Mr Knightley's Diary Part 2

'I hope not that,' she returned. 'It is not likely. I had a very well-written letter from him on my marriage.'

She gave it to me and I read it, but although I said it was very fine, I privately thought it was a poor subst.i.tute for a visit. He should have paid her that courtesy on her marriage, and not all the obstacles in the world should have prevented him.

'He was very sorry not to be here,' she said, 'but Mrs Churchill was not well, and insisted on his accompanying her to Weymouth. Her physician felt the sea air would be beneficial to her health.'

I managed no more than a harrumph! Though the Churchills took him in when his mother died and made him their heir, Weston being ill-equipped to care for a two-year-old son, and though he had taken their name, I still felt that, if his character had been what it ought, he would have made a point of calling on his new stepmother on her marriage.

She seemed to read my thoughts, for she said: 'We will not argue about him.'

'No, indeed. I have not come to plague you about your stepson. Rather, I have come to plague you about Emma, and I have not half done. I cannot agree with you in thinking this friendship a good thing. Miss Smith knows nothing herself, and looks upon Emma as knowing everything. How can Emma imagine she has any thing to learn herself, while Harriet is presenting such a delightful inferiority? And as for Miss Smith, I will venture to say that she cannot gain by the acquaintance. Hartfield will only put her out of conceit with all the other places she belongs to.'

'I either depend more upon Emma's good sense than you do, or am more anxious for her present comfort; for I cannot lament the acquaintance,' said Mrs Weston. 'Emma must have a friend of her own age to talk to.'

I said no more, and our conversation turned to other matters, but I still feel an anxiety about Emma and I will be glad when the friendship has run its course.

Sat.u.r.day 17 October I visited Hartfield this morning, and had the good fortune to find Emma alone. Moreover, she was reading a book. Feeling somewhat heartened by this, I asked her how her plans to educate her little friend were getting along.

'I have drawn up a programme of reading,' she said. 'We mean to study all the great authors.'

'This is most impressive,' I said, as she handed me the list.

It was beautifully laid out, and was written in the most exquisite hand. A great deal of thought had gone into selecting the list, and a lot of care had gone into its presentation.

'I wanted Harriet to have a feel for the beauty of our language, and so I thought I would guide her through some of our greatest works,' she said, pleased with my praise.

'And which of these have you started?'

'All of them.'

All of them?' I asked in surprise.

'Yes. We mean to finish them by Christmas.'

'An ambitious plan,' I said. 'You will need to read a book every week. Do you not think it would be better to read half as many books and devote twice as much time to each?'

'We can always read them a second time, in a more leisurely manner, later on, but Harriet is eager to make up for the deficiencies of her education as soon as possible. I do not say that Mrs G.o.ddard has been lax,' said Emma graciously. 'Quite the opposite. She has given Harriet sound basics. But it is up to me to further her education, and make it equal that of a young lady.'

I did not know whether to scold her for her pomposity or tease her for her conceit, so instead I sought to open her eyes to her friend's capabilities.

'My dear Emma, Harriet has no interest in literature. She was happy at the Martins' farm, marking her height on the wall and claiming a pretty cow.'

'Which is why I must take her in hand, for then she will add an appreciation of literature, music and art to her repertoire of interests.'

It was useless to argue with this misguided notion, particularly as I am convinced that the programme of education will last no longer than any of her previous programmes. It will start in an excess of zeal, and end in the plans being laid aside in favour of a walk into Highbury.

I saw a way that that could be turned to my advantage.

'Have you visited Miss Bates lately?' I asked.

'Not lately,' she said lightly, but she looked uncomfortable.

She knows that I think she should visit Miss Bates more often than she does.

'She always thinks it an honour when you call, and being situated as you are, in a position of comfort and ease, and with Miss Bates being situated as she is, in a position of dwindling income, you should not be remiss in your attentions,' I reminded her.

'Very well, I will call on her this afternoon. I will take Harriet,' she said, brightening. 'We will be ready for a break from our studies by then.'

It is as I thought. A visit to Miss Bates is far more welcome to her when it is an alternative to study!

Monday 19 October I dined with my friend Graham this evening. We were a small party, just Graham, the Coles, Elton, and Graham's widowed sister.

'My sister, Mrs Lovage, has joined me from Bath,' said Graham, as he introduced us.

I wondered if here could be the woman I was looking for. She impressed me at our first meeting with her beauty and her good manners, followed closely by her good sense. I asked her about Bath, and Elton joined in the conversation.

'Do you know Bath?' she asked him.

'I know it very well. I visited there with my sisters only recently,' he said.

'Your sisters are not Mrs Winchester and Miss Catherine Elton?' asked Mrs Lovage.

'Yes, indeed they are.'

'But this is famous!' cried Mrs Lovage. 'I know them well. We often take tea together.'

There were the usual congratulations, and Mrs Lovage spoke sensibly about their mutual acquaintances, whilst the Coles added their experiences of Bath to the conversation.

'You must also know the Framptons,' said Mrs Lovage. 'Miss Frampton has newly become engaged to a Mr Bradshaw.'

'I am very pleased for her,' said Elton. 'I believe the other Misses Frampton will not be far behind their sister. They are beautiful girls, with twenty thousand pounds apiece.'

From the way he spoke of them it was clear he was intimate with them, and if I do not miss my guess, he has thoughts of marrying one or other of them.

'Nothing lifts the spirits so much as a wedding,' said Mrs Lovage. She turned to me. 'Do you not think so, Mr Knightley?'

'They are generally thought agreeable.'

'I hear you have had a wedding of your own here recently?'

'Yes, Mrs Weston is newly married.'

'Then I must pay her my respects tomorrow,' she said.

After dinner, we talked of more serious matters and I found that Mrs Lovage was able to hold an intelligent conversation on a variety of subjects. She expressed an interest in old buildings and we talked of the Abbey at some length. I was about to invite her to visit, when Elton broke into our conversation, mentioning more of his Bath acquaintance, and the moment was lost.

I would like to see Emma become as well-informed as Mrs Lovage, but as she does not mix with the Grahams, and would consider them quite beneath her, it is unlikely she will make Mrs Lovage's acquaintance. She will grow out of this false sense of superiority, I hope. It is all very well to preserve distinction of cla.s.s within reason, particularly if inferiority of station is mixed with inferiority of mind, but where there is only a slight disparity it is nonsense, and I hope that one day Emma will see it.

Mrs Lovage was very agreeable for the rest of the evening, but when I returned home I was disappointed to realize that I had no particular desire to see her again. But perhaps my feelings will change on further acquaintance.

Tuesday 20 October We had a storm overnight, and some of the fences blew down. I toured the estate with William Larkins and gave instructions for repairs to be carried out.

This evening, I had my revenge at the whist club, and came home the overall winner. Elton would have done better if he had spent less time telling us of the heiresses he knew, and more time in thinking about his cards.

Wednesday 21 October I went to Hartfield this morning, to see if the storm had done any damage there, and whether Mr Woodhouse needed my help in organizing repairs. I was also curious to see Emma, and to discover whether she had tired of Miss Smith's company. Unfortunately, I found that she was even closer to Miss Smith, and that Harriet, for so Emma calls her, was staying at Hartfield.

'Look, Papa, here is Mr Knightley,' said Emma as I entered the room.

'You have not walked over in all this wind?' he asked in alarm. 'My dear Mr Knightley, you should not be venturing out in this weather. Such a howling in the chimney-pots last night, was there not, Emma? I thought they were going to come crashing down.'

'But they did not, Papa,' said Emma soothingly. 'We were just saying how fortunate it was, that the storm did us no damage. How did you fare at the Abbey, Mr Knightley?'

'Not so well. A number of fences have blown down, and they will have to be repaired.'

'Emma, my dear, you and Harriet must not take a walk today, but must stay indoors. See, it is not safe to be outside. Mr Knightley's fences have blown down, and if you venture out, you and Harriet will surely be blown down, too.'

'Very well, Papa, Harriet and I will go no further than Randalls.'

'Even that is not safe,' he said.

'I believe it is,' said Emma. 'Do you not think so, Mr Knightley?'

Thus appealed to, I soothed her father's fears and secured Emma her walk. It is not easy for her, being tied to such an old man, but she bears it cheerfully.

'We must not be remiss in our attentions, Papa,' Emma went on, to convince him of the necessity of the walk. 'Mrs Weston will like to know we are all safe after the storm.'

'Ah, poor Miss Taylor. If she had only stayed here, she would have been safe. We have escaped, though the wind howled in the chimneys, but I fear that Randalls is not so well-built. I hope their roof may not have blown off.'

I told him that I had pa.s.sed Randalls on my way, and had seen no such calamity.

'Poor Miss Taylor, she would have been much better here with us,' sighed Mr Woodhouse again.

Emma took out a drawing she had been doing, by way of turning her father's thoughts away from the numerous disasters that might have befallen his friends.

'A very pretty drawing,' said Mr Woodhouse. 'Emma draws very well. Emma does everything very well.'

'Papa,' said Emma reprovingly, but pleased none the less.

What hope is there for her, with such flattery around her?

I pointed out its flaws and, though she had the goodness to admit that the tree was too tall in relation to the shrubbery, she showed no inclination to put it right.

'Harriet, show Mr Knightley your drawing,' she said.

Harriet shyly held out her drawing. It was a typical schoolgirl effort, but I found something to praise and some suggestions to make.

I asked Harriet what books she had been reading, and it was as I suspected. Many had been started but none finished. However, overall I found her improved. She had lost her schoolgirl giggle and, if her understanding was not good, at least it was better than formerly. There was nothing of vulgarity in her, and Emma had sought to build on her better qualities with some success.

I believe Mrs Weston might have been right when she said the friendship would provide Emma with much needed company. Perhaps it will do no harm after all.

'We have had a letter from Isabella,' said Emma.

She went over to the table, as Harriet listened patiently to Mr Woodhouse's account of his fears for poor Mrs Weston in the storm.

I followed her, and took the letter she offered me. It was from Southend. Isabella praised the weather, the neighbourhood and the sea.

'So Isabella went bathing after all,' I said.

'Yes, though before she went, she protested she would not venture into the water.' She glanced at her father. 'I have not mentioned it to Papa. He would only worry. He does not approve of the children getting their feet wet.'

'If I remember, you were always getting your feet wet as a child,' I said. 'I recall you paddling in the stream at Donwell--'

'And receiving a fine scolding for it when Miss Taylor found me!'

'It was the mildest of reproofs, especially as you had escaped from your lessons and gone outside on the pretext of sketching the Abbey.'

'It was not a pretext! I took my pencils and my sketchbook--'

'And abandoned them as soon as you were out of sight.'

'Unfair!' she cried, adding saucily: 'I abandoned them before I was out of sight.'

'Incorrigible girl! If you had applied yourself more, you might now be a mistress of your art, instead of abandoning your portraits, half-finished, in a portfolio.'

'They are not half-finished!' she declared, then she had the goodness to laugh, and to add: 'Not all of them, anyway. I finished the portrait of John. It is my best work, I think, and deserves its place in the drawing-room. Mrs Weston thought it a good likeness.'

'Though Isabella did not.'

She did not like my remark, and said: 'Isabella is partial. No one could have captured John's likeness in a way that would have suited her.'

'And Mrs Weston, too, is partial,' I told her. 'She would have thought it a good likeness however it had turned out.'

'Perhaps I need more practice. I think I might draw you, Mr Knightley,' she said with an arch smile.

'I seem to recall you doing so--' I reminded her.

'--and abandoning the attempt,' she admitted.

'I did not, say so.'

'No, but you were about to. You seem to make no allowance for the fact that I was sixteen years old at the time.'

'Quite old enough to finish it. But it is not too late. Perhaps you should take it out and finish it now,' I said.

'I think not. You are the worst person in the world to sketch, for you are never still. You are worse than the children in that respect, for I am sure little George stays in one place for longer than his namesake.'

'A convenient excuse,' I told her.

'Not at all. If you will promise me a day when you will sit in a chair, I will promise you a finished portrait.'