John Harwood - The Asylum

So yes, if you are quite sure, do please write to my aunt. I do understand that I must return as soon as I am summoned; I did not realise that my father could have me brought back by force. And you are right to remind me that as a governess or a companion, I would be at the mercy of strangers, especially if it became known that my father had disowned me. I promise to be quiet and to do nothing rash.

Your loving cousin,

Rosina

Portland Place

30 April 1860

Dearest Emily,

Alas, my hopes have been dashed. Aunt Harriet says that she could not dream of burdening you with such a heavy responsibility (meaning, I fear, that she does not trust you to keep me under lock and key at all times), and that in any case it would not be seemly for me to visit you whilst my grandmother is ill. So I must try to resign myself to another six months’ imprisonment—it seems an eternity. How I shall endure it I do not know.

I will have, at least, something of a reprieve when my aunt goes down to Aylsham in a fortnight. My father is engaged in some new venture, and is here even more seldom than usual.

I shall try to sleep now, and hope to dream of you and Nettleford and freedom.

Your loving cousin,

Rosina

Portland Place

Monday, 7 May 1860

Dearest Emily,

Aunt Harriet has been called away to nurse Grandmother Wentworth, who has taken a turn for the worse; it seems she is dying at last. I sincerely hope that she will be as slow about it as she possibly can, for all her professed eagerness to meet her Maker. I could have danced a jig in the hall as the carriage drove off, but restrained myself.

Of course, my aunt made a great fuss over who is to chaperone me and said she must speak to my father; but by a stroke of good fortune, he was away in Manchester when the news about Grandmother arrived, and he did not return until after she had gone. So it was left to me to tell him what had happened. He said nothing of chaperones, so it seems that I am to be left to my own devices while Aunt Harriet is away. Perhaps all these interminable months of being quiet and dutiful have helped to allay his suspicions: he goes back to Manchester this afternoon and will not return until Friday.

At any rate, I shall have the house to myself for the next three days and can play the piano as loudly as I like!

Your loving cousin,

Rosina

Portland Place

Thursday, 10 May 1860

Dearest Emily,

These last three days have been the most extraordinary of my life. I have met—but I must restrain myself, and tell you everything from the beginning.

My elation at Aunt Harriet’s departure did not last. I woke early the following day and stood gazing out of my window, feeling as much a prisoner as ever. It was a perfect spring morning, crisp and bright, and the thought of being shut away all summer was suddenly intolerable.

Then it occurred to me that my aunt had not actually forbidden me to leave the house in her absence. Naylor was in Manchester with my father; the maids all loathe Aunt Harriet, and they would surely not betray me. I do not trust the footmen, but when Naylor is not here to chivvy them about, William and Alfred spend most of their time playing at cards in the boxroom. And so as soon as I was dressed, I went downstairs, meaning to slip out for an hour before breakfast; Lily was to bolt the door behind me and watch for my return from the drawing-room window. But as I was about to leave, I saw several cards on the tray—my aunt must have been too distracted to notice them—including an invitation to take tea in Mrs. Traill’s garden that very afternoon, with “Do come—I should so like to see you—Mary” pencilled on the back.

I had not seen Mary T. since Clarissa eloped; we were never intimate friends, but as I stood holding that card, all the loneliness and misery of these long months seemed to press in upon me, and I felt a great upwelling of anger against Aunt Harriet and my father. Why should I, who had done absolutely nothing wrong, be punished for poor Clarissa’s sins?—as if her death had not been punishment enough? Was it not monstrous of my father to seek vengeance upon his own daughter, even beyond the grave? Why should I owe such a man anything in the way of duty or respect, when I was bound to him only by fear? I resolved in that moment to accept Mary’s invitation. In the unlikely event of my aunt’s finding out, I would play the innocent: “But Aunt Harriet, I assumed you had left it up to me to reply; I thought it only polite to attend.” Besides, what more could they do to me?

And so instead of going out myself, I scribbled a note to say that I should be delighted to come so long as nobody asked me about Clarissa, and I sent Lily off to Bedford Place to deliver it. She had not been gone five minutes before misgivings came crowding in. There was, indeed, a great deal more they could do to me. My father could take away my piano, which, like everything else I regard as “mine,” is not really mine at all. He could keep me locked in my room until I came of age—perhaps even beyond that. He could dismiss Lily, and engage some coarse, brutal woman to be my gaoler. Or send me to Grandmother Wentworth’s house in Aylsham—which he would inherit—and have me kept prisoner

there.

I asked myself what

you

would advise, and I heard you saying, as clearly as if you were in the room: “Be patient; do not provoke your father’s wrath; resign yourself to another six months’ confinement; come to us at Nettleford when you are of age, and apply for a situation when you are safely here.” I made half a dozen attempts at another note, pleading a headache and asking Mary not to call as I was forbidden visitors, but a hard, stubborn knot of resistance prevented me from giving my whole heart to the task. I saw months—years—of captivity stretching before me like an endless desert; and how would I ever summon the courage to defy my father, if I dared not even pass the front door in his absence?

I was still vacillating when it came time to dress, which threw me into another dilemma: would the Traills expect to see me in mourning, which my father had forbidden me to wear? In the end, I chose a very dark grey, and set off in a state of deep foreboding. I can only think now that some good angel—some prescient instinct, at least—was urging me onward—but I must not run ahead of myself.

Just to be out of doors again was quite overwhelming. My aunt always insists upon a closed carriage, and so I had not set foot in the street since last summer. The hubbub of voices sounded extraordinarily loud, the colours dazzlingly bright, the smells so strong that at first I feared I might faint. I had meant to arrive early, so as to have a little time alone with Mary, but three o’clock was striking when we turned into the square, and as we approached the house, my nerve failed me altogether. I told Lily to go on and say that I had been taken ill, but she would not have it. “You’ve been cooped up too long, miss, and you ought to see your friends while you’ve the chance; you know it’ll do you good.”

I had assumed that there would be no more than a dozen guests, but when I was shown through onto the terrace, I thought half of London must be there: the lawn was a sea of elaborate gowns, bobbing with hats of every imaginable colour, and not a single face I recognised. If Mary had not come up to greet me, I should have turned tail and fled; she wanted to introduce me at once, but I pleaded to be left alone until I had collected myself. I accepted a cup of tea and moved away as soon as her back was turned, picking my way around the edge of the crowd until I came to a massive oak, standing close by the wall, and slipped into the shadow of the trunk.

There I must have remained for ten or fifteen minutes, sipping my tea and gazing at the spectacle, until I became aware of a man—a young man—hovering on the path a few paces away from me. I thought at first glimpse that he might be a Spaniard, because his hair was jet-black, thick and glossy, and his complexion had a faint olive glow to it. He was not especially tall, but perfectly proportioned, plainly dressed in a dark suit with a soft white shirt and stock, and a mourning band on his arm. As our eyes met, he smiled warmly, and seemed about to speak, but then his expression changed to one of embarrassment, followed by another, more tentative smile.