Part IV
Dinner at Hartfield where the Hartfield Master and the Knightleys gathered together was nearly a nightly event. Just as it had been for decades, seated at the head of the table was the very old and genteel Mr Woodhouse, and ever since the second union between the Woodhouses and Knightleys was formed, on both the old gentleman's sides at the table were his dearest daughter Emma and favourite son-in-law George Knightley. But since about three weeks ago, an unusual new addition had been added to the dining-table at Hartfield as a usual event.
Like most children, Grace Isabella Knightley used to partake her dinner in the nursery at Hartfield and at Donwell Abbey with her baby brother and their nursery maids, and not until the appropriate hour arrived would she re-join her parents and grandparent for the remainder of the evening. It was about a month ago, when two-year-old Grace asked her mother why she could not dine with her father and mother and grandfather in the grand dining-room that the seed of fancy was planted in Grace's mother's lively mind. Though, at the time, the idea seemed absurd even to the fanciful mother, after some careful consideration, Emma reckoned that given the proper effort, and with the faith she had in her and George's offspring, such idea might not be entirely impossible.
Emma took great lengths to educate Grace the etiquettes at the dining-table as well as the many important rules her bubbling daughter must observe when dining with her grandfather, such as never scratched her chair against the floor to avoid the screeching sound that wrinkled her grandpapa's nerves, or, during dinner, neither shrilling nor squealing in excitement was allowed in case it would disturb her grandfather's peace, or never supplied, in front of her grandparent, the details of her adventures in wrestling with frogs, chasing after squirrels, or romping in the gardens (in damp mud!) without a woollen cape, and most importantly, under no circumstance – absolutely none – the child could speak of her frolicking in the bedchamber with a bare protruding belly, for it surely would horrify her grandfather and possibly unleash his many maladies.
At such a young age, little Grace possessed truly an exceptional mind and determination. She had mastered her manners at the dining-table in very short time, and was able to recite all the important rules her mama taught her with little effort. Hence, it was only natural that one morning at breakfast in the Abbey, Emma the mother, who could not help but feeling immensely proud of her child, presented the idea of their two-year-old dining with her old father to her husband George.
"Are you sure, Emma?"
The idea almost caused coffee to run from the husband's nose, George sounded not only concerned, but anxious.
"Grace has been working on her manners exceedingly hard, George! We have been practising pretend-dinner every afternoon in the nursery. Did not you see how well she behaved at breakfast before Lucy took her to the garden?"
"Yes, but we are partial to Grace, Emma! Had she clasped her cheeks between her toasts and pretended to be the apple preserves we would have laughed and thought her adorable."
"But Grace did not play with her toasts, she did not even clang her spoon against her fork once this morning, and she had kept her voice soft the whole time! Did not you notice, George?"
"Yes... but... you know our Grace could decide to slip off her chair one moment only to sit silently conjuring up a new mischief in the next. I do not think it a good idea, Emma!"
"But George... Grace has begged me to let her sit and dine with us and Father every day for an entire week! She promised me that she would behave, and she has worked so hard on her manners and learnt the small nuances that could disturb Father, would not you approve, George... please, George, please..."
The husband stood firm for several more moments, but with his wife's coquettish batting eyelashes, her set of very pretty and effective pouty lips, and her many compelling promises that their child could succeed at the most impossible, the firm ground underneath George began to wilt. Furthermore, the tender heart of the father in wishing to grant his child's plea had him eventually succumbing to the notion.
With a sigh the father and husband yielded, "I hope your Father will not be submitted to too much distress!"
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Once Emma had her approval from George, it did not take long for her to convince her father to let his granddaughter dine with them at the Hartfield dining-room.
Grace's first night at the Hartfield dining-table was, to George's relief, a near smooth sailing. The young child smiled and behaved charmingly with the three adults at dinner, demonstrating every demure and proper nicety that her mother had taught her, her uncommon dexterity had evaded all mishaps with the silverware and the water tumbler, and passed the dinner courses resplendently – but – that was... until the glorious silver platter of delectable confectionaries, sweetmeats, puddings, and fruit tarts were ushered into the dining-room!
You see, dear reader, little Grace Isabella Knightley had won the tender hearts of everyone everywhere she went. Serle, the incomparable cook at Hartfield was unquestionably one of her many admirers. Knowing that little Miss Grace had taken after her mother's love for sweet delights, the cook had often doted on the little mistress with sweet indulgence of various kinds, but due to the watchful eyes of the very strict Nurse, no more than one confectionary could be introduced to the child's meal every three days. Having been informed that the precious child was to dine with the grown-ups that evening for the first time, the cook had found a grand scheme to bestow favours upon the beloved child mistress.
As soon as the shiny tray was ushered in, it immediately caught little Grace's attention. Her round hazel eyes widened in sheer ecstasy, the young sprout clothed in seasoned pleasantry instantly shed her heavy cloak; all manners she had learnt from her mother were tossed under the table, along with the slippers flung from her small dangling feet. The many nuances that her mother told her to avoid began to spurt out of the child. At the sight of the bountiful delights, the two-year-old squealed and cooed and clapped her hands in exuberance.
Emma, the proud mother, who was sipping wine from her wine glass when the dainty tranquillity was shattered, jerked, almost choked on the wine, immediately directed her glance, not to the child who broke the peace, but to her old father, who, presently looking down at his small egg boiled very soft, was cringing, rubbing his ears with his bony hands.
Emma quickly laid down her wine glass, and as she was turning towards Grace, her attention was diverted by the sight of George's darkening face.
He must be upset with Grace! – was her first thought. But – No! – Emma quickly reckoned as she discerned the colour of her husband's face. He was turning red! – she was sure – George was mortified and anxious for her Father, even more so than herself!
Emma blinked and tore her gaze from George, quickly turning towards their child, and was about to put a stop to her daughter's unruly excitement. But it was too late. The shrilling child had already erected from her seat, with unshod stockinged feet on her chair, lifting one dimpled knee above the table, leaning her torso and reaching her hand over her mother's dinner plate onto where the footman spread the scrumptious treats. The silver platter was dangerously close to her mother's cutlery, and the child's little fingers were dangerously close to her mother's wine glass half-full of wine.
Right when the wobbling knee of the determined two-year-old lost its footing, her little fingers slipped and swiped the glass. Emma the mother, deftly manoeuvring her graceful limbs, clasped one hand round her daughter's small waist, scooping the wine glass before it fell with the other and laying it down softly on the table where it was safe. She then gently and securely settled her daughter back on the large pillow atop her chair, bent and spoke kindly and calmly to her.
"Grace, you must wait for the desserts to be served to you."
"But... Mama..." the two-year-old pleaded desperately, her eyes would not stray from the shiny platter, and her small hands still outstretched in mid-air in the direction of the dreamy treats.
Emma hushed a gentle finger on Grace's lips, looked her daughter in the eyes, shaking her head slightly while directing the child's gaze to her grandfather. Albeit his ears were momentarily rung by the two-year-old's excitement, Mr Woodhouse's attention had been so devotedly drawn to the small egg boiled very soft that the chaotic scene that had just taken place seemed to have completely escaped him.
As if a fairy had suddenly carried her uncommon senses back to her, little Grace, at her mother's beckoning, took one look at her grandfather and quickly realized what she had done, or, rather, escaped!
The child stuck her adorable little red tongue out sheepishly, covered her translucent pink plump cheeks with her small hands, and was looking at her mother, then her father. The three big and small Knightleys exchanged gazes, George, the father's face continued to be red, not because he was mortified and anxious and holding his breath, but was now trying, with excessive difficulties, not to laugh. Emma was doing no better than George, her old father's oblivion to his grandchild's escapade was tickling the mischievous mother's restrains, shifting very uneasily in her seat, the elegant mother lifted her dinner napkin over her mouth, hard at work in covering her quivering lips.
It was little Grace, the instigator of the excitement, proved to be the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. The guilty, yet innocent, ear-to-ear milk-toothy grin on her childish face was too hilarious for her parents to keep their unaffected pretence, and when the child's grin turned into giggles, both George and Emma gave up and began to chuckle.
And that was when Mr Woodhouse finished his small egg boiled very soft. The old gentleman, with self-contentment, looked up and discovered that the three young people round the dining-table were giggling and chuckling. The old man smiled, in bewilderment, and asked, "You all seem... amused..." his feeble sight slowly moving from one young person to another, "Have I missed something?"
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Since that first night, two-year-old Grace had secured herself a permanent seat at the dining-table, the child was proven to be a delight to the grown-ups (though there was never any doubt in her mother's mind and only a little in her father's) rather than a disturbance to her grandfather's nerves. Her manners continued to mature, and the important rules that her mother taught her were now observed with less strictness. A few mishaps that caused small cringes on her grandfather now and then were seen as natural for any two-year-old, and her mama and papa would over look them with a gentle reminder.
Tonight, after a fortnight of absence from home, George's return added particular gaiety to the family occasion. And after dinner, while Emma had retreated to the nursery to tend William, George, the dutiful son-in-law, with Grace perching on his knee, sat with Mr Woodhouse regaling to him several more worthy trials at the Assize Court and other interesting happenings that he gathered while away.
It was time for Mr Woodhouse to partake his basin of thin gruel before retiring for the night, and George reckoned that the old gentleman should be left to his gruel before it became cold and that he and Grace would go to be with Emma and William in the nursery. Holding his daughter's small hand in his large one, George bowed to bid Mr Woodhouse's pardon and excused himself and his child from the old man's presence.
The father and daughter had already walked out of the drawing room when the father felt the little hand in his tugging at him.
"Yes, Grace..." George halted, bent and spoke to his daughter.
"May I stay with Grandpapa?" the two-year-old asked.
Grace's request surprised George, for it was the first time he had ever heard such request from his two-year-old.
He turned, surveyed the drawing room, and found that Mr Woodhouse was alone inside.
"Humph..." he considered.
It was difficult for George not to hesitate. Neither Emma nor he had ever left their children alone with Mr Woodhouse, in fact, none of John and Isabella's five children, as he recalled, had ever been left unattended with his father-in-law. In spite of Mr Woodhouse's fondness for his grandchildren, the nerves of the old gentleman were too delicate to endure the vitality of the very young – particularly – his and Emma's ebullient Grace!
George knelt down on one knee so that he could look Grace in the eye when he spoke to her. "I think we should go see your mother and brother, Grace."
"But I want to stay with Grandpapa!" pleaded the two-year-old, the imploring light in the child's hazel eyes staring straight into her father's.
"You do..." George was intrigued. As much time as Grace spent with Emma and William, she had never turned down a single chance to be with her mother and infant brother.
"Why do you wish to stay with Grandpapa, Grace?" he asked.
"I want to keep Grandpapa's company like the way you and Mama do!" supplied the child with much enthusiasm.
George's heart swelled – how could the father not be proud of his child for wishing to be like him and Emma!
But, still, he was unsure – it was one thing to allow their two-year-old a place at the dining-table superintended by Emma and himself, but an entirely different matter to let her stay with her grandfather alone! Grace was too young for an old gentleman as Mr Woodhouse, George reckoned, and unwillingly launched himself into an inner debate...
Though it was true that Grace was very young, she had made her request in such sincere manner... perhaps… both he and Grace should stay with Mr Woodhouse... But – he had wished to be with his wife and son; he had been away from his family for a fortnight and barely had more than a few moments with them alone... he should take Grace with him and go to Emma and William... Wait – his little Grace had such noble intention, would not he, as her father, wish to cultivate the little seed of kindness in his child at this young age ... he would do better to let Grace stay... Yet – Emma's father was no ordinary grandfather; it seemed irresponsible to leave their daughter alone with the old gentleman, who had not the smallest inkling in managing youngsters...
The usually commanding, very decisive Donwell Master was in a new bind! Albeit he was not a new father, this was but untrod territory to him. While George could not acquit himself with one decision or the other, the Hartfield footman who had left Mr Woodhouse to fetch his newspapers had returned, and George felt, at last, he had find his solution.
His pondering face was now lifted by a relieved smile when he spoke again to Grace.
"It is very good of you to wish to keep your Grandpapa's company, Grace!" said the father. "Papa shall leave you with your Grandfather for the time being, but would you promise me that you would not disturb your Grandpapa while he takes his gruel and read his papers?"
The child nodded reassuringly.
"And if you need anything," George glanced at the footman who was standing steely several feet behind his old master, "anything at all, you let the footman know to come fetch Papa, you promise?"
Grace nodded again, with a grand smile.
"Now, go sit on the sofa next to your Grandfather like the way Papa did. Papa shall return with your mother and baby brother very soon."
George kissed Grace on the cheek and let her go back to the drawing room.
Meaning to turn for the nursery but not turning, the father simply could not lift his feet. George lingered at the threshold of the drawing room, watching his daughter padding back inside. Several times Grace had turned to wave and smile at him, and this doting papa eagerly returned with his own enthusiastic wave and endearing smile to his precious little one. He saw that she had climbed onto the sofa and situated herself properly on the right place. George stood there for a while longer, observing Grace from afar. Even in his and Emma's absence, he thought their rumbustious two-year-old was behaving exceedingly well. He glanced at the footman standing behind his father-in-law one last time, feeling it was time to take his leave, the proud father finally turned and walked into the dim corridor, and to the nursery to seek his wife and son.
A/N: Happy Father's Day! I hope you like Mr Knightley as a father, he's not perfect and still has a lot to learn, just like many fathers, new and not so new, but I think he's a wonderful father. Thank you for reading! :-)