Chapter 2
December 1813
Now, three years after that first Donwell concert, Emma and Mr. Knightley were heading to the Abbey in Mr. John Knightley's carriage, which had been secured for the occasion. Emma's prized violin was tucked carefully in its case on the seat next to her. Half way to Donwell, a few snowflakes began to fall. Emma, who had been looking out the window, said merrily, "Oh look, Mr. Knightley, it has begun to snow! We might have a white Christmas after all!"
"Lucky for Donwell that it hadn't started snowing during the service, or your father might have forbidden you to come. Are you willing to continue?" He looked at her with a slight smirk. "Or are you put off by a few snowflakes?"
"Nonsense. A little snow never bothered Emma Woodhouse," she replied cheerfully.
By the time the carriage arrived at Donwell, however, it had begun to snow in earnest. As the carriage stopped, Mr. Knightley said, "Emma, I don't know about this snow. There is barely an inch now, to be sure, but I can only imagine your father's concern. It might turn into a full-fledged storm. Perhaps Donwell ought to forgo the pleasure of Miss Woodhouse's Christmas concert this year. Perhaps I'd best take you home directly."
Emma was alarmed. "Oh no, Mr. Knightley! I so look forward to this day each year. The snow isn't so bad, really. Can't we go in? Please?" Emma looked quite precious as her large eyes implored him. Through so many years of knowing this mischievous young lady, Mr. Knightley had never acquired a taste for disappointing her. Perhaps against his better judgment, he agreed that Emma's part in Donwell's festivities would be assured for the afternoon.
As she entered Donwell, Emma was met by Mrs. Blakeley. Mr. Knightley's housekeeper always provided a lovely Christmas display, but this year she had outdone herself. Moreover, Emma had forever been a favorite with her, and Mrs. Blakeley made no pretense of hiding it. In her green velvet dress, Spencer jacket of green plaid and her matching cap, Emma appeared the epitome of Christmas spirit. Mrs. Blakely quickly swept her away from the door, admiring her outfit, showing her the decorations she'd supervised in the great hall, pointing out the lovely feast that was at the ready for the staff and, all in all, fussing over Emma in a way that delighted them both. Mr. Knightley smiled as he watched their enthusiastic interactions.
This year's violin concert delighted the Donwell staff, as it had done in each preceding year. But while much of Emma's audience seemed enthralled and Emma herself was obviously lost in the sweet strains of her music, Mr. Knightley could only watch warily through the windows as the wind blew and the snow fell at a still steadier pace. "This was badly done, George," he admonished to himself. "You should have taken Emma home when there will still a chance. There'll be no leaving till it stops now, and Mr. Woodhouse will be sick with worry. Badly done."
When Emma's concert was over, Mr. Knightley led the applause, and Emma curtseyed gracefully, outwardly feigning modesty but inwardly delighting in the recognition. Mr. Knightley then graciously called on the audience to continue the festivities at the buffet. He and Emma would scarcely dine, however, as this was a celebration for Donwell's fine staff. He pulled her aside quietly. "Emma, I am so sorry, but the snow is continuing unabated. I fear the carriage might not be able to safely take you home any time soon. I really don't doubt that we would be fine if we left at this very moment, but if your father saw that I'd ventured out with you in this weather, he'd never forgive me. I fear that it is better that you stay here for the time being, where you are at least safe and warm."
"Oh, dear. I was so lost in playing that I'd completely forgotten about the snow." She looked glumly out the large windows, and could see nothing but darkness, though it was still early. "Father and Isabella will be so worried. And Miss Taylor would be, too, were she not visiting her sister for the holidays. It's my fault, Mr. Knightley. You wanted to take me home straight away, and I refused. Once again, Emma should have listened to Mr. Knightley. Oh, why am I so stubborn?"
"No, it's not your fault, Emma. And, I suppose neither of us should berate ourselves, as there is nothing to be done about it now. We'll have to wait and see. Perhaps the snow will stop soon. In the meantime, come, stand here, closer to the fire. I won't have you catching cold on top of it all."
As Emma moved nearer to the imposing fireplace, she said, "Hmmm, Mr. Knightley, it has occurred to me that those of your staff who do not live in the house – those who live in the manor buildings down the lane – might have quite a cold and wet walk awaiting them after dinner. So I was thinking, perhaps you might offer them to go home now, before the weather worsens? Mrs. Blakeley could order chargers and towels to be brought in, and then your staff could take their dinner with them now and have a safer journey home." She saw, to her dismay, that Mr. Knightley was eyeing her quite intently, so that she almost blushed. "I'm sorry," she said, looking down at her shoes. "I did not mean to interfere. It was just a thought…."
"An excellent one, at that, Emma, and one I should have thought of myself. Thank goodness Donwell has you here to keep things right." And with that, he called for Mrs. Blakeley to arrange for the chargers. As he made the announcement to his staff, Emma could see the relief on several faces as they gave their thanks to the master of Donwell Abbey for his thoughtfulness and understanding.