Jump to new as of May 25, 2005
Posted on Tuesday, 22 March 2005
Master George Knightley was feeling rather pleased with himself. Having just finished the last page of his classics report for school, he was ready to relax for the summer. Perhaps he would go riding or practice archery or fencing with William Larkins, his father's steward's son, but first, he could not miss the opportunity to announce to his brother his hard-earned freedom.
"Oh, John!" he called as he stood from his desk. John had not finished doing his summer assignments yet and would most certainly be angry at his elder brother for further securing his place as "the favorite."
"What, George?" John scowled. "I'm supposed to go visit the Woodhouse's now. Mrs. Woodhouse is finally up and moving about and mother wants me to go with her to meet the new baby-"
"And you, John, dear brother, want to go see Miss Woodhouse...hmm?"
"George, you know I do not-I have no desire to-I've never-" John protested as George looked at him smugly. George took John's dumbfounded stuttering as an opportunity to muss up his brother's meticulously combed hair.
"George! I'm going to strangle you-" Master Knightley barely had time to laugh before John was upon him, pulling at his cravat and grumbling phrases which Miss Isabella Woodhouse would have been appalled to hear.
"Boys!" George and John had been so caught up in trying to defend themselves or kill the other respectively that they had not noticed their mother's approach. "John, you will remove yourself from your brother this instant and go fix your hair. George, let go of your brother's sleeve and stop teasing him! You will both meet me in the hall in five minutes."
"But, Mother, I wasn't teasing him-"
"And he started it!"
"I know what happened you don't fool me. Mothers know everything." John walked sullenly away, straightening his coat and flattening his hair, mumbling, "Mothers know everything indeed..."
George, on the other hand, followed his mother down the stairs.
"Mother, I just finished my lessons for the summer. May I not go riding instead? William Larkins has a brand new-"
"George, I do not care what young Mr. Larkins has achieved. Your father is away on business and therefore you must be the man of the house and accompany me on my congratulatory visit to Mrs. Woodhouse." George saw that she would not be moved so he nodded and went to wait for John downstairs.
Upon arriving at the Woodhouses, George became even more dissatisfied. It quickly became evident that they were not the only visitors.
"Oh Mrs. Woodhouse, what a charming child. Did I not tell you mother? Did I not say that the Woodhouses were certain to have a beautiful baby girl? And there she is, little Emma. She looks so much like you Mrs. Woodhouse. Do you not think so? Why look at those blonde curls and the kind open face too. But then, the nose is certainly her father's, yes. But where did she get those sparkling hazel eyes from? You know, Emma reminds me, my dear sister's daughter is doing quite well too. Yes, Jane Fairfax is her name. Dear little Jane... she is quite the opposite of your Emma. Dark hair she has and dark eyes too. She takes after her father. She doesn't have Miss Emma's pink skin either. Do you remember that cold I told you she had-well I daresay she is nearly recovered. She is such a small child. Oh yes, my sister is... well we will hope for the best, will we not mother? Colonel Fairfax's friends, the Campbell's, are taking great care of her. It was very sad he was called away so soon. Oh, but we must think on happier things-why here are the Knightleys! Oh, Mrs. Knightley and young Mr. Knightley and Master John, how do y'do?"
George and John bowed to Miss Bates. George tried desperately to keep his smile inward. That woman certainly did talk. She was really quite as long winded as his professors at school. He knew, however, that she meant well. She was an old and good friend. As he greeted Mrs. Woodhouse, her daughter, and the Bates, George wondered to himself whatever had happened to the young man from Bath who had seemed so keen on Hetty Bates a few years ago.
George looked around at the present company. "Where is your husband, Mrs. Woodhouse?"
"He is out with Mr. Bates," she answered, "They have been pondering a possible change in the structure of the church. Mr. Woodhouse is very worried about the back corner. He says that it could very possibly be quite drafty. He wonders if there is a leak."
George noticed the way Mrs. Woodhouse's eyes twinkled as she said this. It was obvious, she respected and loved her husband, but she was just aware of his unfounded fears as anyone. George Knightley had always liked Mrs. Woodhouse's humor and wit very much. He felt it was unfortunate that Isabella had inherited her father's anxious nature. Perhaps this new child-what was it's name? Oh yes, Emma-would be more like her mother. But then, Isabella's personality seemed to suit John just fine. In fact, where were they?
George turned to look for his brother just in time to seem him slipping out for a turn in the garden with Miss Woodhouse. As the small talk and the chatter of Miss Bates washed over him, George debated quietly in his mind whether he should call attention to the John's absence, but he decided that John was aggravated enough already and after seeing his mother's and Mrs. Woodhouse's expressions at the last party when John had asked Isabella to dance, he doubted that she would very much object. He would instead do his brother a favor and distract them.
"Well," he began, "When do I get to meet this new baby?"
Mrs. Woodhouse broke from her conversation immediately, pleased at his interest. "Excuse me, Mr. Knightley!" she said with mock formality, "I had completely forgotten! Mr. Knightley, I would be honored if you would meet my daughter-" As Mrs. Woodhouse picked Emma up from her crib, the child promptly began screaming. "-Miss Emma Woodhouse!" she finished, laughing embarrassedly at Emma's distress.
George laughed and smiled in spite of himself. "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance." George stuck out one finger to shake the tiny hand of the baby. Almost immediately, Emma grasped the proffered finger in her fist and stopped crying. Unfortunately, what George did not realize, having dealt very little with small children, was that little Emma had just begun teething. And, as all mothers know, children will put everything offered into their mouth. George, so enchanted with Emma's response, did not realize what was going to happen till he felt a dull pain in his extended digit and heard Mr. Woodhouse's alarmed cry from the doorway.
"Master Knightley, please be careful! I would hate to think what would happen should the baby become ill or..." his voice quieted and his face paled, "infected..."
George snapped his hand back and looked reproachfully at his new acquaintance. As he shook his finger and wiped it off on his shirt, he could have sworn he swore he saw the infant smile. Why you cheeky little creature! he thought to himself. Trying to maintain a some what dignified air, Master Knightley folded his hands behind his back and avoided the bemused glances of the ladies in the room.
Mrs. Woodhouse, sensing his discomfort, decided to give him an occupation as she changed their focus. "Mr. Knightley, would you be so good as to hold Emma. She seems to be taken with you anyway. I have been meaning to show your mother and the Bates's the new dining room table we purchased."
Mr. Woodhouse's alarm was evident. No one could be careful enough with his Emma. "Dear, why don't I hold her? Master Knightley has no need for babies. I am sure he would rather go and find his brother John."
"Yes, where is John anyway?" asked Mrs. Knightley.
"I'll take the baby!" said George a little too anxiously, "It is no trouble and I will be very careful."
"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Woodhouse, looking sternly at her husband, "I need you anyway. You'll have to explain about the wood in the table, dearest. I always forget those things."
Mrs. Woodhouse gently handed her daughter to Mr. Knightley. After the initial awkwardness, George finally held Emma in a position comfortable to both parties. Satisfied, Mrs. Woodhouse led her guests and her husband into the next room, but not before Mr. Woodhouse could turn back for, "Do be careful, Master Knightley. Young ladies are like delicate plants."
George breathed a sigh of relief once they had left the room, most especially because his young brother and Isabella had reentered the view from the window. George felt himself chuckle at their discomfiture, neither one of them would look at the other, the long silences between their sentences. Then, when they would speak, it would be at the same time causing further confusion and more uncomfortable "excuse me"s and "pardon"s.
"They are hopeless!" he said to himself, but then he noticed the weight in his arms. "Are they not?" he asked Emma who seemed to him just a little bit too clever for her own good.
"We shall have to push them together, shan't we? Do a little matchmaking, hmm?" he asked again.
Emma gurgled and Mr. Knightley laughed.
Twenty-two years later, if he could have taken that idle thought back, he most certainly would have.
Posted on Monday, 2 May 2005
Mr. George Knightley was most seriously displeased. He had not spent four years at Oxford and two years managing his own estate only to be outwitted by an eight year old. Since his father's death, he had become an independent, responsible, and capable young man. He was respected and admired throughout Surrey. He was one of the most eligible young men south of London, but here he was, covered in dust having looked in every small recess in the whole house, more puzzled than he had ever been in his last year of maths, looking for Miss Emma Woodhouse.
Mr. Knightley, decidedly, did not like hide and seek.
He and little Emma had developed a very interesting kind of relationship over the past years. It was odd, but he supposed he'd call the child his friend. She was like a little sister to him, "Though I'd never admit to being related to that pixie..." he thought. But somehow, Emma had in her a wisdom beyond her years. He remember how he had cared for her upon her mother's untimely death. Mr. Woodhouse, too soaked in grief to mind his children, had not been able to look after Emma. Miss Taylor, the new governess, was busy with a sobbing Isabella as John nervously perched beside her. So, Mr. Knightley had picked up the bewildered girl and taken her to her mother's funeral himself. He had wiped the tears falling off her cheeks with his own handkerchief. Then, at his father's wake two years later, as he felt hot streams on his own face, he had felt her tiny hand take his own. She had looked at him with such understanding. He had almost laughed when she offered him the handkerchief, now worn with use, that he had given her those few years before.
"Alright, Emma. I give up! Where are you?" he asked, throwing his hands up in the air and collapsing on the nearest chair. He heard a giggle and the movement of fabric and out came Emma from right behind the chair he was sitting on.
"I win!" she cried with a gleeful smile, "Really Mr. Knightley, you'll have to do better than that."
"Better?" he inquired, exasperated, "You were cheating! I checked there. You're not supposed to move around."
"How else was I supposed to see you look everywhere for me? You're right all the time, Mr. Knightley. It was good to see you get my hiding place wrong again and again."
"Well, I'm very glad my vexation amuses you, Emma," he said laying back into the chair and closing his eyes.
"Then you shall have to lose again, George," Emma said mischievously.
Mr. Knightley opened one eye, "What did you just call me?"
"George-your name!"
"That's what I thought," he simply said and closed his eyes again.
"Aren't you angry?" Emma asked, anxious for a fight.
"No. I am practically a brother to you, Emma. It is fine if you call me 'George,'" he said simply, unmoving.
"You are not my brother!" Emma exclaimed with a smile, "And I'm supposed to call you Mr. Knightley because you're old."
Mr. Knightley leaned forward and looked her straight in the eyes. "Old, am I?"
He leapt up from his chair and chased his friend around and around the room as she squealed with delighted terror. He almost had her when-
"Emma Woodhouse, stay still and behave like a lady!"
Emma did not stop, but she slowed down. Mr. Knightley stopped immediately, straightening himself, trying very hard not to laugh.
"Miss Taylor, must we stop our game? Mr. Knightley was just about to catch me."
"I am afraid, Emma, that it is time for your lessons today. Now, go upstairs and get out the book we used yesterday."
"Please, Miss Taylor, just one more game?"
Mr. Knightley watched as Miss Taylor's resolve melted and she nodded to her student. Emma really was amazing. She could convince anyone of anything. She had been the only who could quell her father when he had discovered a mouse in the back parlor. One minute, he had been shaking with concern, but then Emma took him by the hand and asked him to hear the song she had learned on the piano. Two minutes later, Mr. Woodhouse was sitting by the fire, listening to his daughter perform.
Emma turned to Mr. Knightley, "What shall we play?"
"I'm sorry, Emma, but if you want a game you'll have to play with Isabella or Miss Taylor. I have to return home. John will be back from school and at Dowell tonight and my mother expects me for dinner."
Isabella, who had been standing quietly behind her governess before, suddenly looked up, "John?"
"Yes," said Mr. Knightley carefully, looking at Isabella, "I'm sure he would enjoy a visit from his old friends."
Isabella nodded quietly, trying to conceal her emotions and not doing very well at all, much to Mr. Knightley's amusement.
He took his leave of them then. He stepped up onto his horse and began the short ride home. As he rode past the house, he could hear Emma's squeals from the living room. I wonder if they'll ever be able to control that girl. All anyone seems to want to do is please her, he thought. Perhaps he would have to warn Miss Taylor to be more firm with her. Or she shall certainly be spoiled. Spoiled and clever... not a good mix.
Emma could not accept this. She was sure that the reason for Mr. Knightley's sorrow was not loneliness. After all, he had his mother, though she was very ill and kept mostly to her bed, he had John, though John lived in London now and was busy with his first two children, and, most importantly, he had her. It was quite intolerable to think that Mr. Knightley might still be lonely even with her company. After all, did they not spend time together nearly everyday? Had he not spent hours with her, practicing the latest dances so she should not be embarrassed once she was out? (Though he objected, Emma knew he enjoyed it in spite of himself.) Did he not love her father as his own? No, Mr. Knightley had to be perfectly content with the company he had and she was quite sure that there was no reason why he should marry.
She watched Mr. Knightley slowly push his rook forward. "Check," he said.
"Check, indeed. Well, we'll see about that." Emma moved a bishop over to protect her king, but left her queen unguarded and vulnerable.
Mr. Knightley leaned forward, looked at the board for a moment, then picked up his knight (his favorite piece, obviously) and delicately knocked her queen over with it. "Check." He leaned back smugly into his chair and closed his eyes.
"I have half a mind to change the pieces whist you sit there." Emma looked back to the board. She saw she could move her bishop again, but there was really no use. He had her cornered. Emma sighed at her entrapment, but instead of making a move, she took the opportunity to study her friend. Upon closer observation she realized that what she had presumed was arrogance was actually contentment. It seemed her plan had worked. She had seen him smile so little in the past months. She observed the way he clung to the chair, the lines slowly sneaking onto his young face, and his pallor. "The poor man, he is exhausted." Suddenly, Emma felt very glad that she was doing something good for Mr. Knightley. He always seemed to good for so many others. Emma recalled how he had arranged the party in honor of Miss Bates's birthday. "When everyone else tried to ignore her, you brought her in again and did something special. And you hate parties..." Emma continued to study Mr. Knightley's face. It really was a handsome face: "The strong chin, the dark, wavy hair, the straight nose, the brown eyes-oh dear..." He was looking right at her.
"Emma, are you going to move or do you forfeit?"
"I know I might as well forfeit, Mr. Knightley." He smiled as she pouted. "But, because I am your dear friend, I will give you the pleasure of winning."
She moved the bishop. He moved his knight.
"Checkmate."
Emma couldn't help but glare at him as she swiftly swiped her hand across the table, knocking over her own king. Mr. Knightley smiled, amused. He was just about to ask her what was next when William Larkins came running in, wet from the rain.
"Larkins?" Mr. Knightley asked, puzzled, "Larkins, what are you doing here? I didn't miss something today, did I?"
Larkins, if possible, looked more worn than Mr. Knightley. He stopped in the middle of the room as if unsure what to do. Mr. Knightley stood up to meet him and crossed the room in a few quick, long steps.
"Larkins, what is it?"
William Larkins, in a moment of surprising sympathy and understanding, put his hand on his friend and employer's shoulder. "Your mother, Mr. Knightley. When we found in her chair in the library she was in a great deal of pain. I told Haddox to run for Perry, but-"
"Say no more, man, I must go to her!" Mr. Knightley cried, grabbing his coat off his chair. Emma stood there is silence. She knew what had happened, what her friend had not or could not accept had happened.
Larkins continued, "She was still, smiling for a few moments. I hoped she had recovered, but then, she was gone. There was nothing we could do. Perry is probably there now, but all he can tell us now is why."
Everything was still for a few moments, but then there was a loud hammering on the door.
Larkins moved quickly, "That must be the messenger. I told him to meet me here. I'll send an express to your brother right away."
Emma still had not moved. There was no strategy, no black and white choices like in chess. Suddenly, it was no longer a game, no longer a battle of wits, no longer that easy, playful relationship they had preserved for so long. He was her friend and, suddenly, she was the only one he had. And he needed her.
Emma moved rapidly and abruptly to him and did the only thing she could think to do: she put her arms around him, pulled his head down to rest on her shoulder, and held her friend. She felt him shudder and breath quick, deep breaths.
"Don't try to hold it in. You couldn't have helped it. Nothing could have prevented it. Right now, all you can do is remember and mourn. And then, all you can do, is live for the woman who gave you life. Be happy in honor of her. She would have wanted it that way."
Emma felt him relax. She could grieve for Mrs. Knightley, who had been like an aunt to her, later, on her own. Right now, she had to be strong. For the second time in his life, Mr. Knightley felt tears roll down his cheeks. And for the second time, Emma Woodhouse comforted him.
Larkins came to get his master, to bring him home to Donwell, but when he saw the pair in the game room, he decided a different course would be wiser. Miss Woodhouse would be sure to send him home in their carriage soon. There was really nothing Mr. Knightley could do. So William Larkins ran down the hall, out and onto his horse, galloping quickly away. Mr. Knightley and Emma neither noticed his return nor his departure.