Henry Tilney's Diary (9781101559024)

by Grange, Amanda

  Wednesday 27 February

  Eleanor and Mrs Hughes went to the pump room this morning, whilst I rode out with my father. He was in a tolerably good mood and said he thought the waters were doing him some good, though I think his improvement has more to do with his pleasure in seeing his friends than in any beneficial effects a few days of drinking the waters might have had.

  Returning to Milsom Street we were soon joined by my sister and Mrs Hughes. Whilst my father and Mrs Hughes talked of their mutual acquaintance, Eleanor said to me, ‘I saw your Miss Morland in the pump room.’

  ‘My Miss Morland?’

  ‘My dear Henry, you must be careful with her. You have awakened her admiration and she is just up from the country, you know.’

  ‘My dear Eleanor, she is safe with me.’

  ‘Yes, I believe she is, which is just as well, for she has a decided preference for you. She had hardly seen me when she said, “How well your brother dances!” She went on to explain, more than once, that she had to turn you down when you asked her to dance, for she really had been engaged to Mr Thorpe the whole day, even though he had not immediately taken her on to the floor. She would not stop talking about you. She had noticed you dancing with Miss Smith, had discovered her name, and asked me if I thought Miss Smith pretty. On my replying, “Not very,” she was relieved, and then asked me if you ever came to the pump room. She will be at the cotillion ball tomorrow, and looks forward to seeing you there.’

  ‘Does she indeed?’

  ‘Is it too early for you to have found your heroine?’

  ‘Far too early. I have not yet ascertained whether or not she reads novels and that, you know, is to be the deciding factor in my choice of a bride.’

  ‘I should have thought to ask her,’ said Eleanor, ‘but never mind, I am sure we will be seeing more of her. She and the Allens are here for some weeks.’

  ‘Is she by any chance like us, without a mother?’

  ‘No. From what I can gather her parents are very much alive, as are her numerous brothers and sisters, but the Allens being childless neighbours and being bound for Bath, they invited Catherine to accompany them. They seem like good people. I like them better than the Thorpes. Miss Thorpe’s lips praise Mr Morland, but her eyes invite everyone else.’

  ‘I am sorry for it, he seems likeable enough but we must credit him with the ability to handle his own affairs and we must attend to our own. Do not forget, dear sister, you promised to go shopping with me and help me to find some suitable furniture for the parsonage. The drawing room is still unfurnished, you know,’ I said.

  After lunch we set out. We had hardly set foot out of the door, however, when we were accosted by John Thorpe, who tried to sell me a horse. When he could not succeed he entertained us with tales of his prowess at every sport invented until he mercifully saw another acquaintance. Thinking this hapless individual might like to purchase his animal, he abandoned us for them.

  Eleanor and I were therefore free to investigate the local shops, and although we have not chosen anything as yet, we have seen a dining table and chairs that we both like. I may buy the set if nothing better presents itself.

  Thursday 28 February

  The morning was spent shopping with my sister and the afternoon riding with Charles and a party of our friends. This evening we went to the Rooms, where my eyes fell at once upon Miss Morland, who was sitting by Mrs Allen with her eyes firmly fixed on her fan. I went over to her and asked her to dance, and was flattered and amused to see with what sparkling eyes she accepted. The dance had scarcely begun, however, when her attention was claimed by John Thorpe, who stood behind her and said that she had promised to dance with him. She protested that he had never asked her but he continued to plague her, saying that he had been telling all his acquaintance that he was going to dance with the prettiest girl in the room. Miss Morland protested that they would never think of her after such a description as that, and what is more, she said it not to invite compliments, as another woman would have done, but because she sincerely believed it. How many young ladies are there who would ever think the same?

  Thorpe, with his customary charm, said, ‘By heavens, if they do not, I will kick them out of the room for blockheads,’ and we were both relieved when the dance swept him away.

  I saw that she had been wearied by him, and determined to make her smile again by talking agreeable nonsense to her.

  ‘He has no business to withdraw the attention of my partner from me,’ I said. ‘We have entered into a contract of mutual agreeableness for the space of an evening, and all our agreeableness belongs solely to each other for that time. Nobody can fasten themselves on the notice of one, without injuring the rights of the other. I consider a country-dance as an emblem of marriage. Fidelity and complaisance are the principal duties of both; and those men who do not choose to dance or marry themselves, have no business with the partners or wives of their neighbours.’

  ‘But they are such very different things!’ she said, not knowing whether or not I was serious.

  ‘Then you think they cannot be compared together?’

  ‘To be sure not. People that marry can never part, but must go and keep house together. People that dance only stand opposite each other in a long room for half an hour.’

  ‘And such is your definition of matrimony and dancing? Taken in that light certainly, their resemblance is not striking; but I think I could place them in such a view. You will allow, that in both, man has the advantage of choice, woman only the power of refusal; that in both, it is an engagement between man and woman, formed for the advantage of each; and that when once entered into, they belong exclusively to each other till the moment of its dissolution; that it is their duty, each to endeavour to give the other no cause for wishing that he or she had bestowed themselves elsewhere, and their best interest to keep their own imaginations from wandering towards the perfections of their neighbours, or fancying that they should have been better off with anyone else. You will allow all this?’

  ‘Yes, to be sure, as you state it, all this sounds very well; but still they are so very different. I cannot look upon them at all in the same light, nor think the same duties belong to them.’

  I conceded there was a difference, saying, ‘You totally disallow any similarity in the obligations; and may I not thence infer that your notions of the duties of the dancing state are not so strict as your partner might wish? Have I not reason to fear that if the gentleman who spoke to you just now were to return, or if any other gentleman were to address you, there would be nothing to restrain you from conversing with him as long as you chose?’

  ‘Mr Thorpe is such a very particular friend of my brother’s, that if he talks to me, I must talk to him again; but there are hardly three young men in the room besides him that I have any acquaintance with,’ she assured me.

  ‘And is that to be my only security? Alas, alas!’

  ‘Nay, I am sure you cannot have a better; for if I do not know anybody, it is impossible for me to talk to them,’ she said with admirable logic; adding, ‘Besides, I do not want to talk to anybody.’

  I found myself to be surprisingly pleased by her assertion and asked whether she found Bath as agreeable as when I had the honour of making the inquiry before. Upon her replying that she found it ever more agreeable, I reminded her to be tired of it at the proper time, saying, ‘You ought to be tired at the end of six weeks.’

  ‘I do not think I should be tired, if I were to stay here six months.’

  ‘Bath, compared with London, has little variety, and so everybody finds out every year.’

  ‘Well, other people must judge for themselves, and those who go to London may think nothing of Bath. But I, who live in a small retired village in the country, can never find greater sameness in such a place as this than in my own home; for here are a variety of amusements, a variety of things to be seen and done all day long, which I can know nothing of there,’ she replied.

  ‘You are not fond of
the country,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, I am. I have always lived there, and always been very happy. But certainly there is much more sameness in a country life than in a Bath life. One day in the country is exactly like another. Here I see a variety of people in every street, and there I can only go and call on Mrs Allen.’

  I was very much amused.

  ‘Only go and call on Mrs Allen! What a picture of intellectual poverty! However, when you sink into this abyss again, you will have more to say. You will be able to talk of Bath, and of all that you did here.’

  ‘Oh! Yes. I shall never be in want of something to talk of again to Mrs Allen, or anybody else. I really believe I shall always be talking of Bath, when I am at home again. James’s coming (my eldest brother) is quite delightful, especially as it turns out that the very family we are just got so intimate with, the Thorpes, are his intimate friends already. Oh! Who can ever be tired of Bath?’

  ‘Not those who bring such fresh feelings of every sort to it as you do,’ I said, and it was true.

  Soon after reaching the bottom of the set I saw my father watching me. He asked me about my partner, and seeing that Miss Morland had witnessed the exchange, I told her that the gentleman was my father. She appeared pleased with him, not surprisingly, for he was in a good humour, and talking cheerfully to his friends.

  The dance over, we were joined by Eleanor. We fell into conversation about the fine walks to be had around Bath. Miss Morland was eager to experience them but feared she would find no one to go with her, for Mrs Allen was no great walker and Isabella Thorpe would much rather go out in a carriage.

  ‘Then you must come with us,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘I shall like it beyond anything in the world!’ said Miss Morland with becoming eagerness. ‘Do not let us put it off, let us go tomorrow.’

  This was readily agreed to. ‘As long as it does not rain,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘I am sure it will not,’ said Miss Morland.

  We arranged to call for Miss Morland at her lodgings in Pulteney Street at twelve o’clock and took leave of one another.

  ‘And so, you are to see more of your Miss Morland,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ I replied, as we followed my father and Mrs Hughes out to the carriage. ‘As long as three villains in horsemen’s greatcoats do not force her into a travelling-chaise and four on her way home, and drive her off with incredible speed.’

  ‘In which case you will simply have to rescue her and return her to her lodgings in time to keep her appointment with her friends.’

  There was time for no more. My father was already seated in the carriage and waiting impatiently for us to join him.

  MARCH

  Friday 1 March

  Contrary to Miss Morland’s belief, it rained this morning and we reluctantly put off our visit to Pulteney Street, but by half past twelve the weather was clearing and after giving it ten more minutes to make up its mind, we set out.

  As we walked along, with one eye on the sky and another on the puddles, Eleanor said, ‘I am very glad to have met Miss Morland and I think that I do her good, too. She has no one to talk to but Isabella Thorpe. From what she has said, Isabella is more interested in young men than in any true friendship, though I think Miss Morland is not yet aware of this. She is used to country manners, where people mean what they say, rather than town manners, where people rarely say what they mean.’

  We had just turned into Laura Place when a carriage raced past, driving through a puddle at the side of the road and sending the water flying everywhere.

  As Eleanor looked after the retreating carriage in dismay she let out a cry and said, ‘Why, it is Miss Morland!’

  And indeed it was, being driven at breakneck speed by John Thorpe. He was lashing his horses and sending up spray from the wheels of his carriage like a fountain, soaking the passers by.

  ‘It seems you overestimate Miss Morland’s admiration of me,’ I remarked.

  I took out my handkerchief and made a doomed attempt to wipe the water from my coat as I watched them fly down the road.

  ‘Perhaps it was not her,’ said Eleanor, taking my arm as I abandoned my efforts and returned my soggy handkerchief reluctantly to my pocket. ‘I only caught a fleeting glimpse, and in such a bonnet, you know, it is hard to tell. We are almost at Pulteney Street, we should call to be sure.’

  We walked on, but on our calling at the house, the footman told us that Miss Morland had set out not five minutes since, and that she would not be back all day.

  ‘Has any message been left for me?’ asked my sister. ‘Miss Tilney?’

  ‘No, miss.’

  ‘Then I will leave my card.’

  Finding that she had none about her, we had no choice but to go without leaving one.

  ‘Perhaps we have been wrong about her,’ said Eleanor as we returned to Milsom Street to change our wet clothes. ‘Perhaps her nature is already changing. Bath has a habit of altering people. A few days ago she would not have broken an appointment, I am sure, but now . . . ?’

  ‘If it is so,’ I said, ‘then it is better we know now than later. After such a short acquaintance, we will very soon cease to regret her.’

  Saturday 2 March

  I was eager to escape the city this morning and rode out to the hills, where I worked off the worst of my ill humour in brisk exercise. Eleanor took a walk with my father but when she returned she had some interesting news to give me.

  ‘I was just about to go out with our father when Miss Morland called,’ she said. ‘The timing was most unfortunate. Papa refused to delay our walk and he insisted on my saying that I was not at home. I do hope she was not offended.’

  ‘We seem to be unlucky where Miss Morland is concerned,’ I remarked.

  But at the theatre this evening our luck changed, for whom should I espy but Miss Morland. The play concluded, the curtain fell, and on leaving the box I was hailed by Mrs Allen and her friend. I spoke with mere politeness, being out of humour, but not so did Miss Morland reply. As soon as she had a chance she said, ‘Oh! Mr Tilney, I have been quite wild to speak to you, and make my apologies. You must have thought me so rude, but indeed it was not my own fault, was it, Mrs Allen?’

  It seemed that the Thorpes, eager for her company on an outing, had told her that Eleanor and I would not call so long after the appointed hour, with John Thorpe adding the information that he had seen us leaving town. With such an assurance, and only with such an assurance, Miss Morland had joined her friends on their outing.

  I softened towards her, saying teasingly, ‘We were much obliged to you at any rate for wishing us a pleasant walk after our passing you in Argyle Street: you were so kind as to look back on purpose.’

  ‘But indeed I did not wish you a pleasant walk,’ she said seriously. ‘I never thought of such a thing; but I begged Mr Thorpe so earnestly to stop; I called out to him as soon as ever I saw you; now, Mrs Allen, did not – oh! You were not there; but indeed I did; and, if Mr Thorpe would only have stopped, I would have jumped out and run after you.’

  Who could resist such a declaration? Not I. I told her it was nothing, that my sister had been disappointed but had trusted there was some reason for it. Alas, Miss Morland would not believe it.

  ‘Oh! Do not say Miss Tilney was not angry, because I know she was,’ cried she. ‘She would not see me this morning when I called; I saw her walk out of the house the next minute after my leaving it; I was hurt, but I was not affronted. Perhaps you did not know I had been there?’

  I admitted that I had known, but explained that Eleanor had been on the point of leaving the house with our father and that he had refused to delay.

  She was relieved and then puzzled, saying ‘Why, then, Mr Tilney, were you less generous than your sister? If she felt such confidence in my good intentions, and could suppose it to be only a mistake, why should you be so ready to take offence?’

  I denied it, but I felt the force of her comment: Bath had not changed her but it ha
d almost changed me. I had been too ready to think ill of her and I was sorry for it. With the misunderstandings cleared away all was well and I joined her in the box and we talked about the play. A comfortable silence falling, her eyes wandered around the theatre.

  ‘How came Mr Thorpe to know your father?’ she asked.

  I was as surprised as she, but said that my father, like every military man, had a very large acquaintance and I supposed they must have acquaintance in common.

  I hoped he had not been inviting Thorpe to dinner. The man is forever bragging about his driving or his billiards or some such thing, and if he is not bragging he is trying to sell me a horse.

  We resumed our conversation but the evening was almost over and Miss Morland was spirited away by Mrs Allen. Before we parted, however, we agreed our walk should take place at a later date.

  Sunday 3 March

  Church this morning – Eleanor good enough to say the sermon was not as interesting as mine – then the King’s pump room, where we went to take the waters. They seem to be doing my father some good for he has been in high spirits all day and, for once, concerned about Eleanor.

  ‘I am very glad we came to Bath,’ he said. ‘I worry about you, Eleanor. You have no company in the abbey, no young women of your own age or thereabouts. You must want someone to talk to.’

  I wondered if he had guessed at Eleanor’s feelings for Morris and if he was trying to make amends for having dashed her hopes.

  ‘I am not on my own all the time,’ said Eleanor. ‘Henry visits us as often as he can.’