Mr Knightley’s Diary (16 page)

I would have applauded, yet I do not like this habit she has grown into, of forever praising Frank Churchill. Why no one else can see that he is a wastrel with no sense of duty I do not know. I seem to be the only person who is not blind to his faults, and he has many of them.

'I do not admire it,' I said, determined to speak my mind. 'It is too small--wants strength. It is like a woman's writing.'

Emma did not agree. Perhaps I had gone too far in saying it was like a woman's hand, but really, I do not see what is so remarkable about Frank Churchill's writing.

Mrs Weston was called upon to find a letter, and Emma declared that she had kept a note written by him, and that it was in her writing-desk.

Why has she kept a note written by the man? Is she really falling in love with him? A foolish young puppy, who thinks of no one but himself? Who cannot take the trouble to pay a visit to his own father on his father's marriage? Who indulges in freaks and whims?

I believe my impatience showed in my reply.

'Oh! when a gallant young man, like Mr Frank Churchill writes to a fair lady like Miss Woodhouse, he will, of course, put forth his best,' I remarked.

I saw John look at me in surprise, but I could not help myself. Besides, I did not think it was so very rude, although perhaps it was as well that, at that moment, dinner was announced.

Mrs Elton led the way, as a bride should, and gloried in it, as a bride should not.

Poor Miss Fairfax! I believe she had a great deal to bear after dinner, when the ladies withdrew. When I returned to the drawing-room with the other gentlemen, Mrs Elton was offering to help her find a position as a governess. I should be sorry to see Miss Fairfax take up a position in any household known to Mrs Elton.

I was just thinking that things could get no worse when Weston joined us. As luck would have it--or as bad luck would have it--he brought with him a letter from his son.

I took up my newspaper. I had no desire to listen to any further praise of Frank Churchill's magnificent handwriting.

The letter was even worse than I had expected. A string of promises, a row of false hopes, all wrapped up in insincerity and capriciousness; that was what I had expected. But instead I learnt that the Churchills are to remove to town on account of Mrs Churchill's health, and that Frank is to remove with them. He will be so close to Hartfield--only sixteen miles away--that he will be able to visit easily.

Mr and Mrs Weston were delighted. Emma was delighted. And I was not delighted.

'We have the agreeable prospect of frequent visits from Frank the whole spring,' Weston said.

Agreeable to whom? I thought, rustling my newspaper.

'Precisely the season of the year which one should have chosen for it: days almost at the longest; weather genial and pleasant, always inviting one out, and never too hot for exercise. When he was here before, we made the best of it; but there was a good deal of wet, damp, cheerless weather; there always is in February, you know, and we could not do half that we intended. Now will be the time. This will be complete enjoyment; and I do not know, Mrs Elton, whether the uncertainty of our meetings, the sort of constant expectation there will be of his coming in today or tomorrow, and at any hour, may not be more friendly to happiness than having him actually in the house. I think it is so. I think it is the state of mind which gives most spirit and delight.'

In May, then, I am to have all the pleasure of Frank Churchill's company, as long as I do not expire before then with the promise of so much spirit and delight.

Fortunately, John began to speak of his sons before my bad temper could get the better of me.

'I hope I am aware that they may be too noisy for your father; or even may be some encumbrance to you, if your visiting engagements continue to increase as much as they have done lately,' he said to Emma.

'Let them be sent to Donwell,' I said. 'I shall certainly be at leisure.'

'Upon my word,' exclaimed Emma to me, 'you amuse me! I should like to know how many of all my numerous engagements take place without your being of the party; and why I am to be supposed in danger of wanting leisure to attend to the little boys. If Aunt Emma has not time for them, I do not think they would fare much better with Uncle Knightley, who is absent from home about five hours where she is absent one--and who, when he is at home, is either reading to himself or settling his accounts.'

I smiled at this. She knows me well.

Mrs Elton claimed my attention, but when she had done, I went to sit by Emma.

'You will bring the boys over to the Abbey tomorrow? If the weather continues wet, it will give them a chance to run about and be noisy without distressing your father.'

'By all means. Harriet is to call in the morning, and we will bring them together.'

'Must you always be with Harriet?' I asked impatiently.

'That is hardly fair!' she cried. 'I have seen very little of Harriet since...'

'Since Mr Elton returned?' I enquired. I saw her look uncomfortable, but I let it pass. 'Very well, if you must bring her, you must.' I had done with Harriet. 'I want to give the children a chance to ride whilst they are here,' I went on. 'It is not often we have them for such an extended spell.'

'Oh, yes, they are full of high spirits and are bound to enjoy it. But it is perhaps better not to mention it to my father; he will only worry about it. I hope the weather holds.'

'There will be some dry spells, I am convinced.'

'And if it rains tomorrow?'

'Then you and I will have to entertain the boys indoors.'

I am looking forward to it. Inside or out, any time I spend with the boys is well spent, and I would never rather be with anyone but Emma.

Wednesday 14 April

I cannot make up my mind. Is Emma in love with Frank Churchill, or is she not? I sometimes think she is, but then she says something that convinces me otherwise. She seems to welcome his attentions, and yet she has not shown any signs of being in a decline when he is away.

We were talking of Isabella's living in London, and I said to Emma: 'Could you bear to move away from Highbury?'

'If there was a strong enough inducement, then perhaps I might,' she said.

I thought of Frank Churchill. Would he be a strong enough inducement?

'Isabella seems happy enough in London,' she went on, 'but then she is happy wherever her husband is.'

'And when you marry, you will be happy wherever your husband is,' I said, looking at her earnestly.

'I will never marry,' she said. 'Why should I? I already have everything I want at Hartfield. Like you, I have no need of children to interest me, for I have Isabella's children, and like you, I am happiest at home.'

I felt myself grow brighter. It is very comfortable to have Emma so near, and spending my time with her, playing with the children, is my idea of a perfect day.

Thursday 15 April

There has been a delay in the Churchill family's move to London. I knew how it would be! Churchill's letter meant nothing at all. I never put any reliance on it. What! Mrs Churchill, to remove to London from her native Yorkshire? Why should she do such a thing? And even if she thought she might, then why should she go ahead with her plan, when she is as fickle as her nephew?

I said as much to Emma.

'It is hardly Frank Churchill's fault,' she said. 'He is very much at his aunt's beck and call. He will be with us as soon as he can.'

She did not seem unduly worried by the delay, which was heartening, but she defended him, which was dispiriting.

I still do not like the idea of his merely being delayed for a while. Whenever he comes to Highbury, it will be too soon for me.

Wednesday 21 April

I had a most unwelcome shock when I went to Hartfield today. I had promised to collect the boys, so that they could spend a day at the Abbey with me, and when I walked into the drawing-room, I found Frank Churchill there!

He had only come to pay a short visit, in order to say that the Churchills had at last moved to town. His aunt is still very sickly and she could not spare him for longer.

I was very sorry for Mrs Churchill, and, once I knew he was not to visit us, for Frank Churchill, too.

'I believe the idea of Frank Churchill always being at Hartfield, now the Churchills are in London, will come to nothing,' I said to Emma.

She remarked that it would be a pity, but as she then went on to see that the boys were warmly wrapped up, and to soothe her father's fears that they would take cold on the walk to the Abbey, and to tell them to behave, and to remind me that I must not give them too much to eat, I did not think she was very much affected by it.

I begin to think that Frank Churchill is not so bad, after all. Perhaps I have been too hard on him: a young man who has to pay constant attention to a sick aunt must be forgiven the odd indiscretion.

In fact, if he remains in London, I believe I will like him very well indeed.

Thursday 22 April

The day was cold and wet. I attended to business this morning, and this afternoon, Emma called with the two little boys. I was delighted to find that Harriet was not with her. I have hardly seen Emma without her friend these last few months. We took the boys through the woods and watched them play.

'You will never marry, will you, Mr Knightley?' she asked me.

I thought she seemed anxious, and I was gratified by her concern.

'No, never,' I said. My spirits rose. Did she feel she would not like me to marry anyone else, because she would like me for herself? 'You seem pleased,' I said.

'I am,' she replied.

Will you
...I tried to say the words, but I was suddenly nervous and they would not come out.

I cleared my throat and was about to try again when she continued by saying: 'I would not like little Henry to lose his inheritance.'

Foolish, foolish fantasy! She was not in love with me after all, she was simply concerned for Henry.

'Oh, so that is the reason,' I said, subdued.

'You would not like him to lose it, either, would you?' she asked anxiously.

'If I had a son of my own, I must reasonably assume I would rather see the Abbey go to him than my nephew,' I replied. 'But since I have no plans to marry, I see no reason for you to worry about Henry.'

No plans, as yet, I thought, as she smiled at me. But I fully intend to marry if I can persuade Emma to marry me. I do not despair of it. She does not seem set on Churchill and she likes me, I know. In time, I hope she will come to see me as a husband.

She put her hand through my arm as we walked back through the gardens, and as we reached the Abbey the sun came out.

Friday 23 April

Frank Churchill was in Highbury today, but he spent very little time at Hartfield. He paid a call in the morning, and then went on to the Bateses, and had lunch with Mr and Mrs Weston before going back to London.

Monday 26 April

I joined Emma and her father at Hartfield this morning, and I found the Westons there. They had called to say that Mrs Churchill felt no better in London, and that she had taken a house at Richmond for May and June.

I looked at Emma, wondering how she would take the news, for Richmond is very near.

'He will be with us all the time,' said Weston, delighted. 'It is only a short distance, no more than nine miles, and what is nine miles?'

'And now the ball can go ahead,' said Mrs Weston to Emma.

Emma was delighted, and I was downcast. I did not begrudge her her happiness, but I was left to trust in her good judgement and hope she sees through him in the end.

Mr Woodhouse was not happy with the idea of the ball, either, though he likes it better in May than he did in February, as the chance of draughts are fewer. But he was still worried that the boys might be taken ill whilst Emma was away.

'You will have Mrs Bates to sit with you,' said Emma, 'and if either of the boys is unwell, you can send a message to me at the Crown and I will come home directly.'

Thus soothed, he subsided into vague hopes that no disasters would mar the evening. I hoped so, too, though the disasters I envisaged were of a different kind.

Monday 3 May

I did not enjoy this evening. Emma spent most of it with Frank Churchill. He was already talking to her when I arrived, and though he seemed restless, he scarcely moved from her side. He claimed her hand for the first dance, and though I tried not to look at them, I found it hard to keep my eyes away, for Emma was looking very beautiful.

'They look well together, do they not?' said Otway, who was standing at the side of the room, next to me.

'Yes. Mrs Elton is very pleased to be opening the dance, and Weston is happy to be partnering her,' I said, deliberately misunderstanding.

'I was not talking about Mrs Elton and Mr Weston, but Mr Churchill and Miss Woodhouse. I think we will see a match there before long. It would please everyone in Highbury, I am sure. Mr and Mrs Weston would be delighted, and all Miss Woodhouse's friends must be glad to see her so well married. Mr Churchill is to inherit Enscombe, and a very fine fortune besides.'

'I see nothing in it, beyond an inclination to dance together,' I said. 'I cannot believe Miss Woodhouse will ever leave Highbury. She could not leave her father.'

'Very true, it would be difficult, but might she not take him to Enscombe with her?'

'Mr Woodhouse, to leave Hartfield? That is something he would never do.'

As I spoke, I realized I was trying to reassure myself.

'Perhaps not. But Miss Woodhouse and Mr Churchill would have a house in town, and London is only sixteen miles away. They could visit Hartfield often from there.'

'I am sure Miss Woodhouse has no more idea of marrying him than she has of marrying Longridge,' I said, surprising myself as much as Otway.

He looked startled, and then begged my pardon, but it was I who should have been begging his pardon. I had spoken to him roughly, and should not have done so.

Emma caught my eye and her happiness forced me to smile, but I could not be easy. Otway's thoughts echoed my own. They made a good pair--except that I knew they would not be suited; Frank Churchill with his fly-about ways, his unreliable nature and his inconsistencies, and Emma with her love of family and delight in her friends.

Whereas Emma and I would be a perfect match.

I could bear to watch them no longer. I retired to the card-room and played until it was almost time for supper, then returned to the ballroom. Emma was still dancing. She danced very well, and it gave me a great deal of pleasure to see her.

After a while, I noticed that her little friend was not dancing. I felt sorry to see her sitting out by herself.

To my surprise, I saw Elton walking towards her. I had thought he was too small-minded to overlook the wound Emma had inflicted on his pride, but it seemed I was wrong. It was clear he was going to rescue Harriet from her place at the side of the room and lead her onto the floor.

And why not? Now that he had married, no mistake could be made, no attention read into his action. It was a kind thought. It would set the lady at her ease, and make future intercourse between the two of them easy and pleasant. We all live in a small neighbourhood, after all.

He stood in front of her. She looked down, embarrassed, but glad that she was to be rescued from her ignominious position. But then, without saying a word to her, he moved on.

I could not believe it! To treat a young lady so! And at a private dance!

I had never thought so ill of a man in my life. To withdraw to the card-room would have been sensible; to have avoided her would have been unkind but permissible; yet to stand directly in front of her, and then to move away--that was abominable.

Things grew worse. Mrs Weston asked him if he danced, and he offered to partner her, or Mrs Gilbert; but when she mentioned Harriet, he had the effrontery to say that he was an old married man and his dancing days were over.

I was so incensed that I walked over to Harriet and asked her to dance myself. She looked up at me with such an expression of humble gratitude that my heart swelled.

I had not thought Elton could be so small-minded. Marriage had not made him better; it had made him many times worse. He had never been petty-minded before. Vain, yes; proud, yes; thinking well of himself, yes; but cruel towards others--no. And what another! A young girl with no family to offer her protection. I was disgusted with him, and did not trouble to conceal it.

I led Harriet on to the floor with all the deference I would have given to an heiress with PS50,000, and I was gratified to see Elton's black look, as well as Harriet's radiant smile.

Emma might have chosen unwisely for Elton, but not as unwisely as he had chosen for himself. Harriet was shy at first, and said little, but she soon gained confidence and answered me freely, with an openness that was very attractive. She danced joyfully, bounding down the room like a lamb in spring, and I am sure the sight of her lifted the spirits of all reasonable men and women in the room.

During supper, I wondered again at Elton's slight, for it was not only Harriet whom he had ill-treated. He had slighted Mrs Weston, his hostess, when he had refused to dance with a partner she offered him, and he had sent a message to Emma, that he would not do anything to oblige her; more, that he was happy to disoblige her. And, by the glances that passed between Elton and his wife, it was clear she encouraged him.

When supper was over, Emma beckoned me over to her with her eyes. She thanked me for my kindness to her friend and we joined in censuring Elton and his abominable behaviour.

'The Eltons aimed at wounding more than Harriet,' I said. 'Emma, why is it that they are your enemies?' She said nothing, so I continued. '
She
ought not to be angry with you, I suspect, whatever he may be. To that surmise, you say nothing, of course; but confess, Emma, that you did want him to marry Harriet.'

'I did,' she confessed at last, 'and they cannot forgive me.'

Poor Emma!

'I shall not scold you,' I said kindly. 'I leave you to your own reflections.'

'Can you trust me with such flatterers? Does my vain spirit ever tell me I am wrong?' she asked ruefully.

'Not your vain spirit, but your serious spirit. If one leads you wrong, I am sure the other tells you of it,' I said, loving her more than ever.

'I do own myself to have been completely mistaken in Mr Elton,' she confessed. 'There is a littleness about him which you discovered, and which I did not: and I was fully convinced of his being in love with Harriet. It was through a series of strange blunders!'

I was touched by her confidence.

'And, in return for your acknowledging so much, I will do you the justice to say, that you would have chosen for him better than he has chosen for himself. Harriet Smith has some first-rate qualities, which Mrs Elton is totally without. An unpretending, single-minded, artless girl--infinitely to be preferred by any man of sense and taste to such a woman as Mrs Elton. I found Harriet more conversable than I expected.'

She was gratified. There was time for no more. The dancing was about to begin again.

My heart was warmed when, on asking her whom she meant to dance with, Emma said: 'With you, if you will ask me.'

My spirits surged.

'Will you?' I said, looking down into her eyes as I offered her my hand.

'Indeed I will,' she replied, taking it. She was back to her old self. 'You have shown that you can dance, and you know we are not really so much brother and sister as to make it at all improper.'

'Brother and sister!--no, indeed.'

As I led her onto the floor, I wondered if she saw me as a brother. I knew I had an opportunity, in the dance, to make her see me as something more. She was not in love with me, perhaps, but I felt confident I could make her love me. And then...a happy future opened out before me. Emma and I at the Abbey, with our own children.

Little Henry will have to make his own way in the world, I fear!

Wednesday 5 May

There was a most unfortunate incident today. I was just about to set out for Kingston when I was greeted by a messenger from Hartfield. He gave me a note, and I was alarmed to see that Harriet had been attacked by a group of gypsies on the Richmond Road. She and a friend had been walking along when they had seen the gypsies and, taking fright, had run away. Harriet had not been able to run very far as she had suffered from a cramp, and it was only the timely intervention of Frank Churchill, who just happened to be passing, that saved her from bodily harm.

I set out at once to see that the road was made safe again, but by the time I arrived the gypsies had hurried off. They had no mind to face a magistrate, and I am persuaded they will not trouble us again. But I am still concerned that this should have happened in my parish.

I went to see Weston straight away and told him what had happened. He had not heard of it, as his son had been on his way to Richmond when the attack and rescue occurred, and had therefore continued with his journey, but he was as concerned as I was. We decided we would speak to the other gentlemen of the parish at our whist club tonight. We must be vigilant if this is not to happen again.

I went from Randalls to Hartfield to satisfy myself that Harriet was all right. I found my nephews full of the story, and relishing it as little boys should. The story of Harriet and the gypsies will, I feel, inspire their games for weeks to come.

Harriet had been shaken by the incident, but she was much recovered. She had had Churchill to rescue her, and Emma and Mr Woodhouse to make much of her, and this had quickly restored her spirits.

Mr Woodhouse, however, was in a quake, and would hardly be satisfied until Emma promised him she would never leave the grounds again.

However, he will accustom himself to it by and by, and I have no doubt she will be walking to Randalls as usual tomorrow.

Tuesday 11 May

The boys were still talking of Harriet and the gypsies when I went to Hartfield today. They were in a boisterous mood, and Emma and I took them outside to fly a kite. The wind was high, and we had no difficulty in getting the kites to soar aloft. I handed the strings to Henry and helped him manage them, whilst Emma helped John.

The children were delighted with the game, though Mr Woodhouse, when we returned to the house, was unhappy.

'I do not think you should have played with a kite in such a wind,' he said to Henry. 'It is particularly strong today, and it might have carried you away.'

'But we were holding the strings, too, Papa,' said Emma. 'Did you not see? Mr Knightley held on to Henry's kite, and I held on to John's. The wind looked strong, perhaps, but once outside it was not so very bad. It tugged now and again at the kites, but we were never in any danger, and if it had tugged too hard, we could always have let the strings go, you know.'

'You mean well, my dear, I know, but I cannot like it. You should not play with kites when the wind is so high.'

'We have to play with them in the wind, Grandpapa,' said Henry, 'otherwise they will not fly.'

Mr Woodhouse told the boys that kites were for grownups, not little boys, and this so upset the children, who thought they would have to wait another twenty years before being allowed to fly a kite again, that Emma had three sets of nerves to soothe before tea.

I cannot believe we will be sending the boys on their way again in a few days. It hardly seems like any time since they arrived.

I almost spoke to Emma this evening; almost gave her an intimation of my feelings; but I felt the time had not yet come--that she did not yet see me as more than a friend--and so I held my peace.

Saturday 15 May

John arrived to collect the boys and we all took luncheon together.

'Will you not stay?' asked Emma.

'No, I must get home,' he said.

Emma was resigned, knowing that nothing can keep John away from his hearth and home, unless it is unavoidable.

Emma had made a new cap for the baby, a shirt for little George, a handkerchief for Isabella, and a doll for Bella. John thanked her for the presents and promised to deliver them. Then it was time for him to go.

Mr Woodhouse mourned their absence, though I think the boys were here long enough. He had been getting more and more worried about them as they had grown more and more confident. It is as well they were going home, where they could play to their heart's content without worrying Grandpapa.