I had no wish to see the two of them together, nor indeed any desire to see Frank Churchill again.
Wednesday 10 March
I dined with the Coxes this evening. The Coles were there, as were the Bateses, Mrs Goddard, the Otways, Graham and Mr Longridge.
After dinner, there was some sensible discussion about ways to relieve the poor, but as soon as we rejoined the ladies in the drawing-room, the talk was all of a coming ball.
'It was Mr Churchill's idea,' said Miss Cox. 'He and Miss Woodhouse were so taken with the dancing at your house, Mrs Cole, that they wanted to continue it, and so they have decided to hold a ball at the Crown. Mother and I just happened to pass Mr Churchill when he was hurrying to see Miss Bates, to ask her opinion on the size of the room.'
'Ay, just the person to ask,' said Mr Longridge kindly.
'I do not know when I have been more gratified,' said Miss Bates, taking up the tale. 'Mother and I were just sitting down to a dish of tea when who should walk in but Mr Frank Churchill! I was just thanking him for mending mother's glasses--so kind! So obliging! For mother cannot see without them, and she could not wear them without the rivet, for you know it was quite impossible--what was I speaking of? Oh yes, the ball. Mr Churchill asked me to go and give my opinion and he would not take no for an answer, and Jane was invited, too, of course, for I am sure no one knows more about elegant gatherings than Jane, through having been to so many with the Campbells. I went across to the Crown and told them the rooms were perfectly large enough, and no draughts to be feared, as long as the windows are kept closed. Mr Churchill was so obliging as to secure Miss Woodhouse's hand for the first two dances, so we will all be treated to some dancing of the most superior kind.'
Miss Fairfax looked distressed, and I thought she must be ill indeed if the thought of a ball did not lift her spirits, for I cannot believe her distress was at Emma being singled out in this way. Miss Fairfax is too generous for that.
Miss Fairfax was the only person who was silent, however. Everyone else broke out into conversation. As they discussed the ball, I found myself wondering why Churchill should be asking Emma for the first two dances. It was not his place to do so, though everyone else seems pleased with the idea. I found myself wishing I had asked her first.
However, the ball will very likely come to nothing as he is to return to his aunt in a few days' time. I find myself hoping that he will never come back.
Thursday 11 March
Emma was full of the ball, and my hope that it would not take place proved a vain one. When I visited Hartfield, Emma could talk of nothing else. Frank Churchill had appealed to his aunt, who had graciously declared she could manage without him, with the result that he was to stay for a week beyond his appointed time.
I tried to be generous, for Emma has little enough to entertain her, but my tongue would not do what I wished it to do.
'If the Westons think it worth while to be at all this trouble for a few hours of noisy entertainment, I have nothing to say against it, but they shall not choose pleasures for me,' I said.
'But you will be there?' Emma asked me, with a trace of anxiety.
I almost asked her what it was to her, but I managed to restrain myself just in time.
'Oh! yes, I must be there,' I said. 'I could not refuse; and I will keep as much awake as I can; but I would rather be at the Abbey, I confess.'
'Surely you would rather be at the Crown, instead of sitting at home with your accounts?' she asked.
'I cannot see why,' I answered bad-temperedly.
'Because you will have an opportunity of dancing.'
'I do not care to dance,' I remarked.
'You will at least take pleasure in seeing it,' she said.
'Pleasure in seeing dancing! Not I, indeed. I never look at it. I do not know who does. Fine dancing, I believe, like virtue, must be its own reward. Those who are standing by are usually thinking of something very different.'
I felt annoyed with myself for saying it, but I could not take any pleasure in seeing Emma dance with Mr Churchill.
Emma was quite angry, and I am not surprised. I was being churlish. Moreover, I was implying that her belief that people enjoyed to see fine dancing sprang from the vanity of those who were dancing, and that is not the case. I know it as well as she. And yet I could not be gracious with the thought of Frank Churchill in my mind.
Why I am so opposed to him I do not know. He is young and foolish and has odd fancies, but there is no real harm in him. And yet I cannot like him, do what I may. If Emma had not taken such a fancy to him, then it might have been different, but to hear her constantly talking about him puts me out of temper. He is no different from other young men his age, and I cannot see why she finds him so interesting.
Saturday 13 March
I have been punished for my gracelessness, for I find that Emma's happiness is to be lost. Frank Churchill has had a letter from his uncle saying that his aunt is unwell, and that he must go home. I am sure the letter had more to do with his aunt's selfishness than any illness. She could not bear to think of her nephew enjoying himself, that was all.
And I, I am almost as bad, for I could not bear to think of it, either. It was a warning to me, indeed, not to let bad temper rule my life.
'I am sorry for you, Emma, truly sorry,' I said, when I joined her and her father for supper. 'You, Emma, who have so few opportunities for dancing, you are really out of luck; you are very much out of luck!'
I could tell how disappointed she was.
'We should not have delayed,' she said. 'We could have held the ball with far fewer arrangements.'
Mr Woodhouse, however, was glad it was not to go ahead. 'I am sorry for your disappointment, Emma,' he began, 'but I cannot think it a bad thing. No, I cannot think it a bad thing at all. Mrs Weston was all for saying there were no draughts, but an inn, my dear, must always have them, and you would probably have taken cold.'
Even in her disappointment, Emma did not grow impatient with him.
'We inspected the inn most particularly, Papa, you know we did,' she said. 'Besides, I have not despaired of holding the ball. Mr Churchill must be with us again soon, Papa, and then it will go ahead.'
She spoke bravely, but I could tell by her tone she did not believe it.
I tried to cheer her by inviting her and her father to the Abbey tomorrow for dinner. Mr Woodhouse goes out so little that Emma is often forced to spend her time at home, but he is familiar with the Abbey, and after a little persuasion, I hoped he might give his consent.
It seemed as though he would do so, but at the last moment he decided that the horses would not like it, and invited me to Hartfield instead.
I was happy to accept. I could not promise Emma a ball, but I could promise her a cheerful evening with her friends, and a chance to talk of her lost ball to her heart's content.
Monday 15 March
I was hoping that, now Frank Churchill is not in front of her, Emma would quickly forget him, but it is not to be. She talked of nothing but him this morning, or so it seemed to me.
The Westons joined us at Hartfield, and they were only too glad to talk of him. They did everything they could to promote his virtues with Emma, and I grew more and more impatient with every word. They have a right to be delighted with their son, but they do not have a right to expect everyone else to be delighted with him as well.
Tuesday 16 March
I do not want to see Emma marry Frank Churchill, and so I said to Routledge this evening when, having travelled to London this morning to deal with a matter of business, I dined with him at the club.
'Churchill is not the man for Emma,' I said. 'He would encourage her rasher ideas, and lead her into temptation. He would be always jaunting off to London to have his hair cut or some other freak, and she would not like it. What is amusing in an acquaintance, and allowable in a friend, is less comfortable in a husband.'
'Nevertheless, it sounds as though it would be a good match,' he remarked.
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'It would take her away from Hartfield and all her friends,' I returned. 'Churchill would carry her off to Enscombe in Yorkshire, and separate her from her father and sister as effectively as if he took her off to France. She would not be comfortable there, away from everyone and everything she knows. At the Abbey, she is only sixteen miles from her sister, and close to her father--'
'At the Abbey?' he asked.
'I mean, of course, that at Highbury she is only sixteen miles from her sister, and close to her father.'
'But you said the Abbey,' he pointed out. 'Your mistake was revealing. You never seem to talk of anyone but Emma. You told me yourself that you have never met anyone you like better. It is as plain as a pikestaff. I have thought so ever since our last meeting. You should marry her, Knightley.'
'Marry Emma? Nonsense! I have known her all my life.'
'A very good basis for marriage. Think of your brother. He has known Isabella all his life, and I have yet to see a happier couple.'
'No, it would not do. I am too old for her,' I protested.
'Nonsense. You are in your prime.'
'She is too young for me,' I said, shaking my head.
'She is twenty-one. You're a clever man, George,' he said, 'but sometimes you cannot see what is under your nose. Emma is the perfect wife for you, and you are the perfect husband for her. I have known it for many months. If you do not ask her yourself, then you cannot complain if someone else does.'
'Good. I would like to see her married,' I said. 'Just not to Frank Churchill.'
'Jealous?'
'Of course not! Why should I be jealous of a frippery fellow like Frank Churchill?'
He laughed at me, but then he grew serious.
'If she marries, your life would change,' he said. 'There would be no more evenings spent at Hartfield. Her marriage would take her away.'
'She would never move far from her father. She would find a man from Surrey.'
'And would you be able to sit with her every evening, if she did?' he asked.
'A man from Highbury then!' I said impatiently.
'Who? You have already discounted Elton, and quite right, too. She is too good for Elton. But who else is there? She will marry no one related to Highbury--unless she marries Weston's son. He is the right age, and he is a good-looking man, by all accounts.'
'She can do better than Frank Churchill! A man who does not know his duty, who writes flowery letters that deliver nothing but promise everything, a weakling who cannot do right when it is under his nose. Such a man will not do for Emma.'
'She might not feel as you do. Women are strange creatures. They like a handsome face, and she must have someone, after all. Besides, on reflection, I think you are right. You are too old for Emma.'
'I am not yet in my dotage!' I returned.
'Have it your own way!' he said. 'You are too old for her, and not too old!'
'Perhaps, before you find a mate for me, you should find one for yourself,' I said.
'I might have done.'
I was immediately curious, and encouraged him to tell me about Miss Turner, a young lady he met at a soiree six weeks ago. He confided in me that he meant to marry her, if she would have him.
I retired to Brunswick Square at last. After spending an hour with John and Isabella, I retired to bed.
As I went upstairs, I thought again of what Routledge had said. Marry Emma? Ridiculous!
Thursday 18 March
I thought of Routledge's words again this morning. Marry Emma? Impossible! I am not in love with her, and my dislike of Frank Churchill has nothing to do with jealousy. It is just that I do not think it would be good for her to marry him. Now he is no longer in Highbury, I am sure Emma will think no more about him.
Monday 22 March
Work on the path is at last finished, and I examined it to make sure the work was well done, then went over the costs with William Larkins. We managed to spend more than we had anticipated, but it was well worth doing, and I am looking forward to getting John's approval of it when he visits us.
Tuesday 23 March
Elton has named his wedding-day at last, and will soon be back among us. I heard it first at the whist club, where it produced a variety of reactions.
'Happy man,' said Longridge, blowing his nose. 'It is twenty-five years to the day that my dear wife and I were married. It was a beautiful wedding. Everyone said she was the prettiest bride they had ever seen. She was a wonderful woman, always cheerful, and always with some news to bring me. She took a great interest in life, Mr Knightley, and was a source of much solace to me.' He shook his head sadly. 'The house is too quiet without her.'
Cole was interested in the event in a more practical manner. He told me that Mrs Cole had offered to find Elton a parlour maid, as Elton would no doubt require more servants, now that he was losing his bachelor status.
Weston said he hoped that Elton would be as happy as he is, but begged leave to doubt it, and then said that he would like to see his son find a good woman and marry, too.
After everyone had ventured his or her opinion on the subject, we settled down to whist. Weston had all the luck tonight, and declared himself blessed, whereupon Longridge offered that his wife had been a keen cribbage player, and had beaten him on many occasions. Cole hoped that Elton would still visit the whist club once he was married, and we parted in perfect amity.
Wednesday 24 March
I called on Miss Bates as I was passing this morning. I found Miss Fairfax trimming a bonnet for her aunt.
'So good, I am sure it is better than anything Ford's has to offer, or indeed anything from London, Jane has always been so clever--yes, I thank you, well, though growing a little deaf, but Perry says she is remarkable for her age--I was going to trim it myself, some ribbon from Ford's, but Jane had some in her workbasket, just the right shade....'
I was glad to find her in good spirits, and Mrs Bates in health. Miss Fairfax still looked pale and ill. I hope that the better weather might bring an improvement. We had sunshine today, and if it continues, perhaps Miss Fairfax will regain her spirits.
Sunday 28 March
We had our first glimpse of Mrs Elton at church today, and I'll wager that not one woman in the congregation paid attention to the sermon, they all spent their time looking at the newcomer instead.
Very little of Mrs Elton could be seen, save the back of her bonnet. It did not look as well as Miss Bates's bonnet to me, and Emma was amused when I said so.
'It has come from London, depend upon it,' she said.
'It seems as though it could just as well have come from Bath to me,' I said.
'As you are so much older and wiser than I am, I must of course defer to your judgement.'
'Not so very much older,' I said.
'And not so very much wiser,' she said saucily.
I smiled, but would not give her the satisfaction of laughing.
'I may be allowed to be a little wiser, I suppose,' I said.
'You may. But not where bonnets are concerned.'
She teases me and bedevils me, she exasperates and infuriates me, but what would I do without Emma?
Tuesday 30 March
It is two weeks now since Frank Churchill left, and I have fallen back into my routine of regular visits to Hartfield.
'And what do you think of Mrs Elton?' I asked Emma. 'Or have you not yet had time to visit her?'
'Yes, I called on her yesterday,' she said.
I was surprised that she had paid Mrs Elton the compliment of an early visit, but I was also relieved. I am not perfectly sure of what happened between Elton and Emma, but I know her thoughts were not easy on that score, and yet she still performed her duty.
'And did you see her?'
'Yes, I did.'
'Then you had better luck than I did. When I called, she and her husband were out. Well?' I asked, as no comment was forthcoming.
'She was very elegantly dressed,' said Emma.
'In a London bonnet?'
I asked her.
'In a London gown.'
'And have you nothing more to say?' I asked in surprise.
'One visit is hardly enough to judge of someone's character,' said Emma, 'but she seemed to be very pleasing.'
She would say no more, but perhaps she might be ready to commit herself when Mrs Elton has returned the call.
I did not meet the lady myself until later in the day, when I came across her at the Westons. I had called to speak to Weston about some hay, but as soon as the Eltons entered the room, everything of that kind was naturally postponed.
I had not been in company with Mrs Elton for more than five minutes when I realized that she was not destined to become a regular guest at the Abbey. Between telling me how fine her brother-in-law's house is; calling Elton by turns her caro sposo and Mr E; informing me of her many resources--which, however, she seems determined to ignore now that she is a married woman--and saying that Emma was already a favourite with her; she managed to disgust me in as many ways as she spent minutes talking. How Elton could bear it I do not know, but he simpered and smiled as though he had brought home a jewel.
I was polite, however, and welcomed her to Highbury society.
'I would love to stay all day, but my caro sposo insists I return Miss Woodhouse's visit,' said she. 'I am looking forward to seeing Hartfield. Mr E tells me it is very like Maple Grove. Did I mention Maple Grove? My brother-in-law, Mr Suckling's place?'
Mrs Weston assured her she had, and Weston bowed her out of the room.
'A very elegantly dressed woman,' said Mrs Weston.
'Hah!'
She looked at me in surprise.
'That is exactly what Emma said!' I told her.
Mrs Weston had the goodness to smile, and I knew our views of Mrs Elton coincided.
Wednesday 31 March
I was eager to find out about Mrs Elton's visit to Hartfield, and I had an opportunity this evening when I dined with Emma and her father. Whilst Mr Woodhouse fretted that he had not paid Mrs Elton a visit--'A bride, you know'--Emma reassured him that his health would be his excuse.