Mr Knightley’s Diary (13 page)

'I believe I will ask John about you and find out the truth the next time I see him,' she returned. 'I cannot believe you led a blameless childhood. I am sure you had your share of mischief.'

'As he is unlikely to visit us before the summer, I am not afraid.'

'Summer will come,' she said, 'and I will be waiting!'

'You are incorrigible,' I told her, and she laughed.

It was a very happy evening, and I came home well-pleased with life.

Wednesday 24 February

I called on Miss Bates today, and found Mrs Goddard there. They were talking of Mr Longridge as I was shown in.

'A very fine man,' Miss Bates was saying. 'It was so sad for him to lose his wife. It was twenty years to the day yesterday, he was felling me, and he's never forgotten her, poor man, but so kindhearted! He came to see if mother and I had enough coal. He is in the way of it, though I am not sure how. I think it was something to do with canals, though what canals have to do with coal I am sure I do not know. Why, here's Mr Knightley.'

I enquired after her health, and the health of her mother and Miss Fairfax.

'Well, I thank you,' she said. 'We are all well.'

I thought, perhaps, Miss Fairfax looked a little better. She was not so pale as previously, although this could have been because she was sitting nearer the fire, and the heat was giving her cheeks a ruddy glow. She was helping her grandmother wind wool.

Mrs Cole was talking about the dinner party she means to give. Ever since her husband provided her with a new dining-room, she has been longing to entertain.

'I have ordered a screen from London, in the hope that Mr Woodhouse might be prevailed upon to join us. I know he does not go out as a rule, but we would be honoured if he would condescend to visit us, and I thought, perhaps, if he was properly sheltered from draughts, he and Miss Woodhouse might accept our invitation,' said Mrs Cole.

So Mrs Cole is planning to invite Emma to her dinner party. It will be interesting to see how Miss Woodhouse of Hartfield reacts!

Thursday 25 February

It was good to dine out again, at the Otways, as problems with the accounts, heavy weather and troubles with the sheep have kept me at the Abbey for some time, except when I have been dining at Hartfield.

There was the usual talk before dinner. Mr Longridge had seen two houses near Highbury, but neither of them had been suitable. Three Chimneys had had a dark hall, and Whitestone had had a very small garden.

'Hardly big enough to put a seat in, let alone have friends round in the summer. I like a garden,' Mr Longridge said.

Weston seemed very happy. He said nothing, but he and Mrs Weston have been married for some months, and I think we might soon have news that another Weston is on the way. Mrs Weston was not there this evening, as she was indisposed, lending credence to my idea.

At the end of the evening, Weston and I walked home together until our paths diverged. He told me he was still hoping to see his son in Highbury, but until such time, he was finding comfort in talking of Frank to Miss Fairfax.

'It was fortunate her meeting him at Weymouth,' he said to me. 'She has been able to tell me how he looked, and what he said and did. She is more nervous than I remember her, though,' he said with a frown. 'Every time I asked her a question she blushed before she answered.'

Perhaps it is just because her spirits are low, but I suspect another reason for her embarrassment. I think it possible that Frank Churchill did not please her. If he is what I think he is, he was probably condescending to her or her friend. She would not wish to say so to Mr Weston, of course, which is why she was embarrassed.

I did not tell Weston what was going through my mind. He might as well think his son is perfect for as long as he can.

Friday 26 February

I have discovered Emma's reaction to the Coles' plan to invite her to their dinner party. I do not know where she heard of it, though I suspect the news came from Mrs Weston, via Weston and Cole, but she has already decided she will not go.

'Who are the Coles?' she asked in a superior voice, as we played chess, whilst her father ate a bowl of gruel.

'They are your neighbours,' I said.

'But of such low origin, in trade!'

'You dine with Harriet every night without knowing anything about her antecedents. I would not be surprised if she had a dozen relatives in trade,' I reminded her, for as Harriet was absent for once, I felt it possible to speak honestly.

'That is quite different,' said Emma.

'How so?'

'Because, as you say, I know nothing about her antecedents. Her father might be a shopkeeper, though I doubt if a shopkeeper could produce such a charming daughter, but he might equally well be a prince,' she said in all seriousness.

'Oh Emma!' I said, shaking my head. 'Not even you can think something so ridiculous.'

'I do not see why it is ridiculous.'

'Because a prince would never leave his daughter at Mrs Goddard's!'

'Mrs Goddard's school is a very refined establishment,' she said mischievously, but she was forced to laugh. 'Well, perhaps not a prince,' she acknowledged, moving her piece. 'Nothing quite so grand.'

'A duke, perhaps?'

'Pay attention to your game,' she admonished me. 'You are about to make a disastrous move.'

'Disastrous for you,' I said, making my move.

'Not a duke, perhaps, but a baron or baronet. I think it only too likely. Someone who has a position to maintain, and enough money to ensure Harriet's happiness.'

'I hope you are not filling her head with this nonsense,' I remarked.

'I am encouraging her to think well of herself, if that is what you mean. I do not want to see her fade into oblivion for lack of someone to bolster her confidence. A girl with a sweet disposition and a pretty face should be entitled to think well of herself.'

'Have a care, Emma. There is a fine line between confidence and self-deception. If you encourage her to think her father is a baron, and he turns out to be a shopkeeper, what then?'

She looked uncomfortable.

'I am only trying to help her.'

'You are not helping her by filling her head with conceit. I thought you would have learnt your lesson about interfering by now.'

'I want what is best for her, that is all,' she said, but she did not meet my eye.

'Then let her be happy, in her own way.'

She gave a laugh, but she abandoned the subject of her friend, saying: 'But we were not speaking of Harriet, we were speaking of the Coles.'

'Very good, unpretending people,' I returned. 'They are respectable, and well thought of by their neighbours. Their business has prospered, and their style of living is now second only to Hartfield.'

'That is exactly what I mean. What business have they living in such style? It is proof, if proof were needed, that they are only moderately genteel. To have them presume to invite the best families to dinner! If you will be guided by me, you will send them your regrets and you will stay at home.'

'I shall do nothing of the kind, and Weston will not refuse the invitation either.'

'Then it is up to me to show them the error of their ways. Nothing shall tempt
me
to go, and my only regret is that my father's habits are so well-known that they might not ascribe my refusal to the real reason; by which I mean to say, they might think it is because Papa does not like to dine out, rather than realizing it is because their invitation is presumptuous.'

I shook my head, smiling.

'The Coles are very respectable in their way, but they ought to be taught that it is not for them to arrange the terms on which the superior families will visit them,' she said majestically. 'Standards must be maintained. I could not possibly go to one of their dinner parties.'

'You need not worry about it. I doubt if they will invite you,' I said, to puncture her conceit.

She looked surprised and then displeased, and I laughed. She did not want to go, because she believed it would be beneath her dignity, but she did not want to be neglected, either!

We finished the game. I won, which did not please her, but as she is as good a player as I am, the next time we play, the positions will probably be reversed.

Saturday 27 February

Today was a fine day. After the recent bad weather it was a relief to wake to a blue sky and a stiff breeze, rather than sleet and scattered snow. I received a letter from John this morning and I walked over to Hartfield so that I could share the news.

'Will he be coming to us at Easter?' asked Emma.

'No, he says he is too busy, but he has promised to visit us for an extended spell in the summer.'

'But the children will have grown so much by then!'

Mr Woodhouse sighed and shook his head, murmuring, 'Poor Isabella! She must miss us terribly.'

'You must write back and persuade your brother to spare us a few days,' said Emma.

'I only wish I could. I would like to have the boys here myself.'

'And not the girls?' Emma teased me.

'The girls, too!'

'Emma will no longer be a baby the next time we see her. If we wait until the summer, she will be more than one year old.'

'But she will not be too big for her aunt to play with,' I said.

'Or her uncle. You are as capable of doting on the children as I am.'

At this Mr Woodhouse broke in anxiously: 'Only sometimes, Mr Knightley, I fear you are too rough. I have seen you throwing them up to the ceiling, and it is very dangerous.'

'Come now, Papa, the children enjoy it,' said Emma.

'Children enjoy all sorts of things that are not good for them, my dear,' he said. 'Once, Henry asked me for a knife, but I told him knives were only made for grandpapas. I could not think of letting him have anything so dangerous.'

Emma wisely changed the subject. We spoke of the Bateses, the Coles and the Westons, and Mr Woodhouse was soon soothed.

I could not stay to luncheon as business called me back to the Abbey but I walked over to Hartfield after dinner and spent the remainder of my evening there.

Once I was settled in my chair, Emma told me she had written to Isabella and begged her to spare her two oldest children for a time.

'I know she will not be parted from the younger ones, but if John finds himself travelling this way on business he could bring the older children with him and leave them here.'

She looked at me.

'Well?' I asked her.

'I thought that you might like to write something similar to John,' she said.

'Hah! Very well. I will add my entreaties to yours, and see if we cannot persuade them between us.'

Monday 1 March

Whilst dining with Graham this evening, Mr Longridge spoke of his continuing efforts to find a house in Highbury.

'I have seen so many houses, if I did not have my friends to help me, I would be thoroughly confused.'

'You have been to Brookfield?' asked Mrs Cole.

'Not yet, but I have it on my list, and I am going there tomorrow. I have high hopes of it. I have heard it is an excellent house.'

'It is certainly very conveniently placed, being on the London road.'

'I do not believe I shall be going to London very much, except to visit the shops and theatres from time to time. I like the countryside hereabouts, and I am having a new carriage made, the better to explore it. The springs are deplorable on the one I have at present.'

'Not at all--most comfortable--Jane was only saying so this morning,' said Miss Bates.

As she regaled Mrs Cole with an account of Longridge's carriage, I spoke to Miss Fairfax, trying to draw her out on the subject of the carriage, but after answering my questions with one word she relapsed into silence.

'I like my friends to be comfortable, and I like to be comfortable myself,' said Mr Longridge.

After talk on the comfort of carriages died away, Mrs Goddard said that she had had a visit from the Miss Martins.

'They are the sisters of your tenant farmer, Mr Robert Martin, I believe,' said Graham.

'Yes, I know the family. Mr Martin is an excellent tenant, and his family are very agreeable,' I said.

'They were great friends with Harriet when they were all at school together, but they have not seen so much of each other recently,' Mrs Goddard said, determined to have her share of the conversation. 'It is a pity, for Harriet enjoyed her visit to them last summer immensely. But now, I hope, their intercourse is to resume.'

'Oh?'

'They all seemed very friendly together. Miss Smith was surprised to see them. She has been so much with Miss Woodhouse and they, no doubt, have been busy at home, but she was soon chatting very pleasantly with them. I said to Miss Smith she must make sure she returned the call, and she said yes, she was looking forward to it. She was very happy at Abbey Mill Farm.'

Mrs Goddard looked at me as she said it, and then looked away. She has been in place of a mother to Miss Smith for many years, and I am sure she would like to see Miss Smith happily settled, as I would.

It remains to be seen if Emma has learnt her lesson and wishes it, too.

Tuesday 2 March

I went over to Hartfield to see Mr Woodhouse on a matter of business and I was hoping to see Emma, but I learnt that she was out.

'She has taken Harriet to see some friends of hers, the Martins. She promised me she will not be long,' said Mr Woodhouse.

My spirits fell. I had hoped Emma would encourage her friend to return the visit, but I was unhappy that she had decided to go with her. I hoped it was an act of kindness on her part, to take Miss Smith in the carriage, but I feared it was because she did not want her friend to stay too long.

I scarcely listened to Mr Woodhouse's complaints about the weather, his infirmity, and the imagined infirmity of all his friends, so busy was I thinking of Emma, but when I heard the name Frank Churchill, I began to pay attention.

'Mr and Mrs Weston were here this morning, with some news about Mr Weston's son, Frank. He is to visit us,' he said.

'I have been hearing of his visit these last six months, but it has never happened yet,' I remarked.

'His time is not his own,' said Mr Woodhouse, shaking his head. 'Mrs Churchill is very ill, poor lady! If only she had Perry to attend her, she would soon see a marked improvement in her condition, but she has to rely on some Yorkshire doctor, who I dare say does not know his business.'

'And when is Frank Churchill to visit?' I asked, feeling out of humour.

'On the morrow.'

'On the morrow!'

I could scarcely believe it. After all the delays, to learn that Frank Churchill was to visit so soon!

'That is what Mr Weston said,' continued Mr Woodhouse. 'They are to see him by dinner-time as a certainty. He is at Oxford today, and he comes for a whole fortnight.'

'A whole fortnight!' I cried.

I could think of nothing worse than a fortnight of Frank Churchill.

When I returned to the Abbey, I found my exasperation leaving me, and wondered why I had become so angry at the idea of his imminent arrival. I had never even met the young man, and to take him in such dislike was absurd. But when I called on Graham this evening and discovered that Frank Churchill had already arrived, my animosity was rekindled.

'Already arrived? But he is not due until tomorrow!' I said.

'He arrived early, as a surprise,' said Graham, well-pleased.

'A charming thought,' said Mrs Cole, who had dined with Graham, along with her husband and the Otways.

'An unforgivable one,' I said. 'What, to arrive a day early, when nothing is ready, and to take his hosts by surprise. What if they had been out?'

'But they were not out,' said Graham good-humouredly. 'Mr Weston is delighted with him, and Mrs Weston, too.'

I could say no more, but that did not stop me thinking it. Young men of that age are always careless of the feelings of others. They do not have the steady character that comes later in life. They make very bad sons and even worse husbands. It is a pity Frank Churchill could not have stayed at Enscombe.

Wednesday 3 March

Everywhere I go I hear of no one but Frank Churchill. I called on Miss Bates this morning, thinking I would find a respite, only to discover that he had called on her, and that she could talk of nothing else.

I could not think what he was doing at the Bateses so early in his stay. It was his father's doing, I suppose. Knowing Miss Bates to be in difficult circumstances, he had made sure his son paid a visit at once, as a mark of respect, and I commended him for it. If it had been left to his son, the visit would probably never have been made.

'Such a handsome young man!' said Miss Bates. 'With such an air! Mother was saying we have never seen such a fine young man--a credit to Mr Weston--Mrs Weston so pleased--stayed with us for three-quarters of an hour--sure I do not know what we have done to deserve such a distinction. We were all very pleased with him, were we not, Jane?'

Thus appealed to, Miss Fairfax said that he was a very pleasing young man, but her words were not heartfelt. As she is a woman of discernment and taste, if she has found something lacking in him, then something lacking there must be. I tried to encourage her to say more, but she would not be drawn.

'He called to pay his respects to Jane. He met her at Weymouth. You remember I told you that Jane went to Weymouth? That is where she caught her shocking cold. It was when she was nearly swept overboard, I am sure.'

'No,' Jane murmured, but her aunt would not be silenced.

'You wrote to us not long afterwards, Jane, my dear, and that was when you mentioned you were not feeling well. Mrs Campbell had commented on it, you said. You told us you were in low spirits, and had been glad to leave Weymouth behind.'

I found myself wondering again if Frank Churchill had offended her there. That would account for her low spirits, her relief at leaving Weymouth behind, and it would fit in with my belief of him. Finding her to be elegant and accomplished, he had perhaps mistaken her for a woman of fashion and behaved charmingly towards her, but had then ignored her when he had discovered that she was destined to become a governess. Perhaps he had even flirted with her, or made love to her, before learning his mistake. Seeing her in Highbury must have been a shock to him, and his feelings of guilt probably accounted for his early call.

'It is my belief that that is where she caught such a shocking cold. Mr Perry is in agreement with me,' said Miss Bates.

Miss Fairfax protested that she was well, and I did not add to her distress by saying that she did not look well, but even so, I resolved to send Miss Bates some chickens, in the hope they might tempt Miss Fairfax to eat. More than that I could not do, without arousing the suspicions that Cole had entertained of my being in love with her.

I begin to think such a sentiment impossible. She is graceful and charming, but there is a lack of warmth in her that I am finding it hard to ignore.

Thursday 4 March

I found the Westons at Hartfield this morning, talking about Frank. I did not want to speak of him, but I could not very well leave, so I took up a newspaper and studied it intently.

'I told you he would come!' said Mr Weston. 'Did I not say that he would be with us in the spring? I knew how it would be. As soon as Mrs Churchill could spare him, he came straight away, and he is very glad he did. He told me so himself.'

Weston turned to Emma.

'He admires you greatly,' he said.

So! He had seen Emma. I gave a harrumph behind my newspaper. It was a remark which could not fail to please her--or to add to her vanity.

'He thinks you very beautiful and charming,' said Mrs Weston.

If anything was destined to make Emma even more conceited than usual, it was the arrival of Frank Churchill! What hope is there for her better nature to develop if she is constantly surrounded by flattery? I am sure the Westons mean Emma to marry him. That was where all these remarks about her beauty and her charming nature tended.

If Mr Woodhouse could have understood the treachery being conducted under his very nose, he would have immediately sent for Perry!

Friday 5 March

I returned to Hartfield this morning, drawn there by a desire to find out what Emma thought of Frank Churchill. She could not speak freely in front of the Westons yesterday, but I hoped that today she would tell me the truth: that he was well enough, in a frivolous sort of way, but not the kind of man to appeal to a woman of sense.

'And what do you make of Frank Churchill?' I asked, as Emma sat down opposite me, adding: 'I half expected to find him here.'

'He has gone to London,' she said.

'To London?' I asked in surprise. 'There is nothing wrong, I hope? No accident that requires his presence?'

'No.' She had the goodness to look a little ashamed. 'He has gone to have his hair cut.'

I was much gratified.

'Hum! Just the trifling, silly fellow I took him for,' I said, retiring behind my newspaper.

'I hope he returns in time for the Coles' dinner party,' said Mr Woodhouse. 'It would not do to slight the Coles. Emma is going for that very reason. It is good of her, for she cannot want to go out, I am sure.'

'I thought you had made up your mind to refuse their invitation?' I said to her.

'I had,' she said uncomfortably. 'But they expressed themselves so well in their invitation that I changed my mind. I did not wish to disappoint them, and Mrs Weston particularly wished me to go,' she added, with the air of one making an excuse. 'I felt it would be wrong of me to refuse.'

I detected the reason for the change at once.

'And is Mr Churchill to be there, or will he still be having his hair cut?' I asked.

I was surprised at how scathing my words sounded.

'Of course not! And yes, he will be going to the dinner party. At least,' she said, colouring slightly, 'I suppose he will be going. I am sure I do not know. But as Mr and Mrs Weston are going, I suppose I must assume that Mr Churchill will be going, too.'

'I only hope that Emma will not come home cold,' said Mr Woodhouse. 'I have made my excuses. The Coles know that I am a sad invalid, and although they had ordered a screen for me specially so that I would not have to sit in any draughts, I told them I could not go. I have made Emma promise me that if she comes home cold, she will warm herself thoroughly, and that if she is hungry, she will take something to eat.'

I watched Emma throughout this speech, and I saw how uncomfortable she was. If Churchill had not been going to the dinner party, then I am sure Emma would have remained at home.

Saturday 6 March

I was worried about Miss Fairfax walking to the Coles' house in the cold night air, and so I called on Miss Bates this morning and offered to take her and her niece in my carriage.

'Oh, Mr Knightley, you are too kind,' said Miss Bates. 'Is he not, mother? Mr Knightley has offered to take us up in his carriage. I am sure I do not know when I have been shown such kindness.'

'It is nothing,' I said. 'I am going to the party myself, and I have to pass your door; it is no trouble.'

That was not quite true, but nevertheless, Miss Bates accepted my excuse and the time of the carriage was arranged.

Monday 8 March

After a day's work I was ready to enjoy the evening. I arranged for the carriage to be brought round in good time. I would not have taken it for myself, as I prefer to walk or ride, but I was glad to be able to show Miss Bates some attention, and to safeguard the health of her niece.

'Well, this is travelling in style, is it not, Jane?' asked Miss Bates as we drove to the Coles' house.

Miss Fairfax, thus appealed to, said it was, but she continued to be in low spirits. It is perhaps not to be expected that the Highbury air could do her any good in March, but when the weather improves, then I hope to see an improvement in her health.

We arrived. I helped the Bateses out but I did not immediately follow them inside, as Emma arrived just behind me.

As she stepped out of the carriage, I thought I had never seen her look better. Her gown could be glimpsed beneath her pelisse, and I could see that it was new. I noticed that her hair was done in a different style, and I was disappointed to think that it was all in compliment to Frank Churchill.

'This is coming as you should,' she said in her nonsensical way, as she looked at my carriage appreciatively, 'like a gentleman. I am quite glad to see you.'

I shook my head and laughed, saying: 'How lucky that we should arrive at the same moment; for, if we had first met in the drawing-room, I doubt whether you would have discerned me to be more of a gentleman than usual. You might not have distinguished how I came by my look or manner.'