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."
Instead of the confusion I had expected, she was amused, assuring me there was no admiration between them: "That is, I presume it to be so on her side, and I can answer for its being so on his. I will answer for the gentleman’s indifference."
This was plain speaking. It could not have been plainer. For her to know it so certainly meant her affections were engaged and that there was that perfect confidence between them that can only come between lovers. He must have declared himself, and been met with warmth.
How could I have been such a fool? How could I have been so slow to recognize my feelings for her, and then been so slow to speak? My hesitation had cost me dear. It had cost me Emma. I felt a wave of anguish and said no more.
I returned to the Abbey, but I could not settle to anything. I took up a book but I could not see the words. I looked over my accounts, but my mind was so distracted that I was afraid of touching anything lest I make a mistake.
Is this to be the end of Emma? I asked myself. To be married to a man like that? To spend her time tormenting others - for that is what she was doing this evening - encouraged by her lover? I cannot bear it!
And yet what can I do, except watch her, and love her, and be ready to help her if she needs me?
Wednesday 9 June
I dined with the Coles this evening, and I found the Eltons there. Mrs. Elton was lamenting the fact that her sister and her brother-in-law, Mr. Suckling, would not be able to visit after all. She had been living in expectation of a visit from them for some time, but it had had to be put off until the autumn.
Mrs. Elton was very disappointed. No pleasure trips in the barouche-landau, no dinner parties, no discussion of Maple Grove; for even Mrs. Elton seemed tired of talking about a place no one else had seen.
"Why not come with us?" said Weston.
I looked at him in surprise, and his wife did likewise. We had talked of a pleasure trip ourselves, but we had not thought of inviting the Eltons. There is so much parade in their way of doing things that Emma, the Westons and myself had thought to go alone.
But now here was Weston, in an excess of conviviality, inviting the very persons we had been anxious to avoid.
Mrs. Elton looked at him enquiringly.
"Miss Woodhouse, Mr. Knightley, my wife and myself were intending to go to Box Hill. Now that the Sucklings have disappointed you, you must join our party."
"The very thing," said Mrs. Elton. "We do not need the Sucklings in order to arrange a pleasure trip. We can go there again when they visit us in the autumn."
The weather being fine, a pleasure trip to Box Hill has been arranged. A few days ago, it would have been a great burden to me, but set next to the devastation of knowing that Emma is in love with
Frank Churchill, it troubles me very little.
Thursday 10 June
I wanted to tell Emma the news about the party to Box Hill, but when I arrived at Hartfield this morning, I found the Westons had already told her.
"I am glad you approve of what I have done," he was saying to her as I entered the room.
From Emma’s expression, I could see that she did not approve at all. However, she could not say so, without revealing her reason, which was that she did not like Mrs. Elton. And as that could not be said, she gave in with a good grace.
"Never mind," I said to her, once Weston had departed. "It will be a large party, and you need not talk to Mrs. Elton."
"No," she agreed. "I would much rather talk to you instead."
Perhaps I would have been more heartened by her preference, if I had not known of her thorough dislike of Mrs. Elton.
I was encouraged by her lack of enthusiasm for the trip, however. Frank Churchill will certainly be invited, and as she does not seem to be eager for the outing, then perhaps she is not as set on Frank Churchill as I had supposed. Is there still hope for me? The next few days will show me for sure.
Saturday 12 June
A most annoying day. I met Mrs. Elton on my way to Hartfield, and I could not avoid talking to her.
Her follies put me out of temper, so that by the time I reached Hartfield I was in a bad mood.
"What is the matter?" asked Emma.
"Nothing. Everything." And before I knew what I was doing, I was telling her all about it.
"I have just seen Mrs. Elton. She was telling me that one of her carriage-horses has become lame, and so the trip must be postponed. “Is it not vexatious, Knightley?” she asked me."
"At least she did not call you Mr. K," said Emma.
"Hah!" I felt my mood lighten a little. "She bemoaned her fate so volubly that I despaired of ever getting away from her, and so, in an effort to divert her thoughts, I said, humorously, that she must come to Donwell to visit my strawberry-beds."
"She did not agree!" said Emma.
"She did!" I began to laugh. "She said she should like it of all things. I could not believe she wanted an outing to my strawberry-beds!"
"She wanted an outing to Donwell Abbey, rather," said Emma.
"And she has achieved her goal," I said ruefully.
"If the carriage-horse recovers in time, she can arrive in state."
"No, she has already decided on her mode of transport. She has decided she is going to arrive on a donkey."
"A donkey?" asked Emma in astonishment.
"You are to say nothing," I warned her, feeling the laughter welling up in me again. "She wants everyone to come on a donkey: Miss Fairfax, Miss Bates…"
"And Mr. Elton?"
"No. Her caro sposo is going to walk beside her."
"I think it an excellent plan," she said gravely. "We must all have donkeys. I am sure Miss Bates would enjoy the experience, and Mrs. Goddard would look very well in the saddle - if, indeed, donkeys wear saddles. I mean to purchase a donkey this afternoon, and I hope I may not disgrace you by my seat when you walk next to me, Mr. K."
"Oh, Emma!" I said. "Don"t…" marry Churchill, marry me, I was going to say. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but at that moment, Harriet walked into the room.
I had never been so dismayed to see her in my life.
"I have found the silk you asked for - oh, Mr. Knightley," she said.
I believe she knew she had interrupted something important, for she blushed.
"Thank you, Harriet. Mr. Knightley has come with excellent news. We are to spend a day at Donwell Abbey, picking strawberries."
"Oh, that will be lovely," said Harriet, her eyes shining as she looked at me.
I was even more sure that she suspected my secret, for her shining eyes indicated that she expected me to propose to Emma at the Abbey.