Emma
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.”
CHAPTER X
The appearance of the little sitting-room as they entered, was
tranquillity itself; Mrs. Bates, deprived of her usual employment,
slumbering on one side of the fire, Frank Churchill, at a table near
her, most deedily occupied about her spectacles, and Jane Fairfax,
standing with her back to them, intent on her pianoforte.
Busy as he was, however, the young man was yet able to shew a most
happy countenance on seeing Emma again.
“This is a pleasure,” said he, in rather a low voice, “coming at least
ten minutes earlier than I had calculated. You find me trying to be
useful; tell me if you think I shall succeed.”
“What!” said Mrs. Weston, “have not you finished it yet? you would not
earn a very good livelihood as a working silversmith at this rate.”
“I have not been working uninterruptedly,” he replied, “I have been
assisting Miss Fairfax in trying to make her instrument stand steadily,
it was not quite firm; an unevenness in the floor, I believe. You see
we have been wedging one leg with paper. This was very kind of you to
be persuaded to come. I was almost afraid you would be hurrying home.”
He contrived that she should be seated by him; and was sufficiently
employed in looking out the best baked apple for her, and trying to
make her help or advise him in his work, till Jane Fairfax was quite
ready to sit down to the pianoforte again. That she was not immediately
ready, Emma did suspect to arise from the state of her nerves; she had
not yet possessed the instrument long enough to touch it without
emotion; she must reason herself into the power of performance; and
Emma could not but pity such feelings, whatever their origin, and could
not but resolve never to expose them to her neighbour again.
At last Jane began, and though the first bars were feebly given, the
powers of the instrument were gradually done full justice to. Mrs.
Weston had been delighted before, and was delighted again; Emma joined
her in all her praise; and the pianoforte, with every proper
discrimination, was pronounced to be altogether of the highest promise.
“Whoever Colonel Campbell might employ,” said Frank Churchill, with a
smile at Emma, “the person has not chosen ill. I heard a good deal of
Colonel Campbell’s taste at Weymouth; and the softness of the upper
notes I am sure is exactly what he and _all_ _that_ _party_ would
particularly prize. I dare say, Miss Fairfax, that he either gave his
friend very minute directions, or wrote to Broadwood himself. Do not
you think so?”
Jane did not look round. She was not obliged to hear. Mrs. Weston had
been speaking to her at the same moment.
“It is not fair,” said Emma, in a whisper; “mine was a random guess. Do
not distress her.”
He shook his head with a smile, and looked as if he had very little
doubt and very little mercy. Soon afterwards he began again,
“How much your friends in Ireland must be enjoying your pleasure on
this occasion, Miss Fairfax. I dare say they often think of you, and
wonder which will be the day, the precise day of the instrument’s
coming to hand. Do you imagine Colonel Campbell knows the business to
be going forward just at this time?—Do you imagine it to be the
consequence of an immediate commission from him, or that he may have
sent only a general direction, an order indefinite as to time, to
depend upon contingencies and conveniences?”
He paused. She could not but hear; she could not avoid answering,
“Till I have a letter from Colonel Campbell,” said she, in a voice of
forced calmness, “I can imagine nothing with any confidence. It must be
all conjecture.”
“Conjecture—aye, sometimes one conjectures right, and sometimes one
conjectures wrong. I wish I could conjecture how soon I shall make this
rivet quite firm. What nonsense one talks, Miss Woodhouse, when hard at
work, if one talks at all;—your real workmen, I suppose, hold their
tongues; but we gentlemen labourers if we get hold of a word—Miss
Fairfax said something about conjecturing. There, it is done. I have
the pleasure, madam, (to Mrs. Bates,) of restoring your spectacles,
healed for the present.”
He was very warmly thanked both by mother and daughter; to escape a
little from the latter, he went to the pianoforte, and begged Miss
Fairfax, who was still sitting at it, to play something more.
“If you are very kind,” said he, “it will be one of the waltzes we
danced last night;—let me live them over again. You did not enjoy them