Henry Tilney's Diary (9781101559024)

by Grange, Amanda

  ‘And did you give him hope?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Is it too late to advise caution?’

  ‘I am afraid so,’ she said.

  ‘Well, I do not despair. He will be with us for another two weeks and it is possible that you will discover something to his discredit in that time and change your opinion of him. Let us hope so, at least.’

  ‘I fear there will not be anything,’ she said. ‘I own I think he is the most charming young man in the world. He was so kind this morning, so generous, so thoughtful. He spoke with such sympathy and such real tenderness that my liking, which has been growing ever since I met him, was elevated to some higher feeling, so that now I know it would be impossible for me to ever marry any other man.’

  ‘It might be impossible for you ever to marry this one.’

  ‘Perhaps. But in a few years’ time, when my father sees that I am on the verge of becoming a confirmed spinster, then perhaps he will relent.’

  ‘He is still determined to have you marry one or other of his friends’ relations.’

  ‘And I am even more determined not to have them. He cannot force me, or lock me in a cellar, and if by some mischance he finds a series of labyrinthine caverns beneath the abbey and threatens to imprison me there, why, then, I will simply emulate Julia and—’

  ‘Faint?’

  She laughed.

  ‘No,’ she said, ‘escape to a convent.’

  ‘Alas, there are no convents in the immediate vicinity, but you are welcome to escape to Woodston, for I am sure that a parsonage will suit your purposes just as well.’

  ‘And a great deal more comfortably,’ she said. ‘Very well, if I have need of it, I will take refuge there.’

  Wednesday 14 November

  Coming upon my sister and Mr Morris in the library, I decided to retreat unseen, leaving them to finish A Sicilian Romance together. I retrieved the book after dinner, seeing that they had finished it, and have just now finished it myself. Ferdinand, like Hippolitus before him, had not been killed, but simply injured, and had found his way to his family again. Hippolitus and Julia, of course, were married, and Julia’s mother was freed. Thus good was rewarded.

  Evil, too, was rewarded when Julia’s wicked stepmother poisoned the evil marquis because he upbraided her for being unfaithful, then she rid the world of her own wicked presence by killing herself.

  The mysterious light in the castle was caused by the lantern of the servant, Vincent, who had taken food to Julia’s mother during her captivity. And it was the marquis, of course, who had imprisoned her and claimed that she was dead, so that he could marry his second wife.

  Vincent’s pangs of remorse for his evildoing had preyed upon his mind and led to his cryptic comments as he lay on his deathbed, so all was explained. A fine ending to a fine novel!

  In real life, alas, things are not so simple. Wives cannot be got out of the way by imprisoning them, husbands cannot be poisoned and good and virtuous heroines do not always marry the men they love. But even so, I hope that my sister’s goodness and virtue will in time, by some miracle, be rewarded, and she will be free to marry her Mr Morris.

  Thursday 29 November

  The house party is nearly over. Our guests will be leaving tomorrow, and I will be removing to Woodston on Saturday.

  I wish I could find a young lady I could love half as much as Eleanor loves Mr Morris, but I console myself with the fact that at least I will not have to spend the rest of my life with Miss Barton and Miss Halifax. Though my father has extolled their virtues for the past four weeks, he has not prevailed upon me to make an offer for either one of them.

  1799

  JANUARY

  Tuesday 1 January

  With the old year behind me it is my New Year’s Resolution to finish the decorating of the parsonage. Eleanor has promised to help me choose the decorations for the drawing room, which is still unpapered, and she has agreed to accompany me to London next week. I am hoping to have the room decorated before we leave for Bath. I have promised to buy her some new novels as a thank you for her help. Since rediscovering the pleasure of Mrs Radcliffe, she now reads all that lady’s books avidly, and we are both looking forward to The Mysteries of Udolpho, a romance, founded on facts; comprising the adventures and misfortunes of Emily St. Aubert, which promises to be even more horrid than A Sicilian Romance.

  ‘And, of course, with such a title, it must be true!’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Indeed, for there is no denying that marvellous and terrible things happen all the time. Luckily Mrs Radcliffe seems to know all the details and sets them down for us so that we can enjoy them at our leisure!’

  In the meantime I am winning the respect of my parishioners, who were at first bemused by my sermons but, I flatter myself, now find them refreshing. Certainly attendance has gone up since I was ordained and took over the living, and it cannot all be because I am young and unmarried.

  Monday 21 January

  A most successful trip to London. Some of the papers and paints have been chosen and a pile of novels have been purchased. Eleanor is looking forward to more shopping in Bath.

  FEBRUARY

  Monday 4 February

  My father has arranged to meet his friends in Bath and I have promised to go there next week and take a set of rooms for us. Meanwhile, I must make arrangements for the services when I am absent, for although I will no doubt be returning to Woodston from time to time, I expect to be in Bath for some weeks.

  Tuesday 5 February

  I wrote to Charles Plainter, telling him that I will be coming to Bath. Since he now lives there it will be a good chance to see him again.

  Friday 8 February

  A reply from Charles this morning, insisting I stay with him and Margaret until I have found a set of rooms. I sent a note of thanks in reply and I am looking forward to it. The country at this time of year is dreary and Bath will do us all good.

  Thursday 14 February

  An easy journey and a joyful arrival. Charles’s three children ran around me and Margaret welcomed me warmly, saying, ‘I am glad you are come, Henry. We have not seen you for an age.’

  The house is well set up and Margaret gave me her advice on where to look for my furniture for the parsonage. So did every other lady at the table, and whilst there are few delights in life to match that of speaking of furniture, I was glad when the ladies withdrew and I was left to talk to Charles and his friends.

  He asked after Frederick and I told him what I knew, that my brother was on the Continent and I did not know when he would return.

  He told me of his family, and we discussed politics and business until we could linger no longer, then we went through into the drawing room to join the ladies.

  There was a great deal of nonsense talked, as is customary in Bath. There was a little acknowledgement of enjoyment, but a great deal more ennui, and I could not help thinking that some of those present would be less bored were they not so boring themselves. But I did my duty and entertained those who were capable of being entertained and listened to those who were not.

  Much was made of the fact that it was St Valentine’s day. Miss Crane and Miss Smith sang songs of maidens languishing for love and knights performing noble deeds, but I suffered their languishing looks in silence, for I was not tempted to slay a dragon, nor even a spider, for either of them.

  Friday 15 February

  This morning I took a set of rooms for us in Milsom Street and this afternoon went out riding with Charles. This evening we went to the Lower Rooms, which were, for the most part, exceedingly dull. They were full of the usual crowd of people with nothing to say and not a thought between them, but what had been said or thought before. I was introduced to a selection of young ladies by the master of ceremonies, and I obliged them by dancing with them, though there was not one I wished to dance with again, except perhaps Miss Morland. She was new to Bath, having travelled up from the country in company with a Mr and Mrs Alle
n, and proved to be an entertaining companion. She was not jaded by her surroundings, nor did she pretend to be, and it was entertaining to see how much she enjoyed the bustle, the rooms, the people and the dancing.

  Instead of affecting boredom, like the other young ladies, saying that there was not one interesting person to be met with in the whole of Bath, she was charmed, and through her eyes I found that some of the charm of Bath was restored for me. I was amused and pleased with her; so much so, that I invited her to take tea with me. I expected at any moment to be disappointed, as I am usually disappointed, but she did not disgust me by being arch or precocious. She was, if anything, a little too shy, a little too in awe of her surroundings and her company, and I made it my business to tease her into comfort.

  After chatting for some time on such matters as naturally arose from the objects around us, I said that I had neglected to ask her how long she had been in Bath; whether she had ever visited before; whether she had been at the Upper Rooms, the theatre, and the concert; and how she liked the place altogether. She said that she liked it very well.

  ‘Now I must give one smirk, and then we may be rational again,’ I said.

  She turned away her head, not knowing whether she might venture to laugh, but a pleasing smile played about her lips. She was not used to being teased – teasing being in short supply in the country, it seems – and I could not resist the urge to tease her further.

  ‘I see what you think of me,’ I remarked. ‘I shall make but a poor figure in your journal tomorrow.’

  ‘My journal!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, I know exactly what you will say: Friday, went to the Lower Rooms; wore my sprigged muslin robe with blue trimmings – plain black shoes – appeared to much advantage; but was strangely harassed by a queer, half-witted man, who would make me dance with him, and distressed me by his nonsense.’

  ‘Indeed I shall say no such thing,’ she returned.

  ‘Shall I tell you what you ought to say?’

  ‘If you please.’

  ‘I danced with a very agreeable young man, introduced by Mr King; had a great deal of conversation with him – seems a most extraordinary genius – hope I may know more of him. That, madam, is what I wish you to say.’

  ‘But, perhaps, I keep no journal,’ she returned, smiling in reply.

  ‘Perhaps you are not sitting in this room, and I am not sitting by you. Not keep a journal! How are your various dresses to be remembered, and the particular state of your complexion, and curl of your hair to be described in all their diversities, without having constant recourse to a journal? It is this delightful habit of journaling which largely contributes to form the easy style of writing for which ladies are so generally celebrated. Everybody allows that the talent of writing agreeable letters is peculiarly female.’

  Still she did not dare to laugh, though I was sure she wanted to.

  ‘I have sometimes thought,’ she said, ‘whether ladies do write so much better letters than gentlemen! That is, I should not think the superiority was always on our side.’

  ‘As far as I have had opportunity of judging, it appears to me that the usual style of letter-writing among women is faultless, except in three particulars.’

  ‘And what are they?’ she asked.

  ‘A general deficiency of subject, a total inattention to stops, and a very frequent ignorance of grammar.’

  I could tease her no more, for we were joined by Mrs Allen, the woman with whom Miss Morland was staying. Indeed, it was Mrs Allen, along with her estimable husband, who had brought Miss Morland to Bath. Journaling and letter-writing were forgotten and muslins became the subject, on account of Mrs Allen’s fearing she had torn hers. She was astonished that I understood muslins.

  I told her I understood them particularly well, for I always bought my own cravats, and my sister had often trusted me in the choice of a gown.

  ‘I bought one for her the other day, and it was pronounced to be a prodigious bargain by every lady who saw it. I gave but five shillings a yard for it, and a true Indian muslin,’ I remarked.

  Mrs Allen was quite struck.

  ‘Men commonly take so little notice of those things,’ said she. ‘I can never get Mr Allen to know one of my gowns from another. You must be a great comfort to your sister, sir.’

  ‘I hope I am, madam,’ I replied.

  ‘And pray, sir, what do you think of Miss Morland’s gown?’ she asked me.

  I looked at Miss Morland and thought it looked uncommonly charming. I could not say so, however, for fear of producing expectations of an early call, or indeed, an offer of marriage. And so I said, ‘It is very pretty, madam, but I do not think it will wash well; I am afraid it will fray.’

  Miss Morland was laughing now, having decided she could, or having realized that she could not help herself, one or the other. ‘How can you,’ she said, ‘be so—’

  I had the delightful feeling she was going to say strange, and indeed I was willing her to do so. It would have been amusing to hear such honesty. But she never finished her thought, and Mrs Allen continued to talk of muslins.

  I listened politely, though my eyes kept straying to Miss Morland, delighting in her delight at the novelty of her evening. I have been to Bath so many times I had quite forgotten how delightful it can seem to someone who has never been before. So well did I like Miss Morland that when the dancing recommenced I asked for her hand once more.

  ‘What are you thinking of so earnestly?’ I asked her as we walked back to the ballroom. ‘Not of your partner, I hope, for, by that shake of the head, your meditations are not satis-factory.’

  She coloured, and said, ‘I was not thinking of anything.’

  ‘That is artful and deep, to be sure; but I had rather be told at once that you will not tell me.’

  ‘Well then, I will not.’

  ‘Thank you; for now we shall soon be acquainted, as I am authorized to tease you on this subject whenever we meet, and nothing in the world advances intimacy so much.’

  She looked delighted at the thought, and was too innocent to disguise it, and my evening was more agreeably spent than I had ever expected.

  ‘You look very pleased with yourself,’ said Charles, coming up to me.

  ‘Indeed. I have been thinking that it is company that makes the occasion. The Rooms are often tedious but tonight I found them quite charming.’

  ‘It is good of you to say so.’

  ‘My dear Charles, I was not talking of you.’

  ‘Of course not. Who would be charmed by me when Margaret was by?’

  ‘I was not thinking of Margaret, either,’ I said. ‘You seemed to dance with her half the evening. It is not done, you know. A man should never pay too much attention to his wife.’

  ‘I beg you, leave me one of my pleasures. I can no longer scandalize the neighbourhood by stealing apples and so I must make what scandal I can from the means at my disposal.’

  ‘Very well,’ I conceded. ‘I give you leave to dance with Margaret as much as you like.’

  ‘You are prodigiously good to me, Henry.’

  ‘My dear Charles, what are friends for?’

  Margaret then joining us, we went out to the carriage.

  ‘Who was that young lady you were dancing with?’ asked Margaret. ‘I thought her rather pretty.’

  ‘I danced with any number of pretty ladies,’ I said, as we climbed into the carriage.

  ‘She is new to Bath. I have not seen her before.’

  ‘Ah, that young lady. Her name is Miss Morland. She is newly arrived from the country.’

  ‘You made a handsome couple. When you return to Bath with your family, I hope you will dance with her again,’ Margaret said.

  ‘When are you returning?’ asked Charles.

  ‘Charles! Henry has not even left us yet!’

  ‘No, but I must do so tomorrow, and I hope to return next week,’ I said.

  ‘Will Mrs Hughes be coming with you?’ asked Margaret.


  ‘Yes, she comes to keep Eleanor company.’

  ‘Good. I will look forward to seeing them both. It seems an age since we met. Eleanor will be astonished to see how much the children have grown.’

  The conversation then naturally reverted to the three Plainter sprigs and their remarkable ability to increase their height and girth without any effort at all.

  Saturday 16 February

  An early start, a good journey and arrived at the abbey in time for luncheon. I told my father and sister about the rooms I had taken. My father was pleased with my description of them and said we will occupy them on Thursday. Then it was back to Woodston for me, where I exercised the dogs, thanked Miss Olsen for the pen-wiper she kindly brought round to the parsonage and then put the finishing touches to tomorrow’s sermon.

  Sunday 17 February

  A good turnout at church today. It had nothing to do with the mild weather and a desire to gossip and everything to do with my oratory skills, I am perfectly convinced. Indeed, if not for Mrs Attwood’s new bonnet, I would have had the ladies’ undivided attention. The gentlemen I was more certain of. They had no interest in bonnets, new or otherwise, and listened in pleasing silence, broken only by an occasional snore.

  Thursday 21 February

  Having made arrangements for my absence with Langton, my pleasingly eager curate, I drove over to the abbey where I found Eleanor with her nose in a novel.