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.

January

Friday 1 January

It is the New Year!

I was not surprised to find that Emma had drawn up a list of resolutions. They were written in a fine hand, and exquisitely illustrated. If only she could put as much earnestness into keeping them as she does into making them!

My New Year’s resolution is to take a wife, if I can find anyone to suit.


Saturday 2 January

The thaw has left a number of problems in its wake at the Abbey. The stream has flooded, and as the thaw progresses there will be worse to come. I made provision for attending to matters once the water subsides.

I called on Graham this morning to wish him the compliments of the season. He returned the greeting. I soon learnt that he, too, had received a letter from Mr. Elton.

"I should not wonder if his visit to Bath was prompted by all this talk of weddings and families," said Mrs. Lovage. "First with Miss Taylor getting married, then with your brother and his family visiting, then with talk of Mr. Frank Churchill paying a visit to Highbury. Mr. Elton is at a time of life when he might well be thinking of marriage, and there are one or two families in Bath who would not be sorry to see him there."

I would not be at all surprised if he returned with a bride. It would soothe his pride, and put an end to the kind of scenes he has recently been a part of. Besides, who is there for him in Highbury? He cannot marry Emma, for Emma will not have him. No other woman is high enough in his estimation, I fear. I had thought, at one time, he might marry Jane Fairfax, and provide her with a respectable home. But now that he has shown his true worth, I would not inflict such a man on Miss Fairfax. She deserves a better man than he.

I wonder…I have always liked Jane Fairfax. It remains to be seen if I can like her enough to think of her as a wife.


Monday 4 January

Emma and I have had an argument, and about the most ridiculous thing: Frank Churchill. It began when she told me that he would not be coming to Highbury after all.

"I cannot say it surprises me," I remarked. "He has grown proud, luxurious and selfish through living with the Churchills."

"What nonsense!" said Emma, laughing at me.

"Why else would he keep putting off his visit? If he had wanted to see his father, he would have contrived it between September and January," I said.

"You are the worst judge in the world, Mr. Knightley, of the difficulties of dependence," she said.

It is true I have never been dependent. But even so, I am sure I should never have been slow in doing my duty, and so I told her.

"Besides, we are for ever hearing of him at Weymouth, or some other such place," I went on. "This proves that he can leave the Churchills."

She allowed the point, but maintained that his time was only his own when his aunt allowed it.

"We shall never agree about him," she said. "But that is nothing extraordinary. I have not the least idea of his being a weak young man: I feel sure that he is not; but I think he is very likely to have a more yielding, complying, mild disposition than would suit your notions of man’s perfection."

For some reason, I did not like to hear her praising him.

"He can sit down and write a fine flourishing letter, full of professions and falsehoods, if that is what you mean by a complying disposition," I said scathingly, for she seemed to think very well of a man she had never met. "His letters disgust me."

She looked surprised at the strength of my feeling, but why should I not have strong feelings?

"You seem determined to think ill of him," she said.

"Not at all. I should be as ready to acknowledge his merits as any other man; but I hear of none, except what are merely personal; that he is well-grown and good-looking, with smooth, plausible manners."

"Well, if he should have nothing else to recommend him, he will be a treasure at Highbury," she said mischievously. "We do not often look upon fine young men, well-bred and agreeable. We must not be nice and ask for all the virtues into the bargain."

"If I find him conversable, I shall be glad of his acquaintance," I remarked disdainfully, "but if he is only a chattering coxcomb, he will not occupy much of my time or thoughts."

"My idea of him is, that he can adapt his conversation to the taste of everybody, and has the power as well as the wish of being universally agreeable."

"And mine is, that if he turn out anything like it, he will be the most insufferable fellow breathing!"

I said irascibly.

"I will say no more about him," cried Emma, "you turn everything to evil. We are both prejudiced; you against, I for him; and we have no chance of agreeing "til he is really here."

"Prejudiced! I am not prejudiced," I exclaimed, although I knew, even as I said it, that I was.

"But I am very much, and without being at all ashamed of it," she said. "My love for Mr. and Mrs.

Weston gives me a decided prejudice in his favour."

"He is a person I never think of from one month’s end to another," I remarked with vexation.

But, in fact, I did not speak the truth. For some reason, I have taken a dislike to Frank Churchill, and I do not want Emma to like him, either.

It is a good thing Churchill has put off his visit. I find myself wishing he might never come to Highbury at all.


Tuesday 5 January

There was a discrepancy in the accounts, and it took me all afternoon to trace it and correct it, so I was glad to go to my whist club this evening. It was an escape from the irritations at Hartfield and the annoyances at the Abbey.

Once there, I found that a new subject of conversation had arisen, and one that had thankfully put Frank Churchill out of everyone’s mind.

"This is good news," said Otway, when I entered the Crown. "Jane Fairfax is to visit her aunt and grandmother. I have not seen Miss Fairfax for years. A taking little thing she was, when she was a girl. She will be a young woman now, of an age with Miss Woodhouse."

"It will be good for the two of them to have each other. Mrs. Weston is very pleased," said Weston.

"And so am I," I said. At last, Emma will have some refined company. After the disappointments of recent weeks, I hope she will value it for what it is worth. And I…perhaps I will find what I have been looking for. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see Miss Fairfax and Emma become friends."

"It’s a sad situation," said Cole. "Poor girl. It was very good of Colonel Campbell to raise her when her parents died..."

"A lot of men would have conveniently forgotten that Jane’s father had saved their life," agreed Weston.

" - or regarded it as a duty to do something for the infant, making a contribution to their upkeep, perhaps, but nothing more," said Cole. "But not Colonel Campbell."

"I suppose he thought he might as well take her in, having a girl of his own. It gave both children a playmate, his daughter being an only child."

"I dare say that played its part, but it was still good of him to give Jane a home and all the benefits of an education."

"Something her aunt could not have afforded," agreed Weston.

"But it is a double-edged kindness," I said. "Now that Miss Fairfax is a woman, she has to earn a living. It will not be easy for her to move from a world in which she has had a great deal of pleasure, to one in which she will be little better than a servant."

"I would like to help her, but what can we do?" asked Cole.

"Nothing but make her welcome in Highbury, where we can show her the attentions she deserves, and make her feel that here there will always be a place for her," said Weston.

As he spoke, I thought that I might be able to do something more.


Tuesday 12 January

Business brought me to town, and after it was concluded, I dined with my friend Routledge at the club.

"What news from Highbury?" he asked.

I began by telling him about the Abbey and the farms, and then we talked of my neighbours. I told him about Mr. Longridge and Mrs. Lovage.

"Mrs. Lovage?" he asked.

"She is Graham’s sister, and she has been to stay with him several times."

"Does her husband not object?" he asked. "He seems to be unusually compliant if he allows her to stay with her brother so often - unless, of course, he goes, too?"

"She is a widow."

"Ah, I see. It is a recent bereavement? Is that why she stays so often with her brother? She is in need of consolation, I suppose."