Emma in Love (6 page)

So Emma, who had reflected to her own satisfaction, all the way back from Highbury to Donwell Abbey, that
she had done right in choosing the company of Jane Fairfax at her dinner over that of Captain Brocklehurst (for it really was as simple as that), received an unpleasant jolt on turning into the Abbey gates and going up the drive at a complacent trot. She had known that Mr. Knightley would praise her for extending an invitation to Miss Bates and her mother, whether the niece could come or no: even that the presence of Jane Fairfax was likely to be insisted on, as a consequence of this selfless conduct on her part. Emma, though she resented Mr. Knightley's having still the ability to reduce her to tears with his censure, forgot this each time she anticipated the glow of his praise. Today, however, matters were to unfurl themselves in quite another fashion.

On the sweep before the doors of Donwell Abbey stood two people. By their stance, which was markedly not one of friendship – it could, even, as Emma discerned as she alighted from the chaise, be seen as hostile – it was easily concluded that either or both would rather be anywhere in the world than in this particular spot. Their backs were as nearly turned to each other as it was possible to be without exciting the alarm of a passing servant or arriving guest.

Across the sweep, and dabbling delightedly with their toes in a small pool, administered by a fountain and filled with water lilies, were three girls of about eight to
twelve years old. Their cries of innocent happiness contrasted strongly with the sullen resentment expressed by the silent figures by the doors to the Abbey.

As Emma stood for a moment aghast – for was not this couple, of all possible conjunctions the least anticipated, here – John Knightley and Jane Fairfax, no less – a delightful laugh, not familiar to her in any way, sounded from the lime walk on the far side of the garden. From under the canopy of the trees came Mr. Knightley; and accompanying him – taking his arm, letting it loose and taking it again, none of which the squire of Donwell seemed at all to show objection to – walked a young woman in sprigged muslin, her hair piled up on her head, and with a stray ringlet or two escaping, in the very latest French mode; and with this costly arrangement of chignon and fringe Emma was indeed familiar.

As the new and unforeseen combination of persons strolled towards her, James appeared on the sweep in order to lead the horse away to the stables. Emma stood exposed before the two pairs, unknown quantities as indeed they were. She had the unpleasant sensation of having perhaps died and returned as a phantom, to find another life altogether in progress in her home; or at the very least she felt she had been gone longer and further than a brief visit to Miss Bates in Highbury. The tale of the gratitude of the two worthy ladies at a hindquarter
of pork vanished from her lips; mistress of Donwell Abbey she might be, but she was rendered as silent as the pair by the Abbey doors at so great a surprise on her return. For the first time in her life, whether as Emma Woodhouse or Mrs. Knightley, she could think of nothing whatever to say.

Mr. Knightley's growing proximity returned everything to the habitual: he was not taken aback, as he appeared to take pleasure in demonstrating, by the couple who stood, as those wooden figures in a weather vane are prone to do in the English climate, half in and half out of the ancient Abbey; disengaging himself from the young beauty on his arm, he approached his wife, and, with a sardonic smile, gave a bow.

“My dear Emma, you appear flustered. It was too hot to undertake a drive to the village, I fear. My anxiety over the leg of pork you carried to the Bates household made me selfish indeed! I should not have asked it of you, to go there today.”

That Mr. Knightley felt no awkwardness in mentioning the simple village custom of giving food to a poor neighbour, in front of a young lady as elegant as his companion, astonished Emma; but she admired him for his aplomb, all the same. This thought was succeeded one minute later by the reflection that Mr. Knightley's position as squire of Donwell Abbey gave him all the latitude he needed: again for the first time, Emma saw
herself not as mistress of a fine house, as she had been at Hartfield, but as a mere appendage of Mr. Knightley, with neither money nor possessions of her own. She wished she had not given over Hartfield as a school for her nephews and nieces, and had retained it for her own use when she felt the need to be alone. All this passed before her eyes in a flash; and she had no sooner evacuated the premises in her mind than a strong sense of shame caused her to fill it again, this time to include the three charming little girls by the fountain, who ran up to join the party.

Introductions had to be made, at this point; and Mr. Knightley effected them. Still with an air of secret delight, he brought it to Emma's attention that she had long waited to meet Jane Fairfax again, since that young lady had last been in the county.

“And may I present, dear Mrs. Knightley, the Baroness d'Almane,” said Jane Fairfax, stepping forward. The speechlessness which appeared to have descended on the couple Emma had hoped would meet, fall in love and marry, had been dispelled by John Knightley's abrupt departure down a side path in the direction of the vegetable gardens. It was evident to all that he was in a very ill humour indeed; and that one minute more in the company of the lovely governess intended for him in the heart of his sister-in-law would have proved a full sixty seconds too many.

The Baroness d'Almane was, however, too much of a diversion for thoughts of John Knightley to last any longer than that aforementioned stretch of time. She was so pretty – her dark eyes at least as intense and certainly as lovely as those of Jane Fairfax. And she was French! Clearly of a very distinguished family! Emma, who had fallen once before for the soft blue eyes of a Miss Harriet Smith, found she could not desist from gazing into the shining, dark orbs of the Baroness. A sense that she would never succeed in ordering the Frenchwoman to do her bidding came as another unexpected feeling to add to the assortment of surprises found on her return to Donwell Abbey. This
frisson
– and here perhaps lay the greatest surprise of all – was not as disagreeable to Emma as she might have supposed.

“We are staying at the Vicarage,” Jane Fairfax explained. She had seen, it might be thought by any who had observed the scene, that Mr. and Mrs. Knightley both were taken with the mysterious visitor: indeed they could not remove their gaze from her at all. But, John Knightley having left them, there was no one to remark on the effect of the Baroness on Mr. and Mrs. Knightley, except for Jane Fairfax herself; and she made much of introducing her charges, Mrs. Smallridge's three daughters, to fill the next silence – this time a silence caused by rapt admiration rather than annoyance and
hostility, as the meeting earlier by the doors to the Abbey clearly had been.

As they stood – and Mr. Knightley, still enjoying himself greatly, it appeared, was the first to bring a subject to the fore, though it was merely to enquire of Miss Fairfax if she intended to go on further walking expeditions with the children and that a new bridle path from the Vicarage to the Abbey had been cut through the fields, should she and her companion choose to visit the Abbey again – a tentative figure appeared at the end of the lime walk, and after an encouraging wave from Emma, ran up lightly to join her friend.

Emma felt on firmer ground, now that Harriet Martin was by her side. The disdain she had once voiced for the simple farmer whom Harriet had married was long dispersed by Mr. Knightley's insistence on the good qualities of the young man; and besides, it looked better for Emma, now she was outshone by the French Baroness, to have an acolyte of her own. Despite Harriet's prettiness, Emma would always appear in a superior light.

“We must arrange a day for you to dine at the Abbey, Miss Fairfax,” said Mr. Knightley; and his eyes lit up irresistibly at his wife's face when she heard this casual extending of an invitation she had so long begged him to extend to the poor governess. “Doubtless Emma will have asked your aunt and her mother to join us here.
John – my brother John Knightley – I believe you met in the course of walking here. He will be happy to renew the acquaintance, I am sure!”

At this Jane Fairfax stiffened. Emma bit her lip, wondering at Mr. Knightley's effrontery. For there could be little hope now of a friendship, leave alone a match, between the two of them.

Mr. Knightley could not be prevented, however, from continuing in his most cordial manner. With a look of renewed admiration, he asked the Baroness d'Almane if she would be good enough to honour his wife and himself with her company. A day was proposed, and both young ladies agreed to consult their books; and, in the case of Miss Fairfax, her employer Mrs. Smallridge.

“What a pity you cannot ask the others,” whispered Harriet Martin, as the party went its separate ways, with promises to confirm the day of the great dinner party. “I mean—” as Emma looked at her enquiringly, “Mr. Frank Churchill and that handsome friend of his I saw you conversing with in Highbury, Mrs. Knightley! 'Tis a pity indeed!”

Emma, seeing Mr. Knightley go off still with a smile of triumph on his face in the direction taken by his brother, did not know which of the Mr. Knightleys she most disliked today. The one she was married to, came the answer; she turned instead to chide Harriet, for her impertinence, but the young Mrs. Robert Martin stood
dreaming still on the sweep by the doors to Donwell Abbey. It was not possible to invite Captain Brocklehurst: Harriet knew it was not.

“No – of course, Mrs. Knightley. But just think! Two beautiful strangers have come to our little part of the country in one day – is that not remarkable? Two beautiful visitors to Highbury!”

Emma and Harriet had been walking together one morning, and, in Emma's opinion, had been talking enough of the new arrivals to their part of the country for that day. Nothing further was known of Mrs. Weston's guest, Mr. Churchill's recently-acquired brother-in-law; and no more had been seen of the young ladies ensconced at the Vicarage, along with Mrs. Smallridge and her children. The subject – which it had taken some industry on the part of Emma to banish – seemed to have gone for good, when it burst out again at the mention of the book Emma carried: for she walked to Hartfield with the dual purpose of presenting Miss Whynne with a volume suitable for the improvement of her nephews and nieces; and she
brought also her crayon, that she might sit in her old garden and sketch a view long dear to her as a child.

“
Practical Education
?” cried Harriet, on hearing Emma hold forth on the subject of Maria Edgeworth's treatise— “Yes indeed, Mrs. Knightley, as always you are right to introduce new ideas to the young, indeed you are! I am only pleased that the children will learn some French now—” and here, looking slyly at Emma, she could not refrain from adding, “I do believe it is suggested that the beautiful young French lady – the Baroness – shall go to Hartfield twice in the week and tutor Mr. John Knightley's children in French. A very excellent idea, says Mrs. Elton – she said it to me yesterday, you know, for sometimes—” and here Harriet blushed as if four years of matrimony did not separate her from the first object of her love, “sometimes I walk along Vicarage Lane, especially on a fine summer's day such as we are blessed with at this time of year, to remind myself of our walks there, dear Mrs. Knightley. And I think of the time you stopped to try and mend your broken lace – oh dear!”

Emma was too annoyed on several counts to reply to this. For all that the walk to Hartfield was nearly achieved, and her father's own bluebell woods traversed, she could not feel the calm and happiness the view of her old house, with the roofs of Highbury in a tranquil vista spreading out behind it, habitually produced. The
mention of the Frenchwoman coming uninvited to the school, was irksome to her:
who
had suggested it, and for what purpose, other than to undermine the position of the aunt as custodian of the young Knightley family, was not difficult for her to guess. Mrs. Elton's hand was visible in all this. The second cause of Emma's annoyance lay in the fact that Harriet was too dim to understand the veiled mark of disrespect to the mistress of Donwell Abbey. “The children will do better with a good grounding in education than with a heap of subjects thrown at them all at once,” was all she would say. And then, as Harriet trotted beside her, looking up anxiously at the sign of displeasure in her idol's voice: “Surely the Baroness may teach French to Mrs. Smallridge's children, if she finds herself in need of refreshing her memory of her mother tongue.”

Harriet agreed rapidly and nervously; and the friends walked on in silence.

“Mrs. Smallridge had hoped you would permit her children to join your school for the summer,” Harriet could not desist from saying, as the gardens of Hartfield opened from woodland; and the shrubberies, as meticulously cared for as in the day of Mr. Woodhouse, offered their long or short alternatives for approaching the house itself.

Emma had selected her spot – it was to be on the longer walk, which her father had invariably traversed
in summer, when the likelihood of rain or strong winds was at its most reduced – and as a stout bench, fashioned by young Abdy for the express purpose of affording repose to Mr. Woodhouse on the longer walk, stood waiting for her, Emma sat down upon it and pulled her sketching book from her bag. Harriet, as disconcerted by the reception of her innocent remarks as Emma was made irascible by them, gave a little cry of pleasure.

“Oh, what a perfect spot to choose, Mrs. Knightley! Why, you have the countryside and the village together, at your feet. And the plants and bushes all in front – it is most picturesque!”

As the young farmer's wife spoke the wind increased a little, and a burst of childish voices floated from the walls of Hartfield. Emma, putting her head to one side, frowned. “I hear something strange, Harriet. Is it a jest my nephews and nieces play, on poor Miss Whynne? Do you hear also? We are not accustomed to this sound, here.”