Posted on Wednesday, 2 October 2002

Uncle George was going to live with them for a month! Mama had been the one to announce the news in her usual complacent way, but it was Pa, and his brightly dancing eyes (so contrary to his stern, fixed lips) that threw the boys into a whirl of excitement. Henry forgot his manners momentarily as he gave a loud whoop and pumped his sturdy fists into the air; his father, John Knightley, Barrister, had to remind him of his dinner. The younger John though, needed no such admonitions. He was by no means lukewarm in his sentiments-in fact, he had a tendency to be older than his years and to feel things more keenly than his siblings-but except when bullied by Henry, six year old John was not rambunctious.

"A month!" Henry exclaimed between mouthfuls. "I have so much to show Uncle George."

"You won't show him anything if you don't finish your legumes," said Mrs. John Knightley. "Now do be a good boy and eat them up. You do not want Mr. Wingfield to scold your Mama for not feeding you well, do you?" Mr. Wingfield was the best doctor in all of London; he was as important to the Knightley household as Mr. Perry was to Grandpa Woodhouse in Surrey.

"He promised to show us how to go to China," Henry continued unabated. He nudged at John. "We're going to have our sailor's hats on."

"Not until you have listened to your Mama and finished your dinner," said their father.

When he had swallowed the last bit of carrots, little John decided to ask a question that had been on his mind. He wasn't afraid of Papa, even though Papa always seemed so strict. Papa had a way of answering him that made a lot of sense; and besides, Papa was always happy to hear his questions, whereas sometimes, Papa became very ill-humoured with Henry's. "Will Uncle George bring a ship with him?" he asked. "He said he would show us a ship."

"Pardon me?" asked Papa, wiping his mouth with sudden conscientiousness. It reminded John that Mama always liked gentlemen to speak with clean faces, so John quickly copied his father and wiped his own mouth.

"Will Uncle George bring a ship with him?" asked the little boy again, when he was ready. "He said he would show us how to sail to China. He said he would show us what surprise it is... What is a surprise?"

"Well, a surprise....is...A surprise is when you get something nice that you did not know you would receive."

"Is it like a present for Christmas?" asked John, thinking about the picture of his mother that his beautiful aunt had painted. Last Christmas, Aunt Emma had shown it to him and told him it was not finished, but that he could have it because he liked it so much.

"Yes, it can be."

"A surprise can be a bad thing too," Henry said. "Don't you remember? When Mr. Wingfield came last Wednesday from Mrs. Barry's, he said that she'd had a nasty surprise, that's why she fell ill. And do you remember that funny church man with the thick brow at Grandpa's house during Christmas? I heard Aunt Emma tell Mama about his surprise, and Aunt Emma has never liked him since."

"Henry!" exclaimed their mother in mortification. "You know that you are not to listen to ladies' conversation. How many times have I told you?"

"I'm sorry, Mama," said Henry quickly. "I only mean that I wasn't going to listen. Grandpa wanted me to get something for him and I didn't want to disturb you, so I decided to be quiet as a mouse. But do you know how I know I couldn't have been that bad? Uncle George was there too."

John saw his mother turn pink in the face. "Oh, Henry!" she exclaimed again.

"Well, is Uncle George bringing a ship?" John asked again.

No one answered right away. "Bella, you must not play with your food," Mama said, wiping the girl's hands. "Look at how neat your brother John is. You must follow his example."

"'Xampo," said Bella. "What's 'xampo', Papa?"

"An example is when a person does something, and then someone else copies," Henry interrupted with an importance that books can give to advanced eight year olds. "It's like how everyone says Uncle George is a confirmed bachelor 'cause he won't marry, and people don't want others to follow his example, because then, no one would marry anyone, and we'd all be dying-"

Their father cleared his throat and stood up quickly, and everyone and the table followed suited in confusion. "Excuse me please," he said, his face matching in pinkness to that of his wife, and stepped out of the room. After a long interval, during which the Knightley children all looked at each other in silent wonder and surprise, their father returned to the room, and dinner resumed as though nothing odd had ever happened. John, however, felt the finest giddiness to understand what had passed. Of course, he did not think through it in quite those terms. He only knew that the feeling inside him was the same feeling he got on Christmas morning when he wanted to know what Saint Nicholas had left him.

Uncle George arrived. Neither Henry nor John remembered the date, but it was a fine afternoon, and Mama had let them abandon their books early in order to prepare for the arrival. Henry had spent an hour digging through his treasures, pulling out new books that he was going to show to his uncle, and new writing utensils that he thought were out of the world in their magnificence.

"Aren't you going to show anything to Uncle George?" Henry asked John.

The latter shook his head.

"But even Bella's going to let him see her new dolly. Haven't you got anything?"

John shook his head again.

His older brother looked down at his own loot and at last handed John a shiny new compass-a compass that they had fought over once, but which John had resignedly relinquished to Henry. "Here," said the older boy, slightly sheepishly, "You take this back. I don't think I need it anyway. Why don't you take this too?" And Henry handed his younger brother a book. "You always wanted Gulliver. You can't let me have Uncle George all to myself, can you."

Their uncle had travelled all the way to London without stop, so the man was completely exhausted when he arrived at his brother's home, but the Knightleys all welcomed him warmly, and soon, the gentleman could not help but be enlivened by the domestic felicity that surrounded him. His brother the magistrate supplied him with his reserved but no less warm camaraderie, his sister-in-law treated him to gossips and questions, and the children all climbed close to him to hear his adventures better. Henry, being the oldest, took the first opportunity to show Uncle George all the great things that he had learned since they last saw each other; his uncle laughed and approved of everything that Henry spewed out, with the exception of one or two stories, but they were minor in themselves, and nothing very offensive which Uncle George himself would not have remarked on. The girls also took turns-though the youngest, Emma, was still unable to speak much above gurgles-and at last, Uncle George turned patiently towards John.

"Last, but not the least," said Uncle George with an encouraging smile. He may have been tired, but he cast his own needs aside. "And what have you got to tell me?"

John handed him the compass. "You said you would show us the sea to China," said the boy, suddenly feeling shy.

"I did, did I not?" Uncle George magically produced something from a pocket in his cloak and gave it a fantastic flourish.

"A treasure map!" exclaimed Henry.

"No, just a map of the world," said Uncle George, pleased to see John take the present with delight. "You do not need to stay so close by your little brother, Henry. I have got one for you too." Their uncle was as good as his word.

The boys traced and retraced the route they would take all afternoon, imagining their meetings with privateers and mermaids, wrestling ghosts and sirens until their father returned and interrupted their merrymaking with the order that they were to let their uncle recover from the long journey.

"There will be time enough for you to play," said Mr. John Knightley. "Now is the time for your uncle to rest."

Meals were almost always cheerful with Uncle George around. If Henry's banter occasionally drew irritation from his father, his uncle's presence smoothed over all such irritability with greater sense than Henry's mother could. John could also see, despite being only six, that his father looked up to Uncle George, as John looked up to Henry.

"Yes, well, that is how brothers should be," Mama told John at night when tucking the little boy into bed. "You know that Uncle George is Papa's older brother. It is natural that your father should love Uncle George as you love Henry."

"Do you love Uncle George?" asked John.

"Of course I do, my dear boy. Do not we all?"

"Then why must Uncle George only live here with us for a month? Why does he not stay forever?"

"He has Donwell Abbey to tend to," said Mama. "He cannot stay away from his home forever."

"Then does he love Donwell more than he loves us?" The thought saddened John, for he had been taught that to love people more than God was bad, but to love things even more than people was even worse.

Mama laughed, even though John had not meant for it to be funny. She kissed him on the forehead. "No. Uncle George loves Donwell Abbey, but he loves his family most."

John thought about this for a moment, and also of something else that Henry had said. "Is it true that Uncle George is a confirmed bachelor? What does that mean?"

The big words just rolled out of his mouth as though by nature. It made his mother start a bit. "Oh, John, I hope you would not copy your brother. You must never say such things if you want to be a gentleman."

"But what does it mean?" the little boy persisted.

"Well..." said his mother, all too aware of her precarious position, "...It means that he is happy to be by himself."

"I don't think he is happy," said John, thinking of how tired his uncle looked. "I think he is unhappy."

"Perhaps, but..."

"Then it's true he won't marry?"

"Hush, John. Some people like things to be as they are."

"Maybe he hasn't met any lady that he likes," said John simply. "He never looks sad when we play, but when he's by himself, sometimes he looks sad."

His mother would not let him continue his train of thoughts, but instead, kissed him good night.

John's mind was quite made up. He knew that Uncle George had to be unhappy because he was a confirmed bachelor. But what could a little boy do? John was very sensitive of the fact that he was only six years old. But what about Bella? She was only five. And Anne? Three. And Emma? Well, Emma was still a baby! No, John's mind was quite made up. He would help Uncle George find happiness. It was too bad that there was not another Mama. John knew that his father was very happy with Mama. He would have to find someone like Mama who could also make Uncle George happy all the time. But where would he start? He couldn't ask Henry for help, because then, Henry would take all the credit for the success. ("Success" was a word that John had learned from Aunt Emma. Success was when you had to do something that was really hard, but you still finished doing it in the end, all by yourself. "It is like winning a game," Aunt Emma had said in her bright but gentle way. John loved his aunt because she was always giving him things, and she was so nice all the time, and so beautiful. She was like Mama, only kind of different.)

What about Nancy? John wondered. Nancy was the nursery maid. Would she make Uncle George happy? Nancy was pretty-not in the same way as Mama or Aunt Emma-and she was not very smart, but maybe she would make Uncle George smile.

Try as he might though, John could not make Uncle George turn an eye towards Nancy. And John found out that Nancy had her own fancy for the housekeeper's son, who worked in the kitchen. It was no wonder the house always smelled so good-the housekeeper's son was a wonderful cook, even if he was not a woman-Nancy was getting little gifts from the kitchen all the time now.

Once, a man named Mr. Bingley came to dine with them. He brought his wife and his sister with him. Mr. Bingley was a very happy man-he was always laughing. Mrs. Bingley was a very happy woman too-she was always smiling. John and his brother and sisters liked Mr. and Mrs. Bingley because they were very nice to the Knightleys. But John did not like Mr. Bingley's sister, who was making eyes at Uncle George.

"So, I thought I had made a big mistake," Mr. Bingley was saying cheerfully to Mrs. John Knightley, "I thought-'If only I would start writing more slowly, I would not miss so many words, and then I would not make a mistake in my correspondence'-until Mr. John Knightley's note arrived at my house, and reassured me that it was nothing of the kind. You may well imagine the relief I felt, the relief that your husband took care to give me. Jane and I still laugh over it now." Mr. Bingley's wife smiled in agreement.

Mr. Bingley's sister was not so beaming. "Yes, Charles," she drawled, "So you must change your habits. A gentleman of standing must never indulge themselves in old habits. Surely you of all gentlemen must agree with me, Mr. Knightley?"

Uncle George was very polite. "I cannot be so bold as to call Mr. Bingley's fault a vice."

"Oh, Mr. Knightley, your answer will only gratify my brother's whims," said Miss Bingley. Her tone was such that from the other end of the table, John's father gave a cough and asked for the sauce that was sitting near Uncle George.

"How is the country this time of year?" Miss Bingley asked. "Mrs. John Knightley tells me that you have just come up from Surrey. I have been to those parts once in my life only. You must tell me how it is there. Is the scenery very picturesque? Is the air fragrant and fresh? Is the neighbourhood as polished and refined as they are up in Derbyshire?"

All the children, with the exception of John, had long lost interest in the conversation, for Miss Bingley's speeches were tiring, but John especially listened to her with impatience. He sensed that Miss Bingley was a danger because she was not nice, and she was trying to win Uncle George's favour with her false smiles and flirtatious prattle. Plus, he didn't like the smell of her.

"Surrey is really nice," John broke in before his uncle had a chance to reply. "It's a lot nicer than any place I know."

Miss Bingley looked at him as though she could not decide whether to simper or to frown. "What a sweet enchanting little boy you have got, Mrs. John Knightley. He is your little boy? Your youngest?"

"Our eldest but one," said Mama with great dignity.

"He is precocious, if you will allow me to say so," continued Miss Bingley. "He must be a very bright little boy, to be so precocious at his age. How old is he?"

John had never heard the tension creep into his mother's voice before. "His name is John, and he turned six last year."

"Oh, my!" exclaimed Miss Bingley, neither in a tone of delight nor contempt, but something awkwardly in between. Recovering herself, she bent towards John, as though to share with him a special confidence, "And what do you know about Surrey? You are raised in town, are you not?"

"My grandpa and my aunt lives in Surrey," said John defiantly. "And they are two of the nicest people in the world."

Miss Bingley chortled. "Is that so? And your aunt-she must be another mother to you."

"No-she's younger and prettier than Mama..."

("Is she?" said Miss Bingley, with a laugh that she must have thought was beautiful because she leaned well towards Uncle George. Well, John thought the noise sounded more like a crow's caw.)

"...and you."

Miss Bingley turned a slight shade redder, and would have said something smart in reply to this assault, but as everyone at the table was now observing this scene with great interest-John's Mama and Papa included-she could not be uncivil. Thus, she went along with the conversation, and stretched her mouth into another smile. "You must be quite in love with your young aunt then. Tell me, as I know very little about her, is she very accomplished? All the ladies among my acquaintance are very accomplished, but then, they all live in town. I do not know what it must be in the country. I think I can but count two or three ladies from the country who are quite accomplished. Does she play the piano? Does she paint screens?"

"She's very beautiful and she is good at everything," said John simply. He did not know what it meant to be accomplished, but he would tell Miss Bingley everything that was wonderful about his beloved Aunt Emma. "She can sing, dance, draw, paint, sew, knit, walk, read, write, play with us, she is always happy to see me, she is never cross, she is always giving things away, she always says sorry after she does something wrong, and she means it when she smiles and says she likes you." He would have gone on, but his small lungs could not quite keep up with his big thoughts, so he had to stop to catch his breath.

While the adults shifted uncomfortably by the little boy's uncommonly astute observation, Mr. John Knightley was signalling his wife to put an end to the scene by leading the ladies and the children out of the dining room; but Mrs. John Knightley was staunchly loyal to her family and was not about to prevent her dear son from praising her sister.

"Well..." said Mrs. Charles Bingley, to her sister-in-law's undeserved rescue, "Your aunt is quite amiable. I hope to make her acquaintance one day."

"I hope you will too," said John enthusiastically, feeling that Mrs. Bingley was the sort of person to keep her word.

"I believe," said Mrs. John Knightley, rising, "that it is time that we leave the gentlemen to their pursuits." She held John's hand warmly as mother and son led the way to the drawing room.

John was not the least bit sorry that he had spoken up for his absent aunt. Miss Bingley had no right to suppose that Aunt Emma was inferior to Miss Bingley's connections. Henry, who had been quite silenced by Miss Bingley's scowling face now looked at John with new admiration. Bella, likewise thought her more timorous brother was not so timorous after all. John was not even afraid of angering their father, speaking like that! John only worried that when he said Aunt Emma was younger and prettier than Mama (which was kind of true), Mama would be sad; but when Mama took his hand, she had whispered to him that he was a dear, sweet boy, and when he went to bed, Mama assured him that Aunt Emma deserved all his praises, and more.

Uncle George's look of sadness was not gone, as John was cheerful to note the next day. That must have meant that Miss Bingley had left without making Uncle George happy. John would not have wanted Miss Bingley to be his aunt. She would be mean to them all, and make Donwell Abbey smell funny. On the other hand, unhappiness did not suit Uncle George's handsome face, and John did not want his uncle to suffer long. "I must find someone for him," the little boy told himself with new found purpose.

Some letters arrived by the morning post, and one of them was addressed to Uncle George. He opened it as he ate his breakfast, and left them all abruptly after blanching over the details of the paper. The children looked curiously at their uncle when the latter returned.

"It is a letter from Mr. Weston," Uncle George said to Papa and Mama. John remembered the Mr. Weston was the big, friendly man who married Mama's friend, Miss Taylor, and made Miss Taylor change her name to Mrs. Weston. John watched as Uncle George passed the letter to first Papa and then Mama to read.

"Oh!" exclaimed Mama, her tone matching the grim look on Papa's face. John knew it had to be bad news, but why did Uncle George look happy? And then, just as suddenly as John saw the hint of a smile, Uncle George's face darkened once more.

"I must leave at once," said his uncle. "I must go to Hartfield and see how Emma receives the news."

"Yes, go-go at once if you must," said Papa with a knowing nod. "Our discourse last night was most timely, for now you know Isabella's mind as well as mine. Go-and God bless you."

John-not Henry!-had the privilege of watching Uncle George pack his belongings. John-not Henry!-had the benefit of sharing Uncle George's last moments in London.

"Are you going to Hartfield to visit Aunt Emma?" John asked as he helped his uncle with his shirts. "Why do you have to hurry?"

Uncle George looked at his nephew in earnestness. "Your aunt has just received a piece of news. I do not know whether she will see it as bad news. It is of utmost importance that I be there, should she ever need a friend."

"She has Grandpa and Mrs. Weston," John pointed out.

"Yes, but still, she must be lonely sometimes."

"And sad?"

"Yes, and sad. Sometimes, when we are lonely, we are also sad."

An idea sprang into John's head. "Then why don't you make her happy?" asked John. "Henry said that you are a confirmed bachelor, and Aunt Emma is very beautiful, and she is even younger than Mama, and she is lots and lots and lots nicer than Nancy or Miss Bingley. And you said that she is lonely. Why don't you marry her?"

Uncle George looked, well, surprised. "But I would need to ask her."

"I know. Papa said he had to ask Mama first before she married him."

"And your aunt would have to love me, or we could never marry."

"But she does love you," said John. Well, if John had known that love was all you needed, he would not have gone through all that trouble! He knew long ago that Aunt Emma loved his uncle. Didn't Uncle George know?

"What do you mean?"

John told him. "You and Aunt Emma are just like Papa and Mama...only kind of different."

His uncle stared for a long time at him, as though he could not understand. "Well, I will try," said Uncle George at last with a laugh. John couldn't see why. He hadn't said anything that was meant to be laughed at, but if the thought of Aunt Emma made Uncle George laugh, John didn't care. All he wanted was for his lovely aunt and uncle to be happy, and then he would be happy too.

"Success," Aunt Emma had also said once, "is when you can bring a smile to the faces of those whom you love. You must never forget that." Her face had been so beautiful and radiant in the sunlight when she told this to her little nephew that John could not possibly ever forget her words. He hoped that Uncle George would find success. "He will," said John resolutely to himself.

He was not wrong.

The End