Mr Knightley’s Diary (10 page)

For some reason, the answer did not satisfy me as it should have done. I am becoming as uneven-tempered as my brother!

Wednesday 30 December

John and Isabella were at last able to leave for London. They left with many good wishes, wrapped around with blankets, and with hot bricks at their feet. Mr Woodhouse insisted they take a hamper, in case they were delayed on the road, and he had his housekeeper pack it with so many good things that they will have enough to eat for three days!

At last they set off. Emma and I walked to the edge of the estate, cutting off a loop of road, so that we could wave to the coach as it passed us again. The children returned our waves, their faces aglow.

'And so they are gone,' said Emma. 'The time went so quickly, it does not seem two minutes since they arrived.'

I was as disappointed as she, and I found myself already wishing for their return.

'I will try and persuade John to visit us again at Easter.'

'You are luckier than I, for you see them all when you visit London,' she said.

'I do, but it is not the same as having them here in Surrey.'

We watched the carriage until it had shrunk from view, and then we returned to the house. Emma fell behind me, and when I looked round, I saw her walking in my footprints! It reminded me of her antics as a little girl. But she is a little girl no longer. She is turning into a beautiful young woman.

She joined me, and together we walked back to the house.

'Poor Isabella!' sighed Mr Woodhouse. 'I wish she had not had to go back to London. It is so much better for her here.'

Emma set about soothing him.

'She will visit us again before long,' Emma said.

By and by, he accepted their departure, and after playing a game of backgammon with him, I set out back to the Abbey. It was looking very pretty, with the snow still lingering on the branches of the trees. If only it had a mistress, it would be complete. But I have found no one who pleases me, and have no desire to marry for the sake of it.

Thursday 31 December

I walked to Hartfield to see how Emma and her father were bearing the loss of their guests.

'Ah, Mr Knightley, we feel it sadly,' said Mr Woodhouse. 'Everyone is leaving us.'

'Papa, tell Mr Knightley what Perry said of the children,' said Emma. 'He said he had never seen them looking better, did he not?'

'That is because they have been staying at Hartfield, my dear,' he said. 'They should not have left us. And Mr Elton, too, is leaving us, and going to Bath. Young people are always running about.'

'Mr Elton?' I asked.

'He sent me a letter. A very pretty letter, very long and civil, was it not, Emma?' he asked.

Emma agreed, although without much conviction, and when Mr Woodhouse showed me the letter, I could see why. Elton, though effusive in his compliments to Mr Woodhouse, had not mentioned Emma once. I guessed there must have been some unpleasantness, though Emma had not mentioned it, because, if not, his letter would have conveyed his compliments to her. Even so, his neglect to mention her was the kind of bad manners I would not have expected of Elton.

Poor Emma! As I looked up from the letter and found her eyes on me, I did not know whether to be more exasperated by her folly, or more sorry for her at its outcome.

'Emma is talking of walking over to Mrs Goddard's and seeing her friend, Harriet,' said Mr Woodhouse. 'She has not been able to enquire after her because of the snow, and she does not wish to be remiss.'

I could guess why Emma was so eager to visit her friend. Although, eager is not the right word. Say rather, I could guess why she felt it her duty to pay an early call on Harriet: she had to break the news of Mr Elton's true feelings, and admit that his attentions had been for herself and not her friend. And she had to reveal that he had left the neighbourhood. I did not envy her the task, but I hardened my heart, for I sincerely hoped it would prevent her from creating havoc in the lives of those around her in the future.

'Tell her she must not go, Mr Knightley,' said Mr Woodhouse. 'The weather is not fit. She will slip, and take cold, or lose her way.'

'Nonsense,' I said cheerfully. 'The exercise will do her good. She is looking pale from spending too much time indoors. A brisk walk, in this winter sunshine, will put some colour in her cheeks. Perry himself recommends walking, you know, and I am sure he would consider the exercise beneficial.'

I offered to sit with Mr Woodhouse whilst she was gone, and he accepted my offer. I set out the backgammon board, and as Emma left the house, her father and I settled down to a game. He played well, but I managed to beat him. I then offered to help him with some letters of business, and remained with him until Emma returned.

She did not look happy. But her unpleasant task was behind her, and she had the new year to look forward to.

I returned to the Abbey and began to plan in earnest for the spring.

Friday 1 January

It is the New Year!

I was not surprised to find that Emma had drawn up a list of resolutions. They were written in a fine hand, and exquisitely illustrated. If only she could put as much earnestness into keeping them as she does into making them!

My New Year's resolution is to take a wife, if I can find anyone to suit.

Saturday 2 January

The thaw has left a number of problems in its wake at the Abbey. The stream has flooded, and as the thaw progresses there will be worse to come. I made provision for attending to matters once the water subsides.

I called on Graham this morning to wish him the compliments of the season. He returned the greeting. I soon learnt that he, too, had received a letter from Mr Elton.

'I should not wonder if his visit to Bath was prompted by all this talk of weddings and families,' said Mrs Lovage. 'First with Miss Taylor getting married, then with your brother and his family visiting, then with talk of Mr Frank Churchill paying a visit to Highbury. Mr Elton is at a time of life when he might well be thinking of marriage, and there are one or two families in Bath who would not be sorry to see him there.'

I would not be at all surprised if he returned with a bride. It would soothe his pride, and put an end to the kind of scenes he has recently been a part of. Besides, who is there for him in Highbury? He cannot marry Emma, for Emma will not have him. No other woman is high enough in his estimation, I fear. I had thought, at one time, he might marry Jane Fairfax, and provide her with a respectable home. But now that he has shown his true worth, I would not inflict such a man on Miss Fairfax. She deserves a better man than he.

I wonder...I have always liked Jane Fairfax. It remains to be seen if I can like her enough to think of her as a wife.

Monday 4 January

Emma and I have had an argument, and about the most ridiculous thing: Frank Churchill. It began when she told me that he would not be coming to Highbury after all.

'I cannot say it surprises me,' I remarked. 'He has grown proud, luxurious and selfish through living with the Churchills.'

'What nonsense!' said Emma, laughing at me.

'Why else would he keep putting off his visit? If he had wanted to see his father, he would have contrived it between September and January,' I said.

'You are the worst judge in the world, Mr Knightley, of the difficulties of dependence,' she said.

It is true I have never been dependent. But even so, I am sure I should never have been slow in doing my duty, and so I told her.

'Besides, we are for ever hearing of him at Weymouth, or some other such place,' I went on. 'This proves that he can leave the Churchills.'

She allowed the point, but maintained that his time was only his own when his aunt allowed it.

'We shall never agree about him,' she said. 'But that is nothing extraordinary. I have not the least idea of his being a weak young man: I feel sure that he is not; but I think he is very likely to have a more yielding, complying, mild disposition than would suit your notions of man's perfection.'

For some reason, I did not like to hear her praising him.

'He can sit down and write a fine flourishing letter, full of professions and falsehoods, if that is what you mean by a complying disposition,' I said scathingly, for she seemed to think very well of a man she had never met. 'His letters disgust me.'

She looked surprised at the strength of my feeling, but why should I not have strong feelings?

'You seem determined to think ill of him,' she said.

'Not at all. I should be as ready to acknowledge his merits as any other man; but I hear of none, except what are merely personal; that he is well-grown and good-looking, with smooth, plausible manners.'

'Well, if he should have nothing else to recommend him, he will be a treasure at Highbury,' she said mischievously. 'We do not often look upon fine young men, well-bred and agreeable. We must not be nice and ask for all the virtues into the bargain.'

'If I find him conversable, I shall be glad of his acquaintance,' I remarked disdainfully, 'but if he is only a chattering coxcomb, he will not occupy much of my time or thoughts.'

'My idea of him is, that he can adapt his conversation to the taste of everybody, and has the power as well as the wish of being universally agreeable.'

'And mine is, that if he turn out anything like it, he will be the most insufferable fellow breathing!' I said irascibly.

'I will say no more about him,' cried Emma, 'you turn everything to evil. We are both prejudiced; you against, I for him; and we have no chance of agreeing 'til he is really here.'

'Prejudiced! I am not prejudiced,' I exclaimed, although I knew, even as I said it, that I was.

'But I am very much, and without being at all ashamed of it,' she said. 'My love for Mr and Mrs Weston gives me a decided prejudice in his favour.'

'He is a person I never think of from one month's end to another,' I remarked with vexation.

But, in fact, I did not speak the truth. For some reason, I have taken a dislike to Frank Churchill, and I do not want Emma to like him, either.

It is a good thing Churchill has put off his visit. I find myself wishing he might never come to Highbury at all.

Tuesday 5 January

There was a discrepancy in the accounts, and it took me all afternoon to trace it and correct it, so I was glad to go to my whist club this evening. It was an escape from the irritations at Hartfield and the annoyances at the Abbey.

Once there, I found that a new subject of conversation had arisen, and one that had thankfully put Frank Churchill out of everyone's mind.

'This is good news,' said Otway, when I entered the Crown. 'Jane Fairfax is to visit her aunt and grandmother. I have not seen Miss Fairfax for years. A taking little thing she was, when she was a girl. She will be a young woman now, of an age with Miss Woodhouse.'

'It will be good for the two of them to have each other. Mrs Weston is very pleased,' said Weston.

'And so am I,' I said. At last, Emma will have some refined company. After the disappointments of recent weeks, I hope she will value it for what it is worth. And I...perhaps I will find what I have been looking for. 'Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see Miss Fairfax and Emma become friends.'

'It's a sad situation,' said Cole. 'Poor girl. It was very good of Colonel Campbell to raise her when her parents died--'

'A lot of men would have conveniently forgotten that Jane's father had saved their life,' agreed Weston.

'--or regarded it as a duty to do something for the infant, making a contribution to their upkeep, perhaps, but nothing more,' said Cole. 'But not Colonel Campbell.'

'I suppose he thought he might as well take her in, having a girl of his own. It gave both children a playmate, his daughter being an only child.'

'I dare say that played its part, but it was still good of him to give Jane a home and all the benefits of an education.'

'Something her aunt could not have afforded,' agreed Weston.

'But it is a double-edged kindness,' I said. 'Now that Miss Fairfax is a woman, she has to earn a living. It will not be easy for her to move from a world in which she has had a great deal of pleasure, to one in which she will be little better than a servant.'

'I would like to help her, but what can we do?' asked Cole.

'Nothing but make her welcome in Highbury, where we can show her the attentions she deserves, and make her feel that here there will always be a place for her,' said Weston.

As he spoke, I thought that I might be able to do something more.

Tuesday 12 January

Business brought me to town, and after it was concluded, I dined with my friend Routledge at the club.

'What news from Highbury?' he asked.

I began by telling him about the Abbey and the farms, and then we talked of my neighbours. I told him about Mr Longridge and Mrs Lovage.

'Mrs Lovage?' he asked.

'She is Graham's sister, and she has been to stay with him several times.'

'Does her husband not object?' he asked. 'He seems to be unusually compliant if he allows her to stay with her brother so often--unless, of course, he goes, too?'

'She is a widow.'

'Ah, I see. It is a recent bereavement? Is that why she stays so often with her brother? She is in need of consolation, I suppose.'

'Not so very recent. Her husband has been dead for five years. She stays with her brother because she enjoys his company, not because she is grieving.'

'I see. She is old, I take it? Graham must be thirty-five, so his sister is about forty, I collect, with several children?'

'Forty!' I said. 'She is no such thing. She is his younger sister, and cannot be more than seven-or eight-and-twenty. As for children, I have never heard them mentioned.'

'I believe you said she was ugly?'

'No, she is rather beautiful,' I remarked. 'In fact, she is very beautiful.'

'And?'

'And what?'

'And, if she is a young and beautiful widow, who is the sister of your friend, have you not thought of marrying her?' he asked.

'Yes,' I admitted. 'I have. But I could not bring myself to think of her in that way. She would always be wanting to go to Brighton, or Bath, or London, or Weymouth, and I like to spend my time in Highbury.'

'That is the worst reason for not marrying a woman I have ever come across! You surprise me, Knightley. I did not think you would be so easily defeated. Surely some agreement could be reached?'

'If I loved her, yes. But I have no feelings for her. I did not miss her when she returned to Bath for a spell and that told me that she was not important to me.'

'Why should you, indeed? You had plenty to do. You could not be expected to pine for her like a lovesick schoolboy.'

'I was never a lovesick schoolboy. The notion of love, in my youth, struck me as ridiculous, but I always miss Emma when I am away from Highbury, no matter how much I have to do.'

'Do you?' he asked thoughtfully.

'Yes, I do. I often resent an evening spent in London, because I cannot walk over to Hartfield after dinner and discuss the day's news.'

'And is there no one else you have seen who might interest you? No woman who has caught your fancy, or entertained you, or intrigued you?'

'My brother has introduced me to several young ladies, but the idea of an evening with one of them is not as enticing to me as the idea of five minutes with Emma,' I said shortly.

'And have you met no great beauties?'

'A few. But I prefer to look at Emma.'

'And what does all this tell you?' he asked me,

'That I have not yet met the right woman, and that there is no use my marrying unless I find someone I like as well as Emma,' I said.

He laughed, though I did not know why. There was nothing very amusing in what I had said.

'I have a feeling you will be married before the year is out,' he told me.

I could not agree with him, but for the sake of peace I did not contradict him and our conversation moved on to other things.

Friday 15 January

I returned home from London, and spent the evening at Hartfield. I enjoyed myself so thoroughly that I was convinced I would be foolish to exchange such company for something less agreeable. I would like to marry, but I would rather remain single than give up my evenings with Emma and her father.

Wednesday 20 January

The new path at the Abbey is proving troublesome. First we could not lay it because of the snow, then because of the flood that followed, and now there is such a thick frost that work cannot go ahead. I would like to have it finished for the spring, and I am chafing at the delay. However, it is only January, and I do not despair of some milder weather soon.

Weston called this morning to discuss a matter of business, and as he was leaving he told me that Miss Fairfax had arrived.

I took the first opportunity to call on Miss Bates, so that I could pay my respects.

Somehow the Bates's apartment seemed shabbier today than usual, though I could not think why. It was still in the same house, belonging to the same people in business. It still occupied the drawing-room floor. It was still of a moderate size. Mrs Bates was still sitting in the corner with her knitting, and Miss Bates was still ready to make me welcome.

And then I realized it was because of Miss Fairfax. Whether it was because her presence provided novelty, and therefore made me look at the room anew, or whether it was because everything seemed shabby in comparison with her beauty, I could not say. But shabby it seemed.

My first impression of Miss Fairfax was very favourable. She was even more beautiful than I remembered her, and I moved forward to greet her.

'I am very glad to see you in Highbury again, Miss Fairfax,' I said to her.

'Thank you,' she replied.

As I saw her in a better light, I noticed she was thin and pale.

'Your aunt tells me you have been ill?' I remarked, as I took a seat beside her.

'It is nothing. A cold, that is all,' she said.

She seemed listless and out of spirits.

'But you have had it for several months?' I asked.

'It is hard, over the winter, to rid oneself of a cold,' she said quietly.

'Now we have her back at Highbury, she will be well again in no time,' said Miss Bates. 'Our good Highbury air will restore her, depend upon it, Mr Knightley. Mr Perry is convinced of it. I spoke to him only this morning. He called to see Jane--so good! So obliging! We are so grateful to him--and he says that now she is back home, she will no doubt recover. Our friends have all been so kind, sending anything they think Jane might enjoy. Only this morning Mr Longridge sent some calves'-foot jelly! Mr Woodhouse has sent us a beautiful piece of pork, and Mr Graham sent some bottled pears. I told him we could not think of taking them, but he said he had had such a glut of pears this year that we would be doing him a kindness in taking them. I am sure we will have her better in no time.'