The Reverend Mr Wilkes caught sight of us at that moment and set his servant to take care of the horses as he made us welcome. We were the object of some attention as we took our place in the family pew. I liked the atmosphere of the church, it was calm and peaceful. I looked about me at the venerable stonework and the carved oak, which had been made mellow by the countless generations worshipping there. My father’s eyes roved around with quite a different view, seeking out things to be altered, and lingering now and then on an ugly bonnet or a battered cane, which I knew he was tempted to remove and replace.
As we waited for the sermon to begin, I wondered whether my heroine might be found at Woodston, and thinking she might be hiding her light under a poke bonnet I endeavoured to read every face. But I saw no one over the age of seven or under the age of forty.
The service at last began. It was tolerable, but I found myself to be my father’s son, for I saw room for improvement, and I wrote my own service in my imagination as I listened. Alas, my sermon contained much that was humorous, and I think my father would have been horrified if he could have read my thoughts. But I see no reason why sermons should not be entertaining as well as instructive, and I feel it will be my duty to make sure that my parishioners remain awake whilst I am speaking, instead of falling asleep.
After the service was over we were invited to stay at the rectory by the Reverend Mr Wilkes. My father, having expected the invitation, had made sure we had travelled prepared. We were soon at the parsonage, and then we were left alone whilst Mr Wilkes went to instruct his housekeeper on preparing our rooms.
‘You see now why a clergyman needs a wife,’ said my father. ‘Mr Wilkes is a bachelor and he has to see to all the arrangements himself. When the time comes I will find you an heiress, someone whose wealth will enhance your own and give you an opportunity to make as many improvements as you desire.’
It did not seem sufficient reason to take a wife to me, but I did not want to anger my father and so I did not say so.
Whilst we waited for Mr Wilkes to return, Papa looked around the parsonage with a critical eye.
‘Yes, yes, knock it down and start again, there is nothing else to be done. The rooms are too small, and although that wall could be knocked out, there is nothing I hate so much as a patched-on bow. The windows, too . . .’ He shook his head in disapproval at the small-paned windows, which let in little light. ‘But with the new parsonage, you will have nothing to be ashamed of, it will be a gentleman’s residence, I can promise you that. Everything in the newest style, well fitted out, the sort of home you can be proud of.
‘You will not be dependent on the living, of course, you have your own fortune, but it is important that you have occupation. It is essential for a young man. You are intelligent enough to know what I am talking about. I am not worried for you, Henry. It is your brother who fills me with unease. He never seems to belong to anyone. You are close to your sister, but Frederick has no such close friendship in the family. He loves his mother, as who would not? But that is not the same as having someone in whom he can confide. Confound it, there is something eating the boy, but the devil of it is, I do not know what it is.’
I ventured that it might be a woman.
‘What, not Miss Orpington? I thought I had cured him of that. She was not good enough for the heir of Northanger Abbey, and when I sent him into the library I felt sure he would see it for himself.’
‘The library?’
‘Yes, the library. She was busy flirting with one of Frederick’s less savoury friends in there. I am surprised that Frederick expected anything better from either of them, I never expected him to take it so much to heart, but I could not let him continue in ignorance. He had better get over his ill humour before Saturday. We are having some of our friends and neighbours to supper and I will not tolerate his being rude to them. Miss Plainter will be there, along with her brother Charles, and Miss Maple. We will have some improvised dancing after supper, nothing formal. I will make sure there are musicians there, and then it can all be done on the spur of the moment.’
The Reverend Mr Wilkes returning at that moment, the talk moved on to parish business until we retired for the night.
As I went upstairs I could not help wondering which friend had played my brother false. I do not know them all, but I know of three who are richer than he is, and none of them as worthy of love as Frederick. Miss Orpington must be intolerably stupid, and I cannot help thinking that he has had a lucky escape.
Monday 9 April
We returned to the abbey this afternoon and Papa set about organizing the musicians for the supper party. Frederick was out riding. Mama was feeling much better and was sitting in the parlour with her needlework. Eleanor was sitting beside her with a piece of sewing in her lap, fidgeting.
‘There you are, Henry,’ said Mama, giving me her cheek to kiss. ‘Did you enjoy yourself at Woodston?’
She listened attentively whilst I told her all about it and then said with a smile, ‘You will oblige me greatly if you will take your sister out of doors. She is fidgeting terribly.’
The day was indeed lovely and I could tell that Eleanor longed to be outside.
Eleanor jumped up, but then said nobly, ‘I will stay here with you, Mama, if you prefer. I can help you with your needlework.’
‘Heaven forfend!’ said Mama. ‘I want to have it finished by dinner time and if you remain by my side it will never be done! Off you go, child.’
Eleanor needed no more urging and we were soon outside. The weather being fine, we went down to the arbour and I was not surprised when she drew out her book. Feeling lazy, I said, ‘I think, today, you should read to me.’
‘Very well.’
She had scarcely settled herself on the bench when she took up the book and began to read. Her face glowed and her eyes widened as she discovered the horrors within:‘It was about this period that the servant Vincent was seized with a disorder which increased so rapidly, as in a short time to assume the most alarming appearance. Despairing of life, he desired that a messenger might be dispatched to inform the marquis of his situation, and to signify his earnest wish to see him before he died.
‘The progress of his disorder defied every art of medicine, and his visible distress of mind seemed to accelerate his fate. Perceiving his last hour approaching, he requested to have a confessor. The confessor was shut up with him a considerable time, and he had already received extreme unction, when Madame de Menon was summoned to his bedside. The hand of death was now upon him, cold damps hung upon his brows, and he, with difficulty, raised his heavy eyes to Madame as she entered the apartment. He beckoned her towards him, and desiring that no person might be permitted to enter the room, was for a few moments silent. His mind appeared to labour under oppressive remembrances; he made several attempts to speak, but either resolution or strength failed him.
‘At length, giving Madame a look of unutterable anguish, “Alas, madam,” said he, “Heaven grants not the prayer of such a wretch as I am. I must expire long before the marquis can arrive. Since I shall see him no more, I would impart to you a secret which lies heavy at my heart, and which makes my last moments dreadful, as they are without hope.”
‘I knew it,’ said Eleanor. ‘I always suspected Vincent. I am sure it was he who carried the lantern. He must be the source of the mysterious lights.’
‘I seem to remember your being convinced the castle was haunted.’
‘I never said any such thing,’ she said comfortably, before returning to the book.
‘“Be comforted,” said Madame, who was affected by the energy of his manner, “we are taught to believe that forgiveness is never denied to sincere repentance.”
‘“You, madam, are ignorant of the enormity of my crime, and of the secret – the horrid secret which labours at my breast. My guilt is beyond remedy in this world, and I fear will be without pardon in the next; I therefore hope little from confession even to a priest. Yet some good it is still in my po
wer to do; let me disclose to you that secret which is so mysteriously connected with the southern apartments of this castle.”
‘ “What of them!” exclaimed Madame, with impatience.
‘Vincent returned no answer; exhausted by the effort of speaking, he had fainted. Madame rang for assistance, and by proper applications, his senses were recalled. He was, however, entirely speechless, and in this state he remained till he expired.’
‘Oh, no!’ I cried, clutching my chest and rolling my eyes, much to Eleanor’s amusement. ‘What horrible secret does he take to his grave?’
She returned to the book impatiently, but she had no chance to read further, for it was time to dress for dinner, and the wicked marquis himself could not be more fearsome than my father when one of us is late.
Tuesday 20 April
Papa watched Mama at breakfast time and he was pleased to see that she ate well, her bilious attack being over, and that she took pleasure in her letter from her old schoolfriend Mrs Hughes, which she read aloud to us with her customary animation. He told her of his plans for dancing on Saturday and she approved of them. Frederick scowled, knowing it was for his benefit and not being in the mood for dancing. However, he said nothing. For the time being, at least, he does not risk open rebellion because my father has agreed to pay his debts of honour, and so Frederick must behave.
‘I think, you know, it is time for Eleanor to start joining us for evening gatherings, at least those that take place at the abbey,’ said Mama.
Eleanor sat up, alert.
‘She is far too young,’ said Papa.
‘Not so. She is not a child any more, she is turning into a young lady. I do not say she should join us for the dancing, but I think she should join us for supper. It will do her good to see how adults conduct themselves in company and it will give her a chance to practise her manners.’
‘She is forever jumping up, she will never manage to sit still,’ said my father.
Eleanor became as still as a statue and folded her hands in her lap in the most ladylike fashion imaginable.
‘I think we can trust her to manage for a short while,’ said Mama.
Papa grumbled some more but at last he let Mama have her own way. Eleanor and Mama exchanged smiles.
‘But you will need something new to wear,’ said Mama to Eleanor. ‘You cannot appear at supper in any of the dresses you already have. We will go shopping this afternoon and look for muslins. We will need some good washing muslin – you are growing so much that you will soon need some new day dresses, and we might as well buy the fabric when we are there – and also something finer for the evening. I think we have time to make something simple for Saturday.’
It was all arranged. Eleanor sketched and practised the pianoforte in the morning, with not one grumble, and I went out riding with Charles Plainter.
Afterwards, we had a light luncheon and by two o’clock the carriage was at the door.
By that time Mama was looking pale again and Papa said she should not go. Mama was adamant, however, but she did not look very strong and so I offered my services as escort.
‘Thank you, Henry, a man’s arm is just what I need,’ said Mama.
She leant on me heavily as we went out to the carriage and said very little as it pulled away from the abbey. The journey was not too long and we went straight to the linen draper’s. Mama took a seat whilst we waited for the two people before us to be served.
There were some pretty fabrics on the counter and I looked them over.
‘I think that would suit you very well,’ I said to Eleanor, nodding towards a green fabric.
Mama smiled indulgently.
‘That is satin, Henry, quite unsuitable for a young girl.’
‘Then what of the one next to it?’ I asked.
‘No, that is silk. We want muslin. See, there is a bale of it at the end of the counter.’
The assistant was by that time ready for us. Mama held a knowledgeable conversation with him. I attempted to learn, but I succeeded only in throwing Mama and Eleanor into gales of mirth when I tried to help them choose.
‘This is a muslin, I know it is,’ I said, indicating one of the fabrics. ‘Pray tell me then, why it will not do.’
‘Because it will not wash well,’ said Mama. ‘It will fray. Now this, on the other hand, will wash very well. Do you see the difference?’
I could see it when she told me what to look for and I earned a look of approval when I spotted another good washing muslin.
‘Now, as to the pattern, a sprig is suitable for a young girl.’
‘A sprig?’
‘Like this one. Do you see the pattern, there are small sprigs of flowers scattered across the fabric.’ She told the assistant we would take it. ‘Now we need something plain white for evening.’
‘This one,’ I said, picking up a robust muslin.
‘That is not fine enough for evening wear,’ she said. She examined the other fabrics the draper had brought out for her to admire. ‘This one, I think,’ she said at last, holding it against Eleanor. ‘We will have four yards. No, we had better have more rather than less, we will have five. We can always turn the left-over pieces to some account or other; it will do for a handkerchief, or a cap, or a cloak. Muslin can never be said to be wasted.’
I thought we were done, but Mama and Eleanor spent another hour in the shop and then went in search of shoe roses and a new fan before we were finished.
We returned home and Mama rang for tea.
‘Now, tell me what you have been doing whilst I have been in bed,’ Mama said, as tea was brought in.
Eleanor spoke at length, telling Mama all about the handkerchiefs she had sewn, the hours she had spent practising the pianoforte and the numerous sketches she had made.
‘And numerous novels read, I suppose?’ asked Mama, seeing A Sicilian Romance lying on the window seat.
‘Only one novel. Henry has been reading to me,’ said Eleanor.
‘Has he indeed. It is not unsuitable, I hope?’ Mama asked, going over to the window seat and retrieving the book.
‘Not at all,’ I said.
‘Well, well, I think I will be the judge of that. You may continue to read.’
She put the book in my hands, and I noticed that the bookmark had moved.
‘Have you been reading ahead without me?’ I asked.
Eleanor looked at me innocently.
‘No, of course not,’ she said.
‘Then how is it that you are more advanced than when I left?’
‘Well, perhaps I have read a few pages,’ she admitted.
I held them between my finger and thumb and showed her the thickness of ‘a few pages’.
‘Well, nothing has happened,’ she said, excusing herself, ‘except that the marquis has returned and has dismissed Vincent’s ramblings as nonsense. And when Madame said that she had seen strange lights in the uninhabited part of the castle, he said it was nothing but the delusions of a weak and timid mind.’
‘Did he indeed?’ asked Mama. ‘Madame sounds like a sensible woman to me, but I do not think I like this marquis.’
‘His wife is even worse,’ said Eleanor eagerly.
‘And what of our heroine, Julia, and her brother?’ I asked. ‘Particularly her brother. Brothers are very important people, and I must know what he has been doing.’
‘He has just returned to the castle, too, to celebrate his majority. You will like to hear what the author says of him,’ she said, hanging over me and pointing out the passage. ‘Look.
His figure was tall and majestic; he had a very noble and spirited carriage; and his countenance expressed at once sweetness and dignity.’
I assumed the air of Ferdinand, standing up and drawing myself up to my full height, whilst doing my best to adopt a countenance of sweetness and dignity, and Mama laughed.
‘Bravo,’ she said.
I sat down again, took out the bookmark and began to read:‘In the evening there was a grand ball
; the marchioness, who was still distinguished for her beauty, and for the winning elegance of her manners, appeared in the most splendid attire. Her hair was ornamented with a profusion of jewels, but they were so disposed as to give an air rather of voluptuousness than of grace to her figure. Although conscious of her charms, she beheld the beauty of Emilia and Julia with a jealous eye, and was compelled secretly to acknowledge, that the simple elegance with which they were adorned, was more enchanting than all the studied artifice of splendid decoration.’
Eleanor gave a happy sigh, no doubt imagining herself as Julia.
‘Well, this is certainly good,’ said Mama. ‘Simple elegance is always preferable to studied artifice.’
‘At twelve the gates of the castle were thrown open, and the company quitted it for the woods, which were splendidly illuminated. The scene appeared enchanting. Nothing met the eye but beauty and romantic splendour; the ear received no sounds but those of mirth and melody. The younger part of the company formed themselves into groups, which at intervals glanced through the woods, and were again unseen. Julia seemed the magic queen of the place.
‘The Count Muriani was of the party. He complimented the marchioness on the beauty of her daughters; and after lamenting with gaiety the captives which their charms would enthral, he mentioned the Count de Vereza.’
‘The Count de Vereza – Hippolitus – has been admiring Julia, and the marchioness’s heart has been corroded with jealous fury,’ Eleanor helpfully explained.
‘Dear me,’ said Mama.
I continued:‘ “He is certainly of all others the man most deserving the lady Julia,” said Count Muriani. “As they danced, I thought they exhibited a perfect model of the beauty of either sex; and if I mistake not, they are inspired with a mutual admiration.”
Henry Tilney's Diary Page 3