Mr. Knightley’s Diary

Had he said something compromising to Jane Fairfax? Paid her some extravagant compliment? Given her to understand he liked her? That would explain the look of intelligence, but if that was the case, why did he continue to pay attention to Emma? It did not make sense. Nor did it make sense that Jane Fairfax, a young woman of good sense and good principles would be interested in the attentions of a man like Frank Churchill.

Unless women are all fools when it comes to handsome young men?

Nay, I will not believe it. I know it cannot be so. Yet Emma and Jane Fairfax both seem attracted to Mr. Weston’s son - and he to them.

Saturday 5 June

The weather being warm, I decided to walk up to Hartfield this evening and as I found Emma and Harriet setting out for a walk, I decided to accompany them. We fell in with Mr. and Mrs. Weston, Mr. Churchill, Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax, and as we returned to Hartfield, Emma pressed the whole party to go in to see her father, and to take tea.

We were just turning into the grounds when Perry passed on horseback, and we spoke of his horse.

"By the by," said Frank Churchill to Mrs. Weston, "what became of Mr. Perry’s plan of setting up his carriage?"

Mrs. Weston disclaimed any knowledge of such a plan, but he insisted she had told him of it.

"Never!" exclaimed Churchill. "Bless me! how could it be? Then I must have dreamt it."

Again, I surprised a look between him and Jane Fairfax, and the thought came to me that she had told him of it. But why not say so? Why make a mystery of it?

My conviction that Frank Churchill was guilty of double-dealing became more certain as the evening progressed. He called for some alphabet bricks the boys had left behind, and he and Emma amused themselves by making up words.

"Ah! the poor little boys, how sad they were to leave us," said Mr. Woodhouse in a melancholy voice, seeing the bricks. "I do wish Isabella would come and live here with us. Poor Isabella!" he sighed.

Under cover of his lamentations, Churchill pushed a collection of letters towards Miss Fairfax. I was watching her at the time, and it seemed to me that she had worked out the conundrum, but that it troubled her, because she blushed slightly and then mixed the bricks in with the others. But she did not mix them well enough. Harriet pounced on them, and reading the word Miss Fairfax had made, cried out: "Blunder!"

Miss Fairfax flushed a deeper red.

So! Churchill had made a blunder with his comment about Perry’s carriage, and the source of the information was indeed Miss Fairfax. Then why not be open about it? The whole thing smacked of duplicity, and worse, it was clear that Miss Fairfax was not an innocent party, but was involved in something she was ashamed of.

Churchill continued unabashed. He made a word for Emma. She smiled, but looked alarmed when he pushed it towards Miss Fairfax, who flushed again. I looked over the letters and was able to make out Dixon.

Dixon! The name of her friend’s husband?

What did it mean?

One thing was certain. Churchill was not only behaving in an ungentlemanlike fashion, but he was involving others in his misdeeds, and dragging both Emma and Miss Fairfax down to his own level, involving the former in giving pain and the latter in receiving it.

Miss Fairfax could stand no more. She pushed the letters away angrily, and looked at her aunt, who read her expression and said they must be going.

The Westons and Weston’s son, Miss Bates and her niece all departed. When the candles were lit to dispel the gathering gloom, I felt I must say something to Emma, for I feared that Churchill was playing a double game, and transferring his affections to Miss Fairfax. Moreover, that he was using Emma as an unwitting pawn in his game.

I began by speaking of the word he had made out of bricks, asking her how it could be so very entertaining to her, whilst so very distressing to Jane.

She was confused, and told me it was nothing but a joke.

"The joke seemed confined to you and Mr. Churchill," I remarked.

I did not know how much to say, for I did not know whether I was helping her. I had no authority to speak to her, save the authority of an affectionate friend, but I felt I must take the risk of her thinking I was interfering, rather than take the risk of seeing her hurt when a word or two of mine could prevent it.

"My dear Emma," I asked softly, "do you think you perfectly understand the degree of acquaintance between the gentleman and lady we have been speaking of?"

"Between Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Fairfax! Oh! yes, perfectly," she said with assurance.

"Have you never at any time had reason to think that he admired her, or that she admired him?"

"Never, never!" she cried.

I wondered if I should stop there, but having started, thought I should continue: "I have lately imagined that I saw symptoms of attachment between them; certain expressive looks, which I did not believe were meant to be public."