Henry Tilney's Diary

by Amanda Grange

  ‘My father has had to delay our journey on account of business,’ she said. ‘We do not now go until Saturday, and so I thought I would start one of the books you bought for me in London.’

  ‘I hope it is a good one, for we will need something to entertain us until we leave for Bath.’

  ‘It is excellent,’ she said. ‘Even better than A Sicilan Romance . I believe it is Mrs Radcliffe’s best novel.’

  I saw the cover and said, ‘Ah, you have chosen The Mysteries of Udolpho. Excellent.’

  She had only just begun, and after allowing me to catch up we read on together, becoming quickly engrossed – so much so, that we could scarcely bring ourselves to put the book down in order to eat. Poor Julia’s trials were as nothing to Emily’s tribulations. Sinister castles, murderers and banditti all conspired to instil terror in our heroine as she travelled through Europe, and we passed the day very pleasantly.

  The evening was less pleasant. My father was at home, testy because his business had compelled him to delay our visit to Bath and expressing his dissatisfaction with his doctors and their advice that he should take the waters.

  ‘Stuff and nonsense,’ he said. ‘But at least some of my friends will be there.’

  He did not appear to think it unfair that he had refused Eleanor the pleasure of a friend for company, for although she will have Mrs Hughes, and greatly enjoy her company, she needs companions of her own age, too. But perhaps Miss Morland . . . Though some years younger than Eleanor, I think the two of them will like each other.

  Friday 22 February

  Being eager to continue with Udolpho, Eleanor and I set out for the arbour straight after breakfast so as to escape our father’s notice. It was no hardship to be out of doors, the morning being sunny, and our being so well wrapped up in coats and cloaks. We were soon thrilling to the adventures of Emily and cursing the evil Montoni. We had just reached the moment where Emily, lifting the black veil, caught a glimpse of what was on the other side and fainted, when my father came into the garden.

  ‘Eleanor! I have here a note, addressed to you, from a Mr Morris. In it, he talks of the house party we held in the autumn. It is, I suppose, the purpose of the rambling note to thank you as hostess of the party, though he expresses himself badly and thinks it necessary to refer to your kindness, your beauty, your humour and your graciousness in every other sentence.’ He tapped the note against his other hand and frowned, deep in thought. ‘Morris. Morris. I do not remember him. One of Frederick’s friends, I suppose. Did you like him?’

  ‘Yes, Father, I did,’ said Eleanor, with an expression of hope.

  ‘He was wealthy?’ asked my father.

  Hope vanished.

  ‘I think not.’

  ‘He has a title perhaps?’ pursued my father.

  ‘He is the nephew of a viscount,’ I put in.

  ‘Is he?’ asked my father with interest. ‘And the viscount has no sons?’

  ‘He has three,’ said Eleanor, disdaining deceit.

  ‘Oh, in that case . . . you must write to him – I will dictate the letter – thanking him for his note but making it clear that any further communication is neither necessary nor desirable.’

  Eleanor had no choice but to comply with our father’s wishes.

  I waited for her as best I could but poor Emily’s fate would give me no peace, so after a minute or two I took the novel into the Hermitage walk and devoured it, my hair standing on end the whole time.

  Poor Eleanor, when she found me, could not attract my attention, so deeply was I engrossed. When at last I looked up, I could see that she was grieved over the unlucky circumstance of my father intercepting the note but resigned to his reaction, for she had expected nothing better.

  ‘There are times when our father is a regular Montoni,’ I said with sympathy.

  ‘I cannot blame my father. I should not have been corresponding with Mr Morris, it is not seemly,’ said Eleanor with a sigh.

  ‘Far be it from me to encourage filial disobedience, but the stable boys at Woodston are at your disposal should you need any more notes to be passed.’

  ‘Henry, you are too good to me,’ she said with a bright smile.

  ‘I must make amends somehow,’ I said.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For the fact that I have finished the book.’

  She looked at me in astonishment.

  ‘Already?’ she asked,

  ‘I could not put it down.’

  ‘Well, I forgive you. Tell me, what lay behind the black veil?’

  Not wanting to spoil it, I said, ‘I think you had better read it yourself.’

  She took the novel and was soon lost to the world, everything else forgotten in her perusal of the fantastical adventures of Emily.

  Saturday 23 February

  There were no unexpected delays and this morning we set out for Bath, arriving at our set of rooms just before noon. My father and Eleanor approved them and we had soon settled in. Mrs Hughes arrived shortly afterwards, having had a good journey, and we exchanged news over tea. Then Eleanor and Mrs Hughes fell to discussing the latest fashions as my father set out to take the waters and I went out riding. The weather was cold and it later came on to rain, but I was glad of the exercise, and after dinner I was able to join with my sister and Mrs Hughes in discussing the merits of long sleeves as compared to short sleeves, for such are now the fashion in Bath.

  When the ladies withdrew, my father said that he had commanded Frederick to join us in Bath.

  ‘I cannot see that he has made any great mark in the army,’ said my father. ‘He is a captain but what is a captain? I expected better from him by now.’

  I thought that it would be an uncomfortable meeting when my brother returned.

  Sunday 24 February

  Church was well attended this morning, despite the rain, and it made a change for me to be in the congregation. The sermon was on the evils of vanity, which did not prevent my sister and Mrs Hughes from making over some of their gowns this afternoon so that they would better suit the prevailing fashions, nor Eleanor from trimming a bonnet.

  Monday 25 February

  What was my delight this evening to find, when we went to the Upper Rooms, that Mrs Hughes was acquainted with Mrs Thorpe; that Mrs Thorpe was acquainted with Mrs Allen, and Mrs Allen in company with Miss Morland. I was amused to see the last-named smile at seeing me again, instead of pretending not to see me or favouring me with a cool nod, both of which greetings are very much in vogue with the usual young ladies in Bath.

  Mrs Allen opened the proceedings by saying that she was happy to see me again, and when we had established that I had only left Bath in order to return with my family she was well pleased, saying that it was just the place for young people.

  ‘I tell Mr Allen, when he talks of being sick of it, that I am sure he should not complain, for it is so very agreeable a place, that it is much better to be here than at home at this dull time of year. I tell him he is quite in luck to be sent here for his health,’ she said.

  I duly offered my hopes for Mr Allen’s health and, good relations being thus established, room was made for Mrs Hughes and my sister to sit down.

  Mrs Thorpe’s attention was soon turned to her son and daughter, John and Isabella. The latter was dancing with Miss Morland’s brother, James. I liked the look of Mr Morland. There was something of the openness of his sister in his expression, for he could not disguise his admiration of Miss Thorpe. It was not to be wondered at, for Isabella Thorpe was exceedingly pretty.

  Remembering how much I had enjoyed dancing with Miss Morland before, I offered her my hand, but instead of accepting with alacrity she looked mortified. My pride was salvaged when she explained that she was engaged to Mr John Thorpe for the first dance and so she must decline. Mr Thorpe, however, was nowhere to be seen, leaving his fair partner to sit alone and embarrassed at the side of the room when she should have been enjoying herself. So much for the honour of Mr Thorpe! However, it
gave me a pleasing insight into the character of the lady, for it is rare thing in Bath – or anywhere else for that matter – to find a young lady who will forgo a pleasure merely because she has given her word elsewhere. Miss Morland, I felt, was worth knowing.

  Thorpe at last arrived. Without a word of apology he said only, ‘There you are Miss Morland, I have kept you waiting!’ which even a young lady possessed of far less wit than Miss Morland must have already deduced.

  I flattered myself that she would rather have had me as a partner, for her eyes kept drifting to me. I remarked as much to Eleanor, who quickly lanced my pomposity and said I was becoming conceited.

  ‘It is not remarkable that Miss Morland should prefer you to Mr Thorpe,’ she said. ‘Indeed, it would be remarkable if it were otherwise, for I can think of nothing worse than standing up with him. He cannot remember the steps of the dance and does not even try. He has bumped into three different people in the last three minutes, without a word of apology. I will say this for you, Henry, you know how to dance.’

  ‘High praise indeed!’

  Eleanor’s hand was sought and although the floor was crowded, Miss Morland let her in. I had the satisfaction of seeing them dancing and talking together. I rather hoped Miss Morland would be free for the next dance but she was standing up again with Thorpe, and having been disappointed in my first choice I led Miss Smith on to the floor. Miss Smith, alas, was no substitute for Miss Morland, for if she was not laughing at a young lady who had torn her gown, she was regaling me with an account of her conquests.

  ‘Do you see that gentleman over there, the one with the blue coat? He has told me on three separate occasions how lovely I am and he has five thousand a year. Mama is certain he will offer for me any day. But I do not think I will accept him. I do not like his cravat.’

  ‘Then on no account consider it,’ I said. ‘It is possible to compromise in certain areas when choosing a partner for life, but never on a cravat.’

  She looked at me in admiration.

  ‘That is exactly what I think,’ she said. ‘You are amazingly clever.’

  ‘It is very good of you to say so.’

  ‘Papa says I am the cleverest girl he has ever met. Captain Dunston remarked upon it as well. But I think he is a very stupid fellow.’

  ‘He must be,’ I said, a remark which she did not understand, but which made her smile, for she liked to think of my sharing her opinion of the captain.

  At last tea was over, and I found Eleanor and Mrs Hughes in order to take them home. Mrs Hughes exclaimed upon the chance of having met with her friend Mrs Thorpe again. She spoke of Isabella’s prettiness and John’s fine figure, which last was something of a slander on the word fine, for I never saw such an ill-looking fellow. From there she began talking of her own children, and we were glad to speak of them, for we were both conscious of the great kindness she is doing us by coming to Bath and acting as Eleanor’s chaperone.

  Back in Milsom Street, Mrs Hughes declared herself tired and retired for the night but Eleanor and I sat up for some time, talking.

  ‘You seemed to be well entertained by Miss Smith,’ said Eleanor, as we sat by the fire in the drawing room. ‘I saw you laughing twice and smiling often.’

  I recounted our conversations and she said, ‘Oh dear!’

  ‘And you?’ I asked. ‘Did you make any new friends? Miss Thorpe, perhaps, or Miss Morland?’

  ‘Miss Thorpe is not to my taste, but I would like to know Miss Morland better,’ said Eleanor. ‘She has engaging manners.’

  ‘Did you have much chance to speak to her?’

  ‘No, very little, only to exchange commonplaces. We asked each other how well we liked Bath, and talked of how much we admired its buildings and surrounding country. I asked her whether she drew, or played, or sang, and whether she was fond of riding on horseback, and she asked the same of me.’

  ‘And what did you discover?’ I asked.

  ‘That she drew, played and sang as much as any other young lady who is not especially accomplished: that is, a little; and that she rides very little as she prefers to walk and there is not always a horse to be got.’

  ‘Well, that is honest enough! Would you like to see more of her, do you think?’

  She considered the matter.

  ‘Yes, I think I would. Would you?’

  ‘I?’ I asked in surprise.

  ‘Yes, Henry, you.’

  ‘Now what makes you ask that?’

  ‘Because you have spoken of little else since we returned,’ she said.

  ‘Am I so transparent? It would seem so. Very well then, I will confess I like her, what little I know of her. She is interesting,’ I replied.

  ‘And, moreover, she likes you.’

  I was flattered, and thought it was something to be added to Miss Morland’s store of virtues. But I did not allow Eleanor to see it.

  ‘She hardly knows me, and what little she does know of me she must think very odd,’ I said. ‘I talked nonsense to her when we first met, for what else can one talk in the Upper Rooms with someone one has never met before?’

  ‘But oddness is always forgiven in a man who is young and handsome.’

  ‘Be careful or such praise will go to my head.’

  ‘Why? I said that it is forgiven in a man who is young and handsome, I made no mention of you!’ she said with a laugh.

  It was good to hear it. She has not laughed once these past two months. I am glad we came to Bath.

  Tuesday 26 February

  My father being busy, Eleanor, Mrs Hughes and I took the air. We had no sooner turned into the Crescent than we met Mrs Allen and Mrs Thorpe. Miss Morland was not with them, but we soon learnt that she had gone for a drive with a small party comprising her brother, Miss Thorpe and Mr Thorpe.

  ‘They are gone to Claverton Down,’ said Mrs Allen. ‘I am very glad. Catherine needs friends of her own age. I am sure they will all enjoy themselves immensely.’

  ‘And I am sure they will, too,’ said Mrs Thorpe. ‘I know I am a mother, and partial but I am sure that Catherine could not wish for a better person to drive her than John. He is my idea of what a man should be. He is up at Oxford, you know. I was worried about him at first, for one hears stories of all sorts of things, but he laughs them to scorn. “What? Drinking!” he said to me. “There is no drinking at Oxford now. You would hardly meet with a man who goes beyond his four pints at the utmost. It was reckoned a remarkable thing, at the last party in my rooms, that we cleared about five pints a head. It was looked upon as something out of the common way. Mine is famous good stuff, to be sure. You would not often meet with anything like it in Oxford – and that may account for it. But this will just give you a notion of the general rate of drinking there.” ’

  ‘Is not four pints rather a lot?’ asked Eleanor.

  ‘Why, I dare say it sounds it to you and me, but John assures me it is not,’ said the happy mother. ‘He is doing very well for himself. He often buys horses for a trifle and sells them for sums that would astonish you, and he is an excellent shot. Why, the last shooting party he went to, he killed more than all his companions together. Hunting, too, though he has to deal with the mistakes of others in a way you would not credit, and correct the mistakes of even the most experienced huntsmen. And I cannot count the times he has astonished his friends with the boldness of his riding, though I criticize him for this, for although it never endangers his own life for a moment, it leads others into difficulties, and has been the cause of other young men breaking their necks.’

  ‘Dear me,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘He sounds a marvel,’ I added.

  ‘Aye, I believe he is,’ said Mrs Thorpe complacently. ‘And my Isabella is no less so. There are always men following her, though she does not give them the least encouragement, and chastises them roundly for it. Why, I have heard her say that she detests young men and the way they give themselves airs, and that she would not encourage them for the world.’

  ‘You
are very happy in your children,’ said Mrs Allen.

  ‘Yes, I am. But you are happy, too, in your young friends,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘Catherine is a taking young thing, and her brother James is a gentleman. How did you come to bring them to Bath?’

  ‘We did not bring James, he came of his own accord, but we brought Catherine. The Morlands are a good sort of family, you know, neighbours of ours, and as we have no children of our own, and as Catherine is of an age to enjoy the balls and parties, and as Mr Allen had to come here on account of his health, we thought she might like it.’

  ‘Well, I dare say she is enjoying herself this morning. My John will see to that. He is the best driver in the world, and he will make sure she has an agreeable outing to Claverton Down.’

  Eleanor and I exchanged glances, for we had both seen John drive and thought him likely to overturn his carriage before the week was out. I feared for Miss Morland, and only hoped that the inevitable accident did not occur whilst she was in the carriage.

  ‘We are going to the theatre this evening. Will you be there?’ asked Mrs Thorpe.

  Mrs Allen said that she and her husband would be there, and Miss Morland with them. Eleanor explained that we had another engagement and we parted company with many professions of good will on both sides.

  ‘Though I would rather be going to the theatre,’ said Eleanor this evening, as we went downstairs.

  The evening proved to be a trial. My father had invited some of his friends to dinner, and with them came their relatives: General Courteney’s nephew, still looking for a wife, and General Parsons’s daughter, intent on catching a husband. My father’s smiles showed his feelings on the matter and Eleanor and I were left to exercise our wits in evading capture. Eleanor had the worst of it, Mr Courteney feeling at liberty to follow her about, so that she could not avoid him even when she moved from one side of the room to the other. Miss Parsons soon lost interest in flirting with me and turned her attentions to every one of the other gentlemen instead.