“Indeed! How so? Of what sort?”
“A very serious sort, I assure you,” he said, still smiling.
“Very serious?” asked Emma. “I can think of but one thing—who is in love with her?”
Emma was in hopes of Mr. Elton’s having dropped a hint. Mr. Knightley was a sort of general friend and adviser—they would often stay awake all night talking—and Emma knew Mr. Elton looked up to him.
“I have reason to think,” he replied, “that Harriet Smith will soon have an offer of marriage, and from a most exceptional quarter—Mr. Robert Martin is the man. He is desperately in love and means to marry her.”
“But,” said Emma, looking down, “is he sure that Harriet wants to marry him?”
“Well, he means to make her an offer. He came to me two evenings ago to consult me about it. He knows I have a thorough regard for him and all his family and, I believe, considers me not only his landlord but also one of his best friends. He came to ask me whether I thought Harriet was too young and whether I approved of his choice, since he felt that she was higher in society than he.
“Mr. Martin is an excellent young man, Emma. We took a lovely walk in the rain, and I had no hesitation in advising him to marry. He proved to me that he could afford it.” And, thought Mr. Knightley, he is desperately thirsty. “I was convinced he could not do better. I praised the fair lady too.” Indeed, how vibrantly her blood courses through her plump veins! “I sent him away very happy. This happened the night before last.”
“I shall tell you something,” said she, “in return for what you have told me. Mr. Martin wrote a letter to Harriet yesterday—and she refused him.”
Mr. Knightley’s face actually grew paler with surprise and displeasure. He stood up in tall indignation and said, “Then she is a greater simpleton than I ever believed her! What is the foolish girl about?”
“Oh! To be sure!” cried Emma. “It is incomprehensible to a man that a woman should ever refuse an offer of marriage. A man always imagines a woman to be ready for anybody who asks her.”
“Nonsense! A man does not imagine any such thing. But what is the meaning of this? Harriet Smith refusing Robert Martin? Madness, if it be so—but I hope you are mistaken.”
“I saw her answer! Nothing could be clearer.”
“You saw her answer? I am certain you wrote her answer, too! Emma, this is your doing. You persuaded her to refuse him.”
“And if I did, I should not feel that I had done wrong. Mr. Martin is a very respectable young man, but I cannot admit him to be Harriet’s equal.”
“Not Harriet’s equal!” exclaimed Mr. Knightley, as the purple circles under his black eyes grew darker. Then, more calmly, he added, “No, he is not her equal—he is much her superior in sense and situation. Emma, your infatuation with that girl blinds you. What are Harriet Smith’s claims, of birth, nature, or education, to any social status higher than Robert Martin’s? She is the natural daughter of Nobody Knows Whom, with certainly no respectable relations. She is known only as a parlour boarder at a common school. She is not a sensible girl, she has been taught nothing useful, and she is young and simple. She is pretty, good-tempered, and a feast for the eyes, and that is all.
“My only purpose in advising the match was on his account. I felt that, in all probability, he could do much better. But I could read his mind, and he was so in love that I agreed. I even thought of you—I remember saying to myself, ‘Even Emma, with all her partiality for Harriet, will think this a good match.’”
Emma replied, “You think a farmer—and with all his merit, Mr. Martin is nothing more—is a good match for my intimate friend! I assure you that my feelings are very different. I must think your statement about Harriet to be unfair. Mr. Martin may be the richer of the two, but he is undoubtedly her inferior as to rank in society. The sphere in which she moves is much above his. It would be a degradation.”
“A degradation to illegitimacy and ignorance? To be married to a respectable, intelligent gentleman farmer?” And, he thought, a desperately starving fellow vampire?
Emma returned, “As to the circumstances of her birth, though in a legal sense she may be called Nobody, there can scarcely be a doubt that she is a gentleman’s daughter. She is superior to Mr. Robert Martin.”
“She desired nothing better for herself,” said Mr. Knightley, “till you chose to turn her into a friend. She was as happy as possible with the Martins last summer. She had no sense of superiority then. If she has it now, you have given it to her. You have been no friend to Harriet Smith. Robert Martin would never have proceeded so far unless he felt persuaded of Harriet’s feelings for him. I know him well.”
Emma returned, “Harriet will certainly be admired and sought after, and will choose from among many. Were you, yourself, ever to marry, she is the very woman for you. Is she, at seventeen and just entering into life, to be wondered at because she does not accept the first offer she receives? No, pray let her have time to look around. And besides, with Mr. Martin’s black eyes and her blue ones, their children would certainly have eyes the colour of midnight. Can you imagine anything so hideous?”
Believe me, dear Emma, thought Mr. Knightley, I would not see any children in their future after Miss Smith’s painful transformation into Mrs. Martin. Then he spoke: “Though I have kept my thoughts to myself till now, I perceive that Harriet’s friendship with you will be a very unfortunate one. You will puff her up with such ideas of her own beauty that nobody within her reach will be good enough for her.
“Miss Harriet Smith may not find offers of marriage flow in so fast. Men of good sense do not want silly wives. Men of good background would be afraid of the disgrace of connecting themselves with a girl of such obscurity. Let her marry Robert Martin, and she is safe, respectable, and happy forever.” Her skin will grow pale, he thought, her eyes will turn red, and her youth will endure forever.
“But if you encourage her to expect to marry greatly and teach her to be satisfied with nothing less than a man of large fortune, she may be a parlour boarder at Mrs. Goddard’s all the rest of her life.” Or at least, he thought, until she grows desperate enough to be the grateful luscious snack of some lecherous old vampire.
“Mr. Knightley, we think so very differently on this point that there can be no use in discussing it. We shall only make each other more angry. But as to my letting her marry Robert Martin, it is impossible. She has refused him. As to the refusal itself, I shall not pretend that I did not influence her a little; but I assure you there was very little for me or anybody to do. His appearance is so much against him and his manner so bad, with those slobbering fangs. She knows now what gentlemen are; and nothing but a gentleman in education and manner has any chance with Harriet.”
“Nonsense, errant nonsense, as ever was talked!” cried Mr. Knightley.
Emma made no answer and tried to look cheerfully unconcerned, but she was really feeling uncomfortable and wanting him very much to be gone. She did not regret what she had done—she still thought herself a better judge of female refinement than he. But yet she had a respect for his judgement, and to have him sitting opposite her in an angry state was very disagreeable.
Some minutes passed in this unpleasant silence, with only one attempt on Emma’s side to talk of the weather, but he made no answer. He was thinking. The result of his thoughts appeared at last in these words: “As you make no secret of your love of matchmaking, it is fair to suppose that you have certain ideas for Miss Smith. And as a friend, I shall just hint to you that if Mr. Elton is the man, I think it will all be in vain.”
Emma laughed, but he continued. “Depend upon it, Elton will not do. Elton is a very good sort of man and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, and he and I spend many cordial visits together in his dark house out of the painful sun. He is not likely to make an imprudent match. He knows many fine ladies with large incomes. He knows that he is a very ha
ndsome young man with an electrifying touch and a great favourite wherever he goes.”
“I am very much obliged to you,” said Emma, laughing again. “But at present, I only want to keep Harriet to myself. I am done with matchmaking, indeed. I could never hope to equal my own success with Miss Taylor. I shall leave off while I am ahead.”
“Good morning to you, then,” said he, rising and dashing off with a speed that took Emma’s breath away.
Emma remained in a state of vexation. She did not always feel satisfied with herself and was not always so convinced that her opinions were right and her adversary’s wrong.
The return of Harriet restored Emma’s mood. Harriet’s staying away so long had made Emma uneasy. The possibility of Mr. Martin’s coming to Mrs. Goddard’s that morning and meeting with Harriet and pleading his own cause or, even more horrendous to contemplate, the possibility of Harriet’s being attacked on her way to Hartfield put alarming ideas in Emma’s mind.
Mr. Knightley had frightened Emma a little about Mr. Elton—but Mr. Knightley had not observed Mr. Elton’s attention towards Harriet as Emma had.
Harriet’s cheerful look and manner answered all questions. She came back, not to think of Mr. Martin but to talk of Mr. Elton. Miss Nash, the head teacher at Mrs. Goddard’s school, had told Harriet that Mr. Perry, the doctor, had seen Mr. Elton on the road to London carrying something exceedingly precious. Mr. Perry was very sure there must be a lady involved, and when he mentioned it, Mr. Elton only smiled and rode off in great spirits.
Miss Nash had told Harriet all this and said that she did not pretend to understand what Mr. Elton’s business might be, but she only knew that any woman whom Mr. Elton could prefer, she should think the luckiest woman in the world.
Chapter 9
Mr. Knightley was so displeased with Emma that it was longer than usual before he came to Hartfield again; and when they did meet, his grave looks showed that Emma was not forgiven. She was sorry but could not repent. On the contrary, her plans to unite Harriet with Mr. Elton were more and more justified to her by the events of the next few days.
The Picture of Harriet, elegantly framed, came safely to Hartfield soon after Mr. Elton’s return and was hung over the mantelpiece of the common sitting room. Mr. Elton got up to stare at it, careful not to walk too close to the raging fire, and sighed out his admiration just as he ought. Had he a heartbeat, it would surely be audible now.
As for Harriet’s feelings, they were visibly forming into a strong and steady attachment to Mr. Elton. Emma was soon perfectly satisfied that Mr. Martin was a distant memory.
Emma’s plans of improving her little friend’s mind, by a great deal of reading and conversation, had not gotten beyond the first few chapters. It was much easier to chat than to study; and the only literary pursuit which engaged Harriet at present was the collecting of riddles and charades of every sort into a little book.
In this age of literature, such collections of riddles were not uncommon. Miss Nash had written out at least three hundred; and Harriet hoped, with Miss Woodhouse’s help, to get a great many more.
Mr. Woodhouse was almost as interested in the business as the girls and tried very often to recollect something worth putting in. So many clever riddles there used to be when he was young—he wondered why he could not remember them! But he hoped he should in time. And each riddle always ended in “Kitty, a fair but frozen maid.”
Mr. Elton was the only other person whose assistance Emma asked. He was invited to contribute any really good riddles that he might recollect; but the one he recalled was already well known, and Emma was quite sorry to acknowledge that they had already written it down some pages ago.
“Why will you not write one yourself for us, Mr. Elton?” she asked. “That is the only guarantee for its originality, and I am sure nothing could be easier for you.”
“Oh, no! I have never written anything of the kind in my life. I am the stupidest fellow! I am afraid not even Miss Woodhouse”—he stopped a moment—“or Miss Smith could inspire me. I should be awake all night without a single riddle.”
***
The very next day, however, produced some proof of inspiration. He visited for a few moments just to leave a piece of paper with Emma. He touched her hand with his pale, chilly finger, and a bolt like lightning shot through her body. She picked herself up off the floor and smiled in wonderment at the divine effect Mr. Elton had on her.
Mr. Elton told Emma that the paper contained a riddle which a friend of his had written for a young lady whom he admired. But from his manner, Emma was immediately convinced the riddle must be his own.
“I do not offer it for Miss Smith’s collection,” said he. “Being my friend’s, I have no right to make it public, but perhaps you may enjoy looking at it.”
The speech was more to Emma than to Harriet, which Emma could understand. Mr. Elton found it easier to meet Emma’s eye than her friend’s. He was gone the next moment in a flash.
“Take it,” said Emma, smiling and pushing the paper towards Harriet. “It is for you.”
But Harriet was in a tremor and could not touch it; so Emma, never shy, examined the riddle herself:
“My first word speaks of the pomp of kings,
Lords of the earth! Their luxury and ease.
A different view of man, my second word brings,
Behold him there, the monarch of the seas!
But the two words united, a new word we have!
With thy clever wit, the word will soon supply,
May its approval beam in thy soft eye!”
Emma read it, pondered it, caught the meaning, and read it through again to be quite certain—the first clue was court, the second was ship, and united the answer to the riddle was courtship. Emma was convinced the riddle foretold a proposal of marriage.
Then she passed it to Harriet, who puzzled over the riddle in all her confusion of dullness while Emma sat happily smiling and saying to herself, “Very well, Mr. Elton, very well indeed. I have read worse riddles. I give you credit for it. This is saying very plainly, ‘Pray, Miss Smith, give me permission to pay my respects to you. Approve my riddle and my intentions in the same glance.’”
Emma re-read certain lines to herself. “May its approval beam in thy soft eye!”—Harriet exactly. Soft is the very word for her eye. “Thy clever wit the word will soon supply.” Humph. Harriet’s clever wit? A man must be very much in love to describe her so.
Ah, Mr. Knightley, she thought, I wish you had the benefit of reading this—I think it would convince you of Mr. Elton’s intentions towards Harriet. An excellent riddle indeed! And very much to the purpose. Things are moving along nicely now.
Emma was obliged to break off from these very pleasant observations by the eagerness of Harriet’s wondering questions about Mr. Elton’s riddle.
“What can it mean, Miss Woodhouse? I have not a single idea—I cannot guess it in the least. I never saw anything so hard. Who could be the young lady? It must be very clever, or he would not have brought it.”
“There is so particular a meaning in this compliment,” said Emma, “that I cannot doubt as to Mr. Elton’s intentions. You are the object of his affections, and you will soon receive the most complete proof of it—a proposal of marriage. Yes, Harriet, I have been wanting this for so long. I am very happy. I congratulate you, my dear Harriet, with all my heart. Mr. Elton is someone who will give you everything you want. An attachment with him will place you in the centre of all your real friends, close to Hartfield and me, and confirm our friendship forever.”
“Dear Miss Woodhouse! Dear Miss Woodhouse!” was all that Harriet, with many tender embraces, could articulate at first.
“Whatever you say is always right,” cried Harriet, “but it is so much beyond anything I deserve. Mr. Elton, who might marry anybody! I am sure a month ago I had no more idea myself! The strangest thin
gs do take place!”
Emma smiled. “You and Mr. Elton belong to one another. Your marriage will be equal to the match at Randalls. There does seem to be a something in the air at Hartfield which gives love exactly the right direction and sends it into the very channel where it ought to flow.”
“That Mr. Elton should really be in love with me—me, of all people! And he, the very handsomest man that ever was, a man that everybody looks up to, quite like Mr. Knightley! Dear me!”
Harriet paused, then said, “This riddle! But how shall I ever be able to return the paper or say I have found out the answer? Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what can we do about that?”
“Leave it to me. You do nothing. He will be here this evening, I daresay, and then I shall return it to him. Your soft eyes will choose their own time for beaming. Trust me.”
“Oh! Miss Woodhouse, what a pity that I may not write this beautiful riddle into my book!”
“Leave out the two last lines, and there is no reason why you should not.”
“Oh! but those two lines are—”
“The best of all, granted, and for private enjoyment. Give me the book. I shall write it down, and then there can be no possible reflection on you.”
Harriet submitted. “I shall never let that book out of my own hands.”
“Very well,” replied Emma. “A most natural feeling; and the longer it lasts, the better I shall be pleased. But here is my father coming; you will not object to my reading the riddle to him. It will give him so much pleasure!”
Mr. Woodhouse came in and very soon he inquired, “Well, my dears, how does your book go? Have you got anything fresh for it?”
“Yes, Papa, we have something to read to you, something quite fresh. A piece of paper was found on the table this morning—dropped, we suppose, by a fairy—containing a very pretty riddle, and we have just copied it in.”
She read it to him, just as he liked to have anything read, slowly and distinctly, and two or three times over, with explanations of every part as she proceeded. He was very pleased and, as Emma had foreseen, especially struck with the complimentary conclusion.
Emma and the Vampires Page 5