Your own
Thomas
I laughed along with my sister.
‘My dear Eleanor, you will be the happiest of women, and there is no one who deserves it more,’ I said.
‘I wonder what my father will say?’
We looked at each other and laughed, wondering how he would manage such a volte face.
‘But stay,’ I said, as I handed the letter back to her. ‘It says he will be here on Wednesday. That is today. The letter must have been delayed.’
Eleanor looked at me, then at Alice, then said, ‘Quickly! I must change my dress!’
She had hardly reached the front door, however, when my father, newly returned from his ride, emerged, beaming all over his face.
‘Do you remember that delightful young man who joined us at the abbey some years ago, a friend of Frederick’s, Mr Morris?’ he asked Eleanor. ‘But of course you do. I felt sure you liked him, and he you. I believe he wrote to you once or twice, I remember intercepting his letters. It was quite wrong of him to write to you, of course, but it was evident he liked you and I admired him for it. It showed a pleasing spirit and a great intelligence in recognizing your worth. I happened to hear that he would be in the neighbourhood and it is possible he might call. You had better see to your dress, it will not do to have him finding you like this. Put on that new gown you had last month, I am sure he will like it.’
‘This is very sudden, sir,’ I could not resist saying. ‘I thought you did not like Mr Morris.’
‘Nonsense, I have always thought him a very fine young man, he is just the sort of young man I would like to have in the family.’
‘But he has no fortune,’ I said.
‘What does fortune matter?’ asked my father blithely. ‘It matters not at all.’
‘I am glad to hear you say so,’ I returned. ‘Then you can have no objection to Miss Morland.’
He was momentarily disconcerted, but returned with, ‘Miss Morland is too young for marriage.’
‘A problem that time will heal,’ I said.
He waved it away.
‘There is not time to think of Miss Morland now. You would not want to spoil your sister’s happiness, nor take anything away from her, I am sure. Eleanor, go and dress, my dear, I think I hear a carriage.’
Eleanor, hearing it too, flew inside.
I, content to see Eleanor happy, and knowing I had at least reminded my father of Catherine and my determination to marry her, went out with him to the carriage: I wanted to give Thomas a welcome as genuine as my father’s would be false. My father, in his excess of good humour, forgot that he had banished me and even smiled at me as the carriage rolled to a halt.
The door opened and Thomas stepped out. My father was at his most genial, welcoming him to the abbey and asking after his journey.
Thomas – or the viscount, as I must get used to calling him – was still dressed in his old clothes, having stopped for nothing in his eagerness to see Eleanor again. He greeted me heartily and he endured all my father’s obsequiousness, although he looked momentarily put out when my father declared that no letter had arrived to prepare him for the visit. He glanced at me and, seeing my face, knew that the letter had arrived.
Disdaining to call my father a liar, he said, ‘A pity. You must think it very strange of me to call, but I have a matter of great importance I would like to discuss with you. I wonder if you would favour me with a few minutes of your time?’
‘But of course. My time is always at your disposal.’
And smiling benignly, he led Thomas into his study.
The outcome was never in doubt. In a few minutes Thomas emerged and, catching sight of Eleanor, who had just come downstairs, he ran to her and claimed her as his own.
I retreated to give them their privacy and thought, Now if only some similar miracle could happen for me.
JUNE
Monday 3 June
My father’s complaisance towards me did not last long, and as his last words to me when I left the abbey were that he had not forgiven me for my disobedience and that I was not welcome at the abbey until I had renounced Catherine, I have not been there since. Eleanor and I now rely on letters and meetings at neighbours’ houses. It was in a letter, arrived this morning, that I learnt more about the wedding plans: that our father is torn between encouraging Eleanor and Thomas to procure a special licence, so that they might marry without delay, and encouraging them to wait so that there is time for him to arrange the most splendid wedding the country has seen. He has already invited the Marquis of Longtown and General Courteney, and never tires of talking of ‘my daughter Eleanor, the future viscountess.’
To remove Eleanor from his effusions I wrote back and suggested a week in London, so that Eleanor could buy her wedding clothes. I am sure she will like the idea, and now she only needs to persuade our father to let her go.
Tuesday 4 June
Our father was so taken with the idea of Eleanor’s wedding clothes coming from London that he wrote to Mrs Hughes himself and begged her chaperonage.
‘I am indebted to you for your kindness, Henry,’ said Eleanor, as we met this afternoon at the Lady Frasers’ house, ‘especially as Thomas has to be in London to deal with the marriage settlements. I suppose your suggestion had nothing to do with the fact that Catherine is also to be in London soon?’
‘Nothing at all,’ I said airily. ‘It is a complete coincidence that she is going to London next week with the Allens. If we should happen to see her about town it will be nothing but a fortunate chance.’
‘And is our invitation to the Allens for dinner on Thursday a result of the same chance?’
‘My dear sister, do you really want to know? Because if not, I suggest you do not ask.’
‘Keep your secrets then,’ she said. ‘But you might wish to know that I have invited Catherine to ride with me in the park on Friday. Would you care to join me?’
‘I am always happy to accompany you, dear sister,’ I said.
She laughed.
‘Very well, we are meeting her at ten o’clock. I must give you warning that I mean to ask her to support me when I marry. She has been a true friend to me and I hope she will carry my bouquet.’
‘Our father will never allow it!’ I said, startled.
‘My dear Henry, he is so delighted with me that he would indulge me in any whim. Besides, I do not mean to ask him. I mean to tell him. Thomas and I are of one mind on this, that our father must be brought to sanction your marriage. I can think of no better wife for you, and no better sister for myself, than Catherine. Once Thomas and I are married you will both come and stay with us and my father will become gradually used to the idea – or, at least, he must pretend to become used to the idea if he wishes to be a guest in our house.’
‘He would not sacrifice that pleasure for anything in the world.’
‘And so I predict, dear brother, that there will be another wedding before the year is out.’
I thought of it with a great deal of satisfaction, and I believe I scarcely heard one word in ten that Eleanor said, for although I love my sister and I was happy to indulge her in a conversation about Thomas, I love Catherine more. Whilst Eleanor expounded on her betrothed’s many virtues, I thought of the many virtues, habits and endearing quirks of my own betrothed.
Tuesday 11 June
Arriving in London, I went at once to the Allens to pay my respects. Catherine was there, as I knew she would be, and after the first ten minutes or so, Mrs Allen suggested that Catherine should show me the garden.
‘It is nothing to a country garden, merely a small patch of ground, but the roses are very pretty,’ said Mrs Allen.
Catherine agreed with alacrity and we were soon out of doors, walking arm in arm. We talked of Eleanor’s good fortune and of her plan to reconcile my father to our own marriage.
‘I am looking forward to seeing her again on Friday,’ she said.
‘And she you.’
‘And will
you be there?’ Catherine asked.
‘My dear Catherine, a mountain full of banditti could not keep me away. And after our walk, perhaps you will be good enough to accompany us to Grafton House. Eleanor needs to buy some fabric for her wedding clothes.’
‘Oh, yes, and I must have something for a new dress, too. I have never been an attendant before. You must help me choose my muslin!’ she said.
‘Ah, you have remembered that I am an expert. Good. I will find you such a fabric as has never been seen before; a muslin so fine that countesses will exclaim at it in astonishment and yet so sturdy that even the most heavy-handed washerwoman cannot damage it on washing day; the kind of muslin that women can usually only dream of!’
‘And do your really think your father will be reconciled to the match?’ she asked.
‘He must be, since he has no choice in the matter and can only delay and not prevent it.’
She was satisfied, and we wandered through the garden for far longer than its small size deserved, though Mrs Allen was too good to comment on the fact.
A delightful day, and a summer with Catherine to look forward to. What more could any man want?
Thursday 13 June
Mrs Hughes and Eleanor accompanied me to the Allens tonight and they all enjoyed renewing their acquaintance. They had much to talk of, Eleanor’s wedding taking up most of the evening, which left Catherine and myself free to draw into a corner after dinner and talk of our own affairs.
Friday 14 June
A walk in the park and afterwards Grafton House. It was amusing to see Catherine’s face, which was much as Aladdin’s face must have been when he first walked into the cave. Fullerton, and even Bath, do not have shops like London! Catherine picked out a charming sprigged muslin which will make her look altogether delightful and I am all eagerness for Eleanor’s wedding, which has now been arranged for the end of July.
Monday 24 June
Alas, the Allens have left London and we ourselves return to the country tomorrow. However, I have been invited to call upon them at Fullerton whenever I am in the neighbourhood, and I think I will have business there frequently over the summer!
JULY
Wednesday 17 July
Eleanor’s wedding day draws on apace and yet she has still not told my father that Catherine will be her maid.
‘You cannot leave it any longer,’ I said to her this morning, when we met at Charles and Margaret’s house.
‘I know, but I am waiting for Frederick to be home,’ she said.
‘How so?’
‘Because our father will inevitably be angry with Fredrick about something before the week is out, and that will divert his attention from my sins,’ said Eleanor.
I could tell, despite her half-smile, that she was worried about telling him and I offered to do it myself.
‘No, there is no need, I have made up my mind to tell him on Friday,’ she said. ‘Frederick’s coming home tomorrow means that there will surely be something he has done to upset our father by the day afterwards.’
Charles, overhearing our conversation, said that Frederick would be sure to do something to upset our father within an hour of arriving at the abbey, never mind a day.
‘And if not,’ he said, as we went in to dinner, ‘send me a note, Eleanor, and I will do something to annoy him myself!’
Charles’s house was such a happy one that we were loath to leave. Though the building itself is in need of some repair and the kitchens are antiquated, the atmosphere is infectious. Eleanor was at her liveliest. I sometimes forget how lively she can be, how bright and sparkling, because the abbey crushes all the life from her and she is seldom anywhere else. I am looking forward to seeing her in her own home, where there will be nothing to crush her and everything to support her spirits.
When I returned to the parsonage I looked around it and made a note of the decorations I still need to complete before it will be fit to receive Catherine, for although I believe she could be happy anywhere, I want her to have a home she can be proud of.
Friday 19 July
A letter from Eleanor. She broke the news to my father and was alarmed at his anger, but upon her saying that the viscount approved of her choice, my father’s rage disappeared like a summer storm. His brow smoothed and his face was wreathed in smiles.
I have found the magic words, she wrote. Whenever he is angry I have only to say ‘the viscount’ and he is instantly in a good humour. Which is lucky, because Frederick has done nothing to anger him so far. And speaking of Frederick, Henry, I mean to invite him to stay with us after our marriage, and you and Catherine must come too. We will hold a house party. If Catherine and Frederick are to be related – and they are – they must put their differences behind them.
I applaud her spirit, but I fear it will not be so simple a thing to bring about. Catherine has still not forgiven Frederick for causing her brother so much unhappiness. She talks often of her family and she loves her brothers and sisters as much as I love Eleanor. It seems that James is still unhappy, and although I believe he does not regret Isabella, it has shaken his confidence in women and he avoids their company. It will not be an easy thing for Catherine to forgive.
Friday 26 July
Eleanor’s wedding day, and she has never looked more beautiful, but I am ashamed to say that I had eyes for no one but Catherine. She has become much more confident in the last few months, and although in one way it made me glad, it made me sad also, for there was something about her old naivety that I used to love. But just when I was thinking it had gone for ever, and was mourning its passing, she began to talk to me about her latest novel. Her eyes were wide and before long we were speaking of villains and dungeons just as breathlessly as before. She might no longer expect to find such adventures in England, but I am delighted to learn that she still believes such extraordinary people and amazing occurrences might exist on the Continent, and as the war makes travel impossible, I hope she will believe so for ever.
AUGUST
Thursday 22 August
Eleanor has been true to her word and she has invited us all to a house party at her splendid new home. Our father never tires of hailing her as ‘Your Ladyship’ and I believe he loves her now ten times more than when she was simply Miss Tilney. Thomas is truly deserving of her and he has made her very happy.
Eleanor, Thomas, Catherine and I walked through the grounds this morning and as we went down to the lake, Eleanor and Thomas were reminiscing over their first meeting.
‘I felt very awkward,’ said Thomas. ‘I knew so very few people and it was a relief to me to meet you’ – turning to Eleanor – ‘and find a kindred spirit. My poor servant was just as much overawed as I was, and the poor man was so flustered by all the grandeur of the abbey that he left behind a collection of washing bills in a cabinet. He only told me about it after we had arrived back at my modest rooms, when it was too late to reclaim them.’
Catherine started and blushed, then burst out laughing. We looked at her enquiringly, and she, torn between embarrassment and humour, revealed that she had found them late at night, but that her candle had been extinguished before she could examine them.
‘You need say no more!’ I exclaimed. ‘You were certain you had found a letter from Matilda, telling of her cruel treatment and unnatural imprisonment by her monstrous father – or uncle – or guardian – who was determined to force her into a distasteful marriage in pursuit of his own ambitions.’
She blushed again but admitted it was so, and we all laughed together.
‘I am glad they gave you such an adventure,’ said Thomas. ‘At least you had entertaining company from the start of your visit. When I arrived at the abbey I knew no one but Frederick.’
At the mention of Frederick, Catherine stiffened. Eleanor, seizing the moment, said, ‘My brother will be joining us tomorrow.’
‘Then you must excuse me if I withdraw,’ said Catherine.
‘But I will not excuse you,’ said Eleanor. ‘You
must make your peace with Frederick. You are to be brother and sister, after all.’
Catherine did not like the notion but in deference to Eleanor’s wishes she determined to remain and to act with at least the appearance of civility.
I wonder what tomorrow will bring.
Friday 23 August
A surprising day. Frederick arrived this afternoon and although he did no more than bow to Catherine, he watched her throughout dinner and seated himself next to her when we retired to the drawing room afterwards.
Catherine tried to excuse herself, but he would not let her go.
‘You do not want to talk to me, I see, but I must insist, even though you are still angry with me for having come between your brother and his betrothed,’ said Frederick.
Henry Tilney's Diary Page 20
