John Harwood - The Asylum

“But I fear Miss Wentworth does not agree with her father.”

“I have no opinion, sir,” I replied, “beyond what scripture tells us, that it is our duty to care for those less fortunate than ourselves.”

My father shot me an angry look; Mr. Bradstone smiled and raised an eyebrow, as if to say, I know that you dislike me, but do not imagine that you can escape. Later he remarked—in reference to some business venture, but with his gaze fixed upon me—“I never allow myself to be beaten. At anything.”

When dinner was over, my father insisted I play for them, which he would never ordinarily do; he actively dislikes music. I chose the most mournful piece I could think of, but still I could feel Mr. Bradstone watching me. And when at last I dared to excuse myself, he said, “It has been a pleasure to meet you, Miss Wentworth, and I look forward to renewing our acquaintance.” His tone was just within the bounds of civility, but his eyes laid insolent claim to me, and I left with the dreadful suspicion that my loathing had aroused his interest.

As you will imagine, I scarcely slept. I was dreadfully afraid that Mr. Bradstone might be staying here, and I watched from my window until I saw him drive away in a cab. And then I kept hoping that Felix, too, might be sleepless (he is lodging in Sackville Street, near Piccadilly) and would walk past the house as he had said he might. But there was only the flare of the lamps, and the empty street, and the hourly tramp of the constable’s boots, until I sank into nightmare visions of Mr. Bradstone’s face looming out of the dark, over and over until I woke at dawn and realised the nightmare was still before me.

After breakfast came the summons I had been dreading. My father was sitting at his desk when I entered the study, and motioned me to stand before him, like a child about to be punished.

“Mr. Bradstone seems favorably impressed with you, despite your sullenness. He wishes to see you again, and when he does, you will make yourself agreeable to him.”

I realised, just in time, that my only chance of escape was to placate him.

“If you wish it, sir, I will do my best.”

He gave me a long, disbelieving stare.

“You knew yesterday that it was my wish,” he said at last. “Why did you not obey me then?”

“I do not like him, sir; I am sorry if that disappoints you.”

“It does—and you will not disappoint me again. Mr. Bradstone and I are negotiating an alliance of interests; he is in want of a wife, and a marriage between our houses will cement our association. If he should make you an offer, you will accept. Your duty is to obey me, and you will learn to like him, because I wish it.”

“And when does Mr. Bradstone return?” I asked.

“On Wednesday; he will stay a fortnight. In the meantime, you are not to leave the house—as I am told you have been doing in my absence—”

“It was only to walk, sir,” I said, praying that my face would not betray me—and wondering who had betrayed me.

“No doubt Mr. Bradstone will be happy to escort you. Until then, as I say, you are to remain indoors: I have given orders to ensure that you do. Disobey me in this, and you will be confined to your room. That is all.”

As I crossed the hall, I saw Alfred stationed like a sentry by the front door. He studiously avoided my eye.

I do not know how I managed to keep my composure in my father’s presence; by the time I reached my room, I was trembling violently. My first impulse was to escape at once through Lily’s window. But if Felix was not at his lodgings—or worse, if I was caught trying to escape with my father still in the house—I realised I had better write to him first, and send Lily to find him and bring back his reply. He and I had talked of what we might do if this should happen, and he told me that under Scots law we could marry as soon as we had lived there for three weeks. It was, I confess, more his wish than mine that we should wait until I came of age. “As soon as you are safe beneath your cousin’s roof,” he said, “I can do the honourable thing and ask your father for his blessing. The worst he can do is throw me down the stairs; if nothing else, it may lessen his wrath. But if your life at home becomes intolerable, we shall elope at once.”

Then I began to think about what I could take. I remembered Clarissa’s room stripped bare, her belongings piled on that filthy cart, my father saying, “Be warned; I will not be embarrassed a second time.” I imagined him chopping my beloved piano into pieces with an axe and flinging all of my music into the fire, and my resolve wavered. But if I stayed, and refused Mr. Bradstone, he might do all of that, and more; and once imprisoned in my room, how would I ever escape? Clarissa had been of age when she ran away—it had never occurred to me, until then, that the law had been on her side, not my father’s—but that had not blunted his fury in the slightest. And what if I

had

been seen with Felix? I might have to flee at a moment’s notice.

Sick with fear at the enormity of what I was doing, I chose a small valise and set about collecting things: my mother’s necklace and brooch; your letters; a ring Clarissa had given me in a fit of generosity; a few miniatures; a small dressing case; a nightgown; a shawl—already the valise was almost full. I would have to travel in the clothes I stood up in—not the morning dress I was wearing, but something in which I could run, if need be, without tripping over layers of petticoats. The only thing I could find was a plain white dress I had worn when I was sixteen: the worst possible colour for climbing over a roof, but it could not be helped. Packing seemed to heighten, rather than relieve, my terror; when Lily tapped at the door, I almost jumped out of my skin.

Lily turned very pale when she saw the valise, and burst into tears when I told her I meant to elope.

“He’ll hunt you down, miss; you know he will.”

“We need only hide for three weeks; once we are married, he cannot touch us.”

“But what if Mr. Mordaunt doesn’t marry you, miss? He might ruin you and leave you, and then—it doesn’t bear thinking of.”

“My heart tells me to trust him, Lily. He is the best and kindest man I have ever met, and I cannot stay here. I would rather fling myself from that window than have Mr. Bradstone so much as touch me.”

“Then refuse him, miss. Even if your father keeps you on bread and water, it’s better than being ruined. And if Mr. Mordaunt really loves you, he’ll wait till you’re of age.”

“He has already promised to wait for me, Lily. But I dare not stay, and I shall never be surer of Felix than I am now.”

“Then go to your cousin, miss. It’s a long way from London; you’ll be safe with her.”

I confess I was sorely tempted, and not for the first time. Nettleford beckons like an earthly paradise; but I cannot come to you. My father’s rage at Clarissa will be as nothing compared to his fury at me, and I could not bring that upon you and Godfrey. Nettleford is one of the first places he will think of; our hearts would be in our mouths every time there was a knock at the door. At least in Scotland we have only to evade pursuit for three weeks until we are safe—and then we

shall

come to you, and all your fears for me will be set at rest.

Later:

I have heard from Felix, and we have made our plans. I shall slip out of the house very early on Monday morning, through Lily’s window if necessary; I shall know by then if the door is to be watched at night. Felix will be waiting for me in a cab; we shall drive straight to King’s Cross and take the first train north. Lily and I have shed a good many tears over each other, but I will not take her away from her sweetheart. We went through the advertisements together and found a situation for a lady’s maid in Tavistock Square; I have given her the most splendid character, and she will call upon them when she takes this to the post. Lily will write to me at Nettleford—I hope you do not mind—if she is in want of anything.