Day One: London Bridge is Falling Down…

Emma Knightley, tall, slender, and beautiful, stepped off the airplane at Heathrow International Airport. Clutching her jacket close around her, she sighed deeply as she realized the amount of sleep she had lost in her six days of traveling. The dark circles were beginning to show themselves around her eyes, and she was losing the characteristic smile that almost always graced her features. Clutching her husband's arm, she walked resolutely through the crowd to the baggage claim.

Emma, a native Californian, had just visited her first European country. "And it's only taken me twenty-four years to get this far," she smiled. Ireland was beautiful - rolling hills and emerald green valleys - but it was here, in London, where she had always wanted to be.

Several hours of dealing with baggage, customs, and an excessively long Tube ride later, Emma took in her first breath of real London air. Stepping out of the underground station at Lancaster Gate, she gazed across the street on the verdant lawns of Hyde Park.

"Second right…first left…first right…" George Knightley mumbled to himself as he fumbled with his map and directions to their hotel. Grabbing hold of a suitcase, he motioned for Emma to break her reverie and follow him.

Immediately taking the first right at the stop sign, he wondered when the first left didn't take him to Lancaster Gate, the street the hotel was on. After half an hour of confused wandering (but a wonderful tour of the city of Westminster), the Knightleys returned to the Tube station, discouraged.

As they started their trek again, Emma immediately realized their mistake, "Mr. Knightley, darling, you took the first right. I do believe your directions say 'second right'?"

Trying hard to smile at his mistake, Mr. Knightley this time took the second right and within ten minutes found himself at the hotel, where he proceeded to flop down on the bed, exhausted.

After letting her husband rest for a few minutes, Emma, anxious and amused, poked him mercilessly on the shoulder. "Let's go for a tour!" she exclaimed.

"Wh-?" he asked, groggily.

"The bus tour! You paid for it, didn't you?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, let's go!" Emma pulled on his arm and he reluctantly sat up, willing to indulge his sometimes overeager wife.

Thirty minutes later, the Knightleys sat safely ensconced on a red, double-decker, sightseeing bus tour of London. They passed the Marble Arch, and Trafalgar Square, and drove across London Bridge. However, the gray sky and drizzling rain made the view from the bus less than optimal.

Emma was slightly less enthusiastic when she disembarked from the bus near speaker's corner in Hyde Park. As she walked towards the traditional and historic spot, she lost her footing and fell over. Mr. Knightley, alarmed, quickly helped her up, but soon discovered that it hurt her to walk. Ever the trooper, Emma suggested she try to walk it off down Oxford Street.

And so the Knightleys made their way down one of the most famous shopping districts in the world. They passed innumerable shops that Emma would most certainly have been interested in on any other occasion, but that she found no points of interest for her today. Her spirits were dampened, and neither she nor Mr. Knightley could find a way to raise them again.

"Say, Emma, why don't we try and catch a bite to eat?" Mr. Knightley suggested, glancing at his watch. "Isabella suggested a little Dutch place not to far from here."

And so the Knightleys walked, rode the underground, and walked some more, only to discover the crepe restaurant that Mrs. Knightley's sister had suggested had just gone out of business. And what was worse, all the restaurants around them had either closed or were way more fancy than they were prepared for that night. They spent an hour and a half exploring downtown London without once finding a restaurant that suited their fancy. Finally, they returned to the hotel in defeat.

After numerous inquiries, they finally started to walk again, this time with a definite destination in mind. At last they found a little Greek restaurant, where the proprietor, extremely solicitous, served them personally and ordered their food for them. No doubt he was trying to get these Yanks to spend extra money, but the Knightleys were glad of the attention all the same.

After the delicious dinner, Emma's sagging spirits were slightly lifted. However, when her husband suggested they take one last walk before retiring for the night, she felt anything but enthusiasm for the idea. However, she walked resolutely beside him, not knowing where his intended destination was.

"The next stop is: Westminster," the voice on the underground train told her.

Mr. Knightley grabbed her hand and pulled her out of her seat. "Here we are!" he exclaimed.

As Emma mounted the stairs and rounded the corner out of the Tube station, she gasped in delight. For there, directly in front of her in the midst of the enveloping darkness stood the houses of Parliament, on fire with white light. And across the street, proud and tall, stood Westminster Abbey, equally as beautiful, equally as imposing.

She took her husband's hand in hers and the couple walked in silence as they simply took in the sights. After walking halfway around the two buildings, Mr. Knightley led her to a railing that overlooked the Thames river. Across the water, London sparkled in the nighttime, and Emma could see slow-moving ships lit up again the dark sky.

She let out a deep sigh, and whispered, "I'm falling in love."

Mr. Knightley looked at her with a sparkle in his eye, "I thought you'd already done that."

"No, no," she shook her head, savoring the sights and sounds of the city. "Not with you…I've always loved you. London. The city. I'm in love with this city."

George Knightley simply put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head, understanding his wife's emotions.

They walked back to the hotel, hand in hand. Both Knightleys had very sweet dreams that night.

Day Two: Sun and Moon

As the Tuesday dawned, Emma Knightley had great hopes. Her itinerary was packed to the teeth, but the things she wanted to see that day were simply indispensable. First, she and Mr. Knightley planned to journey to Westminster Abbey, where the beauty was rumored to be indescribable. Next came the National Gallery, which houses several of the most famous Titian paintings in the world, a personal favorite of Emma's. And that night, they would travel to the Royal Theater, Drury Lane, to see the acclaimed West End version of "Miss Saigon."

As they climbed the stairs leading up from the Tube station, Emma realized that she loved London crowds. In San Diego, they would bother her, and in Ireland they had been little more than a nuisance, but in London… As the vicar, Mr. Elton, would say, "A crowd is a crowd… But a London crowd…!" She really would not have been able to explain her feelings, had Mr. Knightley known to ask. In London there was such a vast expanse of people to meet and people to watch. No one could ever be bored in London, Emma felt.

Mr. Knightley took her hand as the couple entered the gargantuan cathedral known as Westminster Abbey. Emma breathed in deeply, and looked around her. Everywhere she positioned her eyes, she could see statues and monuments dedicated to different political figures throughout British history. The walls were lined with sculptures and busts carved of the most magnificent marbles. Underneath her feet there lay worn tablets commemorating the life and death of lords and ladies of yesteryear. And as she turned around, she could see the morning sun reflected through the round windows above the east entrance. "Magnificent," she breathed in a whisper. To which her husband responded with a soft, "Isn't it?"

They showed themselves around the Cathedral, spending extra time at the magnificent tombs of Edward the Confessor (well, what they could see of it behind a raised wall), Elizabeth I, and Mary Queen of Scots. Most beautiful of all, to Emma, was the wall of brightly colored stained glass, erected in memory of the Royal Air Force that defended Great Britain so valiantly during World War II.

However, the greatest joy came to Emma when she walked through the hallway, past the coronation chair, and found herself in Poet's Corner, where artists of all types from all times were remembered through plaques, busts, and, of course, more monuments.

"Look, Mr. Knightley! A memorial to Henry James…and Lord Tennyson! Oh, and over here…the Bronte sisters!" Emma's face grew more and more delighted as she saw poet after novelist after artist after actor immortalized in this beautiful building. "Laurence Olivier! Longfellow!"

And behind yet another wall, there lay a beautiful sculpture in tribute to the bard himself, William Shakespeare. Yet, the superlative moment of the morning came when Emma noticed an elegant white plaque installed just below and to the left of the Shakespeare monument. Carved in the small diamond, the words, "Jane Austen (1775 - 1817)."

"My Jane," she sighed airily, as her husband stood patiently by. When she finally pulled herself away, she finished her tour by walking through the nave, and making a brass rubbing in the cloister.

"Do you think anything could top that supreme, majestic beauty?" Mrs. Knightley asked her husband as they grabbed a bite to eat in a local pub, amusingly enough named "Finnigan's Wake."

Mr. Knightley simply sipped his potato and leek soup with a knowing smile.

Next, they hurried towards Trafalgar Square and the National Gallery. As Emma stood on the front steps of the museum, she looked out across the square and saw…well, frankly, a lot of pigeons.

But inside, the magnificent works of art the museum housed once again stimulated her aesthetic sensibilities. From Titian to Monet, the list of famous artists and their extraordinary works was endless. Renoir, van Gogh, Manet, Vermeer, Rembrandt… And dwelling among the other impressionistic works, Emma's favorite painting in the world (quite literally) - "The Umbrellas" by Renoir. She simply sat in front of the painting for minute after minute, staring at the deep azure tones and the facial expressions on the subjects.

Finally, she realized that if she and Mr. Knightley didn't leave soon, they would barely have time to change before the theater that night. She regretted the necessity of leaving the National Gallery, just as she had regretted the necessity of leaving Westminster, but she knew that one day she would return.

They returned to Drury Lane in an ample amount of time to seat themselves before the show started. Emma read about the history of the theater, the oldest in London. But before she had a chance to contemplate the grandeur of the building she was sitting in, the lights dimmed and the curtain lifted.

During intermission, Emma and her husband chatted with an usher named Grant, a Shakespeare student who felt himself Hollywood bound. Pointing out the Charles II box and the Prince of Wales box, Grant also talked about the enormous talent the theater had seen. Why, just last week, he had played butler to Sir Derek Jacobi!

After the performance, Emma and Mr. Knightley again walked home in the moonlight, as she noticed the light coming from all directions in the city. Exhausted as she was, Emma still thrilled to her surroundings. And that night, she dreamed of high gothic ceilings with flying buttresses, and walls adorned with classic works of art.

Day Three: My Jane

Emma and Mr. Knightley rose quite early on the third day in London in order to make the most of it. After breakfast in the hotel café, they made their way to the Tower of London.

They waited about fifteen minutes at the entrance to the Tower for their tour guide to arrive. In the meantime, Emma had Mr. Knightley take her picture with another Beefeater, and took several pictures herself of the stunning view of the Thames River.

The Beefeater in charge of their tour was extremely comical, and knowledgeable, making Emma's hair stand on end with his tails of the horror and violence of the Tower's history. As she made her way through the Bloody Tower, past Traitor's Gate, and past the site of the old scaffold where Anne Boleyn had been beheaded, Emma felt overwhelmed at the sadness of it all.

But her spirits were still high, and the sun shone brilliantly overhead. After viewing the crown jewels, the Knightleys found themselves a pub to eat lunch in, and then made their way to the British Museum. Emma's disappointment was considerable when she learned that the manuscripts (the reason for her interest in the museum), had been moved to the British Library.

Imploring Mr. Knightley, she finally persuaded him to walk with her to the Library to see the manuscripts that she so desperately wanted to see. They took a quick look at the Rosetta Stone, which had been the key to unlocking the code of Egyptian hieroglyphics, and the Elgin marbles from the Parthenon, and then set off.

The walk was longer than Emma had anticipated, but she found herself looking forward to the Library as much as anything she had seen thus far. When she arrived, she found a brand new building filled with modern conveniences, and housing not only a large selection of books, but also several display rooms.

She walked into one, and immediately saw one of William Shakespeare's folios, which had sonnets and other such written in it. Enthralled, she continued down the way past an original copy of Jane Eyre, the Magna Carta, and even a display of original Beatles lyrics. She examined the music manuscripts closely, spying Handel, Bach, Mozart, and Vaughan-Williams compositions. But, her senses really came alive when she espied the top of a manuscript, written in a wide, pinched hand, that said, "The History of England…"

"Mr. Knightley!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. Her husband rushed over and she pointed to the manuscript. The plate underneath it read, "Written by Jane Austen and illustrated by Cassandra Austen."

Emma felt as though she were treading on air as she toured the rest of the display room. "Now," she thought. "My trip truly is complete."

After a lengthy stop in the gift shop, where she purchased Jane Austen T-shirts, posters, and stationary, the Knightleys made their way back to the hotel to wash up for dinner.

After dinner at a delicious Italian restaurant in Soho, the couple made their way to Piccadilly Circus, where the bright lights and flashy screens exhibited a different side of London than they had seen during the daylight.

Walking towards Herrod's, Emma sighed and snuggled closer to her husband, "We have to come back, Mr. Knightley. I don't think I can live without London."

Her husband nodded his agreement and kissed her on the forehead. As they slowly walked back to the hotel on Lancaster Gate, Emma Knightley felt at peace. She belonged in London, and London was a part of her. No matter what the future held, she knew she would come back to this enchanted city.

The End

For Emmy, who will soon be there for herself.