A Clandestine Correspondence
Chapter 1: April
All the recent talk about Henry Tilney and Northanger Abbey got me thinking...
From the final chapter of Northanger Abbey:
...they parted, endeavouring to hope that such a change in the General, as each believed almost impossible, might speedily take place, to unite them again in the fullness of privileged affection. Henry returned to what was now his only home, to watch over his young plantations, and extend his improvements for her sake, to whose share in them he looked anxiously forward; and Catherine remained at Fullerton to cry. Whether the torments of absence were softened by a clandestine correspondence, let us not inquire.
Woodston Parsonage,
24 April, 1798
My dear Miss Morland,I send this letter with no little fear that it will be returned unread. Despite your kind assurances, upon two days' sober reflection I realize that I have been foolish to expect a young lady like yourself, so sweet and lively, capable of engaging the affection of any man of discernment, to wait an indefinite period to be married. I am especially foolish to expect you to wait for the approbation of a man who has treated you in such an abominable way as my father.
Do not think that I am censuring the decision of your parents in any way. Were I in their position, I believe my behavior would exactly correspond to theirs. They are excellent and honourable people, and I cannot expect them to sanction their daughter's union to a man whose family has offered their hospitality and then driven her from their door. When I think of you alone in that post-chaise my heart breaks. Eleanor has told me how bravely you climbed in and drove away. I assure you, Miss Morland, it would not have happened had I been at the Abbey. I would have driven you to Fullerton myself, in spite of my father's commandments, or prevented your expulsion entirely. I should be ashamed of the way I felt when my father told me what he had done; those emotions do not speak well of me as a respectful son, or as a clergyman. I trust that time will allow the anger to dissipate, hopefully to be replaced with your love.
I end this epistle with a heavy heart, uncertain of my reception. My hope is that, no matter what the outcome of this separation, you are aware that my regard is as steady and certain as the coming of dawn each morning. Until I hear from you again, my dearest Catherine, I remain,
Your most affectionate and devoted servant,
HENRY TILNEY
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Fullerton Parsonage,
27 April, 1798
My dear Mr. Tilney,You are correct in stating that my parents are most excellent people. When your letter arrived, I was taken aback when I recognized your hand on the direction; my mother stood nearby, and I know that she suspected its origin, yet she bid me only to take it away and read it. I ran out of the house to the orchard, where I have spent much solitary time lately, and devoured every word.
I hope that you do not think that all women are like Isabella Thorpe, ready to break her solemn word to her fianc» on the slightest provocation. You may be sure, sir, that my affection for you is unwavering, and that I am prepared to wait as long as necessary for our union. I trust to Providence, and to the good offices of your father, that our wait will not be long. Despite the unfortunate event that ended my visit to Northanger Abbey, and despite the suspicions which I now blush to recall, I cannot think your father entirely at fault. I place as much blame at the door of Mr. Thorpe, whose exaggerations were the mischief that caused General Tilney's misapprehensions.
Have you seen Miss Tilney? Please give her my fond remembrances. I sent her a note when I arrived at Fullerton, both to return some money she had lent me for the trip as well as to fulfill a promise to let her know that I had arrived safely. It was a difficult letter for me to write; I still felt the pain of our separation and the manner in which it transpired. I am afraid that the letter may have caused your sister to think that I found her at fault. If you are in correspondence with her, please tell her that I bear her no ill will, and never have. I knew that my abrupt dismissal from the Abbey was not her doing.
Do not be afraid to write to me. I will meet the post myself every day, and I think my parents will not closely examine those letters that I receive. And please, my dearest Mr. Tilney, know that I remain always,
your devoted
CATHERINE MORLAND
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
30 April, 1798
My dearest Catherine, for dearest you are,My joy upon receiving your letter knows no bounds. I have read it and re-read it. I am surprised that the ink has not worn quite away. I should not have doubted you, my love. Your warm heart could never hold a grudge. I count myself as the most fortunate man in the world to have secured your affection. As long as your parents do not deny us this correspondence, I believe I can stand our separation for a time. But not for a long time.
My sister sends her love. I am indeed in correspondence with her. Paternal disapproval requires that I use a round-about method to which I am ashamed to admit. Your fears are ungrounded, my love; she was all gratitude for your note, and the affectionate wishes contained therein. I hope that they stay for some time at Lord Longtown's. I have no little pain when I think of her, alone at the Abbey with my father. I must turn my mind to find a way to relieve her burden. If I am ever able to turn my mind from thinking of you.
I wish that you were here with me, my Catherine. You haunt my house like a ghost, the most lovely and friendly shade that one could imagine. Many times over the past week I have found myself in conversation with you, in spirit of course, at least most of the time. I fear that my housekeeper is beginning to think me quite mad. She walked into my study this morning as I read your letter yet again, and I am afraid that I voiced my thoughts aloud, although I do not remember doing so. I looked up to see her staring at me as if I had grown a second head. If our separation goes on much longer, the poor woman may feel compelled to flee into the night.
Excuse me while I read your letter once more. I must confess that I return to it less for the content than for the fact that it was once in your hands; those hands that I held in the woods between your father's house and Mr. Allen's, those hands that trembled when I offered myself to you, those hands that caressed my hair when we kissed--no, my love, I had better not dwell on such things lest I do run mad. Know that I think of you constantly, that I feel your absence keenly, that I pray daily for my father's change of heart. And know, my dearest Catherine, my love, that I remain always,
yours most affectionately,
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Chapter 2: May
Fullerton Parsonage,
3 May, 1798
My dearest Henry,
I thank you for your letter, sir. I hope that you are happy and in health. I think of you constantly as well. I also think about the time we spent in the woods, walking to Mr. Allen's house. I try not to think of it often, however; my mother has found me crying so many times that she has spoken to me rather severely. Strangely enough, it is easier for me, knowing that as I am thinking of you, you may be thinking of me.
Please send my love to Eleanor. I can hardly censure your round-about method of contacting her; our own correspondence is barely within the realms of propriety! I take consolation from the fact that we both consider ourselves as engaged. The promises we made to one another, that day in the woods, are as sacred as our wedding vows will be. No, you are right, it is best not to dwell on (rest of sentence obscured by water spot.)
I called on Mr. and Mrs. Allen this morning. I know that you will be glad to hear that they are both very well. Mrs. Allen had just received a variety of new fabrics that she is having made into gowns, and was happy to have someone with whom to discuss them. You may be pleased to know that her highest approbation of a muslin was that "even dear Mr. Tilney would approve." I could hardly keep my countenance. Of course, I cannot tell her of our engagement, since it has not been sanctioned by our parents, and I am sure that Mrs. Allen had no idea how her innocent statement made me miss you all the more.
I have been keeping busy by helping my mother. I am afraid that when I first returned home, I was so despondent, and missed you so much, that I did not apply myself to my work as I should. However, I have finished Richard's cravats, and I am now working on George's shirts. I have noticed that, since my return from the Abbey, my mother takes pains to instruct me on the proper way to run a household. This is not something that she has done in the past; she said that I was so heedless that there was no point, but I suppose that she has changed her mind. I assure you that I attend her instructions closely. I want to learn so that I may be a good wife to you.
Do you remember the embroidered tapestry that I was working on at the Abbey, the one that you so admired? It is finally completed. My father has undertaken to have it framed, and he said that it shall go with me when I marry.
Reading back over what I have already written, it occurs to me that perhaps my parents are as convinced of our eventual union as we are! Does it not seem so to you, my love?
I must end this letter for now. I could spend the day writing to you, but I fear that my mother requires my assistance. Oh! I miss you so much, dearest Henry! Until I hear from you again, I remain,
your affec (water spot)
C. M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
6 May, 1798
My dearest Catherine,
Thank you for your nice long letter! It pleased me to no end. I dare say that it is the nicest letter that I have ever received. And, of course, I mean the word "nice" in any sense that you care to give it. However, I hope that the water spots that I saw on the page were the result of a rainstorm and a leaky mail coach. You were not weeping again over our separation, were you? Try to be strong, my love, for my sake. It pains me so to think of you unhappy. I suppose that there is no other answer for it--I shall have to cheer you by writing an extremely clever letter. Be sure to tell me by return post if a higher degree of cleverness is necessary. An Oxford man should be equal to whatever is required.
I am indeed delighted to hear that Mrs. Allen considers me an expert on muslin. You may tell her that I am always at her service to assist in making her selections. The dear woman shall be the best-dressed lady in Wiltshire when I have finished with her, and I am sure that Mr. Allen shall be delighted with the economy of her clothing expenditures. In the meantime, my love, I shall simply imagine you in an enchanting spring gown of sprigged muslin, your curls tumbling down your back from beneath that straw hat with the white roses that you wore when we walked round Beechen Cliff...a pleasant picture indeed! Depend upon it, I shall retain that image in my mind for some time.
I am also delighted to hear that you apply yourself so diligently to your work. I trust that you will be so attentive to my cravats and shirts someday. You should indeed attend your mother's instructions, but remember that Mrs. Cooke will be here to help you when you take your place as mistress of the parsonage. She asked after you the other day; she said that you were a "very pretty young lady with very pretty manners." I trust that all those "very pretty" compliments shall not turn your head, even if I confess that I agree with them wholeheartedly. And I have no doubts that you shall be a wonderful wife, my love.
I have been considering improvements to the parsonage. Of course, I shall leave the fitting-up of the drawing-room entirely to your discretion. That room shall not be occupied until my beautiful Catherine is here to grace it. However, I must inform you that one of my terriers, Ruby, has taken to sleeping in there, curled up in front of the empty fireplace. You remember how much she liked you when you visited Woodston. Perhaps she is anticipating her mistress' return. Or perhaps she just discerns my moods. I sometimes imagine you in there, comfortable in front of the fire, Ruby at your feet, reading The Mysteries of Udolpho or The Romance of the Forest. Ah, my dear, at last I perceive your motive in accepting my offer: you desire a husband who will not censure your reading material. I may occasionally appropriate it for my own use, however.
Alas, my love, my duties call me away. I assure you that your smiling face shall remain before me as I tend to my parishioners. I can only hope that they will excuse any lapses in my attention this afternoon caused by that lovely vision. Be well, dearest, and write to me soon. Your letters, though delightful, are but a poor replacement for you; but I shall accept them gratefully. Be assured that my most sincere devotion goes with this letter, and that I remain,
yours most affectionately,
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Fullerton Parsonage,
10 May, 1798
My dearest Henry,
Good morning, my love! I am happy to report that your letter put me in much better spirits. This beautiful spring morning also contributed to my rally; I have carried my writing-desk out to the orchard, and everything is so green and fragrant! I am learning to love flowers more every day! However, I am afraid that it is not terribly picturesque. There are no ruins round Fullerton, and Mr. Allen keeps his woods so well-groomed, that there is not a moss-covered stump nor dying tree within my sight. But at least I can write to you, and enjoy the warmth and the scents and the singing of the birds.
I must take exception to your vision of me in the drawing-room. I do not mind that you are thinking about me, of course; but I want you to know that I no longer read novels such as Mrs. Radcliffe's. Although you kindly do not mention it, I am sure that you remember the mischief that such books caused, the mistaken assumptions that I made about your family. I do not wish to be tempted into such flights of fancy ever again, so I have resolved to read no more horrid books. I will go into my father's library and find a book of history, or sermons, directly I finish this letter.
You have sent no word of your father. I suppose that it is too soon after his disappointment to expect his change of heart. Is it terribly wicked to pray for such a thing, Henry? To ask God for my dearest wish, to ask Him to make General Tilney realize that our union is a proper one? I fear that I should not make such selfish requests. I would ask my father, but I do not think that he would understand my question. However, I am sure that you understand.
I am already considering the furnishings for the drawing-room. It must be so pleasant there now, with the apple-trees in bloom! I wish that I could sit in there in the cool of the evening, with the windows open to catch their fragrance. I think green-and-white striped wallpaper and green draperies would look very well in that room. They will put me in mind of the apple blossoms all year round.
Give Ruby a kiss for me, and give Bear a pat. He is quite a nice puppy, but are all Newfoundlands so disorderly, sir? And do not forget to keep a kiss--no, several kisses--for yourself. I wish that I were at Woodston to bestow them in person! Until I hear from you again, my love, I remain always,
yours very affectionately,
C. M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
14 May, 1798
My love,
I am pleased to hear that you are in better spirits. Ruby still misses her mistress, and so do I. And you may be assured, madam, that when we are again together, those kisses that you have sent will be returned a thousandfold.
Catherine, if it is wicked to pray for my father to allow our marriage, then I fear that I am no longer in a state of grace. I have prayed daily, nay, several times daily, that he will give us his blessing. I believe that our Lord is a loving Father who will look kindly upon your petition, coming as it does from your faithful heart. Do not fear Him, my love; he wants you, and all His children, to be happy here on the earth that He has created for us. Continue to pray for a resolution to our predicament, and I will continue to do so as well.
You ask if Newfoundlands are all disorderly. I have never owned one before and so cannot say, but I know that Bear is quite a handful. In the past week alone he has chewed my new slippers and a cushion from my study. Mrs. Cooke is forever chasing him out of her little room near the kitchen. It is quite a comical sight: she runs down the passage, waving her broom and shouting at him, "Git out of there, ye devil!" I have heard her muttering about demons and the Old Nick tempting the young when she sees the puppy, leading me to believe that she thinks him the earthly manifestation of Lucifer. If so, then the devil indeed comes to us in the most seductive forms. Even when I find evidence of Bear's latest misbehavior, he looks up at me with those sweet eyes and wags his tail happily and my anger dissipates completely. And they are famous swimmers; my friend Kimball, from whom I purchased the puppy, has several, and they will go into the most freezing, forbidding body of water to retrieve game. Kimball assures me that Newfoundlands outgrow their difficult puppyhood and become excellent, friendly pets. If Bear does not, I suppose that I can always build a kennel for him outdoors.
So you have resolved to read no more horrid books! I am indeed saddened to hear that. I enjoyed Udolpho thoroughly. I do not wish to discourage you from reading history, my dear, or even sermons, but do not eliminate the stories that have previously given you such pleasure. You have learned that these stories are not real, and that such things do not occur in these modern times, and in such a Christian country as England. That does not mean that you cannot indulge yourself in fictional stories. There is nothing wrong with reading purely for pleasure, as long as you understand the difference between novels and reality.
The apple-blossoms are indeed beautiful. I wish that you were here to see them. I shall have to see them for you, I suppose. They reach into the sky like a graceful lady's arms, clothed in delicate white ruffles just touched with green and brown. She holds the little cottage in her arms, nestled carefully so that it will not break. Her perfume, warm and earthy, drifts through the open windows on the soft breeze, bringing a sense of peace and order along with the lovely scent. Surely Adam had such a sight in his garden, at least until the apples grew. Keep that picture in your heart, my love, and keep me there as well; you are in mine, and will be forever. As always, I remain,
yours most affectionately,
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Fullerton Parsonage,
17 May, 1798
My dearest Henry,
I have received your latest, and would like to express my appreciation for the kind wishes expressed therein. The thought of those thousands of kisses will sustain me for some time, I am sure.
And thank you for seeing the apple-blossoms for me. You painted a beautiful picture, one which I will carry in my mind until I am able to see them for myself. We have apple-trees here in Fullerton as well; I believe that I have told you that my favorite place to sit is in the orchard. The trees bear so very well, apples and peaches and pears and all sorts of good things. I always look forward to the late summer, when the peaches are so ripe and sweet.
I will take your advice about reading books purely for pleasure. Sarah tells me that The Italian has arrived at the circulating-library, and I should very much like to read it. I hear that it is quite horrid. Mrs. Allen enjoys Mrs. Radcliffe's books as well; perhaps I will procure it and read it to her. She is so kind to me, Henry. Last week, she invited me to accompany her to Salisbury, where she purchased five bonnets! And she already has more than she can ever wear! Oh, and she purchased two more for me, the prettiest bonnets you ever saw. Is that not terribly kind of Mrs. Allen? I believe she sensed somehow that my spirits were low and was trying to entertain me, in her way.
You cannot build an outside kennel for Bear! I will not allow it! That poor puppy, to have to sleep outside, in the cold and rain and snow! No, he will remain in the house with his master and mistress, where he belongs. I must insist on this, sir.
I had a letter yesterday from my brother James at Oxford. Poor boy, he is still despondent over Isabella Thorpe. I wrote to him of the half-truths that John Thorpe told your father. He suspects that Mr. Thorpe told those same stories to his own family, causing Isabella to form an attachment based on exaggerated expectations, as did General Tilney. I find that I share his suspicions. I cannot imagine why Mr. Thorpe would tell such stories, unless it would be to increase his own consequence by exaggerating the consequence of a man whose friendship he claimed. But my heart aches for James. I wish he could be as happy as I, knowing that I am secure in your regard.
Oh, Henry! Suddenly I miss you again, so much! Have no fear, I shall not weep. I grow stronger daily, although the ache in my heart for you does not abate. If it does not make you low, sir, you may imagine that I am there with you, walking among the apple-trees. What else may occur among the beautiful white blossoms, I leave entirely to you. I remain, sir,
your affectionate,
C. M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
21 May, 1798
My own Catherine,
Thank you for your latest, my love. I am glad that you are feeling stronger. I must also thank you for the suggestion about imagining us among the apple-blossoms. After indulging myself in this manner, I assure you that my dreams last night were sweet indeed. Unfortunately, my mind keeps straying back to those dreams, and I find this morning that I am quite unable to concentrate on any task more complicated than writing to you.
Do not fret overmuch on your brother's misfortunes. He has learned a valuable lesson, about himself and about human nature. It will serve him well in his chosen profession. He is a young man, and a rational one; I'll wager that he recovers admirably and finds another young lady who will return his affection as warmly as he could wish.
So you insist that Bear remain in the house, do you? I hope that you are prepared for such adventures as I have had. A few nights ago I woke suddenly to find myself nose-to-nose with a panting, drooling, hairy creature, who had not only climbed up onto the bed but also had placed his paws on my chest and his cold, wet nose under my chin. He was delighted that he was able to wake me, and thought that a game of fetch was just the thing in which to engage in the middle of the night. When I tried to dissuade him, he ran around the bed-chamber in circles, barking. Finally, he jumped back on the bed and fell asleep stretched out across my legs, so that I was unable to move. I suspect that perhaps Mrs. Cooke's assessment of Bear's character is not entirely fantastic. But if Mrs. Tilney wants him in the house, then in the house he remains!
What a kind gesture, to read The Italian to Mrs. Allen. It is indeed a very horrid book, my love, and I am sure that you will both find it quite entertaining. I suppose that Miss Sarah will also participate in these reading sessions? Will Mr. Allen be able to survive having three thoroughly frightened females in his house? You may tell him that I do not envy him.
I must return to my neglected duties, my love. Since I am spending more time in Woodston, I am devoting more time to my parishioners. They are such wonderful people; I am sure that you will love them, and that they will love you as I do. Be well, Catherine, and know that I remain
your devoted
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Fullerton Parsonage,
24 May, 1798
My dearest Henry,
I have received your latest, sir, and I thank you for it. I am sorry that my last caused you to be distracted from your duties. I will attempt to confine myself to the mundane and everyday in this letter, that you not be tempted into dissipation. It will be difficult, however; I must confess that I am often distracted from my own work by thoughts of you.
I am encouraged by your opinion of James' eventual recovery from heartbreak. When I think about the infamous way that Isabella treated him, I become very angry. I know that this is not a proper attitude for a lady and a Christian, and I am praying for the grace to forgive her. But it is so hard, Henry, especially when I receive James' heartbroken letters. I try to do for him what you so kindly did for me: write cheerful letters, in order that he may forget his sadness. It was certainly beneficial in my case. Have I thanked you properly, my love? If not, I will do so when next we meet.
How I laughed at your story about Bear! He seems such a sweet puppy! I am sure that his misbehavior will stop when he is a little older. I was a very active, wild little girl myself, and I can attest to the improvements that age bring. Perhaps that is why I like Bear so well; he reminds me of myself as a girl. How is my Ruby? I hope that she does not pine. Do not forget to give her a kiss for me, every day.
I have procured The Italian from the circulating-library but have not had an opportunity to pay a call on Mrs. Allen to read it. Sarah will indeed participate in the reading; we will take turns. It is all I can do not to open it and start reading without them! I must confess that I did glance through it. It seems very horrid indeed! I do not expect Mr. Allen to be about when we are reading. I am afraid that Mrs. Radcliffe's works are not to his taste at all.
I am pleased to hear that you are spending more time with the members of your parish. My father visits his parishioners regularly, and I know that they appreciate it greatly. My mother also calls on them, particularly the sick and the poor, to bring them some soup or some clothing, or just to comfort them. I have begun to accompany her on these calls. I will continue to do so when I come to Woodston, if that is acceptable to you, sir.
Reading back over what I have written, I realize that I am keeping very busy lately! And of course I am still helping my mother with the household duties as much as I am able. However, fear not that I lack time to think of you. Henry, you are always in my mind, and in my heart. Until I hear from you again, I remain
forever your own,
C. M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
28 May, 1798
My love,
It is very late. The house is completely silent. I sit here by the light of a single candle, thinking of you. Bear is sleeping at my feet--actually, he is sleeping on my feet, and I must confess that they are starting to tingle. You would be amazed at how much he has grown in the few weeks since you visited Woodston. The last I saw your Ruby she was lying in the window-seat in the drawing-room, her little head resting on the sill, looking out into the darkness for--what? I suspect for you, my Catherine.
You are indeed keeping busy, my dear! And such wholesome activities! Of course you may call upon my parishioners, the unfortunate as well as the fashionable. I am delighted that you consider Woodston "your parish," and Ruby "your dog." I consider them yours as well, along with all my worldly goods, and indeed my heart and soul. I need not wait for the vows we shall take.
Have you begun The Italian yet? I expect a full report of your reaction, as well as Miss Sarah's and Mrs. Allen's. A detailed report, my love. I would dearly like to be present for that reading, but I shall depend upon your good will to provide a full description.
At this time of day the world seems full of possibilities. It is all I can do not to lay down my pen, saddle my horse, ride to Northanger Abbey, and demand that my father give his permission for our marriage. But I judge that it is still too soon. He nurtures resentment and insults in his heart, husbanding them as I husband the newly-planted shrubbery in the walk, and he mistakenly believes that you have given him insult by allowing him to believe Thorpe's lies. As if you could even conceive such a thing, my own dear, innocent girl! I will not upset you by speaking of him any longer.
It has now been more than a month since we parted. In that month I must confess that I have, at times, felt despair; felt that we should never be together. But tonight, as I sit here in the quiet dark of midnight, my heart is full of hope. Something shall happen, Catherine, and soon, to bring us together. I know that tonight, as I know my own name, as I know of my love for you. I send all my love with this letter, and I remain,
your own,
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Chapter 3: June
Fullerton Parsonage,
2 June, 1798
My dearest Henry,
I have received your latest, sir. I share your sense of hope. Perhaps it is the lovely spring weather, perhaps it is the kindness of my friends, or perhaps it is your letters, which renew my spirits with each sentence. I only know that as each day dawns, I expect the most marvellous things to occur, when the only thing to which I actually have to look forward is reading to Mrs. Allen.
I am sad to report that we are no longer reading The Italian. I am afraid that Mrs. Radcliffe's story has disturbed Mrs. Allen to such an extent that Mr. Allen has forbidden me from bringing it back to the house. She would not discuss it with me, but Sarah had it from our housemaid, who had it from her sister, a scullery maid at the great house, who overheard Mrs. Allen's maid telling the housekeeper all about it. So you see my information is very good. It seems that Mrs. Allen had a nightmare involving Schedoni. She woke up and started shrieking, and when Mr. Allen went into her room with his candle, she was unable to see him properly in the shadows. She mistook his nightcap for a cowl and screamed at him that she was not a Papist and that he could not subject her to the Inquisition. Mr. Allen was unable to calm her for several hours, and her nerves were so badly distressed that they had to send for the apothecary. Mr. Allen has told me in the kindest way to keep my horrid books at home. He said that he is grateful to me for keeping Mrs. Allen company, and has given me permission to read Miss Burney's novels to her. I am going to procure Camilla from the circulating-library, and I am sure that we will go along very nicely. Sarah and I are still reading The Italian at home, however. We sit in the window-seat with the curtains pulled tight around us and take turns reading aloud. Sarah is a very satisfactory sister, and we are becoming much better friends than we were previously.
Writing of my sister has made me think of Eleanor, whom I hope to someday call my sister. Have you heard from her? Is she still at Lord Longtown's, or has she returned to the Abbey? Sometimes when Sarah and I are cozy in the window-seat reading together, I think of Eleanor alone and feel very sad. Henry, we must find a way to resolve our situation so that Eleanor at least can enjoy your company, even if I cannot.
My mother requires my assistance, so I must end this letter now. I miss you constantly, and I think of you constantly, and I remain,
your devoted,
C.M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
5 June, 1798
My sweet Catherine,
Have you any idea of the pleasure that your letters bring me? Whenever my spirits are low, I bring them out and read them over and over. Your latest will be one of my favorites, I suspect. But I have not asked if you are well, and enjoying the warm days. The shrubbery I planted last year is growing well, and I walk there daily, talking to you. Yes, talking! I care not if the servants hear. I read your letters, and we discuss the prospect--you are still an excellent student of the picturesque, by the bye--and I show you the flowers. Have you yet learnt to love a rose, dearest? I would like to twine them in your hair as if you were a pagan queen, then take you in my arms, their scent filling the air around us, surrounding us like a veil against the world and all its cruelties. Yes, I find balm for my spiritual wounds there, and my Catherine is the goddess who brings it.
I am very sorry that poor Mrs. Allen was so distressed over Mrs. Radcliffe's book. She does not seem the type of woman to become upset over such a novel, unless perhaps if Ellena ruined her gown. I am glad that you have found another book to read to her. You have not read any of Miss Burney's books, have you? You will like them very well, I think. Just remember that they are no more alike to reality than Mrs. Radcliffe's delightful works. Will you tell me what you think of Camilla, dearest? I long to be with you, to read it to you, to talk it over with you afterward. We shall have to make do as we can, I suppose.
I am touched by your kind wish for my sister. It is another proof of your warm and affectionate nature. I confess that I have been concerned for her as well. She writes to me when she is able, and I send her fewer letters than I would care to, not wanting to arouse my father's suspicions. He could hardly fail to notice if Alice, who has not a friend in the world outside Northanger Abbey, suddenly began to receive a great deal of correspondence. You may say that my father has no business with the mail received by his daughter's maid, but you were in that house long enough to know that my father concerns himself with even such insignificant details. They have returned to the Abbey, and though Eleanor writes cheerfully, I am sure that her solitude weighs heavily upon her. I wish I could invite her to stay at Woodston, but I fear that would further infuriate my father, and that would hardly be helpful to our cause, my love. I would risk all for Eleanor, and I know that you feel the same way, but she has anticipated my desire and written to tell me that she would refuse such an invitation in any event. She tells me that she plans to take up our cause with my father; she is only waiting for the right moment to broach the subject. Was there ever such a generous sister? But I am falling once again into fatalism. If you were here, my sweet girl, I know you would charm me out of my cynicism, as you did so many times in Bath and at the Abbey.
You do not ask of Ruby and Bear! The devil puppy has behaved very well lately. He has not chewed anything in days, and is even beginning to obey my commands, most of the time anyway. I have great hopes for him come fall. Ruby still follows me around the parsonage; even when Mrs. Cooke puts her outside, she manages to find her way inside by some unwatched door or window, and I look up to see her sitting in a doorway, wagging her tail and smiling at me the way that dogs do. She makes me think of you, and I welcome her presence.
Be well, my love, and do not forget to think of us here in Gloucestershire. Ruby and Bear send their best canine love, and I send all the best love that any man can send to the most wonderful girl in the world. I remain always
yours most devotedly,
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Fullerton Parsonage,
9 June, 1798
My dearest Henry,
I am glad that my letters please you so, sir. I attempt to make them interesting, but I am afraid that my quiet life here in Fullerton does not lend itself to anything outside the ordinary. However, if you find these everyday events entertaining, I will go on as I have in the past.
The roses in Mrs. Allen's garden are beginning to bloom. They smell lovely, and the petals are very soft. I am afraid that I do not yet love them, however. I endeavour to do so, every day. Mrs. Allen quite despairs of me, but I am sure that roses will become as dear to me as hyacinths. I spend time every day in the garden, unless it is raining very hard. Even if it rains in the morning, I will go out for a time before dinner. My mother does not understand how I can go out when it is very dirty, but I have never minded dirt. I mind staying inside a great deal more. And since I have received your last, I imagine that you are in the garden with me, as you imagine that I am with you.
It pleases me to hear that you are thinking of a way to relieve Eleanor's solitude. Do anything that you think necessary; do not hold back on my account. I love Eleanor as well as you do, Henry, and I want her to be happy. Any sacrifice on my part does not signify.
Mrs. Allen is recovering very well from her fright. Mr. Allen allowed her to buy several new gowns, which made her quite happy and distracted her from the story. Sarah and I are still reading it together, however, and it is quite horrid, my love! I cannot believe that Ellena's mother is alive! Although I am happy for her. A girl needs her mother. I can only hope that Vivaldi returns safely. It will be terribly romantic if he and Ellena can marry, do you not agree?
I am glad to hear that Bear's behaviour is improving as he grows older. But why do you and Mrs. Cooke put poor Ruby out? She is such a sweet little dog. I cannot believe that she needs to be out of doors all the time. Keep her by you, and pretend that I am nearby as well.
It is quite late, my love, and I am becoming very tired. I send all my love with this letter, and dozens of kisses for you and for Ruby and Bear. I will sleep now, and try very hard to dream of you, and perhaps you will dream of me. It will be as if we are together, as we always are in my heart, where I remain,
your devoted
C.M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
12 June, 1798
My love,
I hope this finds you well. Forgive my lack of manners, Catherine, but I can wait no longer. I have the most extraordinary news. Eleanor is to be married.
She has informed me that she has not told you her history, and has empowered me to enlighten you. Several years ago, she became acquainted with a young man with whom I was at Oxford, who went on to study the law. He visited me at Northanger Abbey--in fact, he was lodged in the same bed-chamber in which you were on your visit--and he and Eleanor became very attached to one another. Unfortunately, he was without fortune or prospects, and you can imagine my father's reaction.
A month ago, a distant cousin of his died suddenly, leaving no son, and this young man now finds himself named Viscount ----------. As soon as he received notice, he rode to the Abbey and presented himself to my father, who received him with great joy. It is fascinating how a title and estate have been able to endear this young man to my father when his natural intelligence and decency were insufficient to do so. 'Tis a pity we cannot make you a duchess, my dear. Forgive me, Catherine. My bitterness has no place in my sister's happiness.
But to continue my story--my father gave the Viscount permission to offer his hand to Eleanor, and she accepted joyfully. His lordship's seat is not far from Woodston, so I will be able to see her often, and she will no longer be forced to endure the treatment she receives at my father's hands.
I read over what I have written, and I can only hope that you will not think badly of me for the feelings I have expressed. If I cannot be completely honest with you, my love, in whom can I confide? I ask only that you not be overtaken by my anger. I love your sweetness, your joy in what the world has to offer, and I would not have that quality taken from you.
Eleanor has asked me to request that you write to her at the Abbey, under cover to her maid Alice. Even if my father suspects its origin, he is so well pleased with Eleanor these days that he will overlook her digression from his command. She longs to hear from her friends, and to share her joy with them. Please write to her. Her wedding is not to take place for another month, and until then she will be oppressed as much by my father's gratification as she was by his anger. May I ask that you share with her your girlish joy and love of life? It will do much for her, I am sure.
I must finish, dearest Catherine. Be well, my love, and think of me often, as I think of you. I still pray every day that we will be together. Eleanor's joy has renewed my hope, and I beg you to remain hopeful as well. I am, as always,
your own,
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Fullerton Parsonage,
16 June, 1798
My dearest Henry,
I pressed one of the red roses from Mrs. Allen's garden in the pages of a very large and heavy book from my father's library. It is not one that he reads often, and he has not missed it. It is in Latin, which I do not know, so I do not know what the book is about. In any event, I have pressed the rose and I will enclose it with this letter. The perfume is still lovely, even though the flower is no longer soft. I confess that I have treasured roses all the more since you wrote to me about them a while ago, and whenever their scent reaches me, I think of you, my love.
I am so delighted with Eleanor's engagement. I have already sent her a letter expressing my happiness. She deserves all the joy in her marriage that there is in the world. Her story is so romantic, like something from a novel. No, it is a better story than I have ever read in any book. The happiest circumstance is that you will be nearby, and able to see her! I am so very happy for both of you. Eleanor will not have to be alone anymore. She will have her husband, and she will have her brother. What a pleasant thing to think upon!
Will you attend the wedding? I am sure that it will be very elegant. Eleanor is always so fashionably dressed. Mrs. Allen always admired her gowns and bonnets. And she has those lovely pearls that were your mother's. I always think a bride looks so well in pearls. I wish that I could attend, Henry! I have always enjoyed weddings. When I was younger, I used to creep into the church when my father was performing a wedding. There is a splendid hiding place just behind the pulpit, where I could watch and hear everything without being seen. Well, you have been honest with me, and so I must be honest with you. I sometimes still creep into that space and watch the weddings. In fact, I did so just last week. 'Twas a beautiful ceremony. The bride and groom seemed so happy. While my father was saying the ceremony, I imagined that we were the ones taking the vows. I am afraid that you will think that such behavior is terribly childish. If you think I should stop doing such things, please tell me, and I will do so. I know that I must endeavour to behave in a proper manner, and I promise that I will do so at all times when we are married.
James is home from Oxford. I am very glad to see him, although he is still very sad, and he has grown so thin! My mother fusses over him and tries to get him to eat. I cannot understand why he pines so for Isabella. I would understand if she and her family had not used him so ill. He assures me that he does not think of her often, but I see him brooding in the orchard almost daily. I do not know what to say to him, as I am not familiar with the male perspective. Can you give me a hint, sir? Have you any suggestions of how I may help him? I want to help him, badly.
Sarah is waiting for me. We are to call on Mrs. Allen. We are getting along very well with Camilla; we are nearly all the way through the first volume. I like it very much, but I think when all is done I much prefer horrid mysteries. They take one away from oneself. I hope that you remain well, sir, and remember that I am,
forever yours most devotedly,
C.M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
19 June, 1798
My dearest Catherine,
I thank you for the lovely talisman. I keep the rose in my Bible, so it is always nearby. I forget about it, and then consult the volume while I am writing a sermon, or just searching for solace, and the perfume wafts up and I am with you instantly. 'Tis a wonderful gift, my love, and one I will treasure always.
I regret that I will not be present at Eleanor's wedding. My father has made it clear to her that I am not welcome. I do not accept my forced absence gracefully. This union has been a wish of mine almost as long as it has been a wish of hers. My happiness for her is not affected, however. And her joy is the most important concern, is it not?
I was amused by your earnest confession about hiding behind the pulpit to watch your father perform the weddings. You have asked for my opinion, and I will give it. I would never censure you for such a minor thing, my girl. Since time immemorial, young ladies have thought upon marriage, and it is only natural that you would be interested in such things. Would it ease your conscience if I confessed that I, too, sometimes imagine us taking our marriage vows, even while I am leading another couple through their own? If you fear that you are behaving ill, what excuse can a clergyman have?
I do not think that you can help your brother to forget the woman he loved. Your generosity speaks well of your understanding, but time is the best agent to heal his wounded heart. Are there no other young ladies in the neighborhood who may distract him? Not to marry him, mind, just to prevent him from dwelling on Miss Thorpe. I know; you must persuade Mr. Allen to have a ball. Point out to Mrs. Allen that she will likely get a new gown for the occasion, and you may be sure that she will tease him until he is unable to resist any longer. Depend upon it, there is nothing like a ballroom full of lovely young ladies to distract a young man from his troubles.
Writing of Miss Thorpe and your brother unfortunately puts me in mind of Frederick. Well, it is not unfortunate that I think of my brother, but the connection that led to that thought is unfortunate. Eleanor has heard from him, and he will not be able to attend her wedding because of his commitments to his regiment. 'Tis a sad thing when a family is unable to come together on such a joyous occasion. I take my consolation from my sister's happiness. The Viscount is a truly fine young man, Catherine, and I feel confident that you will like him a great deal, and that he will make Eleanor very happy.
On that hopeful note, my sweet one, I must end. Enjoy these lovely warm days of summer, and do not forget to spare a thought for
your own,
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Fullerton Parsonage,
23 June, 1798
My dearest Henry,
I hope this finds you well. I am pleased that my little gift made you so happy. I keep a small vase of roses near my bed all the time now, and they always remind me of you. And they are quite as dear to me as you are, sir. I suppose that I have you to thank for teaching me to love a rose.
You will be glad to hear that Eleanor has written to me. It was delightful to read of her happiness in her marriage, and in her fiance. I have no doubt that his lordship is a fine man, because Eleanor would not have attached herself to a man who is unworthy of her. I hope that I am able to meet him someday.
A ball is a wonderful way to help James forget his troubles! I have mentioned it to Mrs. Allen, and she is all enthusiasm. Unfortunately, she and Mr. Allen are leaving for Brighton next week and will stay until the end of July, so they will not be able to have the ball until August. I did not tell Mrs. Allen that the idea for the ball came from you, since she still does not know of our engagement. Which brings me to another question, sir: how should I behave at the ball? The neighborhood will think it strange if I do not dance, and Mrs. Allen has hinted that I am to open the ball. I do not want to dance if I cannot dance with you. How am I to sit out without giving away our secret?
James and I have been spending a great deal of time together of late. He talks of Isabella to me; he seems to draw comfort from being able to discuss the affair. I am glad to help him, but it is sometimes rather upsetting. He recognizes Isabella's faults but is unable to forget his regard. I suppose that speaks well for him as a lover, that his heart remains so steady. Indeed, he swears that he will never love another woman.
Are you taking care of my dogs? They must be restless, with no sport this time of year. And you must be restless as well, Henry. I know how much you enjoy outdoor activities. Mr. Allen and my father, and my brothers when they are at home, often go out shooting during the season, and they take a great deal of pleasure in sport.
Duty calls me away, my love; I have promised my mother that I would assist with sewing for my brothers. It is not a task that I particularly enjoy, but I will think about walking with you in the shrubbery at Woodston, and my heart will be light. Keep well, and keep me in your thoughts and prayers, she who is
your faithful
C.M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
27 June, 1798
My love,
I am well, and I hope that this finds you the same. I am delighted to hear that you have learnt to love a rose. I have always considered it fortunate that you did not require a fondness for flowers to coax you out-of-doors for your daily exercise, but sometimes the demands of the spirit are as significant as those of the body. Do not forget to feed your spirit, Catherine, with the beauties of nature.
So Miss Morland is to open the ball at Fullerton! Mrs. Allen could not have chosen a lovelier or more deserving young lady. Naturally I am glad that you prefer to dance with me, but do not sit out because I cannot be there. I would not wish you to mortify yourself on my account. I have a vision of you in a gown of embroidered yellow muslin, with matching ribbons in your hair, conquering every male heart in the room. Enjoy the ball, and I will take my own satisfaction from your enjoyment. I ask only that you do not forget the male heart you have already conquered.
I assure you that the dogs are well, still running the house and demanding a great deal of my attention, and my housekeeper's. Fear not that they will ever be neglected. Dogs have a way of intruding on one's notice, ensuring that they will always receive pretty much anything they want. I entered the kitchen unannounced this morning and found Mrs. Cooke feeding scraps of fat to Bear. She was calling him "sweet puppy" and laughing at his antics. He was being quite charming, sitting up and begging for the scraps very prettily. I think we will be hearing no more about Lucifer from Mrs. Cooke, at least in regards to Bear.
Ruby and the other terriers are also well. All of the dogs accompanied me when I went fishing yesterday. It was a very warm day, but they seemed to enjoy it. Bear cooled himself by splashing in the stream and frightening away the fish, but the terriers were a little skittish of the water. They preferred to stay in the shade and sleep. I managed to get Bear out of the stream long enough to catch several large trout, which we had for dinner. The cook prepared them by grilling them with some herbs. My father would have been disappointed with such a simple dish, but I assure you that it was delicious.
I have missed my opportunity to wish you happiness at Midsummer. Among pagan peoples, it is a holiday sacred to lovers. 'Tis a pity we must be apart. Perhaps it is not an entirely proper thought for a Christian clergyman, but I consider Midsummer a magic time. The sun lingers in the sky, tempting lovers to remain out of doors in the indigo dusk. There will be a Midsummer for us, my love, I promise you. We will walk together in that late twilight, watching the sun sink slowly into the horizon and talking together until the light is completely gone. Then, in the warm darkness of a summer evening, I will hold you close and whisper in your ear, words of love and devotion, rendered sacred by the Midsummer moon. Until that time, my sweet Catherine, believe that I am,
yours most devotedly,
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Chapter 4: July
Fullerton Parsonage,
1 July, 1798
My dearest Henry,
I hope this finds you well. I have received your last, and it prompts me to make another confession: I walked in the twilight at Midsummer and thought of you. Fullerton is quite close to the great ring of stones,* you know, and some of the country folk are rather superstitious about Midsummer. I suppose it was on my mind that evening. I did not dare to write to you about it because I feared you would find it blasphemous. I took such comfort from your words. I know that we will someday share a Midsummer moon. How do I know this, you ask? Because Henry has promised it, and I have absolute faith in his word.
I will open the Allens' ball if you wish it, sir. I admit that the idea is terribly exciting. We have so few dances in Fullerton that it will be quite a novelty. Sarah is also to attend. I hope that she will have partners. I am not concerned for myself, but I would be most unhappy if she were to sit down the entire evening. And you may rest assured that no matter how handsome and attentive the gentlemen at the ball, my thoughts will be miles away in Gloucestershire.
I am pleased to read that Mrs. Cooke has become friendly with Bear. I see that the puppy has learned from his master. Charming behaviour always recommends your sex to ours, my dearest. It recommended you to me, did it not? And you see how well that has turned out.
Your fish dinner sounded quite delicious. We have also been enjoying such meals here as well. James went fishing yesterday with George and Richard and my second-youngest brother Edward. It is so jolly, having all my brothers at home! Although I envied them greatly when I saw them setting off with their fishing tackle. When I was a small girl I would have accompanied them. Of course, young ladies such as Sarah and I cannot engage in such boyish activities. We stayed home and tended to our work like proper ladies. At least we were able to enjoy the fruits of the boys' labours--we dined on trout and salmon, served with fresh vegetables from the kitchen garden.
The hour grows late, my love, and I must end now. You are always in my thoughts and prayers, and I remain,
yours devotedly,
C.M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
*Stonehenge is about ten miles north of Salisbury, which, according to Mrs. Allen, is about eight or nine miles from Fullerton, although I don't think that she defined the direction.
Woodston Parsonage,
5 July, 1798
My sweetest girl,
I am in receipt of your last, and such a delightful missive, my love! You were positively arch. Eleanor would say that you are learning bad habits from me.
Speaking of Eleanor, have you received recent word from her? Fear not that she is neglecting you. I know that she has been extremely busy of late preparing for the wedding. Eleanor and her fiance wish to keep the ceremony simple, but my father insists on exhibiting his daughter's good fortune to all his cronies; thus my sister is thrust into the role of hostess as well as bride. How I wish I could relieve some of her burden. And how I wish that I could watch as she and her intended take their vows, or better yet, lead them through their vows myself. I am resigned; I am not to have that blessing.
And I am not to have the blessing of leading you to the top of the set at the Allens' ball. This is how we pay for our pagan devotions at Midsummer, Catherine; the gods of love require a sacrifice from us, and I can think of few more difficult than sitting here in my study on the evening of the ball wishing that we were together. Although I have just realized that you have neglected to tell me the date of the ball! Perhaps that is best. Write and tell me all about it when it has passed.
I hope that it is not on my account that you and Miss Sarah stay at home while your brothers test their angling skills. I have never understood the social dictum that states women should not be allowed the same simple pleasures as men. How could there be anything improper in such activities between brothers and sisters? Do not forget to write and tell me the size and the number of the fish you catch. Remember that it is the anglers' prerogative to embellish the facts. Not lie, precisely, but to embellish.
It is unusually warm here this summer, and we have had little rain of late. I am afraid that the crops will be stunted. It pains me to see my parishioners wearing their worries as plainly as they do their clothing. I fear it will be a hard winter for them, my love. Our concerns seem quite small in the comparison. Nonetheless, my thoughts are with you, as always, as I write. Indeed you are never far from me. Be well, Catherine, and do not forget to think occasionally of a poor lonely clergyman in Gloucestershire, who remains
yours as ever,
H.T.
Post scriptum: I have changed my mind. Do tell me the date of the ball. Otherwise I shall run distracted every night of August with wondering. H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Continued in Part 2
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