Amanda Grange: Mr. Knightley’s Diary

Mrs. Lovage was very agreeable for the rest of the evening, but when I returned home I was disappointed to realize that I had no particular desire to see her again. But perhaps my feelings will change on further acquaintance.

Tuesday 20 October

We had a storm overnight, and some of the fences blew down. I toured the estate with William Larkins and gave instructions for repairs to be carried out.

This evening, I had my revenge at the whist club, and came home the overall winner. Elton would have done better if he had spent less time telling us of the heiresses he knew, and more time in thinking about his cards.

Wednesday 21 October

I went to Hartfield this morning, to see if the storm had done any damage there, and whether Mr. Woodhouse needed my help in organizing repairs. I was also curious to see Emma, and to discover whether she had tired of Miss Smith’s company. Unfortunately, I found that she was even closer to Miss Smith, and that Harriet, for so Emma calls her, was staying at Hartfield.

"Look, Papa, here is Mr. Knightley," said Emma as I entered the room.

"You have not walked over in all this wind?" he asked in alarm. "My dear Mr. Knightley, you should not be venturing out in this weather. Such a howling in the chimney-pots last night, was there not,

Emma? I thought they were going to come crashing down."

"But they did not, Papa," said Emma soothingly. "We were just saying how fortunate it was, that the storm did us no damage. How did you fare at the Abbey, Mr. Knightley?"

"Not so well. A number of fences have blown down, and they will have to be repaired."

"Emma, my dear, you and Harriet must not take a walk today, but must stay indoors. See, it is not safe to be outside. Mr. Knightley’s fences have blown down, and if you venture out, you and Harriet will surely be blown down, too."

"Very well, Papa, Harriet and I will go no further than Randalls."

"Even that is not safe," he said.

"I believe it is," said Emma. "Do you not think so, Mr. Knightley?"

Thus appealed to, I soothed her father’s fears and secured Emma her walk. It is not easy for her, being tied to such an old man, but she bears it cheerfully.

"We must not be remiss in our attentions, Papa," Emma went on, to convince him of the necessity of the walk. "Mrs. Weston will like to know we are all safe after the storm."

"Ah, poor Miss Taylor. If she had only stayed here, she would have been safe. We have escaped, though the wind howled in the chimneys, but I fear that Randalls is not so well-built. I hope their roof may not have blown off."

I told him that I had passed Randalls on my way, and had seen no such calamity.

"Poor Miss Taylor, she would have been much better here with us," sighed Mr. Woodhouse again. Emma took out a drawing she had been doing, by way of turning her father’s thoughts away from the numerous disasters that might have befallen his friends.

"A very pretty drawing," said Mr. Woodhouse. "Emma draws very well. Emma does everything very well."

"Papa," said Emma reprovingly, but pleased none the less.

What hope is there for her, with such flattery around her?

I pointed out its flaws and, though she had the goodness to admit that the tree was too tall in relation to the shrubbery, she showed no inclination to put it right.

"Harriet, show Mr. Knightley your drawing," she said.

Harriet shyly held out her drawing. It was a typical schoolgirl effort, but I found something to praise and some suggestions to make.

I asked Harriet what books she had been reading, and it was as I suspected. Many had been started but none finished. However, overall I found her improved. She had lost her schoolgirl giggle and, if her understanding was not good, at least it was better than formerly. There was nothing of vulgarity in her, and Emma had sought to build on her better qualities with some success.

I believe Mrs. Weston might have been right when she said the friendship would provide Emma with much needed company. Perhaps it will do no harm after all.

"We have had a letter from Isabella," said Emma.

She went over to the table, as Harriet listened patiently to Mr. Woodhouse’s account of his fears for poor Mrs. Weston in the storm.

I followed her, and took the letter she offered me. It was from Southend. Isabella praised the weather, the neighbourhood and the sea.

"So Isabella went bathing after all," I said.

"Yes, though before she went, she protested she would not venture into the water." She glanced at her father. "I have not mentioned it to Papa. He would only worry. He does not approve of the children getting their feet wet."

"If I remember, you were always getting your feet wet as a child," I said. "I recall you paddling in the stream at Donwell..."

"And receiving a fine scolding for it when Miss Taylor found me!"

"It was the mildest of reproofs, especially as you had escaped from your lessons and gone outside on the pretext of sketching the Abbey."

"It was not a pretext! I took my pencils and my sketchbook..."

"And abandoned them as soon as you were out of sight."

"Unfair!" she cried, adding saucily: "I abandoned them before I was out of sight."

"Incorrigible girl! If you had applied yourself more, you might now be a mistress of your art, instead of abandoning your portraits, half-finished, in a portfolio."

"They are not half-finished!" she declared, then she had the goodness to laugh, and to add: "Not all of them, anyway. I finished the portrait of John. It is my best work, I think, and deserves its place in the drawing-room. Mrs. Weston thought it a good likeness."

"Though Isabella did not."

She did not like my remark, and said: "Isabella is partial. No one could have captured John’s likeness in a way that would have suited her."

"And Mrs. Weston, too, is partial," I told her. "She would have thought it a good likeness however it had turned out."

"Perhaps I need more practice. I think I might draw you, Mr. Knightley," she said with an arch smile.

"I seem to recall you doing so..." I reminded her.

" - and abandoning the attempt," she admitted.

"I did not, say so."

"No, but you were about to. You seem to make no allowance for the fact that I was sixteen years old at the time."

"Quite old enough to finish it. But it is not too late. Perhaps you should take it out and finish it now," I said.

"I think not. You are the worst person in the world to sketch, for you are never still. You are worse than the children in that respect, for I am sure little George stays in one place for longer than his namesake."

"A convenient excuse," I told her.

"Not at all. If you will promise me a day when you will sit in a chair, I will promise you a finished portrait."

"I thought you had done with taking likenesses? I seem to remember you saying so, when you received a cool reception for your portrait of John," I teased her.

She smiled up at me. "I believe I have changed my mind."

It was a pity that, at that moment, Mr. Woodhouse called to us. I do not have enough opportunities to talk to Emma alone. Of all my acquaintance, she is the one whose company I most appreciate, despite her perversity and sauce!

Friday 23 October

I visited Miss Bates this morning, and found her well.

"Oh, Mr. Knightley, we"re honoured I am sure. Mother was just saying we have not seen Mr. Knightley since the storm, we hoped you were well - yes, thank you, Mother and I are both well, though Perry did not like the look of Mother the other day, however it was nothing, just a chill, which is not to be wondered at as the weather has turned cold. What was I talking about?"

"Have you had many visitors lately?" I asked her, wanting to see if my hint to Emma had gone home.