The dance over, we were joined by Eleanor. We fell into conversation about the fine walks to be had around Bath. Miss Morland was eager to experience them but feared she would find no one to go with her, for Mrs Allen was no great walker and Isabella Thorpe would much rather go out in a carriage.

‘Then you must come with us,’ said Eleanor.

‘I shall like it beyond anything in the world!’ said Miss Morland with becoming eagerness. ‘Do not let us put it off, let us go tomorrow.’

This was readily agreed to. ‘As long as it does not rain,’ said Eleanor.

‘I am sure it will not,’ said Miss Morland.

We arranged to call for Miss Morland at her lodgings in Pulteney Street at twelve o’clock and took leave of one another.

‘And so, you are to see more of your Miss Morland,’ said Eleanor.

‘Yes, indeed,’ I replied, as we followed my father and Mrs Hughes out to the carriage. ‘As long as three villains in horsemen’s greatcoats do not force her into a travelling-chaise and four on her way home, and drive her off with incredible speed.’

‘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.



MARCH

Friday 1 March

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.’



Saturday 2 March

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.



Sunday 3 March

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.’