Henry Tilney's Diary

by Amanda Grange

  She smiled.

  ‘I suppose it would. Very well, you may tease her if you will.’

  Miss Morland arrived at that moment and my father returned soon after. He added his entreaties to Eleanor’s and Miss Morland was very quickly persuaded to accept the invitation, as long as her parents gave their consent.

  She returned to the Allens happily, leaving Eleanor and myself scarcely any less happy with the promise of her company.

  Tuesday 12 March

  Our change of plan has necessitated a change in my arrangements. I called on the Plainters to let them know that I will not be able to dine with them on the twenty-fifth and as they were just about to set out for a drive with a party of friends they persuaded me to go with them. I knew some of the party but there were some I did not know and some I wished I did not know. Miss Smith was there, as scathing as ever about her fellows; barbed comments delivered with humour I can enjoy but not those without. Miss Crane was also there, shy and demure. I tried to laugh her out of it, for, like Miss Morland, she is fresh from the country, but she would not even smile. I asked her about her hobbies – she has none; her favourite books – she does not read; the assemblies – she has no opinion. I relinquished her with gratitude to Margaret and found myself the object of Miss Brown’s attention. Miss Brown said she was not surprised we were leaving, for Bath had nothing to offer: the assemblies were dull, the people without taste and the concerts not worth listening to. I confounded her by saying that I liked the place and was only sorry not to be staying longer.

  ‘Well, and do any of the ladies take your fancy?’ asked Charles as we reached our destination and waited for the rest of the party to dismount or climb out of the carriages.

  ‘Alas, no.’

  ‘I thought at one time you were partial to Miss Morland but I hear she is to marry Thorpe,’ he said, as he threw the reins of his horse over a branch.

  I was astonished.

  ‘Do you indeed?’ I said.

  ‘Yes. I had it from Thorpe himself. He tried to sell me a horse and when he saw he could not sell it to me for myself he tried to sell it to me for Margaret, remarking that he had intended to give it to his betrothed but that Miss Morland did not happen to like bay.’

  ‘But is it certain?’ I asked. ‘It seems a strange match to me.’ Thinking: And a highly unlikely one.

  ‘Thorpe seems to think so. His sister marrying Miss Morland’s brother gave him the idea and Miss Morland apparently agreed.’

  Margaret had by this time joined us and remarked, ‘I should be very surprised if Miss Morland thinks herself engaged. There has been no announcement and from what I can gather, the proposal was hardly conventional: Mr Thorpe said that marriage was a good thing and when Miss Morland agreed he took it as a “yes” to a question he does not appear to have asked.’

  ‘That seems more likely,’ I said, ‘for whenever I have seen them together she seemed to regard him with aversion.’

  ‘I regard him the same way myself,’ said Charles. ‘He has no interest in anyone but himself and tells the most preposterous stories about his exploits. To hear him talk, anyone would think he was the best swimmer, rider, billiard-player, boxer, hunter and everything else the world has ever seen.’

  ‘Charles would not let me invite him today, even though we were short of gentlemen,’ said Margaret.

  ‘Ah, so that is why you invited me,’ I said.

  ‘Of course,’ said Charles with a laugh. ‘Why else?’

  ‘And, being short of gentlemen, you would very much oblige me if you would escort Mrs Redbridge and her daughter to the top of the hill. They are waiting for a gentleman’s arm.’

  I viewed the Redbridges with some misgivings, for their faces wore an assessing look, as though they were measuring everything from the capes on my greatcoat to the value of my tithes. But I did my duty and was rewarded by a fine spread eaten in the sharp March wind, before persistent rain broke up the party and returned us all to Bath.

  What was my pleasure to find Miss Morland in Milsom Street. As I entered the drawing room I heard her asking Eleanor, in excited tones, ‘And was the abbey once a convent?’

  ‘Yes, and a richly endowed one, until the Reformation,’ said Eleanor. ‘It then fell into the hands of one of our ancestors on its dissolution.’

  ‘And is it very ancient?’ asked Miss Morland breathlessly.

  ‘Quite as ancient as you could wish. A large portion of the original building still makes a part of the present dwelling, although some has decayed.’

  ‘And does it stand in a valley, surrounded by heavy trees?’

  ‘Yes, if you call oak trees heavy.’

  ‘I should think they are,’ said Miss Morland with delight.

  ‘Pray, do not let me interrupt,’ I said as they looked up and saw me.

  ‘I cannot believe I am to stay in a real abbey,’ said Miss Morland.

  ‘I only hope it does not disappoint you,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Oh, no! I am sure it could never do that.’

  The new fittings and sound masonry are perhaps not what she is expecting, nor are the neat gardens and the useful offices, but I am glad to be taking her away from the Thorpes and I mean to make sure she enjoys herself.

  Wednesday 13 March

  We were late arriving at the Pump-room and to my disappointment I learnt that Miss Morland, who had been there earlier with Mrs Allen, had already left. Her friend Miss Thorpe was there, however, busily flirting with Frederick. Eleanor and I both noticed, and we exchanged glances.

  ‘Why do you think the fair Isabella is flirting with Frederick?’ I asked her. ‘Is it because her swain is absent and she is practising for his return?’

  ‘Do you think that is the reason?’ she said.

  ‘No, alas. I think that Miss Thorpe is a hardened flirt, and I pity Morland from my heart.’

  ‘For his sake or his sister’s?’

  ‘Both. He has done nothing to deserve this, save being wilfully blind and attributing perfection to the object of his affections and ignoring her feet of clay. But that is no more than the best of us will do in love, and he is to be pitied rather than blamed.’

  ‘And have you attributed perfection to your favourite, instead of looking at her feet?’

  ‘I have attributed nothing to Miss Morland that she does not already possess: charm – the kind that comes from within, which is seldom met with, and not the practised kind, which is to be found everywhere; originality, for there is nothing more original than speaking one’s mind, without dissemble or disguise; and a love of Mrs Radcliffe, which is the most important of the three.’

  ‘Do be serious, Henry,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘I was never more so.’

  ‘Very well, then, have it your own way, a love of Mrs Radcliffe is the most important asset to happiness in a long life lived together.’

  ‘A long life lived together? My dear sister, what are you thinking?’

  ‘That you are destined for Miss Morland; or, perhaps I should say, that she is destined for you.’

  ‘Poor Eleanor, you are sadly deceived. She is but one of my flirts.’

  Eleanor laughed.

  ‘Oh, no, Henry, you will have to do better than that. When I spoke of your favourite, you immediately assumed I was speaking of Miss Morland, not Miss Smith or Miss Crane or Miss Parsons, and why would you do that unless you favoured the lady above all others?’

  ‘My dear Eleanor, you have found me out. I have tried very hard to love Miss Parsons, her name being so suitable for a clergyman’s wife, but her tendency to flirt with every other man when my back is turned is decidedly against the plan.’

  ‘Which brings us back to Miss Thorpe.’

  I glanced again at Miss Thorpe, who was practically sitting on Frederick’s knee, she was so close to him. His mouth was almost touching her ear, whispering, I am sure, the flattering nothings of which he is such a master.

  ‘Is she tired of her betrothed already, or was there nev
er much love there, do you think?’ I asked.

  ‘The latter, I think,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Then why did she consent to marry him? I know that every young woman likes to be asked for her hand, it is a trophy for her to parade around all her friends, but unless she is particularly stupid she does not give it, not without love, or at the very least, a desire for a respectable establishment.’

  ‘I am puzzled by that myself,’ said Eleanor. ‘Mr Morland has no money to tempt her—’

  ‘Are you certain of that? If there is an unexpected fortune, then that might explain why my father is so fond of Miss Morland.’

  ‘I am sure of it. I congratulated Miss Thorpe on her engagement and she poured out the facts: that, although money meant nothing to her and she would be glad to live on twenty pounds a year, her dear James had only a living of four hundred pounds a year, and that he must wait several years for even that. I fancy she mistook Morland’s wealth and thought him rich.’

  ‘It is always possible. She is certainly stupid enough, though his coat is as good an indication of his lack of wealth as a full disclosure of his expectations.’

  ‘Perhaps she thought him merely negligent in his dress,’ said Eleanor.

  ‘Or allowed hope to overcome sense. Or merely thought it would be worth her while consenting to the engagement on the chance he might be well provided for, with the intention of looking elsewhere if such proved not to be the case.’

  ‘Whatever the case, I fear she is making her acknowledged suitor very unhappy.’

  Morland had now entered, and was looking uncomfortable as he approached her. Frederick, with a last whisper in Miss Thorpe’s ear, drew back, and Morland was left to the half hearted attentions of his future bride, whose eyes too often sought out my brother.

  Thursday 14 March

  The Pump-rooms were quiet this morning but Miss Morland was there with the Allens and almost as soon as I had greeted her she said, ‘Mr Tilney, I cannot bear to see your brother unhappy, or mine either, and I think there must have been some dreadful mistake. Miss Thorpe, you know, is engaged to my brother, and so she can never belong to Captain Tilney. Her spirits are unguarded and her manner is lively, and I think she might have unconsciously led your brother to believe that her heart was free, and that his attentions were welcome; even worse, that they were returned. I would not like to see him suffer, so I beg you will let him know that Miss Thorpe is engaged to my brother, allowing him to withdraw with dignity.’

  ‘But my brother does know it,’ I replied.

  ‘Does he? Then why does he stay here? For I heard him say that he does not intend to return to the abbey with you, and that instead he intends to remain in Bath.’

  It was a difficult question to answer and, to give myself time to think, I began to talk of something else; but she eagerly continued, ‘Why do not you persuade him to go away? The longer he stays, the worse it will be for him at last. Pray advise him for his own sake, and for everybody’s sake, to leave Bath directly. Absence will in time make him comfortable again; but he can have no hope here, and it is only staying to be miserable.’

  I smiled at that, I could not help it, and remarked, ‘I am sure my brother would not wish to do that.’

  ‘Then you will persuade him to go away?’ she beseeched me.

  ‘Persuasion is not at command; but pardon me, if I cannot even endeavour to persuade him. I have myself told him that Miss Thorpe is engaged. He knows what he is about, and must be his own master.’

  ‘No, he does not know what he is about,’ cried Catherine. ‘He does not know the pain he is giving my brother. Not that James has ever told me so, but I am sure he is very uncomfortable.’

  ‘And are you sure it is my brother’s doing?’

  ‘Yes, very sure.’

  ‘Is it my brother’s attentions to Miss Thorpe, or Miss Thorpe’s admission of them, that gives the pain?’ I asked, hoping to open her eyes to the reality of her friend’s true nature, but in such away that it would not give her too much pain.

  ‘Is not it the same thing?’ she asked, confused.

  ‘I think Mr Morland would acknowledge a difference. No man is offended by another man’s admiration of the woman he loves; it is the woman only who can make it a torment.’

  She blushed for her friend, and said, ‘Isabella is wrong. But I am sure she cannot mean to torment, for she is very much attached to my brother. She has been in love with him ever since they first met, and while my father’s consent was uncertain, she fretted herself almost into a fever. You know she must be attached to him.’

  ‘I understand,’ I said. ‘She is in love with James, and flirts with Frederick.’

  ‘Oh! no, not flirts. A woman in love with one man cannot flirt with another.’

  ‘It is probable that she will neither love so well, nor flirt so well, as she might do either singly. The gentlemen must each give up a little.’

  After a short pause, she resumed with, ‘Then you do not believe Isabella so very much attached to my brother?’

  She spoke hesitantly, but I was glad that her eyes were opening.

  ‘I can have no opinion on that subject,’ I remarked.

  ‘But what can your brother mean? If he knows her engagement, what can he mean by his behaviour?’

  ‘You are a very close questioner,’ I said.

  ‘Am I? I only ask what I want to be told,’ she said.

  ‘But do you only ask what I can be expected to tell?’

  ‘Yes, I think so; for you must know your brother’s heart.’

  ‘My brother’s heart, as you term it, on the present occasion, I assure you I can only guess at.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Well! Nay, if it is to be guesswork, let us all guess for ourselves. To be guided by second-hand conjecture is pitiful. The premises are before you. My brother is a lively and perhaps sometimes a thoughtless young man; he has had about a week’s acquaintance with your friend, and he has known her engagement almost as long as he has known her.’

  ‘Well,’ said Catherine, after some moments’ consideration, ‘you may be able to guess at your brother’s intentions from all this; but I am sure I cannot. But is not your father uncomfortable about it? Does not he want Captain Tilney to go away? Sure, if your father were to speak to him, he would go.’

  ‘My dear Miss Morland,’ I said, ‘in this amiable solicitude for your brother’s comfort, may you not be a little mistaken? Are you not carried a little too far? Would he thank you, either on his own account or Miss Thorpe’s, for supposing that her affection, or at least her good behaviour, is only to be secured by her seeing nothing of Captain Tilney? Is he safe only in solitude? Or is her heart constant to him only when unsolicited by anyone else? He cannot think this, and you maybe sure that he would not have you think it. I will not say, “Do not be uneasy”, because I know that you are so, at this moment; but be as little uneasy as you can. You have no doubt of the mutual attachment of your brother and your friend; depend upon it, therefore, that real jealousy never can exist between them; depend upon it that no disagreement between them can be of any duration. Their hearts are open to each other, as neither heart can be to you; they know exactly what is required and what can be borne; and you may be certain that one will never tease the other beyond what is known to be pleasant.’

  She still looked doubtful and grave, and so I added, ‘Though Frederick does not leave Bath with us, he will probably remain but a very short time, perhaps only a few days behind us. His leave of absence will soon expire, and he must return to his regiment. And what will then be their acquaintance? The mess-room will drink Isabella Thorpe for a fortnight, and she will laugh with your brother over poor Tilney’s passion for a month.’

  She was comforted and I envied her, for I wished I could be comforted so easily; in short, I wished I knew what Frederick was thinking of. It is no use me asking him, he will not answer; and so I am glad we are to leave Bath and that he will soon quit the place, too. After that, James Morl
and must take his chances with the next handsome rogue who happens to come by.

  Saturday 16 March

  This morning I returned to the abbey to make sure that everything would be prepared in advance of our return next week. If only my father had not been so vigorous in his renovations then Miss Morland would be able to revel in a large and gloomy chamber hung with tapestries, and a rug placed askew to reveal the edge of a trapdoor; instead I can offer her nothing better than the guest room, with papered walls and a carpeted floor, bright windows and comfortable furniture and – worst of all – a cheerful air.

  Having given the housekeeper notice of our impending return I rode over to Woodston. It was already dark by the time I arrived, the days not yet being long enough to provide me with an easy journey, but it was one I wanted to make so that I would be able to preach tomorrow and to give my curate warning of my intentions.

  Though Bath has been very enjoyable – unexpectedly so – I find I am glad to be home.

  Sunday 17 March

  An interesting service, attended by a full congregation and a large complement of coughs and sneezes, so that I counted myself fortunate if I managed to get out one sentence in ten without interruption. Everything I have learnt about volume and diction has come from other orators but in justice to myself I can say that the art of timing my words to match the gaps in the assorted barks and splutterings of a March congregation is all my own. I believe I will write a paper on it, for I am sure it will be of use to more than myself.

  After the service I was presented with the usual collection of pen-wipers, and believe I now have enough to last me the rest of my life.

  Monday 18 March

  Back to Bath, bearing a note for my sister which had arrived from Mr Morris. She took it upstairs and returned to the drawing room some time later with sparkling eyes that spoke of delights perused and perhaps a few tears shed, too. I am sorry for her. But if my father is prepared to encourage Miss Morland as a friend for her, then there is a chance that in time he will come to see Mr Morris as a possible match, for his attitudes on fortune seem to be mellowing. I hope so. Eleanor has never shown any interest in anyone before, though she has met plenty of young men; indeed, in the last few weeks in Bath she has danced with several dozen. But none of them has aroused her interest in the way that Morris has.