Mr. Knightley’s Diary

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. 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."