Chapter XVI

In tim e, of course, Mr. Knightley would be forgotten, that is, supplanted; but this could not be expected to happen very early. Mr. Knightley him self would be doing nothing to assist the cure; – not like Mr. Elton. Mr. Knightley, alway s so kind, so feeling, so truly considerate for every body, would never deserve to be less worshipped than now; and it really was too m uch to hope even of Harriet, that she could be in love with m ore than three m en in one y ear.

CHAPTER XVI

It was a very great relief to Em m a to find Harriet as desirous as herself to avoid a m eeting. Their intercourse was painful enough by letter. How m uch worse, had they been obliged to m eet!

Harriet expressed herself very m uch as m ight be supposed, without reproaches, or apparent sense of ill-usage; and y et Em m a fancied there was a som ething of resentm ent, a som ething bordering on it in her sty le, which increased the desirableness of their being separate. – It m ight be only her own consciousness; but it seem ed as if an angel only could have been quite without resentm ent under such a stroke.

She had no difficulty in procuring Isabella’s invitation; and she was fortunate in having a sufficient reason for asking it, without resorting to invention.

– There was a tooth am iss. Harriet really wished, and had wished som e tim e, to consult a dentist. Mrs. John Knightley was delighted to be of use; any thing of ill health was a recom m endation to her – and though not so fond of a dentist as of a Mr. Wingfield, she was quite eager to have Harriet under her care. – When it was thus settled on her sister’s side, Em m a proposed it to her friend, and found her very persuadable. – Harriet was to go; she was invited for at least a fortnight; she was to be convey ed in Mr. Woodhouse’s carriage. – It was all arranged, it was all com pleted, and Harriet was safe in Brunswick Square.

Now Em m a could, indeed, enj oy Mr. Knightley ’s visits; now she could talk, and she could listen with true happiness, unchecked by that sense of inj ustice, of guilt, of som ething m ost painful, which had haunted her when rem em bering how disappointed a heart was near her, how m uch m ight at that m om ent, and at a little distance, be enduring by the feelings which she had led astray herself.

The difference of Harriet at Mrs. Goddard’s, or in London, m ade perhaps an unreasonable difference in Em m a’s sensations; but she could not think of her in London without obj ects of curiosity and em ploy m ent, which m ust be averting the past, and carry ing her out of herself.

She would not allow any other anxiety to succeed directly to the place in her m ind which Harriet had occupied. There was a com m unication before her, one which she only could be com petent to m ake – the confession of her engagem ent to her father; but she would have nothing to do with it at present. –

She had resolved to defer the disclosure till Mrs. Weston were safe and well. No additional agitation should be thrown at this period am ong those she loved – and the evil should not act on herself by anticipation before the appointed tim e. – A fortnight, at least, of leisure and peace of m ind, to crown every warm er, but

m ore agitating, delight, should be hers.

She soon resolved, equally as a duty and a pleasure, to em ploy half an hour of this holiday of spirits in calling on Miss Fairfax. – She ought to go – and she was longing to see her; the resem blance of their present situations increasing every other m otive of goodwill. It would be a secret satisfaction; but the consciousness of a sim ilarity of prospect would certainly add to the interest with which she should attend to any thing Jane m ight com m unicate.

She went – she had driven once unsuccessfully to the door, but had not been into the house since the m orning after Box Hill, when poor Jane had been in such distress as had filled her with com passion, though all the worst of her sufferings had been unsuspected. – The fear of being still unwelcom e, determ ined her, though assured of their being at hom e, to wait in the passage, and send up her nam e. – She heard Patty announcing it; but no such bustle succeeded as poor Miss Bates had before m ade so happily intelligible. – No; she heard nothing but the instant reply of, “Beg her to walk up;” – and a m om ent afterwards she was m et on the stairs by Jane herself, com ing eagerly forward, as if no other reception of her were felt sufficient. – Em m a had never seen her look so well, so lovely, so engaging. There was consciousness, anim ation, and warm th; there was every thing which her countenance or m anner could ever have wanted. – She cam e forward with an offered hand; and said, in a low, but very feeling tone,

“This is m ost kind, indeed! – Miss Woodhouse, it is im possible for m e to express – I hope y ou will believe – Excuse m e for being so entirely without words.”

Em m a was gratified, and would soon have shewn no want of words, if the sound of Mrs. Elton’s voice from the sitting-room had not checked her, and m ade it expedient to com press all her friendly and all her congratulatory sensations into a very, very earnest shake of the hand.

Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Elton were together. Miss Bates was out, which accounted for the previous tranquillity. Em m a could have wished Mrs. Elton elsewhere; but she was in a hum our to have patience with every body ; and as Mrs. Elton m et her with unusual graciousness, she hoped the rencontre would do them no harm .

She soon believed herself to penetrate Mrs. Elton’s thoughts, and understand why she was, like herself, in happy spirits; it was being in Miss Fairfax’s confidence, and fancy ing herself acquainted with what was still a secret to other people. Em m a saw sy m ptom s of it im m ediately in the expression of her face; and while pay ing her own com plim ents to Mrs. Bates, and appearing to attend to the good old lady ’s replies, she saw her with a sort of anxious parade of

m y stery fold up a letter which she had apparently been reading aloud to Miss Fairfax, and return it into the purple and gold reticule by her side, say ing, with significant nods,

“We can finish this som e other tim e, y ou know. You and I shall not want opportunities. And, in fact, y ou have heard all the essential already. I only wanted to prove to y ou that Mrs. S. adm its our apology, and is not offended. You see how delightfully she writes. Oh! she is a sweet creature! You would have doated on her, had y ou gone. – But not a word m ore. Let us be discreet – quite on our good behaviour. – Hush! – You rem em ber those lines – I forget the poem at this m om ent:

“For when a lady ’s in the case,

“You know all other things give place.”

Now I say, m y dear, in our case, for lady, read – – m um ! a word to the wise. – I am in a fine flow of spirits, an’t I? But I want to set y our heart at ease as to Mrs. S. – My representation, y ou see, has quite appeased her.”

And again, on Em m a’s m erely turning her head to look at Mrs. Bates’s knitting, she added, in a half whisper,

“I m entioned no nam es, y ou will observe. – Oh! no; cautious as a m inister of state. I m anaged it extrem ely well.”

Em m a could not doubt. It was a palpable display, repeated on every possible occasion. When they had all talked a little while in harm ony of the weather and Mrs. Weston, she found herself abruptly addressed with, “Do not y ou think, Miss Woodhouse, our saucy little friend here is charm ingly recovered? – Do not y ou think her cure does Perry the highest credit?

– (here was a side-glance of great m eaning at Jane.) Upon m y word, Perry has restored her in a wonderful short tim e! – Oh! if y ou had seen her, as I did, when she was at the worst!” – And when Mrs. Bates was say ing som ething to Em m a, whispered farther, “We do not say a word of any assistance that Perry m ight have; not a word of a certain y oung phy sician from Windsor. – Oh! no; Perry shall have all the credit.”

“I have scarce had the pleasure of seeing y ou, Miss Woodhouse,” she shortly afterwards began, “since the party to Box Hill. Very pleasant party. But y et I think there was som ething wanting. Things did not seem – that is, there seem ed a little cloud upon the spirits of som e. – So it appeared to m e at least, but I m ight be m istaken. However, I think it answered so far as to tem pt one to go again. What say y ou both to our collecting the sam e party, and exploring to Box

Hill again, while the fine weather lasts? – It m ust be the sam e party, y ou know, quite the sam e party, not one exception.”

Soon after this Miss Bates cam e in, and Em m a could not help being diverted by the perplexity of her first answer to herself, resulting, she supposed, from doubt of what m ight be said, and im patience to say every thing.

“Thank y ou, dear Miss Woodhouse, y ou are all kindness. – It is im possible to say – Yes, indeed, I quite understand – dearest Jane’s prospects –

that is, I do not m ean. – But she is charm ingly recovered. – How is Mr.

Woodhouse? – I am so glad. – Quite out of m y power. – Such a happy little circle as y ou find us here. – Yes, indeed. – Charm ing y oung m an! – that is – so very friendly ; I m ean good Mr. Perry ! – such attention to Jane!” – And from her great, her m ore than com m only thankful delight towards Mrs. Elton for being there, Em m a guessed that there had been a little show of resentm ent towards Jane, from the vicarage quarter, which was now graciously overcom e. – After a few whispers, indeed, which placed it bey ond a guess, Mrs. Elton, speaking louder, said,

“Yes, here I am , m y good friend; and here I have been so long, that any where else I should think it necessary to apologise; but, the truth is, that I am waiting for m y lord and m aster. He prom ised to j oin m e here, and pay his respects to y ou.”

“What! are we to have the pleasure of a call from Mr. Elton? – That will be a favour indeed! for I know gentlem en do not like m orning visits, and Mr.

Elton’s tim e is so engaged.”

“Upon m y word it is, Miss Bates. – He really is engaged from m orning to night. – There is no end of people’s com ing to him , on som e pretence or other. –

The m agistrates, and overseers, and churchwardens, are alway s wanting his opinion. They seem not able to do any thing without him . – ‘Upon m y word, Mr.

E.,’ I often say, ‘rather y ou than I. – I do not know what would becom e of m y cray ons and m y instrum ent, if I had half so m any applicants.’ – Bad enough as it is, for I absolutely neglect them both to an unpardonable degree. – I believe I have not play ed a bar this fortnight. – However, he is com ing, I assure y ou: y es, indeed, on purpose to wait on y ou all.” And putting up her hand to screen her words from Em m a – “A congratulatory visit, y ou know. – Oh! y es, quite indispensable.”

Miss Bates looked about her, so happily – !

“He prom ised to com e to m e as soon as he could disengage him self from Knightley ; but he and Knightley are shut up together in deep consultation. –

Mr. E. is Knightley ’s right hand.”

Em m a would not have sm iled for the world, and only said, “Is Mr. Elton gone on foot to Donwell? – He will have a hot walk.”

“Oh! no, it is a m eeting at the Crown, a regular m eeting. Weston and Cole will be there too; but one is apt to speak only of those who lead. – I fancy Mr.

E. and Knightley have every thing their own way.”

“Have not y ou m istaken the day ?” said Em m a. “I am alm ost certain that the m eeting at the Crown is not till to-m orrow. – Mr. Knightley was at Hartfield y esterday, and spoke of it as for Saturday.”

“Oh! no, the m eeting is certainly to-day,” was the abrupt answer, which denoted the im possibility of any blunder on Mrs. Elton’s side. – “I do believe,” she continued, “this is the m ost troublesom e parish that ever was. We never heard of such things at Maple Grove.”

“Your parish there was sm all,” said Jane.

“Upon m y word, m y dear, I do not know, for I never heard the subj ect talked of.”

“But it is proved by the sm allness of the school, which I have heard y ou speak of, as under the patronage of y our sister and Mrs. Bragge; the only school, and not m ore than five-and-twenty children.”

“Ah! y ou clever creature, that’s very true. What a thinking brain y ou have! I say, Jane, what a perfect character y ou and I should m ake, if we could be shaken together. My liveliness and y our solidity would produce perfection. – Not that I presum e to insinuate, however, that som e people m ay not think y ou perfection already. – But hush! – not a word, if y ou please.”

It seem ed an unnecessary caution; Jane was wanting to give her words, not to Mrs. Elton, but to Miss Woodhouse, as the latter plainly saw. The wish of distinguishing her, as far as civility perm itted, was very evident, though it could not often proceed bey ond a look.

Mr. Elton m ade his appearance. His lady greeted him with som e of her sparkling vivacity.

“Very pretty, sir, upon m y word; to send m e on here, to be an encum brance to m y friends, so long before y ou vouchsafe to com e! – But y ou knew what a dutiful creature y ou had to deal with. You knew I should not stir till m y lord and m aster appeared. – Here have I been sitting this hour, giving these y oung ladies a sam ple of true conj ugal obedience – for who can say, y ou know,

how soon it m ay be wanted?”

Mr. Elton was so hot and tired, that all this wit seem ed thrown away. His civilities to the other ladies m ust be paid; but his subsequent obj ect was to lam ent over him self for the heat he was suffering, and the walk he had had for nothing.

“When I got to Donwell,” said he, “Knightley could not be found. Very odd! very unaccountable! after the note I sent him this m orning, and the m essage he returned, that he should certainly be at hom e till one.”

“Donwell!” cried his wife. – “My dear Mr. E., y ou have not been to Donwell! – You m ean the Crown; y ou com e from the m eeting at the Crown.”

“No, no, that’s to-m orrow; and I particularly wanted to see Knightley to-day on that very account. – Such a dreadful broiling m orning! – I went over the fields too – (speaking in a tone of great ill-usage,) which m ade it so m uch the worse. And then not to find him at hom e! I assure y ou I am not at all pleased.

And no apology left, no m essage for m e. The housekeeper declared she knew nothing of m y being expected. – Very extraordinary ! – And nobody knew at all which way he was gone. Perhaps to Hartfield, perhaps to the Abbey Mill, perhaps into his woods. – Miss Woodhouse, this is not like our friend Knightley ! –

Can y ou explain it?”

Em m a am used herself by protesting that it was very extraordinary, indeed, and that she had not a sy llable to say for him .

“I cannot im agine,” said Mrs. Elton, (feeling the indignity as a wife ought to do,) “I cannot im agine how he could do such a thing by y ou, of all people in the world! The very last person whom one should expect to be forgotten! – My dear Mr. E., he m ust have left a m essage for y ou, I am sure he m ust. – Not even Knightley could be so very eccentric; – and his servants forgot it. Depend upon it, that was the case: and very likely to happen with the Donwell servants, who are all, I have often observed, extrem ely awkward and rem iss. – I am sure I would not have such a creature as his Harry stand at our sideboard for any consideration. And as for Mrs. Hodges, Wright holds her very cheap indeed.

– She prom ised Wright a receipt, and never sent it.”

“I m et William Larkins,” continued Mr. Elton, “as I got near the house, and he told m e I should not find his m aster at hom e, but I did not believe him . –

William seem ed rather out of hum our. He did not know what was com e to his m aster lately, he said, but he could hardly ever get the speech of him . I have nothing to do with William ’s wants, but it really is of very great im portance that I should see Knightley to-day ; and it becom es a m atter, therefore, of very serious inconvenience that I should have had this hot walk to no purpose.”

Em m a felt that she could not do better than go hom e directly. In all probability she was at this very tim e waited for there; and Mr. Knightley m ight be preserved from sinking deeper in aggression towards Mr. Elton, if not towards William Larkins.

She was pleased, on taking leave, to find Miss Fairfax determ ined to attend her out of the room , to go with her even downstairs; it gave her an opportunity which she im m ediately m ade use of, to say,

“It is as well, perhaps, that I have not had the possibility. Had y ou not been surrounded by other friends, I m ight have been tem pted to introduce a subj ect, to ask questions, to speak m ore openly than m ight have been strictly correct. – I feel that I should certainly have been im pertinent.”

“Oh!” cried Jane, with a blush and an hesitation which Em m a thought infinitely m ore becom ing to her than all the elegance of all her usual com posure

– “there would have been no danger. The danger would have been of m y weary ing y ou. You could not have gratified m e m ore than by expressing an interest – . Indeed, Miss Woodhouse, (speaking m ore collectedly,) with the consciousness which I have of m isconduct, very great m isconduct, it is particularly consoling to m e to know that those of m y friends, whose good opinion is m ost worth preserving, are not disgusted to such a degree as to – I have not tim e for half that I could wish to say. I long to m ake apologies, excuses, to urge som ething for m y self. I feel it so very due. But, unfortunately – in short, if y our com passion does not stand m y friend – “

“Oh! y ou are too scrupulous, indeed y ou are,” cried Em m a warm ly, and taking her hand. “You owe m e no apologies; and every body to whom y ou m ight be supposed to owe them , is so perfectly satisfied, so delighted even – “

“You are very kind, but I know what m y m anners were to y ou. – So cold and artificial! – I had alway s a part to act. – It was a life of deceit! – I know that I m ust have disgusted y ou.”