Mr. Knightley’s Diary

December

Tuesday 1 December

It seems that Emma’s present interest in sketching is to last for a little longer, at least. I found her taking Harriet’s likeness, as she had intended, when I called on her this morning. Elton, as is usual these days, was in attendance.

Mr. Woodhouse and I withdrew for a time as I helped him to write some letters of business, and then we both returned to the drawing-room. We found Emma and her friend hard at work. Harriet was posing, and Emma’s sketch was already well-developed.

Elton was standing behind Emma, fidgeting, and not knowing what to do with himself.

He spoke to me when I entered the room, seemingly glad of something to say.

"Miss Woodhouse has decided to paint her friend full-length, like the portrait of Mr. John Knightley."

I went over to Emma and looked at what she had done. Mrs. Weston was watching the progress of the drawing, too, and her eye had not failed to see that Emma’s portrait was flattering.

"Miss Woodhouse has given her friend the only beauty she wanted," she said to Elton. "The expression of the eye is most correct, but Harriet has not those eyebrows and eyelashes. It is the fault of her face that she has them not."

"Do you think so?" he replied "I cannot agree with you. It appears to me a most perfect resemblance in every feature. I never saw such a likeness in my life. We must allow for the effect of shade, you know."

Something had to be done to counteract this flattery, and so I said: "You have made her too tall,

Emma."

I could tell by her expression that she knew she had, but she would not admit it.

"Oh, no! certainly not too tall; not in the least too tall. Consider, she is sitting down - which naturally presents a different - which in short gives exactly the idea - and the proportions must be preserved, you know. Proportions, foreshortening. Oh, no! it gives one exactly the idea of such a height as Harriet’s. Exactly so indeed!" said her would-be suitor.

"It is very pretty," said Mr. Woodhouse, always ready to praise his daughter. "So prettily done! Just as your drawings always are, my dear. I do not know anybody who draws so well as you do. The only thing I do not thoroughly like is, that she seems to be sitting out of doors, with only a little shawl over her shoulders. It makes one think she must catch cold."

"But, my dear Papa, it is supposed to be summer; a warm day in summer. Look at the tree."

"But it is never safe to sit out of doors, my dear," said he.

His is a nervous disposition indeed. It not only objects to people sitting out of doors, but it objects to them being drawn as if they were out of doors, when in reality they are sitting inside by a fire!

Elton plunged in again.

"You, sir, may say any thing," he cried, "but I must confess that I regard it as a most happy thought, the placing of Harriet out of doors; and the tree is touched with such inimitable spirit! Any other situation would have been much less in character. The naïvety of Harriet’s manners - and altogether - Oh, it is most admirable! I cannot keep my eyes from it. I never saw such a likeness."

I did not know whether to be amused or exasperated by his nonsense, any more than I knew whether to be amused or exasperated by the way Emma received it. She took it all as compliments for her friend, little perceiving that the flattery was all for her. I am sure of it: Emma is Elton’s object.

If she was not so young, and so dear to me, I would be amused and nothing else, but I am dismayed on Emma’s behalf. She thinks she has only to throw Elton and Harriet together, and Harriet’s pretty face will do the rest. But Elton will settle for a pretty fortune, rather than a pretty face, and oh! Emma, what will you think, when you perceive the truth?

"We must have it framed," said Elton.

"Oh, yes, the very thing," said Emma. "It must be done well. I owe my friend no less."

"Can you not ask Isabella to have it done in London?" asked Mrs. Weston.

This Mr. Woodhouse could not bear.

"She must not stir outside in the fogs of December. She will take cold. I am surprised at your thinking of it," he said to Mrs. Weston reproachfully. "You would never have thought of such a thing if you had stayed here with us at Hartfield."

Mrs. Weston was admonished. I was about to offer my services, as I had to go to London, when Elton stepped in and offered to take it himself.

"You are too good," said Emma, smiling all the while. "I would not think of troubling you."

"It is no trouble."

"If you are sure, then it would be a relief to have someone of superior taste to undertake the commission," she said, and I saw a look of pleasure cross his face. "I would undertake to wrap the picture very well, so that it will not give you too much trouble."

"No trouble is too much. That is to say it is no trouble, no trouble at all," he said. Then finished with a sigh, saying: "What a precious deposit!"

I thought he had gone too far, and I was sure Emma would balk at that, but though she looked rather surprised she said nothing.

I almost said something, but I decided against it, for no doubt the muddle will be cleared up soon.

Harriet will take no hurt from it, for I am sure Emma will not have raised false hopes by mentioning her scheme to her friend - that would be going too far, even for Emma! - but there will be a reckoning with Elton, and I hope Emma will be chastened. Once she stops trying to live Elton’s life, I hope she might put more effort into living her own.

Thursday 3 December

I was more pleased than ever that Emma had given a little polish to Harriet, and that she had removed some of her schoolgirl habits, for I have had a very interesting visit from Robert Martin today. He called at Donwell Abbey this evening and he asked if I could spare him ten minutes. I told him that I could spare him as much time as he needed, thinking he had come to speak to me about the farm. I was much surprised, then, when he stood in front of my desk without any of his usual confidence, indeed much like a schoolboy standing in front of the desk of his master. He turned his hat in his hand as if he did not know where to begin, and I was astonished to see a slight flush spring to his cheek. The cause of his agitation soon became clear.

"I"ve come to ask for your advice, Mr. Knightley," he said.

"I will give you whatever help I can, Robert, you know that," I said.

"Yes, I do."

"What is the matter?" I asked him, to help him on his way.

"It is this way," he said, then added, not very helpfully: "I trust your judgement, Mr. Knightley.

You"ve helped me many a time in the past, and I hope you can help me now." He cleared his throat, and I wondered if he would ever get to the point. "I am beforehand with the world, and doing well with the farm. My mother and sisters want for nothing, I"ve seen to that."

I said nothing, wondering where all this was leading.

"Well, Mr. Knightley, the thing is this. I am of an age to marry, and being so well set up with the farm, and after seeing Harriet - that is, Miss Smith - and her being so pretty and well-spoken, and being a good friend of my sisters, and a favourite with my mother - that is, I am not marrying her for my mother or my sisters but for myself, because a man needs a wife and I am a man..."

He stopped, having tied himself in knots, and I could feel some sympathy for him. I remembered how it was with John, when he proposed to Isabella. He, too, was like a schoolboy when he left the Abbey that morning. His air of address had completely deserted him.

"You do not need my permission to marry, Robert," I said, as he paused.

"No, Mr. Knightley, I know that, I need no man’s permission, but I was just wanting a bit of advice. I was wondering what you would think of me marrying so young, and whether you think I would be wrong to ask Miss Smith, as she is so young, too. And then…" He went as red as a turkey-cock. "The thing is, Mr. Knightley, Miss Smith being a friend of Miss Woodhouse’s, and being so pretty and all, I was wondering if she wasn"t too far above me?"

I was astounded! A penniless girl with no name, being above an honest farmer? A man with a comfortable living and a good name in the neighbourhood?

"Not at all," I told him. I felt I should offer a word of caution. "As long as you are sure you can afford it?"

"Oh, yes, I"ve been into all that, and I"ve talked it over with my mother and sisters, too. They"re as eager for it as I am."

"Then I advise you to marry Miss Smith, with my blessing. She is a pretty young woman with a very sweet nature and, moreover, she seemed to be very contented when I saw her at Abbey Mill Farm.

I am sure you will be very happy together."

"Thank you, Mr. Knightley," he said, with a smile spreading across his face. "She’s the prettiest thing I"ve ever seen, and she has such a taking way with her. I"ll be a lucky man if she"ll have me."

And she will be a lucky girl when she marries you, I thought as he left the room.

It is a very pleasing solution to the situation! Emma’s influence has improved Harriet, and made her more worthy of such a good and solid man, and once Emma knows her friend is to marry Robert Martin, all her nonsensical thoughts regarding Elton will be nipped in the bud. Neither Elton nor Harriet need ever know of the fate she had arranged for them.

Mrs. Weston was right and I was wrong. I worried about nothing. This is a most happy conclusion to events.

Saturday 5 December

I cannot believe it was only yesterday that I was convinced a happy end was in view for Harriet: a poor girl, deposited in a school by unknown parents, to end up, not as an old maid, but as a happy and prosperous wife. And yet it has come to nothing. Because of Harriet? No, because of Emma! I have never been so out of charity with her in my life.

I called on her and her father this morning and, as her father went out for a walk, I felt I could give her an intimation of the good fortune about to befall her friend. To my astonishment, if not to say anger, she informed me that she already knew of it, and that Harriet had refused him!

I saw Emma’s hand in it and, when challenged, it became clear that it was she who had been, not just a false advisor, but the principal in the affair.

"Mr. Martin is a very respectable young man," she said coolly, "but I cannot admit him to be Harriet’s equal."

"Not her equal!" I exclaimed. "No, he is not her equal indeed." She could not see that Robert Martin was superior to Harriet in both sense and situation. "It crossed my mind immediately that you would not regret your friend’s leaving Highbury, for the sake of her being settled so well," I went on. "I remember saying to myself, “Even Emma, with all her partiality for Harriet, will think this a good match.” "

"I cannot help wondering at your knowing so little of Emma as to say any such thing," she returned.

"What! think a farmer a good match for my intimate friend!"

"You had no business making her your intimate friend," I returned angrily.

"You are not just to Harriet’s claims," she went on. "Mr. Martin may be the richer of the two, but he is undoubtedly the inferior as to rank in society. The sphere in which she moves is much above his. It would be a degradation."

A degradation! For Harriet Smith, an illegitimate girl, to marry respectable Robert Martin! Emma has never been so foolish. If only I could think it was her youth that was to blame, but she is not a child any more, she is a young woman. She should know better.

" "Til you chose to turn her into a friend, her mind had no distaste for her own set, nor any ambition beyond it," I said angrily. "She was as happy as possible with the Martins in the summer. You have been no friend to Harriet Smith, Emma. Robert Martin would never have proceeded so far, unless he had had encouragement."

She did not reply, but I could see my words had given her pause. Good! It was a grave day’s work, to separate two people who would have been happy together. And why? Because she thought Elton would offer for Harriet.

I felt sorry for her. She was unaware of the damage she was doing, because she was too confident of her powers, and did not know that she still had a lot to learn. I was worried at how much damage she might do before she saw her mistake, and I felt I had to give her a word of warning.

"As you make no secret of your love of matchmaking, it is fair to suppose that you have views, and plans, and projects, and as a friend I shall just hint to you that if Elton is the man, I think it will be all labour in vain."

"I have no idea of Harriet’s marrying Mr. Elton," she returned.

"Elton is a very good sort of man, and a very respectable vicar of Highbury, but not at all likely to make an imprudent match. He knows the value of a good income as well as anybody," I said, to make sure she was under no illusions about him.

She disclaimed all thoughts of such a match, but from her uncomfortable manner, I could tell that that was what she had been hoping for. Foolish girl! With no more than twenty summers, to try to counsel a girl of seventeen! Better to say nothing and let Mrs. Goddard counsel Harriet, rather than apply her own influence so badly.

I felt sorry I had encouraged Robert Martin to propose. If I had known he would meet with rejection, I would not have done so. And to think that Emma was the cause of such unhappiness!

In an effort to put my ill-humour behind me I walked to Randalls. I hoped to see Weston as I had a matter of business to discuss with him, but he was not at home. Mrs. Weston, however, bade me stay.

Hardly had the tea been poured when Mrs. Weston asked me what was the matter.

"What is always the matter?" I said. "Emma! I knew how it would be. She has turned Harriet’s head. She has filled it with nonsense, and now the poor girl has turned down a perfectly unexceptionable offer of marriage in the hope of marrying Mr. Elton."

"Mr. Elton!" exclaimed Mrs. Weston, astonished.

"Absurd, is it not! As if Elton would look at a parlour boarder, an illegitimate girl with no name, no connections and no dowry. Misery will be the end of it all."

"Come, come," said Mrs. Weston. "It surely cannot be as bad as that. If, as you say, Mr. Elton will not look at Harriet - and I believe you are right - then Emma will soon see it."

"And what of Robert Martin?"

She looked surprised, and I explained the whole. She was thoughtful, but then said: "Mr. Martin is a sensible man. If he truly loves Harriet, he will not be deterred by one setback."

I was not so sanguine.

"A man has his pride," I said. I drank my tea. "If Emma could but meet someone who would interest her, she would forget all about Harriet Smith’s prospects and start thinking about her own."

Mr. Weston came in, and after the three of us had taken tea together, Mr. Weston and I retired to his study to discuss some business we had in hand. When we had done, I began to ask him about his son.

"Is there any news from Frank?" I asked.

"We had another letter only yesterday. He is very desirous of paying us a visit, but his time is taken up by Mrs. Churchill. She rules the household with an iron hand, governing her husband entirely, and governing Frank, too."

"So there is no news of his coming here yet?"

"He keeps hoping it will be possible, but something always happens to put the visit off. He is such a favourite with Mrs. Churchill that his time is not his own. But I hope to see him here before long."

Unfortunately, I doubt it. If Churchill cannot pay a visit to his father when his father marries, he must be a self-indulgent wastrel indeed, and I pity poor Weston his son.

Sunday 6 December

I saw Emma at church today, and we exchanged a few words. She remarked on my absence from Hartfield, and I told her I had been busy. She did not appear to have got over her schemes, for after the service she went to congratulate Elton, telling him how much Miss Smith had enjoyed it. Elton did not know where to look or what to think. Hah! A fine muddle they are making of it all.

Tuesday 8 December

I was glad to go to my whist club this evening. I had no inclination to go to Hartfield, and watch Emma make a fool of herself and her friend. Longridge was there, as well as Elton, Cole, Otway, Weston and the others.

"And how are you liking Highbury?" I asked Longridge, as the cards were dealt.

"Very much, thank you kindly. I have been thinking of leaving London for some time now - it has not been the same since my wife died - and Highbury seems a very agreeable place to settle. There is a deal of pretty countryside round about, some fine houses and superior company. I think I might settle here."

The game began, and we gave our attention to our cards.

Afterwards, we discussed parish business, and I came home well-pleased with my evening. There is some sensible company in Highbury, at least.

Wednesday 9 December

It was a bright but frosty morning and my ride round the estate was invigorating. The avenues were looking particularly attractive, with their branches coated in frost. It is a time of year I particularly like.

I noticed several things which needed attention, and I spoke to William Larkins about them. He wanted to postpone the work, as it was not urgent, but I wanted to have it done before Christmas.

I do not want John to think I have been neglecting Henry’s inheritance, for it seems more and more likely that I will leave the Abbey to my nephew.

Thursday 10 December

I still had no inclination to go to Hartfield today, and watch Emma making a fool of herself and her friend, so I was doubly pleased to accept an invitation from Graham.

It was impossible to forget Emma, however, for no sooner had we sat down to dinner than Graham said: "By the by, I have a charge for you all. I saw Perry this morning, and he told me that Miss Woodhouse and her young friend Miss Smith are making a collection of riddles. Mr. Woodhouse is very interested in the collection, too, and has asked Perry to spread the news so that the young ladies might have some more riddles for their book."

The ladies were immediately interested, and Mr. Longridge said: "My wife had a very pretty hand, and made a riddle book many years ago. Let me see if I remember some of them. I have it: When my first is a task to a young girl of spirit

And my second confines her to finish the labour -

Tum-te-tum-te-tum-te-tum….

Something about “she escapes.” " He went on reflectively:

"When my first is a task to a young girl of spirit

And my second confines her to finish the labour..."

"No, not labour," said Miss Bates, then looked flustered when all eyes turned to her. "Oh, forgive me, Mr. Longridge, it is just that I knew that riddle as a girl:

When my first is a task to a young girl of spirit And my second confines her to finish the piece. How hard is her fate! But how great is her merit,

If by taking my all she effects her release!"

"Bless my soul! That was it!" said Mr. Longridge, much struck. "Now, what was the answer?"

The table fell to musing, and Miss Bates supplied it: "Hemlock!"

There was a murmur of approval and congratulation from around the table, and Miss Bates went pink. It was good to see her triumph, for she does not have many opportunities to appear to such advantage.

"You must give it to Miss Woodhouse the next time you see her," said Graham, and Miss Bates promised she would.

"So, have you decided whether you will settle in Highbury?" asked Graham of his friend Longridge when talk of riddles had died down.

"Yes, I have made up my mind," he said. "There is such good company - I have not enjoyed an evening so much since my wife died. It will be an upheaval, mind, and I will have to find a house..."

"We can help you with that," said Mrs. Cole.

"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Otway. "There are many fine houses hereabouts. Three Chimneys will be available after Christmas. The Dawsons are going back to Cornwall."

"I thought they liked it here?" asked Mrs. Weston, much struck.

"So they did, but Mr. Dawson’s brother has died, and Mr. Dawson has inherited a sizeable house on the coast."

There was much interest in this, but when it had been fully discussed, the conversation returned to the subject of Three Chimneys.

"I heard the roof leaks," said Mrs. Cole.

"Not at Three Chimneys. Barrowdown has the leaking roof, and anyhow, it is not available, as the Pringles have decided not to sell."

Two more houses were dismissed in short order, Low-reach because it was too small, and Melrose because it was damp, but at last the ladies had decided on a list of five properties he should arrange to see. They were keen for Longridge to visit them right away, but he said that he did not mean to look at anything before the New Year. That did not prevent the ladies from talking about it for the rest of the evening, however.

Friday 11 December

Robert Martin called on me today to discuss the farm. I did not mention his suit as I had no wish to embarrass him, but the subject was there in both our thoughts, and after our business was concluded he addressed it manfully. Simply, and with great nobility, he told me that his suit had not prospered. I offered my condolences and we parted with the subject finished.

Robert Martin is my idea of a man. He does not shirk uncomfortable duties, but faces up to them. If Robert Martin was Frank Churchill, I am persuaded that he would have paid a visit to his new stepmother by now. He would have found time, even if he had had to travel overnight to do so. He is a sad loss to Harriet, whatever Emma thinks. He would have made her an estimable husband. And she would have made him, if not an estimable, then, at least, a pretty wife.

With these thoughts in mind, I was again in no mood to walk to Hartfield after dinner. I looked over my accounts, and then read a book instead.

Saturday 12 December

I called on Miss Bates this morning on my way into Kingston, and assured myself that the logs had arrived. I found Graham there with his sister, Mrs. Lovage, who had joined him again from Bath.

I thought of what Weston had said, and I made sure I was no more than polite when greeting her, as

I did not want to raise hopes that I had no intention of satisfying.

After exchanging civilities, I was, however, heartened by something Mrs. Lovage said.

"I saw a young friend of yours yesterday. She is very good. She was taking relief to the poor."

"What young friend do you mean?"

"I mean Miss Woodhouse, and Miss Smith was with her."

"Oh, yes, Miss Woodhouse is always so good," said Miss Bates.

"How did you come across her?" I asked.

"I happened to be walking along Vicarage Lane and I passed them going in the opposite direction. Miss Woodhouse was walking along with a little girl from one of the cottages. The child was carrying a pitcher for soup, and Miss Woodhouse was bearing her company. I thought it very good of her, for it must have been much pleasanter for her if she had walked ahead with Miss Smith and Mr. Elton."

"Mr. Elton!" I exclaimed.

"Such a good man," said Miss Bates. "Always so helpful!"

"Yes," said Mrs. Lovage, smiling at Miss Bates. Then she turned again to me. "Whether he had joined them in their charitable venture, or whether he had met them by chance, I do not know. He seemed very attentive. He slowed his pace as he tried to wait for Miss Woodhouse, but she remained behind with the child."

"Did she indeed?" I asked.

My good humour left me. So Emma had still not abandoned her plan of throwing Harriet and Elton together. But perhaps I am misjudging her. Perhaps her charity had been prompted by a desire to do good, and not by a desire to show her friend in an amiable light.

"And what of you, Mr. Knightley? How have you been spending your time since I last visited Highbury?"

"Looking after the Abbey," I said.

"You must have had some pleasure as well."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Knightley, you must have some pleasure," said Miss Bates. "So good to everyone else, and never thinking of yourself."

"I think of myself a great deal. I have my whist and my visiting, and when I am at home I have my books. A man must be very hard to please if he wants more."

"But have you never longed to go to Bath?" asked Mrs. Lovage.

"I have already been, and found nothing there that was so very extraordinary."

"But the people…" she said.

"I like the people here," I said. To my dismay, she appeared to take my remark as a compliment, and so I quickly disabused her of the notion by adding: "The Bateses, the Westons and your brother are my oldest friends."

"Ah, good, I am glad you like my brother," she said satirically.

She smiled at me invitingly, but I did not prolong the conversation.

Many men would have found her attentions flattering, but as I knew I could not return them, they made me uncomfortable, and I found myself wishing to resume my evenings at Hartfield instead.

Sunday 13 December

I watched Emma closely at church this morning, and from the looks that passed between her and Harriet, I was convinced that she had told Harriet of her plans for a marriage with Elton. I found myself growing angry, for it will only lead to disappointment and humiliation for the girl.

Emma caught my eye as we waited for the service to begin, and she turned away hastily. As well she might!

I gave my attention to the rest of the congregation. Graham was there with his sister and Mr. Longridge. The Coles and the Otways were there, and the Westons, of course. There was still no sign of Frank Churchill, and I found myself beginning to wonder if we would ever see him in Highbury.

Elton had not forgotten his duty as vicar of Highbury, even if he had forgotten his sense, for he led Mrs. Bates and her daughter to the vicarage pew when they arrived. Miss Bates was overcome by the kindness.

"So kind! - Mother finds it hard to hear, a sore trial to her, as well as to the rest of us, and dear Jane has even mentioned it several times - a letter? Yes, yesterday, not so well, I thank you, she has a cold which will not go. However, Mrs. Campbell is being very kind - I am sure mother did not expect such attention. I never expected to find myself sitting in the vicarage pew, and I know I can speak for my mother when I say we are both overwhelmed."

Unfortunately, I saw Elton glance at Emma as he performed this office, and although the kindness was not done for her benefit, he certainly was not sorry to have it witnessed. It won him smiles from Emma and Harriet, then Emma said something to her friend, and Harriet blushed, and glanced at Elton, and he went up into the pulpit as though he was walking on air.

I have resolved not to interfere. I have warned Emma, and I can do no more.

I returned to the Abbey in a vexed state of mind, and found myself wishing Elton would marry Mrs. Lovage. Then Emma could see her mistake, we could make our peace and go back to our old, familiar ways. I miss my evenings at Hartfield, and, for all her vexatious ways, I miss Emma.

Monday 14 December

At last I have found a pony for the children. Henry in particular will need to be a good horseman if he is to inherit the Abbey.

Tuesday 15 December

Our whist evening was well-attended. Cole was particularly cheerful.

"We are having a new dining-room," he said, as we met at the Crown. "Mrs. Cole has been wanting to hold dinner parties for some time now, and I have promised her a new dining-room for Christmas."

"My wife used to enjoy giving dinner parties," said Longridge. "She was always so talkative and so gay. She brightened my life, Mr. Cole. A man needs a wife to bring sunshine into his home."

"We hope you will join us," said Cole, then included all of us in the invitation.

"Delighted," said Longridge.

"A splendid idea," said Weston. "Nothing better than company. No point in sitting at home, unless friends are there, and every reason for going abroad." He looked at me and laughed. "Knightley does not agree."

"I like company well enough, but I am equally happy with my own," I said.

"I hope you will honour us with a visit?" Cole said, a shade anxiously.

Not so very long ago, Cole was living in a modest style, before success brought him larger ideas. I could not help thinking of Emma, and how she would be horrified to think of the master of Donwell Abbey taking dinner with Mr. Cole. I smiled as I thought of her nonsense.

"Delighted," I said.

Thursday 17 December

John and Isabella arrived from London today, and I dined with them at Hartfield. When I went in, Emma was dancing little Emma in her arms in such a delightful way that it was difficult to decide which was prettier, the eight-month-old baby, or Emma herself. They both looked sweet and innocent, and it was a sight to melt away much of my anger. It was further melted by the fact that, as I walked in and Emma’s eyes turned towards me, I detected a look of uncertainty on her face. It told me she was not as happy with her own behaviour as she professed to be, for if she had been confident about it, then she would have greeted me with sauciness.

"You are well?" I asked her civilly, but without my usual warmth, as the memory of Robert Martin’s disappointment was still in my mind.

"Very well. And little Emma is well, too, are you not, my dear?" she asked the infant.

Little Emma gurgled in reply.

As I took the baby from her, she said to me, in a spirit of mischief, but still with some uncertainty:

"What a comfort it is, that we think alike about our nephews and nieces. As to men and women, our opinions are sometimes very different; but with regard to these children, I observe we never disagree."

She wanted to make friends, that much was clear, and I told her, in friendly fashion, that if she would only let herself be guided by nature when she was esteeming men and women, as she was when she was esteeming the children, we would always think alike.

"To be sure, our discordances must always arise from my being in the wrong," she said, her good humour restored.

"With good reason," I said with a smile. "I was sixteen years old when you were born."

"A material difference then, and no doubt you were much my superior in judgement at that period of our lives; but does not the lapse of one-and-twenty years bring our understandings a good deal nearer?"

"Yes - a good deal nearer," I said.

"But still, not near enough to give me a chance of being right, if we think differently," she said saucily.

I smiled.

"I have still the advantage of you by sixteen years" experience, and by not being a pretty young woman and a spoiled child. Come, my dear Emma, let us be friends and say no more about it." I turned to the baby. "Tell your aunt, little Emma, that she ought to set you a better example than to be renewing old grievances, and that if she were not wrong before, she is now."

She agreed, and we shook hands. I liked the feel of it. There is something very agreeable about being with Emma.

John entered, and whilst Mr. Woodhouse played with the children, and Emma and Isabella made sure they did not tire him too much, John and I caught up on the news. He was as eager as ever to hear about Donwell. I told him about the tree that was felled, and the new path I am planning, and one or two interesting cases that have come before me as the local magistrate.

I was just beginning to enjoy the evening when the usual arguments about health began.

"I cannot say that I think you are any of you looking well at present," said Mr. Woodhouse.

"I assure you, Mr. Wingfield told me that he did not believe he had ever sent us off altogether, in such good case," said Isabella, who cites Mr. Wingfield as a fount of all knowledge, in the same way that Mr. Woodhouse cites Perry. "I trust, at least, that you do not think Mr. Knightley is looking ill."

I glanced at Emma, and she at me. We both of us knew where this would lead.

"Middling, my dear; I cannot compliment you. I think Mr. John Knightley very far from looking well."

I tried to talk loud enough to drown out the remark, but John heard it.

"What is the matter, sir? Did you speak to me?" he cried.

"I am sorry to find, my love, that my father does not find you looking well," said Isabella.

"Pray do not concern yourself about my looks. Be satisfied with doctoring and coddling yourself and the children, and let me look as I choose," said John testily.

The arguments about health subsided, but then arguments about the seaside began.

"You should have gone to Cromer, my dear, if you went anywhere," said Mr. Woodhouse. "Perry was a week at Cromer once, and he holds it to be the best of all the sea-bathing places."

"But, my dear sir, the difference of the journey; only consider how great it would have been. A hundred miles, perhaps, instead of forty," said Isabella.

Mr. Woodhouse was equal to the protest.

"Ah, my dear, as Perry says, where health is at stake, nothing else should be considered; and if one is to travel, there is not much to choose between forty miles and an hundred. Better not move at all, better stay in London altogether than travel forty miles to get into a worse air. This is just what Perry said. It seemed to him a very ill-judged measure."

"I have never heard Perry saying anything of the sort!" I said in an aside to Emma, and she smiled.

John, already goaded earlier in the evening, could bear it no longer.

"If Mr. Perry can tell me how to convey a wife and five children a distance of an hundred and thirty miles with no greater expense or inconvenience than a distance of forty, I should be as willing to prefer Cromer to Southend as he could himself," he said sarcastically.

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 passed 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 pronounced 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 assuring 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.

Saturday 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 scraped 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 languishingly 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 wishing 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 appetites.

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 fishing, 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. Goddard’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. Goddard, 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."

"I see her purpose! She wanted him to spend the evening thinking of her little friend, and perhaps calling in at Mrs. Goddard’s to ask after Miss Smith, instead of dining at Randalls."

"I thought you said that Elton was in love with Emma, not Harriet?" asked John with a frown.

"Not in love. I said his ambition tended in that direction. But they are at cross-purposes. Emma’s ambitions are in a different quarter. She thinks that he will marry her friend."

"What! The parlour boarder?"

"Yes."

"Has Emma taken leave of her senses?" he asked.

"The girl is pretty."

"And so are a hundred other girls. He has only to go to Brighton, or Bath, to find plenty of well-born, pretty young ladies with a handsome dowry, who would not turn down a handsome vicar."

I brought him back to the point, asking if he had warned Emma, and learning that he had.

"And what did she reply?" I asked.

"That I was mistaken. That she and Mr. Elton were friends and nothing more."

"Foolish girl! Well, she has been warned. If he proposes now, at least it will not take her entirely by surprise."

"He will not get a chance tonight," John said. "I have offered to take him in my carriage. And once at the Westons he will get no time alone with her."

I was reassured. Even so, I had followed Emma’s progress with such interest, for so many years, that I was curious to know what the evening would bring.

When I arrived, the first party from Hartfield was already there. Isabella and Mr. Woodhouse were sitting by the fire, waiting for Emma, Elton and John.

Emma’s party soon followed, and Emma greeted Mrs. Weston fondly. I have always been glad of the affection they share.

Emma took a seat, and Mr. Elton sat next to her. He was very solicitous, asking her if she was warm enough, asking if her father were comfortable, and crowning it by calling attention to some of her drawings, which hung in Mrs. Weston’s drawing-room.

"Remarkable," he said. "Such a way with line. Quite exquisite. You are fortunate to have them, Mrs.

Weston."

Mrs. Weston agreed, but Emma looked uncomfortable. I guessed that Elton’s flattery was not to her taste. Either that, or my brother’s caution had given her pause, and she was now considering whether he could be right, and whether Mr. Elton’s object could be herself.

She did not have long to think of it, however, for the subject of Frank Churchill was soon raised.

"We want only two more to be just the right number. I should like to see two more here, your pretty little friend, Harriet, and my son, and then I should say we were quite complete," said Weston. "I believe you did not hear me telling the others in the drawing-room that we are expecting Frank?" he went on, growing expansive as he addressed Emma. "I had a letter from him this morning, and he will be with us within a fortnight."

"Oh, yes, that would be perfect," said Emma with genuine enthusiasm.

She, along with the rest of Highbury, has long been wondering about Frank Churchill.

"He has been wanting to come to us, ever since September," said Weston, "but he cannot command his own time. He has those to please who must be pleased, and who (between ourselves) are sometimes to be pleased only by a good many sacrifices. But now I have no doubt of seeing him here about the second week in January."

Emma spoke of his son at length to Weston. She could not say too much to please him.

After dinner the ladies withdrew, and Mr. Woodhouse went with them. He has no interest in business or politics, and sees his attendance as a compliment to the ladies.

When they had departed, we talked of the parish and the war, our farming troubles and our hopes for the coming year. Weston was convivial, resisting any effort to break up the gentlemen by passing the port again. He liked nothing better than to have a group of friends round his table.

I saw Elton looking at the clock once or twice, but otherwise he bore his separation from the ladies well. At last, Weston could delay us no longer, and we left our seats.

"I am going to take a walk," said John, as we left the dining-room. "I need some fresh air after Weston’s good food. Do you care to join me?"

"No, thank you," I said.

Truth to tell, I wanted to see how Emma got on with Elton. The other gentlemen demurred, and John set out.

On arriving in the drawing-room, I was not surprised to see Elton making for Emma, and, with scarcely an invitation, he seated himself between her and Mrs. Weston. He began to speak of Harriet at once, saying he hoped that Emma would not risk catching a cold from her friend.

Really, he was as bad as her father, with his talk of colds! She quickly gew weary of his attentions, and I became sure of one thing: she was finally convinced that she was his object, and not Harriet. No matter how many times she tried to turn the conversation back to her friend, he would not have it. Everything he said was about her.

"So scrupulous for others," said Elton to Mrs. Weston, "and yet so careless for herself! She wanted me to nurse my cold by staying at home today, and yet will not promise to avoid the danger of catching an ulcerated sore throat herself! Is this fair, Mrs. Weston? Judge between us. Have not I some right to complain? I am sure of your kind support and aid."

Mrs. Weston looked astonished, as well she might. This was going beyond anything I had so far heard, and assumed an intimacy that plainly was not there. I wondered that Emma could endure it, though by her look she could not do so easily. I almost stepped in, but knowing her to be equal to Elton, I left her to fight the battle herself.

She turned on him a quelling look, and I did not know whether to pity them or laugh at them: Emma abusing her powers and creating a muddle where there had been none, and Elton, blinded by ambition, mistaking the matter so badly he was about to make an even bigger muddle than the one already made.

There was no time for any more of Elton’s chivalry, however, as John returned from his walk. He came in, rubbing his hands and speaking briskly, breaking like a whirlwind into the room.

"This will prove a spirited beginning of your winter engagements, sir," he said to Mr. Woodhouse heartily. "It will be something new for your coachman and horses to be making their way through a storm of snow."

I wished he could have been less dramatic in his entrance. Mr. Woodhouse was so distressed he was struck dumb, but a regular hubbub broke out from everyone else.

"Snow? I would not have thought it," said Emma.

"No, indeed," said Elton. "Who could have guessed?"

"How deep is it?" asked Weston.

"Do you think it will lie?" asked Mrs. Weston.

"I admired your resolution very much, sir, in venturing out in such weather," continued John to Mr. Woodhouse, "for of course you saw there would be snow very soon. Everybody must have seen the snow coming on. I admired your spirit; and I dare say we shall get home very well. Another hour or two’s snow can hardly make the road impassable; and we are two carriages; if one is blown over in the bleak part of the common field, there will be the other at hand. I dare say we shall be all safe at Hartfield before midnight."

To him, the snow was a matter of novelty and excitement. There are times when he reminds me of his children! To Weston, too, it was a source of satisfaction, or at least the concealment of it was.

"I knew it was snowing all along," said Weston. "I saw it as I crossed the hall, but said nothing for fear of breaking up the party. I could see that it was nothing, a mere dusting, and nothing to worry about. There will be no difficulty in anyone getting home. A pity! I wish there would be, then you could all stay the night. We would love to have you, would we not, my dear?" he said to Mrs. Weston.

She hardly knew how to look, and I was not surprised, as there are only two spare rooms at Randalls, and she had six guests.

"What is to be done, my dear, Emma? What is to be done?" said Mr. Woodhouse, over and over again.

Leaving them to their worries, I went outside to judge the situation for myself. John had exaggerated. There was very little snow, nothing but a fine covering, and it was not likely to cause any difficulties in getting home. I went beyond the sweep, and walked some way along the Highbury Road to make sure, but it was nowhere more than half an inch deep, and in many places it was hardly there at all.

I looked up. A few flakes were falling, but the sky was clearing, and I felt it would soon abate. I spoke to James, and he agreed with me that there was nothing to worry about.

I returned to the drawing-room and set everyone’s minds at ease, but Mr. Woodhouse had been so worried that he did not recover.

"Your father will not be easy; why do not you go?" I said to Emma.

"I am ready, if the others are."

"Shall I ring the bell?"

"Yes, do."

I think she was not sorry to be leaving Elton. Once back at home, she would be free of his attentions.

Between us, we managed to soothe Mr. Woodhouse until the carriage was brought round. I saw him to his carriage, and Isabella and he stepped in. I stood back, and John, forgetting that he had not come with his wife, followed her into the carriage. I was about to remonstrate with him, when the carriage pulled away.

What did it matter which carriage he took? I thought, until I remembered that Emma would now be left alone with Elton.

I was just about to suggest that I go with her, when I saw that both she and Elton had climbed into their carriage, and that it was already following the first up the drive.

I consoled myself with the thought that Elton was a gentleman. Though he had partaken freely of wine I did not fear for Emma’s safety. But as to what he might say to her….

On reflection, I felt it was perhaps as well that things should come to a head. I could not stand to see him dancing attendance on her any longer, and the sooner she made her feelings plain to him the better.

I went back inside.

"So, we have lost the rest of the party," said Mr. Weston. "You will stay awhile longer?" he asked me.

He was looking dejected at the sudden break-up of his party, and I agreed. The conversation turned once again to his son, and we spent an hour talking of Frank Churchill, Mr. Weston’s delight in being about to see him, and Mrs. Weston’s desire to meet her new stepson.

As we spoke, however, I could not help wondering what was taking place in the carriage.

"You seem tired," said Mr. Weston, noticing my abstraction at last.

"No," I said, rousing myself.

"The children have been wearing you out," said Mrs. Weston with a smile.

I let her think it. It was better than have her worrying about Emma.

I left them at last, and, thanking them for a very enjoyable evening, I returned to the Abbey. I took up a book, but it would not do.

What was Elton saying to Emma? What was she saying to him? And would I ever learn anything of it? I wondered.

Probably not. She had not admitted her mistake to me, and probably never would. But I should know by her manner if something had happened, even if she said nothing.

Friday 25 December

When I woke up this morning, there was a brightness about my chamber, and I could tell at once that it had snowed heavily in the night. On pulling back the curtains, I saw that a blanket of snow lay over everything. The gardens were thick with it, and the meadows beyond, and the drive was covered so effectively that I knew there would be no travelling by carriage today.

I walked out before breakfast, enjoying the briskness of the exercise and the crispness of the air, then returned to a hot meal before setting off for church. I did not expect to find the Hartfield party there, but one or two hardy souls had braved the walk. Graham was there, with his sister.

Mr. Longridge was there, also. He told me that he had looked in on the Bateses on his way, and had found them both well. They had had a good fire, he told me, and the smell of cooking had been coming from the kitchen.

"Miss Bates would have come to church - I offered her my arm - but she would not leave her mother. A wonderful woman, Mr. Knightley," he said. "Always thinking of others, and never of herself. And always interested in the world around her. My wife was another such woman. I was busy with business, but I never minded, because my wife always brought the world to me. I knew what our friends were doing, because she told me. And now that I sit by myself, my business days being behind me, I like to hear a woman’s voice telling me all the news again."

I thought how kind he was, and I was pleased he had entered into our ways already. It was very good of him to look in on Miss Bates, and to say how agreeable he found her chatter.

Miss Nash was there, and I took the opportunity of asking her how Harriet did.

"Very poorly, thank you for asking," she said. "The poor girl has a shocking cold and a sore throat. She has kept to her bed since returning from Hartfield, and will not be out of it for several days."

The service began, and I thought Elton looked subdued, though it could have been my imagination, for afterwards, Miss Nash said she thought the service had been particularly good, and Mr. Longridge declared it the best service he had been to for a long time. He left me with the intention of calling on the Bateses on his way home, so that he could tell them all about it.

I walked to Hartfield, and found the family indoors. Mr. Woodhouse had recovered from his shock of the night before, and was sitting by the fire with Isabella, the baby on his knee. Little Emma was looking placid and contented.

Her namesake, my Emma, was playing with the other children. She looked up as I entered the room, but she could not meet my eye.

So! Elton had spoken, I thought, but I did not plague her by mentioning it.

Mr. Woodhouse was shocked that I had walked over to Hartfield in all the snow, and he was even more alarmed when I said that I had been to church. Isabella asked about the service, but Emma made no enquiries. Instead, she became absorbed in Henry’s blocks, and did not look up until the conversation had moved on to other things.

John was cheerful, having worked off his ill-humour yesterday evening, and was enjoying his children. Despite Mr. Woodhouse’s protests, he ordered Henry and John wrapped up warmly, then he and I took them out into the garden. They delighted in walking through the snow, trying to step in our footsteps.

When we returned to the house, we exchanged presents, and I enjoyed seeing Emma’s face when she unwrapped the gloves I had bought her. I rejoiced in her present to me, a pen-wiper, which was to replace the one she made for me ten years ago.

"It is much better made than the last one," I remarked.

She smiled, and said she hoped so.

Her spirits improved as she watched the children unwrapping their presents, and then she encouraged them to sing for me. They had already sung for the others. To begin with, the children stood mute before us, Henry and John looking bashful, Bella giggling and George trying to do what his brothers and sister did. Isabella gave them encouragement, and Henry began to sing. The others, emboldened, joined in with:

Rejoice our Saviour he was born

On Christmas day in the morning

Or so I took the words to be, for they came out with a lisp and a stutter that was perfectly charming. Their efforts were heartily praised, and each was rewarded with an orange.

After dinner, when the children were in bed, Emma suggested we play at bullet pudding. John declared that he was too old for such a game, but when the mound of flour was brought in, with the bullet set on top of it, he joined in with as much enthusiasm as anyone. Isabella was the first to let it fall, and when she had retrieved it with her teeth, her face was covered completely in flour. She looked such a strange sight that we all burst out laughing, and Isabella had to wipe her face quickly for fear of the flour choking her if she started to laugh, too.

John was next to let it fall, by cutting the flour too finely, and when he emerged with the bullet held triumphantly between his teeth, his face was worse than his wife’s had been. Emma was the next to let the bullet fall, and Mr. Woodhouse worried about her until she had restored the bullet to its place at the top of the shrinking pyramid and wiped her face clean. I, too, came in for my share of flour, and ended up with a great deal on my coat as well as my face.

Our evening did not end there. Emma played the pianoforte and we sang carols, and then Isabella played and Emma and I had an impromptu dance. It ended only when she declared her sister must have her share of the fun, and she sat down at the pianoforte herself.

So ended a very enjoyable Christmas Day. Mr. Woodhouse entreated me to stay the night, rather than face the walk home, but I would not be persuaded.

As I walked home through the freezing night, I felt I had never liked a day more in my life.

Saturday 26 December

Another snowy day. I walked over to Hartfield and spent it with my family. A cheerful sight met my eyes as I arrived. John was in the grounds with John and Henry. The boys were wrapped up warmly and were running about.

We went into the house together. The smell of spices lingered on the air, and the fires sent it round the house.

Emma seemed in better spirits, and before long we were playing hunt-the-slipper with the children.

Isabella was as pleased as could be, playing with her children, and John joined in.

He is a lucky man to have five such fine sons and daughters. I thought again of my hope to marry, and I was sorry that I had not managed to find a suitable wife.

I passed the day most agreeably, regardless. I spent the time with the children, and when they were in bed, the adults played charades.

Mr. Woodhouse entreated me to stay the night, as he did yesterday, for he feared something might happen to me on the walk home, but I would not give in. I returned to the Abbey. There is nothing better than a crisp walk through the snow on a moonlit night at the end of a happy day.

Sunday 27 December

I went to church this morning, but I was not surprised to find that Emma and her father had not ventured out, for the snow was still lying thickly on the ground. There was some good to come out of the weather, however, for it would delay John and Isabella’s departure. I said as much to Emma when I walked over to Hartfield after church.

"To be sure, that is a happy thought," she said.

We took the older children out into the snow without, however, letting her father know.

"Papa worries so," she said. "It is better not to draw attention to our absence. He will be happy sitting by the fire."

After a while, Isabella brought Bella and George out to join us. She had been torn between maternal solicitousness, not wishing the children to get their feet wet, and a desire to please her younger children, who had begged to be allowed to join us, Bella with words, and George by walking over to the window and looking longingly at the snow.

"You must be thinking of marrying soon, Emma," said Isabella.

"I shall never marry," said Emma firmly. "What could marriage offer me that I do not already have?

I could not have a better house, or a higher place in the neighbourhood, or more agreeable company, and no one could ever love me more than Papa."

"But they would love you in a different way," said Isabella, "and you would have your children."

"I do not need any children, when I can play with yours."

Isabella was torn between an urge to see her sister with a family, and a belief that Emma’s children could not be any dearer than her own.

"I only wish you did not have to leave us so soon," said Emma.

"I do not know how we will return to London in all this snow," said Isabella.

"We must do it if we can," said John, joining us. "I have to be in London on the twenty-eighth."

"Business will not continue in this weather, surely?" I said.

"It will if it is at all possible."

We returned to the house, where we drank mulled wine, much to the concern of Mr. Woodhouse, who thought it bad for our constitutions, and tried to encourage us to take a bowl of gruel. I was almost in a mood to humour him, so well at ease did I feel with my world.

Almost!

Monday 28 December

John and Isabella were to have departed for London today, but the roads were still impassable, so they remained.

John was fretful, but the children lifted him out of his ill-humour. Isabella was pleased to be still at Hartfield, and Mr. Woodhouse went so far as to say that he hoped it might snow again tomorrow, so that he would have the pleasure of his family for a few days longer.

Emma was glad of her sister’s company, and I was glad for her.

"It is not easy for you, having no one of your own age to talk to," I said, as I sat down beside her and watched her doing some embroidery.

"I have Harriet. I am lucky to have found her. She is the best friend I could wish for. She is good-humoured, and I have the added enjoyment of feeling I am doing her good."

"She is not the right companion for you," I said. I could see she was about to argue, so I added: "She is three years younger than you."

"She is not my only friend," said Emma. "I have you."

I was gratified, but I said: "I am so much older than you."

"Yet for all your superiority, I have yet to see you embroider a handkerchief," she said archly, and held out her work for me to examine.

"Perhaps I should learn!"

"What? And neglect your work at the Abbey? William Larkins would never forgive me. He looks at me darkly as it is, when I pass him in Highbury. I am sure he thinks you spend far too much time here."

"Do you think so?" I asked her.

"You can never spend enough time here for Papa and me."

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.