‘She’s too old to be learning,’ said Jacobs, who I am sure must be a hundred, for I remember him sitting me on my first pony, and he appeared to be at least seventy then.
But she proved him wrong, mounting with courage and soon gaining confidence as she walked around the stable yard.
‘Ah, just like her mother, a natural horsewoman,’ said Jacobs, shamelessly changing tack as he saw that she had the makings of a fine horsewoman. ‘I always said she’d take to it. It’s in the blood.’
Wednesday 10 April
I returned Eliza to her school today and I was pleased to see that she was greeted cheerfully by the other girls. I am lucky that she is so happy.
Friday 12 April
The Middletons arrived this afternoon, together with Mrs Jennings. She is a strange mixture of a good heart, a long tongue and an ear for gossip. She soon learnt from one of the maids that a little girl had been staying with me.
‘A pretty little thing by all accounts,’ she said.
‘That was my ward,’ I told her.
‘Your ward, eh, Colonel? My, but you’re a sly one. Well, well, we’ll say no more about it.’
She was not as good as her word, however, for she continued to talk about wards, secret children and the wrong side of the blanket for the rest of the evening. Her daughter ignored her, being too well-bred to understand what her mother was making plain. Sir John, as always, pretended not to hear. It is a gift he has cultivated, and one which, I am sure, is necessary, when he spends much time with his good-hearted mother-in-law.
Saturday 13 April
I took a great delight in showing my guests around Delaford. Leyton was much impressed and said I had done well for myself. He said he would like to buy some small place in the country, and we talked about suitable properties in the neighbourhood, although he felt it would probably be too far from town. Sir John was impressed with the improvements I had made to the estate.
This evening, I invited some of my neighbours to dine, for I knew that Sir John liked company, and we had a convivial evening.
‘Lord, Colonel, how you did set all the maidens in a flutter! ’ said Mrs Jennings, as the last of my guests left the house. ‘You’ll have to choose one of them, so better make it sooner rather than later, before you break too many hearts!’
I borrowed Sir John’s habit and, after smiling politely, did not hear her.
Friday 19 April
Charlotte Jennings joined us for dinner this evening, as she was on her way to visit a friend and had to pass through the neighbourhood.
Mrs Jennings, who had gone to meet her from the stage, lost no time in saying that Charlotte had acquired a collection of beaux on her journey.
Charlotte, growing more and more like her mother, replied, ‘Oh, Mama, you make me laugh! As if Mr Walstone had eyes for me, and me still in the schoolroom.’
‘Not for much longer, eh, miss?’ asked Sir John. ‘What is it, another month or two and then you’ll be free of the schoolroom, and coming out, if I do not miss my guess.’
‘And married soon after, I’ll warrant,’ said Mrs Jennings. ‘My girls are beauties, though I say so myself. Just look at Mary.’
Mary contrived to busy herself with the tea things.
‘And now there’s Charlotte blossoming before my very eyes. I shall have trouble fighting all the men off. Your little ward will not be in the schoolroom much longer, either, Colonel. They grow up so quickly. One minute they’re crawling round on all fours, the next minute they’re getting married! I declare it only seems a week ago since Mary was in her cradle. ’
She ran on in similar vein, and as she did so, I thought that, although it was some years away, I would need some advice on finding a good woman to live with Eliza. I did not disturb Mrs Jennings, but I asked Leyton’s wife when I had her alone for a time, and she gave me some sensible guidance, for which I was very grateful. She also said that I could call on her for assistance at any time, and I am persuaded I will take her at her word when the time comes.
1796
Tuesday 5 January
I laughed at Mrs Jennings three years ago for saying that children grow up very quickly, but Eliza is growing up before my eyes. She has gone to Bath with a school friend, Susan Southey, whose father, a man I know to be respectable, is visiting the town in order to take the waters. I am persuaded that she will enjoy herself, for bonnets seem to form the chief part of her conversation and there are plenty of bonnets in Bath!
I have decided to buy her a new horse. She will need something better than her pony when she joins me for Easter.
Tuesday 19 January
I had a letter from Eliza this morning, telling me all her news.
I have never seen so many shops, she wrote. Susan needs a new bonnet and her maid is taking us to the milliners this afternoon, then we are going to the circulating library. There are some very fine books on history to be found there.
I smiled at the notion of her carrying home a pile of books on history. If she shared her mother’s tastes, she would be carrying home a pile of books on poetry, or the latest romances!
Thursday 4 February
Eliza has disappeared! Oh God, where is she?
Southey’s letter reached me this morning, and couched in roundabout terms, he told me that Eliza had vanished. I was immediately alarmed and I set off for Bath at once.
Southey, looking very frail, could tell me nothing except that Eliza and Susan had gone out walking on Tuesday and that they had become separated.
‘Susan did all she could to find her friend but at last she had to return home alone,’ he said. ‘She hoped to find Eliza waiting for her, but alas! that was not the case. We kept expecting her at any minute, but when it grew dark and there was still no sign of her, I felt I ought to write to you.’
‘And did you not send the servants out to look for her?’ I enquired.
‘I am a sick man, I cannot think of everything,’ he said peevishly. ‘If I had known what sort of girl Eliza was, I would not have invited her to keep Susan company.’
I fought hard to master my temper, for he was ill, confined to his chair. I saw that he could tell me no more and so I said, ‘Might I speak to Susan? ’
‘She can tell you nothing. Poor Susan is as much in the dark as I am.’
But I was determined, and Susan was brought into the room. I questioned her closely, and grew cold at what I heard, for it became clear that, because of her father’s ill health, the girls had been free to go out without an adequate chaperon. Susan’s maid was meant to go with them, but it soon became clear that she had a sweetheart, and that she was in the habit of allowing the girls to range over the town and make what acquaintance they chose whilst she conducted her own dalliance.
‘That was very wrong of her,’ said Mr Southey.
I pressed Susan, but she declared that she knew no more: that she and Eliza had gone out for a walk, that her maid had stopped to speak to her sweetheart, that Eliza and Susan had walked on together, that they had been separated in a crowd, and that Susan had had to return home alone.
As she spoke, I was convinced that she was lying. There was an air of obstinate and ill-judged secrecy about her. She kept giving me sly looks, to see if I believed her, and I was convinced that, at the very least, she knew more than she was saying. But question her as I might, she would not admit to knowing what had happened.
I left the house at last, disgusted with Susan, and set about conducting my own enquiries, but I could find no trace of Eliza.