Chapter 7: Mrs. Elton Takes Her Place

Mrs. Elton did not enter Highbury society quietly.

She arrived like a bell rung too loudly in a small room. Everyone heard her. Everyone noticed her. And within one week, everyone had formed an opinion.

Emma Woodhouse’s opinion was simple.

She did not like her.

Mrs. Elton was not cruel, exactly. Cruelty required intention, and Mrs. Elton rarely seemed aware of anyone’s feelings long enough to injure them on purpose. Her trouble was worse in a drawing room: she believed herself charming.

She spoke of Bath as if no other city had ever produced elegance. She spoke of her friends as if their names were gifts. She spoke of her brother-in-law’s estate, Maple Grove, so often that Emma began to feel she had walked through every room of it without ever leaving Hartfield.

And she called her husband Mr. E.

That alone might have been enough.

“My dear Miss Woodhouse,” Mrs. Elton said during one of her early visits, settling herself into Hartfield’s best chair without waiting to be invited, “we must be intimate. I am determined on it. Highbury needs a little life, and I always say, where there is energy, there is improvement.”

Emma smiled with perfect politeness. “Highbury has always managed to be comfortable.”

“Comfortable, yes. But comfort may become dullness if no one takes charge.”

Emma looked at her calmly. “How fortunate, then, that you have arrived.”

Mrs. Elton accepted the remark as praise. “Exactly.”

Harriet Smith, seated nearby, lowered her eyes to hide a smile.

Emma noticed and felt a small comfort. Harriet was improving. Not in the way Emma had first planned, perhaps, but in a better way. She was beginning to observe for herself.

Mrs. Elton turned suddenly to Harriet. “And you, Miss Smith, must come to me as well. I like young people. They are so grateful when properly guided.”

Emma’s fingers tightened around her teacup.

Properly guided.

The phrase struck too close.

Harriet answered softly, “You are very kind.”

“Kind? Oh, I am always kind. It is my nature. Mr. E says so constantly.”

Emma nearly asked whether Mr. E had any opinions of his own left, but she behaved.

Barely.

When Mrs. Elton finally left, Mr. Woodhouse sighed with great relief.

“She speaks a great deal,” he said.

“Yes, Papa.”

“It cannot be good for the lungs.”

Emma smiled. “I suspect her lungs are strong.”

Harriet looked toward the door. “She seems very confident.”

“Confidence is not always evidence of wisdom,” Emma replied.

The words came out before she thought about them.

Then she heard Mr. Knightley’s voice in her mind, and for once, she did not push it away.

Over the next days, Mrs. Elton attempted to arrange everyone.

She advised Mrs. Weston on household matters. She advised Harriet on manners. She advised Mr. Woodhouse on health, which alarmed him so deeply that Emma had to spend half an hour restoring his peace. She even attempted to advise Mr. Knightley.

That was a mistake.

“Donwell Abbey must be quite lonely for a single gentleman,” Mrs. Elton said one evening at Randalls.

Mr. Knightley looked at her. “I have never found it so.”

“Ah, but gentlemen never know what they need until a woman tells them.”

Emma, overhearing from across the room, nearly laughed aloud.

Mr. Knightley answered with calm danger. “Then I must consider myself fortunate to have been neglected in that respect.”

Mrs. Elton did not understand the blow. Emma did.

Their eyes met briefly.

For a moment, they shared silent amusement, and Emma felt the old easy warmth between them return.

Then Mrs. Elton ruined it by saying, “You must let me help improve your social circle.”

Mr. Knightley said nothing.

Emma turned away before her face betrayed her.

But Mrs. Elton’s greatest interest soon attached itself to Jane Fairfax.

Jane Fairfax had returned to Highbury to stay with her aunt, Miss Bates, and her grandmother, Mrs. Bates. Unlike Mrs. Elton, Jane arrived without noise. She was quiet, graceful, reserved, and beautiful in a pale, serious way. Her manners were perfect, her voice soft, and her talent at music far beyond ordinary accomplishment.

Everyone admired Jane.

Emma admired her too.

In theory.

In practice, Jane made Emma uncomfortable.

There was something hidden in her. Not false, not rude, not cold exactly—but guarded. Emma, who enjoyed understanding people, disliked being unable to read her. Jane’s calm felt like a locked door, and Emma could never resist wondering what lay behind a locked door.

Mrs. Elton, however, declared herself Jane’s closest friend almost immediately.

“Dear Jane,” she said at every opportunity, though she had known her only a few days. “Such elegance. Such talent. Such a sad situation. We must do something for her.”

Jane received this attention with patience, but Emma saw the faint discomfort in her eyes.

One afternoon, at Miss Bates’s small rooms, Emma watched Mrs. Elton overwhelm Jane with plans.

“You must not hide yourself away,” Mrs. Elton said. “A woman with your gifts needs proper introduction. I shall write to my friends. There are families who would be delighted to have you as a governess.”

Jane’s face grew slightly paler.

“You are very kind,” she said, “but I am not yet seeking such a situation.”

“Nonsense. One must think ahead.”

Miss Bates, dear, talkative Miss Bates, hurried to soften everything. “Very kind, very kind indeed. Jane is so grateful, are you not, Jane? Though of course Jane has many friends—Colonel Campbell, Mrs. Dixon, all so kind—but Mrs. Elton’s interest is very flattering.”

Emma listened, eyes moving to Jane.

At the names Campbell and Dixon, something flickered across Jane’s face.

There. A secret.

Emma felt it instantly.

She remembered old gossip: Jane had lived with Colonel Campbell’s family, had been loved like a daughter, had seen Miss Campbell marry Mr. Dixon. Some had whispered Mr. Dixon admired Jane before marrying her friend.

Emma had never known whether to believe it.

Now she wondered.

Later, when Emma and Frank Churchill met by chance outside Ford’s shop, the subject arose.

Frank had returned to Highbury with all his former brightness. The village seemed livelier for his presence, and Emma could not deny that she enjoyed his company.

“You were visiting Miss Bates?” Frank asked.

“Yes. Jane Fairfax was there.”

“Ah, Miss Fairfax.”

Emma looked at him. “You say that as if you know her.”

“Only a little. We have met.”

“And what do you think of her?”

Frank smiled. “That she is very elegant and very silent.”

Emma laughed. “Exactly.”

“Silence can be dangerous,” he said lightly. “It makes people imagine secrets.”

“Perhaps because there are secrets.”

His eyes brightened. “You suspect one?”

“I suspect she has a history she does not intend us to read.”

“Then we must read it without permission.”

Emma should have been cautious.

Instead, she was entertained.

Their conversation turned playful. They spoke of Mr. Dixon, of Jane’s reserve, of possible romantic disappointment. None of it was certain. Much of it was unfair. But Frank’s wit made speculation feel harmless, and Emma, pleased to find someone who shared her curiosity, allowed herself to laugh.

Only later did she feel a small unease.

Jane Fairfax had done nothing to deserve being turned into an amusement.

But unease passed quickly when Frank called at Hartfield the next day and brought music to life with his easy conversation. Harriet liked him, Mr. Woodhouse approved of his respect for warm rooms, and Emma found herself once again thinking that charm, though dangerous, was also very pleasant.

Mr. Knightley did not agree.

“You and Churchill seemed amused yesterday,” he said during a later visit.

Emma looked up. “Were we?”

“At Miss Fairfax’s expense, I believe.”

The words stung.

“You make it sound cruel.”

“Was it kind?”

Emma had no answer ready.

Mr. Knightley’s gaze was steady. “Jane Fairfax has fewer protections than you. A woman in her position cannot afford careless gossip.”

Emma looked away.

She wanted to defend herself, but the defense felt thin.

“I meant no harm,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

That was the worst of it.

He knew she meant no harm. He also knew harm could come without being meant.

After he left, Emma sat alone and thought of Jane’s pale face, Harriet’s tears, and Mrs. Elton’s loud kindness.

For the first time, she wondered whether the most dangerous people in Highbury were not the cruel ones, but the confident ones.

And she wondered, with a discomfort she could not easily dismiss, whether she had once been among them.