Chapter IX.
Emma did not repent her condescension in going to the Coles. The visit
afforded her many pleasant recollections the next day; and all that she might
be supposed to have lost on the side of dignified seclusion must be amply
repaid in the splendour of popularity. She must have delighted the Coles—
worthy people, who deserved to be made happy!—and left a name behind
her that would not soon die away.
Perfect happiness, even in memory, is not common; and there were two
points on which she was not quite easy. She doubted whether she had not
transgressed the duty of woman by woman, in betraying her suspicions of
Jane Fairfax’s feelings to Frank Churchill. It was hardly right; but it had
been so strong an idea, that it would escape her, and his submission to all
that she told was a compliment to her penetration which made it difficult for
her to be quite certain that she ought to have held her tongue.
The other circumstance of regret related also to Jane Fairfax, and there
she had no doubt. She did unfeignedly and unequivocally regret the
inferiority of her own playing and singing. She did most heartily grieve
over the idleness of her childhood; and sat down and practised vigorously
an hour and a half.
She was then interrupted by Harriet’s coming in; and if Harriet’s praise
could have satisfied her, she might soon have been comforted.
“Oh, if I could but play as well as you and Miss Fairfax!”
“Don’t class us together, Harriet. My playing is no more like hers than a
lamp is like sunshine.”
“O dear, I think you play the best of the two. I think you play quite as well
as she does. I am sure I had much rather hear you. Every body last night
said how well you played.”
“Those who knew any thing about it must have felt the difference. The
truth is, Harriet, that my playing is just good enough to be praised, but Jane
Fairfax’s is much beyond it.”
“Well, I always shall think that you play quite as well as she does, or that
if there is any difference nobody would ever find it out. Mr. Cole said how
much taste you had, and Mr. Frank Churchill talked a great deal about your
taste, and that he valued taste much more than execution.”
“Ah, but Jane Fairfax has them both, Harriet.”
“Are you sure? I saw she had execution, but I did not know she had any
taste. Nobody talked about it; and I hate Italian singing: there is no
understanding a word of it. Besides, if she does play so very well, you
know, it is no more than she is obliged to do, because she will have to teach.
The Coxes were wondering last night whether she would get into any great
family. How do you think the Coxes looked?”
“Just as they always do,—very vulgar.”
“They told me something,” said Harriet, rather hesitatingly, “but it is
nothing of any consequence.”
Emma was obliged to ask what they had told her, though fearful of its
producing Mr. Elton.
“They told me that Mr. Martin dined with them last Saturday.”
“Oh!”
“He came to their father upon some business, and he asked him to stay
dinner.”
“Oh!”
“They talked a great deal about him, especially Anne Cox. I do not know
what she meant, but she asked me if I thought I should go and stay there
again next summer.”
“She meant to be impertinently curious, just as such an Anne Cox should
be.”
“She said he was very agreeable the day he dined there. He sat by her at
dinner. Miss Nash thinks either of the Coxes would be very glad to marry
him.”
“Very likely; I think they are, without exception, the most vulgar girls in
Highbury.”
Harriet had business at Ford’s. Emma thought it most prudent to go with
her. Another accidental meeting with the Martins was possible, and, in her
present state, would be dangerous.
Harriet, tempted by every thing, and swayed by half a word, was always
very long at a purchase; and while she was still hanging over muslins, and
changing her mind, Emma went to the door for amusement. Much could not
be hoped from the traffic of even the busiest part of Highbury;—Mr. Perry
walking hastily by; Mr. William Cox letting himself in at the office door;
Mr. Cole’s carriage-horses returning from exercise; or a stray letter-boy on
an obstinate mule, were the liveliest objects she could presume to expect;
and when her eyes fell only on the butcher with his tray, a tidy old woman
travelling homewards from shop with her full basket, two curs quarrelling
over a dirty bone, and a string of dawdling children round the baker’s little
bow-window eyeing the gingerbread, she knew she had no reason to
complain, and was amused enough: quite enough still to stand at the door. A
mind lively and at ease can do with seeing nothing, and can see nothing that
does not answer.
She looked down the Randalls road. The scene enlarged; two persons
appeared; Mrs. Weston and her son-in-law. They were walking into
Highbury;—to Hartfield of course: they were stopping, however, in the first
place at Mrs. Bates‘s, whose house was a little nearer Randalls than Ford’s,
and had all but knocked when Emma caught their eye. Immediately they
crossed the road and came forward to her; and the agreeableness of
yesterday’s engagement seemed to give fresh pleasure to the present
meeting. Mrs. Weston informed her that she was going to call on the
Bateses, in order to hear the new instrument.
“For my companion tells me,” said she, “that I absolutely promised Miss
Bates last night that I would come this morning. I was not aware of it
myself. I did not know that I had fixed a day; but as he says I did, I am
going now.”
“And while Mrs. Weston pays her visit, I may be allowed, I hope,” said
Frank Churchill, “to join your party and wait for her at Hartfield, if you are
going home.”
Mrs. Weston was disappointed.
“I thought you meant to go with me. They would be very much pleased.”
“Me! I should be quite in the way. But, perhaps, I may be equally in the
way here. Miss Woodhouse looks as if she did not want me. My aunt
always sends me off when she is shopping. She says I fidget her to death;
Miss Woodhouse looks as if she could almost say the same. What am I to
do?”
“I am here on no business of my own,” said Emma, “I am only waiting for
my friend. She will probably have soon done, and then we shall go home.
But you had better go with Mrs. Weston and hear the instrument.”
“Well, if you advise it. But (with a smile) if Colonel Campbell should
have employed a careless friend, and if it should prove to have an
indifferent tone, what shall I say? I shall be no support to Mrs. Weston. She
might do very well by herself. A disagreeable truth would be palatable
through her lips, but I am the wretchedest being in the world at a civil
falsehood.”
“I do not believe any such thing,” replied Emma; “I am persuaded that
you can be as insincere as your neighbours, when it is necessary; but there
is no reason to suppose the instrument is indifferent. Quite otherwise,
indeed, if I understood Miss Fairfax’s opinion last night.”
“Do come with me,” said Mrs. Weston, “if it be not very disagreeable to
you. It need not detain us long. We will go to Hartfield afterwards. We will
follow them to Hartfield. I really wish you to call with me: it will be felt so
great an attention—and I always thought you meant it.”
He could say no more; and, with the hope of Hartfield to reward him,
returned with Mrs. Weston to Mrs. Bates’s door. Emma watched them in,
and then joined Harriet at the interesting counter, trying, with all the force
of her own mind, to convince her that, if she wanted plain muslin, it was of
no use to look at figured; and that a blue riband, be it ever so beautiful,
would still never match her yellow pattern. At last it was all settled, even to
the destination of the parcel.
“Should I send it to Mrs. Goddard‘s, ma’am?” asked Mrs. Ford.—“Yes—
no—yes, to Mrs. Goddard’s. Only my pattern gown is at Hartfield. No, you
shall send it to Hartfield, if you please. But then, Mrs. Goddard will want to
see it. And I could take the pattern gown home any day. But I shall want the
riband directly; so it had better go to Hartfield—at least the riband. You
could make it into two parcels, Mrs. Ford, could not you?”
“It is not worth while, Harriet, to give Mrs. Ford the trouble of two
parcels.”
“No more it is.”
“No trouble in the world, ma’am,” said the obliging Mrs. Ford.
“Oh, but indeed I would much rather have it only in one. Then, if you
please, you shall send it all to Mrs. Goddard’s—I do not know—no, I think,
Miss Woodhouse, I may just as well have it sent to Hartfield, and take it
home with me at night. What do you advise ?”
“That you do not give another half-second to the subject. To Hartfield, if
you please, Mrs. Ford.”
“Ay, that will be much best,” said Harriet, quite satisfied; “I should not at
all like to have it sent to Mrs. Goddard’s.”
Voices approached the shop, or rather, one voice and two ladies; Mrs.
Weston and Miss Bates met them at the door.
“My dear Miss Woodhouse,” said the latter, “I am just run across to
entreat the favour of you to come and sit down with us a little while, and
give us your opinion of our new instrument—you and Miss Smith. How do
you do, Miss Smith?—Very well, I thank you.—And I begged Mrs. Weston
to come with me, that I might be sure of succeeding.”
“I hope Mrs. Bates and Miss Fairfax are—”
“Very well, I am much obliged to you. My mother is delightfully well;
and Jane caught no cold last night. How is Mr. Woodhouse? I am so glad to
hear such a good account. Mrs. Weston told me you were here.—Oh, then,
said I, I must run across; I am sure Miss Woodhouse will allow me just to
run across and entreat her to come in: my mother will be so very happy to
see her; and now we are such a nice party, she cannot refuse. ‘Ay, pray do,’
said Mr. Frank Churchill, ‘Miss Woodhouse’s opinion of the instrument will
be worth having.’—But, said I, I shall be more sure of succeeding if one of
you will go with me.—‘Oh,’ said he, ‘wait half a minute, till I have finished
my job:’ for, would you believe it, Miss Woodhouse, there he is, in the most
obliging manner in the world, fastening in the rivet of my mother’s
spectacles. The rivet came out, you know, this morning; so very obliging!—
For my mother had no use of her spectacles—could not put them on. And,
by the by, every body ought to have two pair of spectacles; they should
indeed. Jane said so. I meant to take them over to John Saunders the first
thing I did, but something or other hindered me all the morning; first one
thing, then another, there is no saying what, you know. At one time, Patty
came to say she thought the kitchen chimney wanted sweeping. Oh, said I,
Patty, do not come with your bad news to me. Here is the rivet of your
mistress’s spectacles out. Then the baked apples came home;s Mrs. Wallis
sent them by her boy; they are extremely civil and obliging to us, the
Wallises, always. I have heard some people say that Mrs. Wallis can be
uncivil and give a very rude answer; but we have never known any thing
but the greatest attention from them. And it cannot be for the value of our
custom now, for what is our consumption of bread, you know? only three of
us. Besides, dear Jane, at present,—and she really eats nothing,—makes
such a shocking breakfast, you would be quite frightened if you saw it. I
dare not let my mother know how little she eats; so I say one thing, and then
I say another, and it passes off. But about the middle of the day she gets
hungry, and there is nothing she likes so well as these baked apples, and
they are extremely wholesome; for I took the opportunity the other day of
asking Mr. Perry; I happened to meet him in the street. Not that I had any
doubt before. I have so often heard Mr. Woodhouse recommend a baked
apple. I believe it is the only way that Mr. Woodhouse thinks the fruit
thoroughly wholesome. We have apple dumplings, however, very often.
Patty makes an excellent apple-dumpling. Well, Mrs. Weston, you have
prevailed, I hope, and these ladies will oblige us.”
Emma would be “very happy to wait on Mrs. Bates, &c.,” and they did at
last move out of the shop, with no further delay from Miss Bates than,—
“How do you do, Mrs. Ford? I beg your pardon; I did not see you before. I
hear you have a charming collection of new ribands from town. Jane came
back delighted yesterday. Thank ye, the gloves do
very well-only a little too large about the wrist; but Jane is taking them
in.”
“What was I talking of?” said she, beginning again when they were all in
the street.
Emma wondered on what, of all the medley, she would fix. “I declare I
cannot recollect what I was talking of. Oh, my mother’s spectacles. So very
obliging of Mr. Frank Churchill! ‘Oh!’ said he, ‘I do think I can fasten the
rivet; I like a job of this kind excessively.’ Which, you know, showed him to
be so very—Indeed I must say that, much as I had heard of him before, and
much as I had expected, he very far exceeds any thing——I do congratulate
you, Mrs. Weston, most warmly. He seems every thing the fondest parent
could——‘Oh!’ said he, ‘I can fasten the rivet. I like a job of that sort
excessively.’ I never shall forget his manner. And when I brought out the
baked apples from the closet, and hoped our friends would be so very
obliging as to take some, ‘Oh!’ said he directly, ‘there is nothing in the way
of fruit half so good, and these are the finest looking home-baked apples I
ever saw in my life.’ That, you know, was so very——And I am sure, by his
manner, it was no compliment. Indeed they are very delightful apples, and
Mrs. Wallis does them full justice, only we do not have them baked more
than twice, and Mr. Woodhouse made us promise to have them done three
times; but Miss Woodhouse will be so good as not to mention it. The apples
themselves are the very finest sort for baking, beyond a doubt; all from
Donwell—some of Mr. Knightley’s most liberal supply. He sends us a sack
every year; and certainly there never was such a keeping apple any where as
one of his trees—I believe there is two of them. My mother says the orchard
was always famous in her younger days. But I was really quite shocked the
other day; for Mr. Knightley called one morning, and Jane was eating these
apples, and we talked about them, and said how much she enjoyed them,
and he asked whether we were not got to the end of our stock. ‘I am sure
you must be,’ said he, ‘and I will send you another supply; for I have a great
many more than I can ever use. William Larkins let me keep a larger
quantity than usual this year. I will send you some more, before they get
good for nothing.’ So I begged he would not—for really as to ours being
gone, I could not absolutely say that we had a great many left—it was but
half a dozen indeed; but they should be all kept for Jane; and I could not at
all bear that he should be sending us more, so liberal as he had been
already; and Jane said the same. And when he was gone, she almost
quarrelled with me: no I should not say quarrelled, for we never had a
quarrel in our lives; but she was quite distressed that I had owned the apples
were so nearly gone; she wished I had made him believe we had a great
many left. Oh, said I, my dear, I did say as much as I could. However, the
very same evening William Larkins came over with a large basket of apples,
the same sort of apples, a bushel at least, and I was very much obliged, and
went down and spoke to William Larkins, and said every thing, as you may
suppose. William Larkins is such an old acquaintance! I am always glad to
see him. But, however, I found afterwards from Patty, that William said it
was all the apples of that sort his master had; he had brought them all—and
now his master had not one left to bake or boil. William did not seem to
mind it himself, he was so pleased to think his master had sold so many; for
William, you know, thinks more of his master’s profit than any thing; but
Mrs. Hodges, he said, was quite displeased at their being all sent away. She
could not bear that her master should not be able to have another apple-tart
this spring. He told Patty this, but bid her not mind it, and be sure not to say
any thing to us about it, for Mrs. Hodges would be cross sometimes, and as
long as so many sacks were sold, it did not signify who ate the remainder.
And so Patty told me, and I was excessively shocked, indeed! I would not
have Mr. Knightley know any thing about it for the world! He would be so
very—I wanted to keep it from Jane’s knowledge; but, unluckily, I had
mentioned it before I was aware.
Miss Bates had just done as Patty opened the door; and her visiters
walked up stairs without having any regular narration to attend to, pursued
only by the sounds of her desultory good will.
“Pray take care, Mrs. Weston, there is a step at the turning. Pray take care,
Miss Woodhouse, ours is rather a dark staircase—rather darker and
narrower than one could wish. Miss Smith, pray take care. Miss
Woodhouse, I am quite concerned, I am sure you hit your foot. Miss Smith,
the step at the turning.”
