Chapter IX

“Ay e, I see what y ou are thinking of, the pianoforte. What is to becom e of that? – Very true. Poor dear Jane was talking of it j ust now. – ‘You m ust go,’

said she. ‘You and I m ust part. You will have no business here. – Let it stay, however,’ said she; ‘give it houseroom till Colonel Cam pbell com es back. I shall talk about it to him ; he will settle for m e; he will help m e out of all m y difficulties.’

– And to this day, I do believe, she knows not whether it was his present or his daughter’s.”

Now Em m a was obliged to think of the pianoforte; and the rem em brance of all her form er fanciful and unfair conj ectures was so little pleasing, that she soon allowed herself to believe her visit had been long enough; and, with a repetition of every thing that she could venture to say of the good wishes which she really felt, took leave.

CHAPTER IX

Em m a’s pensive m editations, as she walked hom e, were not interrupted; but on entering the parlour, she found those who m ust rouse her. Mr. Knightley and Harriet had arrived during her absence, and were sitting with her father. – Mr.

Knightley im m ediately got up, and in a m anner decidedly graver than usual, said,

“I would not go away without seeing y ou, but I have no tim e to spare, and therefore m ust now be gone directly. I am going to London, to spend a few day s with John and Isabella. Have y ou any thing to send or say, besides the ‘love,’

which nobody carries?”

“Nothing at all. But is not this a sudden schem e?”

“Yes – rather – I have been thinking of it som e little tim e.”

Em m a was sure he had not forgiven her; he looked unlike him self.

Tim e, however, she thought, would tell him that they ought to be friends again.

While he stood, as if m eaning to go, but not going – her father began his inquiries.

“Well, m y dear, and did y ou get there safely ? – And how did y ou find m y worthy old friend and her daughter? – I dare say they m ust have been very m uch obliged to y ou for com ing. Dear Em m a has been to call on Mrs. and Miss Bates, Mr. Knightley, as I told y ou before. She is alway s so attentive to them !”

Em m a’s colour was heightened by this unj ust praise; and with a sm ile, and shake of the head, which spoke m uch, she looked at Mr. Knightley. – It seem ed as if there were an instantaneous im pression in her favour, as if his ey es received the truth from her’s, and all that had passed of good in her feelings were at once caught and honoured. – He looked at her with a glow of regard. She was warm ly gratified – and in another m om ent still m ore so, by a little m ovem ent of m ore than com m on friendliness on his part. – He took her hand; – whether she had not herself m ade the first m otion, she could not say – she m ight, perhaps, have rather offered it – but he took her hand, pressed it, and certainly was on the point of carry ing it to his lips – when, from som e fancy or other, he suddenly let it go. – Why he should feel such a scruple, why he should change his m ind when it was all but done, she could not perceive. – He would have j udged better, she thought, if he had not stopped. – The intention, however, was indubitable; and whether it was that his m anners had in general so little gallantry, or however else it happened, but she thought nothing becam e him m ore. – It was with him , of so sim ple, y et so dignified a nature. – She could not but recall the attem pt with great satisfaction. It spoke such perfect am ity. – He left them im m ediately afterwards

– gone in a m om ent. He alway s m oved with the alertness of a m ind which could neither be undecided nor dilatory, but now he seem ed m ore sudden than usual in his disappearance.

Em m a could not regret her having gone to Miss Bates, but she wished she had left her ten m inutes earlier; – it would have been a great pleasure to talk over Jane Fairfax’s situation with Mr. Knightley. – Neither would she regret that he should be going to Brunswick Square, for she knew how m uch his visit would be enj oy ed – but it m ight have happened at a better tim e – and to have had longer notice of it, would have been pleasanter. – They parted thorough friends, however; she could not be deceived as to the m eaning of his countenance, and his unfinished gallantry ; – it was all done to assure her that she had fully recovered his good opinion. – He had been sitting with them half an hour, she found. It was a pity that she had not com e back earlier!

In the hope of diverting her father’s thoughts from the disagreeableness of Mr. Knightley ’s going to London; and going so suddenly ; and going on horseback, which she knew would be all very bad; Em m a com m unicated her news of Jane Fairfax, and her dependence on the effect was j ustified; it supplied a very useful check, – interested, without disturbing him . He had long m ade up his m ind to Jane Fairfax’s going out as governess, and could talk of it cheerfully, but Mr. Knightley ’s going to London had been an unexpected blow.

“I am very glad, indeed, m y dear, to hear she is to be so com fortably settled. Mrs. Elton is very good-natured and agreeable, and I dare say her acquaintance are j ust what they ought to be. I hope it is a dry situation, and that her health will be taken good care of. It ought to be a first obj ect, as I am sure poor Miss Tay lor’s alway s was with m e. You know, m y dear, she is going to be to this new lady what Miss Tay lor was to us. And I hope she will be better off in one respect, and not be induced to go away after it has been her hom e so long.”

The following day brought news from Richm ond to throw every thing else into the background. An express arrived at Randalls to announce the death of Mrs. Churchill! Though her nephew had had no particular reason to hasten back on her account, she had not lived above six-and-thirty hours after his return. A sudden seizure of a different nature from any thing foreboded by her general state, had carried her off after a short struggle. The great Mrs. Churchill was no m ore.

It was felt as such things m ust be felt. Every body had a degree of gravity and sorrow; tenderness towards the departed, solicitude for the surviving friends; and, in a reasonable tim e, curiosity to know where she would be buried.

Goldsm ith tells us, that when lovely wom an stoops to folly, she has nothing to do

but to die; and when she stoops to be disagreeable, it is equally to be recom m ended as a clearer of ill-fam e. Mrs. Churchill, after being disliked at least twenty -five y ears, was now spoken of with com passionate allowances. In one point she was fully j ustified. She had never been adm itted before to be seriously ill. The event acquitted her of all the fancifulness, and all the selfishness of im aginary com plaints.

“Poor Mrs. Churchill! no doubt she had been suffering a great deal: m ore than any body had ever supposed – and continual pain would try the tem per. It was a sad event – a great shock – with all her faults, what would Mr.

Churchill do without her? Mr. Churchill’s loss would be dreadful indeed. Mr.

Churchill would never get over it.” – Even Mr. Weston shook his head, and looked solem n, and said, “Ah! poor wom an, who would have thought it!” and resolved, that his m ourning should be as handsom e as possible; and his wife sat sighing and m oralising over her broad hem s with a com m iseration and good sense, true and steady. How it would affect Frank was am ong the earliest thoughts of both. It was also a very early speculation with Em m a. The character of Mrs. Churchill, the grief of her husband – her m ind glanced over them both with awe and com passion – and then rested with lightened feelings on how Frank m ight be affected by the event, how benefited, how freed. She saw in a m om ent all the possible good. Now, an attachm ent to Harriet Sm ith would have nothing to encounter. Mr. Churchill, independent of his wife, was feared by nobody ; an easy, guidable m an, to be persuaded into any thing by his nephew. All that rem ained to be wished was, that the nephew should form the attachm ent, as, with all her goodwill in the cause, Em m a could feel no certainty of its being already form ed.

Harriet behaved extrem ely well on the occasion, with great self-com m and. What ever she m ight feel of brighter hope, she betray ed nothing.

Em m a was gratified, to observe such a proof in her of strengthened character, and refrained from any allusion that m ight endanger its m aintenance. They spoke, therefore, of Mrs. Churchill’s death with m utual forbearance.

Short letters from Frank were received at Randalls, com m unicating all that was im m ediately im portant of their state and plans. Mr. Churchill was better than could be expected; and their first rem oval, on the departure of the funeral for Yorkshire, was to be to the house of a very old friend in Windsor, to whom Mr.

Churchill had been prom ising a visit the last ten y ears. At present, there was nothing to be done for Harriet; good wishes for the future were all that could y et be possible on Em m a’s side.

It was a m ore pressing concern to shew attention to Jane Fairfax, whose prospects were closing, while Harriet’s opened, and whose engagem ents now allowed of no delay in any one at Highbury, who wished to shew her kindness –

and with Em m a it was grown into a first wish. She had scarcely a stronger regret than for her past coldness; and the person, whom she had been so m any m onths neglecting, was now the very one on whom she would have lavished every distinction of regard or sy m pathy. She wanted to be of use to her; wanted to shew a value for her society, and testify respect and consideration. She resolved to prevail on her to spend a day at Hartfield. A note was written to urge it. The invitation was refused, and by a verbal m essage. “Miss Fairfax was not well enough to write;” and when Mr. Perry called at Hartfield, the sam e m orning, it appeared that she was so m uch indisposed as to have been visited, though against her own consent, by him self, and that she was suffering under severe headaches, and a nervous fever to a degree, which m ade him doubt the possibility of her going to Mrs. Sm allridge’s at the tim e proposed. Her health seem ed for the m om ent com pletely deranged – appetite quite gone – and though there were no absolutely alarm ing sy m ptom s, nothing touching the pulm onary com plaint, which was the standing apprehension of the fam ily, Mr. Perry was uneasy about her. He thought she had undertaken m ore than she was equal to, and that she felt it so herself, though she would not own it. Her spirits seem ed overcom e. Her present hom e, he could not but observe, was unfavourable to a nervous disorder:

– confined alway s to one room ; – he could have wished it otherwise – and her good aunt, though his very old friend, he m ust acknowledge to be not the best com panion for an invalid of that description. Her care and attention could not be questioned; they were, in fact, only too great. He very m uch feared that Miss Fairfax derived m ore evil than good from them . Em m a listened with the warm est concern; grieved for her m ore and m ore, and looked around eager to discover som e way of being useful. To take her – be it only an hour or two – from her aunt, to give her change of air and scene, and quiet rational conversation, even for an hour or two, m ight do her good; and the following m orning she wrote again to say, in the m ost feeling language she could com m and, that she would call for her in the carriage at any hour that Jane would nam e – m entioning that she had Mr. Perry ’s decided opinion, in favour of such exercise for his patient. The answer was only in this short note:

“Miss Fairfax’s com plim ents and thanks, but is quite unequal to any exercise.”

Em m a felt that her own note had deserved som ething better; but it was im possible to quarrel with words, whose trem ulous inequality shewed indisposition so plainly, and she thought only of how she m ight best counteract this unwillingness to be seen or assisted. In spite of the answer, therefore, she ordered the carriage, and drove to Mrs. Bates’s, in the hope that Jane would be induced to j oin her – but it would not do; – Miss Bates cam e to the carriage door, all gratitude, and agreeing with her m ost earnestly in thinking an airing m ight be of

the greatest service – and every thing that m essage could do was tried – but all in vain. Miss Bates was obliged to return without success; Jane was quite unpersuadable; the m ere proposal of going out seem ed to m ake her worse. –

Em m a wished she could have seen her, and tried her own powers; but, alm ost before she could hint the wish, Miss Bates m ade it appear that she had prom ised her niece on no account to let Miss Woodhouse in. “Indeed, the truth was, that poor dear Jane could not bear to see any body – any body at all – Mrs. Elton, indeed, could not be denied – and Mrs. Cole had m ade such a point – and Mrs.

Perry had said so m uch – but, except them , Jane would really see nobody.”

Em m a did not want to be classed with the Mrs. Eltons, the Mrs. Perry s, and the Mrs. Coles, who would force them selves any where; neither could she feel any right of preference herself – she subm itted, therefore, and only questioned Miss Bates farther as to her niece’s appetite and diet, which she longed to be able to assist. On that subj ect poor Miss Bates was very unhappy, and very com m unicative; Jane would hardly eat any thing: – Mr. Perry recom m ended nourishing food; but every thing they could com m and (and never had any body such good neighbours) was distasteful.