Harriet could not immediately talk about the visit—she was feeling too much emotion. But at last Emma collected from her enough to understand the pain it caused. Mr. Robert Martin was absent—Harriet had seen only Mrs. Martin and the two girls.
They had received her doubtingly, if not coolly; and nothing beyond the merest courtesies had been talked almost all the time—till just at the end, when Mrs. Martin said, all of a sudden, that she thought Miss Smith was more mature and had a warmer manner, and that she was grateful that her son had saved Harriet from the wild vampire.
They all seemed to be ready to return to the same good understanding, just growing again to like each other, when Emma’s carriage reappeared, and it all was over.
The style of the visit and the shortness of it were then felt to be insulting. Fourteen minutes to be given to those with whom she had spent two months! Emma pictured it all and felt how resentful they must have been and how naturally Harriet must have suffered. It was a bad business.
Emma would have given a great deal for the Martins to have had a higher rank in society. They were so deserving that a little higher would have been enough. But as it was, how could she have done otherwise? Impossible! Harriet and Mr. Robert Martin must be separated—there would be no more midnight walks in the moonlight, Harriet holding Robert’s cold, pale hand—but there was a great deal of pain in the process.
Emma and Harriet returned to Hartfield, and when they arrived, Mr. and Mrs. Weston were standing outside to speak to Emma. There was instant pleasure in the sight of them.
Mr. Weston immediately accosted her with, “How d’ye do? We have been sitting with your father—glad to see him so well. We have wonderful news! Frank Churchill comes tomorrow. I had a letter this morning. He comes for a fortnight—I knew it would be so! We shall enjoy him completely; everything has turned out exactly as we could wish.”
There was no resisting such a happy face as Mr. Weston’s, confirmed by the face of Mrs. Weston. The worn-out past was replaced by the freshness of what was coming; and Emma hoped that Mr. Elton would now be talked of no more.
“I shall bring him over to Hartfield,” said Mr. Weston. “But you must not expect such a very fine young man; I daresay he is really nothing extraordinary.” But his own sparkling pale blue eyes at the moment were speaking a very different conviction.
Emma’s spirits were mounted quite up to happiness; everything wore a different air. When she turned round to Harriet, she saw something like a look of spring, a tender smile even there.
***
The morning of the interesting day arrived, and while walking downstairs from her room Emma told herself, “My dear, dear anxious friend, always over-careful for everybody’s comfort but your own; I see you now in all your little fidgets, thinking of the possibility of Mr. Frank Churchill calling here. I am sure they will bring him soon.”
She opened the parlour door and saw two gentlemen sitting with her father—Mr. Weston and his son Frank. They had arrived only a few minutes before.
Mr. Woodhouse was yet in the midst of his very civil welcome and congratulations when Emma appeared to have her share of surprise, introduction, and pleasure.
The Frank Churchill so long talked of, so high in interest, was actually presented to her. He was a very good-looking young vampire, with black hair and eyes, and pale white skin; height, air, address, and enchanting scent all were exceptional, and his countenance had a great deal of the spirit and liveliness of his father’s.
Emma felt immediately that she would like him; and there was a well-bred ease of manner and a readiness to talk, which convinced her that he came intending to be acquainted with her and that acquainted they soon must be.
“It is a great pleasure to be here,” said the young man, with an easy smile that revealed near-fanglike teeth.
Emma was sure that Frank Churchill knew how to make himself agreeable. He was very much pleased with Randalls, thought it a most admirably arranged house, admired Highbury, admired Hartfield still more, and professed to have always felt an interest in the country and the greatest curiosity to visit it. His manner had no air of study or exaggeration. He did really look and speak as if in a state of uncommon enjoyment.
Their subjects in general were appropriate for an opening acquaintance. On his side were the inquiries: “Was Emma a horsewoman? Pleasant walks? Had they a large neighbourhood? A boarding school for young maidens? Balls—had they balls? Was it a musical society? Was the weather sufficiently cool and cloudy?”
When satisfied on all these points, while their two fathers were engaged with each other, Frank mentioned his mother-in-law, Mrs. Weston, and speaking of her with so much handsome praise, so much warm admiration, so much gratitude for the happiness she secured to his father and her very kind reception of himself was an additional proof of his knowing how to please—and of his certainly thinking it worthwhile to try to please Emma.
Then Frank spoke of Mrs. Weston’s youth and beauty.
“Elegant, agreeable manners, I was prepared for,” said he, “but I confess that I did not know I was to find a pretty young woman in Mrs. Weston.”
“You cannot see too much perfection in Mrs. Weston for my feelings,” said Emma.
Emma wondered whether Frank’s compliments were designed to please her. She must see more of him to understand his ways; at present she felt they were entirely agreeable.
She had no doubt what Mr. Weston was thinking about. She detected his quick eye again and again, glancing towards herself and Frank with a happy expression—and even when he was not looking, she was confident that he was often listening, for his hearing was as acute as Mr. Knightley’s.
A reasonable visit paid, Mr. Weston said, “Frank must be going. He has a great many errands for Mrs. Weston.”
His son, too well bred not to hear the hint, rose immediately, saying, “Miss Woodhouse, I shall also take the opportunity of paying a visit to a neighbour of yours, a lady residing in Highbury—a family of the name of Fairfax. I shall have no difficulty, I suppose, in finding the house; though Fairfax, I believe, is not the proper name—I should rather say Bates. Do you know any family of that name?”
“To be sure, we do,” cried Mr. Weston. “Mrs. Bates—we passed her house—I saw Miss Bates at the window, looking this way and that for vagrant vampires. True, I remember you are acquainted with Miss Fairfax from the Weymouth resort, and a fine girl she is. Call upon her, by all means.”
“There is no necessity for my calling this morning,” said the young man. “Another day would do as well; but there was that degree of acquaintance at Weymouth which—”
“Oh! Go today. Do not defer it. What is right to be done cannot be done too soon. And, besides, I must give you a hint, Frank; any lack of attention to Miss Fairfax should be carefully avoided. In London, she was the equal of everybody she mixed with, but here she is with a poor old grandmother. If you do not call early, it will be a slight.”
The son looked convinced.
“I have heard Miss Fairfax speak of her acquaintance with you,” said Emma. “She is a very elegant young woman.”
Frank agreed to it, but with so quiet a yes as made Emma almost doubt his real eagerness.
“If you were never particularly struck by her manners before,” said Emma, “I think you will be today. You will see her and hear her—no, I am afraid you will not hear her at all, for she has an aunt who never holds her tongue.”
“You are acquainted with Miss Jane Fairfax, sir, are you?” said Mr. Woodhouse, always the last to make his way in conversation. “Then let me assure you that you will find her a very agreeable young lady. She is staying here on a visit to her grandmamma and aunt, very worthy people; I have known them all my life.”
With a cordial nod from one and a graceful bow from the other, the two gentlemen took leave. Emma remained very well pleased with this beginning of the acquaintance
and could now engage to think of them all at Randalls any hour of the day with full confidence in their comfort.
Chapter 24
The next morning brought Mr. Frank Churchill again to Hartfield, accompanied by Mrs. Weston. He had been sitting with his stepmother most companionably at home after a full breakfast of which he declined to partake, till her usual hour of exercise; and desiring to choose their walk, he immediately fixed on Hartfield.
“He did not doubt there being very pleasant walks in every direction, but if left to him, he should always choose the same—Hartfield, that airy, cheerful, happy-looking Hartfield, would be his constant attraction.” They walked there directly.
It was an agreeable surprise to Emma to see them strolling up to the house together, arm in arm. She was eager to see Frank again and especially to see him in company with Mrs. Weston. Emma’s opinion of Frank would depend on his treatment of her. If he were deficient there, nothing could make amends for it.
But on seeing them together, Emma became perfectly satisfied. It was not merely his fine words or compliments to Mrs. Weston but also his unblinking gaze and his clear wish to consider her as a friend and secure her affection. And there was time enough for Emma to form a reasonable judgement, as their visit included all the rest of the morning.
All three walked together for an hour or two—first round the shrubberies of Hartfield and afterwards towards Highbury. He was delighted with everything and confessed his wish to become acquainted with the whole village.
As they walked, Emma recounted to Frank the long, sordid tale of the recent vampire menace. She saw his nose rise a bit in the air, as if he regarded the wild vagrants as beneath him socially. Then, as they walked along a bosky stretch of road leading to the village, Frank looked around nervously, as if a bit terrified of suddenly being attacked. Emma’s thoughts recalled Mr. Knightley’s disapproval of Frank Churchill as a spoiled, selfish young man—was he also a coward?
Frank begged to be shown the house which his father had lived in so long and which had been the home of his father’s father. Altogether, he showed a goodwill towards Highbury in general. Emma watched and decided that, with such feelings as were shown, he was not acting a part or being insincere.
Their first stop in the village was at the Crown Inn, the main lodging in town. Emma gave him the history of the large room that had been built many years ago for a ballroom. Such brilliant days had long since passed.
Mr. Frank Churchill was immediately interested. Its character as a ballroom caught his attention, and he stopped for several minutes to look in and lament that its original purpose should have ceased.
Frank thought they ought to have balls there at least every fortnight through the winter. Why had not Miss Woodhouse revived the former good old days of the room? She, who could do anything in Highbury!
Emma mentioned the lack of enough proper families in town to attend, but he believed it would not be inconvenient for families of all social classes to mix together for an evening of dancing. She then mentioned the danger of assembling so many tender young maidens in one place, the better to tempt an attack by the wild creatures of the night.
But Mr. Churchill scoffed at her trepidation. He argued like a young man very much bent on dancing, though Emma wondered how a man without a heartbeat and who never breathed could possibly last the evening on the dance floor. Emma was rather surprised to see all the life and spirit, cheerful feelings, and social inclinations of his father and little of the pride or reserve of the Churchills, except as regarding his social opinion of wild vampires.
At last he was persuaded to move on from the front of the Crown Inn and, now almost facing the house where the Bateses lived, Emma remembered his visit the day before and asked him if he had paid it.
“Yes, oh yes,” he replied. “A very successful visit. I saw all three ladies. Ten minutes would have been all that was necessary, but with the talking aunt there was no getting away before nearly three-quarters of an hour.”
“And how did you think Miss Fairfax looking?”
“Ill, very ill. Miss Fairfax is naturally so pale—almost as pale as I, including the dark circles under her eyes—she almost always gives the appearance of ill health. A most deplorable want of complexion.” She already looks like a vampiress, he thought, even without being yet bitten.
Emma would not agree to this and began a warm defence of Miss Fairfax’s complexion. “It was certainly never brilliant, but she would not allow it to have a sickly hue in general; and there is a softness and delicacy in her skin which gives peculiar elegance to the character of her face.”
Frank listened with all due respect and agreed that he had heard many people say the same. Yet, he must confess that to him nothing could make amends for the lack of the fine glow of health—although he realised privately that sinking his teeth into her neck, while giving him much needed sustenance, would do nothing to improve her complexion.
“Well,” said Emma, “there is no disputing about taste. At least you admire her, except for her complexion.”
He shook his head and laughed. “I cannot separate Miss Fairfax and her complexion.”
“Did you not see her often at Weymouth? Were you not often in the same group?”
“I must pronounce your question unfair. It is always the lady’s right to decide on the degree of friendship. Miss Fairfax must already have given her account. I shall not say more than she chose to.”
“Upon my word!” said Emma. “You answer as discreetly as she did. She is so very reserved, so very unwilling to give the least information about anybody that I really think you may say whatever you wish about your acquaintance with her.”
“May I, indeed? Then I shall speak the truth, and nothing suits me so well. I met her frequently at Weymouth. I had known the Campbells a little in London, and at Weymouth we were very much in the same set. Colonel Campbell is a very agreeable man and Mrs. Campbell a friendly, warm-hearted woman. I like them all.”
“You know Miss Fairfax’s situation in life, I assume—what she is destined to be?”
“Yes,” he said, rather hesitatingly, “I believe I do.”
“You get upon delicate subjects, Emma,” said Mrs. Weston smiling. “Remember that I am here. Mr. Frank Churchill hardly knows what to say when you speak of Miss Fairfax’s situation in life. I shall move a little farther off.”
“I certainly do forget to think of her,” said Emma, “as having been anything but my dearest friend.”
Frank Churchill looked as if he fully understood and honoured such a sentiment. Then he asked, “Did you ever hear Miss Fairfax play the piano?”
“Ever hear her!” repeated Emma. “You forget how much she belongs to Highbury. I have heard her every year of our lives since we both began. She plays charmingly.”
“You think so, do you? I wanted the opinion of someone who could really judge. She appeared to me to play quite well, also. I am excessively fond of music, but without the smallest skill or right of judging anybody’s performance. I have heard Miss Fairfax’s playing admired. In fact, I remember a man—a very musical man, engaged to another woman, on the point of marriage—would never ask his fiancée to play if he could hear Miss Fairfax.”
Emma was highly amused. “So, Mr. Dixon is very musical, is he? We have learned more about them all in half an hour from you than Miss Fairfax would have revealed in half a year.”
“Yes, Mr. Dixon and Miss Campbell were the persons to whom I referred.”
“How did Miss Campbell appear to like Miss Fairfax’s playing?”
“She is Miss Campbell’s very dear friend, you know.”
“If Miss Fairfax played whenever she was asked by Mr. Dixon, one may guess which one he preferred.”
“Miss Campbell and Miss Fairfax appeared to have a perfectly good understanding between them—” he began rather quickly, but checking himself, added, “howev
er, it is impossible for me to say on what terms they really were—how it might all be behind the scenes. I can only say that there was smoothness outwardly. But you, who have known Miss Fairfax from a child, must be a better judge of her character and of how she is likely to conduct herself in sensitive situations than I can be.”
“I have known her from a child—we have been children and women together. And it is natural to suppose that we should be very close, but we never were. It was her reserve—I never could befriend anyone so completely reserved.”
“It is a most repulsive quality, indeed,” said he. “Oftentimes very convenient, no doubt, but never pleasing. There is safety in reserve, but no attraction. One cannot love a reserved person.” But then, he thought, what matters love when a hearty feast presents itself?
“Intimacy between Miss Fairfax and me is quite out of the question,” said Emma. “I have no reason to think ill of her—not the least—except that such extreme and perpetual cautiousness of word and manner, such a dread of giving a distinct idea about anybody is apt to suggest suspicions of there being something to conceal.”
He perfectly agreed with her, and after walking together so long and thinking so much alike, Emma felt herself so well acquainted with him that she could hardly believe it to be only their second meeting.
Frank Churchill was less of a man of the world, less the spoiled child of fortune, therefore better than she had expected. His ideas seemed more moderate, his feelings warmer. Whether he would retreat like a scared rabbit from a vampire attack remained yet to be seen.
Emma was particularly struck by his manner of considering Mr. Elton’s impending marriage. Mr. Churchill felt that if Mr. Elton’s vicarage were to be shared with the woman he loved, then he should not be pitied for having such a small house. There must be ample room in it for every real comfort, and the black curtains made it even more attractive. The man must be a blockhead who wanted more, he reasoned.
Mrs. Weston laughed and said Frank did not know what he was talking about. Accustomed to a large house himself, he could not possibly be a judge of the inconvenience of a small one. But Emma, in her own mind, determined that he did know what he was talking about and that he showed a very positive inclination to settle down early in life and to marry from worthy motives. He no doubt felt that Enscombe could not make him happy and that whenever he married, he would willingly give up much wealth to be allowed a small house of his own—and, Frank Churchill would have added if asked, an ample supply of fresh blood.
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