Chapter 14

The toll exerted upon Jane’s constitution by Frank Churchill’s visit to Highbury had been so severe that, for several days after his departure, she was obliged to take to her bed and lie there with a shawl over her eyes, flinching from the smallest gleam of light, and crying out, when she could not help it, from the atrocious pain of her headache. Nothing Mr Perry prescribed had any success in alleviating the agony. But by degrees it abated and she was able to creep about the house, wan, listless, and lacking appetite. — To her very great relief, by the time she was capable, once again, of meeting neighbours, the topic of Frank Churchill had ceased to be of paramount interest, superseded by the return of Mr Elton with his new bride.

Mrs Elton was first to be seen in church, and then Miss Bates thought it proper to call.

“After all your grandmamma, my dear, was once mistress of that same vicarage. One must not be behindhand in this sort of thing, especially to a new-married lady.”

Jane, though not eager, was persuaded to accompany her aunt. “It will do you good, my dear, to see new faces — ah, I am forgetting, you have met Mr Elton, but not often. It will give a new turn to your thoughts.”

Jane remembered her former hope that Mr Elton’s wife might prove a pleasant companion, a substitute for Rachel. Dispiritedly, she walked with Miss Bates along Vicarage Lane.

Mrs Elton proved to be a short, thin, vivacious lady, not in her first youth. — She might be seven- or eight-and-twenty. Her hair was dark, not very plentiful, most elegantly dressed, her complexion somewhat sallow, her teeth very fine, a little prominent; she displayed them a great deal in laughing and talking. Her gown, too, Aunt Hetty thought remarkably elegant; Jane found it somewhat overtrimmed. — She was very ready to admire Jane and be friends.

“Oh! Miss Jane! Your fame has gone before you!” (laughing affectedly). “While in Bath I have been for ever hearing about you and your talents.”

“In Bath?” said Jane, perplexed. “I do not believe that I have any acquaintance in Bath?” Her thoughts flew wildly to Frank, visiting the town with his aunt in January; but she felt very certain that Mrs Churchill would not move in the same circles as Miss Hawkins.

“Oh, but, Miss Fairfax, you do! A very old friend! And although I do not know the lady herself, I am acquainted, most intimately, with a lady who frequently visits her; a particular friend of mine, a Mrs Partridge; and from her I have been hearing such stories about the talents of Miss Jane Fairfax and her superior performance on the pianoforte, and all her other accomplishments. I assure you, it has been the greatest satisfaction, comfort, and delight to me to know there was the prospect of such an interesting acquaintance in the new society I am got into. You and I, Miss Fairfax, must, I think, establish a musical club here in Highbury; we must have many sweet little concerts here. Do not you think that a good plan?”

Jane was not very favourably impressed by Mrs Elton. She replied with caution: “I may not remain in Highbury very long —”

“Oh! my dear!” cried out her aunt. “You said — you are promised to us for at least three months. Now, did you not?”

“But pray tell me, Mrs Elton, for I am consumed with curiosity,” said Jane, hoping to evade this issue, “who is your connection in Bath who knows me so very well?”

The lady in question turned out to be Mrs Pryor, widow of the former incumbent, now living in reduced circumstances in Westgate Buildings. “She is always busy, I believe,” said Mrs Elton, “she makes a quantity of little thread-papers, pin-cushions and card-cases, which my friend Mrs Partridge is able to dispose of for her.”

Jane’s heart bled for her kind former teacher, reduced to such a pass. Oh, if only I could do something for her, she thought; thank heaven my aunt and grandmother have such thoughtful, attentive neighbours here.

And then, with a cold chill: Might I ever be reduced to such a level?

“But, pray, Miss Fairfax, tell me,” went on Mrs Elton, “are you a great friend of Miss Emma Woodhouse? Seriously now, I wish to know. Everybody here informs me that Miss Emma is the first lady of the village, but — I own — I cannot warm to her! There is a something so very arrogant, so very disdainful about her — and what is she, after all? Hartfield is no bigger than my brother-in-law Mr Suckling’s place at Maple Grove! I find her airs, her pretensions hard to bear, I must acknowledge.”

“Oh, but my dear ma’am!” cried Aunt Hetty in distress, “Miss Woodhouse is so very gracious — so condescending — so kind to all of us — why, I could not enumerate the times that my mother has been up to take tea with old Mr Woodhouse — or a little supper — which is always so nice — and to play backgammon — and then, if they kill a pig, Miss Woodhouse never omits to send us a leg —”

“Mr Woodhouse, I grant you — a dear old gentleman — quite old-fashioned in his courtesies — which I dearly love — my sister Selina often tells me I am absolutely old-fashioned in my own ways — but the daughter, with her cold stiff airs and manners — I must confess she is not to my taste! They say she is affianced to that rich young man, Mrs Weston’s son-in-law?”

“We have not heard that? Is it indeed so?” exclaimed Aunt Hetty with the liveliest interest.

“No? Perhaps I may mistake. But, my dear Jane — (I know we are going to be great friends, you see, so I address you familiarly) — do you know what Miss Emma Woodhouse had the amazing impertinence — the effrontery — to assert? That my husband — that Mr Elton had been paying marked attentions to that little nobody, that Miss Smith, her friend, and that he was in duty bound to offer for her. Needless to say, it was no such thing, as he very soon made her understand! All this, of course —” laughing — “was before it had fallen to Mr E’s lot to encounter little me at the Pump Room —”

“Is that so, indeed?” said Miss Bates. “Now you come to mention it, I do remember it was hinted at one time — Mrs Cole dropped a word to me about little Miss Smith — but I fear I am not quick at such things —”

That accounts, thought Jane, for the looks of decided ill-will that I have seen Mr Elton casting towards Emma Woodhouse. I wondered why he seemed to dislike her so. She expected him to marry her protégée. Perhaps the gentleman himself had higher expectations? Perhaps he hoped to marry Miss Woodhouse herself? Mercy on me! I am becoming as parochial and gossip-minded as the worst old lady in the village.

“Miss Smith!” continued Mrs Elton with fine scorn. “Why — nobody even knows who her parents were!”

Mr Elton came in, glossy with self-satisfaction and the married state.

“I have been telling Miss Jane, Mr E,” cried his wife, “that she and I must join forces and start a musical club. A soirée every Thursday night! Do you not think that a famous plan?”

Jane demurred again that she did not know how long it would be within her power to remain in Highbury. — She had a strong notion that Frank Churchill would detest Mrs Elton.

“I have a letter today from my friends in Ireland — Colonel and Mrs Campbell — this very day — suggesting that I join them, for they are now to remain until midsummer. They are so very pressing —”

“Oh, but my dear,” wailed Aunt Hetty in agitation. “You told me, you did tell me, that you were going to refuse their kind offer?”

“I am certain that your Irish friends can spare you to us for a while longer, dear Jane. No, no! I cannot afford to lose the best musical talent in Highbury until my musical programme is well established. We shall not permit you to leave us yet!” declared Mrs Elton with an arch smile.

Without at all liking her situation, Jane found herself being manoeuvred into promises of far greater intimacy with the Eltons than she either wished or intended. I am finely served, she thought with some irony, for my dissatisfaction with my lot and feeling the lack of a friend. Now I am supplied with one, and what a friend! Emma Woodhouse would be infinitely superior. And, because the Eltons appeared to be arrayed in enmity against Emma, Jane began to feel more kindly towards her.

“Mrs Elton seems such a clever, kind-hearted lady,” said Aunt Hetty, with simple satisfaction on the walk home. “It will be a fine thing for you, my dear, to be going over to the vicarage for musical evenings and exploring parties, getting away from us old people for a while; you must not be closeted with grandmamma and me all the time, you know, or you will fall into the dismals. And then, Mrs Elton has such great connections! She has promised me that she will look about her, by and by, and find a situation for you. Not that we wish you to leave us — never that! But a situation that was not too far distant from Highbury — with some elegant, respectable family — we could not, in conscience, decline. I am sure Colonel Campbell would agree with me there.”

Oh, Frank! thought Jane. What am I to do?

Willy-nilly, she saw herself being whisked off to some Maple Grove, to the residence of some Mrs Suckling.

Two days later, however, came an exultant letter from Frank himself. “I have persuaded my aunt and uncle that a remove to London will do them both good. We shall soon be in Manchester Street, perhaps in April; certainly in May. What a joy to know that then I shall be only sixteen miles distant from you — that scarcely more than an hour’s ride will bring me the chance of seeing you, of being near you. I think of you continually — dream of you every night — am consumed with longing for that time.”

Jane could not help feeling happier. His letters were so loving, so warm, so spontaneous. They always raised her spirits. She had missed, she must acknowledge to herself, the daily flow of notes, verses, and absurd tiny gifts which he had contrived to deposit in the hollow oak-tree, while he was staying with Mr Weston. And yet, she thought, what real benefit will it bring me to have him close at hand? It entails a continual charade, a lie told to every person I know — which is so odious. I have no gift for pretending, acting a part, disguising my feelings to the people I love best. It is strange that Frank does not seem to object to that part of the affair — in honest fact, I believe he almost enjoys it!

Her thoughts were running on these lines as she sat on a stile three-quarters of a mile outside the village, after re-reading Frank’s letter — for it was a fine warm afternoon of late March — when, unexpectedly close, she heard voices, and saw Emma and Harriet Smith approaching along a footpath.

“Ah, good-day, Miss Fairfax!” cried Emma cordially. “Is it not charming weather? We, as you see, have been gathering catkins for our drawing programme. — Do you receive good news from your friends in Ireland?” for Jane, blushing, had hastily stuffed the sheets of Frank’s letter into her muff. She thought she saw Emma’s eyes on the paper. Annoyed, Jane blushed even deeper at the recollection of Frank and Emma’s light-hearted teasing on the subject of Matt Dixon. How could they? How could Frank talk of Matt Dixon in such a manner, in such a context, when he at least knew how much the name really meant to her?

She answered Emma composedly that her friends in Ireland were well, and that they had repeatedly invited her to join them — which, after all, was the truth; but that at present she would not leave her aunt and grandmother.

“Ah, very dutiful — very right,” said Emma. “Is it not, Harriet?”

“Oh yes! Miss Woodhouse!”

Jane thought Harriet a tedious little creature. Her conversation seemed to consist entirely of “Oh, yes, Miss Woodhouse! Oh, no, Miss Woodhouse!” How could Emma put up with it, day after day? Not, in truth, that she has much alternative, thought Jane. Then she wondered briefly how Harriet had taken the defection of Mr Elton. Had she been in love with Elton? Had she been greatly grieved? She seemed cheerful enough now.

“I am having a little dinner party next week,” said Emma. “For Mr and Mrs Elton. We must pay proper attention to our new-married pair, must we not? I have persuaded Papa that it is our duty and he has — reluctantly — agreed, provided there be no more than eight persons. Mr and Mrs Weston of course will come, and Mr Knightley — Harriet is unable, for she has a previous engagement —” (here Harriet did look a little conscious) “— will you graciously make up our table, Miss Fairfax? Mr Knightley, I know, always enjoys talking to you.”

Jane could not help a small glow at these words, though she suspected they were spoken mainly in mockery. — She thanked and accepted.

On the day of the dinner party, which was a wet one, heavy with sleety April showers, Mr and Mrs Elton offered to pick up Jane in their carriage. — She had far rather the offer had come from Mr Knightley; she was not very happy to arrive at Hartfield under the aegis, as it were, of the Eltons. — Coming to Hartfield was always a little strange, a little painful for Jane, because, although the house did not seem to welcome her now, so much of her childhood was connected with it; she could never enter the grounds, or the rooms, without recalling those long, fulfilled, peaceful days of childhood, those tranquil hours at the piano, with Mrs Woodhouse silently listening in the next room; and the strange unhappy week spent with the newly-bereaved Emma. Does she ever think of those days? Jane wondered.

To her surprise and pleasure she had discovered, earlier in the day, that Mr John Knightley was also to be one of the guests. She had met him in the village with his two little boys. It seemed that he had come down from London to escort these, the eldest of his children, who were to pay a visit to their grandfather and aunt. — To do Emma justice, she does seem to be an affectionate aunt, thought Jane. — But how will Mr Woodhouse endure such an enlargement of his group, if he cannot tolerate more than eight people round the dinner table? And how will Mr John Knightley enjoy being plunged into the middle of a social gathering? Of old, Jane knew him for a somewhat taciturn, unsociable individual.

Fortunately for Mr Woodhouse’s peace of mind, Mr Weston had been unexpectedly summoned to town, and was not able to present himself at dinner-time. The numbers around the table were no more than they should be.

Mr John Knightley, who had always, in his quiet, reserved way, been fond of Jane, talked to her before dinner, while his brother and Mrs Weston engaged the Eltons.

“I hope you did not venture far, Miss Fairfax, this morning, or I am sure you must have been wet?”

“I went only to the post office,” said Jane, “and reached home before the rain was much. It is my daily errand. A walk before breakfast does me good.”

“Not a walk in the rain, I imagine,” he said drily. “When you have lived to my age you will begin to think that letters are never worth going through the rain for.”

“I cannot expect,” said Jane, “that simply growing older should make me indifferent about letters.”

“Letters are no matter of indifference; they are generally a very positive curse.”

“I can easily believe that letters are very little to you!” cried Jane. “You have everybody dearest to you always at hand! I, probably, never shall again; and therefore, till I have outlived all my affections, a post office, I think, must always have power to draw me out, even in worse weather than today.”

Mr Woodhouse, approaching, remarked, “I am very sorry to hear, Miss Fairfax, of your being out this morning in the rain. Young ladies should take care of themselves. Young ladies are delicate plants. — My dear, did you change your stockings?”

“Yes, sir, I did indeed; and I am very much obliged by your kind solicitude.”

Mrs Elton, catching part of this conversation, now opened fire upon Jane.

“My dear Jane, what is this I hear? — Going to the post office in the rain? This must not be! You sad girl, how could you do such a thing? — Mrs Weston, did you ever hear the like? You and I must positively assert our authority! We will not allow her to do such a thing again! There must be some arrangement made, there must indeed. The man who fetches our letters every morning (one of our men, I forget his name) shall bring yours to you.”

“You are extremely kind,” said Jane, alarmed, “but I cannot give up my early walk.”

“My dear Jane, say no more about it — consider that point as settled.”

“Excuse me,” said Jane earnestly. “I cannot by any means consent to such an arrangement —”

Unintentionally, she caught Emma’s eye. A deep intelligence seemed to flash between them.

She has guessed something, thought Jane. She knows something. But knows what?

Hastily, almost at random, she began speaking again — about the post office — its efficiency in despatching letters to their correct destinations — the great variety of hand-writings — their general indecipherability; the talk turned next to similarities of hand-writing within a family — Emma’s writing and that of her sister Isabella were cited as examples.

Emma herself suddenly struck in, rather wide of the point at issue.

“Mr Frank Churchill writes one of the best gentleman’s hands I ever saw.”

Good God! thought Jane, transfixed. Then she did see his letter! She recognised his writing on the paper in my hand, last week in the meadow!

The rest of the discussion was no more than a confused murmur in Jane’s mind; she was deeply relieved when dinner was announced, not long after, and she heard Mrs Elton say, with her artificial laugh:

“Must I go first? I really am ashamed of always leading the way!”

Emma gave Jane a smiling, sidelong conscious glance as she took the other girl’s arm and led her to the dining-room; any observer might have considered the appearance of goodwill as highly becoming to the beauty and grace of each.

After dinner Mrs Elton, ignoring her hostess in a manner which Jane could not help finding ill-bred and highly inappropriate to the occasion, led Jane aside and after first giving her another scold on the folly of her walks to the post office, brought the conversation round to her future career.

“Here is April come,” she said. “I get quite anxious about you. Have you really heard of nothing?”

“I do not wish to make any inquiry yet.”

“Oh, my dear child, your inexperience really amuses me! Indeed, indeed, we must begin inquiring directly.”

“When I am quite determined as to the time — which I am not at present,” said Jane firmly, “there are places in town — offices for the sale, not quite of human flesh, but of human intellect —”

“Oh, my dear, you quite shock me; — but, you know, it will not satisfy your friends to have you taking up with any inferior, commonplace situation —”

“I am quite serious,” said Jane positively, “in wishing nothing to be done till the summer.”

“And I am quite serious too, I assure you,” replied Mrs Elton gaily, “in resolving to be always on the watch, that nothing really unexceptionable may pass by —”

Vexed, harassed almost beyond endurance, Jane hardly knew how to make a polite response. Fortunately, soon afterwards, Mr Weston made his appearance among them. He was cheerful and exultant after a satisfactory day in London, and because of a letter from Frank which he had found at home and handed to his wife.

“Read it, read it: he is coming, you see; good news, I think! In town next week, you see. They will stay a good while when they do come, and Frank will be half his time with us!”

Turning to Mrs Elton, who was close at hand, Mr Weston said, “I hope, ma’am, I shall soon have the pleasure of introducing my son to you.”