Emma took Janetta home, and weary and worn out, she laid herself down
upon her own bed, and there dropped into a heavy slumber. In consequence
of her non-appearance at the dinner table, Elizabeth went in search of
her, and rousing her up, persuaded her to attempt coming down stairs,
though Emma, at first, felt so totally unequal to the exertion, that she
declared she could not stir.
"Jane is so very cross to-day," remonstrated Elizabeth; "I am sure I do
not know what is the matter with her, but she seems so very angry about
something or other, that if you can contrive to come down you will save
a great deal of after trouble. Is your head really so very bad; you do
look rather ill certainly, but you need not eat, only just try to sit at
table."
Slowly and languidly Emma rose from her bed; her head ached so intensely
that she could scarcely raise her eyes; an iron band appeared to be
compressing her forehead, and seemed every moment to increase in
pressure. She tried to arrange her hair, and her dress, disordered by
lying on the bed, but felt incapable of the exertion; leaning on
Elizabeth's arm, she descended to the dining-parlour, and took her seat
at the table. Robert offered to help her to some meat, but Emma declined
eating. Jane never condescended to lift her eyes until the table was
cleared, and then she sarcastically observed—
"I am extremely sorry, Miss Emma Watson, that there is nothing on my
table good enough for you to eat to-day; shall I send over to the
pastry-cook's, and see if he has any little delicacies to tempt your
fastidious appetite? I am not so unreasonable as to expect a young lady
like you to dine on roast mutton and plain pudding."
"I am not very well," replied Emma, "and have no appetite to-day; but it
is my own misfortune, not the fault of your dinner, I am sure."
"Upon my word you honor my table with a very pretty costume," eyeing
Emma fixedly, "may I ask how long it has been your fashion to have your
hair awry in that way, and your gown tumbled—do you come out of your
bed, or have you been indulging in an interesting game of romps?"
Robert looked at Emma, and even he was struck with the appearance of
suffering; and coupling with it the fact that she had eaten no dinner,
and moreover, feeling rather cross with his wife, he began to defend
her, desiring Jane not to worry his sister, as it was evident she was
very far from well. Mrs. Watson fired up at this. She wondered what
people could mean speaking to ladies that way—she was sure they must
quite forget who they were addressing—as to what she said to Emma, she
wondered what she should be forbidden to say next! Really it was too
good, if she might not find fault with a girl like Emma in her own
house, and at her own table too! She supposed the next thing she should
hear, would be that Emma sat there to find fault with her. Her manners,
her dress, her general behaviour would be called into question; if Emma
gave her approbation no doubt, she should be right—she only hoped she
should not be obliged to adopt the elegant negligence of Miss Emma
Watson's present style—it was not to her taste she was afraid she must
confess.
"Emma has really a very bad headache," interposed Elizabeth, "and would
be much better in bed."
"Then pray, let her to go to bed," cried Jane, tossing her head; "who
wants her to sit up? not _I_, I am sure; she may go to bed if she likes;
but, if she thinks I am going to call in a doctor for her, she is very
much mistaken; I will indulge no such whims and fancies."
Emma gladly availed herself of the permission to retire thus graciously
accorded, and Elizabeth accompanied her up-stairs and assisted her to
undress; neither would she leave her until summoned down to tea; even
then, the temptation of Mr. Millar coming in, could not detain her from
Emma's room; she told him how ill her sister was, and she returned to
sit by her bedside, and attempt, by cool applications, to allay the
burning, throbbing pain in her head, which Emma complained almost drove
her mad. But she showed no symptoms of amendment, and towards morning
she was in a decided fever. Elizabeth, who had sat up with her all
night, now pressed her to consent to see Mr. Morgan—the name made her
shudder, and she resolutely refused to do so. She declared she was not
_very_ ill—nothing more than her sister's skill could alleviate; but
that to see Mr. Morgan would infallibly make her worse. Elizabeth
thought this rather odd, but she let her have her own way, and said no
more about the doctor. Mrs. Watson began to be frightened, when she
found that Emma was really very ill; she too then proposed her seeing
the doctor; but with more moderation, though with equal firmness Emma
rejected her proposal, as she had done that of Elizabeth.
She only wished to see Mr. Bridge—but she had not energy or courage to
request an interview with him; she lay in a kind of half-dreamy state,
during the greater part of that day and the next; then Elizabeth thought
her worse, and without asking her any more on the subject she went to
Robert—and with tears in her eyes, entreated that some advice might be
sent for—as otherwise, she felt sure Emma would die. This startled
Robert—it would have been so exceedingly unpleasant—it would have
interfered sadly with Margaret's marriage—and in several other ways
would have greatly inconvenienced himself. Accordingly, he decided at
once, that Mr. Morgan should be called in, and so he was. Emma was in
too profound a state of stupor to notice him, or to be aware of what was
passing beside her bed. She did wake a little at the sound of voices,
but she could not guess whose they were; they seemed to her even a great
way off—though, in reality, close to her; he might hold her hand now,
she could not withdraw it; nay, when he put back the dark hair from her
brow, and laid his hand on her temples to count the throbbing of the
pulse there—she made no resistance now—she was unconscious of his touch.
He was not alarmed about her, though he saw she was really ill—too ill
for him to flatter his vanity with the idea that it was affected for the
sake of seeing him; but he felt sure she would recover, and greatly
consoled Elizabeth by his lively hopes on this subject. Nevertheless, he
came to see her twice that evening, and early again the next morning. On
neither visit did he find her sufficiently conscious to recognise
him—but she gradually began to amend—and on waking from a prolonged
slumber on the afternoon of the third day, she was sufficiently restored
to the use of her faculties, to enquire of Elizabeth, whether any one
had been attending her during the intervening time. Her sister, without
circumlocution, told her how often Mr. Morgan had seen her, and added,
that he was to come again that evening. Emma appeared excessively
discomposed, and asked her if she could not prevent his coming;
persisting that she did not want to see any doctor, and that, if she
were only left alone, she should soon be well.
Miss Watson, who considered this merely as a fancy belonging to her
state of disease, tried to avoid giving her a direct answer, and when
she found this would not satisfy her, she endeavoured to persuade Emma
of the unreasonable nature of her request, and ended by saying she would
see what could be done for her. Of course Mr. Morgan came at the time
appointed, end she was obliged to bear it, though the very sight of him
threw her into such a state of agitation that his feeling her pulse was
perfectly useless and only served to mislead him. He had, however, too
much penetration not to discover quickly that his presence caused the
feverish symptoms which at first alarmed him; he would gladly have
persuaded himself that they indicated partiality, but not even his
vanity could so far mislead him. The averted eye, the constrained voice,
the cold composed look which wore the expression of her real feelings,
told him a very different tale. He felt that he had lost ground in her
good opinion, though he could not exactly tell why or how, and still
less did he know how to recover it. His visit was short, and his
conversation confined entirely to professional subjects, and he took his
leave of her with a bow which was intended to express a profound mixture
of admiration and respect towards her, mingled with regret,
self-reproach, humility and penitence on his part. If any bow could have
conveyed so much meaning, it would certainly have been his, and it did
undoubtedly express the utmost that a bow could do. Emma drew a long
breath when he was gone, and whispered,
"I wish he would never come again."
Elizabeth tried seriously to convince her that she was exceedingly
unjust, and pressed her to name any fault she could find with Mr.
Morgan, of her own knowledge, not speaking merely from hear-say. Emma's
nerves were not in a state to bear argument, and instead of answering
she began to cry, and went off in a fit of hysterics which Elizabeth had
great difficulty in soothing away.
The next morning Emma requested Elizabeth to procure her a visit from
Mr. Bridge; she could not rest longer without an interview, and she now
felt strong enough to make her wishes known. She would not allow any
reference to be made to Jane, but sent a request, in her own name, that
he would call on her, and when this request was complied with, as it
speedily was, she sent Elizabeth out of the room that she might have an
unreserved conversation with her old friend.
Her first question to him was whether he had as yet done anything
towards procuring her removal from Croydon. He believed that she must
recover her health before anything could be done with that view. But she
so earnestly assured him that she should regain strength with twice the
rapidity if he would only let her know what he proposed to do, that he
told her to set her mind at ease, as he had already arranged a plan for
her comfort. He had a sister, a single lady, residing about fourteen
miles from Croydon, and if she liked to go and pass a few weeks with
her, she would be sure of retirement and tranquillity with every comfort
that could be desired.
Emma was delighted with the idea; she was certain she should like Miss
Bridge, and that nothing could be more agreeable than residing in the
country quite retired and with only one pleasant companion. There she
should continue, she trusted, until Miss Osborne renewed her
solicitations for her society, and even after that visit was paid she
might return there. She pictured to herself how she would engage in a
thousand useful and agreeable occupations, and how she would love the
charming old lady on whom she would attend with unremitting zeal. She
declared that she felt herself increasing every moment in strength by
the contemplation of such a residence, and she trusted that she should
soon be out of sight and sound of Mr. Morgan and all the inquisitorial
residents of Croydon—how soon should she be able to go?
This Mr. Bridge told her depended entirely on the state of her health;
as soon as she could be moved with safety he would take her in his own
carriage half of the way, where his sister would meet her and convey her
the other half.
"Oh, let it be to-morrow!" cried she; "I am sure I shall be well
enough—my strength is greater than you think."
"Well well, we will ask the doctor," replied he.
"Do not ask Mr. Morgan anything about it," said Emma flushing again
deeply. "I do not want to have anything to do with him that I can help.
I believe it was one thing that made me ill, because they would have him
to visit me."
"Come, be reasonable," said he smiling; "if you talk in that way I shall
think you light-headed. Now I must leave you; I will see you again
to-morrow morning, and if I find you well enough, will send word to my
sister at once and settle your plans."
He took leave, and was quitting the room when he met Elizabeth
returning, and Emma anxious that her sister should immediately
participate in her pleasant prospects, begged him if he could spare a
few minutes more to stop and explain their plans. Miss Watson of course
was very much pleased at hearing what he had to tell, and immediately
saw all the advantages to Emma which such a removal would procure,
except the _one_ principal one, which was the secret source of her
sister's eagerness to put it in execution. But she had never heard a
syllable of the reports which had been so industriously circulated
relative to Emma and Mr. Morgan, and was very far from imagining he
could in any way, either as an object of love or of hatred, influence
her feelings or proceedings. She admitted that it was in every way
desirable that Emma should have a peaceful and comfortable home, and the
only thing she stipulated for was, that she should return to Croydon as
soon as she herself could offer her an equally comfortable abode in her
own house. This point Emma did not feel disposed to dispute, though she
secretly entered a protest against returning to Croydon for a residence
if she could in any way avoid it.
She proved herself right in her anticipations that the relief to her
mind would be of essential service to her body; she was so very much
better the next morning as to be able to leave her bed-room, and sit up
some time in Janetta's nursery, and here she was, with her little niece
standing beside her, and no one else in the room, when Mr. Morgan was
suddenly ushered in.
She received him with a calm self-possession which astonished herself,
and, at the same time, a degree of frigid composure which seemed to
imply that the past, both of good and evil, was swept from her mind,
that she had to begin again in her acquaintance with him, and meant only
to recognise him in future as the doctor, and not the friend. It was in
vain that he sat beside her, and in his most winning tones tried to
establish confidence between them; she was perfectly calm and composed,
but impenetrably grave, yielding to neither tenderness nor gaiety, and
he was just rising to go when she made her first suggestive observation,
by telling him that she was so much better she should be able to take a
drive to-morrow. He assented, of course, if the weather was favorable,
and added, that as her sister had no carriage he hoped he might be
allowed to take her out in his. With sincere pleasure at being able to
decline it, Emma thanked him, assuring him it was quite unnecessary, as
Mr. Bridge had promised her his. He looked disappointed; he could not
bear that she should have any friends but himself: what would he have
felt, had he known the real object of the drive in question.
His departure, which Emma had thought most unnecessarily delayed, left
her at liberty to think about Mr. Bridge's promised visit; she had long
to wait, he came delighted to see her better, and quite willing to
acknowledge that she might be removed the next day. The necessary
arrangements he undertook to make; he could send his sister word that
she might expect them, and he determined to drive over the whole way
himself, and spend one night at her house. He likewise agreed to go and
inform her own brother and his wife of what was about to take place, and
thereby save Emma all excitement, if the information should happen to be
ill received.
Accordingly, in persuance of this plan, he paid Mrs. Watson a visit
before leaving the house, and in answer to his gentle tap at the door,
received an invitation to enter, which brought him into an extremely
untidy and heated parlour. Jane was sitting over the fire with her feet
on the fender, her gown turned up over her knees, and her petticoat
emitting a strong smell of scorching, which almost overpowered him. She
was reading a work of some kind, which she hid behind her when she saw
her visitor, whilst she tried to arrange her hair and cap in a rather
less slatternly way. Margaret was busy trimming a hat with white satin
ribbons, and judging from the shreds of white materials of divers kinds
lying beside her, had been deeply engrossed in the dress-making or
millinery line. After sitting a few minutes, Mr. Bridge enquired if he
could see Mr. Watson, and though his wife was quite certain it was
impossible, it so happened that Robert entered at that very time.
"I am so glad to see you," said Mr. Bridge on shaking hands with him, "I
wanted to get your leave to carry off your youngest sister."
"What, Emma?" said Robert, "why she's ill I understand."
"She is better to-day," replied he, "but she wants change of air and
scene, and I want to get it for her."
"Why, what new fancy of hers is this?" exclaimed Mrs. Watson, "that
girl's head is always full of some strange vagary or another; it's only
the other day she would not walk out, and now she's wanting to go away,
and she keeping her bed and pretending to be ill."
"Where do you want to take her to?" enquired Robert, unheeding his
wife's speech.
"Why, my sister wishes for a companion, and I think they would suit each
other very well; and it really appears to me that she feels the
confinement and application necessary in her present mode of life too
much for her."
"My dear Mr. Bridge," cried Mrs. Watson in a fawning tone, "don't you,
please, believe that she is a prisoner, or acting under compulsion; I am
sure you would have too much regard for me to go and set such a story
about—only think what my feelings would be were such a story circulated
about my dear husband's sister."
"I did not mean to say anything to hurt your feelings, Mrs. Watson,"
replied the clergyman coolly, "but you cannot deny that your
sister-in-law has been ill, and that at present she is incapable of
continuing her labors as governess to your little girl: I do not
exaggerate in that statement."
"Oh dear no—but then she never had any great labors to go through;
nothing I am sure but what any one might accomplish."
"I am of opinion she has exerted herself too much in every way; and as
my sister's house will be very quiet, and they are persuaded they shall
suit each other, I really think the best thing she can do will be to go
there."
"I don't see that at all," replied Jane rather snappishly, "I cannot
spare her; I want her to take charge of Janetta; what am I to do without
her?"
"I understood her services in that way were very trifling," interposed
Mr. Bridge.
"Just her teaching may be," said she retracting a little, "but then she
is accustomed to take care of her all day long, and I cannot spare her
from that."
"Not unless you find a substitute," said he.
"But I cannot do that, I do not like to leave her entirely to servants,
and unless I mind the child myself what can I do; and I suppose no one
would expect _me_ to become a slave to my little girl, and shut myself
up in a nursery."
"Then why exact it of her?" suggested Mr. Bridge.
"Because whilst she is living at my husband's expense, I think it only
fair that I should profit from her cares in that way; and I consider it
always a charity to give young people something to do."
"That may be very true whilst she is here perhaps; but it seems to me a
little unreasonable, begging your pardon for saying so, to keep her
against her will, and then make her work to cover the expense of
staying."
"I am sure I don't know why you should find fault: _I_ have not _time_
to teach my child myself, if I had the health for such an exertion."
"You never seem to have either time or inclination to do anything,
Jane:" said the husband, "look at this room—was there ever such an
untidy pigsty for a lady to live in; why cannot you take a little
trouble and make it look decent."
"You had better arrange it after your own fashion," said she scornfully,
"if you do not like mine."
"As to this plan of yours, Mr. Bridge," continued Robert, "I think it a
capital one; and the sooner you can take her away the better—when do you
mean to go?"
Mrs. Watson was silenced altogether, and Mr. Bridge proceeded to explain
the plan of their proceedings as proposed by himself. Robert highly
approved of it all, and gave his full consent and approbation to Mr.
Bridge with the more zest, because it appeared to annoy his wife. After
this it was of course vain for her to make objections; he was completely
master of his own house, and Jane knew, from sad experience, that she
might produce as much effect by talking to the tables and chairs as to
him, when in one of his stubborn fits.
All she could do, therefore, was to be as cross as possible for the rest
of the day to those around her, in consequence of which she was left to
a _tête-à-tête_ with Margaret, as Elizabeth was upstairs making
preparations for Emma's departure, and Robert went out to spend the
evening with some bachelor friends.