But Jane would not acquiesce, she would not see reason, she would not accept the situation with Mrs. Smallridge at once, and when Mrs. Elton, with the determination of a forceful nature, persisted in importuning her, she impetuously walked away from Donwell, declaring to Miss Woodhouse, of all people! - that she was fatigued. Fatigued! There was that spirit of independence about Jane, that was too ridiculous. Mrs. Elton truly wished to help her, and knew what was for her own good; why then must the girl be walking all over the countryside on a hot day, agitating herself? She gave it up. Some people are more unreasonable, the more you try to do for them.
Frank Churchill arrived from Richmond late in the afternoon, and accepted the invitation to join the party to Box Hill, which was to take place on the following day. That day was less festive than the previous one. There was a long and tiresome drive to get through, before Box Hill could be reached; and upon arrival, everyone seemed out of sorts. Mr. and Mrs. Elton's best attempts to be sociable, went for nothing. Mr. Knightley walked with Jane and Miss Bates, and seemed to veer away whenever Augusta approached, though she was sure she could have done nothing to offend him yesterday, and was truly grateful for the memory of the Donwell party, as she told him over and over again. Was it her manner again, her unfortunate manner? Why was it that these people would never hear the good sense and intention of what she was saying, and be more generous in their assessment of her address? Mr. Churchill walked apart with Miss Woodhouse and Miss Smith. They put their noses up in the air and would not allow her to come near them, though Mrs. Elton was as ready as anybody could possibly be, to let bygones be bygones.
When they all came to sit down, it was Mrs. Elton's time to be positively shocked at the rate at which Mr. Churchill and Miss Woodhouse went on together. They must have a private understanding; such intimate chat and flirtation could only be permissible between an engaged couple. Augusta had never talked to Mr. Elton with such freedom, before their engagement. Mr. Churchill all but declared his love openly, before them all - and Miss Woodhouse encouraged him with the most blatant, the most insolent complacence. What did the girl think she was, the queen of Box Hill as well as of Highbury, the queen of everybody's hearts? Why oh why was it that nobody saw through Miss Woodhouse, but Mrs. Elton? No, Miss Woodhouse was always the standard of perfection it seemed, no matter how shocking her behaviour. The crowning evidence of this was in the very joke Mr. Weston so gallantly made, calling "perfection" M and A - Emma.
To turn aside this sort of insufferable pleasantry, Mrs. Elton was forced to absolutely protest Mr. Churchill's and Miss Woodhouse's rude demand to hear what everybody was thinking of. How dared they ask such a thing? If Mrs. Elton really told them what she was thinking of, they would be shocked and sorry enough. She wished she could. She had never in her life witnessed such self-centred, arrogant behaviour as theirs. She was disgusted in every particular.
At the last, not content with offensive joking, Miss Woodhouse even stooped to make poor Miss Bates the target of her cruel taunts. This was a kind of poor taste that Mrs. Elton found infinitely distressing, as everyone must, who had a heart. Poor Miss Bates - as tiresome as she could be, it was a wicked thing to make unkind jests at one so poor, so harmless, so kind. Bristling, Mrs. Elton had had enough, and showed that she had. Her husband instantly proposed that they walk, and she was relieved to rise and take his arm. They moved away, but not so quickly that they did not collect that Frank Churchill was embarking on some very unkind remarks upon them as a couple.
"Oh Philip," said Augusta, in misery, "what is it? Have we not tried every thing? - but it is a complete failure. You were popular and happy in Highbury before I came, I know, but instead of being a helpmeet, and making your life easier, I have only brought you trouble. They all hate me - I know they do. Miss Woodhouse, Knightley, Frank Churchill. You will never be comfortable again, and it is all my doing. I have only tried to be friendly. Perhaps my city ways are not what they are used to in a country village."
"Do not distress yourself, Augusta," said her husband tenderly. "You are imagining things. I have been a thousand times happier since we were married; a million. No one dislikes you. There is no pleasing Miss Woodhouse, you know - I could not do it myself, long before I ever met you; and the animosity between us had its origins in nothing to do with you. And that proud young lady leads all the others. But I feel sure that in time they will come to appreciate your real goodness, as I do. To my mind, the whole town should be in love with you, and I do not believe they are not."
Mrs. Elton laughed a little, and leaned on him affectionately. "You do make me feel better, Philip. When I am in my right mind, I know very well it is just Miss Woodhouse's dislike that causes all the trouble. Have you ever heard anything like her insolent talk? She is the most unladylike young woman that I ever saw."
"Exactly so, my dear," he replied, "exactly so. But she will get her comeuppance in the end, and be taught the error of her ways, you may depend upon it."
PART SEVEN
Mrs. Elton's most exclusive circle of friends was straitened, and reduced of much of its sense and intelligence, by the loss of Jane ` Fairfax, that followed as the almost immediate result of her engagement. It was a loss so considerable, so complete, that Mrs. Elton only became sensible of its scope and irreparability, after it was accomplished. No other acquaintance of hers had Jane's refinement, her sensibility, her elegance. Mrs. Cole, Miss Bates, Mrs. Goddard - how were they to be compared to a Jane Fairfax? But Jane was gone, and gone for ever; she had first gone to London with the Campbells, and at last into Yorkshire with her husband and gone happily, without a backward look or remembrance of old friends, as far as Augusta could see. It was a certainty that she only would appear again in Highbury on fleeting visits to her grandmother and aunt, and at such times it was not to be expected that Mr. Frank Churchill would allow his wife much leisure for visiting with Mrs. Elton, whom he cordially disliked. The friendship would sink. In sober sadness, it had never recovered from the very moment of the astonishing, the tremendous revelation that Jane and Mr. Frank Churchill had long been secretly engaged.
Mrs. Elton had been disappointed - very disappointed. It was not that she did not rejoice in Jane's good fortune, in her escape from a life of servitude; every good friend must rejoice in that; but the idea rankled, that Jane had kept a secret of such magnitude from one who had supposed herself her dearest friend. No: Augusta's hurt feelings were all a result of the knowledge breaking in on her that the girl whom she had patronized, brought forward, done endless favours for, planned for, soothed, and loved, that this person could care so little for her as to be always enacting a lie, the very same lie she acted before the most indifferent people, indeed to the world at large. Surely she could have made a confidante of Mrs. Elton, if no one else - a married woman, older and wiser, as she was. Perhaps she might not, as it was a matter of honour; but with honour, Jane Fairfax seemed to have had very little to do. At the very least, however, she might have given a hint, so that Mrs. Elton might not be so humiliated in the eyes of the world. How must she look to Mrs. Smallridge, and to Selina, too! Offering up the pearl of all governesses, backing Jane with her word, her reputation, her judgement; and then having to take back the offer in such a way as to show that she had never really known this Jane Fairfax at all?
To be sure, Jane had made an apology of a sort; but it was so triumphant, so careless an apology as to sound more like a rebuke. Her attentions to Mrs. Elton had ceased the instant Frank Churchill appeared to publicly take charge of her, and Mrs. Elton was left with most wounded feelings, and a sure knowledge that she had only been used. Jane's so-called, much-vaunted friendship, was only a deliberate deceit, a ruse to keep others from suspecting the real state of affairs with regard to Frank Churchill. That was how much Jane Fairfax had cared for Augusta Elton. Mrs. Elton's vanity, of which she was sensible she possessed a great deal, was stung to the quick. She had judged Jane to be the fairest of true, grateful friends; and she had been wrong.
She had loved her, and not been loved in return - she had not even been respected. Augusta was within a moment of reflecting pensively on what quality in her own character, failed to win her the love of those whose love she sought. She turned over in her mind poetry associated with the thought..."They flee from me that sometime me did seek"... Then came the more fortunate recollection of Mr. Elton, and she was at once buoyed up and reassured. There, she had wished to attach, and she had attached him. What was more, they had expectations of another to love; and as a wife, the mistress of a vicarage, and a mother to be, Mrs. Elton would soon be too busy and too important to seek female friendship.
Yet whenever she did think of Jane, she must be troubled, irritated, hurt. It had been her unpleasant duty to write to Mrs. Smallridge and acquaint her with her misfortune; a letter written in humiliation, anger, and chagrin. The frustration of all her well-meant, well-laid plans in that direction was hard to bear. She had acted with such a complete and certain sense of what would be best for Jane! She had argued, she had forced her opinion, she had been even peremptory, all for Jane's benefit. Even Miss Bates knew the worth of what she had done - had she not called her the best, most far seeing, indefatigable, true friend to Jane, for not admitting a denial about Mrs. Smallridge: those words had formed part of her apology to the vicar's wife. Miss Bates, at least, had tried to smooth over the hurt feelings that Augusta betrayed, and the indifference, the callous, joyous indifference to them, that Jane herself made only too plain.
Jane had left Highbury, recovered, blithe, and rich; and Augusta remained, to reflect on her own bitterness and failure. She had been eight months transplanted to Highbury, eight months had elapsed from her own wedding day to Jane's; and what had been accomplished, what learned in that time? She had established a happy marriage, that could not been disputed, and she had made some, if not many, friends. But she, who had always prided herself on her clear thinking, her capability, her judgment of character, her management of affairs - she was so shaken in her estimate of herself, as to be closer to a depression of spirits than she had ever known since her marriage. Was it wrong to be a do-all, to try to arrange other people's lives, in the name of helping them, or was it really a vanity-bait for one's own imagined talents? She saw a resemblance to Mrs. Knightley in herself in this way, and she did not like it. Now that she was to be a mother, Augusta reflected, she would have to be more sober, more staid, more sensible.
PART EIGHT
Not the conclusion yet
Miss Woodhouse had held a position in Highbury society, that could only be surpassed by Mrs. Knightley. At not yet two ` and twenty, to be the mistress of both Hartfield and Donwell, and of the combined fortunes of both the Woodhouse and Knightley families, would be called an enviable situation by almost anybody; and Mrs. Elton did envy it. She had known how it would be from the first. Miss Woodhouse had disliked her so much, that she could expect no love from her in her married state; and to be excluded from every thing desirable that might be going on in Highbury, was all that Mrs. Elton expected. She knew she had acted unwisely in her treatment of Jane Fairfax, and that she had got off on the wrong foot with Miss Woodhouse; nothing could be clearer. She had been made sensible, by the reserve and coldness she had met with, that her manners were not those of the Highbury set that Mrs. Knightley deemed to be the best and the chosen. She repented; she was sorry for her presumptuous, vain behaviour, and for whatever in her own address was not acceptable to others. What could she do? It was rather late in life to become meek and retiring, to go about in a close bonnet ministering to the poor, and giving up all the fun of a really first rate card party.
She had always prided herself on her resources, but the truer knowledge of herself that she had gained in this past year, showed her that she was a person who loved society, who could not do without intercourse with her fellow beings; and to be hated by all those around her, was to a person of Augusta's temper the worst fate imaginable. She held this fate, the condition that was to be her future, in gloomy contemplation. To be sent to Coventry in Highbury: a heavy conclusion for one who had spent whole seasons in the gay world of Bath and Bristol.
She had reckoned, however, without Mr. Knightley and his influence. His fairness of mind, and true good nature, would not rest easy in allowing the social persecution of the vicar and his wife, however his own wife might wish to institute such a system of proceeding. That Mr. Knightley's good nature was even increased since his marriage, could not be doubted by any observer, not even by the critical Mrs. Elton. She had early calculated that there would be an end to all visiting, and it was true enough that the bachelor Knightley could come no more; but to her infinite surprise (as almost all of life is a surprise), Augusta found that the Knightleys did visit the Eltons, and even invited the Eltons, at intervals, to visit them. On all such occasions, to be sure, the doting husband was to be seen beaming rather foolishly at his beautiful young wife, and attending to very little else; but the toleration of this was a tax easily paid.
It was during the round of wedding visits that the Eltons were first astonished by the spectacle of the newly married Knightleys seated happily at the vicarage dinner-table, a place Miss Woodhouse had always disdained. It is true, nothing very sensible was said on the occasion; the happy couple was so absorbed in one another they had, as the saying goes, no eyes for any one else, though they were unaware of it, and considered that they were behaving as politely as before Hymen had tied her silken strands. It was delight enough for Mrs. Elton, to have these guests in her house, to show the Highbury world that she was of the elite circle, after all.
She was thankful that the state of affairs between her and Mrs. Knightley seemed to be mending, as was highly desirable, not only because Mr. Knightley and Mr. Elton were mutually involved in a thousand parish matters, but because the two ladies perforce must also be thrown together, like it or not. After all, there were not many married women in Highbury Mr. Knightley could visit - one could think if she could be happy strolling down to the Martins' farmhouse now, for a talk about the cows with Harriet. Mrs. Knightley and Mrs. Elton had got off to a bad start, and they must try again: their husbands were united on this point. They must agree to tolerate one another's ways, and within a few months, both were grown so hardened to meetings by chance or by design in the daily wayfaring life of Highbury, as not to give their prejudices more weight than was absolutely necessary.
Change, however, was in the air. First came the momentous event, the birth of Mrs. Elton's child. Her caro bambino was, she was sure, the finest little boy ever born in Highbury; Mr. Perry said so, and he was a judge. All the world must come to inspect little Philip Augustus, and Mr. and Mrs. Elton were so very delighted, and so hospitable in greeting all comers, and inviting them to partake of seedcake and port, that the good feeling Mr. Elton had brought to Highbury with the announcement of his marriage, seemed positively to revive.
The second great event of the new year, was the long-awaited visit of the Sucklings. It being the depths of winter, and not the more open season of summer, exploring-parties in the barouche-landau were prohibited; but Mrs. Elton did not now have a regret. It was in a most exulting state that she prepared to show her house, her husband, her child, her society, to her most beloved sister, Selina.
PART NINE
Still not the conclusion
My dear Mr. Knightley," said his wife, "I am resigned to the daily display of a sort of good fellowship with Mrs. Elton, as it tends to our ` living in peace together; but really this is going too far. Tell me we do not have to invite her sister to Hartfield, that the name of diplomacy does not demand such a thing."
"My beloved Emma," her husband replied, "you answer your own question. In a community life, diplomacy is always required; and we can hardly show friendship to Mrs. Elton, and not to her sister. This visit, as you know, is very important to her, and in all probability, will never recur again."
Emma threw a despairing look at her friend. "Mrs. Weston, surely you do not agr
ee with my husband? You have never given in to Mrs. Elton's good nature - you still consider her a designing, petty, presuming, interfering little woman, do you not, with her caro sposo, and now her caro bambino, and all her airs?"
Mrs. Weston's eyes were on her little Anna, who at eight months old was attempting to creep forward on a blanket laid upon the floor. Mr. Weston was down on the floor himself, overseeing the child's progress. Such was the disarray at Randalls since the birth of the little household tyrant.
"I do not know - oh, Mr. Weston, she must not eat the blanket, do take it away from her - it is dirty, quite dirty."
"Nonsense! who was it said a child must eat a pound of dirt in its first year."
"She shall not eat it all at once, while I look on, Mr. Weston. Here, my precious, come to mamma."
"Do not let the child eat any thing dirty, Mrs. Weston," said Mr. Woodhouse anxiously, "and I am very glad you have picked her up. It is very chilly on the floor, I know. My own feet are resting upon the floor, and I feel the draught passing over them. I do indeed. She is much better upon your lap."
"But Mrs. Suckling," said Emma impatiently, "what about Mrs. Suckling."
"Oh - well, Emma, she is not my first favourite person, as you know, but I confess that I must incline toward Mr. Knightley's view. It would never do to offend her. I know your good nature will accept the truth of this. Is my love hungry? Perhaps we may give her some of the milk pudding that you have recommended, Mr. Woodhouse, now."
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