Mr. Knightley’s Diary

"I do not know how we will return to London in all this snow," said Isabella.

"We must do it if we can," said John, joining us. "I have to be in London on the twenty-eighth."

"Business will not continue in this weather, surely?" I said.

"It will if it is at all possible."

We returned to the house, where we drank mulled wine, much to the concern of Mr. Woodhouse, who thought it bad for our constitutions, and tried to encourage us to take a bowl of gruel. I was almost in a mood to humour him, so well at ease did I feel with my world.

Almost!

Monday 28 December

John and Isabella were to have departed for London today, but the roads were still impassable, so they remained.

John was fretful, but the children lifted him out of his ill-humour. Isabella was pleased to be still at Hartfield, and Mr. Woodhouse went so far as to say that he hoped it might snow again tomorrow, so that he would have the pleasure of his family for a few days longer.

Emma was glad of her sister’s company, and I was glad for her.

"It is not easy for you, having no one of your own age to talk to," I said, as I sat down beside her and watched her doing some embroidery.

"I have Harriet. I am lucky to have found her. She is the best friend I could wish for. She is good-humoured, and I have the added enjoyment of feeling I am doing her good."

"She is not the right companion for you," I said. I could see she was about to argue, so I added: "She is three years younger than you."

"She is not my only friend," said Emma. "I have you."

I was gratified, but I said: "I am so much older than you."

"Yet for all your superiority, I have yet to see you embroider a handkerchief," she said archly, and held out her work for me to examine.

"Perhaps I should learn!"

"What? And neglect your work at the Abbey? William Larkins would never forgive me. He looks at me darkly as it is, when I pass him in Highbury. I am sure he thinks you spend far too much time here."

"Do you think so?" I asked her.

"You can never spend enough time here for Papa and me."

For some reason, the answer did not satisfy me as it should have done. I am becoming as uneven-tempered as my brother!

Wednesday 30 December

John and Isabella were at last able to leave for London. They left with many good wishes, wrapped around with blankets, and with hot bricks at their feet. Mr. Woodhouse insisted they take a hamper, in case they were delayed on the road, and he had his housekeeper pack it with so many good things that they will have enough to eat for three days!

At last they set off. Emma and I walked to the edge of the estate, cutting off a loop of road, so that we could wave to the coach as it passed us again. The children returned our waves, their faces aglow.

"And so they are gone," said Emma. "The time went so quickly, it does not seem two minutes since they arrived."

I was as disappointed as she, and I found myself already wishing for their return.

"I will try and persuade John to visit us again at Easter."

"You are luckier than I, for you see them all when you visit London," she said.

"I do, but it is not the same as having them here in Surrey."

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.