A/N: My belated congratulations to Kate and William on the birth of little Prince George (I'm very partial to the name George ;D)! I never follow news of royalties or celebrities, but this lovely couple definitely caught my attention every time when I saw their photos on the news or internet - they looked so much in love with each other and so in tune with one another! Now with a family of their own, I am so happy for them and I wish them all the best blessings!
Coincidentally, this chapter is also about the birth of my favourite couple's first child :D Here's the continuation from the last chapter where little Grace was being a bit too inquisitive to Mr Woodhouse. But the grandpapa endured it tolerably until the innocent child brought up something that he tried to forget...
Part VI
It was several months after the union of Miss Emma Woodhouse and Mr George Knightley that the news of the couple expecting their first child began to circulate. And for the next few months, Highbury and Donwell were bustling with joyous anticipations. Months turned into weeks, weeks into days, speculations by the villagers of when the child of the beloved couple would debut the world were spiralling in the sky. And when words of the Hartfield carriage had come to fetch the midwife in high speed spread, almost all villagers, in the quietness of their hearts, paused to send good wishes to the Knightleys and Woodhouses that these two most loved and respected local families would escape the sad fate of the nation's beloved Princess Charlotte*.
The long hours during Emma was in childbirth George was pacing incessantly outside the chamber, where the midwife along with Mrs Weston and a regiment of maids attended his wife. Likewise, Mr Woodhouse was on the edge of his armchair awaiting tremblingly the news that both his daughter and grandchild were safe.
The violent screaming of his wife exploding through the door pounded into George's ears and heart and nearly broke the gentleman's restrain in storming into the room to take Emma into his arms to sooth and to love her and to take away her pain. Several times when he heard Emma screaming for him in pain, George had indeed succumbed to his impulse and rushed into the room, but Mrs Weston had two of their more experienced maids guarding the door under strict order and prevented him from seeing his wife suffer. The agonized husband, who was unwillingly escorted out of the chamber, returned to pacing agitatedly the long corridor with hands rumpling his hair and tossing his cravat and frock coat aside. Had it been all possible, George would have taken Emma's place to bear the danger and pain of childbirth in a breath.
As for Mr Woodhouse, being corridors, chambers, and a floor apart, he could only faintly hear the cries of his beloved daughter, but even in such faintness, the old man's heart would have stopped forever at the hint of the slightest bad news. The distressed gentleman did not drink or eat or breathe easily for the duration of his daughter's labour, which was a nearly ten hour ordeal, but to the old father, as well as his son-in-law, it was eternity in a hellish fire.
The end of the excruciating pain at last drew near when the baby's head crept out of the mother, and then rapidly the rest of her tiny body descending onto the midwife's hands. At the first sound of the baby's ferocious cry, George could no longer restrain himself; the anxious husband pushed the formidable door open, shoved any maid who dared to stand in the way of him seeking the pulse of his life, bolted towards the bed and dropped to his knees at the side of his wife.
In spite of her exhausted state, Emma, the toiled mother, soaked in sweat and happy tears, smiled tenderly at her husband as he reached her side. Assured, at long last, that his wife was safe from the strenuous and dangerous toil, George, heedless to the many pairs of eyes surrounding them, scooped Emma in his arms and held her so close to him that as if heaven and earth could move nothing could ever separate her from him.
While the couple drenched in the relief and happiness of Providence's safe deliverance, the new born infant was washed, dressed, and swaddled in a brand new blanket and presented to her parents. The new mother and father were overjoyed, so was the worried grandfather upon receiving the news carried by the upper maid, and the entire village of Highbury celebrated in exuberance as soon as words of the families' good tidings spread like wildfire.
Whereas most people had expected the safe delivery of the highly anticipated infant would mark another new beginning of the Knightleys' perfect happiness, yet, true happiness seldom existed without its alloys, and to Emma and George, the happiness of receiving their first child was soon turning into something that no one could have foreseen.
As it unfolded in the days after, the infant who came into the world with a ferocious cry continued to cry in the same manner as if her life was dependent upon it. Baby Grace, who was named after her grandmother on her father's side, would not stop crying from the moment she was born. Nothing seemed to calm and sooth her. The infant would cry excruciatingly hard for excruciatingly long in spite of the hour of day or night, the only times her screaming would break were when she had exhausted her tiny self and resorted to suckling her mother to quench her thirst or seek comfort for her little soul. Half an hour of sleep was the lengthiest pause between baby Grace's unyielding cries, and pauses were few and far between for the infant.
Needless to say, the disconsolate infant had imposed a large toll on everyone near her, but the ones who bore the enormity of it were without a doubt her loving mother and devoted father.
Youthful Emma had long been loveliness itself, the months of carrying a child did not reduce her beauty, it had only increased her grace to an even lovelier extent, and the laborious childbirth that could be overly taxing, had the woman survived, to any lady did little to tarnish the picture of health in Emma, it had only exhausted her strength for the duration of the ordeal.
But things went very differently after her daughter was born. When the new mother saw her precious baby cried so violently and unceasingly, her tender heart was shattered into thousand pieces. In spite of an assemblage of maids at her disposal in her father's house, Emma loved her child so much that she was unwilling to leave her in the hands of anyone but her own. She would cradle baby Grace in her loving arms night and day, endeavouring desperately to give her crying daughter comfort, even when most of the times it was deemed an impossible task. While the cries of the infant had come with heart breaking intensity, the tears of the mother were intense mixtures of love and heart breaks. Though being with child had added to the perfect bloom of the mother-to-be, the endless worries, the sleepless days, the unbearable exhaustion, the feeling of helplessness in caring for her own child were withering the new mother in alarming pace.
As for George, the difficulty in his situation was not lessened because caring for the young was the duty that lied in the women's hands. The new father's heart wrung as wretchedly as his wife's by the piercing cries of their infant daughter, but the torment on George was doubled as he witnessed, powerlessly, the sadness and despair in his beloved Emma.
By day, Mr Knightley was the involved landowner, the kind hearted and just magistrate, and by night, George was the loving husband and devoted father, staying steadfastly by the side of his wife and infant daughter, enfolding the two most precious persons of his life within his arms and let them both cry on his chest. Whatever within the power of the husband and father, whether it was his comforting voice, his tireless patience, the tender embrace of his strong arms, his excellence of mind that sustained Emma's glimmering hope, or simply his very presence that soothed her weary soul, he would give freely and unreservedly in spite of his own exhaustion.
And one must know that the suffering had gone beyond the mother and father of the crying babe. The one person in Hartfield who had a long history of being easily distressed could not, undoubtedly, escape the evil of the situation. The incessant crying of the infant had subjected Mr Woodhouse to great distress. The fragile nerves of the old gentleman were under fury attack from one day's end to the other. Despite the fact that Emma and George had hidden their screaming daughter in the nursery which was far removed from the old man's quarter, the ferocious cry of the baby horrified the old man.
The habitual peace that sustained Mr Woodhouse's delicate world was shattered mercilessly by the unyielding infant. To the old man with decrepit hearing, the faint cries of the baby had imposed a much larger disturbance on his spirit than his ears. The presence of an inconsolable infant in his house had become so insufferable to Mr Woodhouse that he was unable to sleep, nor sit, nor eat, nor think soon after the baby's birth.
Every day, Mr Perry was called to Hartfield to tend the ailing Hartfield Master. Having to care for her new born daughter at all hours, and with her own declining spirit, devoted daughter Emma was no longer able to nurse her father. Through Mr Perry's many connections, a nurse was brought into Hartfield to care for the invalid. Unfortunately, Mr Woodhouse's nervous and restless condition not only did not improve, the distressed old man began to complain of hearing infant's screaming even when his grandbaby was at that very moment sleeping soundlessly in her mother's arms.
As the old gentleman's nervousness continued to worsen, Mr Perry took it upon himself to discuss with Mr Knightley the possibility of removing the Knightleys from Hartfield to Donwell Abbey, in the hope of restoring Hartfield to its previous peace, hence, unknotting Mr Woodhouse's tangled nerves.
Upon hearing Mr Perry's suggestion from George, Emma, the faithful daughter, albeit she had barely been fulfilling her daughterly duties since her own child was born, holding onto the notion that her father's life would be at risk if she were ever be removed from him, could not bear even the thought of quitting her father and ardently refused the idea.
Nevertheless, Mr Perry did not give up. The apothecary took his suggestion to his trusting client, and without much effort was able to convince the infirm Mr Woodhouse. The idea of restoring Hartfield to its former serenity was in itself a solicitation to the desperate old man. His yearning for a peaceful soul had overpowered his longstanding fear of losing his beloved daughter to a mile's distance. Whether it was out of self-preservation or plain selfishness, the confused old man could not discern, all he wished was returning to his habitual life, a sleep that would let him rest rather than giving him haunting dreams, a head that had no noises grinding at it, and a heart that did not pound at his feeble chest until it hurt.
However, when George spoke to Emma regarding Mr Perry successfully convincing her father to let them remove, Emma's objection grew even fiercer. It was impossible for her to believe that her father, who was against changes of all natures, and who could not accept the idea of her marrying not long ago, would willingly accept such drastic alteration. But when her father called her to his presence, and out of his hardened heart revealed to her that it was his wish that she, her husband, and their infant child be removed from Hartfield, the heart of the mother and daughter was breaking all over – and this time it was broken by her father!
All her life, Emma had stayed faithful to her father, had not it been George's willingness to remove to Hartfield for her father's sake, Emma would have remained unmarried instead of quitting her father to marry George. But while she would not have left her father no matter the circumstance, her father, now, was practically leaving her. The feeling of being abandoned by her own father was piercing the good daughter's heart.
Once the decision was settled, on the afternoon of the third day, the Knightleys, George, Emma, and three-month-old Grace, were removing to Donwell Abbey. There was no fanfare to send off the family from Hartfield, very little words – only tears, mostly on the daughter's part – were exchanged between Mr Woodhouse and Emma before they parted. Neither was there celebration at the Abbey upon receiving their beloved master and mistress and baby mistress into their rightful home. With less than two days to prepare for the arrival of the adored family, the servants at the ancient house had barely the time to remove the dust cloths and dress their Mistress and Master's chambers to a decent state, suffice to say that they could not restore, even had they tried, their master's childhood nursery to its former glory in time for their baby mistress. All they could do for a temporary nursery was to place the infant crib next to the mistress's bed in the mistress's room.
Returning to the Abbey was a bittersweet time for George – perhaps it was far bitter than sweet to tell the truth. When the Donwell Master removed to Hartfield the day he married his bride, he was prepared to give up the comfort of his own in return for the comfort of his father-in-law for as long as it was required. He had thought that it could be years before he and his wife would eventually live in his house. Now that he was come back to his own house with his own family, there was a sense of ease that he had not felt for quite some time. Nevertheless, he would rather forgo that at-ease feeling than having his beloved Emma suffer the way she did. His wife had already endured far too much because of their disconsolate daughter; being asked to leave her childhood home by her own father had left his dearest Emma utterly crushed.
On their first night at the Abbey, their new home, George, Emma, and baby Grace spent a very quiet (except, of course, for the sound from Grace's ferocious cry) evening together. The entire Knightley family of three stayed behind the Mistress Chamber door that night without servants, by the order of the master, to disturb them. Baby Grace, in her customary manner, cried and wailed until she was exhausted and fell asleep in her mother's bosom; and Emma the mother, curled up on the settee cradling Grace dearly to her and, just like her baby, felt asleep in her husband's arms. Contented to have his Emma resting on his chest so sweetly and soundly and their daughter Grace sleeping, at last, peacefully in the arms of her mother, George clasped his family even closer to him, shut his eyes, allowing himself to drift into slumber.
While the Knightleys spent many subsequent nights in that same way at Donwell Abbey, Mr Woodhouse was steadily recovering from his tangled nerves. As Emma could not visit her father at Hartfield as often as she wished, Mrs Weston had taken the duty of watching over her former employer and her dearest friend's father and visited Mr Woodhouse every day. Over the course of the next three months, under the watchful eyes of the nurse, Mr Perry, and Mrs Weston, the old gentleman was progressing at an agreeable pace. He was able to sleep through most nights without disturbance, his appetite for thin gruel was gradually regaining its ground, and he was willing to spend several hours during the day sitting in his armchair by the fire without wishing to return to bed. His once very confused mind was less muddled, he no longer heard noises grinding in his head, and he seemed able to think nearly as clearly as before, forgotten memories began to come back to him… and because of these renewed memories… regrets began to fill the old man.
As Mr Woodhouse recalled the day he asked his beloved daughter to take her family and leave his house, tears began trickling down his bony jaw. It wrenched his old heart to realize what he had done to the one daughter who was nearly life to him. How he wished he could take back what he had said that fateful day, how he wished he could have her daughter and her family come back to live with him! But his fragile nerves would not let him. The nervous old man could not bear the thought of the haunting noises living in his head again, and he knew he would have to live with this regrets for the rest of his living.
Another month had gone by, whereas Mr Woodhouse was nearly fully recovered from his plight, baby Grace, albeit she had indeed made some improvements, as her ferocious cries were no longer piercing ears but merely making the face of anyone near her cringe, was still crying most hours of the day and night.
It was a typical afternoon at Donwell Abbey, where two maids lined the wall outside the nursery awaiting their mistress's disposal, and Emma, cradling her crying baby in her arms, walked to and fro the length inside the nursery, hoping that her daughter would willingly fall asleep by the rocking motion.
Despite that it was another futile effort, the patient mother kept her smile tender and her voice sweet as she sang to her baby. But her singing was interrupted unexpectedly when a maid came into the nursery and informed her that Mr Woodhouse was awaiting her presence in the Abbey drawing room.
Taken by surprise could not do justice to describe Emma's feeling at that moment. The daughter was utterly shocked. Her father had never called upon anybody without her accompanying him for as long as she could remember. Mrs Weston might have taken her place temporarily to watch over her father while she cared for her baby, but no one, not even Miss Taylor, could ever convince her father to leave his house other than her.
Emma gently handed baby Grace to one of the maids, examined her reflection in the mirror, and she let out a helpless sigh. She was wearing a very plain, old gown, did not seem fit for the Mistress of Donwell Abbey, and she looked pale and too thin, she knew her father would worry but she could hardly help it. She tucked the strands of hair fallen from her cap behind her ears, smoothed her rumpled gown with her hands quickly, and walked out of the nursery to the drawing room.
After she settled her father in the chair nearest the hearth and had tea brought in, the father and daughter sat awkwardly by each other. It felt awkward to Emma because when she was living in Hartfield, her father was the master and she the mistress, but now, while she was still the mistress, they were no longer in Hartfield, and her father had become her guest at Donwell. The daughter wished she had some interesting news to tell her father to amuse him, to lighten the air, but the best news she and George had was that Grace was now sleeping a full hour instead of only half an hour between her cries, and she did not think that would amuse her father.
Emma could not help but wonder why her old father had come, she could think of nothing that could have enticed him to leave his house. Before she was married, Donwell Abbey and Randalls were the two places that her father was willing to call. The Westons was the only family that her father used to visit often with her, but as the crying of Mrs Weston's baby hurt his ears, he had refrained from going to Randalls soon after baby Anna was born. And since then, with the union between her and George, there was no reason for Mr Woodhouse to visit Donwell Abbey while Mr Knightley was living in Hartfield, and her father was contented to stay behind the quiet Hartfield doors. Even the little card party that Emma made up for him with Mrs and Miss Bates and Mrs Goddard at Hartfield had become less frequent as the Bates spent much of their time in town with Frank and Jane Churchill, and her father, though often lamented the loss of his old friends to society, had grown even more reclusive to the outside world.
Had a sudden whim (however unlikely it was) struck her father's unimaginative mind, Emma reckoned, the rather breezy summer day and the clouds hovering in the sky since the morning surely would have deterred her father of any desire to come. She was sure there must be an important reason which had brought her father to the Abbey, and she noticed that he could barely look into her eyes when he spoke… but… her father had said very little throughout their meeting… the daughter was wracking her brain wondering what could be on her father's mind.
Suddenly, the faint cries of Grace grew louder, Emma's heart jumped. The maids must have opened the nursery door wishing to let their mistress know that they could not calm her fussing daughter… and Emma saw how her old father cringed… the sound of baby cries still rattled him.
Mr Woodhouse shifted very uneasily in his seat as the loudness of Grace's cries continue to climb, and finally he rose clumsily from the chair and asked his daughter to have James prepare the carriage for him to depart. Even though Emma wished her father would stay longer, she was anxious to go to her daughter as well, and she obligingly obeyed her father's wish and called the footman to look for James.
Before Mr Woodhouse stepped into the carriage, he paused and turned pensively to Emma. He had opened his mouth but then shut it without a word. Something immensely heavy seemed bearing in his chest waiting to be let out, but the old father could only cast his eyes at the ground beneath his feet. There was a considerable exertion on the old father's part before he could raise his eyes to speak to his daughter at last. Mr Woodhouse told Emma that Mrs Wright was a very good nurse, and Emma smiled to agree with him.
As another awkward silence fell between them, the wind began to whirl about the carriage, and Emma reached her hands to tighten the scarf round her father's neck very gently, just like she had done a thousand times before. The good daughter then patiently tucked the several strands of her father's silver hair behind his ears under his hat and fastened the button on his coat that had come off the buttonhole.
It was then, when she looked up from the button, she realized her father was looking at her in the same tender way that he had looked at her since she was a little girl but stopped months ago. And it was also then he told her that he would like to send his nurse to Donwell Abbey to help her care for baby Grace. Without understanding her father's meaning, Emma declined his offer at first, for the care and attendance of the nurse was the very thing that her father needed. But when Mr Woodhouse insisted that he would not have it otherwise, that his daughter must accept his offer, that he would wish nothing but the best for his baby granddaughter, it was in that moment, Emma, suddenly, with understanding, realised the true reason why her father had come – In his own subtle way, her father had come to tell her that he regretted that he had casted her and her family out of her childhood home!
In spite of how heartbroken she was, Emma loved her father too much to hold grudges against the decision he made four months ago, the loving daughter could never blame her father for making the decision that had eventually saved his life. But she was deeply grateful for her father's willingness to show her that he had his regrets.
The daughter accepted graciously her father's offer, and her eyes were filled with tears as she reached for her father's hand, bent, and kissed it with gratitude. And when she looked up, she caught the glistens in her father's eyes. Mr Woodhouse blinked rapidly as he averted his face as quickly as he could from his daughter's view, and he blamed the irritation of his eyes on the dust whirled by the wind as he turned to step into his carriage.
As the Hartfield carriage set off, Emma stood and waved to her father while he looked out the small window of the carriage, lingering his tender gaze at her until the carriage disappeared down along Donwell Lane. Her heart continued to suffuse with gratitude as she recalled that her father had not looked at her in that way since the night he told her that he wished she and George and their baby would leave Hartfield. The return of her father's tenderness uplifted a burden that Emma did not even know had been compressing her all this time.
The wind that suddenly whirled had disappeared, and the clouds that had been hovering all morning scattered to reveal the bright blue sky hidden above. The birds began to reclaim the branches that were temporarily taken hostage by the gloominess, and the joy and lightness in their songful chirpings echoed the gladness lilting in Emma's heart.
As her lightened steps carrying her back into the Abbey, Emma could not help but ruminate on the glistens in her father's eyes. Other than her husband George, her father was the most honest person Emma knew, but she was certain that she had just (the mischievous daughter grinned sweetly) caught her honest father told the first falsehood in his life. Her father could blame the irritation of his eyes on the dust in the wind, but the true reason that caused his eyes to well, Emma knew, in the heart of her heart, could only be – Love!
Not long since that day, baby Grace began to show steady signs of improvement, and by the time she turned nine months old, she was making progress in leaps and bounds. Her face-cringing cries began to wane, her appetite for her mother's nourishment grew substantially, and she was sleeping more than two hours at a stretch, and such stretches came at a far more predictable and agreeable frequency. With these encouraging improvements, the toll on the infant's loving parents was beginning to ease. Emma, now the more experienced mother, was slowly recovering her bloom by being able to rest longer as her child did and without that constant feeling of helplessness to care for her precious daughter robbing her spirit. And George, the always devoted husband and father, was beyond elated, and relieved, to see that both his beloved wife and child were beginning to settle into a more agreeable life, hence the entire Knightley family of three was moving towards a much brighter direction.
By the time baby Grace reached her first birthday, she was babbling and walking and getting into mischiefs. Her once ear-piercing screams could no longer be heard even if one had wished to hear them. Rather than making the face of those near her cringe, the adored child was making everybody laugh and smile. The perfect bloom in Emma, by this time, had recovered to its full beauty, and for which her loving husband George was eternally grateful. The joy that was cut short when the mother and father first received their infant daughter was returning to the couple in many, many, many folds.
While everyone celebrated for the Knightleys (including the Knightleys themselves) and put the distressing memories behind them, Mr Woodhouse, the old father and grandfather, never did forget the decision he made that forced his daughter out of his house, and he had not been able to acquit himself from the immense guilt and regrets that he kept deep inside his heart.
Every now and then, in the privacy of the old man's loneliness, and in moments that often caught him by surprise, the deep pain of regrets would surface from his heart and took over his entire countenance. And tonight, after more than two years since his daughter and her family removed from his house, and in the presence of his granddaughter, came one of those painful moments…
"Why are you sad, Grandpapa?" the very intelligent and astute two-year-old asked her grandfather.
"Oh…" the kind voice of the sweet child awakened Mr Woodhouse from his sombre reverie, "do… do I look sad… my dear?"
"Hum, hum," little Grace nodded.
Mr Woodhouse blinked his eyes quickly and swallowed what was clamping his throat.
"Nurse said that Mama and Papa, particularly Mama, were very sad when they left Hartfield to remove to Donwell!" imparted the little girl.
The clump that was constricting his throat struck Mr Woodhouse instantly; and mist began to blur the vision of the old man.
"Were you sad when Mama and Papa removed to Donwell, Grandpapa?" enquired little Grace.
Two pearly tears broke from Mr Woodhouse's eyes and fell down his jaw.
Watching the sadness of her grandpapa, the usually very lively two-year-old turned solemn, and she lifted her small palms to wipe the tears off her grandfather's face.
"I am sorry, Grandpapa!" said the little girl with angelic sincerity.
Mr Woodhouse quickly took the handkerchief out of his pocket to dry the rest of the tears in his eyes. He looked puzzled and confused and asked as soon as his eyes were dried, "Why are you sorry, my child?"
"Nurse said that Mama and Papa had to leave Hartfield because of me… She said that I was crying all the time and making you very unhappy…" The dear child looked down at her slippers with guilt uncommon to children her age. "I am very sorry for being such a troublesome creature, Grandpapa…"
"Oh no!" cried Mr Woodhouse, immediately reaching his hands to pull his granddaughter to him.
And with strength that he did not have, the old grandfather, without as much as a thought, lifted Grace onto his knee and looked deeply in her eyes. "My dearest Grace," he said to her, "you were not the troublesome creature who caused your parents to leave Hartfield! It was I, your grandpapa, who was the troublesome one!"
"But how could you be troublesome, Grandpapa?" the sweet child returned innocently. "Other than the small eggs you eat that look quite disgusting, you are always happy with your gruel and your newspapers and your blankets and thick coats! You are never troublesome, Grandpapa!"
If the old Hartfield Master had not laughed in two and a half years, the merry chuckles that just exploded out of him was sufficient to make up for all the laughter he had missed all this time!
The jostling of her grandpapa's skinny belly was amusing little Grace so much that she began to chime in Mr Woodhouse's chuckling with her own melodious giggles. The grandfather and granddaughter chortled together in this joyful manner for quite some time until both their jaws grew sore.
As soon as their cheeriness subsided, Mr Woodhouse asked the little one, "Tell me, my dearest Grace – Are your mother and father happy living in Donwell Abbey?"
"Oh, yes! Mama and Papa are very happy at Donwell Abbey! You know the Abbey is our home, do not you, Grandpapa?" Little Grace gave her grandfather a knowing look. Then she added with animation, "Papa always makes Mama and me laugh and I dare say when William learns how to laugh Papa shall tickle him till his belly hurt! My Mama is the most beautiful lady in the world, Grandpapa! But Papa could make Mama look even prettier when he speaks into her ear and make her face colour like pink roses! And Papa is always happy when he sees Mama, William, and me!"
The joyful milk-toothy smile on the sweet child had just lit a fiery glow in Mr Woodhouse's heart!
"And you, my dearest Grace," the grandfather added, "are you happy at Donwell Abbey?"
"Of course, I am happy at home! I am the happiest one in the world because my Mama and Papa love me very much! And I love Mama and Papa and William – and – you, Grandpapa!"
And before the grandfather could blink, his granddaughter had already his neck wrapped in her small arms and squeezed more chortles out of him.
With happy tears wetting his eyes, the grandfather clasped his granddaughter in his arms tightly and told her, "My dearest, dearest Grace, Grandpapa loves you very much, too!"
The dear child pressed a resounding kiss on her grandpapa's cheek and then pulled away to look at him.
"Do you want to see my frog, Grandpapa?" she asked, with a wide grin.
"You have a frog?" asked the grandfather, surprised.
"Hum, hum," Grace nodded. "But Mama would not let me bring him to Hartfield! She says you do not approve animals in the house because you think they are filthy. But if you wish to see him, Grandpapa, you could come to Donwell Abbey. Mama let me keep Mr Larkins in a large basket, but she said he would be the happiest in the garden and I could keep him for several days before setting him free!"
Mr Woodhouse listened intently to Grace, nodded, and grinned.
"Are not you going to finish reading the advertisement to me, Grandpapa?" Little Grace pointed at the newspaper.
"Of course, my dear, of course!"
Unlike earlier in the hour, when it was the wish of the languid old man to pass his grandchild off to her mother, father, nurse, or maid – now – the grandfather could hardly tame the flutters in his old heart as he willingly and very happily met his dear granddaughter's request!
~o~o~E~o~o~M~o~o~M~o~o~A~o~o~
Quarter of an hour later, Emma and George, with William in George's arms, had emerged from the nursery. When they reappeared in the drawing room – somewhat anxiously, as the mother and father were not sure how their old father fared with their lively child – they were met with one of the most endearing images they had ever seen…
Somewhere between the reading of the Essence of Mustard Pills for Flying Pains and Live and Potted Turtles for Sale at J. Townsend Tavern, the old grandfather had gotten fatigue and fallen asleep, and as the two-year-old was not able to read sentences yet, the granddaughter followed the footstep of her grandpapa and fell into sweet slumber. While little Grace nestled like a new born kitten against her grandfather's chest, Mr Woodhouse's head had dipped so low that one could no longer see his face, but hear the rumbling of his snores and notice the streaks of his drool between his jaw and neck cloth!
~o~o~E~o~o~M~o~o~M~o~o~A~o~o~
Grandchildren being invited to Mr Woodhouse's chamber to bid him goodnight was a tradition that Isabella started in order for her children to feel closer to their grandfather, whom they only visited no more than several times a year. Emma loved the tradition her sister started so much that she had insisted the same when Grace was grown enough to afford them visiting her father every day and dine at Hartfield every night. It was customary for George, Emma, and their children to escort Mr Woodhouse to his bedchamber and bade him goodnight before he retired. But tonight, something extraordinary happened…
Though many a night grandchildren went visiting their grandparent in his room, their visits were always kept very brief and well superintended, never had any one of them been invited to sit on their grandfather's bed, for children were generally too vivacious for the old gentleman's liking and their friskiness could easily disturb his delicate nerves. But – tonight – two-year-old Grace Isabella Knightley was asked by her grandfather to sit by his side on his bed! And it went without saying that Grace's mother and father were put to dismay by such invitation.
Now, no sooner was she invited to sit by her grandpapa, as it was one of the rapscallion's favourite pastimes, little Grace leapt to her stockinged feet and began bouncing up and down on her grandfather's mattress.
Instantly, Grace's mother Emma was mortified by her child's impertinence. For, albeit she herself had climbed onto her father's bed many times when she was a child bidding her father sweet dreams, knowing that her father would be horrified by such unruly deportment, little Emma never did dare to bounce on her father's mattress. But, to Emma and George's greatest surprise, not only was Mr Woodhouse the least horrified, he was cheering and chuckling and clapping his hands by the gaiety of little Grace.
And to complete the astonishment of the shocked Emma and George, the old gentleman told the couple that he would be calling Donwell Abbey the very next day, rain or sun, summer storm or scorching heat, nothing short of fixing him to his grave could prevent him from taking his excursion – for the grandfather must see his granddaughter's frog to find out for himself if the creature indeed frown like the human Mr Larkins before his grandchild must set the creature free!
*Princess Charlotte died after giving birth to a stillborn son on November 6, 1817. According to R.W. Champman's Oxford Illustrated Jane Austen, Vol. IV the events in Emma took place during 1813-1814. In this story, I have Emma pregnant with her and Mr Knightley's first child shortly after they married. Assuming that Champman's chronology is correct, this means I have pushed the events in the novel about three years out so that I could reference Princess Charlotte – for the reason that I fancy that the Knightleys and Woodhouses were very much loved by the locals, as Great Britain cared for its princess.
A/N: JA told her family that Mr Woodhouse would only live two more years after Emma and Mr Knightley married before the couple could live in Donwell Abbey. I didn't like that idea, didn't think that it had to happen like that, and decided to take the liberty to rewrite what was never written. :)
Blessings could come in all shapes and forms and sometimes from what seem very unfortunate events... Thank you, as always, for reading and commenting, please know that your kind words would never go unappreciated! :)