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Story
VI - Highbury Hijinks
(Author's Note:
In this Emma variation, Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax arrive
in Highbury early enough to attend the Weston's Christmas Eve
dinner.)
Dinner was done,
and so was the required separation of the sexes. Emma was glad
of it, for as much as she tried, she could not like Jane Fairfax.
Treasuring as she did openness, artifice must always distress
her, and Miss Fairfax's reserve must to Emma always hint of disguise.
The snow outside
showed no sign of lessening - rather, it seemed to fall heavier.
Mr. Woodhouse began to talk of leaving and Isabella too. It was
distressing to Emma's feelings, for she had no time to talk of
Harriet Smith to Mr. Elton. Now, with Miss Fairfax exhibiting
on the pianoforte, the headache Emma feared began to grow in
intensity.
To Mrs. Weston she
excused herself, declaring that a half-hour's quiet in the library
would be just the thing to sooth her head. Mr. Churchill and
Mr. Knightley saw her distress, but Emma declined any assistance.
Within moments, the cool, half-light of the library worked its
magic on Emma's sensibilities.
It was then she
learned that her escape had attracted another's notice.
"Miss Woodhouse,"
said Mr. Elton as he came into the room. "Pray, are you
feeling well?" His tone was solicitous, but the volume did
nothing for the lady's aching head.
"I am well
enough, Mr. Elton. Thank you for your concern."
In any other situation,
Emma would have rejoiced at the opportunity for a short tête-à-tête
with the man she intended for Harriet. But now, she would rather
it had not happened. Not only did her head pain her, but she
believed the gentleman had been drinking too much of Mr. Weston's
good wine and felt sure that he would want to be talking nonsense.
To restrain him
as much as might be by her own manners, she immediately prepared
to speak with exquisite calmness and gravity of the weather and
the night. But scarcely had she begun than she found her subject
cut up - her hand seized - her attention demanded, and Mr. Elton
actually making violent love to her!
Availing himself
of the precious opportunity, declaring sentiments which must
be already well known, hoping - fearing - adoring - ready to
die if she refused him but flattering himself that his ardent
attachment and unequalled love and unexampled passion could not
fail to have some effect - in short, very much resolved to be
seriously accepted as soon as possible. It really was so. Without
scruple, without apology, without much apparent diffidence, Mr.
Elton, the lover of Harriet, was professing himself Emma's lover!
She tried to stop
him but in vain. He would go on and say it all. As angry as Emma
was, the thought of the moment made her resolve to restrain herself
when she did speak. She felt that half this folly must be drunkenness,
and therefore, could hope that it might belong only to the passing
hour.
Accordingly, she
replied, "I am very much astonished, Mr. Elton. This to
me! You forget yourself - you take me for my friend. Any message
to Miss Smith I shall be happy to deliver, but no more of this
to me, if you please."
"Miss Smith!
Message to Miss Smith? Good heaven, what can be the meaning of
this? Miss Smith! I never thought of Miss Smith in the whole
course of my existence. Never paid her any attentions, but as
your friend. Never cared whether she were dead or alive, but
as your friend. If she has fancied otherwise, her own wishes
have misled her, and I am very sorry - extremely sorry. But,
Miss Smith, indeed! Oh, Miss Woodhouse! Who can think of Miss
Smith, when Miss Woodhouse is near?
"No, upon my
honor, I have thought only of you. I protest against having paid
the smallest attention to anyone else. Every thing that I have
said or done, for many weeks past, has been with the sole view
of marking my adoration of yourself. You cannot seriously doubt
it. No, I am sure you have seen and understood me."
It would be impossible
to say what Emma felt on hearing this - which of all her unpleasant
sensations was uppermost. She was too completely overpowered
to be immediately able to reply, and two moments of silence being
ample encouragement for Mr. Elton's sanguine state of mind, he
tried to take her hand again, as he joyously exclaimed -
"Charming Miss
Woodhouse! Allow me to interpret this interesting silence. It
confesses that you have long understood me."
"No, sir!"
cried Emma. "It confesses no such thing. So far from having
long understood you, I have been in a most complete error with
respect to your views, 'till this moment. Am I to believe that
you have never sought to recommend yourself particularly to Miss
Smith? That you have never thought seriously of her?"
"Never, madam!"
cried he, affronted, in his turn. "Never, I assure you.
I, think seriously of Miss Smith? Miss Smith is a very good sort
of girl, and I should be happy to see her respectably settled.
I wish her extremely well, and, no doubt, there are men who might
not object to -" He coughed and said knowingly, "Everybody
has their level, but as for myself, I am not, I think, quite
so much at a loss. I need not so totally despair of an equal
alliance, as to be addressing myself to Miss Smith! No, madam,
my visits to Hartfield have been for yourself only and the encouragement
I received."
"Encouragement?
I give you encouragement? Sir, you have been entirely mistaken
in supposing it. I have seen you only as the admirer of my friend.
In no other light could you have been more to me than a common
acquaintance. I am exceedingly sorry, but it is well that the
mistake ends where it does. But, as it is, the disappointment
is single, and, I trust, will not be lasting. I have no thoughts
of matrimony at present."
Mr. Elton turned
scarlet and made to speak, when he was interrupted by the library
door opening.
"I say, Miss
Woodhouse, how does your head -" said Mr. Churchill, who
started at the sight of Mr. Elton. "Mr. Elton! I…I…
Am I interrupting something?"
Before Mr. Elton
could speak, Emma interjected. "No, Mr. Churchill - you
could not interrupt two people with less to say to one another!
Pray, sit with me for a while. My headache will improve, by and
by, with your good company."
Mr. Elton was too
angry to say another word. He stood and made for the library
door before another syllable passed. Emma then felt it indispensable
to wish him a good night. The compliment was just returned, coldly
and proudly, and the gentleman left the two of them alone.
Mr. Churchill made
himself comfortable in one of his father's chairs. "I do
not believe Mr. Elton displays quite the proper spirit of the
season, Miss Woodhouse. I hope he did not impose himself."
Emma assured the
pleasant gentleman that she was unharmed and that her health
generally was good.
"I am pleased
to know it," said he. "This time of year is one that
should promote good fellowship, although that may be difficult
with the present company in the neighborhood."
"I cannot understand
your meaning, sir," said Emma. "I have lived all my
life in Highbury, and I find its society very agreeable."
"I am certain
that you do, Miss Woodhouse, but you must own it to be dull and
unvarying at times. I, myself, enjoy variation in society."
He smiled. "Sometimes it is best to remove from a place
sooner than not, else one's acquaintances might welcome extended
contact as much as week-old trout."
Emma laughed. "Is
that why you quitted Weymouth so abruptly?"
Instead of laughing
in returned, Mr. Churchill colored. "No! Umm…no, Miss
Woodhouse. Weymouth is all delightful, but familial duties called.
I am happy to spend this holiday with my father's new family."
"Had you known
much of Miss Fairfax and her party at Weymouth?"
Mr. Churchill smiled.
"I must pronounce that to be a very unfair question! It
is always the lady's right to decide on the degree of acquaintance.
Miss Fairfax must already have given her account. I shall not
commit myself by claiming more than she may choose to allow."
"Upon my word!
You answer as discreetly as she could do herself. But her account
of everything leaves so much to be guessed. She is so very reserved,
so very unwilling to give the least information about anybody,
that I think you may say what you like of your acquaintance with
her."
"May I indeed?
Then I will speak the truth, and nothing suits me so well. I
met her frequently at Weymouth. I had known her guardians, the
Campbells, a little in Town, and at Weymouth we were very much
in the same set. Colonel Campbell is a very agreeable man, and
Mrs. Campbell a friendly, warm-hearted woman. I like them all."
"You know Miss
Fairfax's situation in life, I conclude - what she is destined
to be."
"Yes…"
he said rather hesitatingly, "I believe I do." He changed
the subject. "Did you ever hear her play?"
"Ever hear
her!" repeated Emma. "You forget how much she belongs
to Highbury. I have heard her every year of our lives since we
both began. She plays charmingly.
"I have known
her from a child, undoubtedly," Emma continued. "We
have been children and women together, and it is natural to suppose
that we should be intimate - that we should have taken to each
other whenever she visited her friends. But we never did. I hardly
know how it has happened - a little, perhaps, from that wickedness
on my side which was prone to take disgust towards a girl so
idolized and so cried up as she always was, by her aunt and grandmother,
and all their set. And then, her reserve! I never could attach
myself to anyone so completely reserved."
"It is a most
repulsive quality, indeed," said he. "Oftentimes very
convenient, no doubt, but never pleasing. There is safety in
reserve but no attraction. One cannot love a reserved person."
"Not 'till
the reserve ceases towards oneself, and then the attraction may
be the greater. But I must be more in want of a friend, or an
agreeable companion, than I have yet been to take the trouble
of conquering anybody's reserve to procure one. Intimacy between
Miss Fairfax and me is quite out of the question. I have no reason
to think ill of her - not the least - except that such extreme
and perpetual cautiousness of word and manner, such a dread of
giving a distinct idea about anybody, is apt to suggest suspicions
of there being something to conceal."
Mr. Churchill agreed
with Emma's observation, and not for the first time did the lady
wonder why she did not like him more than she did. Oh, Frank
Churchill was the most delightful young man - witty, charming,
and even a little sly. Emma sometimes could not understand why
she refused to be flattered sufficiently to fall in love with
him.
Her headache faded
enough for her to laugh at an observation of Miss Bates when
the library door opened again.
"Emma, your
father was asking - What is this?"
Emma saw that they
had been joined by Mr. Knightley, and he was not pleased.
"What is the
meaning of this, sir?" he directed towards Mr. Churchill.
"Closed up with an indisposed young lady, a guest of your
family, taking advantage of her infirmity in your father's house?
What do you have to say for yourself?"
By this time, Mr.
Churchill was on his feet. "I was doing no such thing! I…I
was only seeing to Miss Woodhouse's comfort. I followed all prescriptions
- the door was open."
"It certainly
was not!" For all his fury, Mr. Knightley spoke in a low,
measured tone. It only made him sound that much more menacing.
"Oh! I…I
suppose Mr. Elton had closed it." Mr. Churchill turned to
Emma. "I did not attend - I am very sorry."
Mr. Knightley, glowering,
finally spoke to Emma. "What has Mr. Elton to do with this?"
Emma was taken aback
at Mr. Knightley's presumption of proclaiming his defense of
her virtue, but she answered his question. "It was nothing
of importance, but Mr. Churchill's interruption of Mr. Elton's
interview was both timely and welcome."
Mr. Knightley was
incredulous. "Do you mean to say that man, while you were
ill, had the unmitigated gall to -?"
Emma waved her hand.
"It is a conversation best quickly forgot. I am unharmed."
Mr. Knightley breathed
out and seemed to relax a little. "Thank heaven for that."
But his face clouded again. "Still, this is an unfortunate
circumstance. You should have taken more care, sir."
Emma did not mistake
Mr. Knightley's meaning. "Sir - I am unharmed. Mr. Churchill
has been nothing but a gentleman."
"I trust he
has," he said, his eyes shooting daggers at the gentleman,
"and nothing may come from this. But what if a servant has
seen the gentleman come in? Your reputation may be in danger."
"Surely not!"
cried Emma.
Mr. Knightley turned
again to her, and Emma was surprised to see not anger but deep
pain in his countenance. "I pray to G-d you are right, Emma.
But we must know if Mr. Churchill is prepared to act as a gentleman,
if the necessity arises."
Emma had not seriously
thought of marriage to Mr. Churchill previously and was struck
how distasteful the notion was to her sensibilities. She sat
silently meditating in a fixed attitude for a moment or two.
A moment was sufficient for making her acquainted with her own
heart. A mind like hers, once opening to suspicion, made rapid
progress. She touched - she admitted - she acknowledged the whole
truth. It darted through her with the speed of an arrow that
she must marry no one but Mr. Knightley!
She had no time
to explore this surprising revelation before Mr. Churchill said,
"I am afraid not."
The others stared
at Mr. Churchill, shocked.
"I…I cannot,
Miss Woodhouse. Forgive me, but I am promised to another."
"To whom, sir?"
demanded Mr. Knightley.
"Miss Jane
Fairfax."
"What?"
cried Emma. "You are betrothed to Miss Fairfax? Impossible!"
"Is this a
recent event?" asked Mr. Knightley.
"It was made
in October at Weymouth," said Mr. Churchill.
Mr. Knightley continued
to glower. "You do not act the betrothed man, sir."
Deep was Frank Churchill's
apparent distress as he addressed this accusation. "No,
I do not, and I must admit to my shame it is by design. This
betrothal is of a peculiar kind. Ignorant my family must be of
our understanding, or we will both suffer for it. I am sure my
uncle and guardian, Mr. Churchill, will have no objection to
Miss Fairfax, but the same cannot be said of my aunt! I am ashamed
to say that her reputation as a capricious and ill-tempered person
is accurate. She expects far better of me, and as she owns great
power over both my fortune and my uncle, I do not dare to marry
without her consent, lest I lose all rights to Enscombe."
His countenance took on a pleading aspect. "I know this
sounds most hatefully mercenary, and perhaps it is, but I cannot
bear for Miss Fairfax to live in poverty if it be within my power
to prevent it."
Mr. Knightley was
not appeased. "And how long do you intend to keep up this
pretence?"
"I am trying
to change my aunt's expectations, but it is a slow business.
I have little hope for success." He sighed. "She is
also in poor health." Mr. Churchill at least had the decency
to blush.
The first thought
to Emma was, "Poor Miss Fairfax! To endure such a secret!
To pretend only a fleeting acquaintance with one's betrothed,
and not having the delight of sharing her joy with relations
and friends! How she must suffer!"
"Do not believe
that I do not suffer as well," Mr. Churchill cried. "It
is an agony not to tell all of Highbury, tell the entire world,
that Jane is mine. But I have a part to play, as does she. She
is an unwilling actress, but she continues the deception only
at my urging and mine alone. She cares nothing for Enscombe."
Mr. Knightley's
expression showed his doubt as to Mr. Churchill's sincerity,
and even Emma thought this was a little too much. Neither apparently
thought to further challenge the man, for Mr. Knightley's next
statement was one of dismissal.
"Please,"
Mr. Churchill begged, "you will keep our secret?"
Mr. Knightley was
cold. "Only if you fully confess to your father, Mr. Weston.
Your word on that, sir, and I will keep silent - for Miss Fairfax's
sake."
Emma found she was
not pleased to hear further proof of Mr. Knightley's admiration
for Miss Fairfax, but she agreed to the scheme. For his part,
Mr. Churchill was relieved and vowed to speak to Mr. Weston that
very night, after all guests had departed. With that, he took
his leave and left the room.
"Well,"
exclaimed Emma when the two were alone, "that was a most
surprising conversation. A secret betrothal! Who would have thought
it?"
"Indeed,"
said Mr. Knightley, obviously deep in thought. "Miss Fairfax
must suffer exceedingly."
"I am sure
she does," said Emma drily, still unhappy over Mr. Knightley's
defense of the lady, "but his sufferings do not appear to
have done him much harm."
"He is a most
fortunate man!" returned Mr. Knightley, with energy. "So
early in life - at three and twenty - a period when, if a man
chooses a wife, he generally chooses ill. At three and twenty
to have drawn such a prize! What years of felicity that man,
in all human calculation, has before him! Assured of the love
of such a woman - the disinterested love, for Jane Fairfax's
character vouches for her disinterestedness. Everything in his
favor, equality of situation - as far as regards society, and
all the habits and manners that are important - equality in every
point but one. And that one, since the purity of her heart is
not to be doubted, such as must increase his felicity, for it
will be his to bestow the only advantages she wants. A man would
always wish to give a woman a better home than the one he takes
her from. And he who can do it, where there is no doubt of her
regard, must, I think, be the happiest of mortals.
"Frank Churchill
is, indeed, the favorite of fortune. Everything turns out for
his good. He meets with a young woman at a watering-place, gains
her affection, cannot even weary her by negligent treatment -
and had he and all his family sought round the world for a perfect
wife for him, they could not have found her superior. His friends
are eager to promote his happiness. He has used everybody ill
- and they are all delighted to forgive him. He is a fortunate
man indeed!"
"You speak
as if you envy him," said Emma, hurt.
"And I do envy
him, Emma. In one respect he is the object of my envy."
Emma could say no
more. They seemed to be within a half-sentence of Miss Fairfax,
and her immediate feeling was to avert the subject, if possible.
She made her plan; she would speak of something totally different,
and she only waited for breath to begin, when Mr. Knightley startled
her.
"You will not
ask me what is the point of envy. You are determined, I see,
to have no curiosity. You are wise - but I cannot be wise. Emma!
I must tell what you will not ask, though I may wish it unsaid
the next moment."
"Oh! Then,
do not speak it, do not speak it," she eagerly cried. "Take
a little time, consider, do not commit yourself."
"Thank you,"
said he, in an accent of deep mortification, and not another
syllable followed.
Emma could not bear
to give him pain. He wished to confide in her - perhaps to consult
her. Cost her what it would, she would listen.
"I stopped
you ungraciously, just now, Mr. Knightley, and I am afraid, gave
you pain. But if you have any wish to speak openly to me as a
friend, or to ask my opinion of anything that you may have in
contemplation - as a friend, indeed, you may command me. I will
hear whatever you like. I will tell you exactly what I think."
"As a friend!"
repeated Mr. Knightley. "Emma, that I fear is a word - No,
I have no wish - Stay, yes, why should I hesitate? I have gone
too far already for concealment. Emma, I accept your offer, extraordinary
as it may seem. I accept it, and refer myself to you as a friend.
Tell me, then, have I no chance of ever succeeding?"
He stopped in his
earnestness to look the question, and the expression of his eyes
overpowered her.
"My dearest
Emma," said he, "for dearest you will always be, whatever
the event of this hour's conversation, my dearest, most beloved
Emma, tell me at once. Say no, if it is to be said."
She could say nothing.
"You are silent,"
he cried, with great animation, "absolutely silent! At present,
I ask no more."
Emma was almost
ready to sink under the agitation of this moment. The dread of
being awakened from the happiest dream was perhaps the most prominent
feeling.
"I cannot make
speeches, Emma," he soon resumed, and in a tone of such
sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing.
"If I loved you less, I might be able to speak of it more.
But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I
have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no
other woman in England would have borne it. Bear with the truths
I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne
with them. The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend
them. G-d knows, I have been a very indifferent lover. But you
understand me. Yes, you see, you understand my feelings, and
will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to hear,
once to hear your voice."
What did she say?
Just what she ought, of course. A lady always does. She said
enough to show there need not be despair and to encourage him
to speak on. Which he did, and as nighttime gives way to the
dawn, talking led to touching, and touching gave way to kissing,
and -
And the door opened
to the library one last time.
"Emma,"
said Mr. Woodhouse, "I pray you head is better, but my dear,
I fear that if we do not remove this instant to Hartfield, the
snows shall trap us here at Randalls until the spring, I declare,
and we cannot impose so on poor Miss Taylor -
"Emma? Emma?
What are you doing with Mr. Knightley?"
The End
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