Friday 10 September
Emma and I have decided to marry whilst Isabella and John are still here. It will allow Emma and me to go to the seaside for a fortnight after the wedding, and we will not have to worry about leaving Mr Woodhouse alone. As Harriet is marrying in a few weeks' time, and Churchill is marrying in November, we have settled on October. John and Isabella approve the plan; so do the Westons. But we still have to get Mr Woodhouse's consent.
Emma said, this evening: 'Papa, Mr Knightley and I have decided to marry in October. Then you can have a quiet fortnight with Isabella and John and all the dear little children whilst we are away.'
'October!' said he, looking stricken. 'But that is next month.'
'That is a good thing, Papa,' said Isabella, 'as it means you will have Mr Knightley's company all the sooner.'
'But we already have his company. He walks over from the Abbey to see us every day. You had much better not get married, Emma. It will be better if we stay as we are.'
He was so troubled that I despaired of ever seeing my wedding-day.
'I cannot marry if it will cause him so much pain,' said Emma, when he had retired for the night.
'He will accept it as soon as it is a settled thing,' said John. 'It is only this indecision that makes him anxious. Tell him the date; go ahead with your plan; and he will accustom himself to it. That is how Isabella and I managed.'
But Emma is unhappy, and I hate to see her so.
Monday 13 September
Isabella again tried to reconcile her father to our marriage.
'I will be very pleased to see Emma so well settled,' she said.
'Poor Emma!' said her father, with a heavy sigh.
Isabella did not give up, but her father was not any more sanguine as she continued to talk of the marriage. He did not oppose it; indeed he talked about it as though it was a settled thing; but in such a drooping tone of voice that Emma said to me, after dinner, that she thought we should abandon the plan, at least for the moment.
I rallied her spirits, but she could not proceed. She took no interest in the arrangements, and said at last that, if it was going to make her father so unhappy, she could not do it.
I talked to John and Isabella. John felt we should go ahead, and that when it was done, we would hear no more sighs; and Isabella said she wanted her sister to know the happiness she herself had known. But Emma was firm. She felt that her father had had to suffer one marriage already, that of Mrs Weston, and that he had been made anxious by the news of two more, so that to force him to confront a third, and one so near to home, was a cruelty she could not bring herself to inflict on him.
We parted unhappily, and I can see no way forward. But we must find one, for I am determined to make her my wife.
Monday 20 September
Today Robert Martin was married. What a splendid outcome to all the tribulations of the year! He has proved steadfast in his love, and Harriet could not have looked happier when she became Mrs Martin. It is not to be wondered at. She is moving into a family who sincerely love her, and who will make her happy. And she will have the added blessing of knowing she is bestowing happiness by being there.
Mr Elton performed the service, and he did it very well. No recollections were allowed to interfere with his duty, and he behaved as a gentleman and clergyman should. It was something of a relief, as I wondered whether some trace of hostility would be evident, but all the misunderstandings are so long ago, or he is so aware of his duties, that nothing of that nature was allowed to intrude.
Harriet looked very pretty in white, and Robert's sisters, who attended her, were equally pretty in blue. I will venture to say it was a wedding enjoyed by all, though Mr Woodhouse sighed over it, and added 'Poor Harriet!' to his collection of young ladies to pity.
But Robert's wedding has made me even more impatient for my own.
Saturday 25 September
There must be something in the air, for when I visited Longridge at Southdean this afternoon on parish business, I found him in the drawing-room, hand in hand with Miss Bates!
Miss Bates, saying: 'Oh, Mr Knightley, whatever will you think!' blushed a deep crimson.
'I beg your pardon,' I said retreating, but his words stopped me.
'No, Mr Knightley, do not go. I will explain everything,' said Longridge. He turned to Miss Bates. 'You will not object to Mr Knightley's knowing?'
'No indeed, I am sure--so good, so kind to Jane--so good to Mother.'
'Wonderful woman,' said Longridge, wiping his eyes. 'And she has made me the happiest of men.'
I was struck dumb. I had never suspected! I had seen Longridge paying attention to Miss Bates for months, and I had attributed it to kindness, and nothing more. But as soon as he had told me the news, I thought she was the very woman to make him happy, and he the very man for her.
Miss Bates began to murmur with embarrassment: 'Too kind--past the first flush of youth--hope my friends will not find it too ridiculous--'
'Your friends will be as delighted as I am!' I said, congratulating her heartily. 'It is a wonderful piece of news.'
She smiled, and blushed, and said: 'So kind, but then you have always been so kind, Mr Knightley. I am sure I do not know what I have done to deserve this.'
'There is no one who deserves such happiness more,' I told her.
'There, Hetty, you see, my dear, I told you how it would be. All our friends are pleased for us. I never thought, when I lost my dear wife, that I would meet another such woman,' said Longridge. 'One who was interested in all the details of life, and who took such pleasure in them. One who never thought of herself, but always of others. One who could bring such happiness to an old man.'
'Come! You are not old,' I said.
'I'm past my prime, but even so, I can give my dear Hetty a good life,' he said, pressing her hand. 'It's a comfort to me, Mr Knightley, to be able to do that for her, and it's a small recompense for the joy she brings to me.'
'And Mrs Bates?' I asked.
'She'll live here with us. We've plenty of room. There's a room for Frank and Jane, too, whenever they choose to come, and a spare or two for when they bring their children with them! I'm a lucky man, Mr Knightley. In marrying my dear Hetty, I'll have not only a cheerful wife, but I'll have a mother and a niece as well. And in the future, God willing, the house will have children playing in it. I little thought, when I came to Highbury a year ago, that this would be the result.'
'I am very happy for you,' I said, shaking his hand heartily.
Miss Bates stood by, and if I needed proof that her feelings were genuinely touched, I had this; that she spoke not once during his recital.
'We're saying nothing yet. My dear Hetty wishes it that way,' he said. 'We don't want to take anything away from the young people. Let them have their glory. Then, when it's all done, Hetty and I will marry quietly. I hope we can prevail upon you to come to the wedding?'
'Yes, indeed you can.'
It is a very happy outcome. I have often worried about Miss Bates and her mother. Their fortune, small to begin with, has been ever declining, and they had little to look forward to. Miss Fairfax would have helped them, I am sure, but she will be living in Yorkshire, which is a long way off. Miss Bates's Highbury friends would, of course, have made sure she had food and fuel enough, and have varied her life by inviting her to dinner, but it is not the same as suddenly finding herself married to a good and respectable man, with a home of her own. And what a home! Southdean is a fine residence, such as any woman might be proud of, and, moreover, a house she has had a fancy to live in since she was a child.
As I thought this, I saw that I had indeed been blind. Longridge had asked her to help him choose a house so he would know which one she liked!
I decided that this was not the time to discuss parish business, as I had intended, but I could not resist asking a household question: 'Will you need a maid, by any chance?'
'A maid?' Longridge asked in surprise.
'Why, the very thing,' said Miss Bates, recovering her power of speech and understanding me at once. 'James has another daughter, just the right age--if she were to work here then Mr Woodhouse would visit us, I am sure. How fortunate to be able to return my friends' hospitality, for it was never easy to hold a dinner party in the apartment, though it was very snug, and Mother and I were lucky to have it. But now we will be able to invite our friends to dine with us, only Mr Woodhouse will not come--he does not like to bother James, you know, though I am sure James never thinks it any bother--but if he feels that James can see his daughter he will not mind giving the instruction for the carriage to be brought round.'
I left them to their plans, and the words Bath...Brighton...Weymouth...followed me out of the room.
Sunday 26 September
We dined at Randalls tonight, and when we had admired the baby, and all sat down to dinner, Mrs Weston said: 'Have you had any trouble with your poultry recently?'
'No, what kind of trouble do you mean?' asked Emma.
'Our poultry house was robbed last night. We lost all our turkeys.'
'What?' exclaimed Mr Woodhouse in alarm.
'Was it a fox?' Emma asked.
'No, nothing of the sort. There were no feathers. The turkeys simply vanished. They were taken by thieves.'
'Thieves!' said Mr Woodhouse, in great consternation.
'There is nothing to worry about, Papa. It was an isolated incident, I am sure of it,' said Emma.
But Mr Woodhouse was very anxious, and suggested going home at once, lest the thieves should be at Hartfield.
'If there are thieves at home, you had better remain here,' said Weston.
Mr Woodhouse did not know what to do: whether to go home at once, or never to leave the safety of Randalls again.
At last, I soothed his fears by offering to return to Hartfield with him, to make sure there were no miscreants on the premises.
Wednesday 29 September
Everywhere we go, we hear of poultry-yards being raided. Hens, chickens and turkeys are no longer safe. It is a problem for those of us who seek to uphold the law. William Larkins was very upset.
'We need to find the culprit, Mr Knightley,' he said.
'I have had a watch set around Highbury,' I assured him. 'We will catch the villains.'
I did not want to catch them too soon, however, as the incident had had an unexpected, but very welcome, consequence. When I went to Hartfield this evening, Mr Woodhouse was so perturbed by the thought of the robberies that he could talk of nothing else.
'Mrs Cole has had a dozen hens taken,' he said. 'And there have been turkeys taken from Abbey Mill Farm. Mrs Goddard was telling me about it only this morning. She had it from poor Miss Smith'--he has still not learnt to call her Mrs Martin--'who visited her to say she was sorry she could not take her a turkey, as they had been stolen. I am afraid the thieves will come here next, and once they have taken our chickens, what will they do?'
'There is nothing to worry about, Papa. The poultry-yard is a long way from the house.'
'You do not know these people, Emma. They will break the windows and steal the silver, I am sure of it,' he said.
'We have John to protect us,' said Emma soothingly.
'But he cannot stay for ever,' said Mr Woodhouse. 'He has to be in London in November.'
We could not have wished for a better opening.
'If Mr Knightley were in the house, Papa, we would be safe. It was what we arranged, you know, that Mr Knightley would come and live here once we are married.'
'Oh, yes, so it was,' he said in relief. 'A very good plan. The wedding is to be in October, I think you said, Emma, my dear?'
'Yes, Papa,' said Emma, with a smile at me.
'October the eighth was the date decided on,' I said decisively, so that there would be no more arguments.
'Well, my dear, I am sure it cannot come soon enough for me,' said Mr Woodhouse. 'I will not sleep easy in my bed until Mr Knightley is here with us at Hartfield.'
Thursday 30 September
Now that a date has been set for our marriage, it is the main topic of conversation in Highbury. I admired Emma's fortitude this evening when we dined with the Westons, and the Eltons, too, were there.
I wondered how they would take the news. Elton said little, but Mrs Elton quickly made up for his deficiencies.
'My dear Emma, what is this I hear? You are to be married, and to Mr Knightley? You sad girl, how could you not tell me of it? I am quite put out. Selina will stare when she knows how sly you have been.'
Emma was too happy to pay much attention, but Mrs Elton went on: 'Selina is to pay us a visit. We will tell you how to go on. Two married ladies, you know!'
'I cannot put you to the trouble--'
'My dear Emma, it is no trouble, no trouble at all,' said Mrs Elton gaily. 'I flatter myself I am an old hand.'
'I need very little--'
'My dear Emma, you need say no more. Simplicity shall be our watchword. Satin there must be, and lace veils; we will make you the most beautiful bride. But hush, here comes Knightley,' she said as I approached, though she had whispered so loud I had heard every word. 'The menfolk know nothing of dresses. My
caro sposo
declared himself mystified by all the talk of satin and lace.'
I rescued Emma, and Mrs Weston kindly distracted Mrs Elton, who, apart from occasional references to
pomp and feast and revelry
and
Hymen's saffron robes
, was persuaded to talk of other things, until she discovered we are to marry next week.
'But Selina will not be here! She does not come to us until November. How she will stare when I tell her. There is not time to arrange everything in a week.'
'Simplicity is our watchword,' Emma reminded her, but Mrs Elton was still exclaiming over it when she and Elton set out for home.