‘Can it really be the wind?’ I said, ‘or is it the low moan of a nun, walled up behind the chimney?’
She shivered and her eyes sparkled.
‘Are there really nuns here? Were there, I mean?’
‘This being an abbey, it is probable,’ I said. ‘Who knows what terrible rites have been enacted within these walls?’
‘Henry!’ said Eleanor.
But she need not have worried, Miss Morland was entranced by the idea. To be in a real abbey was a great excitement to her, and as I watched her I found myself well entertained. To be able to tease a woman is surely as important a part of love as being able to like her or respect her.
‘But what is that?’ I said. ‘The curtain moved! What malevolent being roams outside, waiting to enter?’
Miss Morland was thrilled but said stoutly, ‘It is only the wind, stirring the curtain.’
‘If I could only be sure.’
‘Then pray, Mr Tilney, go and look,’ she said.
‘I am afraid!’ I said.
Eleanor laughed and said, ‘I will.’
‘Ah! Shamed by my sister! A slip of a girl! Then I must do the manly thing.’
And so saying I took a candle from the mantelpiece and made a show of looking behind the curtain, much to Miss Morland’s delight.
‘It is as you say, just the wind,’ I remarked.
By the time the party broke up, it was raining violently. As the storm raged round a corner of the abbey, it closed a distant door with a bang and Miss Morland jumped. Her candle flickered, and her face was a sight to behold.
‘What evil beast pursues us?’ I asked.
She looked at me in awe, then caught my laughter and blushed at her own ready thoughts, but although she knew I had been teasing her, there was still a sense of expectancy about her; enough to give her a few pleasurable thrills before her first night in such an ancient building was passed.
‘Do not forget that I am only two doors down from you if you should need anything,’ said Eleanor to Miss Morland, as I left them to go to my own room.
Miss Morland looked grateful; for, whilst it is undoubtedly exciting to think of all the terrible things that might happen in the deep, dark reaches of the night, it is also comforting to know that help is on hand if any headless spectres should happen to creep out of the woodwork.
Saturday 23 March
A bright morning succeeded the tempest of the night, and the sun was streaming in at the windows as I sat down to breakfast at a little after eight o’clock. The ladies were not yet up and my father had already eaten so that I was alone, until Miss Morland hurried into the room; afraid, no doubt, that my father would be there, and that he would be as angry about timekeeping as he had been yesterday evening.
‘Miss Morland! You are up bright and early. And how are you this morning. You slept well, I hope? No sinister apparitions disturbed you in the night? No weeping nuns or dreadful monks made their way into your room, their faces hidden by cowled habits, and dangerously flickering candles held in their bloodstained hands?’
She looked embarrassed and confessed that the wind had kept her awake.
‘But we have a charming morning after it,’ she added, eager to change the subject, for she was ashamed of her weakness; another thing which endeared her to me. ‘Storms and sleeplessness are nothing when they are over.’ Her eyes wandered out to the gardens. ‘What beautiful hyacinths!’ she remarked. ‘I have just learnt to love a hyacinth.’
I allowed her to change the subject and we discussed flowers at length, until my father walked in. His smiling compliments announced a happy state of mind, but his hint of early rising unsettled her and evidently brought all her memories of his dislike of tardiness to mind. She murmured something about having been kept awake by the wind and therefore sleeping longer than usual, and he apologized for the weather, as though it had been his fault, and said he hoped she would not be similarly discommoded this evening. She sought for a safe topic of conversation and found it in the breakfast set. She remarked on its fineness and my father, who had chosen it, was restored to good humour.
‘It is very kind of you to say so; you, who must have seen much finer things in Mrs Allen’s house,’ he said expansively. ‘But it is neat and simple, and I have a great liking for it. Moreover, I think it right to encourage the manufacture of my own country; and for my part, to my uncritical palate, the tea is as well-flavoured from the clay of Staffordshire, as from that of Dresden or Sèvres. It is quite an old set, of course, purchased two years ago. The manufacture has much improved since that time; I have seen some beautiful specimens when last in town, and if I were not perfectly without vanity of that kind, I might have been tempted to order a new set. I trust, however, that an opportunity might ere long occur of selecting one – though not for myself.’
My father’s comment took me by surprise, but I could not fail to understand it. Indeed, I think that Miss Morland was the only one at the table who did not understand him. He saw her as a bride for me! I was astonished. He had always wanted me to marry well, and the idea of him smiling on a match between me and a country miss was entirely out of character for him. I found myself wondering whether he thought the Morlands were an old family, perhaps related to some titled person, and if that was the attraction for him, not money. I put the idea to Eleanor when we were alone after breakfast, Miss Morland having left us to write to her family.
‘It is possible, I suppose,’ she said.
‘I will endeavour to find out. I have to go to Woodston for a few days and will soon be on my way. There are sermons to be preached, parishioners to be visited and pen-wipers to be accepted. Then, too, there is parish business to discuss. The possibility of diverting the stream is as important to the people of Woodston as the battles raging on the continent are to my brother. But I mean to look into Miss Morland’s ancestry. It seems clear, from everything she has said, that she is not wealthy, and so my father is either deluding himself for reasons we cannot begin to fathom, or else he thinks she will bring with her an antique pedigree that will add to our consequence in the world.’
We parted, but met again in the hall, where Miss Morland and my father were also gathered in time to see me mount my horse and set out for my parish. I caught a glimpse of Miss Morland at the window of the breakfast-room, and I smiled to think of her eyes following me as I disappeared down the drive.
The day being fine, the journey was a pleasant one and I found myself thinking of my affections and wondering if they would prosper. Would Miss Morland be descended from an old and venerable branch of a mighty family, delighting my father and allowing him to overlook her lack of fortune? Or would she be nothing more than Miss Morland of Fullerton, and would my father’s interest in her wane? Would he send her away at the end of her visit with an invitation to visit again, or with nothing more than a half hearted wish for the comfort of her journey?
And I? What did I want? As I turned into the drive of the parsonage, I thought it would be brightened by her amusing fantasies, her adoration – I am only human! – and her smiling face.
I could almost hear Frederick laughing at me. Women! Never trust them! Play with them, amuse yourself, but never let them close to the heart of you. But the spring air was having its effect on me and I thought that nothing would please me more than Catherine – yes, Catherine! – at Woodston.