"Do you not think the children will be too noisy for your father?" I asked.
"Emma and I will take care they do not disturb him."
"Very well. I have no objection. I would rather you stayed at the Abbey, but I knew how it would be."
I dined with my friend Routledge at my club this evening, and he asked all about Highbury.
"You do not regret leaving Highbury?" I asked him.
"Not at all. I have been in London a year, and I have found it a great help to my business, as well as expanding my circle of friends. But you know how I like to hear about everyone in Surrey, and I rely on you to tell me all the news."
We passed the evening very pleasantly, and I returned to Brunswick Square in time to talk to John for an hour before retiring to bed.
Tuesday 29 September
John invited a number of his friends to dinner this evening, and I was pleased to meet them again. There are some very sensible people amongst them. Talk naturally turned to the war after dinner, once the ladies had withdrawn. I wish the fighting would soon be over. It is not good for anyone.
After we joined the ladies in the drawing-room, two of them sang for us. I tried to view them as possible wives. The first, Miss Larch, was a very pretty girl with a graceful neck who sang very well. The second, Miss Keighley, was not beautiful, and her playing left much to be desired, but she was lively and amusing when I spoke to her afterwards. But neither of them awoke within me the slightest real interest, or any desire to see them again.
October
Thursday 1 October
Bella entranced us all with her antics this afternoon. It is a good thing John has a second daughter in little Emma, or he would be in danger of spoiling Bella, so that in twenty years she would become exactly like her aunt: self-satisfied and complacent. It is Emma’s failing, but I do not despair of her growing out of it. She will be a fine person if she does, for she has a pleasing face and figure, and an affectionate disposition.
Friday 2 October
After the noise and grime of London it is good to be home. I was struck anew with the beauty of Donwell Abbey, with its low, sheltered situation, and its avenues of timber. I left my horse in the stables and walked through the meadow and down to the stream. The light was fading, but there was still enough to see by and the low sunlight sparkled on the water. I thought of happy years spent fishing there with John, and I watched it as it trickled along.
I turned and walked back to the house, and was warmed by the sight of it. The west front was catching the last rays of light, which gleamed on the spires and arched windows. They brought out the detail in the carvings of birds and fruit, and I thought of the craftsmen who had made them centuries ago. After John’s town house, I welcomed the Abbey’s ancient walls, and its familiar sprawl.
I noticed that some of the furniture was becoming shabby, but I could not bring myself to think of changing it. Besides, the furniture in the drawing-room and dining-room is well enough, and visitors do not penetrate further than those two rooms.
I ate my dinner in solitary splendour, and afterwards I walked to Hartfield to give Emma and her father all the London news.
I found them about to play backgammon, but they abandoned their game as I entered the room. Mr. Woodhouse fussed about my health, and the damp and the dirt, but I did not pay him much attention. Instead, I let my eyes wander to Emma.
I was struck at once by the difference in her. With her governess in the house, Emma had always seemed like a schoolgirl, but with Miss Taylor gone, she seemed more like a young woman. Miss Taylor’s absence will be good for her.
She was taking her new condition well. She could not but miss the company of Miss Taylor, but she was making an effort to be cheerful. Her face broke out in a smile when she saw me, and it elicited an answering smile from me.
She asked about her sister, and her nephews and nieces.
"Did Isabella like the baby’s cap?" she asked.
"Very much. She said it had come just in time, as Emma had outgrown the last one."
"And did the boys and Bella like their presents?"
"Yes, they did. John complained there was no present for him."
"I will have to make him a cap the next time you go to London!" Emma said.
"And how did the wedding go?" I asked.
"Ah! Poor Miss Taylor!" sighed Mr. Woodhouse, who, I fear, will be lamenting the marriage "til Doomsday. "She will miss us, I am sure."
"We all behaved charmingly," said Emma. "Everybody was punctual, everybody in their best looks: not a tear, and hardly a long face to be seen. We all felt that we were going to be only half a mile apart, and were sure of meeting every day. Besides, it had an added matter of joy to me, and a very considerable one - that I made the match myself."
So she is still claiming to have made the marriage, despite everything I can say to give her a more rational view!
"My dear, pray do not make any more matches, they are silly things, and break up one’s family circle grievously," said her father.
I could not help giving a wry smile at this novel view of marriage!
"Only one more, Papa; only for Mr. Elton. Poor Mr. Elton! You like Mr. Elton, Papa. I must look about for a wife for him."
I shook my head at her delusions.
"Depend upon it, a man of six-or seven-and-twenty can take care of himself," I told her.
Nevertheless, I find myself half-hoping she will attempt it. I cannot make her see sense, but when she fails in this new endeavour, it will teach her that her powers are nothing out of the ordinary, and that she had better leave other people to manage their own affairs!
Friday 9 October
I rose early, as my few days away from Donwell have left me with much to do. I began the day by calling on Robert Martin at Abbey Mill Farm. If all my tenant farmers were as industrious and well-organized as Robert Martin, I would be very happy, for never a more sensible or hardworking young man drew breath. He has managed splendidly since his father died, and the farm was looking prosperous as I arrived.
I called at the farmhouse and I found the whole family there. Robert invited me into the parlour, a clean and bright room which was a credit to his mother. She and his sisters were all cheerful and well-dressed, and Robert himself was at ease.
Mrs. Martin invited me to take tea with them, and I was pleased to accept. It was a happy scene. The Misses Martin had a school-friend with them, a young girl by the name of Miss Harriet Smith. She seemed very fond of them, and they of her. It was easy to see why. She was a beautiful girl, with a naïve yet cheerful disposition, and it was soon apparent that she was the sort of girl who was eager to please and be pleased. It was not to be wondered at, for being a parlour boarder at Mrs. Goddard’s school, and the natural daughter of no one knew who, she had no family of her own. She was not the only gainer, for it was clear her presence brought a great deal of pleasure to the Martins.
Whilst we waited for the tea, we talked of the farm, and the conversation turned to the cows.
"The little Welsh cow is very pretty," Miss Smith said, in the manner of one who had never lived on a farm.
I believe she took it for a pet.
The Martins, however, were not displeased by her naïvety, indeed they seemed to like it. Mrs. Martin, in her motherly way, said: "Then, as you are so fond of it, we will call it your cow."
This small piece of good nature was well received by all. Harriet expressed her thanks very prettily; the Misses Martin said what an excellent idea it was; and Robert Martin smiled with all the good nature of a man who liked seeing pleasure bestowed.