Tuesday 23 April
Despite our father’s good humour yesterday, and despite – or rather, perhaps, because of – his excessive compliments to Catherine before he departed, it is still a relief to have the abbey to ourselves. His presence always damps our spirits but today we did exactly as we pleased and laughed as loud and long as we liked. We were entirely at ease and did not worry about anything at all, not even being five minutes late for dinner.
‘This is how it will be when we are married,’ I said to Eleanor, when Catherine had retired for the night. ‘I am sorry for it, but there it is. My wife will not secretly resent you, as you believed when we were children. She will not slowly poison you, or lock you in the attic.’
Eleanor gave a sigh.
‘We must all bear our disappointments in life, dear brother, and it seems that having a good and charming sister, who loves me as much as I love her, is destined to be one of mine.’
Friday 26 April
I believe there has never been so much laughter at the abbey. Eleanor is lighter of spirits than she has been for a long time, and, as she has persuaded Catherine to stay for some weeks more, I am looking forward to the weeks to come. The better weather is here, we are out of doors all day, and Catherine is as energetic as we could wish, matching us on every walk. And when Eleanor is tired – or says she is tired – Catherine and I walk together and talk nonsense which nevertheless amuses us both. With her I can be myself and she is fast losing most of her shyness and, with me, showing more of herself every day.
Saturday 27 April
Alas, duty calls and I am spending today and tomorrow at Woodston, attending to the duties that I have most shamefully neglected during the week. But I will be returning to the abbey on Monday and that must be my reward.
Monday 29 April
What a difference a week makes! I can scarcely believe it. How could my father do such a thing? It is only a few days ago that he was eager to take Catherine to London, and to use her so shamefully ... When I returned to the abbey and found him in the stables, giving instructions for the coach to be readied for a journey to Hereford, I was astonished.
‘Ah, Henry, so you are here,’ he said, looking up and seeing me. ‘Pray ready yourself immediately for a journey. We are going to Lord Longtown’s for a fortnight,’ he said.
I was even more astounded, and asked why, at such short notice, we were to travel so far but, instead of enlightening me, he became angry and ordered me to do as he said. I, of course, told him that it was impossible as I had left my parish business in Woodston half-finished and that there was Miss Morland to be considered, too.
‘Miss Morland!’ he exploded, going red in the face. ‘Never mention her name to me again. That deceitful, scheming, bragging—’
I was shocked at his outburst, for I had often seen him angry, but never with so little cause.
‘You are never to think of her again,’ he went on. ‘Now pack your things at once, we are to leave after dinner.’
‘An excellent time for starting a journey!’ I remarked, thinking he must have run mad.
‘Enough of your impertinence, I have been lenient with you for too long. I command you to be here in an hour’s time, ready to go with your father – your father, mark you, who has the right to command you – on a long-standing engagement.’
‘So long-standing that I have heard nothing of it until today,’ I returned in astonishment.
‘You are growing insolent,’ he said, becoming ever more angry. ‘It is the way with young people nowadays, I see insolence all around me.’ He broke off to shout at the grooms, who scurried away from him, affrighted, to do his bidding. Then he began to shout at me again, but having my independence I took no notice of his roars and said that if he was determined to go, I would make my apologies to Miss Morland for this sudden departure and offer to escort her home.
‘I have already sent her packing. She left yesterday morning on the first coach.’
I could not believe it.
‘But that must mean she was forced out of the house at daybreak!’ I said, appalled.
‘And not a moment too soon. We have been duped, led to believe that she was an heiress, when she was nothing of the sort. A young lady of great expectations was how she represented herself, with a dowry of ten or fifteen thousand pounds, and the heir to Mr Allen’s estate as well – the future heiress of Fullerton! Pah!’
‘How can you have come by such a strange fancy! She never said anything of a fortune or expectations!’
‘No, she was too clever for that, but I had it all from Mr Thorpe, who, being intimate with the family, knew it all. The Morlands imposed on him just as they imposed on us. James Morland was engaged to Thorpe’s sister, on the understanding that he was a man of fortune, and Thorpe himself had hopes of Miss Morland. Well, he may have her now and welcome to her!’
‘You surely did not place any reliance on the word of a man like Thorpe?’ I asked.
‘And why should I not, when he was so intimate with the family, and when the Allens were there for all to see, childless, and taking a great interest in Miss Morland.’
‘So that is why you invited her to the abbey,’ I said grimly. ‘I wondered, but thought it impossible you should think she was rich, when everything she said and did gave the lie to such a belief. Her clothes alone should have told you as much.’
‘The Morlands have deceived everyone,’ said my father, lost to reason. ‘The Thorpes have been cruelly used. Having pretended to be able to give his son a generous allowance on his marriage, when brought to the point, Miss Morland’s father had to acknowledge himself incapable of giving the young people even a decent support. The whole family are tricksters: a necessitous family; numerous, too, almost beyond example; by no means respected in their own neighbourhood; aiming at a style of life which their fortune does not warrant; seeking to better themselves by wealthy connections; a forward, bragging, scheming race.’
‘Enough!’ I said, ashamed of him, and of the avarice and folly that had led to him courting Catherine, making much of her, and then turning her out of the house; proving himself, in short, to be little less a villain than she had dreamt him. ‘I will not go to Hereford with you. I will not go anywhere until I know that Miss Morland is safe.’
And with that I went into the house, where Eleanor greeted me with tears, so that I could hardly comfort her.
‘Oh Henry! I am glad you are home! I have had such a terrible time,’ she said. ‘You will never guess – our father – lost to all reason – to turn her out of doors... ’
It was some minutes before I could get anything more from her, but having persuaded her to tell me all, she gathered her thoughts, and what she said did nothing to soften the picture I had acquired of events. Quite the opposite, for it had been even worse than I supposed.
‘My father returned to the abbey on Saturday night in a towering rage and told me to send Miss Morland packing at once. I tried to reason with him, but to no avail. He frightened me with his raging and at last I had to do his bidding. As you can imagine, I was a most unwilling messenger. After what had so lately passed, when I had persuaded her to remain with us for many, many weeks longer, I had to tell her that she was no longer welcome. In short, I had to tell her a tale of such obvious fabrication that I blushed to utter it: that our father had recollected a prior engagement and that she had to leave. I was made to tell her that we must leave on Monday, and that it would not be in my power to see her again. She, dear innocent, was surprised and dismayed, but showed her true worth by summoning a smile and saying that she could go on Monday very well, and that her father and mother’s having no notice of it was of very little consequence, for she was sure my father would send a servant with her half the way, and then she would soon be at Salisbury, and then only nine miles from home.’