I returned, at last, to the inn, where I wrote to Sanders, telling him that I needed his help, and then I set myself to thinking.
Either Eliza was ill, or she had been abducted, or she had run away with someone. The more I thought about it, the more I thought that the last of these was the most likely, for only a love affair could have caused Susan to remain silent.
But why had Eliza run away? If she had met a man, a good man, I would not have stood in her way, even though she was only sixteen. My spirits sank. She had not met a good man. A good man would not have run off with her. She had met a scoundrel. And now she was at his mercy.
I thought hard. Where would he have taken her? But my spirits sank again, for he could have taken her anywhere.
Then I realized that he must have had some sort of conveyance. I asked again at the inn, and then at all the stables in Bath, but I discovered nothing.
Then he must have had his own carriage, which meant that he was a man of means. And he had taken her, for what purpose? To set up as his mistress? Surely Eliza would never have consented to such a thing. But with no mother to guide her ... and then I grew cold, for I thought of another possibility: Eliza, knowing that her mother and I had planned to elope, would have been an easy target for a plausible villain. If he had said that he loved her and if he had promised to take her to Gretna Green ...
But perhaps he had. Perhaps I was worrying precipitately. Perhaps a letter would arrive in the next few days explaining everything.
I clung to the hope, the better to sleep, for I needed sleep in order to be able to search again, refreshed, on the morrow.
Friday 12 February
It is more than a week now since Eliza disappeared and still no news. Surely she would have written to me if she was married? But she might be enjoying herself and her new life too much to think of me. She might write in another week.
I must hope so, for I have been able to discover nothing and Sanders has had no better luck. I mean to keep searching, and I have told him he must do the same.
Saturday 12 March
It is over a month now since Eliza disappeared and there is still no news. I dread to think what might have happened to her. If she was alive, surely she would have written to me? She would want my congratulations if she was married, or my help if she was not. Surely I should have heard something?
Friday 26 August
I met Sanders in London, and my hopes were dashed again as he told me he had no news. In seven months I have discovered no trace of her.
I retired at last to my club, where I met Sir John Middleton. He greeted me cheerfully, for I had not told him about Eliza.
‘You must come to visit us next month, Brandon,’ he said. ‘We have not seen you at Barton for months.’
I was glad to talk to him, for his good cheer lifted me out of my own gloomy thoughts, and I accepted his invitation with gratitude.
‘Good, good. We will make you very welcome, and we will be able to offer you some new company. A relative of mine, Mrs Dashwood, who has recently been widowed, has come to live at Barton Cottage with her daughters. The cottage is only small, but it is capable of improvement, and if the ladies like it, I will alter it according to their taste.’
‘You do not have to introduce me to new company in order to induce me to visit,’ I said. ‘I am very happy with the company I always find at Barton.’
‘But you will not object to finding some new faces when they are there,’ he said jovially. ‘Four ladies! A mother and three daughters, and lucky for me that it is so, for a mother and three sons would have not been to my taste. The sons might have been sportsmen, and if so, I would have been obliged to offer them my game. And if they were not sportsmen, it would almost have been worse, for I would have found precious little to talk to them about. But it is different with ladies. Ladies never take a man’s game! I saw them once, many years ago, pretty little things, and I believe they are held to be very handsome now that they are grown.’
‘I am sure they are,’ I said as we went into the dining room.
‘It is about time you married, Brandon. Yes, I know you have had your share of unhappiness, but that is in the past. You need to look to the future. You are still young. A wife is just what you need.’
‘I have no intention of marrying,’ I said to him shortly, and then I was sorry for my bad manners, for he only wanted to help.
‘Well, you know best,’ he said.
We talked of other things as we ate: of his family and the political situation, of the price of corn and new ideas in farming; and then we parted, he to go back to Barton and I to return to my rooms.
And now my thoughts are once again with Eliza. That she has run off with someone I am sure. As long as she is happy, that is all I ask. But why does she not write to me?
Monday 5 September
I arrived at Barton Court today and I was glad to be among friends.
After admiring the family and greeting Mary, I walked down to Barton Cottage with Sir John. He was eager to show it to me, and to point out what he had thought of doing for the Dashwoods’ comfort.
The day was fine and the walk was a good distance, not so close that the inhabitants of each house would be forced into constant company, but not so far that walking between the two residences was difficult.
We came to the cottage at last, and I was surprised at its appearance, for it looked more like a house than a cottage. It was regular in shape and the roof was tiled, whilst there was a small green court in the front with a wicket-gate leading into it. There was not a trace of thatch or honeysuckle anywhere.
‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked as we stopped at the gate.
I cast my eyes over it and saw that it was in a good state of repair. The roof was sound and the paint on the door and windows was new.
‘From the outside, it looks well enough,’ I said.
‘Come and see it inside.’
We went in. A narrow passage led directly through the house into the garden behind. On each side of the entrance was a sitting room, about sixteen feet square, and beyond them were the offices and the stairs. Four bedrooms and two garrets formed the rest of the house. It had not been built many years and was very convenient in its arrangement.
‘The situation is good,’ said Sir John.
He looked out of the window at the high hills which rose immediately behind and at no great distance on each side. Some of them were open downs, the others were cultivated and woody. I went to join him at the window and saw the village of Barton nestling against one of the hills.
‘The prospect in the front is even more extensive,’ he said, moving to a different window. It commanded the whole of the valley, and reached into the country beyond. ‘Well, what do you think. Will they like it?’
‘I am sure they will,’ I said, thinking that they were fortunate to have found such a home, and such a good neighbour and relative as Sir John.
‘Ay, it will do.’
We walked back to the house and found that the children were downstairs with their nurse. John was well grown for six, whilst William was not far behind him, and Anna-Maria was growing into a pretty girl. Mary indulged them and Sir John played with them until they began to grow fractious, whereupon their nurse took them upstairs again.
‘I tell you, Brandon, you should be setting up your nursery, ’ he said to me.
‘I hope they play,’ said Mary, ignoring him. ‘I am very musical, and if the Misses Dashwood choose to entertain us, I shall not say them nay.’