The next morning was ushered in with less of domestic tempest than the
last; Mrs. Watson was tired of her own room, and quite ready to come
down stairs and mix in the world; she was perfectly amiable to-day,
with only the drawback of being a little sulky to her husband, and
exceedingly snappish to his sisters, except to Emma, whom she did not
condescend to address at all. Emma thought this silence decidedly
better than the form of invective which was the usual address to her,
so that on the whole, the day passed with tolerable comfort and peace
to those concerned.
That afternoon, Mrs. Watson having occasion to send a note to an
acquaintance residing nearly a mile from the town, she chose to employ
Emma as a messenger, ordering her at the same time, to be sure and not
allow Janetta to over fatigue herself, but to carry her if the poor
child was tired.
The way led them through pleasant fields, and as the aunt and niece
were quietly sauntering along, the little girl filling her hands with
daisies, or stopping to watch the birds flitting in the hedgerow, they
were again overtaken by Mr. Morgan, who seemed prepared to join their
walk. Emma coloured deeply, and was considerably embarrassed by the
recollection of what Elizabeth had said about him. They had passed his
house on their way, and she could not but suspect that his joining
them was the result of design, not accident. With the vanity common to
men, he completely misinterpreted the blushes and embarrassment of the
pretty girl who interested him so much, and he fancied he was giving
her peculiar pleasure, when, after enquiring how far they were going,
he assured her that his way led in the same direction, and that he
should be most happy to escort her. Had she not been charged with the
note from Jane, she would immediately have turned back, but she had no
recourse, and as she had not courage to desire him to leave her, she
saw nothing to be done but to submit in as quiet and unconcerned a
manner as possible.
"I hope," said he presently, "you do not feel any the worse for the
excitement and agitation which you went through yesterday."
She thanked him rather coldly, and replied she was very well. But he
was not to be so repulsed. He was bent on making himself agreeable to
her, and with a quick perception of the readiest means, long practice,
and no scruples on the subject, it was no wonder that he succeeded.
There was just the proper air of interest, joined to a respectful
deference, at the same time that he showed by his intimate knowledge
of the family concerns, that he was completely in the confidence of
her sister-in-law, and deserving to be treated as a friend of the
family. The sympathy which he seemed endeavouring vainly to suppress,
and the knowledge of her situation and difficulties, which he allowed
her to discover he possessed, all tended to throw her off her guard,
and to abate the cold indifference with which she meant to have
treated him. He was so kind—so considerately and properly kind—and
then both her brother and sister had allowed him to be so much
connected with their affairs, that it was impossible to repulse him,
and gradually, she hardly knew how, she found herself led on to speak
to him with openness, which he in reality little deserved.
Mr. Morgan was a man of no principles, whose ruling passion was
vanity—and this passion with him took one particular turn; he liked to
be beloved by all the women of his acquaintance. The self-complacency
excited by the worship of a woman, was to him the most agreeable
feeling in the world. He did not flirt merely for an idle amusement,
like Tom Musgrove, with an entire indifference to the feelings he
excited; but he made downright serious, but clandestine love to nearly
all the good-looking women with whom his practice brought him
acquainted. He liked of all things to watch the gradual growth of an
ardent love in the unsuspecting heart, and more than one interesting
girl had had occasion to rue the day when illness had first brought
her acquainted with Mr. Morgan—more than one young wife had been
hurried abruptly from the neighbourhood, as was whispered, because her
husband thought her too fond of the Doctor. Yet so well had he
managed, and so general was the admiration he excited, that _he_ never
bore a fraction of the blame which was unsparingly bestowed on the
victims of his arts. This was the man, who struck by Emma's beauty,
and seeing her helpless situation, had formed a deliberate plan to
gain her affections, though what was to follow when she was thus added
to his list of triumphs, he had not quite determined. One thing was
certain, he did not mean to marry her; but the necessary evils to
which he saw she was exposed, laid her he imagined, peculiarly open to
temptation, and he certainly indulged in hopes and speculations, for
which even the phlegmatic Robert would have kicked him out of the
house, had they chanced to come to his knowledge. One great object in
his attempt to remove her to Lady Fanny Allston's was, that it would
give him so great an advantage over her. Lady Fanny and her daughter
were both invalides, and he was in the habit of visiting them every
day. This, could he place Emma there, was an important step, as it
would bring him in the most advantageous position before her eyes. She
would see no one else. Shut up for weeks together with an ailing
child, her only recreation being an hour's drive in the pony chaise
every morning, she would soon learn to look forward to his visit as
the great event of the day. He should see her eyes sparkle at his
approach, and feel her hand gently tremble as he pressed it. Such had
been the case with her predecessor, and now that the poor girl had
lost her health and spirits from disappointed affections and
heart-sickening anxiety, he was coldly turning to seek another to
supply her place. Little did Emma, as she listened to his sentiments
of sympathy, his professions of philosophy, or his insinuations of
warm interest, suspect the real motive of his actions and his
friendship. His age, so much greater than hers, prevented her
supposing he would feel attachment, and her own preference for Mr.
Howard was a safeguard to her own affections.
After conversing some time with great apparent interest on the subject
of education, as appropriate to her peculiar calling, he gradually
turned it in an almost imperceptible way to the scene of yesterday.
The necessity of subduing passion, and the dreadful effects of it when
unrestrained, naturally brought on a comment on the conduct of her
sister-in-law. It was shocking, he protested, to think of such
violence; it made his heart bleed to imagine what a mild and
gentle-tempered girl must undergo when dependent on such a relative.
Hers was a heavy hand as he had experienced; he was delighted that he
had warded off one blow from her, he only wished he could more
effectually protect her from the other hardships of her lot.
Emma assured him that such a scene had never occurred before, and
probably would never do so again; that he greatly magnified the evils
of her situation, and that she really did not require such intense
sympathy as he seemed inclined to bestow on her. This, so far from
stopping him, only brought on a more decided eulogium upon the
sweetness of temper which could endure such tyranny, and the
self-denial which must be practised daily to live in peace with one
who could practise it. How much farther his compliments would have
carried him is not known, as they arrived at the lodge-gate, and Emma
was obliged to interrupt him to deliver the note which formed her
errand. Now she expected to part company, but to her great surprise,
she found on turning her steps homewards, that he was still at her
elbow, and that he seemed resolved to continue the conversation as
well as the walk. What was still more provoking, Janetta claimed his
assistance to carry her again, and Emma had no alternative but to
continue with him; and as he caught up the child with glee, and an
appearance of positive enjoyment.
"This, my dear Miss Emma," said he, "is a trouble which, I trust, you
will not long have to endure; at Lady Fanny's you will not be expected
to do any thing which would be more properly entrusted to a servant.
You will be Miss Alston's companion, not her slave; and I shall,
indeed, rejoice to see it so."
Emma thanked him with a sincerity rather greater, perhaps, than his
own, but she could not help heartily wishing that he would demonstrate
his interest in some other way than in walking home with her; she was
in continual dread of meeting some one who would know her; for, though
she really saw no harm in it herself, yet after what Elizabeth had
said, she was afraid of being misinterpreted or misjudged. He parted
from her at the entrance of the town, and Emma returned in some
trepidation homewards.
The whole town of Croydon was, shortly after, thrown into a ferment,
by the announcement that George Millar, the rich, the popular, the
good-looking George Millar, was engaged—actually engaged to be married
to Elizabeth Watson.
It was so extraordinary, so incredible, so unheard of, that a young
woman like Elizabeth Watson—not so very young—for she was at least
thirty, they said, if not more—who had never been handsome, and was
now decidedly faded—without money, for every one knew she was
dependent on her brother—in short, with none of the requisites for
matrimony, except a pleasing person, an amiable and unselfish
disposition, good temper, and a most affectionate heart, that such a
girl should have presumed to try for George Millar's hand! and should
have had the effrontery to accept him when he offered! She was a
stranger, an interloper—and for her to come, and thus carry off in
triumph, their best beau, it was too bad; as the oldest Miss Morgan
observed to one of her intimate friends, she was sure there was more
than they understood in the business; and she should like to know
where they _were_ to look for husbands if their fellow townsmen
deserted them in that way for strange faces. It was the more hard upon
Miss Morgan, because she had been so very kind to the children; she
had more than once asked them to drink tea, and often kissed her hand
to them from the drawing-room window. Their houses were exactly
opposite, and it would be too much to be forced to sit in
contemplation of another mistress ruling in the house where she had
long expected to reign supreme.
It was the elder young ladies of the neighbourhood who felt the
affront most keenly; and were most bitter against Miss Watson. They
had long regarded Mr. Millar as the lawful property of one of
themselves; ever since the second month after his wife's death; and,
unfortunately for their peace of mind, Mrs. Turner's habit of
flattering every one, had given rise to hopes in their minds, which it
now seemed never would be realised. The younger ladies felt it much
less acutely; for, as a widower and a man verging on forty, they
regarded George Millar as a little past his youthful and interesting
days, but they felt for their friends and their sisters, and
sympathised in their indignation. Had Miss Watson been a stranger, in
reality, the affair would have been more endurable; had she been
married from Winston, for instance, they would have welcomed her to
Croydon with tolerable cordiality—nay, perhaps, with absolute
enthusiasm. She might have been pictured then in their imaginations
with no colours less brilliant than those belonging to a gay wedding,
and making her first appearance in new finery, she would probably have
won popularity immediately.
But now, the case was very different; it had all passed before their
own eyes, so they naturally suspected something quite wrong, and Mrs.
Watson was involved in the blame—as it was supposed she must have
aided to win the point by some skilful manœuvring.
It was so unnatural, so improbable, that, out of four sisters, three
should be engaged to be married, that Miss Morgan declared, over and
over again, that she could not, and would not believe it happened in
the due course of events. There must be something wrong about those
Watsons, and she was determined to find it out.
Elizabeth was very unsuspicious of the storm her engagement had
raised, but went about as usual with a smiling face, looking forward
to the termination of her residence with her brother, with peculiar
satisfaction—and rejoicing especially, because she had a plan in her
head for the advantage of Emma. This was no less than that Emma should
reside with them; and since she was resolved against spending her life
in idleness, that she should consent to superintend the education of
Mr. Millar's little girls—for which task, Elizabeth felt she was more
competent than herself. In the meantime, she did not mention it to
her, until their own plans were arranged with a little more certainty,
and the time of their wedding fixed; at present, they could only say
that it should not take place for a couple of months at least.
A day or two after this grand event becoming known, Mr. Morgan called
on Mrs. Watson and found her little girl in the room. After praising
and caressing the child, he asked her if she should like to ride a
donkey; and turning to the mother with a winning smile, he added, that
he had a very beautiful Spanish donkey, for which, at present, he had
no occasion—that it was quite at the service of her charming
daughter—for whom, he was convinced, the exercise would be peculiarly
salutary. He, therefore, begged she would make use of it as her own.
Mrs. Watson gratefully assented; to-morrow Janetta should have a
ride—but the little girl cried out for to-day—she would go to-day—aunt
Emma must take her out to-day—and she always had her own way with her
mother—and as Mr. Morgan was merely following out a concerted plan,
she of course, carried her point; and, whilst she went up-stairs to
make her aunt get ready for the excursion, the gentleman hurried away
to give orders to prepare the donkey. In about half an hour, Janetta
had the delight of seeing the promised animal at the door, with a
beautiful new saddle and white bridle, and she clapped her hands with
ecstasy as the doctor's foot-boy placed her on, hardly sitting
sufficiently still to allow him to fasten the strap in front of the
Spanish saddle. Emma felt extremely reluctant to go; she feared Mr.
Morgan might again join them, and tried hard to persuade Margaret to
accompany her; but Margaret "hated walking like a nurse-maid after the
child," and Elizabeth being out, Emma had no alternative but to set
out alone.
The foot-boy said his master had ordered him to go with them to see
how the donkey went, and to save Miss Watson any trouble. Emma
rejoiced at this announcement—although it seemed to her, so
unreasonable an encroachment on Mr. Morgan's obliging temper, that she
half dreaded lest her sister-in-law should decline the lad's services.
Mrs. Watson, however, accepted it all as if, in allowing the favour to
be confirmed, she were in reality the giver, instead of the receiver
of the benefit. She seemed rather to expect that he would be grateful
that his donkey had the honour of carrying her little girl.
Emma's anticipations proved perfectly correct, for they met Mr. Morgan
again, and he again, uninvited, prepared to accompany them. She
resolved that this should not occur another time, as she determined at
once to speak to her brother, representing how extremely unpleasant it
was for her to be daily sent out walking where she was exposed to be
joined by any one in this way, and begging that in future the duty of
walking out with Janetta might devolve on one of the maids, when
neither of her sisters could accompany her. If it had not been that
she feared it was wrong, she would have enjoyed the walk extremely, as
the day was fresh and invigorating, whilst her companion was
particularly pleasant. She found his conversation both instructive and
amusing, and as Janetta, on her donkey, kept a little a-head of them,
they were free from the incessant calls on her attention with which
the child usually interrupted them.
Their _tête-à-tête_ did not, as usual, conclude at the suburbs of the
town, for emboldened probably by habit, he walked straight home with
her, with only the precaution of placing himself on one side of
Janetta; and lifting the child off at the door, he carried her in
triumph to her mother. Emma expected and hoped that some notice would
be taken of his having accompanied them, as she rather hesitated about
introducing the subject; but Mrs. Watson seemed satisfied with
believing that it was a refined compliment to herself through her
child, as if a man of his age could take such pleasure in the society
of a girl not yet out of babyhood. Emma was therefore firmly resolved
to speak to Robert on the subject, and that afternoon, finding him
alone in the parlour, she, with some hesitation, introduced the point.
He heard her with considerable surprise.
"Well," said he, when she seemed to have done, "what do you want or
expect me to do? what's all this to me, child?"
"I want you, brother, to persuade Jane not to send me out without a
maid or some other companion, that I may not be exposed to long walks
with him."
"But what harm does Morgan do you, I should like to know—are you
afraid he will eat you up—or what do you fear?" enquired he, in a very
discouraging tone.
"I am afraid it may excite observation and unpleasant reports, if I am
seen repeatedly walking with a single man," replied poor Emma, not
liking to say that she thought wrong what Robert seemed to regard as
so innocent.
"Pooh, pooh, child—don't be absurd and prudish—there's no use in
setting yourself up for an immaculate young lady. I don't believe but
that you like it all the time, and are only wanting a little domestic
persecution to make you more interesting. I am not going to indulge
you, so you must find out some other way of making a martyr of
yourself."
"Indeed, you are quite mistaken; but I do not think it right to throw
myself in the way of any man as I am obliged to do with regard to him,
and I would rather not go out of the house for a month than continue,
as I have done, meeting him."
"Morgan's a very good kind of fellow, and will do you no harm,"
repeated Robert, as if rather at a loss what else to say; and Emma,
thinking she saw symptoms of wavering in his tone, began to hope that
she should carry her point, when Jane entered the room, and her
husband at once appealed to her.
Emma's astonishment was great at the way in which she took it. She had
expected she would be angry at her walking with Mr. Morgan; but that
was not the case; her indignation seemed only roused by the fact of
her wanting to evade the walking at all: she was in a great passion at
this.
"A very pretty thing indeed, Miss Emma Watson—a very pretty thing,
that you are to be fancying yourself too grand and too great to walk
out with my child—want a servant sent after you, do you—I wonder what
your ladyship will want next—upon my word, for such a little saucy
minx as you, to be giving yourself such airs, is rather too good, I
must say."
"I have no wish to give myself airs—I only want—" but she was not
allowed to finish the sentence.
"You don't wish _this_, and you don't wish _that_—and you only want
something quite different from what I order—I see what it is, Miss, I
know you want to be mistress, that's all—and if Mr. Morgan does walk
with you, where's the harm of that?—are you such a conceited creature
as to fancy it is your beauty which charms him?—depend upon it, _you_
are very safe with him. It's for my child that he comes—out of
compliment to me, of course—so don't you go pluming yourself upon his
attentions, or expecting anything to come of that—you are greatly
mistaken if you think him in love with you, I can answer for it."
"I never, for a moment, supposed such a thing," replied Emma, with a
spirit, which was roused by her sister's injustice; "but I am sure
that it is not correct or respectable to be walking repeatedly alone
with any gentleman, even one of Mr. Morgan's age and character; and I
have a _right_, whilst I live with you, to have my respectability of
appearance attended to."
Mrs. Watson stood with a face of scarlet and her mouth open,
contemplating Emma as she spoke with unaccustomed energy—she seemed
almost to mistrust her senses at hearing such words, but Emma's
firmness quite appalled her, and she actually did not know what to
say. Seeing she was silent Emma added:
"Therefore, for the present, I must beg that when one of my sisters
cannot accompany me, you will send the maid in my place; when in
company with any one else, I shall have no objection to walk with
Janetta as usual."
"Oh, well," said Jane after some hesitation, "as you wish it so much,
I will see what I can do, and perhaps Martha may walk with Janetta
to-morrow."
Emma thanked her, and the entrance of her sisters, fortunately
prevented farther discussion.
Emma was rather surprised that she heard no more from Lady Fanny
Allston, but the fact was, her ladyship was ill, and quite incapable
of exerting herself in any way; therefore her engagement with Emma was
forced to remain unsettled, until she recovered sufficient strength to
think again.
Relieved from the care of Janetta's walk the next day, Emma enjoyed
the treat of accompanying Elizabeth and the two Millars, during a
stroll in the country. Annie of course was her companion, and she
found it a very charming change from the incessant trouble of looking
after a young child. They talked much of Elizabeth's future prospects,
and of Annie's likewise—she was delighted at the idea of the marriage,
and anticipated with pleasure the society of a sister. She told Emma
she had hardly known George's first wife, as she had been at school
until after her death, and often spent her holidays with her own
mother's relations; but since there would now be a chaperone for her
on all occasions, her home would be much pleasanter.
At the same time, she confided to Emma her secret wonder that any
woman should marry at all. Excepting her own brother, she did not
believe there existed a single man in the world good enough to serve
as a reasonable excuse for a woman becoming his slave. Emma
remonstrated and protested at this idea, but Annie laughed and
persisted: she asserted that nearly all men were dreadful and selfish,
and that as it was impossible to be thoroughly acquainted with their
dispositions until after marriage, and it was then too late to change,
it was much better not to take the fatal step, but to continue
mistress of oneself and one's fortune. She never meant to marry—that
was her firm determination. Emma suggested that she might fall in
love—but Annie protested again that the fall, which she considered a
serious _fall_ indeed, was only the effect of a pre-disposition to
commit matrimony, and that where the mind was firmly made up, as hers
was, on the subject, there could not be the slightest danger of such
an accident.
Emma smiled and said time would show, whilst Annie drew an animated
picture of the miseries of matrimony, dwelling on all the little
trifles which she could imagine or recollect, to convince her
companion of the wretchedness of the state. In spite of the nonsense
she talked, Emma liked her very much, and was quite sorry when their
walk came to a termination.
Several days passed quietly, and there was, during that time, no
solitary walk for Emma; one of her sisters was her constant companion,
and sometimes Janetta accompanied her mother, sometimes went out with
the maid. Neither did Mr. Morgan plague her any more, they passed two
or three times on the road, but a friendly bow was all the intercourse
they had together; and when he called on Mrs. Watson, which Emma
rather thought occurred pretty often, she never saw him.
Her first interview was on the occasion of his coming to take a quiet
dinner, and the cause of his being asked to do so was so grand an
event, as to throw his presence quite into the shade. It was nothing
less than the first visit of Tom Musgrove to his betrothed. He had
written to say he was coming down to Croydon, and the announcement
threw Margaret into such a state of trepidation and nervous
excitement, as to make Mr. Morgan and a composing draught absolutely
necessary for her. She was very near fainting when she received the
letter, and indeed was only prevented by not knowing how to manage it.
Her next idea was to go out, and see how many of her acquaintance she
could meet with, either in the street or their own houses, to whom she
might impart the interesting intelligence. She had intense
gratification in assuring them of the nervous tremors, the
palpitations, the painful excitement, the strain on the mental
energies, the soft sensibility, the affecting circumstances, and all
other sentiments and weaknesses, with which she was pleased to charge
herself. She viewed with much satisfaction, the envy and mortification
with which her joyous prospects were viewed by her sweet young
friends; and the more cool and indifferent they appeared, the more she
enjoyed expatiating on her own delightful situation. Some she kindly
congratulated, because they had now experienced her agitating
feelings, some she fondly caressed, because she could see they would
feel the same in a similar situation, and some she triumphantly hoped
might ever be blessed with prospects as bright as her own.
In all this excitement, Emma and her walks were nearly forgotten, and
she was suddenly asked, as a special favour, to take Janetta out for
half an hour. She could not refuse, and had the satisfaction of going
and returning without seeing any thing of Mr. Morgan, or encountering
any acquaintance whomsoever. This gave her courage, and she began to
think her fears and scruples were as imaginary as Jane had assumed
them to be.
END OF VOL. II.
T. C. NEWBY, Printer, 30, Welbeck-street, Cavendish-sq.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
● Transcriber's Notes:
○ A few cases of inconsistent spelling were regularized, but
-our/-or inconsistencies were left.
○ Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant
form was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.
○ The second chapter was relabeled from CHAPTER XIII to CHAPTER
II.