Mr Knightley's Diary Part 6

I felt it was time to intervene.

'True,' I said. 'Very true. That is a consideration, indeed.'

'The expense must be acknowledged,' said Emma.

And between us, Emma and I set about restoring the peace.

'I think the evening pa.s.sed off as well as could be expected,' I said to her, when it was all but over.

'Perhaps better,' she said. 'John has always been quick tempered, and my father worries so much about everyone that he often says things without thinking.'

'An explosive combination.'

'But at least we are not exploding. How good it is to be friends again. No, do not tell me that it is my own fault, for I am sure you must bear your share of the blame. You stayed away from Hartfield when you should have come for my father's sake, if not mine. He missed you.'

'And you? Did you miss me?'

'I will not tell you, for fear it will make you vain,' she said mischievously.

'I am not so reticent. I will tell you, knowing it cannot make you vain, for you are vain already.'

'For shame!' she cried. 'And so you missed me?'

'I missed my visits to Hartfield. I would rather spend an evening here than anywhere else.'

'And that must do as a compliment, I suppose, for I shall never get one better. I am glad we are friends again,' she said.

I returned to the Abbey in good spirits, and I am looking forward to resuming my daily visits to Hartfield.

Friday 18 December John arrived at the Abbey early this morning, bringing with him his two eldest children. They ran wild in the garden as John and I talked. I told him of my concerns about Elton raising his eyes to Emma.

'Elton and Emma? That would be a dreadful marriage,' he replied.

'There is no danger of a match. She has enough awareness of her own worth not to throw herself away on Elton,' I said.

'Then what is the danger?' John said.

'I think she may be headed for a very unpleasant scene. If I do not miss my guess, he is getting ready to declare himself.'

'And what do you want me to do about it?'

'I want you to observe them, and see if you think I am right. And then, if I am, I want you to tell me whether I should give Emma a hint of it.'

'Very well. I will keep my eyes open. Have you spoken of this to anyone else?'

'No. I know of no one who would take it seriously, or if they did, they would worry about it.'

'You may rely on me.'

'And now, come and see the pony.'

We walked round to the stables and John looked the pony over with a critical eye, then p.r.o.nounced himself pleased. The boys were delighted, and John and I gave them turns at riding.

I did not know who enjoyed it more: the boys; John and I; or old Hayton, who said he remembered when John and I were that age, and that Henry and John were just like us.

We returned to Hartfield for luncheon, and we found Mr Woodhouse playing with Bella. Emma was playing with the baby, and George was looking at a book.

Mr Woodhouse was alarmed to learn that the boys had been riding on such a cold morning, and we all joined in a.s.suring him that they had been well wrapped up against the cold.

John remarked: 'Your friend Perry thinks riding a healthful kind of exercise. It is just the sort of thing for young boys. They find the fresh air invigorating, and they learn to do something of importance. It would be a sorry man who could not ride.'

Before an argument could ensue, Emma called John to join her, and I occupied Mr Woodhouse with an account of the plans I had for the home farm.

Sat.u.r.day 19 December Isabella amused herself this morning by visiting all her friends in Highbury and showing off her children, and when she had done, John brought the eldest two boys to the Abbey for another riding lesson.

When we returned to Hartfield, we found that Harriet and Elton were also there. I was pleased, as I knew it would give John a chance to observe them and decide whether Elton was partial to Emma, or to Harriet, or whether he was partial to neither, but was simply indulging in an excess of civility to the ladies.

For myself, I could see no sign of preference for Harriet in Elton's looks and conversation, but I could see a great deal of preference for Emma. As she and I talked of our fondness for spruce-beer, Elton was determined to like it also.

'Spruce-beer--the very thing for this season,' he said.

'Do you like it, Harriet?' asked Emma, involving her friend in the conversation.

'I hardly know. I do not believe I have ever drunk it,' she said.

'You must give me your recipe,' said Elton. 'I will write it down.'

He took out a pencil, but as soon as he began to write, he discovered it had no point. He scratched and sc.r.a.ped at the paper, until I thought he would wear it through!

'Surely your pencil is not making any mark?' asked Emma.

He looked sheepish, then brightened. 'I have my knife--a moment!--I will mend it,' he said.

He was as good as his word and took out his knife, but by the time he had sharpened it, there was no pencil left.

'Pray, do not concern yourself, I am sure my recipe is no better than any other,' said Emma.

But Elton would not give it up.

'I would so value it--I am sure it must be superior,' he said with a simper.

I snorted, and took up my newspaper. How could the man bear to make such a fool of himself? He continued with his antics, however, feeling in his pocket for another pencil, and it was as good as a farce. If not for the fact that Harriet might be hurt by the tangle, I would have laughed at his goings-on.

Emma, meanwhile, saw her opportunity for furthering the cause of her friend.

'Harriet, do you not have a pencil that you could lend to Mr Elton?'

Harriet blushed and found one, handing it to Emma.

'Pray, give it to Mr Elton,' she said.

He stopped patting his pockets and looked at it as though it was a priceless object, instead of a pencil. He took it from Harriet, but looked languis.h.i.+ngly at Emma.

I wondered if I was making too much of it, and if it would come to nothing in the end, but when I spoke to John as he walked back to the Abbey with me, I found that he thought as I did, that Emma was Elton's object.

'Shall I warn her?' I asked him.

He said that, if the opportunity arose, he would mention it himself.

Monday 21 December I walked over to Hartfield today, and when I arrived, I found the house looking festive. Emma and her friend had spent the morning decorating the banisters with greenery, and the children had helped them. They had decorated the pictures and mirrors in the drawing-room with sprigs of holly, which were thick with berries. The portrait of Harriet, elegantly framed, and hanging above the mantelpiece in the sitting-room, had been similarly adorned.

The children had been infected with the holiday atmosphere. They were playing boisterously, and Emma and her sister were trying to protect their father from the children's high spirits.

Further excitement had been caused by a flurry of snow. Unluckily for the children, the flurry soon stopped, and Henry spent the rest of the afternoon asking when it would start again.

The subject affected everyone variously: Isabella was so keen to please her children that I think she would have caused a snowstorm if she could; Mr Woodhouse was worried that snow would cause all manner of accidents, and decided that the only thing to do if it snowed would be to stay indoors; Emma shared her time between hoping for snow with the children and hoping for a lack of snow with her father. Harriet helped with the children, keeping them away from Mr Woodhouse, except in small doses. This endeared her to Isabella, and the atmosphere was a happy one.

Even so, I could not help wis.h.i.+ng that Harriet was at the Martins'. Everyone was kind to her at Hartfield, but at Abbey Mill Farm she would have been someone of consequence, particularly if she had been betrothed to Robert Martin. She would have had a place in her own right, instead of being there as someone's guest.

Tuesday 22 December An invitation came from the Westons, inviting me to dinner at Randalls on the 24th. I was about to answer it when John arrived.

'I would have been here earlier, but Isabella has been showing the children to all her friends, and I could not have them until they had returned to Hartfield. It is a pretty thing, when a man may not have his children until his wife has done with them!' he said.

The boys were eager for their riding lesson, and whilst John and I encouraged them, we talked of the Westons' party.

'Isabella and Emma have managed to persuade their father to accept the invitation,' he said.

'Have they indeed? They have done well. He does not like to go out at the best of times, and at Christmas, with his family at Hartfield, and snow threatening out of doors, I thought they would find it impossible.'

'The Westons have consulted his feelings in everything. The hours are early and the guests few. Besides, I said that if he did not care to go, then Isabella and I must go without him, for we could not snub the Westons. He became so agitated at the thought of treating the Westons with less than their due that he was persuaded, particularly once Isabella had pointed out to him that there would be no difficulty in conveying everyone, as we had our own carriage at Hartfield.'

'I mean to go, too.'

The boys had finished their lesson, and we walked down to the stream. It had been so cold overnight that it had frozen over. The boys delighted in skating on it in their shoes, and we have promised them that, if the weather holds, we will skate properly tomorrow.

'Do you not miss all this?' I asked John.

'I do, but I would miss my business more, and it holds me in town. I cannot have both, so I am content with visiting you whenever I can.'

By the time we returned to Hartfield, the boys were exhausted, and they were able to sit and play quietly by the fireside.

'What good children they are,' said Mr Woodhouse contentedly.

'When they have had Uncle Knightley to wear them out!' said Emma. 'It is a good thing he invited them to the Abbey, where they could run about.'

'They are lively children. They need to use up their energy, and where better than at their uncle's house? And what have you been doing?' I asked Emma.

I looked at the drawing by the fire and picked it up. I noticed that it had not been done by Emma, but by her niece.

'This is good. This is very good,' I said teasingly to Emma. 'I think it is your best work'

Emma laughed.

'I cannot aspire to such greatness. That is Bella's picture.'

'Did you do this?' I asked Bella.

She nodded.

'And what is it?' I asked, looking at the squiggle on the paper. 'Is it a castle?'

She shook her head.

'Is it a horse?'

She shook her head again, 'What then?'

'Papa!' she cried.

I looked at it from every direction, and discerned an eye and a mouth.

'A very good likeness. I like it even better than your aunt Emma's portrait of Papa. You have caught his expression beautifully.'

Bella was delighted, and we settled down to a comfortable family evening. Mr Woodhouse seemed to have accepted our dining at the Westons' as a settled thing, and a few more cheerful conversations on the subject reconciled him to going out on a cold, dark evening.

As I walked home, I found I was looking forward to it.

Wednesday 23 December I had Horrocks find our skates, so that by the time John joined me with the children, I was ready to take them down to the stream.

John and I showed the boys how to fasten the skates, helping them as they needed it, and then we all ventured on to the ice. The weather was perfect for our enterprise. The air was cold, but not biting, and a weak sun shone down on our faces. The exercise was invigorating, so that we all returned to Hartfield with hearty appet.i.tes.

After taking tea, Emma proposed charades. Isabella fell in with the suggestion readily enough. Harriet seemed lethargic, but was compliant. The children went up to the attic with Emma and Isabella, and came down with an armful of clothes. There was great hilarity as Bella put on an old dress of Isabella's, which was far too big for her, and walked round in her mother's shoes, which were also far too large. In vain did Emma, Harriet and Isabella try to persuade her to part with her treasures, and tempt her with other, more suitable, clothes!

The children were too young to understand much of it, but they liked dressing up, and the rest of the party enjoyed the game.

The first charade took us some time to guess. It began with Isabella and the children sitting down, throwing something through the air. A great deal of laughter was produced by our false guesses, until John guessed that they were fis.h.i.+ng, and we arrived, by circuitous route, at 'river-bank'. A moment's further thought showed us the word was simply 'bank'. Emma then came in dressed as a queen.

Mr Woodhouse could offer no guesses, being more concerned with Emma's beauty, and for myself I had to agree, for I have always found her face and form to be more pleasing than any other I have ever seen.

I could not immediately see the significance, until I thought again of the first syllable, and realized the word was 'bank-note', with Emma being a woman of note.

By the time the game was over, it was obvious why Harriet was so lethargic. She was suffering from a cold. She said that she must return to Mrs G.o.ddard's, and Emma would not hear of it, saying she could not allow her friend to leave the house. But Harriet begged to be allowed to be nursed by Mrs G.o.ddard, so the carriage was sent for, and Harriet was conveyed home.

Mr Woodhouse was anxious all evening, hoping Harriet might not take a turn for the worse, but offering tragic tales of colds that had turned to pneumonia, leading to early graves. Isabella watched her children anxiously, lest one of them should have also taken cold. She and her father argued about the cures recommended by their respective physicians, and Emma sensibly decided to take the children up to the nursery. John and I retreated behind our newspapers, and let Isabella and her father have their argument in peace.

Thursday 24 December John had an opportunity to warn Emma about Elton's attentions today, though whether she has taken the hint he does not know. He chanced to meet them both this morning, when he was returning from the Abbey with the boys. Emma seemed very solicitous of Elton, John told me, which alarmed me, until I had heard the full tale. She had tried to persuade him that he had a cold, and that he should not go to the Westons this evening as he was not well enough.

'Elton did not know what to say,' said John. 'He had no sign of a cold that I could see, yet he did not want to contradict her.'