It has been my solace this last nine years, and climbing the ranks to colonel has given my thoughts a positive direction, but I find lately that I am dissatisfied with it and wanting something more. But what more can there be for a man who is above thirty, and whose heart is in the grave?
Monday 9 July
I looked over the new troops this morning and was pleased to see that they looked strong and likely to survive, for the climate kills off so many men I sometimes wonder there are any left to fight.
I opened my letters when I came off duty, and I had a jolt when I saw that one of them was addressed in Catherine’s handwriting. I opened her letter with some misgiving, and I discovered that Harry had been killed. He had been riding home — drunk, I supposed, though she did not say so — and he had taken a fall from his horse.
I looked at the date on the letter. It had taken four months to reach me. Harry would be long buried, and without a son to succeed him, the Delaford estate was mine.
I sat staring in front of me, not seeing my soldier’s quarters but seeing the green fields of Delaford, with the river running through them, and the walled gardens and the dovecots and the tall windows reflecting the sunlight. I thought of the drawing room and the sound of Eliza’s harp, and the ballroom and Eliza’s hand in mine, and the dining room and Eliza laughing at me across the table.
I thought of my father turning me out and forbidding me the house, and Harry lolling on the sofa, saying he neither knew nor cared what had become of Eliza, and my desolation on my last visit. And I wondered, Can I go back there, or will my memories haunt me?
I folded the letter and said nothing of it to anyone, not even to Green, for I wanted to be sure of my feelings before I shared them. If I claimed my inheritance I could leave the army and offer a home to Eliza. I could give her the life of which her mother had been deprived, and in time I could see her marry a good and honourable man, someone who would love her and would not care about the circumstances of her birth.
I thought of my Eliza, and how happy she would have been to think of her daughter at Delaford. I remembered her saying to me, in the rose garden, how much she loved the house, and I knew then that I would go home.
Tuesday 10 July
I spoke to my commanding officer, telling him that I would be leaving the army. He expressed his surprise and dismay, but, on learning that I had come into property, he congratulated me and wished me well for the future.
My fellow soldiers rejoiced at my good fortune. Only Green was downcast, but once I had invited him to stay with me the next time he was home on leave, he became more cheerful and sincerely wished me well.
And so I am to leave the Indies, which have been my home for more than a decade, and return to England. I do not know whether I am happy or apprehensive, but, whatever my feelings, I am now irrevocably set upon that path, and a few more months will find me at home.
Wednesday 5 December
This morning I visited Eliza’s grave, something I have never dared to do since the terrible day I buried her. I told her of my good fortune and I promised her that I would make her daughter happy. The wind sighed, and I thought that she had heard me.
Thursday 6 December
I dined with Leyton. He is now the proud father of four children, and he was delighted to learn of my inheritance.
‘This is splendid news, Brandon,’ he said, as we sat over our port. ‘It is about time you settled down.’
‘I can afford to, now.’
‘Have you been back to Delaford yet?’
‘No. I have some business to attend to in London first — ’
‘Buying a carriage, I hope.’
I smiled. ‘Yes, I mean to set myself up well. And then I want to visit Eliza.’
It was a relief to talk about her, for he is one of the few people who knows of her heritage. To the world at large she is my ward, although I am aware some people impute a closer connection, believing her to be my child, but to Leyton she is Eliza’s daughter.
‘It will do her good to have a settled home. Will you take her to live with you? ’
‘Not yet. She likes her teachers, and she has made many friends at school. I mean to have her with me in the holidays, but I am persuaded she will be happier in familiar surroundings with familiar people for the time being.’
‘You must buy her a pony.’
‘I intend to, and to teach her to ride.’
‘And a pianoforte. Abigail has one with a sweet tone. You must come to dinner tomorrow, and I will encourage her to play for you.’
‘I am relieved you have two daughters, Leyton, for at least I have someone to ask about Eliza’s welfare. Otherwise I would be lost.’
‘We are all lost!’ he said. ‘Women are incomprehensible creatures, even at so tender an age, and having two daughters has not made them any more comprehensible to me. They can be inconsolable over a ribbon that is the wrong shade of blue, but let some real tragedy befall them and they bear it like a man, indeed far better than many men I have known. But I will do my best to help.’
Wednesday 12 December
I visited Eliza at school today. She was lively and cheerful, telling me all about her studies, her masters and her friends. I told her I had inherited a house, and that I had left the army. She was excited to learn that she would be able to visit me in the holidays, and I have promised her that she can invite a friend to stay.
1793
Thursday 10 January
I was apprehensive about coming back to Delaford, but my fears were misplaced, for Delaford as my estate is very different from a Delaford ruled over by my father or brother. I have found a good manager and appointed a new housekeeper and together we are setting about restoring Delaford to its rightful condition. The house is already looking brighter, for with a new staff of maids to help her, Mrs Trent has seen to its cleaning. The main rooms are now well polished, with not a trace of dust to be found anywhere. They need new decorations, however, and I thought how Eliza would have loved to choose them!
The stables are improving. I have a hunter and a road horse for myself, and I have found a suitable pony for Eliza. It is gentle, and yet it has some spirit. She should really have learnt years ago but it is not too late, and I mean to make a horsewoman of her.
Monday 21 January
I dined with Leyton at his home and I was pleased to renew my acquaintance with Sir John Middleton.
‘I cannot believe you have not met my wife, Mary, yet. You must come and stay with us at Barton, then you and she can get to know each other,’ he said, in his usual warm and friendly manner.
He would not take no for an answer.
‘You can meet my sons, too. Upon my soul, they are the finest boys you have ever seen. Mary and her mother agree with me. Ay, I know what you are thinking, it is a family’s partiality, but you are wrong. I will prove it to you when you come and stay with us. You will be able to see for yourself.’
Leyton laughed and said that he must lay claim to the finest boys I had seen, and the two fathers argued it out, deciding in the end that there were four fine boys in the world and their names were Leyton and Middleton. I said that I would lay claim to the finest girl, and then paused, for I had not meant to mention Eliza. But the words could not be recalled, and I told Sir John about my ward, and he said she sounded a very fine girl, at which Leyton suggested we join the other fine girls, and we finished our port and rejoined the ladies in the drawing room.