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 never 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.