Emma
are delicate plants. They should take care of their health and their
complexion. My dear, did you change your stockings?”
“Yes, sir, I did indeed; and I am very much obliged by your kind
solicitude about me.”
“My dear Miss Fairfax, young ladies are very sure to be cared for.—I
hope your good grand-mama and aunt are well. They are some of my very
old friends. I wish my health allowed me to be a better neighbour. You
do us a great deal of honour to-day, I am sure. My daughter and I are
both highly sensible of your goodness, and have the greatest
satisfaction in seeing you at Hartfield.”
The kind-hearted, polite old man might then sit down and feel that he
had done his duty, and made every fair lady welcome and easy.
By this time, the walk in the rain had reached Mrs. Elton, and her
remonstrances now opened upon Jane.
“My dear Jane, what is this I hear?—Going to the post-office in the
rain!—This must not be, I assure you.—You sad girl, how could you do
such a thing?—It is a sign I was not there to take care of you.”
Jane very patiently assured her that she had not caught any cold.
“Oh! do not tell _me_. You really are a very sad girl, and do not know
how to take care of yourself.—To the post-office indeed! Mrs. Weston,
did you ever hear the like? You and I must positively exert our
authority.”
“My advice,” said Mrs. Weston kindly and persuasively, “I certainly do
feel tempted to give. Miss Fairfax, you must not run such risks.—Liable
as you have been to severe colds, indeed you ought to be particularly
careful, especially at this time of year. The spring I always think
requires more than common care. Better wait an hour or two, or even
half a day for your letters, than run the risk of bringing on your
cough again. Now do not you feel that you had? Yes, I am sure you are
much too reasonable. You look as if you would not do such a thing
again.”
“Oh! she _shall_ _not_ do such a thing again,” eagerly rejoined Mrs.
Elton. “We will not allow her to do such a thing again:”—and nodding
significantly—“there must be some arrangement made, there must indeed.
I shall speak to Mr. E. The man who fetches our letters every morning
(one of our men, I forget his name) shall inquire for yours too and
bring them to you. That will obviate all difficulties you know; and
from _us_ I really think, my dear Jane, you can have no scruple to
accept such an accommodation.”
“You are extremely kind,” said Jane; “but I cannot give up my early
walk. I am advised to be out of doors as much as I can, I must walk
somewhere, and the post-office is an object; and upon my word, I have
scarcely ever had a bad morning before.”
“My dear Jane, say no more about it. The thing is determined, that is
(laughing affectedly) as far as I can presume to determine any thing
without the concurrence of my lord and master. You know, Mrs. Weston,
you and I must be cautious how we express ourselves. But I do flatter
myself, my dear Jane, that my influence is not entirely worn out. If I
meet with no insuperable difficulties therefore, consider that point as
settled.”
“Excuse me,” said Jane earnestly, “I cannot by any means consent to
such an arrangement, so needlessly troublesome to your servant. If the
errand were not a pleasure to me, it could be done, as it always is
when I am not here, by my grandmama’s.”
“Oh! my dear; but so much as Patty has to do!—And it is a kindness to
employ our men.”
Jane looked as if she did not mean to be conquered; but instead of
answering, she began speaking again to Mr. John Knightley.
“The post-office is a wonderful establishment!” said she.—“The
regularity and despatch of it! If one thinks of all that it has to do,
and all that it does so well, it is really astonishing!”
“It is certainly very well regulated.”
“So seldom that any negligence or blunder appears! So seldom that a
letter, among the thousands that are constantly passing about the
kingdom, is even carried wrong—and not one in a million, I suppose,
actually lost! And when one considers the variety of hands, and of bad
hands too, that are to be deciphered, it increases the wonder.”
“The clerks grow expert from habit.—They must begin with some quickness
of sight and hand, and exercise improves them. If you want any farther
explanation,” continued he, smiling, “they are paid for it. That is the
key to a great deal of capacity. The public pays and must be served
well.”
The varieties of handwriting were farther talked of, and the usual
observations made.
“I have heard it asserted,” said John Knightley, “that the same sort of
handwriting often prevails in a family; and where the same master
teaches, it is natural enough. But for that reason, I should imagine
the likeness must be chiefly confined to the females, for boys have
very little teaching after an early age, and scramble into any hand
they can get. Isabella and Emma, I think, do write very much alike. I
have not always known their writing apart.”
“Yes,” said his brother hesitatingly, “there is a likeness. I know what
you mean—but Emma’s hand is the strongest.”
“Isabella and Emma both write beautifully,” said Mr. Woodhouse; “and
always did. And so does poor Mrs. Weston”—with half a sigh and half a
smile at her.
“I never saw any gentleman’s handwriting”—Emma began, looking also at
Mrs. Weston; but stopped, on perceiving that Mrs. Weston was attending
to some one else—and the pause gave her time to reflect, “Now, how am I
going to introduce him?—Am I unequal to speaking his name at once
before all these people? Is it necessary for me to use any roundabout
phrase?—Your Yorkshire friend—your correspondent in Yorkshire;—that
would be the way, I suppose, if I were very bad.—No, I can pronounce
his name without the smallest distress. I certainly get better and
better.—Now for it.”
Mrs. Weston was disengaged and Emma began again—“Mr. Frank Churchill
writes one of the best gentleman’s hands I ever saw.”
“I do not admire it,” said Mr. Knightley. “It is too small—wants
strength. It is like a woman’s writing.”
This was not submitted to by either lady. They vindicated him against
the base aspersion. “No, it by no means wanted strength—it was not a
large hand, but very clear and certainly strong. Had not Mrs. Weston
any letter about her to produce?” No, she had heard from him very
lately, but having answered the letter, had put it away.
“If we were in the other room,” said Emma, “if I had my writing-desk, I
am sure I could produce a specimen. I have a note of his.—Do not you
remember, Mrs. Weston, employing him to write for you one day?”
“He chose to say he was employed”—
“Well, well, I have that note; and can shew it after dinner to convince
Mr. Knightley.”
“Oh! when a gallant young man, like Mr. Frank Churchill,” said Mr.
Knightley dryly, “writes to a fair lady like Miss Woodhouse, he will,
of course, put forth his best.”
Dinner was on table.—Mrs. Elton, before she could be spoken to, was
ready; and before Mr. Woodhouse had reached her with his request to be
allowed to hand her into the dining-parlour, was saying—
“Must I go first? I really am ashamed of always leading the way.”
Jane’s solicitude about fetching her own letters had not escaped Emma.
She had heard and seen it all; and felt some curiosity to know whether
the wet walk of this morning had produced any. She suspected that it
_had_; that it would not have been so resolutely encountered but in
full expectation of hearing from some one very dear, and that it had
not been in vain. She thought there was an air of greater happiness
than usual—a glow both of complexion and spirits.
She could have made an inquiry or two, as to the expedition and the
expense of the Irish mails;—it was at her tongue’s end—but she
abstained. She was quite determined not to utter a word that should
hurt Jane Fairfax’s feelings; and they followed the other ladies out of
the room, arm in arm, with an appearance of good-will highly becoming
to the beauty and grace of each.
CHAPTER XVII
When the ladies returned to the drawing-room after dinner, Emma found
it hardly possible to prevent their making two distinct parties;—with
so much perseverance in judging and behaving ill did Mrs. Elton engross
Jane Fairfax and slight herself. She and Mrs. Weston were obliged to be
almost always either talking together or silent together. Mrs. Elton
left them no choice. If Jane repressed her for a little time, she soon
began again; and though much that passed between them was in a
half-whisper, especially on Mrs. Elton’s side, there was no avoiding a
knowledge of their principal subjects: The post-office—catching
cold—fetching letters—and friendship, were long under discussion; and
to them succeeded one, which must be at least equally unpleasant to
Jane—inquiries whether she had yet heard of any situation likely to
suit her, and professions of Mrs. Elton’s meditated activity.
“Here is April come!” said she, “I get quite anxious about you. June
will soon be here.”
“But I have never fixed on June or any other month—merely looked
forward to the summer in general.”
“But have you really heard of nothing?”
“I have not even made any inquiry; I do not wish to make any yet.”
“Oh! my dear, we cannot begin too early; you are not aware of the
difficulty of procuring exactly the desirable thing.”
“I not aware!” said Jane, shaking her head; “dear Mrs. Elton, who can
have thought of it as I have done?”
“But you have not seen so much of the world as I have. You do not know
how many candidates there always are for the _first_ situations. I saw
a vast deal of that in the neighbourhood round Maple Grove. A cousin of
Mr. Suckling, Mrs. Bragge, had such an infinity of applications; every
body was anxious to be in her family, for she moves in the first
circle. Wax-candles in the schoolroom! You may imagine how desirable!
Of all houses in the kingdom Mrs. Bragge’s is the one I would most wish
to see you in.”
“Colonel and Mrs. Campbell are to be in town again by midsummer,” said
Jane. “I must spend some time with them; I am sure they will want
it;—afterwards I may probably be glad to dispose of myself. But I would
not wish you to take the trouble of making any inquiries at present.”
“Trouble! aye, I know your scruples. You are afraid of giving me
trouble; but I assure you, my dear Jane, the Campbells can hardly be
more interested about you than I am. I shall write to Mrs. Partridge in
a day or two, and shall give her a strict charge to be on the look-out
for any thing eligible.”
“Thank you, but I would rather you did not mention the subject to her;
till the time draws nearer, I do not wish to be giving any body
trouble.”
“But, my dear child, the time is drawing near; here is April, and June,
or say even July, is very near, with such business to accomplish before
us. Your inexperience really amuses me! A situation such as you
deserve, and your friends would require for you, is no everyday
occurrence, is not obtained at a moment’s notice; indeed, indeed, we
must begin inquiring directly.”
“Excuse me, ma’am, but this is by no means my intention; I make no
inquiry myself, and should be sorry to have any made by my friends.
When I am quite determined as to the time, I am not at all afraid of
being long unemployed. There are places in town, offices, where inquiry
would soon produce something—Offices for the sale—not quite of human
flesh—but of human intellect.”
“Oh! my dear, human flesh! You quite shock me; if you mean a fling at
the slave-trade, I assure you Mr. Suckling was always rather a friend
to the abolition.”
“I did not mean, I was not thinking of the slave-trade,” replied Jane;
“governess-trade, I assure you, was all that I had in view; widely