She looked at me innocently.

"You are a very suspicious man, Mr. Knightley. What makes you think I would be brewing mischief?"

"Experience," I remarked.

"It is sometimes very inconvenient to talk to someone I have known all my life," she said playfully.

"It is also very unfair. It gives you an advantage. You know all about my childhood freaks, and I know nothing about yours."

"That is because I never had any!" I returned.

She laughed.

"What is it, my dear?" asked her father, looking up from the letter.

"Mr. Knightley says he had no childhood freaks."

"I am sure he did not," said her father. "I have known Mr. Knightley all his life, and he has never suffered from freaks. A better man it would be hard to find. Why, even as a boy he was very well-mannered. I remember him saying to me, when I had had a cold: “I am sorry to hear you have not been well. I hope you are recovered?” and he was only five years old."

I did not remember this evidence of my childhood virtues, but I said: "There you are," to Emma none the less.

"I believe I will ask John about you and find out the truth the next time I see him," she returned. "I cannot believe you led a blameless childhood. I am sure you had your share of mischief."

"As he is unlikely to visit us before the summer, I am not afraid."

"Summer will come," she said, "and I will be waiting!"

"You are incorrigible," I told her, and she laughed.

It was a very happy evening, and I came home well-pleased with life.


Wednesday 24 February

I called on Miss Bates today, and found Mrs. Goddard there. They were talking of Mr. Longridge as

I was shown in.

"A very fine man," Miss Bates was saying. "It was so sad for him to lose his wife. It was twenty years to the day yesterday, he was felling me, and he’s never forgotten her, poor man, but so kindhearted! He came to see if mother and I had enough coal. He is in the way of it, though I am not sure how. I think it was something to do with canals, though what canals have to do with coal I am sure I do not know. Why, here’s Mr. Knightley."

I enquired after her health, and the health of her mother and Miss Fairfax.

"Well, I thank you," she said. "We are all well."

I thought, perhaps, Miss Fairfax looked a little better. She was not so pale as previously, although this could have been because she was sitting nearer the fire, and the heat was giving her cheeks a ruddy glow. She was helping her grandmother wind wool.

Mrs. Cole was talking about the dinner party she means to give. Ever since her husband provided her with a new dining-room, she has been longing to entertain.

"I have ordered a screen from London, in the hope that Mr. Woodhouse might be prevailed upon to join us. I know he does not go out as a rule, but we would be honoured if he would condescend to visit us, and I thought, perhaps, if he was properly sheltered from draughts, he and Miss Woodhouse might accept our invitation," said Mrs. Cole.

So Mrs. Cole is planning to invite Emma to her dinner party. It will be interesting to see how Miss

Woodhouse of Hartfield reacts!


Thursday 25 February

It was good to dine out again, at the Otways, as problems with the accounts, heavy weather and troubles with the sheep have kept me at the Abbey for some time, except when I have been dining at Hartfield.

There was the usual talk before dinner. Mr. Longridge had seen two houses near Highbury, but neither of them had been suitable. Three Chimneys had had a dark hall, and Whitestone had had a very small garden.

"Hardly big enough to put a seat in, let alone have friends round in the summer. I like a garden," Mr. Longridge said.

Weston seemed very happy. He said nothing, but he and Mrs. Weston have been married for some months, and I think we might soon have news that another Weston is on the way. Mrs. Weston was not there this evening, as she was indisposed, lending credence to my idea.

At the end of the evening, Weston and I walked home together until our paths diverged. He told me he was still hoping to see his son in Highbury, but until such time, he was finding comfort in talking of Frank to Miss Fairfax.

"It was fortunate her meeting him at Weymouth," he said to me. "She has been able to tell me how he looked, and what he said and did. She is more nervous than I remember her, though," he said with a frown. "Every time I asked her a question she blushed before she answered."

Perhaps it is just because her spirits are low, but I suspect another reason for her embarrassment. I think it possible that Frank Churchill did not please her. If he is what I think he is, he was probably condescending to her or her friend. She would not wish to say so to Mr. Weston, of course, which is why she was embarrassed.

I did not tell Weston what was going through my mind. He might as well think his son is perfect for as long as he can.


Friday 26 February

I have discovered Emma’s reaction to the Coles" plan to invite her to their dinner party. I do not know where she heard of it, though I suspect the news came from Mrs. Weston, via Weston and Cole, but she has already decided she will not go.

"Who are the Coles?" she asked in a superior voice, as we played chess, whilst her father ate a bowl of gruel.

"They are your neighbours," I said.

"But of such low origin, in trade!"

"You dine with Harriet every night without knowing anything about her antecedents. I would not be surprised if she had a dozen relatives in trade," I reminded her, for as Harriet was absent for once, I felt it possible to speak honestly.

"That is quite different," said Emma.

"How so?"

"Because, as you say, I know nothing about her antecedents. Her father might be a shopkeeper, though I doubt if a shopkeeper could produce such a charming daughter, but he might equally well be a prince," she said in all seriousness.

"Oh Emma!" I said, shaking my head. "Not even you can think something so ridiculous."

"I do not see why it is ridiculous."

"Because a prince would never leave his daughter at Mrs. Goddard’s!"

"Mrs. Goddard’s school is a very refined establishment," she said mischievously, but she was forced to laugh. "Well, perhaps not a prince," she acknowledged, moving her piece. "Nothing quite so grand."

"A duke, perhaps?"

"Pay attention to your game," she admonished me. "You are about to make a disastrous move."

"Disastrous for you," I said, making my move.

"Not a duke, perhaps, but a baron or baronet. I think it only too likely. Someone who has a position to maintain, and enough money to ensure Harriet’s happiness."

"I hope you are not filling her head with this nonsense," I remarked.

"I am encouraging her to think well of herself, if that is what you mean. I do not want to see her fade into oblivion for lack of someone to bolster her confidence. A girl with a sweet disposition and a pretty face should be entitled to think well of herself."

"Have a care, Emma. There is a fine line between confidence and self-deception. If you encourage her to think her father is a baron, and he turns out to be a shopkeeper, what then?"

She looked uncomfortable.

"I am only trying to help her."

"You are not helping her by filling her head with conceit. I thought you would have learnt your lesson about interfering by now."

"I want what is best for her, that is all," she said, but she did not meet my eye.

"Then let her be happy, in her own way."

She gave a laugh, but she abandoned the subject of her friend, saying: "But we were not speaking of Harriet, we were speaking of the Coles."

"Very good, unpretending people," I returned. "They are respectable, and well thought of by their neighbours. Their business has prospered, and their style of living is now second only to Hartfield."

"That is exactly what I mean. What business have they living in such style? It is proof, if proof were needed, that they are only moderately genteel. To have them presume to invite the best families to dinner! If you will be guided by me, you will send them your regrets and you will stay at home."

"I shall do nothing of the kind, and Weston will not refuse the invitation either."

"Then it is up to me to show them the error of their ways. Nothing shall tempt me to go, and my only regret is that my father’s habits are so well-known that they might not ascribe my refusal to the real reason; by which I mean to say, they might think it is because Papa does not like to dine out, rather than realizing it is because their invitation is presumptuous."

I shook my head, smiling.

"The Coles are very respectable in their way, but they ought to be taught that it is not for them to arrange the terms on which the superior families will visit them," she said majestically. "Standards must be maintained. I could not possibly go to one of their dinner parties."

"You need not worry about it. I doubt if they will invite you," I said, to puncture her conceit.

She looked surprised and then displeased, and I laughed. She did not want to go, because she believed it would be beneath her dignity, but she did not want to be neglected, either!

We finished the game. I won, which did not please her, but as she is as good a player as I am, the next time we play, the positions will probably be reversed.


Saturday 27 February

Today was a fine day. After the recent bad weather it was a relief to wake to a blue sky and a stiff breeze, rather than sleet and scattered snow. I received a letter from John this morning and I walked over to Hartfield so that I could share the news.

"Will he be coming to us at Easter?" asked Emma.

"No, he says he is too busy, but he has promised to visit us for an extended spell in the summer."

"But the children will have grown so much by then!"

Mr. Woodhouse sighed and shook his head, murmuring, "Poor Isabella! She must miss us terribly."

"You must write back and persuade your brother to spare us a few days," said Emma.

"I only wish I could. I would like to have the boys here myself."

"And not the girls?" Emma teased me.

"The girls, too!"

"Emma will no longer be a baby the next time we see her. If we wait until the summer, she will be more than one year old."

"But she will not be too big for her aunt to play with," I said.

"Or her uncle. You are as capable of doting on the children as I am."

At this Mr. Woodhouse broke in anxiously: "Only sometimes, Mr. Knightley, I fear you are too rough. I have seen you throwing them up to the ceiling, and it is very dangerous."

"Come now, Papa, the children enjoy it," said Emma.

"Children enjoy all sorts of things that are not good for them, my dear," he said. "Once, Henry asked me for a knife, but I told him knives were only made for grandpapas. I could not think of letting him have anything so dangerous."

Emma wisely changed the subject. We spoke of the Bateses, the Coles and the Westons, and Mr. Woodhouse was soon soothed.

I could not stay to luncheon as business called me back to the Abbey but I walked over to Hartfield after dinner and spent the remainder of my evening there.

Once I was settled in my chair, Emma told me she had written to Isabella and begged her to spare her two oldest children for a time.

"I know she will not be parted from the younger ones, but if John finds himself travelling this way on business he could bring the older children with him and leave them here."

She looked at me.

"Well?" I asked her.

"I thought that you might like to write something similar to John," she said.

"Hah! Very well. I will add my entreaties to yours, and see if we cannot persuade them between us."

March

Monday 1 March

Whilst dining with Graham this evening, Mr. Longridge spoke of his continuing efforts to find a house in Highbury.

"I have seen so many houses, if I did not have my friends to help me, I would be thoroughly confused."

"You have been to Brookfield?" asked Mrs. Cole.

"Not yet, but I have it on my list, and I am going there tomorrow. I have high hopes of it. I have heard it is an excellent house."