But, on the other hand, she was not unhappy without him. Pleasing as he was, he did have his faults, and whenever she imagined him proposing marriage, she always found herself refusing him. She realised that their affection was always to be limited to friendship.
“I suspect that he is not really necessary to my happiness,” said she. “So much the better. I certainly will not persuade myself to feel more than I do. He is undoubtedly very much in love indeed! And when he comes again, I must be on my guard not to encourage it. My mind is quite made up.
“I look not upon him to be quite the sort of man who is steady or constant. His feelings are warm, but his skin is cold, his manner is not so gallant in the heat of battle, and I can imagine him rather changeable. I shall do very well again after a little while—for they say everybody is in love once in their lives, and I shall have been let off easily.”
When Frank Churchill’s letter arrived at the Westons, Emma read it with pleasure and admiration. Miss Woodhouse was mentioned several times, always with affection and gratitude. She was certain of it now—it was the language of real feelings towards her—a compliment to her taste, or a remembrance of what she had said. At the end of the letter were these words: “I had not a spare moment on Tuesday for Miss Woodhouse’s beautiful little friend. Pray make my excuses to Miss Harriet Smith.”
Emma found that the letter had not added any lasting warmth—that she could still do without Mr. Churchill, and that he must learn to do without her. Her intentions were unchanged.
But Frank’s remembrance of Harriet, the beautiful little friend, suggested to Emma an idea. Could Harriet replace her in his affections? Was it impossible? No. He had been impressed with the loveliness of her face, the plumpness of her bosom, and the warm simplicity of her manner. For Harriet, it would be advantageous and delightful indeed.
“I must not dwell upon it,” said she. “I must not think of it. I know the danger of indulging in such matchmaking. But stranger things have happened.”
Emma was glad to have an idea in mind for Harriet’s future happiness, for Mr. Elton’s wedding day was announced. He would soon be back in Highbury again. Soon, Mr. Elton and his bride was on everybody’s lips. Emma grew sick at the sound.
Poor Harriet was in a flutter of spirits which required all the soothing and attention that Emma could give. Harriet listened submissively and said, “It is very true—it is not worthwhile to think about Mr. Elton and his bride, and I shall not think about them any longer.” But she remained as anxious and restless about the Eltons as before.
At last Emma attacked her on another ground.
“Allowing yourself to be so occupied and so unhappy about Mr. Elton’s marrying, Harriet, is the strongest criticism of me trying to match you with him. It was all my doing, I know. I have not forgotten it, I assure you. It will be a painful reflection to me forever. But my being saved from pain is a very secondary consideration. I want you to save yourself from greater pain.”
This appeal to Harriet’s affections did more than all the rest. “You, who have been the best friend I ever had in my life—I care for nobody as I do for you! Oh! Miss Woodhouse, how ungrateful I have been!”
Such expressions made Emma feel that she had never loved Harriet so well, nor valued her affection so highly before.
Afterwards, Emma said to herself, There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart. Warmth and tenderness of heart with an affectionate, open manner will beat all the clearness of head in the world. I do not have it—but I know how to prize and respect it.
Harriet is my superior in all the charm and all the felicity it gives. Dear Harriet! I would not change you for the clearest-headed, longest-sighted, best-judging female breathing. Oh! The coldness of a Jane Fairfax! Harriet is worth a hundred such. And for a wife, a sensible man’s wife, she is invaluable. I mention no names, but happy is the man who changes Emma for Harriet!
Chapter 32
The new Mrs. Elton finally arrived in Highbury and was first seen at church. But it would be personal visits to her new home that would settle whether she was very pretty, or only rather pretty, or not pretty at all.
Emma was resolved to be among the first to pay her respects to Mrs. Elton. And she made a point of Harriet’s going with her to the vicarage, so the unpleasant business might be taken care of as soon as possible.
Emma could not enter Mr. Elton’s house again without remembering all the compliments, riddles, and horrible blunders of three months ago. She knew that poor Harriet would be remembering too—but the young girl behaved very well and was only rather pale and silent.
The visit was of course short; and there was so much embarrassment to shorten it that Emma could not form an opinion of the lady beyond the nothing-meaning term of being elegantly dressed.
Emma did not really like Mrs. Elton, however. She would not be in a hurry to find fault, but she suspected that there was no elegance—ease, but not elegance. Her face was not unpretty; but neither feature, nor air, nor voice, nor manner were elegant.
Her face was shockingly pale, like Mr. Elton’s, and she had the same mysterious, appealing scent as he. Emma was stunned to see that her eyes were bright red with dark circles under them. Mrs. Elton gave the appearance of having just spent the past several days since her nuptials in the most excruciating pain. Was not the wedding night supposed to be pleasurable?
Moreover, Mrs. Elton seemed to constantly fix her red eyes upon Harriet’s fair neck, as if the woman could serve up Harriet for lunch. Granted, Harriet had once been Mrs. Elton’s rival for the vicar’s affections, but could not bygones be bygones?
As for Mr. Elton, it was an awkward visit. When Emma considered how unlucky poor Mr. Elton was to be in the same room at the same time with the woman he had just married, the woman he had wanted to marry, and the woman whom he had been expected to marry, she must allow him the right to look as uneasy as could be.
Mr. Elton’s eyes, too, were the colour of fresh blood. He did seem, however, strangely satiated, as if he had recently consumed his first full meal in quite a long while.
After Emma and Harriet left the house, Harriet said, “Well, Miss Woodhouse, what do you think of her? Is not she very charming?”
There was a little hesitation in Emma’s answer. “Oh yes, very! A very pleasing young woman.”
“I think her beautiful, quite beautiful.”
“Very nicely dressed, indeed; a remarkably elegant red dress—matches her eyes,” remarked Emma.
“I am not at all surprised that he should have fallen in love with her.”
“Oh, no! There is nothing to surprise one at all. A nice fortune, and she wanted to get married.”
“I daresay,” returned Harriet, sighing again, “I daresay she was very much attached to him.”
“Perhaps, but not every man gets to marry the woman who loves him best. Miss Hawkins perhaps wanted a home and thought this was the best offer she was likely to have.”
“Yes,” said Harriet earnestly, “well, I wish them happy with all my heart. I do not think I shall mind seeing them again. He is just as wonderful as ever—but being married, you know, it is quite a different thing. No, indeed, Miss Woodhouse, you need not be afraid. I can sit and admire him now without any great misery. She does seem a charming young woman, just what he deserves.”
As they strolled along Vicarage Lane on their way back to Highbury, Emma suddenly heard the all-too-familiar rustle of leaves from the tall privet on the edge of the road.
“Harriet, quick, at the ready!” cried Emma.
With amazingly quick precision, borne from hours of practise in the comfort of the drawing room at Hartfield, Emma and Harriet both bent down, reached under their bombazine skirts, and untied their wooden stakes. Harriet, having learnt her lesson well at the Coles’, had taken to securing her stake round her calf rather than her thigh. This manoeuvre served to make the stake emi
nently more accessible, as well as saving precious lengths of expensive yellow silk ribbon.
At the moment when the two vulgar, ragged creatures lunged out of the bushes, snapping and growling, Emma and Harriet were poised, with their wooden stakes raised high in the air.
“How dare you affront two ladies in this manner!” exclaimed Emma as she expertly wielded her weapon, driving it into the heart of the first creature.
“Be gone, hideous monster!” cried Harriet, skilfully piercing the chest of the other. The vampires lay vanquished on the ground.
With calm and confident demeanours, as if they had just finished a game of lawn croquet, Emma and Harriet withdrew their wooden stakes, to be employed yet another day.
***
Several days later, the Eltons visited Emma and her father at Hartfield. Emma made up her mind to see more and better judge Mrs. Elton. Harriet was not present, and Mr. Woodhouse conversed with Mr. Elton.
Thus, Emma had half an hour of the lady’s conversation to herself, time enough to quite convince herself that Mrs. Elton was a vain woman, extremely well satisfied with herself, and thinking too much of her own importance; that she meant to shine and be very superior, but with bold and rude manners, and that she would certainly do Mr. Elton no good.
Harriet would have been a better match for Mr. Elton. If not wise or refined herself, she would have connected Mr. Elton with those who were. But Augusta Hawkins’s only connection with society was her sister’s rich husband near Bristol.
Indeed, the very first subject after being seated was Mrs. Elton’s sister and brother-in-law, Mr. Suckling, and his great house, Maple Grove, and how much it resembled Hartfield.
“Your morning room is the very shape and size of the morning room at Maple Grove, and the staircase very similar as well. I assure you, Miss Woodhouse, it is very delightful to be reminded of a place I am so extremely partial to as Maple Grove. Everybody who sees it is struck by its beauty. And the grounds! People who have extensive grounds themselves are always pleased with anything in the same style.”
Emma doubted the truth of this sentiment. People who had extensive grounds themselves cared very little for the extensive grounds of anybody else.
“I suppose you have many parties here every summer, Miss Woodhouse? I love parties, and I stay up all night now.”
“No, we are a very quiet set of people, I believe—more disposed to stay at home than engage in schemes of pleasure.”
“Ah! There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort. And yet, I am no advocate for entire seclusion. I think when people shut themselves up from society, it is a very bad thing. But I perfectly understand your situation, Miss Woodhouse—your father’s state of health must be a great drawback and keep you constantly at home. Why does he not try the healing waters at Bath?”
“My father has tried them more than once, but without receiving any benefit.”
“Ah! That is a great pity, for it is so cheerful a place and Mr. Woodhouse’s spirits are, I understand, much depressed. Bath would be a charming introduction to society for you, who have lived so secluded a life, and I could immediately introduce you to some of the best people there. A letter from me would bring you a host of new acquaintances.”
It was as much as Emma could bear, without being impolite. The idea of Mrs. Elton introducing her to society!
Emma restrained herself, however, and only thanked Mrs. Elton coolly—“but their going to Bath was quite out of the question.”
And then to prevent further outrage and indignation, Emma changed the subject directly. “I did not ask whether you are musical, Mrs. Elton. Highbury has long heard that you are a superior performer.”
“Oh! No, indeed. A superior performer—very far from it! I am passionately fond of music, my friends say I am not entirely devoid of taste, and my hearing is so much more acute now. When Mr. E. was speaking of my future home at the vicarage, the small rooms and such, knowing the luxury I had been accustomed to, I honestly said that the world I could give up—parties, balls, plays—I could do very well without those things. Two carriages were not necessary for my happiness, but I simply could not live without a musical society.”
“I trust,” said Emma, smiling, “that Mr. Elton has not outstepped the truth.”
“No, indeed. I trust we shall have many sweet little concerts together. I think, Miss Woodhouse, you and I must establish a musical club and have regular weekly meetings at your house, or ours, as an inducement to keep me in practise. For married women, you know, there is a sad story against them, in general. They are but too apt to give up music.”
Emma had nothing more to say, and after a moment’s pause Mrs. Elton chose another subject.
“We have been calling at Randalls,” said she, “and very pleasant people the Westons seem to be. I like them extremely. Mr. Weston is quite a first-rate favourite with me already,” though from the colour of his pale blue eyes, she thought, we have precious little in common, “and Mrs. Weston appears so motherly and kind-hearted. She was your governess, I think?”
Emma was almost too much astonished to reply; but Mrs. Elton hardly waited for the answer before she went on.
“Considering her former employment, I was rather astonished to find her so very ladylike! But she is really quite the gentlewoman.”
“Mrs. Weston’s manners,” said Emma curtly, “were always particularly good. Their propriety, simplicity, and elegance would make them a model for any young woman.”
“And who do you think came in while we were there?”
Emma was quite at a loss. The tone implied some old acquaintance—but how could she possibly guess?
“Knightley!” continued Mrs. Elton. “Knightley himself! Was not it lucky? I had never seen him before, and being so particular a friend of Mr. E.’s, I had a great curiosity. My friend Knightley had been so often mentioned that I was really impatient to see him; and I must say that Mr. E. need not be ashamed of his friend. Knightley is quite the gentleman. I felt an immediate kinship with him—I think our tastes are quite similar. I like him very much.”
Happily, it was now time for the Eltons to leave. They were off, and Emma could finally breathe.
“Insufferable woman!” was her immediate exclamation. “Worse than I had supposed. Absolutely insufferable! Knightley! Never seen him before in her life and calls him Knightley, and discovers that he is a gentleman! A little upstart, vulgar being, with her Mr. E. and her airs of pretension and underbred finery.
“And to propose that she and I should form a musical club! As if we were bosom friends! And Mrs. Weston—astonished that the person who had brought me up should be a gentlewoman! Worse and worse. I never met with her equal. Much beyond my hopes. Harriet is disgraced by any comparison!”
“Well, my dear,” her father deliberately began, “she seems a very pretty sort of young lady; and I daresay she was very much pleased with you. She speaks a little too quick. I do not like strange voices or red eyes. They quite make me nervous. However, she seems a very obliging, well-behaved young lady and no doubt will make Mr. Elton a very good wife.”
Emma was done. Her mind returned to Mrs. Elton’s offences, and long, very long, did they occupy her.
Chapter 33
Emma found no reason to change her ill opinion of Mrs. Elton. Her observation had been correct. The way Mrs. Elton appeared to Emma at Hartfield—self-important, familiar, presuming, ignorant, cold skinned, and ill bred—was the same way she appeared whenever they met again. And the touch of her hand produced the same annoying, jolting shock as her husband’s.
Mrs. Elton had a little beauty and a little accomplishment, but she thought herself coming with superior knowledge of the world to enliven and improve a country neighbourhood.
Mr. Elton seemed not merely happy with his new wife but proud. He had the air of congratulating himself on having brought such a woman to Highbu
ry. And most people in town assumed Mrs. Elton must be as clever and as agreeable as she herself claimed. Emma very politely continued talking about her as being “very pleasant and very elegantly dressed.”
Mrs. Elton grew even worse than she had appeared at first—her feelings towards Emma changed. Probably offended that Emma did not return her offers of friendship, she drew back and gradually became much more cold and distant. Mrs. Elton—and Mr. Elton too—became sneering and negligent. When they had nothing else to say, it was always easy to begin by abusing Emma.
And their manners towards Harriet were unpleasant. The venom and lack of heart which they dared not show openly towards Emma found a broader vent in contemptuous treatment of Harriet. And their persistent red-eyed stares at Harriet’s fair neck and bosom only increased her discomfort.
But the person to whom Mrs. Elton took a great fancy from the first was Jane Fairfax. And without being asked, she wanted to befriend Miss Fairfax and assist her in finding a governess position.
“Jane Fairfax is absolutely charming. I quite rave about Jane Fairfax. A sweet, interesting creature. So mild and ladylike—and with such extraordinary talents! We must bring her talent forward. She is very timid and silent. One can see that she feels the need of encouragement. I like timidity; in those who are inferior, it is extremely pleasing.” I must restrain myself, however, she thought, from certain lusty thoughts about her blood.
“I shall certainly have Jane Fairfax very often to my house, shall introduce her wherever I can, shall have musical parties to draw out her talents, and shall be constantly on the watch for an eligible position for her. My acquaintances are so very extensive that I have little doubt of hearing of something to suit her very shortly.”
“Poor Jane Fairfax!” said Emma to herself. “She has not deserved this. She may have done wrong with regard to Mr. Dixon, but this is a punishment beyond what she can have merited—the kindness and protection of Mrs. Elton!”
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