Mr. Knightley's Diary

by Amanda Grange

  But he is a sensible man. He can see that Harriet belongs with him, and I am convinced he is biding his time.

  In this, I hope to do him a good turn. Abbey Mill Farm is plainly visible from the Abbey, and when Harriet comes strawberry-picking, I hope to draw her attention to it.

  Further than this I will not go; but Emma has meddled in separating them, and I think I may be forgiven for meddling in some small way to bring them back together.

  Tuesday 22 June

  I have had no success in finding Emma alone this week. She has either been out walking, or with Harriet, or with her father. But I must speak to her. When she comes to the Abbey, I mean to offer her my arm and lead her away from the others. Once in a secluded corner I can speak to her, tentatively at first, to see if I can discover whether she has irrevocably given her heart to Churchill, and then, if she has not, I mean to ask her to marry me.

  Wednesday 23 June

  I was walking into Highbury when I passed Mrs Elton by chance. She and her husband were taking the air. I wondered if he knew about the plan for a donkey, and that he was expected to walk beside it.

  'Look, Mr E, here is Knightley!' she said.

  I could not ignore her greeting, and bade her good morning.

  'What do you think, Knightley?' she asked me. 'The carriage-horse has recovered. My caro sposo and I are planning a trip to Box Hill on the twenty-fifth, the day after we come to Donwell. I hope you will join us. You and I must lead the way, Knightley. We must not let this good weather pass us by.'

  I could not readily think of an excuse, so I agreed. If, for any reason, the day at the Abbey does not give me a chance to speak to Emma, then a day at Box Hill will surely do so.

  Thursday 24 June

  I was relieved when I awoke to a day of bright sunshine, knowing it would make the strawberry-picking so much more enjoyable. Even so, I ordered a fire lit in the sitting-room for Mr Woodhouse, for he feels the cold, even in summer.

  I helped Emma settle him when he arrived, and he was happy to sit with Mrs Weston, who claimed she was tired, and that she would much rather remain indoors. I gave them a collection of medals, engravings, cameos, corals and shells to look through and then went outside with my other guests.

  The strawberry-picking began. Berries were picked and eaten, their relative flavours and textures discussed, and favourite varieties were remarked upon. Mrs Elton gave her opinion decidedly, whilst Elton danced attendance and Weston worried about his son.

  'I thought Frank would be here by now,' he said on more than one occasion, looking at his watch. 'He has had time, I am sure. I thought we would have seen him here already.'

  I took my chance and walked up to Emma, but to my frustration, Mrs Elton was before me, and was soon telling Emma that, as the two leading ladies of the district, they must find a position for Jane Fairfax without delay.

  I had no desire to join their conversation, and I was about to join Mr Woodhouse indoors when I noticed that Harriet appeared at something of a loss. Seeing an opportunity to help Robert Martin, I went over to her and engaged her in conversation. I asked her how she liked the weather, and what she thought of the Abbey, and as I talked to her, I led her away from the others, down the lime-walk. She went with me readily, and as we stood together at the end of the lime-walk, we looked out over Abbey Mill Farm.

  With this view in sight, I brought the conversation round to the Westons, and said how happy their marriage had made them.

  'Yes, indeed,' she said shyly.

  'The Eltons, too, seem happy,' I said.

  She blushed, for the Eltons brought back unwelcome memories, but they served my purpose, and she admitted that they seemed happy, too.

  Then, having turned her attention towards matrimony, I chose my next words carefully, and without actually asking her outright, I tried to discover if her affections were engaged.

  She murmured something I did not catch, but her very shyness seemed to imply that they were. I pressed on, pointing out that Abbey Mill Farm was well-run and prosperous, and drawing her attention to the fine animals, the healthy orchards and the well-tended fields. She listened to everything I said with rapt attention. She blushed and murmured in just the way a young girl in love ought to do, and I felt that Robert Martin would be made happy before very long.

  I would have said more, but that Emma joined us at that moment and I could not think of Harriet any longer, except to wish she would take herself off and leave us alone. She did not do so, and, Mrs Weston coming out, I had to master my frustration at so much unwanted company and play the host.

  'I hope Frank has not had an accident,' said Mrs Weston. 'I thought he would have been here by now. I am worried about his horse.'

  'The black mare? As safe a horse as ever I saw,' said Weston, coming up. 'Depend on it, it is his aunt.'

  I had no chance to speak to Emma alone before lunch, but afterwards she declared she would stay indoors with her father. I saw my chance, and having seen to the comfort of my guests outside, I returned to the Abbey. I had resolved to call her out of the room on some pretext so that I could see her for a few minutes alone, for I was growing weary of waiting for such an opportunity to arise. As I walked through the hall, I rehearsed my speech:

  Emma, we have known each other a long time....

  Emma, I must speak to you....

  I cannot stay silent any longer. Emma, I am in love with you....

  I shook my head. None of those openings satisfied me, and I decided I would have to trust to the genius of the moment. I opened the door...and found that Churchill had arrived.

  There he was, the one person in the world to whom I did not wish to offer any hospitality, sitting in my house and talking to my Emma.

  I was so displeased that I excused myself as soon as I could, for fear of saying something rude. I found Harriet once more alone, and went over to her, meaning to press Robert Martin's suit, but instead I found myself talking about Churchill.

  'What right has he to come so late, and then to inform no one of his arrival?' I said, finding in Harriet a willing listener.

  'None,' she said, with a shake of the head.

  'He did not even tell the Westons, and poor Mrs Weston has been worrying about him all morning. And then to sit with Emma! What business has he doing that, instead of making himself known to his host?'

  'None at all,' she said.

  'And Emma sees nothing wrong in it.' I was about to say that I feared his influence on her would not be a good one, when I recollected myself and remembered that I was talking to her friend.

  'But tell me, what have you been doing? Have you been enjoying the Abbey grounds?' I asked her, all thoughts of Robert Martin having been driven out of my mind by my own concerns.

  As she spoke to me about her delight in the gardens, I found my thoughts returning to Emma, and I knew that I must be careful to guard my tongue. If I said anything more about Frank Churchill, it would look like jealousy--not surprisingly, for it is jealousy. I wish he had never been born.

  The party at last broke up. Miss Fairfax had left earlier in the day, in case her grandmother wanted her, and Emma and her father kindly took Miss Bates home in their carriage. Harriet went with them, the Westons soon following. The Eltons stayed as long as possible, with Mrs Elton congratulating me on the fish-ponds, the strawberry-beds, the lime-walk, indeed anything that would allow her to remain a minute longer. At last she had exhausted every possible topic of conversation and was obliged to leave, saying she was looking forward to the morrow.

  The morrow! I do not know whether I am looking forward to it or not. It might give me a chance to speak to Emma, but my hopes are dwindling. She seemed very thick with Churchill today. I wish I knew what her feelings were.

  I have no wish to see Churchill paying court to her tomorrow, but it will hurt me more if I should stay away, for then I will not see her at all.

  But I will not lose heart. The black mare might go lame, or Mrs Churchill might detain him, and then F
rank Churchill will not join us at all.

  Friday 25 June

  I was up at daybreak, and oversaw the start of the clover-cutting before getting ready to go to Box Hill. The day was fine, and we had a good journey. Whether we were tired from yesterday's enjoyments or languid because of the heat I do not know, but there was a lack of spirit in the party.

  I myself was in despair. Churchill spent most of the day with Emma, and I had no chance to speak to her alone. I spent my time with Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax. I was, at least, able to be of assistance in helping Miss Fairfax repel Mrs Elton's overtures.

  We strolled about until it was time for our picnic. Then, indeed, there was more liveliness in the party, though I liked it less than I had liked the insipidity of the morning, for Churchill made Emma the object of his attentions. His double-dealing continued when he directed sly glances at Miss Fairfax, however, and I could not think what he was about. Whatever it was, he did not behave like a gentleman.

  Emma did not seem to notice anything amiss, and flirted with him in the most painful way; painful to me, as I am in love with her more every day. For, despite her follies and freaks, from which no one of us is immune, she is the only woman for me.

  Her flirting grew worse. It was beyond anything I had seen, and I dreaded where Frank Churchill's influence would take her.

  He became more and more extravagant in his speech, and if I had not spent the morning with him, and known he had not touched any wine, I should have suspected that he was drunk.

  'Ladies and gentlemen,' he said, 'I am ordered by Miss Woodhouse (who, wherever she is, presides) to say, that she desires to know what you are all thinking of.'

  Emma smiled at this mixture of flattery and silliness, instead of looking disgusted, as she should have done, and I replied curtly: 'Is Miss Woodhouse sure that she would like to hear what we are all thinking of?'

  I looked at her intently, knowing she would not like my thoughts.

  'Oh! no, no,' she cried, laughing carelessly. 'Upon no account in the world. It is the very last thing I would stand the brunt of just now. Let me hear anything rather than what you are all thinking of. I will not say quite all. There are one or two, perhaps,'--glancing at Mr Weston and Harriet--'whose thoughts I might not be afraid of knowing.'

  Well might she say so. They never find fault with anything she does, but to have such uncritical friends is not good for anyone.

  'It is a sort of thing which I should not have thought myself privileged to enquire into,' cried Mrs Elton, not at all pleased with the turn the conversation had taken, though her anger was mostly caused by the fact that she was not the centre of attention.

  There was whispering from Frank Churchill, and Emma showed no disgust at his behaviour, as she would have done had anyone else whispered in company. Instead she went on smiling. He then said that Emma--making her the source for all his proclamations--demanded a clever saying from everyone.

  'Or two things moderately clever--or three things very dull indeed,' he said extravagantly, 'and she engages to laugh heartily at them all.'

  'Oh! very well,' exclaimed good Miss Bates, 'then I need not be uneasy. "Three things very dull indeed." That will just do for me, you know. I shall be sure to say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth, shan't I?'

  I was just about to say, 'Not at all,' and I saw Mrs Weston about to do the same, when Emma said: 'Ah! ma'am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me, but you will be limited as to number--only three at once.'

  I could not believe it. Instead of reassuring Miss Bates that her contributions to the conversation were always valued, she insulted her in front of all her friends; worse still, in front of her niece. I felt sick with it. She would never have said such a thing before meeting Frank Churchill!

  Miss Bates did not realize what Emma had said, and I was about to divert her attention by offering her another slice of pie when I saw her face change and knew I was too late.

  'Ah! well--to be sure. Yes, I see what she means,' she said, turning to me. I will try to hold my tongue. I must make myself very disagreeable, or she would not have said such a thing to an old friend.'

  I was mortified, yet Emma continued to smile and Weston went on with the conversation as though nothing was wrong. Weston! Who should have shown her what he thought of such conduct by a frown. He then made things worse by offering a conundrum, and one which could not have been more badly chosen.

  'What two letters of the alphabet are there, that express perfection?' he asked.

  And the answer?

  'M and A: Emma!' Weston said. 'Do you understand?'

  Emma understood, and was gratified, whilst I was annoyed. Emma, perfect? Emma, who had insulted her oldest friend? Emma, who had flirted shamelessly in front of all her friends?

  Emma basked in the praise, though it was ill-deserved, whilst her flatterer, Frank Churchill, laughed and enjoyed it.

  'This explains the sort of clever thing that is wanted,' I said without humour, 'but perfection should not have come quite so soon.'

  It made no difference. Emma was pleased, and so was her court. Mrs Elton, it is true, was not pleased, though if she could have changed her name to Emma, she would have thought it the best conundrum in the world.

  She and her husband declared their intention of taking a walk, and Churchill passed a disparaging remark about couples who met at a watering-place. I was astounded at his bad manners. Though I do not believe there is much genuine affection between Elton and his wife, it should not have been remarked on, and in such a way.

  Miss Fairfax could stand no more, and said she would take a walk. I did not blame her. I declared my intention of taking a walk as well, and gave her one arm, whilst offering Miss Bates the other.

  'Oh, Mr Knightley, how kind of you to walk with us,' said Miss Bates. 'I am not surprised Miss Woodhouse did not enjoy my company--so kind of her to be so forbearing--I rattle on sadly, it must be a trial to her--so good of her to trouble herself to visit me, for I am sure I am always receiving attention from her and her father,' she said, as we set out.

  And for the rest of the walk, I had to listen to her apologizing for her tongue, when it should have been Emma who was apologizing for hers.

  I did what I could to soothe her, and she grew easier. I was just beginning to regain my composure when Mrs Elton joined us and tried to force Miss Fairfax to take up an appointment with friends of hers. I pity any poor woman who would have to go as a governess to Mrs Smallwood, no matter how near Maple Grove she might be! This objectionable episode put the seal on a most disagreeable day.

  My anger had not cooled when I stood next to Emma as we waited for the carriage to take us home again. I told myself I must not reprimand her or criticize her, but I could not help myself. I could not see her being dragged down, when a word from me might stop it.

  'Emma, I must once more speak to you as I have been used to do,' I said, in some agitation. Even then, I tried to hold back, but I could not. 'I cannot see you acting wrong, without a remonstrance. How could you be so unfeeling to Miss Bates? How could you be so insolent in your wit to a woman of her character, age and situation? Emma, I had not thought it possible.'

  She blushed, but only laughed.

  'Nay, how could I help saying what I did? Nobody could have helped it. It was not so very bad. I dare say she did not understand me.'

  'I assure you she did. She felt your full meaning. She has talked of it since. I wish you could have heard how she talked of it--with what candour and generosity. I wish you could have heard her honouring your forbearance, in being able to pay her such attentions, as she was for ever receiving from yourself and your father, when her society must be so irksome.'

  'Oh!' she said airily, 'I know there is not a better creature in the world: but you must allow, that what is good and what is ridiculous are most unfortunately blended in her.'

  'They are blended,' I said, 'and were she a woman of fortune, I would leave every harmless absurdity to take its chance-
-but, Emma, consider how far this is from being the case. She is poor; she has sunk from the comforts she was born to; and, if she lives to old age, must probably sink more. Her situation should secure your compassion. It was badly done, indeed!'

  She was not interested. She looked away, impatient with me for speaking to her thus. But I had started, and I could not have done until I had finished.

  'To laugh at her, humble her--and before her niece, too. This is not pleasant to you, Emma--and it is very far from pleasant to me; but I must, I will, tell you truths while I can, satisfied with proving myself your friend by very faithful counsel, and trusting that you will some time or other do me greater justice than you can do now.'

  I handed her into the carriage. She did not even bid me goodbye. She was sullen. Who could blame her? But it could not be helped. I had said what I had to say, and I returned to the Abbey in low spirits.

  By and by, the sight of my fields began to restore my sense of calm. The air was sweet with the scent of clover, and the birds were singing. If Emma had been with me, I would have known complete happiness. But she was not, and as I came inside I had to acknowledge that such a thing would never come to pass.

  I retired to my room, picked up my quill and gave vent to my feelings. But I cannot forget about Emma. Where is she now? Is she at Hartfield, thinking of Frank Churchill and his easy flattery? She must be. And soon she will be living at Enscombe.

  I must go away, at once. I cannot bear to see her with him, to watch her permitting, even encouraging, his attentions. It hurts me too much. She is lost to me. My Emma.

  Saturday 26 June

  I awoke, firm in my resolve to go away, and settled on London, as it would give me an opportunity to see to some business, and to see John and Isabella.

  I could not go without seeing Emma one last time, however, and I walked over to Hartfield. I was out of luck, for Emma was not at home. I meant to be on my way at once, but I sat with Mr Woodhouse, asking him if he had any message to send to Isabella, then telling him I did not know how long I would be away. I still could not bear to go, not without seeing her for one last time.