The stables are improving. I have a hunter and a road horse for myself, and I have found a suitable pony for Eliza. It is gentle, and yet it has some spirit. She should really have learnt years ago but it is not too late, and I mean to make a horsewoman of her.
Monday 21 January
I dined with Leyton at his home and I was pleased to renew my acquaintance with Sir John Middleton.
‘I cannot believe you have not met my wife, Mary, yet. You must come and stay with us at Barton, then you and she can get to know each other,’ he said, in his usual warm and friendly manner.
He would not take no for an answer.
‘You can meet my sons, too. Upon my soul, they are the finest boys you have ever seen. Mary and her mother agree with me. Ay, I know what you are thinking, it is a family’s partiality, but you are wrong. I will prove it to you when you come and stay with us. You will be able to see for yourself.’
Leyton laughed and said that he must lay claim to the finest boys I had seen, and the two fathers argued it out, deciding in the end that there were four fine boys in the world and their names were Leyton and Middleton. I said that I would lay claim to the finest girl, and then paused, for I had not meant to mention Eliza. But the words could not be recalled, and I told Sir John about my ward, and he said she sounded a very fine girl, at which Leyton suggested we join the other fine girls, and we finished our port and rejoined the ladies in the drawing room.
Tuesday 29 January
I arrived at Barton this afternoon and was warmly greeted by Sir John and his wife. Mary was as elegant and beautiful as John claimed, and she seemed to be good natured. Her mother, Mrs Jennings, was with her, and her younger sister, Charlotte. They were all besotted with the children, who looked much like other children to me. I did not say so, however, but said they were fine, handsome boys.
‘You’ll be wanting a fine handsome boy of your own before long, Colonel,’ said Mrs Jennings.
Her remark took me by surprise, but I soon learnt that although her conversation was vulgar, her heart was good. I was surprised to find that she was the mother to such a refined creature as Lady Middleton but I liked her none the less. True, I was disconcerted when she remarked, several times, that a fine man such as myself must have plenty of girls dangling after him, but fortunately she was too much interested in her grandchildren to talk about me for long, and returned to cooing over them.
As the ladies continued to play with the boys, Sir John took me outside and showed me over the estate. He has the same problems as I have with Delaford, and we talked over the solutions we had found, sharing ideas and experience, so that it was a very useful afternoon.
In the evening, Charlotte, who was about seventeen years old, entertained us by playing on the pianoforte, and although her performance was full of a great many stops and starts, and a great many wrong notes, her mother was delighted with her, and assured her she would break a lot of hearts when she was not very much older. Charlotte giggled, and Mary pretended that she had not heard them.
‘Do you intend to live at Delaford, or do you intend to live in London?’ Mary asked me politely as we sat in the drawing room.
‘At Delaford,’ I said. ‘It is not ready for visitors yet, but I hope that, before very long, you will join me there.’
‘Thank you, we would like that,’ said Mary.
‘Oh, yes!’ said Mrs Jennings. ‘We always like to see a fine place, don’t we, Charlotte? Are there any young men in the neighbourhood, Colonel? A nice young baronet with ten thousand a year? Or a knight, perhaps? For I would not mind parting with my Charlotte if a personable young man was to offer for her.’
‘Oh, Mama!’ said Charlotte.
‘I do not think Charlotte is old enough to be worrying about such things yet,’ said Mary.
‘Lawks! Mary. Fine young men don’t grow on trees. We have to start looking about us, don’t we, Charlotte? Otherwise you’ll be running off with the dancing master. Ay, miss, you may well look sly, but I’ve seen him, and a better calf I never saw, and I know what the sight of a fine calf does to a young girl.’
‘Mama, you will put me to the blush!’
‘A nice young man with a few hundred acres, that’s all I want for my girl, just like I found for her sister.’
Sir John bore this remark good-naturedly, but Mary was less pleased. She proposed whist, and whilst she sat out, Sir John, I, Mrs Jennings and Charlotte made up a four. The play was poor, for Mrs Jennings and her daughter could not keep their minds on the cards, but at least I was not asked more than four or five times when I intended to marry.
Monday 11 March
Delaford is thriving. The threadbare carpets have been replaced, the worn furniture has been taken to the attics, and fresh flowers fill every room. The broken fences have been mended, the lake has been cleaned, and the barns have been rebuilt. I am pleased that, at last, I can repay the hospitality of Leyton and Sir John, and I have invited them, with their families, to visit me in a month’s time.
Tuesday 26 March
I decided not to alert Eliza’s school to my proposed visit, so that I could see it in its natural state, and I was pleased to see how healthy the children looked as I arrived, and how well they were treated by their teachers.
Miss Grayshott welcomed me cordially and agreed to me taking Eliza out of school for two weeks.
‘It will be a treat for her. We were all delighted to hear you had come into property. Eliza is excited about her pony. She has talked of nothing else since you wrote to her about it.’
At this moment Eliza, who had been summoned to the headmistress’s sitting room, made her appearance. She was looking well and happy, and she greeted me with a warm smile. We made our goodbyes, and then we were off. I was glad that Leyton had warned me to hire a maid for Eliza, for I would not have thought of it myself, and I would have been dismayed when we stopped for the night, for only then would I have realized my omission.
Wednesday 27 March
Eliza’s excitement as we reached Delaford was everything that I could have wished for, and after running round the house, looking at the room where Mama had sat or slept or eaten her dinner, she at last collapsed in exhaustion. She soon revived, however, and a hot meal replenished her energy, so that she was ready to go out and look at the grounds afterwards.
As we went down to the lake, she disconcerted me by asking, ‘Are you my father?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘Oh. Only Melissa Stainbridge said that you were.’
‘Melissa Stainbridge is a very pert young lady and she is wrong,’ I replied.
‘But you were in love with Mama?’ Eliza asked.
‘Yes,’ I agreed, though I wondered how she knew.
‘I remember very little of her, only that she was sad and that she coughed a lot. And then you came and took us out of the cold house and took us to your apartments and Mama said to me that we would be safe, and we would have food to eat because you would look after us. She said that you had been going to marry her but your father prevented it, and then you decided to run away together but her maid betrayed you, but she always knew you would find her, one day.’
I was surprised that she remembered so much, for she had been very young at the time, but the circumstances had been unusual and it was evident that they had made a deep impression on her.
‘That is true,’ I said. ‘However, it is not polite to talk of such things. It is all right between the two of us, but it is better not to speak of it in public.’
‘Oh.’ She thought for a moment and then said, ‘Why not?’
I did not know how to answer her, and I realized that, in the years ahead, she would have a great many questions that I could not answer. Although school was catering for many of her needs, it was not able to cater for them all, and I thought that she would need a companion before very long, some kindly, motherly woman who would explain to her the ways of the world and teach her how to go on. If she had been a boy, I could have done it mysel
f, but I was all at sea with young ladies.
‘That is just the way it is,’ I said.
‘Oh.’
She fell silent, but soon she was running down to the lake and enjoying herself again, an odd mixture of little girl and young lady as she hovered between the two worlds.
We walked until she was tired and then returned to the house, where she joined me for dinner before retiring.
I liked the sound of her footsteps going upstairs and knowing that she was in the house, and I thought again of her mother, and how she would be pleased to know that her daughter was at Delaford.
Thursday 28 March
Eliza has been introduced to her pony and after a little apprehension she was ready to feed it a carrot. She sprang back when she felt the animal’s lips touching her hand, but soon stepped forward again and laughed.
‘It tickles,’ she said.
‘She’s too old to be learning,’ said Jacobs, who I am sure must be a hundred, for I remember him sitting me on my first pony, and he appeared to be at least seventy then.
But she proved him wrong, mounting with courage and soon gaining confidence as she walked around the stable yard.
‘Ah, just like her mother, a natural horsewoman,’ said Jacobs, shamelessly changing tack as he saw that she had the makings of a fine horsewoman. ‘I always said she’d take to it. It’s in the blood.’
Wednesday 10 April
I returned Eliza to her school today and I was pleased to see that she was greeted cheerfully by the other girls. I am lucky that she is so happy.
Friday 12 April
The Middletons arrived this afternoon, together with Mrs Jennings. She is a strange mixture of a good heart, a long tongue and an ear for gossip. She soon learnt from one of the maids that a little girl had been staying with me.
‘A pretty little thing by all accounts,’ she said.
‘That was my ward,’ I told her.
‘Your ward, eh, Colonel? My, but you’re a sly one. Well, well, we’ll say no more about it.’
She was not as good as her word, however, for she continued to talk about wards, secret children and the wrong side of the blanket for the rest of the evening. Her daughter ignored her, being too well-bred to understand what her mother was making plain. Sir John, as always, pretended not to hear. It is a gift he has cultivated, and one which, I am sure, is necessary, when he spends much time with his good-hearted mother-in-law.
Saturday 13 April
I took a great delight in showing my guests around Delaford. Leyton was much impressed and said I had done well for myself. He said he would like to buy some small place in the country, and we talked about suitable properties in the neighbourhood, although he felt it would probably be too far from town. Sir John was impressed with the improvements I had made to the estate.
This evening, I invited some of my neighbours to dine, for I knew that Sir John liked company, and we had a convivial evening.
‘Lord, Colonel, how you did set all the maidens in a flutter! ’ said Mrs Jennings, as the last of my guests left the house. ‘You’ll have to choose one of them, so better make it sooner rather than later, before you break too many hearts!’
I borrowed Sir John’s habit and, after smiling politely, did not hear her.
Friday 19 April
Charlotte Jennings joined us for dinner this evening, as she was on her way to visit a friend and had to pass through the neighbourhood.
Mrs Jennings, who had gone to meet her from the stage, lost no time in saying that Charlotte had acquired a collection of beaux on her journey.
Charlotte, growing more and more like her mother, replied, ‘Oh, Mama, you make me laugh! As if Mr Walstone had eyes for me, and me still in the schoolroom.’
‘Not for much longer, eh, miss?’ asked Sir John. ‘What is it, another month or two and then you’ll be free of the schoolroom, and coming out, if I do not miss my guess.’
‘And married soon after, I’ll warrant,’ said Mrs Jennings. ‘My girls are beauties, though I say so myself. Just look at Mary.’
Mary contrived to busy herself with the tea things.
‘And now there’s Charlotte blossoming before my very eyes. I shall have trouble fighting all the men off. Your little ward will not be in the schoolroom much longer, either, Colonel. They grow up so quickly. One minute they’re crawling round on all fours, the next minute they’re getting married! I declare it only seems a week ago since Mary was in her cradle. ’
She ran on in similar vein, and as she did so, I thought that, although it was some years away, I would need some advice on finding a good woman to live with Eliza. I did not disturb Mrs Jennings, but I asked Leyton’s wife when I had her alone for a time, and she gave me some sensible guidance, for which I was very grateful. She also said that I could call on her for assistance at any time, and I am persuaded I will take her at her word when the time comes.
1796
Tuesday 5 January
I laughed at Mrs Jennings three years ago for saying that children grow up very quickly, but Eliza is growing up before my eyes. She has gone to Bath with a school friend, Susan Southey, whose father, a man I know to be respectable, is visiting the town in order to take the waters. I am persuaded that she will enjoy herself, for bonnets seem to form the chief part of her conversation and there are plenty of bonnets in Bath!
I have decided to buy her a new horse. She will need something better than her pony when she joins me for Easter.
Tuesday 19 January
I had a letter from Eliza this morning, telling me all her news.
I have never seen so many shops, she wrote. Susan needs a new bonnet and her maid is taking us to the milliners this afternoon, then we are going to the circulating library. There are some very fine books on history to be found there.
I smiled at the notion of her carrying home a pile of books on history. If she shared her mother’s tastes, she would be carrying home a pile of books on poetry, or the latest romances!
Thursday 4 February
Eliza has disappeared! Oh God, where is she?
Southey’s letter reached me this morning, and couched in roundabout terms, he told me that Eliza had vanished. I was immediately alarmed and I set off for Bath at once.
Southey, looking very frail, could tell me nothing except that Eliza and Susan had gone out walking on Tuesday and that they had become separated.
‘Susan did all she could to find her friend but at last she had to return home alone,’ he said. ‘She hoped to find Eliza waiting for her, but alas! that was not the case. We kept expecting her at any minute, but when it grew dark and there was still no sign of her, I felt I ought to write to you.’
‘And did you not send the servants out to look for her?’ I enquired.
‘I am a sick man, I cannot think of everything,’ he said peevishly. ‘If I had known what sort of girl Eliza was, I would not have invited her to keep Susan company.’
I fought hard to master my temper, for he was ill, confined to his chair. I saw that he could tell me no more and so I said, ‘Might I speak to Susan? ’
‘She can tell you nothing. Poor Susan is as much in the dark as I am.’
But I was determined, and Susan was brought into the room. I questioned her closely, and grew cold at what I heard, for it became clear that, because of her father’s ill health, the girls had been free to go out without an adequate chaperon. Susan’s maid was meant to go with them, but it soon became clear that she had a sweetheart, and that she was in the habit of allowing the girls to range over the town and make what acquaintance they chose whilst she conducted her own dalliance.
‘That was very wrong of her,’ said Mr Southey.
I pressed Susan, but she declared that she knew no more: that she and Eliza had gone out for a walk, that her maid had stopped to speak to her sweetheart, that Eliza and Susan had walked on together, that they had been separated in a crowd, and that Susan had had to return home alone.
As she spoke, I was con
vinced that she was lying. There was an air of obstinate and ill-judged secrecy about her. She kept giving me sly looks, to see if I believed her, and I was convinced that, at the very least, she knew more than she was saying. But question her as I might, she would not admit to knowing what had happened.
I left the house at last, disgusted with Susan, and set about conducting my own enquiries, but I could find no trace of Eliza.
I returned, at last, to the inn, where I wrote to Sanders, telling him that I needed his help, and then I set myself to thinking.
Either Eliza was ill, or she had been abducted, or she had run away with someone. The more I thought about it, the more I thought that the last of these was the most likely, for only a love affair could have caused Susan to remain silent.
But why had Eliza run away? If she had met a man, a good man, I would not have stood in her way, even though she was only sixteen. My spirits sank. She had not met a good man. A good man would not have run off with her. She had met a scoundrel. And now she was at his mercy.
I thought hard. Where would he have taken her? But my spirits sank again, for he could have taken her anywhere.
Then I realized that he must have had some sort of conveyance. I asked again at the inn, and then at all the stables in Bath, but I discovered nothing.
Then he must have had his own carriage, which meant that he was a man of means. And he had taken her, for what purpose? To set up as his mistress? Surely Eliza would never have consented to such a thing. But with no mother to guide her . . . and then I grew cold, for I thought of another possibility: Eliza, knowing that her mother and I had planned to elope, would have been an easy target for a plausible villain. If he had said that he loved her and if he had promised to take her to Gretna Green . . .
Colonel Brandon's Diary Page 9
