Amanda Grange: Henry Tilney's Diary

‘I think we can trust her to manage for a short while,’ said Mama.

Papa grumbled some more but at last he let Mama have her own way. Eleanor and Mama exchanged smiles.

‘But you will need something new to wear,’ said Mama to Eleanor. ‘You cannot appear at supper in any of the dresses you already have. We will go shopping this afternoon and look for muslins. We will need some good washing muslin – you are growing so much that you will soon need some new day dresses, and we might as well buy the fabric when we are there – and also something finer for the evening. I think we have time to make something simple for Saturday.’

It was all arranged. Eleanor sketched and practised the pianoforte in the morning, with not one grumble, and I went out riding with Charles Plainter.

Afterwards, we had a light luncheon and by two o’clock the carriage was at the door.

By that time Mama was looking pale again and Papa said she should not go. Mama was adamant, however, but she did not look very strong and so I offered my services as escort.

‘Thank you, Henry, a man’s arm is just what I need,’ said Mama.

She leant on me heavily as we went out to the carriage and said very little as it pulled away from the abbey. The journey was not too long and we went straight to the linen draper’s. Mama took a seat whilst we waited for the two people before us to be served.

There were some pretty fabrics on the counter and I looked them over.

‘I think that would suit you very well,’ I said to Eleanor, nodding towards a green fabric.

Mama smiled indulgently.

‘That is satin, Henry, quite unsuitable for a young girl.’

‘Then what of the one next to it?’ I asked.

‘No, that is silk. We want muslin. See, there is a bale of it at the end of the counter.’

The assistant was by that time ready for us. Mama held a knowledgeable conversation with him. I attempted to learn, but I succeeded only in throwing Mama and Eleanor into gales of mirth when I tried to help them choose.

‘This is a muslin, I know it is,’ I said, indicating one of the fabrics. ‘Pray tell me then, why it will not do.’

‘Because it will not wash well,’ said Mama. ‘It will fray. Now this, on the other hand, will wash very well. Do you see the difference?’

I could see it when she told me what to look for and I earned a look of approval when I spotted another good washing muslin.

‘Now, as to the pattern, a sprig is suitable for a young girl.’

‘A sprig?’

‘Like this one. Do you see the pattern, there are small sprigs of flowers scattered across the fabric.’ She told the assistant we would take it. ‘Now we need something plain white for evening.’

‘This one,’ I said, picking up a robust muslin.

‘That is not fine enough for evening wear,’ she said. She examined the other fabrics the draper had brought out for her to admire. ‘This one, I think,’ she said at last, holding it against Eleanor. ‘We will have four yards. No, we had better have more rather than less, we will have five. We can always turn the left-over pieces to some account or other; it will do for a handkerchief, or a cap, or a cloak. Muslin can never be said to be wasted.’

I thought we were done, but Mama and Eleanor spent another hour in the shop and then went in search of shoe roses and a new fan before we were finished.

We returned home and Mama rang for tea.

‘Now, tell me what you have been doing whilst I have been in bed,’ Mama said, as tea was brought in.

Eleanor spoke at length, telling Mama all about the handkerchiefs she had sewn, the hours she had spent practising the pianoforte and the numerous sketches she had made.

‘And numerous novels read, I suppose?’ asked Mama, seeing A Sicilian Romance lying on the window seat.

‘Only one novel. Henry has been reading to me,’ said Eleanor.

‘Has he indeed. It is not unsuitable, I hope?’ Mama asked, going over to the window seat and retrieving the book.

‘Not at all,’ I said.

‘Well, well, I think I will be the judge of that. You may continue to read.’

She put the book in my hands, and I noticed that the bookmark had moved.

‘Have you been reading ahead without me?’ I asked.

Eleanor looked at me innocently.

‘No, of course not,’ she said.

‘Then how is it that you are more advanced than when I left?’

‘Well, perhaps I have read a few pages,’ she admitted.

I held them between my finger and thumb and showed her the thickness of ‘a few pages’.

‘Well, nothing has happened,’ she said, excusing herself, ‘except that the marquis has returned and has dismissed Vincent’s ramblings as nonsense. And when Madame said that she had seen strange lights in the uninhabited part of the castle, he said it was nothing but the delusions of a weak and timid mind.’

‘Did he indeed?’ asked Mama. ‘Madame sounds like a sensible woman to me, but I do not think I like this marquis.’

‘His wife is even worse,’ said Eleanor eagerly.

‘And what of our heroine, Julia, and her brother?’ I asked. ‘Particularly her brother. Brothers are very important people, and I must know what he has been doing.’

‘He has just returned to the castle, too, to celebrate his majority. You will like to hear what the author says of him,’ she said, hanging over me and pointing out the passage. ‘Look.

His figure was tall and majestic; he had a very noble and spirited carriage; and his countenance expressed at once sweetness and dignity.’

I assumed the air of Ferdinand, standing up and drawing myself up to my full height, whilst doing my best to adopt a countenance of sweetness and dignity, and Mama laughed.

‘Bravo,’ she said.

I sat down again, took out the bookmark and began to read:

‘In the evening there was a grand ball; the marchioness, who was still distinguished for her beauty, and for the winning elegance of her manners, appeared in the most splendid attire. Her hair was ornamented with a profusion of jewels, but they were so disposed as to give an air rather of voluptuousness than of grace to her figure. Although conscious of her charms, she beheld the beauty of Emilia and Julia with a jealous eye, and was compelled secretly to acknowledge, that the simple elegance with which they were adorned, was more enchanting than all the studied artifice of splendid decoration.’

Eleanor gave a happy sigh, no doubt imagining herself as Julia.

‘Well, this is certainly good,’ said Mama. ‘Simple elegance is always preferable to studied artifice.’

‘At twelve the gates of the castle were thrown open, and the company quitted it for the woods, which were splendidly illuminated. The scene appeared enchanting. Nothing met the eye but beauty and romantic splendour; the ear received no sounds but those of mirth and melody. The younger part of the company formed themselves into groups, which at intervals glanced through the woods, and were again unseen. Julia seemed the magic queen of the place.

‘The Count Muriani was of the party. He complimented the marchioness on the beauty of her daughters; and after lamenting with gaiety the captives which their charms would enthral, he mentioned the Count de Vereza.’

‘The Count de Vereza – Hippolitus – has been admiring Julia, and the marchioness’s heart has been corroded with jealous fury,’ Eleanor helpfully explained.

‘Dear me,’ said Mama.

I continued:

‘ “He is certainly of all others the man most deserving the lady Julia,” said Count Muriani. “As they danced, I thought they exhibited a perfect model of the beauty of either sex; and if I mistake not, they are inspired with a mutual admiration.”