And certainly there was plenty else to occupy her thoughts. Emma kept the accounts, for a curry and a soup were more good Mrs. Cadogan’s accomplishment than writing and ciphering. The accounts were perhaps not on the most scientific principle, but they served and were duly laid before the master every Monday. Here we have the day account for 29th October, 1784:
| Baker’s bill, one week | £0 | — | 4 | — | 11 |
| Butter bill, one week | 5 | — | 1 | ||
| Butcher | 7 | — | 8½ | ||
| Gloves | 1 | — | 6 | ||
| Coach | 1 | — | 0 | ||
| Poor man | — | ½ | |||
| Apples | — | 2½ |
Wherefrom we can deduce no guilty splendours, but a healthy appetite for bread and butter, and a promise kept to Greville to be straitened in that fairest virtue, charity. The gloves too, even multiplying the sums somewhat in view of the value of money a hundred and forty years gone by; such gloves would scarcely have pleased the consummate Mrs. Wells or her sisterhood. One must own to a slight disproportion in her milliner’s bill, for “Mrs. Hackwood, £4—12—6” stares us in the face. Yet let the censorious remember it was the end of October, winter approaching, and velvet more suitable than straw, and ask himself what he supposes the hats that adorn the brow of beauty to-day cost their happy possessors. No, Greville had nothing to complain of on the score of extravagance. It is said the household expenses did not amount to more than £100 a year or thereabouts, and that Emma received but £30 a year for all her adornments.
He had certainly reason to thank his cook and housekeeper alike. It enabled him to take her education in hand more seriously than he had at first intended, and as it proceeded his interest grew. His love also? That must be judged on the consequences.
“It is time for us to start for Cavendish Square, Emma, and the hackney coach waits,” says Greville, alert and clean-shaven, one bright May morning. “Romney is to study you for Circe to-day. Bring the white robe he desired.”
A fair dishevelled head looks round the door with dismay in its eyes.
“What, not ready yet? ’Tis most inconsiderate in you, especially when you are aware the coachman charges for his time. I hate unpunctuality.”
“Oh, but I was doing the flowers, Greville. You said you liked a vase on the dining-table. You don’t suppose I can be in two places at once.”
She has got the word vase correctly now, but it does not mollify her lord.
“Leave those flowers instantly. How long will you take to arrange your hair and make yourself suitable?”