I am so excited I can barely speak. We have a gentleman coming by today who is just – what’s the word? Terrific! Why, it’s hard to do him justice.
We met him through a friend of ours named Clark. Clark is a reporter for a big newspaper – nice young man, so unassuming. Possibly a little on the dull side but I suppose there are worse offenses. He spends much of his time sniffing after a lady with whom he works. She is also a reporter but if you ask me, she is a bit biased when it comes to certain gentleman who is monumental, for lack of a better word.
Anyway, this man – this truly impressive man – is coming by Thornfield for tea. I hope it will be a calmer visit; the last time he was here was a little chaotic. That dreadful Emma Woodhouse was here – I have no idea why. She started in about how clever she was – that she only wanted to help – and began rearranging my sitting room. The little wench thought it wasn’t “conversational” enough. Well, I am a patient, Christian woman but there is only so much I can take. I told her to stop her machinations at once! She gave me one of those horrific little titters of hers and waved me off. Who did she think she was? After a few more words, I may have mentioned that I was going to bring the wrath of a thousands suns on her and her snobby implications about the way I arranged my house. Well, poor Clark, who had been here reporting on my petunia beds (which truly are print worthy) disappeared; our row must have been too much for him. Anyway, from the side of the manor comes this swooping flurry of blue and red. The next thing I know, I am sitting on top of my carriage house chained to an anvil. Then this amazing man flies down to Emma to make sure she was safe – imagine tending to her first! She wasn’t the one engaged to an anvil at the time.
She, once seeing how attractive this extraordinary man was, started acting all faint and nervous but said she thought she would be able to go on. He bought her little routine right up the middle. I was certainly not going to sit by, or up on the roof, and let her smirch my good name! I tried to get his attention so he could hear the truth. Somehow, as I scooted down the roof to make myself more audible, the anvil got a little momentum and went tumbling over the side of the carriage house. I wasn’t the one who attach the thing to me so I can’t be faulted for landing atop Mr. Gregor our ancient gardener. Did anyone inquire after my health? No, it seems we only care about old men having heart attacks, not the poor mistress of the manner who was being besmirched. After we got Mr. Gregor to the hospital, I was able to explain the difference between what I meant to say and what I had said.
Soon after our magnificent gentleman friend left and Emma scuttled her perfectly un-tarnish rear end out to her own house, Clark finally came out from hiding and assured us Mr. Wonderful would come back at some point. I can’t wait. He’s… what is the world I am looking for?