could breathe, she would make me breathless. If my heart could beat, she would cause it to beat rapidly.”
“How poetic, Mr. Knightley!”
“And I shall add this praise—that I do not think she is vain. Considering how very beautiful she is, she appears to be little occupied with it. But, Mrs. Weston, I am not to be talked out of my dislike of Harriet Smith or my dread of their friendship doing them both harm.”
“And I, Mr. Knightley, am equally stout in my confidence of it 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, a truer friend, or a more valiant vampire slayer? No, no, she has qualities which may be trusted. She will never lead anyone really wrong; she will make no lasting blunder. Where Emma errs once, she is in the right a hundred times.”
“Very well,” smiled Mr. Knightley. “I shall not plague you any more. Emma will be an angel, and I shall keep my spleen to myself till Christmas brings John and Isabella. John loves Emma with a reasonable, but not a blind, affection; and Isabella always thinks as he does. I am sure they will agree with me.”
“Isabella might become unhappy if you bring the matter up about her sister.”
“Be satisfied,” said he, “I shall not raise any outcry. I shall keep my ill humour to myself. I have a very sincere interest in Emma.” He paused a moment, then added, “I wonder what will become of her.”
“So do I,” said Mrs. Weston gently, “very much.”
“She always declares,” said he, “that she will never marry, which of course means nothing at all. But I think she has never seen a man she cared for. It would not be a bad thing for her to be in love with a proper vampire. I should like to see Emma in love. It would do her good. But there is nobody hereabouts she is attracted to.”
“There does, indeed, seem to be little to tempt her to break her resolution,” said Mrs. Weston. “I do not recommend matrimony at present to Emma, though I mean no slight to marriage, I assure you.”
Part of her meaning was to conceal thoughts of her own and Mr. Weston’s on the subject. They had some wishes respecting Emma’s future, concerning Mr. Frank Churchill, but it was not desirable to reveal them. And the quiet way in which Mr. Knightley soon afterwards changed the subject to “I hope the rain continues” convinced her that he had nothing more to say about Emma.
Chapter 6
Emma was pleased to turn Harriet’s attention towards Mr. Elton. Harriet thought the vicar, with his stunning black eyes, pallid complexion, black tunic, and white vicar’s collar, created a remarkably handsome portrait in black and white. And Emma was quite convinced of Mr. Elton’s being close to falling in love, if not in love already, with Harriet. He had praised her warmly and had noticed the striking improvement in Harriet’s manner since her association with Emma.
“You have given Miss Smith all that she required,” said Mr. Elton. “You have made her graceful and easy. She was a beautiful creature when she came to you but, in my opinion, the attractions you have added are infinitely superior to what she received from nature. And your recent valour in the presence of imminent death has preserved Miss Smith’s plump bosom to breathe yet another day.” And, he might have added, that bosom and fair neck remind me that my thirst greatly needs satisfying.
“You have a unique way of complimenting women, Mr. Elton,” said Emma. “I am glad you think I have been useful to her; but Harriet only needed drawing out and receiving a few, very few, hints. She had all the natural grace of sweetness in herself. Great has been my pleasure in helping her.”
“I have no doubt of it.” And Mr. Elton spoke with a sort of sighing animation, which was remarkable considering he never seemed to take a breath of air.
***
Emma was pleased the next day when Mr. Elton agreed with Emma’s wish to have Harriet’s picture drawn.
“Did you ever have your likeness taken, Harriet?” asked Emma. “Did you ever sit for your picture?”
With a very interesting naïveté, Harriet exclaimed, “Oh dear! No, never.” Then she quickly left the room.
No sooner was she out of sight than Emma exclaimed to Mr. Elton, “What an exquisite possession a good picture of Harriet would be! I almost long to attempt her likeness myself. You do not know this, I daresay, but two or three years ago I had a great passion for drawing likenesses. I attempted severa
l of my friends—for some peculiar reason, the looking glass would not hold their pale reflections, so I thought they might be interested to see their aspects reflected on paper. But for one reason or another, I gave it up in disgust. But really, I could almost venture it, if Harriet would sit for me. It would be such a delight to draw her picture!”
“It would indeed be a delight!” cried Mr. Elton. “Let me beg you, Miss Woodhouse, to use your talent in favour of your friend. I know what your drawings are. Is this room not rich in examples of your landscapes and flowers?”
Yes, good man, thought Emma, but what has all that to do with portraits of real people? You know nothing of drawing. Do not pretend to be in raptures about my pictures. Save your cold raptures for Harriet.
“Well, if you give me such kind encouragement, Mr. Elton, I believe I shall try what I can. Harriet’s features are very delicate, which make a likeness difficult; and yet there is a uniqueness in the shape of the eye and the lines about the mouth which one ought to catch.”
“Exactly so—and fortunately, she lacks the dark circles under the eyes. I have not a doubt of your success. Pray, pray attempt it. It will indeed be an exquisite possession.”
“But I am afraid, Mr. Elton, Harriet will not like to sit. She thinks so little of her own beauty. Did you not observe her manner of answering me—‘Why should my picture be drawn?’”
“Oh, yes! It was not lost on me. But still I cannot imagine she could not be persuaded.”
Harriet was soon back again, the proposal was made, and she could not object against the earnest pressing of her friends.
Emma wished to go to work directly and therefore produced the portfolio containing her various attempts at portraits—for not one of them had ever been finished—that they might decide together on the best size for Harriet.
Emma’s many beginnings were displayed. Miniatures, half-lengths, whole-lengths, pencil, crayon, and watercolours had been all tried, but none completed.
Emma and the Vampires Page 3