Emma and the Vampires

by Wayne Josephson

  Emma was not long compelled to listen to Mrs. Elton’s tiresome speeches or stare into her cold, unblinking red eyes. Mrs. Elton’s dislike for Emma soon appeared, and she was left in peace.

  She looked at Mrs. Elton’s attentions to Jane Fairfax with some amusement. Emma’s only surprise was that Jane accepted those attentions and tolerated Mrs. Elton as she seemed to do.

  Emma heard of Jane walking with the Eltons, sitting with the Eltons, spending a day with the Eltons! This was astonishing! She could not believe that the good taste or pride of Miss Fairfax could endure such a friendship as the vicarage had to offer.

  To Emma, Jane Fairfax was a riddle. She had planned to be in Highbury for three months while the Campbells were in Ireland. But now the Campbells had decided to stay at least till midsummer and had invited Jane to join them abroad.

  According to Miss Bates—it all came from her—Jane’s dear friend Mrs. Dixon had written most pressingly. Would Jane go? But still she had declined it!

  She must have some motive, more powerful than appears, for refusing this invitation, was Emma’s conclusion. There is great fear, great caution, and great resolution somewhere. Somebody is forbidding her to be with the Dixons. But why must she be with the Eltons? Here is quite a puzzle.

  Emma could not understand Jane’s peculiar friendship with Mrs. Elton. When she wondered aloud to Mrs. Weston and Mr. Knightley, both of whom knew Emma’s opinion of Mrs. Elton, Mrs. Weston ventured this apology for Jane: “We cannot suppose that Miss Fairfax has any great enjoyment at the vicarage, my dear Emma, but it is better than being always at home. Her aunt is a good creature, but as a constant companion Miss Bates must be very tiresome.”

  “You are right, Mrs. Weston,” said Mr. Knightley warmly. “If Miss Fairfax could have chosen with whom to associate, she would not have chosen Mrs. Elton. But,” with a reproachful smile at Emma, “she receives attentions from Mrs. Elton which nobody else pays her.”

  With a faint blush, Emma presently replied, “Such attentions as Mrs. Elton’s, I should imagine, would disgust rather than gratify Miss Fairfax.”

  “Another thing must be taken into consideration, too,” said Mr. Knightley. “You may be sure that Mrs. Elton is awed by Miss Fairfax’s superiority both of mind and manner. Such a woman as Jane Fairfax probably never fell into Mrs. Elton’s circle before—and no degree of vanity can prevent her from acknowledging her own comparative inferiority.” And, thought he, Jane Fairfax would be the closest Mrs. Elton would ever get to tasty aristocratic blood.

  “Mr. Knightley, I know how highly you think of Jane Fairfax,” said Emma. Her little nephew Henry was in her thoughts, and a mixture of alarm and delicacy made her unsure what else to say.

  “Yes,” he replied, as his black eyes glowed, “anybody may know how highly I think of Jane Fairfax.”

  “And yet, perhaps,” said Emma, “you may hardly be aware yourself how highly it is. The extent of your admiration may take you by surprise some day or other.”

  Emma felt her foot pressed by Mrs. Weston.

  In a moment Mr. Knightly replied, “That will never be, however, I can assure you. Miss Fairfax, I daresay, would not have me if I were to ask her—and I am very sure I shall never ask her.” Mr. Knightley paused, then said, in a manner which showed him not pleased, “So you have been deciding that I should marry Jane Fairfax?”

  “No, indeed I have not,” said Emma. “You have scolded me too much for matchmaking for me to presume to take such a liberty with you. What I said just now meant nothing. Oh, no! Upon my word, I have not the smallest wish for your marrying Jane Fairfax or Jane Anybody.”

  Mr. Knightley was thoughtful again. The result of his reverie was, “No, Emma, I never had a thought of her in that way, I assure you.” And soon afterwards, “Jane Fairfax is a very charming young woman—but not even Jane Fairfax is perfect. She has a fault. She has not the open temper which a man would wish for in a wife, despite her fair white neck and delicate manner.”

  Emma could not but rejoice to hear that Jane Fairfax had a fault.

  “Jane Fairfax has feeling,” continued Mr. Knightley. “Her sensibilities, I suspect, are strong and her temper excellent in its power of forbearance, patience, and self-control—but it lacks openness. She is more reserved, I think, than she used to be, and I love an open temper. I converse with Jane Fairfax with admiration and pleasure always—but with no thought beyond.”

  “Well, Mrs. Weston,” said Emma triumphantly after he departed, “what do you now say to Mr. Knightley’s marrying Jane Fairfax?”

  “Why, really, dear Emma, I say that he is so occupied by the idea of not being in love with her, that I should not be surprised if, in the end, he is in love with her after all.”

  Chapter 34

  Everybody in and about Highbury paid great attention to Mr. and Mrs. Elton. Invitations for dinner parties flowed in so fast that Mrs. Elton had soon the pleasure of worrying that they were never to have a free day. And since the Eltons—along with Highbury’s other vampires—never ate, their hosts could entertain quite frugally.

  “I see how it is now,” said Mrs. Elton. “I see what a life I am to lead here. We really seem quite the fashion.”

  But Mrs. Elton was quite a little shocked at the lack of sophistication in Highbury. Mrs. Bates, Mrs. Perry, Mrs. Goddard, and others were a good deal behind in knowledge of the world, but she would soon show them how everything ought to be arranged. In the spring she must return their invitations with one very superior party.

  Emma, in the meanwhile, could not be satisfied without hosting a dinner of her own for the Eltons at Hartfield. After she had talked about it for ten minutes, Mr. Woodhouse felt no unwillingness and only made the usual stipulation of not sitting at the head of the table himself.

  The persons to be invited required little thought. Besides the Eltons, it must be the Westons and Mr. Knightley; that made seven, and poor little Harriet must be asked to make the eighth. But Emma was particularly pleased by Harriet’s wish to stay at home. She would “rather not be in Mr. Elton’s company” more than she could help. She was “not yet quite able to see him and his happy wife together without feeling uncomfortable.”

  Emma was delighted with the fortitude of her little friend—and she could now invite the very person whom she really wanted to make the eighth, Jane Fairfax. Emma’s conscience had bothered her since her last conversation with Mr. Knightley—he had said that Jane Fairfax received attention from Mrs. Elton because nobody else paid any.

  “This is very true,” Emma said to herself, “and it is very shameful. We are the same age and, always knowing her, I ought to have been more her friend. She will never like me now. I have neglected her too long. But I shall show her greater attention than I have done.”

  Every invitation was successful and all happily accepted. But then a rather unlucky circumstance occurred. Mr. John Knightley proposed visiting Hartfield for a day and bringing his two eldest little children—the very day of this party.

  Mr. Woodhouse considered eight persons at dinner as the utmost that his nerves could bear—John Knightley would be the ninth—and Emma feared that it would be a ninth very much out of humour that her brother-in-law would have to attend a dinner party.

  Emma comforted her father by pointing out that John Knightley always said little and ate nothing, so his presence would hardly be noticed. In reality, she dreaded his grave looks, reluctant conversation, and dire predictions of the future.

  Then Mr. Weston was unexpectedly summoned out of town, so the party was back to eight. Mr. Woodhouse was now quite at ease.

  ***

  The day came, the party guests were punctually assembled, and Mrs. Elton was as elegant as lace and pearls could offset the pale skin and dark circles under her red eyes.

  Mr. John Knightley seemed devoted to being agreeable. Instead of drawing his brother off to a window while they wa
ited for dinner, he was talking to Miss Fairfax. He had seen her that morning before breakfast as he was returning from a walk with his little boys to the forest to search for raccoons when it had just begun to rain.

  John now said to Miss Fairfax, “I trust you did not venture far this morning, or I am sure you must have gotten wet. We scarcely got home in time.”

  “I went only to the post office,” said she, “and reached home before the rain was much. It is my daily errand. I always fetch the letters when I am here. It saves trouble and is something to get me out of the house. A walk before breakfast does me good.”

  Mr. John Knightley replied, “When you have been my age for as long as I have, you will begin to think that letters are never worth going through the rain for.”

  Jane Fairfax blushed and then answered, “I cannot expect that simply being older should make me indifferent about letters.”

  “Letters are no matter of indifference; they are generally a very positive curse.”

  “You are speaking of letters of business; mine are letters of friendship. You have everybody dearest to you at home. I probably never shall again. And therefore, the hope of a letter of friendship draws me out in the rain.” Then another blush, a quivering lip, and a tear in her eye showed her deep feelings.

  Her attention was now claimed by Mr. Woodhouse, who according to his custom on such occasions paid his compliments to his guests.

  “I am very sorry to hear, Miss Fairfax, of your being out this morning in the rain. Young ladies should take care of themselves. Young ladies are delicate plants. They should take care of their health and their complexion. My dear, did you change your stockings?”

  “Yes, sir, I did indeed, and I am very much obliged by your kind interest in me.”

  By this time, the walk in the rain had reached Mrs. Elton, and her protest now opened upon Jane.

  “My dear Jane, what is this I hear? Going to the post office in the rain! This must not be, I assure you. You sad girl, how could you do such a thing?”

  Jane very patiently assured her that she had not caught any cold.

  “Oh! You do not know how to take care of yourself. To the post office indeed! We shall not allow you to do such a thing again. There must be some arrangement made. I shall speak to Mr. E.” She thought a moment, then announced, “The man who fetches our letters every morning will inquire for yours, too, and bring them to you.” I myself would love to bring them to you, she thought, along with my appetite.

  “You are extremely kind,” said Jane, “but I cannot give up my early walk. The post office is a fine destination.”

  “My dear Jane, say no more about it. The thing is settled.”

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Elton,” said Jane earnestly, “I cannot by any means consent to such an arrangement. The errand is a pleasure to me.”

  Jane then turned to Mr. John Knightley to change the topic. The varieties of handwriting were talked of; Emma and Mr. George Knightley joined in, and the usual observations were made.

  “I have heard it asserted,” said John Knightley, “that the same sort of handwriting often prevails in a family. But I should imagine the likeness must be chiefly confined to the females, for boys scramble into any hand they can get.”

  “I never saw any gentleman’s handwriting that was—” Emma began, but stopped, then began again, “Mr. Frank Churchill writes one of the best gentleman’s hands I ever saw.”

  “I do not admire it,” said Mr. George Knightley. “It is too small—lacks strength. It is like a woman’s writing. And he is quite sloppy, with red blotches spotting the fine parchment.”

  Emma defended him. “No, it is by no means a large hand but very clear and certainly strong.”

  “Oh! When a gallant young man like Mr. Frank Churchill,” said Mr. George Knightley dryly, “writes to a fair lady like Miss Woodhouse, he will, of course, put forth his best. Just do not ask him to defend you against a vampire attack, for then he will cower like a woman!”

  Dinner was on the table, and the guests paraded into the dining parlour, though many intended not to partake of the food.

  Jane’s insistence about fetching her own letters at the post office had not escaped Emma. She suspected that Jane expected to hear from someone very dear, and indeed that had occurred. Emma thought there was an air of greater happiness than usual in Jane—a glow of both complexion and spirits.

  Chapter 35

  When the ladies returned to the drawing room after dinner, the ill-behaved Mrs. Elton ignored Emma and sat with Jane Fairfax. Emma was obliged to sit with Mrs. Weston.

  It was impossible for Emma not to overhear Mrs. Elton, in a loud half-whisper, discuss the post office, catching cold, fetching letters, friendship, and a subject which must be equally unpleasant to Jane—inquiries into whether she had yet heard of any governess positions.

  “I get anxious about you!” said she. “June will soon be here.”

  “But I have not made any inquiries; I do not wish to make any yet.”

  “Oh! My dear, you are not aware of the difficulty of procuring exactly the desirable position. You have not seen so much of the world as I have. You do not know how many candidates there always are for the best situations.”

  “Colonel and Mrs. Campbell are to be in town again by midsummer,” said Jane. “I must spend some time with them; afterwards I may probably begin to inquire. But I would not wish you to take the trouble of making any inquiries at present. When I am quite determined as to the time, there are offices in town where inquiry will soon produce something—offices for the sale, not quite of human flesh, but of human intellect.”

  “Oh! My dear, human flesh! You quite shock me. If you mean a fling with vampires or the slave trade—”

  “I was not thinking of the slave trade and certainly not vampires,” replied Jane. “The governess trade, I assure you, was all that I had in mind.”

  “I know what a modest creature you are,” repeated Mrs. Elton, “but you must take up with a family that moves in a certain circle, commanding the elegancies of life.”

  “As to all that, it is no matter to me whether I associate with the rich. A gentleman’s family is all that I should care for.”

  “But with your superior talents, you have a right to move in the first circle. Your musical knowledge alone would entitle you to name your own terms, mix in the family as much as you choose, and have as many rooms as you like, especially if the little darlings never sleep.”

  “I am exceedingly obliged to you, Mrs. Elton,” said Jane. “However, I am very serious in not wishing anything to be attempted at present for me till the summer. For two or three months longer I shall remain where I am, and as I am.”

  The whole party was just reassembled in the drawing room when Mr. Weston made his appearance among them. He had just returned from London and had walked to Hartfield to join Mrs. Weston at the party.

  John Knightley was in quiet astonishment—that a man who might have spent his evening quietly at home after a day of business in London should walk half a mile to another man’s house for the sake of being in mixed company.

  Mr. Weston, meanwhile, was happy and cheerful as usual and making himself agreeable among the rest. He gave Mrs. Weston a letter, which he was sure would be highly interesting to everybody in the room. It was from Frank Churchill.

  “Read it, read it,” said he. “It will give you pleasure. Only a few lines—it will not take you long—just ignore the red blotches. Read it to Emma.”

  The two ladies looked it over together; and Mr. Weston sat smiling and talking to them the whole time in a voice a little subdued but very audible to everybody.

  “Well, Frank is coming, you see—good news! I always told you he would be here again soon, did I not? In town next week. As to his aunt’s illness, it is all nothing, of course. It is an excellent thing to have Frank among us again.”

 
Mrs. Weston was most comfortably pleased on the occasion. She was happy; her congratulations were warm and open.

  But Emma could not speak so fluently. She was a little occupied in weighing her own feelings and trying to understand the degree of her agitation, which she rather thought was considerable.

  It was well that Mr. Weston took everybody’s joy for granted, or he might not have noticed that neither Mr. Woodhouse nor Mr. Knightley were particularly delighted.

  He then proceeded to tell Miss Fairfax, but she was so deep in conversation with John Knightley that it would have been too rude an interruption; and finding himself close to Mrs. Elton, he necessarily began on the subject with her.

  Chapter 36

  Mrs. Elton,” said Mr. Weston, “I trust I shall soon have the pleasure of introducing you to my son, Frank Churchill. He will be in London next week, along with his aunt and uncle Mr. and Mrs. Churchill.”

  “Oh yes!” said Mrs. Elton, smiling most graciously, as her cold, pale hand touched his cold, pale hand. “And I shall be very happy in his acquaintance.”

  “I received a letter from him, and it tells us that they are all coming directly on Mrs. Churchill’s account. She has not been well the whole winter and thinks Enscombe too cold for her. So they are all moving south to London without loss of time. Mrs. Churchill is not much in my good graces, as you may suspect—she is not one of us, if you get my drift—but this is quite between ourselves. She is very fond of Frank, and therefore I would not speak ill of her. Besides, she is of ill health now—I would not say this to everybody, Mrs. Elton, but I have not much faith in Mrs. Churchill’s illness.”

  “Frank was here in February for a visit, was he not?” asked Mrs. Elton.

  “Yes, a mere fortnight. Such a short time.” He lowered his voice. “And no sustenance to be found, besides.”

  “Well, then,” said she, “he will find, in myself, an addition to the society of Highbury when he comes again; but perhaps he may never have heard of me.”