"You dine with Harriet every night without knowing anything about her antecedents. I would not be surprised if she had a dozen relatives in trade," I reminded her, for as Harriet was absent for once, I felt it possible to speak honestly.

"That is quite different," said Emma.

"How so?"

"Because, as you say, I know nothing about her antecedents. Her father might be a shopkeeper, though I doubt if a shopkeeper could produce such a charming daughter, but he might equally well be a prince," she said in all seriousness.

"Oh Emma!" I said, shaking my head. "Not even you can think something so ridiculous."

"I do not see why it is ridiculous."

"Because a prince would never leave his daughter at Mrs. Goddard’s!"

"Mrs. Goddard’s school is a very refined establishment," she said mischievously, but she was forced to laugh. "Well, perhaps not a prince," she acknowledged, moving her piece. "Nothing quite so grand."

"A duke, perhaps?"

"Pay attention to your game," she admonished me. "You are about to make a disastrous move."

"Disastrous for you," I said, making my move.

"Not a duke, perhaps, but a baron or baronet. I think it only too likely. Someone who has a position to maintain, and enough money to ensure Harriet’s happiness."

"I hope you are not filling her head with this nonsense," I remarked.

"I am encouraging her to think well of herself, if that is what you mean. I do not want to see her fade into oblivion for lack of someone to bolster her confidence. A girl with a sweet disposition and a pretty face should be entitled to think well of herself."

"Have a care, Emma. There is a fine line between confidence and self-deception. If you encourage her to think her father is a baron, and he turns out to be a shopkeeper, what then?"

She looked uncomfortable.

"I am only trying to help her."

"You are not helping her by filling her head with conceit. I thought you would have learnt your lesson about interfering by now."

"I want what is best for her, that is all," she said, but she did not meet my eye.

"Then let her be happy, in her own way."

She gave a laugh, but she abandoned the subject of her friend, saying: "But we were not speaking of Harriet, we were speaking of the Coles."

"Very good, unpretending people," I returned. "They are respectable, and well thought of by their neighbours. Their business has prospered, and their style of living is now second only to Hartfield."

"That is exactly what I mean. What business have they living in such style? It is proof, if proof were needed, that they are only moderately genteel. To have them presume to invite the best families to dinner! If you will be guided by me, you will send them your regrets and you will stay at home."

"I shall do nothing of the kind, and Weston will not refuse the invitation either."

"Then it is up to me to show them the error of their ways. Nothing shall tempt me to go, and my only regret is that my father’s habits are so well-known that they might not ascribe my refusal to the real reason; by which I mean to say, they might think it is because Papa does not like to dine out, rather than realizing it is because their invitation is presumptuous."

I shook my head, smiling.

"The Coles are very respectable in their way, but they ought to be taught that it is not for them to arrange the terms on which the superior families will visit them," she said majestically. "Standards must be maintained. I could not possibly go to one of their dinner parties."

"You need not worry about it. I doubt if they will invite you," I said, to puncture her conceit.

She looked surprised and then displeased, and I laughed. She did not want to go, because she believed it would be beneath her dignity, but she did not want to be neglected, either!

We finished the game. I won, which did not please her, but as she is as good a player as I am, the next time we play, the positions will probably be reversed.


Saturday 27 February

Today was a fine day. After the recent bad weather it was a relief to wake to a blue sky and a stiff breeze, rather than sleet and scattered snow. I received a letter from John this morning and I walked over to Hartfield so that I could share the news.

"Will he be coming to us at Easter?" asked Emma.

"No, he says he is too busy, but he has promised to visit us for an extended spell in the summer."

"But the children will have grown so much by then!"

Mr. Woodhouse sighed and shook his head, murmuring, "Poor Isabella! She must miss us terribly."

"You must write back and persuade your brother to spare us a few days," said Emma.

"I only wish I could. I would like to have the boys here myself."

"And not the girls?" Emma teased me.

"The girls, too!"

"Emma will no longer be a baby the next time we see her. If we wait until the summer, she will be more than one year old."

"But she will not be too big for her aunt to play with," I said.

"Or her uncle. You are as capable of doting on the children as I am."

At this Mr. Woodhouse broke in anxiously: "Only sometimes, Mr. Knightley, I fear you are too rough. I have seen you throwing them up to the ceiling, and it is very dangerous."

"Come now, Papa, the children enjoy it," said Emma.

"Children enjoy all sorts of things that are not good for them, my dear," he said. "Once, Henry asked me for a knife, but I told him knives were only made for grandpapas. I could not think of letting him have anything so dangerous."

Emma wisely changed the subject. We spoke of the Bateses, the Coles and the Westons, and Mr. Woodhouse was soon soothed.

I could not stay to luncheon as business called me back to the Abbey but I walked over to Hartfield after dinner and spent the remainder of my evening there.

Once I was settled in my chair, Emma told me she had written to Isabella and begged her to spare her two oldest children for a time.

"I know she will not be parted from the younger ones, but if John finds himself travelling this way on business he could bring the older children with him and leave them here."

She looked at me.

"Well?" I asked her.

"I thought that you might like to write something similar to John," she said.

"Hah! Very well. I will add my entreaties to yours, and see if we cannot persuade them between us."

March

Monday 1 March

Whilst dining with Graham this evening, Mr. Longridge spoke of his continuing efforts to find a house in Highbury.

"I have seen so many houses, if I did not have my friends to help me, I would be thoroughly confused."

"You have been to Brookfield?" asked Mrs. Cole.

"Not yet, but I have it on my list, and I am going there tomorrow. I have high hopes of it. I have heard it is an excellent house."

"It is certainly very conveniently placed, being on the London road."

"I do not believe I shall be going to London very much, except to visit the shops and theatres from time to time. I like the countryside hereabouts, and I am having a new carriage made, the better to explore it. The springs are deplorable on the one I have at present."

"Not at all - most comfortable - Jane was only saying so this morning," said Miss Bates.

As she regaled Mrs. Cole with an account of Longridge’s carriage, I spoke to Miss Fairfax, trying to draw her out on the subject of the carriage, but after answering my questions with one word she relapsed into silence.

"I like my friends to be comfortable, and I like to be comfortable myself," said Mr. Longridge.

After talk on the comfort of carriages died away, Mrs. Goddard said that she had had a visit from the Miss Martins.

"They are the sisters of your tenant farmer, Mr. Robert Martin, I believe," said Graham.

"Yes, I know the family. Mr. Martin is an excellent tenant, and his family are very agreeable," I said.

"They were great friends with Harriet when they were all at school together, but they have not seen so much of each other recently," Mrs. Goddard said, determined to have her share of the conversation.

"It is a pity, for Harriet enjoyed her visit to them last summer immensely. But now, I hope, their intercourse is to resume."

"Oh?"

"They all seemed very friendly together. Miss Smith was surprised to see them. She has been so much with Miss Woodhouse and they, no doubt, have been busy at home, but she was soon chatting very pleasantly with them. I said to Miss Smith she must make sure she returned the call, and she said yes, she was looking forward to it. She was very happy at Abbey Mill Farm."

Mrs. Goddard looked at me as she said it, and then looked away. She has been in place of a mother to Miss Smith for many years, and I am sure she would like to see Miss Smith happily settled, as I would.

It remains to be seen if Emma has learnt her lesson and wishes it, too.


Tuesday 2 March

I went over to Hartfield to see Mr. Woodhouse on a matter of business and I was hoping to see Emma, but I learnt that she was out.

"She has taken Harriet to see some friends of hers, the Martins. She promised me she will not be long," said Mr. Woodhouse.

My spirits fell. I had hoped Emma would encourage her friend to return the visit, but I was unhappy that she had decided to go with her. I hoped it was an act of kindness on her part, to take Miss Smith in the carriage, but I feared it was because she did not want her friend to stay too long.