Henry Tilney's Diary (9781101559024) (14 page)

‘In which case you will simply have to rescue her and return her to her lodgings in time to keep her appointment with her friends.'

There was time for no more. My father was already seated in the carriage and waiting impatiently for us to join him.

 

Contrary to Miss Morland's belief, it rained this morning and we reluctantly put off our visit to Pulteney Street, but by half past twelve the weather was clearing and after giving it ten more minutes to make up its mind, we set out.

As we walked along, with one eye on the sky and another on the puddles, Eleanor said, ‘I am very glad to have met Miss Morland and I think that I do her good, too. She has no one to talk to but Isabella Thorpe. From what she has said, Isabella is more interested in young men than in any true friendship, though I think Miss Morland is not yet aware of this. She is used to country manners, where people mean what they say, rather than town manners, where people rarely say what they mean.'

We had just turned into Laura Place when a carriage raced past, driving through a puddle at the side of the road and sending the water flying everywhere.

As Eleanor looked after the retreating carriage in dismay she let out a cry and said, ‘Why, it is Miss Morland!'

And indeed it was, being driven at breakneck speed by John Thorpe. He was lashing his horses and sending up spray from the wheels of his carriage like a fountain, soaking the passers by.

‘It seems you overestimate Miss Morland's admiration of me,' I remarked.

I took out my handkerchief and made a doomed attempt to wipe the water from my coat as I watched them fly down the road.

‘Perhaps it was not her,' said Eleanor, taking my arm as I abandoned my efforts and returned my soggy handkerchief reluctantly to my pocket. ‘I only caught a fleeting glimpse, and in such a bonnet, you know, it is hard to tell. We are almost at Pulteney Street, we should call to be sure.'

We walked on, but on our calling at the house, the footman told us that Miss Morland had set out not five minutes since, and that she would not be back all day.

‘Has any message been left for me?' asked my sister. ‘Miss Tilney?'

‘No, miss.'

‘Then I will leave my card.'

Finding that she had none about her, we had no choice but to go without leaving one.

‘Perhaps we have been wrong about her,' said Eleanor as we returned to Milsom Street to change our wet clothes. ‘Perhaps her nature is already changing. Bath has a habit of altering people. A few days ago she would not have broken an appointment, I am sure, but now . . . ?'

‘If it is so,' I said, ‘then it is better we know now than later. After such a short acquaintance, we will very soon cease to regret her.'

 

 

 

I was eager to escape the city this morning and rode out to the hills, where I worked off the worst of my ill humour in brisk exercise. Eleanor took a walk with my father but when she returned she had some interesting news to give me.

‘I was just about to go out with our father when Miss Morland called,' she said. ‘The timing was most unfortunate. Papa refused to delay our walk and he insisted on my saying that I was not at home. I do hope she was not offended.'

‘We seem to be unlucky where Miss Morland is concerned,' I remarked.

But at the theatre this evening our luck changed, for whom should I espy but Miss Morland. The play concluded, the curtain fell, and on leaving the box I was hailed by Mrs Allen and her friend. I spoke with mere politeness, being out of humour, but not so did Miss Morland reply. As soon as she had a chance she said, ‘Oh! Mr Tilney, I have been quite wild to speak to you, and make my apologies. You must have thought me so rude, but indeed it was not my own fault, was it, Mrs Allen?'

It seemed that the Thorpes, eager for her company on an outing, had told her that Eleanor and I would not call so long after the appointed hour, with John Thorpe adding the information that he had seen us leaving town. With such an assurance, and only with such an assurance, Miss Morland had joined her friends on their outing.

I softened towards her, saying teasingly, ‘We were much obliged to you at any rate for wishing us a pleasant walk after our passing you in Argyle Street: you were so kind as to look back on purpose.'

‘But indeed I did not wish you a pleasant walk,' she said seriously. ‘I never thought of such a thing; but I begged Mr Thorpe so earnestly to stop; I called out to him as soon as ever I saw you; now, Mrs Allen, did not – oh! You were not there; but indeed I did; and, if Mr Thorpe would only have stopped, I would have jumped out and run after you.'

Who could resist such a declaration? Not I. I told her it was nothing, that my sister had been disappointed but had trusted there was some reason for it. Alas, Miss Morland would not believe it.

‘Oh! Do not say Miss Tilney was not angry, because I know she was,' cried she. ‘She would not see me this morning when I called; I saw her walk out of the house the next minute after my leaving it; I was hurt, but I was not affronted. Perhaps you did not know I had been there?'

I admitted that I had known, but explained that Eleanor had been on the point of leaving the house with our father and that he had refused to delay.

She was relieved and then puzzled, saying ‘Why, then, Mr Tilney, were you less generous than your sister? If she felt such confidence in my good intentions, and could suppose it to be only a mistake, why should you be so ready to take offence?'

I denied it, but I felt the force of her comment: Bath had not changed her but it had almost changed me. I had been too ready to think ill of her and I was sorry for it. With the misunderstandings cleared away all was well and I joined her in the box and we talked about the play. A comfortable silence falling, her eyes wandered around the theatre.

‘How came Mr Thorpe to know your father?' she asked.

I was as surprised as she, but said that my father, like every military man, had a very large acquaintance and I supposed they must have acquaintance in common.

I hoped he had not been inviting Thorpe to dinner. The man is forever bragging about his driving or his billiards or some such thing, and if he is not bragging he is trying to sell me a horse.

We resumed our conversation but the evening was almost over and Miss Morland was spirited away by Mrs Allen. Before we parted, however, we agreed our walk should take place at a later date.

 

 

 

Church this morning – Eleanor good enough to say the sermon was not as interesting as mine – then the King's pump room, where we went to take the waters. They seem to be doing my father some good for he has been in high spirits all day and, for once, concerned about Eleanor.

‘I am very glad we came to Bath,' he said. ‘I worry about you, Eleanor. You have no company in the abbey, no young women of your own age or thereabouts. You must want someone to talk to.'

I wondered if he had guessed at Eleanor's feelings for Morris and if he was trying to make amends for having dashed her hopes.

‘I am not on my own all the time,' said Eleanor. ‘Henry visits us as often as he can.'

‘Yes, Henry. That is all very well, Henry does his best, but it is not the same as having another female about the place. Did not Miss Morland call the other day?'

‘Yes, she did.'

‘It was unfortunate that she called just as we were about to leave the house and it seemed better at the time to say that you were not at home, but it was never my intention to come between you and your friend. Look, here she comes now so you may make amends. Henry, a word if you please. Miss Morland, your servant.'

And so saying he drew me to one side so that Eleanor could talk to Miss Morland.

The conversation was of short duration, Miss Morland being with a party of friends, but Eleanor had enough time to rearrange our abandoned walk for tomorrow.

‘Splendid!' said my father. ‘There is nothing like fresh air for promoting good health and well-being.'

We set out for Milsom Street but we had not been walking for two minutes when Mr Thorpe ran up, looking more like a groom than anything else. He wasted no time on greetings, but said that Miss Morland had sent him to say that she could not, after all, go for a walk on the morrow, because she was engaged to go on an outing with the Thorpes.

‘She has only just remembered it, the sad creature!' he said. ‘She is going to Clifton tomorrow with us! My sister was quite wild, saying how could Catherine forget her, and so she had better go out with you on Tuesday instead.'

Eleanor was as surprised as I was, but she said, ‘Very well, Tuesday is just as convenient for me.'

‘I told her it would be! She had better hold tight when I take her out or there will be no knowing what the horses might do!'

And with this, off he went.

As we continued on our way back to our lodgings I could not help wondering whether Miss Morland had sent any such message or if Thorpe had interfered again. The matter was soon settled when, having just reached the house and gone up to the drawing room, the sound of running feet could be heard mounting the stairs. The door opened and there was Miss Morland, having not even waited for William to open the door but having opened the door herself.

She began at once, still breathless from running, and said that it was all a mistake. As I suspected, Thorpe had invented the whole thing. The Thorpes had wanted her to accompany them to Clifton and had not accepted her declaration that she was already engaged. In an act of unwanted officiousness, Thorpe had attempted to rearrange her appointment with us but Miss Morland, brave soul, was having none of it. Regardless of convention she had run after us to set the matter straight. The affair thus happily settled, Eleanor introduced her to my father, who, to my surprise and pleasure, greeted her warmly and apologized to her for having to announce herself.

‘What did William mean by it?' he asked. ‘To leave you to open the door yourself. I cannot think what he was about. You must think us a sad family, Miss Morland, when we offer you such poor hospitality.'

‘No, indeed, it was not William's fault, I came in so quickly and ran by him so suddenly that he could do nothing except follow me up the stairs,' she explained.

‘Well, if you say so, then we will have to forgive him,' said my father, at his most charming.

Eleanor invited her to sit by her side and asked after Mrs Allen, and my father added his hopes that Mr and Mrs Allen were well.

‘They were pointed out to me as most agreeable people,' said my father, ‘respectable in every way. We will be happy to make their acquaintance.'

Miss Morland admired my sister's paintings, which were hanging on the wall, and was such a mixture of innocence, vitality and earnestness that I was disappointed when it was time for her to leave.

My father was equally sorry to see her go and invited her to stay and dine with us. She could not accept the invitation, having a prior engagement, but expressed herself willing to come on a future date. Arrangements were made for the day after tomorrow.

My father further surprised me by attending her to the street-door himself, saying ‘How well you walk, Miss Morland. Your grace of movement is exactly what I thought it would be when I saw you dancing. We are obliged to you for coming to see us, and we hope to see you again.'

‘Is it really the waters?' Eleanor asked me, wondering as much as I did at my father's unexpected good humour. ‘I did not expect them to have such a miraculous effect.'

‘I can see no other reason for it, unless he has had some good news.'

‘But what news could produce such a reaction.'

‘Perhaps Frederick is paying court to an heiress?' I said.

‘It is always possible,' she returned doubtfully.

‘But whatever the reason, I am glad of it, and I only hope it will continue. He has been more used to scaring your friends away than welcoming them in the past. Perhaps he has learnt from his mistakes and now sees that if you are to have company, he must put himself out to be agreeable.'

 

 

 

The morning was fair and Eleanor and I called for Miss Morland at the appointed time. We decided to go to Beechen Cliff, just out of town, and were soon walking alongside the river.

‘I never look at it,' said Miss Morland, ‘without thinking of the south of France.'

I was surprised that she had been abroad, and said so. France these days is no place to visit, or at least, not for anyone who wants to return with their head on their shoulders.