Amanda Grange, the author of Darcy’s Diary (read the Editrix’s review; Amazon.com, Amazon.co.uk), has allowed us the privilege of a peek into Mr. Knightley’s Diary, to be published by Robert Hale possibly as soon as this autumn. We are very excited about this, as we just adore Mr. Knightley (tho’ not as much as Da Man, of course); because there is not enough Emma-based paraliterature in the world for our taste; and also because Ms. Grange writes just the sort of Austen-based paraliterature that we like, with a great deal of attention paid to the novel and less on how Colin Firth (or, we suppose, in this case, Jeremy Northam) looks in breeches and a tailcoat; although we admit both gentlemen look very fine indeed dressed so! Read on for the excerpt, which takes place a few days before Poor Miss Taylor’s wedding to Mr. Weston, while Mr. Knightley is in London visiting his brother and sister-in-law.

Thursday September 24th

I set out for London this afternoon. The autumn day was drawing in and I did not arrive at Brunswick Place until after dark.

The house was as neat as always, a credit to Isabella. John could not have found a better wife if he had searched the length and breadth of England. With her domestic character and her gentle, quiet manners, she must be one of the few women in the country whose amiable and affectionate
disposition would allow her to tolerate his short temper.

As I was shown into the drawing-room I was greeted by a perfect domestic scene. Isabella and John were sitting there, surrounded by their five children. The baby was sitting on Isabella’s knee, whilst Bella and George were playing on the hearthrug. Henry and John were more active, as befit their advanced years, and as soon as they saw me they ran up to me with squeals of: ‘Uncle George!’ and then they clamoured to be thrown into the air. I obliged, sending them both up to the ceiling, before setting them back on their feet.

‘Again! Again!’ said Henry.

‘You are too heavy! You must be five years old by now -’ I teased him.

‘Six!’ he cried in delight.

‘Then it is no wonder you are so big.’

He tugged at the tails of my coat and I relented: ‘Very well, one more time then,’ I said.

Nothing would do but that I should treat little John in the same way, before I could sit down.

‘Enough,’ said my brother John, as they clamoured for more. ‘Give Uncle George some peace.’

‘Here,’ said Isabella, giving them some wooden blocks to play with.

The boys sat down on the hearthrug and occupied themselves by building a tower.

‘How was your journey?’ Isabella asked, as she moved the baby to her other knee.

‘Better than usual,’ I told her. ‘At least, this time, the weather was dry.’

‘I wish you would not ride,’ she said. ‘It is too far. You should use your carriage.’

‘Too far?’ said John. ‘It is only sixteen miles. No more than a three hour journey.’

‘I should not like to ride so far on horseback,’ said Isabella.

‘Then it is a good thing I was the one who undertook the journey, and not you,’ I remarked.

She gave the baby to John and took Bella on her knee, for Bella had started to cough.

‘How is Bella’s throat?’ I asked.

‘Better than it was. I am dosing her with an embrocation of Mr Wingfield’s devising, and it seems to be strengthening her. But tell me, how is my sister? She is not too lonely, I hope?’ asked Isabella.

‘No, not yet. Miss Taylor is still at Hartfield. She will not be Mrs Weston for another few days.’

‘Poor Emma,’ said Isabella. ‘And poor Papa. They will be very lonely without her. She has been with them for such a long time. It is sixteen years since she arrived. A sad business.’

‘A sad business!’ cried John. ‘Not for Miss Taylor! To go from being a governess companion, to being a wife? It is an excellent business, and a very good match for her. As a companion she was a dependent, no matter how much she was loved, but as Mrs Weston, she will be a woman with a home of her own. I am very glad to have her marry. A more sensible and respectable match I have yet to see.’

‘But it is a sad business for Emma,’ said Isabella.

‘It will do her good to have some time to herself,’ said John.

‘It will give her a chance to do all the things she has been meaning to do, but never finished, for the last five years,’ I said.

‘For shame!’ cried Isabella.

‘You have always been hard on Emma,’ said John.

‘And if I am not, who else is there?’ I said. Little George came and stood by my knee, his face a picture of concentration as he sucked his thumb. ‘Her father thinks she can do no wrong. Miss Taylor is hardly any less doting. There is no one in the village who cares to question her, as she is the most important woman in the neighbourhood. Someone has to tell her when she goes wrong.’

‘And when does Emma ever go wrong?’ asked Isabella.

‘On many occasions, particularly when she thinks she has nothing to learn. It is not entirely her fault. She has been taught to think well of herself by everyone around her -’

‘Would you have her think badly of herself?’ asked John,

‘I would have her think less of herself altogether. For that is the evil. Emma is the centre of Emma’s world.’

‘She will think differently when she marries,’ said Isabella.

‘But will she marry? What is there to tempt her?’ I asked, as George climbed onto my knee. ‘She is already the mistress of her father’s house. She has her nephews and nieces to interest her. She even has a little Emma named after her,’ I said, looking at the baby. ‘I sometimes wonder what is to become of her.’

‘Come, George, this is a dim view of things. Emma will fall in love and marry, as we all do. She is only twenty years old, she has plenty of time. She is not averse to matrimony, after all.’

‘Very true,’ said Isabella loyally. ‘She is in favour of it. It was she who arranged the match between Miss Taylor and Mr Weston.’

‘That is exactly what I mean! She is full of her own importance, and you do nothing to bring her back to reality. She fancied herself a matchmaker, and instead of telling her she was talking nonsense, you all agreed.’

‘But it was she who brought them together,’ protested Isabella.

‘Miss Taylor and Mr Weston did not need anyone to bring them together. Why should they? If two sensible, mature people cannot make a match between themselves without the assistance of a sixteen-year-old girl - for that is what Emma was at the time - then things have come to a pretty pass. And with no friends of her own age to tease her out of her self importance, it grows
at an alarming rate.’

‘It is true, that is an evil,’ said John. ‘It cannot be pleasant for her to be always mixing with people who are so much older than she is. She has had no other young ladies around her ever since I brought Isabella to London.’

‘It is a pity she has no friends of her own age,’ Isabella agreed. ‘Miss Fairfax is at Highbury so little -’

She broke off as the tower of bricks fell down with a clatter.

‘But what of you, George?’ asked John. ‘It is high time you were married. Time does not stand still. You are thirty-seven years old. You should be thinking of taking a wife.’

‘I have thought of it, but I have seen no one who takes my fancy, and I do not intend to marry for the sake of it,’ I replied.

‘But think of Donwell. You must have an heir.’

‘It is not entailed. I will leave it to Henry,’ I said.

‘Then I hope you are keeping it in good repair!’ said John with a laugh.

I told him of the new works I was undertaking, and of the repairs I had in hand. I told him about the crumbling masonry on the front of the Abbey, and my plan to build a bridge across the stream.

We were still talking of the Abbey after dinner. I told him about the leaking roof in the stables, and he was interested, as always, in everything I had to say. So engrossed were we that I was surprised when the clock chimed eleven and it was time to retire.

I found my room as always, with its familiar decorations, its comfortable bed, its reading desk and its wing chair. As I closed the door, I thought about John’s happy family. I hope I might have the same one day.

An excellent beginning, we think!

Mr. Knightley’s Diary can be pre-ordered by e-mailing the publisher, Robert Hale, at enquire@halebooks.com.