Amanda Grange: Henry Tilney's Diary

We had scarcely gone inside, however, when my father started interrogating her on her view of the parsonage.

‘It is not much, Miss Morland, not at all what you are used to, but not too bad in its way, I think?’ he asked.

She, poor creature, was too overawed by his attentions to say very much, but her eyes said all that needed to be said, at least to me: that she thought it the most agreeable house in the world. But my father did not perceive her pleasure, and went on asking for compliments in the manner of a beauty desiring constant flattery. Poor Catherine!

On he went, saying it was nothing compared to Fullerton or Northanger but, considered as a mere parsonage, it was not altogether bad. By then, Catherine was luckily too much taken up with looking round the room to pay him much attention. His talk of throwing out a bow in one breath and then objecting to his own suggestion by saying he detested such things in another, passed her by.

My father did not have it all his own way, however, for just as he talked relentlessly of improvements to the rectory, so did I talk relentlessly of anything else – her journey, her activities over the last few days – until a tray of refreshments was brought in.

The tray was piled high with good things, but although I doubt if anyone has ever seen a greater range of delicacies in a country parsonage, my father apologized for them as well.

The tea over, my father led the way out of the room with Catherine on his arm, determined to show her the rest of the parsonage and eke what compliments he could from her. I was left to walk behind with Eleanor.

‘I have all the pain of loving where our father disapproves, and you have all the pain of loving where he approves,’ said Eleanor. ‘Neither is desirable, but, of the two, I believe you are the most fortunate.’

I could not argue, but I wish he had been less eager to sing Woodston’s praises, for he frightened Catherine into silence. He was determined to show her into every corner of the house, and my own room was the next to be inspected; suitably tidied, and cleaner than it had been for a long time, with no specks of mud on the floor brought in by the dogs or by one of my boots. From there we went to the drawing room, and I smiled to see how it charmed Catherine and gave her the courage to suggest that I should fit it up, ‘for it is the prettiest room I ever saw; it is the prettiest room in the world!’ she said.

Any other woman would have said it with a knowing smile, but Catherine thought no further than the room, not even when my father dropped hints as large as the abbey about its wanting only a lady’s taste to make it complete.

‘Well, if it was my house, I should never sit anywhere else,’ said Catherine artlessly. ‘Oh! What a sweet little cottage there is among the trees – apple trees, too!’

And at once I imagined her sitting in an apple tree, eating an apple and reading a book. The picture charmed me.

My father, who has spent the last few years wanting to pull the cottage down, was now effusive in his praise of it, saying that if Catherine approved it, it stayed – which had the effect of silencing her again; and, though pointedly applied to by my father for her choice of the prevailing colour of the paper and hangings, nothing like an opinion on the subject could be drawn from her.

I extricated her from his attentions by the simple expedient of offering her my arm, and together we strolled round the grounds. I pointed out the improvements I had made and the future improvements I intended and she was interested in all my plans. She was delighted with the gardens and the meadows, thinking them prettier than any pleasure garden she had been in before, and I found it easier and easier to think of her being their mistress.

We walked into the village, which delighted her quite as much as the parsonage, and ended with a visit to the stables, where we played with a litter of puppies just able to roll about. Our hands met as we petted the pups, and our eyes met, and although she looked away and blushed I thought she had never been happier. If we had been alone, I would have proposed to her then and there, but alas! my father intruded with some outrageous compliment and the moment was broken.

She stood up, surprised to find it was four o’clock already, and we went inside to dine. The dinner passed muster with my father, for which I was truly thankful, and although he looked at the side table for cold meat which was not there, he ate heartily and was not unduly disconcerted by the melted butter’s being oiled.

At six o’clock my guests took their leave, but not before Eleanor had said to me, in an aside, ‘I see that Catherine is a lover of puppies. Was there ever anything that marked her out more clearly as a heroine?’

I laughed, and thought how fortunate I had been in finding my destiny in Bath, instead of having all the inconvenience of travelling to the Pyrenees.

Thursday 18 April

I was up with the lark so that I could finish my business here and return to the abbey, where Catherine awaited me. Once there, I found that events had moved on, for Catherine had had a letter from Isabella.

‘I am ashamed that I ever loved Isabella, for it was such a letter ... well, you shall hear,’ said she, taking it up and reading it. ‘“ I have had my pen in my hand to begin a letter to you almost every day since you left Bath, but have always been prevented by some silly trifle or other .” ’ Catherine’s face showed what she thought of such an empty protestation. ‘“ I am quite uneasy about your dear brother, not having heard from him since he went to Oxford; and am fearful of some misunderstanding .” Was there ever such falsehood? “ I rejoice to say that the young man whom, of all others, I particularly abhor, has left Bath. You will know, from this description, I must mean Captain Tilney, who, as you may remember, was amazingly disposed to follow and tease me, before you went away. Afterwards he got worse, and became quite my shadow. Many girls might have been taken in, for never were such attentions; but I knew the fickle sex too well. He went away to his regiment two days ago, and I trust I shall never be plagued with him again. He is the greatest coxcomb I ever saw, and ...”’

She stopped, remembering to whom she read, blushed, and said, ‘There is more of the same. And she thinks that I will try and mend things between her and James, after such treatment, and after such a letter as this. She says she will wear nothing but purple from now on, because it is James’s favourite colour, but I am sure he does not care what colour any young lady should wear, only that she be good-natured and honest. She asks me to write to James on her behalf, but James shall never hear Isabella’s name mentioned by me again. So much for Isabella, and for all our intimacy! She must think me an idiot, or she could not have written so; but perhaps this has served to make her character better known to me than mine is to her. I see what she has been about. She is a vain coquette, and her tricks have not answered. I do not believe she had ever any regard either for James or for me, and I wish I had never known her.’

‘It will soon be as if you never had,’ I reassured her.

‘There is but one thing that I cannot understand,’ she went on, puzzled. ‘I see that she has had designs on Captain Tilney, which have not succeeded; but I do not understand what Captain Tilney has been about all this time. Why should he pay her such attentions as to make her quarrel with my brother, and then fly off himself?’

‘I have very little to say for Frederick’s motives, such as I believe them to have been. He has his vanities as well as Miss Thorpe, and the chief difference is, that having a stronger head, they have not yet injured himself. If the effect of his behaviour does not justify him with you, we had better not seek after the cause.’