‘When I marry – if I marry – my wife must love to read. I shall make it the one condition. Her dowry is unimportant, her family is irrelevant, but she must be a lover of novels, or else no wedding will take place!’
Wednesday 31 October
It is as I suspected, the house party is dull and if not for Eleanor I should depart for Woodston, whatever my father might say. But I cannot abandon her to such poor company. Frederick speaks to no one except his own particular friends and it is a blessing they keep to the billiard room, for when the door opens, a cloud of smoke and brandy fumes escape, sent on their way by ribald stories and even more ribald laughter. Miss Barton, as I suspected, catches him whenever he is not in the billiard room and flatters him from breakfast to supper, though he treats her with contempt. My father is polite enough, but he promotes his friends’ relations at every opportunity, and poor Eleanor is hard put to keep away from them. The only interesting point is that one of Fredericks’ guests, Mr Morris, avoids the billiard room and indeed seems to avoid Frederick. He does not in the least look like one of Frederick’s friends, lacking a swagger, and having something of the look of a startled deer. Eleanor and I have spent much of our time speculating as to his identity. It is fortunate we have this mystery, for there is little else to entertain us here.
NOVEMBER
Friday 9 November
A surprising day, or perhaps it is better to say a tedious day with a surprising evening. My father was holding forth in the drawing room after dinner and Frederick’s friends were in the billiard room, so Eleanor and I took refuge in the library. We had just begun to talk about the marquis’s son when there was an embarrassed cough and Mr Thomas Morris stepped out from behind one of the bookcases.
It was an awkward moment. He had evidently been in the library when we arrived and he had unwittingly overheard our conversation. He did not laugh and make some dubious remark, as might be expected from one of Frederick’s friends. Instead, he blushed and fingered his collar and muttered his apologies, adding that he had not meant to overhear our conversation but that he had been searching for a book.
This so astounded Eleanor and I that we looked at each other in amazement. Then we turned our eyes back towards him, to discover that he was indeed holding a book.
‘The antics in the billiard-room are not to your taste?’ hazarded my sister.
‘No, I am afraid not,’ he said apologetically.
‘What book have you found?’ I asked.
He looked embarrassed and muttered something under his breath.
‘Oh, just something I was reading at home. I thought I had packed my copy but I do not seem to have it with me, and I wondered if I might find a copy here. Luckily I have done so – if you do not object to my borrowing it?’
‘You are very welcome to it,’ said Eleanor. ‘What is it?’
He tucked the book behind his back, but not before Eleanor had glimpsed its cover.
‘A Sicilian Romance!’ she exclaimed.
‘I have a partiality for Gothic novels,’ he admitted shamefacedly.
‘But this is capital,’ I said. ‘My sister and I like nothing better. Which ones have you read?’
‘Castle of Wolfenbach, Clermont, Mysterious Warnings, and Necromancer of the Black Forest,’ he said, warming to his theme. ‘Clermont was my favourite, but I must admit that I find them all very exciting.’ Then, recollecting himself, he said, ‘But I must not intrude any longer.’
‘You are not intruding,’ I assured him.
‘Will you not join us?’ asked Eleanor.
He looked delighted, but then decorum got the better of him and he said sedately, ‘If you are sure . . .’
‘We are,’ said Eleanor. ‘We would like nothing better than some new company, would we not, Henry?’
I was quick to echo Eleanor’s sentiment, saying that we would be glad to have him join us.
He looked quietly pleased and took a seat.
‘Forgive me for saying so, but you do not seem like one of my brother’s friends,’ said Eleanor.
He was embarrassed.
‘I . . . uh . . . I am not exactly his friend, I think it would be more accurate to say that . . . well, to put it frankly . . . that is to say . . . I know him because . . . well, he owes me money.’
‘And he has invited you here in lieu of paying you, I suppose,’ said Eleanor with a sigh.
He blushed and fiddled with his cravat.
‘My rent being unpaid on account of the loan, which he finds himself temporarily unable to repay, he said it was the least he could do. He invited me to stay for a month, at the end of which he assures me he will be able to meet his obligations.’
‘Frederick grows worse,’ said Eleanor.
She looked at Mr Morris with a sympathetic eye, and with something else besides. It was curiosity and liking and perhaps even admiration, for his face had a certain interest to it and his manner, if hesitant, was engaging.
‘I am very sorry that you have been inconvenienced,’ I said, determined to make him feel welcome, ‘but for my own part I cannot regret it. Frederick’s error has brought us a true companion, and for that we must thank him.’
Eleanor smiled at me and mouthed the words, Well done. And indeed the poor fellow needed them, for he was uncomfortable – as who, in his position, would not be?
The conversation seeming likely to die, Eleanor said, ‘And where have you got to in A Sicilian Romance?’
I was pleased to see her animation and thought that, if Morris could enable her to overcome the sad memories that were attached to the book, then so much the better.
He opened it and showed the place.
‘Ah, only a few pages behind us,’ I said. ‘My sister and I are reading the book also. Pray, catch up with us and then we can read on together.’
I wondered whether Eleanor would object, but after opening her mouth slightly she closed it again.
When he had reached the place we ourselves had reached, he began to read aloud:‘The nuptial morn, so justly dreaded by Julia, and so impatiently awaited by the marquis, now arrived. The marquis and marchioness received the duke in the outer hall, and conducted him to the saloon, where he partook of the refreshments prepared for him, and from thence retired to the chapel.
‘The marquis now withdrew to lead Julia to the altar, and Emilia was ordered to attend at the door of the chapel, in which the priest and a numerous company were already assembled. The marchioness, a prey to the turbulence of succeeding passions, exulted in the near completion of her favourite scheme. A disappointment, however, was prepared for her, which would at once crush the triumph of her malice and her pride. The marquis, on entering the prison of Julia, found it empty!
‘His astonishment and indignation upon the discovery almost overpowered his reason. Of the servants of the castle, who were immediately summoned, he enquired concerning her escape, with a mixture of fury and sorrow which left them no opportunity to reply. They had, however, no information to give, but that her woman had not appeared during the whole morning. In the prison were found the bridal habiliments which the marchioness herself had sent on the preceding night, together with a letter addressed to Emilia, which contained the following words:
‘ “Adieu, dear Emilia; never more will you see your wretched sister, who flies from the cruel fate now prepared for her, certain that she can never meet one more dreadful. In happiness or misery – in hope or despair – whatever may be your situation – still remember me with pity and affection. Dear Emilia, adieu! You will always be the sister of my heart – may you never be the partner of my misfortunes!” ’
He read well, and we were both engrossed.
‘I am very glad that Julia escaped,’ I said.
‘And so am I,’ he agreed. ‘I did not want to see her condemned to marry the duke. A woman should marry for love.’
‘Do you really think so?’ asked Eleanor.
‘I can think of no other reason,’ he said.
‘A
nd a man?’ asked Eleanor.
‘The same, or what else is the point of it?’
I liked him more and more.
‘Do you think the marquis will be content to let her go?’ Julia asked.
He glanced down at the book again and shook his head, saying, ‘I fear not, for it says: It was agreed to pursue Julia with united, and indefatigable search; and that whenever she should be found, the nuptials should be solemnized without further delay. With—’
The sound of the dressing gong stopped him.
‘Oh! I cannot bear it!’ said Eleanor in pleasurable horror. ‘I hope the marquis does not capture her, or I am sure he will do something terrible to her.’
‘But not as terrible as whatever the general will do if we are late for dinner,’ I said. I turned to Mr Morris. ‘I am sorry, but my father is very particular about timekeeping. We will have to continue with this later.’
‘By all means,’ he said, looking much happier than he had done half an hour before.
We went inside and dressed quickly, but I was delayed by my cravat and so by the time I arrived downstairs my father was pacing the drawing room, his watch in his hand. On the very instant of my entering, he pulled the bell with violence and ordered, ‘Dinner to be on table directly!’
As luck would have it, Eleanor was seated between Mr Courteney and Mr Morris. Whilst Courteney talked of nothing but his horses and his dogs, Mr Morris evidently talked of more interesting things, for Eleanor was absorbed and on several occasions I saw her smile.
Frederick had been instructed to take the sweet and innocent Miss Dacres in to dinner and I was pleased to see that he treated her with courtesy. It was a relief that he was still able to value goodness and propriety. But he took little interest in her and responded to her comments with scant enjoyment.
My father had ensured that I took Miss Barton in to dinner, whereupon she flirted outrageously with every wealthy man at the table. After dinner she flirted with Frederick in the drawing room and he was in a mood to indulge her, but if she thinks she will catch him, she is mistaken. She is just the sort of woman he has no time for. He said as much when we retired for the night.
‘If she chooses to make a fool of herself, that is her concern,’ he said. ‘Women are fools, all of them.’
‘Eleanor is not a fool.’
‘Eleanor is a sister,’ he returned.
‘There are other sisters in the world, are there not? Perhaps one amongst them will be worthy of your love.’
He looked at me pityingly and said only, ‘You will learn.’
I was not happy with this reply.
‘I wish you would not always see things in such a dark light,’ I said impatiently.
‘Worried for my heart, little brother?’ he asked mockingly.
‘That, and my own well-being. If you marry, Papa will stop pestering me to do so. With an heir in the cradle he will be content to let me take my time, instead of introducing me to every wealthy or well-connected young woman he knows.’
‘And why should that trouble you? You are an admirer of the fair sex.’
‘But not at all hours of the day, in all situations. There are times when I do not want to be introduced to yet another damsel who can talk of nothing but her embroidery.’
‘So that is what Miss Barton was talking to you about!’ he said with a wry smile.
I laughed.
‘In Miss Barton’s case, I wished she would talk of her embroidery! I am as fond of nonsense as the next man, and can talk it by the hour if required, but Miss Barton’s kind of nonsense fatigues me, particularly when it is only said for the ears of other men.’
‘So, you object to her using you to attract other, wealthier men, dear brother? Your lessons in love have just begun.’
There was no arguing with him and so I took myself off to bed.
Saturday 10 November
The weather being fine, Eleanor and I escaped our guests this afternoon and, warmly wrapped, retreated to the arbour. Glad that she had overcome her aversion to A Sicilian Romance, I suggested we continue with it but Eleanor looked conscious and went pink and said she rather thought we might wait.
‘Wait? For what?’ I asked, though I had more than a passing suspicion.
‘Not what. Whom,’ she said.
I looked at her with interest.
‘Am I to take it that you are expecting Mr Morris?’ I asked.
‘I happened to mention that we were in the custom of sitting in the arbour when the weather was fine, and I believe he saw us through the window and noticed the direction in which we were heading.’
‘And I suppose you also told him he would be welcome to join us?’
‘Is he not?’
‘My dear Eleanor, you know as well as I do that he is. You are free to invite anyone you wish to join us, and I would suffer a much worse man for your sake. Are you fond of him?’ I asked curiously.
‘I have only just met him. I hardly know him,’ she replied.
‘That is not an answer. It is possible to be fond of a person one has only just met, and dislike very strongly a person one knows well.’
‘That is very true. I do not wish to commit myself on so short an acquaintance, and so I will say only this: that I find him interesting and pleasant to look at.’
‘Only this? It is a very great deal, especially from you, who are so particular. It is the curse of the Tilneys to be very particular. We all three suffer from it, you and Frederick no less than myself. I have not heard you say so much in favour of a man since – well, ever.’
‘Do you not like him then?’ she asked. ‘I rather thought you did.’
‘He is good company, I will grant you, or I suspect he will be, once he has overcome the last of his shyness. Amusing on occasion. A gentleman in his address. But too easily put upon. How he came to lend Frederick money is beyond me. He must, I think, be deficient in sense.’
‘No, not that. Just deficient in the ability to refuse a favour.’
‘As failings go, that is a bad one. It is not conducive to happiness. Though I must confess I am surprised at Frederick. He usually borrows money from wealthy men. It is unlike him to stoop so low as to borrow from someone impecunious.’
‘As to that, there was some confusion. Mr Morris’s uncle is a viscount, and somehow Frederick had mistaken Mr Morris for the viscount’s son, a very wealthy young man. There is a family resemblance, it seems.’
‘And Mr Morris did not disabuse him of his mistake?’
‘When he discovered it, yes. But by then it was too late. The money was already lent.’
‘And already spent?’ I asked.
‘Unfortunately so, which is why Frederick invited Mr Morris to Northanger Abbey, to make amends.’
‘But whether that will be a good thing or a bad thing remains to be seen. Papa will not countenance a match, you know. He wants you to marry a man of standing, of great wealth and grand position. Someone who will bring renown to the name of Tilney, and, through marriage, add vast estates to our own.’
‘Yes, I know he does, but you go too fast. I have only just met Mr Morris, and although I will confess to having had some conversation with him this morning when you were out with your dogs, I know very little of him and he knows very little of me. There has been no talk of marriage, nor will there be for a very long time, if at all.’
‘But it could happen. Guard yourself, Eleanor. I would not want to see you hurt.’
We sat for some time but, as Mr Morris did not appear, Eleanor at last suggested we continue. She read ever more eagerly as we followed poor Julia’s adventures, and so engrossed were we that we did not notice the arrival of Mr Morris until he cleared his throat.
I looked at him with new eyes. He was handsome enough, with a good bearing and a neat style of dress; nothing ostentatious and yet not shabby; and I wondered how I felt about the idea of his becoming my brother-in-law. His gaze, as it fell on Eleanor, was rapt, and that was a point in his favour, for anyone who
marries Eleanor must adore her to have my blessing.
‘Mr Morris. This is a surprise,’ I remarked.
He tore his gaze away from Eleanor, who had flushed, and made his bow.
‘I hope I am not intruding,’ he said.
‘Not at all. We hoped you would join us, did we not, Eleanor?’ I said.
‘We did, indeed.’
He looked surprised and bashfully pleased. This endeared him even more to Eleanor, who invited him to sit down.
‘I see you have brought your book with you.’
‘I rather hoped we might . . . that is to say, it was most enjoyable to share the novel . . . I do so enjoy reading aloud . . . I thought we might do it again.’
‘By all means,’ said Eleanor.
‘I must confess,’ he said, ‘that is to say, I could not sleep and so I succumbed to temptation and read some further passages.’
‘So did we!’ said Eleanor. ‘That is, we have read on this morning.’
‘Ah! Then you know that Julia, helped by her faithful servant, escaped from the marquis and fled to a convent?’ he asked.
‘Yes, we do. And do you know about Hippolitus?’ I asked.
‘That he is alive, having only been severely wounded and not killed? Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘Also, that he sent an emissary to the castle to discover what had happened to Julia, and, finding that she had escaped, he followed her to the convent – only to find that she had fled the convent when the cruel Abate had tried to force her to take the veil.’
‘And do you know about Ferdinand?’ asked Eleanor.
‘That he managed to escape from his father and that he rescued his sister from the convent?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Eleanor. ‘And now Julia and Ferdinand are fleeing through the countryside, pursued by their evil father, with Hippolitus trying to find them.’
‘That is exactly the point I have reached,’ he said.
‘Then let us continue,’ said Eleanor.
As soon as Mr Morris had seated himself beside us she began:‘Hippolitus gave the reins to his horse, and journeyed on unmindful of his way. The evening was far advanced when he discovered that he had taken a wrong direction, and that he was bewildered in a wild and solitary scene. He had wandered too far from the road to hope to regain it, and he had beside no recollection of the objects left behind him.
Henry Tilney's Diary (9781101559024) Page 6
