The next few days passed quietly. Mr and Mrs Hopkins made Emma’s
home-coming an occasion to pay their respects to Mr Watson.
Mr Hopkins was Mr Watson’s curate, and lived at the farther end of
the parish. They were persons of no attainments, whose position was
rendered tolerable by the absence of children. Elizabeth and Emma
returned the visit, but there was nothing to excite either interest or
pity.
Mr Watson decided that the expense of a post-chaise must be incurred
for the occasion of the ball. There was some difficulty in fixing the
hour at which they should leave Stanton for the Castle. Margaret was
for the earliest possible setting out, that nothing might be missed.
Elizabeth, recollecting a number of half-hours spent with the Edwards
at the assemblies, and that this time there would be no Mrs Edwards to
sit by, thought they might be late without serious loss of enjoyment.
Emma’s suggestion that they should do their best to arrive at the
correct time was finally agreed to.
All that might be done to fit the Miss Watsons for the occasion had
been accomplished, and they sat in the parlour awaiting the word that
the post-chaise was at the door.
“We shall be vastly late,” said Margaret; “you would not listen to me.
As well not go as be late.”
Elizabeth reminded her that the concert was to take place before the
ball, and that they would miss none of the dancing.
Margaret expressed doubt and discontent. “It could not be known how
long the journey would take. What might not happen on the road? They
should have gone an hour since.”
Mr Watson’s stick struck the floor above. Elizabeth, running up, was
told that, if they had a mind to go anywhere, it would be well to make
some move in the matter, before the post-horses froze, and that they
had been standing there he could not say how long.
Within five minutes they were off, and the first thought of Margaret’s
muslin being likely to be crushed, and of her having forgotten her
favourite shawl was past, and all were happy in silence. Elizabeth,
thankful to be quiet; Emma, looking forward to meeting her friends; and
Margaret engaged in a romantic occupation which had been her solace for
days.
She saw herself pursued by Lord Osborne and replying with gentle
dignity, “No, my lord, as our host you have duties to your other
guests.” “Other guests be ----,” says he. “Remember in whose presence
you stand!” replies she, with hauteur. “I have remembered, I do
remember, I will remember,” replies he. “The Lady Blueface awaits you,
and it is my desire that you do not disappoint her,” says Margaret.
With a last passionate glance, he departs, and advances with a scowl
on the Lady Blueface.
The chaise gave a jolt, and tossed Margaret against Elizabeth, and the
fear for her muslin, and indignation with Elizabeth, who asked her to
be careful, kept Margaret’s attention fixed on the commonplace. Unable
to return to her happy state, she could only change places with Emma,
change back again, and fret.
At last they passed through the park gates and, approaching the Castle,
heard the sound of an instrument, which Margaret declared to be her
favourite performance, of which she must now perforce be disappointed,
but which Emma afterwards judged to be a musician tuning his fiddle. A
moment later they were at the door, a groom was at the horses’ head,
and before they could alight, Lord Osborne had hurried down the steps
to assist them. It might well appear to Margaret that her dream was
coming true.
Miss Carr conducted them upstairs to remove their wraps, and coming
down, they were again met by his lordship, who led them through the
great drawing-room, where the dancing was to take place, to the smaller
apartment set with chairs for the concert, at the door of which stood
Lady Osborne greeting her guests with absent-minded condescension.
Addressing himself to Emma, Lord Osborne asked:
“Now where shall we sit? There are two seats there right at the back,
with two others just in front, a famous place to my fancy, where we
can have a famous time, without being too much troubled with all the
noise. Music may be all very well to dance to, if one likes dancing,
but why we should have to sit and listen to it, I cannot imagine!”
Margaret assured him that he had chosen the most delightful spot in the
room, and was for hastening there, when Emma interposed.
“We have come to enjoy the performance, my lord; let us sit where we
can see and hear.”
“Then you enjoy listening to music! Upon my word! Then it must be the
front seats, and I have taken some pains to keep those at the back
unoccupied. There are only three vacant in the front. Pray let us sit
at the back and be comfortable. You will hear plenty. They have been
trying over their music, and I assure you I could hear all over the
Castle. Pray, Miss Emma, you are always so good-natured.”
Emma, feeling she endangered her reputation for complaisance, protested
against the front seats also, and they were all presently accommodated
towards the middle of the room.
Emma would have been delighted to have Mr Howard sit by her and
converse, and would have been satisfied to listen to the music, but
neither of these alternatives was possible, and she must attend to
the dull repetitions of Lord Osborne, which gave place, when his
lordship was called away, to the yet more tedious rattle of Tom
Musgrave. She had the additional mortification of being aware that
the latter annoyance resulted from the former. She tried for motives
both interested and disinterested to get him seated by Margaret, but
without success. At last to her relief he rose to greet some ladies,
and for a few minutes, happiness seemed assured. Mr Howard approached
to bow and enquire for their father, sat down in the empty chair,
and began to converse. He did not appear to be in spirits, but she
felt that she could rouse his animation, if only he remained by her
side. This was not to be. Lady Osborne’s eye-glass was turned in
their direction, and a moment afterwards an agreeable-looking man of
middle-age came towards them.
“Howard, you are wanted by her Ladyship, quite indispensible, for some
purpose; but, before you go, I request that you bequeath me your place!”
It was some consolation to Emma to see with what reluctance Mr Howard
rose. He formally presented Sir William Gordon to the Miss Watsons, who
recognised him as the gentleman who had been most in attendance on Miss
Osborne during the evening. Mr Howard then made his way across the room
towards his hostess with a gravity of demeanour which certainly showed
no great satisfaction. A moment later Emma saw him established near
Lady Osborne, and in conversation with her party.
Sir William, after a few civilities for Elizabeth and Margaret,
addressed himself to Emma.
“Have you been often to the Castle?” he asked.
Emma replied that she had not.
“Then are you sure that you understand the family politics?”
Emma replied that she had no knowledge of them, and little curiosity.
“Impossible!” he replied. “You must have some curiosity, or at least
pretend to it, in order that I may have the pleasure of rallying you on
it, and finally yielding, and letting you into the secret.”
Emma professed a total disregard for secrets.
“Then I shall be obliged to tell it without encouragement, for if you
do not know it, you will transgress again.”
“Again!” exclaimed Emma in alarm.
“Certainly,” replied Sir William gravely. “Were you not guilty of
keeping Mr Howard at your side when her ladyship wanted him?”
“Indeed, no! He went directly she sent for him,” said she, colouring.
“To send should not have been necessary. He should have been at her
side!”
“Surely not,” replied Emma. “Mr Howard has no rank to give him a claim
to such importance. May he not sit where he choose?”
“Oh, as to choice,” said Sir William, “I do not quarrel with his
choice. It is more a matter of her ladyship’s choice.”
Emma looked and felt puzzled.
“I really wish him well,” went on Sir William. “I think he had better
marry the dowager.”
Emma was unable to reply. Painful recollections, painful forebodings
occupied her mind. Sir William continued the subject.
“There is no such disparity in their ages. Only fifteen years at most!
The jointure might be some time in his possession.”
“I really think we had better talk of something else,” Emma replied.
“Certainly,” said he, “let us talk of the daughter. Do you think her
over-dressed?”
“No, indeed, I think her very elegant,” said she, with a smile at his
audacity.
“Well, then, the son; here he comes treading on every one’s toes, and
looking round for some one. Do you think he is trying to find me, Miss
Watson? Really, such public notice confuses me. I am so modest. Am I
not blushing now?” Emma could only laugh.
“Shall I give my seat to his lordship?” he asked.
“As you wish,” replied she. Whilst she spoke Lord Osborne caught sight
of them, and gladly took the chair proffered by Sir William.
“A man should always live out of doors if he wants to have any peace
and enjoyment,” grumbled his lordship.
“A little damp sometimes, my lord,” replied Emma.
“There is the harness-room,” he went on, “it is never damp in the
harness-room. The saddles and all would be spoiled; there is always a
fire.”
Margaret interposed.
“I love a harness-room! Let me advise you! Add a parlour, and from that
throw out a dining-room.”
He considered longer than usual.
“And when I have it all nice, some woman will come in and tell me what
I am to do. What do you say, Miss Emma?”
“It appears that if you would be free you are fated to shelter under
the trees and sleep under the harness.”
“You are quizzing me to make your sisters laugh, Miss Emma; you do not
know what I have to bear.”
“As you will not have me quizz, I can but say truthfully, very little
to bear, I imagine.”
“You do not know. I sit here for hours, and look forward to supper with
you, and now I am to take in that old fright, Lady F----. Let me point
her out to you.”
Emma, who had spent her time in wishing him elsewhere, now begged him
to keep his seat, but without success. Elizabeth whispered to Emma that
she saw Mr Howard, and that he appeared to be making his way in their
direction, and then Emma heard Tom Musgrave’s voice from behind.
“As Osborne cannot lead you to supper, please do me the honour, Miss
Emma.”
“Thank you, Mr Musgrave,” she replied. “But we are anxious to be of Mrs
Blake’s at supper. We have barely seen her.”
“There will be no difficulty,” was the reply. “I will arrange it with
Mrs Blake at once. You can bring your old woman, Osborne. She will not
hear a word we say. It will be famous.”