الفصل الفصل 27 · 第27章

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 her’s,

than a lamp is like sunshine.”

“Oh! 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 did 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

to 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; and 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 ribbon, 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 ribbon directly—so it had better go

to Hartfield—at least the ribbon. 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.”

“Aye, 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.—‘Aye, 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 bye, 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,

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 farther 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 ribbons 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 shewed 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

anywhere 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 visitors

walked upstairs 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.”