"But come, Mr Elton, tell us all about your fair Augusta," said Mrs Cole. "Is she very beautiful?"
Mr Elton smiled.
"It is not for me to say. You must pay no attention to me. I am a man in love, after all. But I think she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," he said.
"Has she any brothers or sisters?" asked Mrs Cole.
"One sister."
"And do they live in Bath?"
"No, and there is the wonder of it. They live in Bristol. But Augusta visits Bath every winter. A most agreeable place at that season, I might say. There is so much to do, and the people are of the first elegance. I am very fond of Bath."
"Her parents, no doubt are delighted?"
"Alas, her parents are dead. She lives with an uncle, a very respectable man in the law line."
"And when will we see her?" asked Mr Cole.
"I have persuaded her to name the day, and I am to return to Bath for the wedding. Just as soon as all the arrangements can be made, Augusta will be mine."
"And then you will be bringing her back to Highbury?"
"I will indeed. I wish I had something better to offer her than the Vicarage--she has been used to very fine things at her brother-in-law, Mr Suckling"s seat, at Maple Grove--but she is not interested in finery. She is a woman who knows how to value the real things of life."
"Ay, my wife was just such a woman," said Mr Longridge.
There was more in this vein, and it was a relief when the evening was over. Poor Emma! I wonder how she will endure it, having to listen to nothing but Elton and his betrothal, and then Elton and his wedding, and then Elton and his bride.
Wednesday 17 February Mrs Weston gave a dinner party this evening for Elton. His betrothal has excited much interest, and I had to listen to his further recitals of Augusta"s perfections.
Emma was one of the party, and I watched her as Elton poured forth the details of his happy love affair. He could not refrain from several triumphant glances in Emma"s direction, and I believe she had an uncomfortable time of it.
"We met by accident--quite by accident," Elton was saying. "I shudder to think what might have become of me had I not come across my dear Augusta quite by chance. It was a happy fate that took me to Bath. I was much taken with Augusta, and I could not forget her, so you can imagine my delight when we met, again by chance. It was at Mr Green"s--Green is an estimable fellow, who keeps a very fine table. I was looking forward to my evening, but for one thing: I could not forget the face of the lady I had encountered by accident the day before. And then, who should be announced but Miss Hawkins, and she was the lady I had seen!"
There was a murmur of surprise and approval.
"Not such an unlikely coincidence, considering you were both in the same town," said Weston good-naturedly.
"But to be there on the same day?" said Elton. "When I think that I might have missed her by one evening--the whole course of my life would have been different."
And so he went on.
"And what do you think of this betrothal of Elton"s?" I asked Emma, when I could find her alone.
I wondered if she would admit to trying to catch him for little Harriet. She has never told me so. Indeed, when I mentioned it, she declared quite the opposite. But I am convinced it was so. I wondered, too, if she would admit that he made love to her in the carriage on Christmas Eve.
But she admitted nothing. She said only: "From all he says, Miss Hawkins seems to be a handsome and accomplished woman. I wish them both very well."
Well done, Emma! I thought with admiration.
Elton"s triumphant glances in her direction, his dwelling on his beloved"s dowry and her connections at Maple Grove, had all been intended to humiliate her, but they had not done so. She had risen above them, and behaved perfectly. Not even such a shameful display on Elton"s part had been enough to make her petty-minded, or to prompt her to say something rude about Augusta Hawkins.
And that is why, though I am frequently exasperated by her, and often despair of her, I always find Emma endearing.
Sat.u.r.day 20 February Elton has at last departed for Bath, and we are left in peace. It is a busy time of year at the Abbey with the sheep. The weather is not propitious, as we have had more snow, but my shepherds know their job, and I hope we will have a good number of lambs this year.
Monday 22 February I called on Miss Bates this morning as business took me into Highbury, but she was out, and I found that old Mrs Bates was alone. It was difficult to talk to her, as she is growing rather deaf, but I gathered that Miss Bates was helping Mr Longridge to choose a house, and that Miss Fairfax had gone with them.
Mr Longridge had wanted a woman"s opinion, it seems, as he knows little about the arrangement of kitchens and so forth, and Miss Bates had been happy to oblige.
I am sure his motive in asking for her help was kindness: Miss Bates, with her own small establishment, knows little of houses.
I liked him even more when I discovered that he had prevailed upon Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax to agree to dine with him afterwards, at a small country inn, in company with the Otways and the Coles. He would have taken Mrs Bates as well, but she had preferred to remain indoors, knitting by the fire.
And so, he had arranged to provide Miss Bates and her niece with an enjoyable day, and with a meal into the bargain.
It is a pity that I did not see Miss Fairfax, but as she is to be with us for some time, there will be plenty of other opportunities for me to speak to her.
Tuesday 23 February The weather grows worse, and it was with difficulty that I managed to walk to Hartfield after dinner this evening, but I did not want to neglect my friends. I found Emma and her father sitting with Harriet.
I have grown used to finding Harriet there, and it was welcome this evening, as it meant that Emma and I could play backgammon without worrying that her father would be bored. He had Harriet to sit with him, and she read him Isabella"s latest letter again: little George had a cold, the baby was growing rapidly, and Henry was making good progress with his reading.
"I called on Miss Bates this morning," she said.
"And you are wanting me to praise you for it," I said.
"No. If I want flattery, I know I must look elsewhere!"
We began to play.
"And did you find Miss Fairfax at home?" I asked her.
"I did. She had just returned from the post office. If I had called half an hour sooner, I would not have seen her."
"And did you still find her reserved?"
"Yes, I did. I found it very difficult to have a conversation with her. She listened politely to everything I had to say, and she answered every question I put to her, but she volunteered nothing.
"Perhaps she had nothing to volunteer."
"Nothing to volunteer, when she has been away from us for two years? What of all her news? Talk of her friend and her friend"s wedding? Of the Campbells, and her life with them? Of her time at Weymouth, and her adventure on the boat? I am sure that could occupy half an hour at least."
"I thought she had told you something of her friend"s wedding a few days ago?"
"She did, but only when I asked her outright for information."
There was something in her tone which gave me pause.
"What mischief are you brewing now?" I asked.
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 G.o.ddard 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 ca.n.a.ls, though what ca.n.a.ls 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 embarra.s.sment. 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 embarra.s.sed.
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 G.o.ddard"s!"
"Mrs G.o.ddard"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 ent.i.tled to think well of herself."