  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 manoeuvring. 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.
|
|
