'Never mind. You will be able to visit the new Mrs Weston when you come to Surrey for Christmas.'
'Would you mind very much if we stayed with my father, instead of staying at the Abbey?' said Isabella.
'I thought you would say that,' I remarked.
'He is an old man, and finds travelling difficult,' said Isabella, pleading her case.
'He worries too much,' said John. 'If he is not worrying about the carriage overturning, he is worrying about the horses!'
Isabella ignored his short temper.
'It will make it easier if we stay at Hartfield,' she said.
'Do you not think the children will be too noisy for your father?' I asked.
'Emma and I will take care they do not disturb him.'
'Very well. I have no objection. I would rather you stayed at the Abbey, but I knew how it would be.'
I dined with my friend Routledge at my club this evening, and he asked all about Highbury.
'You do not regret leaving Highbury?' I asked him.
'Not at all. I have been in London a year, and I have found it a great help to my business, as well as expanding my circle of friends. But you know how I like to hear about everyone in Surrey, and I rely on you to tell me all the news.'
We passed the evening very pleasantly, and I returned to Brunswick Square in time to talk to John for an hour before retiring to bed.
Tuesday 29 September
John invited a number of his friends to dinner this evening, and I was pleased to meet them again. There are some very sensible people amongst them. Talk naturally turned to the war after dinner, once the ladies had withdrawn. I wish the fighting would soon be over. It is not good for anyone.
After we joined the ladies in the drawing-room, two of them sang for us. I tried to view them as possible wives. The first, Miss Larch, was a very pretty girl with a graceful neck who sang very well. The second, Miss Keighley, was not beautiful, and her playing left much to be desired, but she was lively and amusing when I spoke to her afterwards. But neither of them awoke within me the slightest real interest, or any desire to see them again.
OCTOBER
Thursday 1 October
Bella entranced us all with her antics this afternoon. It is a good thing John has a second daughter in little Emma, or he would be in danger of spoiling Bella, so that in twenty years she would become exactly like her aunt: self-satisfied and complacent. It is Emma's failing, but I do not despair of her growing out of it. She will be a fine person if she does, for she has a pleasing face and figure, and an affectionate disposition.
Friday 2 October
After the noise and grime of London it is good to be home. I was struck anew with the beauty of Donwell Abbey, with its low, sheltered situation, and its avenues of timber. I left my horse in the stables and walked through the meadow and down to the stream. The light was fading, but there was still enough to see by and the low sunlight sparkled on the water. I thought of happy years spent fishing there with John, and I watched it as it trickled along.
I turned and walked back to the house, and was warmed by the sight of it. The west front was catching the last rays of light, which gleamed on the spires and arched windows. They brought out the detail in the carvings of birds and fruit, and I thought of the craftsmen who had made them centuries ago. After John's town house, I welcomed the Abbey's ancient walls, and its familiar sprawl.
I noticed that some of the furniture was becoming shabby, but I could not bring myself to think of changing it. Besides, the furniture in the drawing-room and dining-room is well enough, and visitors do not penetrate further than those two rooms.
I ate my dinner in solitary splendour, and afterwards I walked to Hartfield to give Emma and her father all the London news.
I found them about to play backgammon, but they abandoned their game as I entered the room. Mr Woodhouse fussed about my health, and the damp and the dirt, but I did not pay him much attention. Instead, I let my eyes wander to Emma.
I was struck at once by the difference in her. With her governess in the house, Emma had always seemed like a schoolgirl, but with Miss Taylor gone, she seemed more like a young woman. Miss Taylor's absence will be good for her.
She was taking her new condition well. She could not but miss the company of Miss Taylor, but she was making an effort to be cheerful. Her face broke out in a smile when she saw me, and it elicited an answering smile from me.
She asked about her sister, and her nephews and nieces.
'Did Isabella like the baby's cap?' she asked.
'Very much. She said it had come just in time, as Emma had outgrown the last one.'
'And did the boys and Bella like their presents?'
'Yes, they did. John complained there was no present for him.'
'I will have to make him a cap the next time you go to London!' Emma said.
'And how did the wedding go?' I asked.
'Ah! Poor Miss Taylor!' sighed Mr Woodhouse, who, I fear, will be lamenting the marriage 'til Doomsday. 'She will miss us, I am sure.'
'We all behaved charmingly,' said Emma. 'Everybody was punctual, everybody in their best looks: not a tear, and hardly a long face to be seen. We all felt that we were going to be only half a mile apart, and were sure of meeting every day. Besides, it had an added matter of joy to me, and a very considerable one--that I made the match myself.'
So she is still claiming to have made the marriage, despite everything I can say to give her a more rational view!
'My dear, pray do not make any more matches, they are silly things, and break up one's family circle grievously,' said her father.
I could not help giving a wry smile at this novel view of marriage!
'Only one more, Papa; only for Mr Elton. Poor Mr Elton! You like Mr Elton, Papa. I must look about for a wife for him.'
I shook my head at her delusions.
'Depend upon it, a man of six-or seven-and-twenty can take care of himself,' I told her.
Nevertheless, I find myself half-hoping she will attempt it. I cannot make her see sense, but when she fails in this new endeavour, it will teach her that her powers are nothing out of the ordinary, and that she had better leave other people to manage their own affairs!
Friday 9 October
I rose early, as my few days away from Donwell have left me with much to do. I began the day by calling on Robert Martin at Abbey Mill Farm. If all my tenant farmers were as industrious and well-organized as Robert Martin, I would be very happy, for never a more sensible or hardworking young man drew breath. He has managed splendidly since his father died, and the farm was looking prosperous as I arrived.
I called at the farmhouse and I found the whole family there. Robert invited me into the parlour, a clean and bright room which was a credit to his mother. She and his sisters were all cheerful and well-dressed, and Robert himself was at ease.
Mrs Martin invited me to take tea with them, and I was pleased to accept. It was a happy scene. The Misses Martin had a school-friend with them, a young girl by the name of Miss Harriet Smith. She seemed very fond of them, and they of her. It was easy to see why. She was a beautiful girl, with a naive yet cheerful disposition, and it was soon apparent that she was the sort of girl who was eager to please and be pleased. It was not to be wondered at, for being a parlour boarder at Mrs Goddard's school, and the natural daughter of no one knew who, she had no family of her own. She was not the only gainer, for it was clear her presence brought a great deal of pleasure to the Martins.
Whilst we waited for the tea, we talked of the farm, and the conversation turned to the cows.
'The little Welsh cow is very pretty,' Miss Smith said, in the manner of one who had never lived on a farm.
I believe she took it for a pet.
The Martins, however, were not displeased by her naivety, indeed they seemed to like it. Mrs Martin, in her motherly way, said: 'Then, as you are so fond of it, we will call it your cow.'
This small piece of good nature was well re
ceived by all. Harriet expressed her thanks very prettily; the Misses Martin said what an excellent idea it was; and Robert Martin smiled with all the good nature of a man who liked seeing pleasure bestowed.
When we had taken tea, Robert and I retired to talk business. We talked of the harvest, which was brought in early, and we agreed that the apples were the best crop we had seen, for the weather has been just right and has given them ripeness and sweetness. Then he talked of his plans to extend the farm buildings next year, and he wanted my advice as to where a new barn should be built.
We discussed the matter and decided it would be best at the bottom of the long field.
As I came away, I felt that Abbey Mill Farm was in good hands.
The afternoon was spent going over the accounts with William Larkins. Because of the splendid harvest, I was able to tell him that we will conduct extensive repairs to the estate over the winter. There will be much to see to, and I hope to make a start before the end of the month.
Saturday 10 October
As I took my early-morning ride, I decided I must do something about finding a pony for John's children. The last time they were here they rode Blossom, but they will need a more lively mount this time.
I set out for Kingston after breakfast, and on my way I called on Miss Bates. I was concerned to make sure she had enough fuel, and I knew that the only way to find out was to call. If I asked her it would do no good. She would only say that she had plenty, thanks to the generosity of her friends, whether it was true or not. But I was pleased to see that there was a good fire when I went in, and that there was a bucket full of coal in the grate.
I asked her if there was anything she would like me to get in Kingston for her, but her reply was as usual: 'I am much obliged to you, but I believe there is nothing we need.'
I then asked after her niece, in the hope that Miss Fairfax would soon be visiting Highbury, so that Emma would have a young lady of her own age to talk to.
'Jane? Quite well, thank you,' she replied. 'We heard from her a few days ago. At Weymouth. I was only saying to mother how good the sea air would be for dear Jane, and Mrs Otway said that she had been to Weymouth as a girl, very refined, just the sort of place one would expect the Campbells to visit--Mrs Weston had a letter from Frank Churchill, complimenting her on her marriage, and it was sent from Weymouth--good enough for the Churchills--so kind of the Campbells to take Jane.'
'Since she lives with them, they could hardly leave her behind,' I remarked. 'Do you expect a visit from Miss Fairfax? It is a long time since we have seen her in Highbury.'
'I am very much obliged to you, but no, she does not speak of a visit. I was saying to Mrs Goddard only yesterday--she had called to see how mother was getting on, and was telling us of Miss Smith--staying with the Martins, has been with them all summer, invited by the Miss Martins who were at school with her, you know, and will not be back at Mrs Goddard's until the end of the week. You will have seen them all together at church, in the same pew, when our dear Mr Elton gave us another wonderful sermon. It is a shame he does not marry, but who would be good enough for him in Highbury?' She paused for breath, then asked: 'What were we talking of?'
'We were talking of Kingston, but if you have no commissions for me, then I must be on my way.'
I managed to get away at last, and went on to Kingston. It is a pity that Jane Fairfax is not to pay us a visit. Emma could learn a good deal from her. Miss Bates's niece is as refined and intelligent a young woman as it would be possible to meet, but Emma has never taken to her. I suspect Emma does not feel comfortable with someone whose accomplishments are superior, and who might put her in the shade, but if she could put such considerations aside, I think the friendship would be beneficial to both of them.
I rode into Kingston and examined a number of ponies, but none of them was quite right. The animal needs to be mild enough for young children, and yet at the same time it needs some spirit.
I said as much to Emma when I met her at Ford's on my return.
'You should take up riding again,' I continued, as we stood at the counter, she to buy ribbon, and I to buy gloves.
'I am an indifferent horsewoman,' she remarked. 'I am convinced that horses do not like me, and I am not very fond of them.'
'Because you never ride. You would soon become more proficient if you went riding every day. You would grow accustomed to horses, and they to you.'
'Thank you, but I prefer to walk. It is much quicker to put on my cloak than it is to have a horse saddled. I can have walked to Randalls, paid my visit and be home again by the time that is done.'
'You mean you do not think you look well on horseback,' I said, knowing her real reason.
'You have found me out,' she said. 'I could never acquire a good seat. I look far more graceful on foot.'
'Then I cannot convince you. Perhaps you will change your mind when your nephews and nieces can all ride, and you are left behind.'
'Perhaps. But as Emma is only six months old, I am in no hurry.'
I accompanied her back to Hartfield.
'You will join us for dinner tomorrow?' she asked, as we parted at the gate.
'Willingly,' I said. 'Pray give my compliments to your father.'
I watched her go inside, and then I returned to the Abbey, where I found William Larkins and the account book waiting for me.
Monday 12 October
A frustrating evening. I was looking forward to taking dinner at Hartfield, but when I found Miss Smith there I found myself growing impatient. She was accompanying Mrs Goddard, but she was so overawed by Miss Woodhouse of Hartfield that she hung on Emma's every word.
Miss Smith is a sweet-natured girl, but she will not do Emma any good. Her conversation is silly and ignorant, and she cannot teach Emma anything. Worse still, she gives Emma such flattering attention that it can only add to Emma's conceit.
I hope that, as Miss Smith is unlikely to dine at Hartfield very often, the friendship will not go any further.
Tuesday 13 October
I saw Emma in Highbury today, and Miss Smith was with her. I was disappointed that Emma had pursued the acquaintance, but I bade them both good-morning. They were on their way to see Mrs Weston, and I left them to continue on their way. I spent the rest of the day going round the farms, and this evening I went to the Crown for my Tuesday whist club.
The usual gentlemen were there. Weston, Elton, Cole and I all sat down to play at one table. As Weston dealt the cards, we talked over parish matters, and we all agreed that not enough was being done for the poor. Elton promised to take measures to improve their lot, which we all agreed to support. With winter coming, it will be much easier for us to guard against hardship than it will be for us to alleviate it once it has already arrived.
Weston was the overall winner at cards. He is sure his luck will last until next week, but I have promised him I will have my revenge.
Wednesday 14 October
Emma was about to go out with Miss Smith when I walked over to Hartfield this morning. We exchanged compliments and then they set off for Randalls.
I hope their friendship is not going to become a settled thing, for as well as Miss Smith giving Emma an inflated idea of her own powers, Emma will give Miss Smith a distaste for the society she truly enjoys. The poor girl will be left between two worlds, being ill-suited for one, and dissatisfied with the other.
Thursday 15 October
I could not help thinking about Emma and Harriet Smith this morning, and I decided to consult Mrs Weston. I was sure her good sense, coupled with her knowledge of Emma, would make her as uneasy as I was, but I found that the reverse was true.
'I have been seeing their intimacy with the greatest pleasure,' she told me. 'I can imagine your objection to Harriet Smith. She is not the superior young woman which Emma's friend ought to be. But on the other hand, as Emma wants to see her better informed it will be an inducement to her to read more herself.'
'Emma has been meaning to read more e
ver since she was twelve years old,' I returned. 'Where Miss Taylor failed to stimulate, I may safely affirm that Harriet Smith will do nothing.'
I did not realize until I had said it that my remark seemed to reflect badly on Mrs Weston's abilities as a governess, and so I redeemed myself by telling her I thought she was much more suited to being a wife.
'Though I am afraid you are rather thrown away on Weston,' I remarked, 'and that with every disposition to bear, there will be nothing to be borne. We will not despair, however. Weston may grow cross from the wantonness of comfort, or his son may plague him.'
'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 substitute 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.'