"It is a pity she has no friends of her own age," Isabella agreed. "Miss Fairfax is at Highbury so little..."

She broke off as the tower of bricks fell down with a clatter.

"But what of you, George?" asked John. "It is high time you were married. Time does not stand still. You are thirty-seven years old. You should be thinking of taking a wife."

"I have thought of it, but I have seen no one who takes my fancy, and I do not intend to marry for the sake of it," I replied.

"But think of Donwell. You must have an heir."

"I will leave it to Henry," I said.

"Then I hope you are keeping it in good repair!" said John. "I do not want my son inheriting a ruin. I expect him to come into the property without any disadvantages."

I told him of the new works I was undertaking, and of the repairs I had in hand. I told him about the crumbling masonry on the front of the Abbey, and my plan to build a bridge across the stream.

We were still talking of the Abbey after dinner. I told him about the leaking roof in the stables, and he was interested, as always, in everything I had to say. So engrossed were we that I was surprised when the clock chimed eleven and it was time to retire.

I found my room as always, with its familiar decorations, its comfortable bed, its reading-desk and its wing chair. As I closed the door, I thought about John’s happy family, hoped I might have the same one day.


Friday 25 September

I finished my business earlier than I expected, and John and I took the eldest two boys into the park this afternoon.

"And how are they getting on with their riding?" I asked.

"They spend little time in the saddle. It is not as easy here as it is in the country," he said.

"Then bring them to Donwell for the autumn," I said, trying to persuade him.

He thanked me for the invitation, but he declined it, telling me he had made up his mind to take his children to the seaside.

"You will at least come to Surrey for Christmas?" I said. "Come, John, give me your word. Emma and her father are anxious to see the children. If you leave it any longer, they will have grown beyond recognition."

"Very well," he said.

I am looking forward to it. There is nothing I enjoy so much as a family Christmas.


Saturday 26 September

I tended to business this morning, and then I joined John and Isabella for lunch.

"Has John told you I have made him promise to come to Surrey for Christmas?" I asked Isabella.

"He has, and I am very glad of it. I wish we could have been there for Miss Taylor’s wedding as well, but John could not take two holidays so close together, and Mr. Wingfield has entreated me to take the children to the seaside before the winter sets in."

"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 naïve 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 naïvety, 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 received 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.