A Clandestine Correspondence
Fullerton Parsonage,
8 July, 1798
My dearest Henry,
I hope this finds you well. I did not realize that I was being arch in my last! Isabella Thorpe accused me of being arch many times when I had no intention of being so. I do remember that I was in very high spirits while I wrote that letter. Well, I am frequently in high spirits when I think of you, dearest, or when I read over your letters, or when I write to you!
Poor Henry! I did not realize that you felt so lonesome. Has Mrs. Cooke given notice and left her position? Do you find yourself quite without parishioners? Has Mr. Robinson not been sufficiently attentive? Have the dogs run off? Indeed, it must be lonely, in that big empty house all by yourself.
Oh, dear. I suppose I am arch, sometimes! I do not know how that happened!
It is quite warm in Fullerton as well, sir. We have been quite unable to walk out of doors. I envy Mr. and Mrs. Allen the sea-breezes of Brighton. My mother had a note from Mrs. Allen yesterday; she and Mr. Allen both well and enjoying the sights. They are trying to secure an invitation to tour the Pavilion, but do not think well of their chances. Just fancy Mrs. Allen meeting the Prince of Wales! It is almost as good as having royalty in our neighbourhood!
Oh, and in answer to your query, the ball is scheduled for the twenty-eighth evening of August, when it shall be moonlight. I am sure that it will be uncommonly warm. I just hope that it does not rain! Mr. Allen's house has no shelter when one emerges from the carriage, and my hair and gown could be quite ruined by the time I reach the house. I suppose there will be footmen with umbrellas, if it does rain. Mr. Allen is such a thoughtful man; he would provide what is necessary, I am sure.
Father says I am to have a new gown for the ball. I must confess that I was quite taken with your idea of using embroidered yellow muslin. Unfortunately, the mantua-maker had no embroidered muslin, but she had a lovely plain yellow muslin that I believe would meet even your exacting qualifications, sir. I must get out my tambour hoop and embellish the gown when it is complete. I will wear yellow ribbons in my hair, and perhaps some of the tiny white roses from Mrs. Allen's garden. Mrs. Pidgeon, the mantua-maker, has designed the gown in the latest style. I am looking forward to the ball, but oh! I wish you could be there, dearest, dearest Henry! My spirits are suddenly not quite so high. I must close this before I begin to weep. I miss you so, and I hope that you do not forget she who is
forever yours most devotedly,
C.M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
12 July, 1798
My dearest,
I am enjoying this teasing Catherine a great deal! Although I suppose I must shoulder the blame. I took a sweet, unaffected girl that left her home in search of adventure and made her over in my own somewhat cynical image. I hope it is not too late to repair the damage. I prescribe an immediate dose of Radcliffe. Have you and Sarah finished reading The Italian? If you have, I suppose you must move on to The Romance of the Forest. I find there is nothing like a good horrid mystery to make the most tormenting person repent his ways. Imagine how Schedoni would punish you for such behaviour, my dear.
I am delighted to hear that the Allens are enjoying Brighton. Although I confess I am worried about dear Mrs. Allen, especially if she meets H.R.H. I understand his waistcoats alone can make one feel dowdy. The poor woman will be prostrate with distress.
However, my sweet, "dowdy" is the last word anyone will associate with you at the ball. I must send an artist to take your likeness. No, that will not be necessary; I have it in my mind. Such a delightful picture, my love! Will you save me one of the roses you wear in your hair that night? Press it and send it to me as you did the other. I shall treasure it, you may depend upon that.
At last it has rained. Two full days of it, and all the more welcome for the good soaking. The crops are already looking better, and the dogs have certainly been enjoying it, judging by the dirt they bring inside with them. I declare that Bear positively rolls in dirt. And then of course he comes in the house and shakes himself all over Mrs. Cooke's clean floors. She does not object, of course. No creature ever had a more devoted friend. She simply gets her mop and cleans after him without comment. Well, she has cleaned after me for so long without comment, I suppose I should not be surprised.
The sun is setting, my love, and the twilight air is cool, washed clean by the rain. I shall finish this letter and walk through the still evening, watch the moon rise, and think of you, your small hand tucked inside my arm, as we walked through the woods that evening when we pledged ourselves to one another. I send all my love with this letter, and as always, dearest Catherine, I remain,
your ever-affectionate,
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Fullerton Parsonage,
16 July, 1798
My dearest Henry,
I am in receipt of your last, and I have read it so many times that it is nearly in tatters. I do not know if it is the warm weather, the thought of your sister's approaching wedding, or James' heartbroken conversation, but I have missed you acutely the past few days. I keep thinking about the time I spent at North(water spot) with you and Eleanor, and how (water spot) we all were together, and I cannot control my tears. Oh, why did such happiness have to end? Forgive me, Henry, I must--
(water spots)
17 July
Henry, dearest one, please excuse the miserable paragraph that I wrote yesterday. I was not going to send it to you; I know it will pain you to learn that I have been weeping again, but I also know that you would not wish me to hide my feelings from you. So there you have it. I am still sometimes unhappy. Mostly I am strong, and I have much to keep me busy and distracted, but sometimes such feelings come upon me unawares and I am unable to control them. I am truly sorry if my confession pains you. And I assure you that those feelings are under control today. Indeed my mother found me crying in my bed-chamber and immediately set me to work on making a new shirt for James to wear to the ball. She always says there is no cure for melancholy as effective as applying oneself on behalf of one's friends.
Poor James! He declares that he will not dance at the ball. I begin to wonder if this affair, which after all has been arranged entirely for his sake, will have the desired effect. It is terribly difficult for me to support him of late because of my own state of mind.
I believe my own dejection yesterday was the result of a fitting for my gown for the Allens' ball. I am so disappointed that you cannot be present that I was overwhelmed. However, I promise that I will wear the gown for you someday. I believe that you would like it very much. I hope someday to show it to Eleanor as well.
Her wedding day approaches so quickly! She sent me a short note last week, all happiness and joyous anticipation. It cheers me to read of her felicity. We shall be that blissful someday, Henry, I am determined!
My sister Harriet has just come in search of me; my mother requires my assistance, so I must close for now. I send all my love to you and to all at Woodston, and I remain,
your most affectionate and devoted
C.M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
20 July, 1798
My love,
You must forgive me if I am distracted. My thoughts are with Eleanor today. They are married by now, Catherine; my little sister, whose hand I held as she stumbled through her first steps, whom I teased incessantly as a child, whom I watched grow into a lovely, accomplished, capable woman, is a viscountess! It is an entirely new and strange thought. I am mad with anticipation to see her again. I wonder if she will be different, or will she still be my same Eleanor?
We have always been close, especially since my mother's death. I remember when she arrived at Northanger from the friend's house in Kent where she had been visiting. She climbed out of the post-chaise and ran up to the door, all concern. My father had locked himself away in his study, and Frederick was not up to the task, so it fell to me to tell Eleanor that she was too late. It was the single most painful thing I have ever done. I watched the spark of hope in her eyes extinguished by her tears. I could do nothing for her but hold her, trying to absorb her grief although I still felt my own keenly. I pray that you never be compelled to perform that office for your brothers and sisters.
My emotions are strange today, half joyful and half sorrowful. My heart is joyful for my sister and her happiness and her escape from my father's tyranny. And was there ever a woman more suited for such a title? No one who meets her will believe that she was not born to the aristocracy.
And I am sorrowful because my sweet girl has been unhappy. You were correct, dearest; I was pained to learn that your spirits were low, that you wept again over our separation. Sometimes I think that I should not have spoken until I was able to offer myself to you without constraint. No, I could not rest until I had come to Fullerton that day and seen you safe; until I had explained my father's actions, although I could not excuse them; and in order to explain my father, first I had to explain myself. I cannot help but think, my love, that as unhappy as we both are now, our joy will be magnified exponentially when our day arrives. We must take our example from Eleanor, from her silent endurance, from her unending faith, and from her complete felicity as she begins her new life.
With that happy thought, I must close. I feel very close to you today, my dearest Catherine, and hold you in my heart. Be well, and know that I always will be
your own,
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Fullerton Parsonage,
24 July, 1798
My dearest Henry,
I wish I could be at Woodston with you to share your joy and to soothe your sorrow. I remember that little furrow that would arise between your eyes when you were concerned or unhappy. How I would like to sit with you, hold your hand and ease that little furrow. How I would like to make you smile! The thought of my smiling and joyful Henry has sustained me through many a wearisome day. I know that you would not remain unhappy for long were we together.
So Eleanor is a viscountess! It will be strange to call her "your ladyship!" Yet I wish her joy, and I have joy in her happiness. And I am surprised at you for thinking that a title could create so material a change in her disposition! I am sure that you will find your sister the same lovely and caring woman that she has always been. The only possible changes in her as a result of marriage will be for the better, I feel sure. That bit of melancholy that always seemed to be about her will be gone. It was undoubtedly caused by her separation from her lover. Oh, dear! I wonder if anyone thinks there is an air of melancholy about me! I am convinced that I remain much the same. I shall consult with my sister to be sure.
In order to conquer my depression of spirits, I took your advice and accompanied my brothers on their latest angling expedition. Richard was delighted to have me along and endeavoured to show me the proper method of casting for trout. George also stayed with us, calling out directions when his methods deviated from Richard's. James had gone off by himself and was casting in a particular pool which he said had been lucky for him. We were all intent on our task when we heard an enormous splash, and looked around to find that James had been pulled into the stream by a particularly tenacious trout! He was a sorry sight indeed, trying to run on the rocky stream bottom in waist-deep water to retrieve his pole! He finally did so, and climbed out of the stream soaked to the skin and well pleased with his adventure. We all had a perfectly delightful time and caught a great deal of very large fish. Oh, Henry, it was so good to see my brother laugh again. Perhaps now I may hope that his heart will heal.
I have consulted the little account book that my mother gave to me before I left for Bath, and I found a note that I made surreptitiously one day whilst you were conversing with Eleanor. I believe that today is the anniversary of your birth, sir! And a happy and blessed day it is for me. I cannot imagine my life without my Henry, nor do I wish to. Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness today and every day in the coming year, and believe that they come from she who is
your faithful,
C.M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
27 July, 1798
My love,
Thank you for your kindness. You do cheer me, dearest, as no one else can. Your love sustains me through all trials, and your letters comfort me in my dark hours.
I thank you most sincerely for your kind birthday wishes. Frankly, I had forgotten all about it. Eleanor and I always had a small celebration, perhaps some wine and sweets, but outside her presence I had no reason to remember it until my dearest Catherine reminded me so sweetly.
My sister, my dearest, most generous Eleanor, actually wrote to me on her wedding day, shortly before she departed on her wedding-tour. I cannot believe that she turned her thoughts to me at such a time. She was all joy and anticipation, describing the route that they will follow on their tour. They are to travel to the North Riding and then on to Scotland. She has promised to bring back sketches of the beauties of nature that she no doubt will encounter on her travels. The Viscountess ------------ on the Picturesque. I would purchase such a book, would not you?
So you and your brothers caught a great deal of very large fish? If that is meant to be angler's embellishment, my love, it is of such an indeterminate nature that I quite despair for you. I know that it is not an art that comes naturally to your honest heart, so you must practice diligently. I am sure that your brothers will be glad to assist you in your endeavours.
I am indeed glad to hear that James has remembered how to laugh. A complete recovery cannot be far behind. I predict that his heart will be whole once more one month and one night from today, at the Allens' ball. A pretty young lady--not the prettiest young lady at the ball, of course, for all onlookers will agree that title shall belong to Mr. Morland's eldest sister--will capture his attention, and all his unhappiness will be forgotten.
I took Bear out today to practice retrieval in preparation for the beginning of grouse season. His enthusiasm cannot be denied; unfortunately, his proficiency will require some attention. I showed him the decoy and tossed it, but all he did was chase Ruby around in circles. I can only hope that he understands better with real game. The terriers had an enjoyable time, though, I think; they routed an entire squadron of squirrels, horse, foot, and artillery.
And so, my love, another month draws to a close. Another month without you; another month separated from my sister. These warm summer days seem to draw themselves out in an endless loop, and yet how much has happened in the past several weeks! One wonders if August will bring such events. I shall retire and think upon it, Catherine, and think even more upon you, your sweet face, your soft curls, and the way your eyes glow when I kiss you, and I will be very surprised if I am able to sleep at all. I send you all my love, dearest one, and I remain,
your most constant and affectionate,
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Chapter 5: August
Fullerton Parsonage,
1 August, 1798
My dearest Henry,
I hope this finds you well as we all are here. My mother has work waiting for me, but it is not within my power at the moment to sit quietly and sew. I had a wonderful dream that we were walking together in the shrubbery at Woodston, and I wanted nothing more than paper and ink and the opportunity to send you this letter. I can still feel your arms around me, as they were in the dream. Oh, I had best not think about it! Yet I cannot stop!
Mr. and Mrs. Allen are to return from Brighton the day after tomorrow. I am so impatient to hear about her trip. Mrs. Allen is such a good friend to me. I have sincerely missed her while she has been gone.
I received a note from Eleanor. I wrote to her shortly before her wedding to congratulate her. I addressed her as Your Ladyship, and she scolded me roundly. She insists that I continue to call her by her Christian name. It is such a joyful note that it warms my heart to read it. She sent her direction in Edinburgh and asked me to write to her. It will be so good to write Eleanor's name on the direction, rather than Alice's! Yet it will be strange at the same time, addressing a letter to Viscountess ---------- and knowing it still goes to Eleanor.
She writes that they are to visit Northanger after their wedding-tour. I confess I am rather surprised that she will return there so soon. I would think that a bride would want to be at her own home, fitting it up and making it comfortable for her husband. That is what I would do, in any event.
How quickly the summer is flying, and yet how slowly! I am so used to missing you now that it is like a dull ache in my stomach that never really goes away. I hope that you do not miss me as much. I would not have you feel as badly as I do. Be well, my love, and think of me often, but not so often that you pine. You must promise me that you will not. I will not have both of us so. I remain
your devoted
C.M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
4 August, 1798
My sweet girl,
I hope you are feeling better than when you wrote your last. I am all too familiar with that dull ache in the stomach, my love. Have no fear, I do not exactly pine, but I do miss you sincerely. I so enjoyed our time together in Bath and at Northanger, and my solitude weighs heavily upon me. But I have found that the best antidote for that dull ache is a sense of hope.
I have heard from Eleanor as well. Her joy bubbles from the page, but I must say that her hand has suffered. She used to write so elegantly, but now I receive scrawled notes containing a half page of barely coherent, rambling prose, and the rest of the paper is filled with uncharacteristically clumsy sketches of the sights they are encountering. I shall treasure them nonetheless, as I treasure your letters. She promises to call at Woodston when her duty visit to my father has finished. My impatience to see her is only surpassed by my impatience to see you, sweet Catherine. My life is full of blessings, except for the two that I most desire: the presence of the two most important women in my life.
By this time I am sure you have seen dear Mrs. Allen. Has she acquired any reflected glory from sharing Brighton with royalty? Was she successful in her application to see the Pavilion? How I would have enjoyed being a bystander at that tour! I can nearly hear her commenting in a raised voice about the merits and shortcomings of the Prince's taste. I hope that he took the opportunity to ask her advice about his wardrobe. One would imagine that our future King is sufficiently astute to recognize Mrs. Allen's inherent talents.
The sun has set, my love; twilight comes a bit earlier each night as the summer wanes. I always think of you when the sky turns from turquoise to indigo to dark velvet blue. Think of me as well at that time, Catherine, and know that a devoted heart is yours at that hour and always, and that it belongs to
your faithful
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Fullerton Parsonage,
8 August, 1798
My dearest Henry,
I am in receipt of your last, and I am so very glad to hear that you do not pine. Please forgive the despairing note of my last; I wrote that letter in such an impatience of spirits. I try my best to follow your example, and Eleanor's, and maintain hope as my dominant emotion. Your letters help so much, Henry. When I read them I feel as though we are together.
I have indeed seen Mrs. Allen, and Sarah and I have spent a great deal of time at the Great House since her return. They were not able to see the Pavilion, but Mrs. Allen caught a glimpse of the Duke of Clarence and Mrs. Jordan disembarking a carriage. I thought Bath was exciting, but Brighton must be much more so!
Mrs. Allen knows our secret, my love; I could keep it from her no longer. I have told Mr. Allen as well, and I assure you that they have sworn to reveal the news to no one. I know how fond you are of Mrs. Allen and I felt sure that you would not mind my telling her. I should tell you, however, that she takes all the credit to herself for taking me to Bath and for maintaining the acquaintance with you, Eleanor, and Mrs. Hughes. I am perfectly willing to allow her the credit. I care not how it happened, my love, I am only glad that your feelings corresponded so agreeably with my own.
We are full of the Allens' ball here. Sarah is all anticipation for her first dance. She made a list of all the young men in the neighbourhood, and Mrs. Allen has promised to invite them. There is a militia encampment nearby and Mr. Allen is of a mind to issue a general invitation. My mother was rather alarmed at that news. She says that no good ever comes of exposing young ladies to men in red coats. I am not sure that I understand her prejudice, but I suppose she must have more extensive knowledge of such things than I.
I have an appointment to have my ball-gown fitted this afternoon, and so I must finish this letter. Be well and think of me often, as I think of you, especially at twilight as you requested. I shall be in the orchard tonight with you, my love, and I remain
yours as always,
C.M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
12 August, 1798
My dearest Catherine,
It is late, my love, and I am fatigued from a long day of shooting, but I wanted to write to you before I retired. You will be pleased to know that Bear acquitted himself well, and leapt into the lake to retrieve a bird without prompting. And he came home to a feast of fat treats saved all day especially for him by Mrs. Cooke. I suspect that there is not a more contented creature on all this earth as the one that presently sleeps with his head on my right foot. The terriers were, of course, quite jealous to have been left behind. I shall have to go rat-hunting soon or I may have a mutiny on my hands.
I took out my new gun. I purchased it last month in anticipation of this day, and I am not sure that I like it as well as I thought I should. Mr. Robinson inspected it and said that a good cleaning and adjustment should put it to rights, and he has undertaken to do so. I shall shoot with my old guns until he finishes the job, I suppose.
My sweet, I have wearied you with my ramblings long enough. I have not asked if you are well, nor have I asked after your family. How are dear Mr. and Mrs. Allen? Send them my best love and tell them that I hope to see them soon. I am glad that you have told them our secret. They have been good friends to us both and deserve to share our joy.
Your mother is quite right to keep your sister away from the redcoats. They may be fine men in themselves, but young ladies are known to lose their heads when they are about, and it is not unknown for officers to take advantage of a young lady blinded by scarlet. I think you saw a good example of that syndrome with Miss Thorpe and my brother. I know that your good sense shall keep you safe, Catherine, but remember that your sister may benefit from your guidance.
I must end this letter, my sweet, as I am overcome with weariness. Bear has just looked up at me and cocked his head to one side; I can only take that to mean that he sends his best love, as do I. Be well and do not forget that I am
your affectionate and, for the moment, rather exhausted
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Fullerton Parsonage,
15 August, 1798
My dearest Henry,
I am in receipt of your latest. I am so glad to hear that you had a good day of shooting, and that Bear has learned his part so well! But you must be sure to make it up to my Ruby. If I were at Woodston I should do it myself; she should have plenty of treats and a long walk every afternoon. I have no objection to your writing of your hunting. I enjoy hearing about all your activities. How many times have I written you about my ball-gown? You must be weary of it by now!
Permit me to weary you yet longer, Henry, because my ball-gown has arrived. It is so lovely! I feel like a princess when I am wearing it. I have been embellishing it with my tambour-hoop, with Sarah's assistance. She is terribly clever with her needle, and much more creative than I. The gown will be prettier than I dared to imagine. I have only to wish for one thing to make the ball perfect, and I think you know what that is.
Fear not that I shall be blinded by any scarlet coats in attendance at the ball. I remember Isabella's faithlessness all too well; I have a daily reminder in my brother's long face. He is recovering, I think, but slowly. He seems to be looking forward to the ball. It will be a fine distraction for him. But I shall take your advice and keep watch over Sarah, and enlist my brothers to help.
I have been so contented lately, Henry. I have endeavoured to do as you bid and keep a sense of hope, and I have succeeded very well. It helps that I can look forward to the ball. I have never realized before how quiet and retired my life is here in Fullerton. I enjoyed the excitement of Bath, and I am enjoying the excitement of the ball, but I must confess that it will be good to return to our usual quiet pace.
I must work on my gown, dearest, so I will end this letter now. I send all my love to you and the dogs and everyone and Woodston, and know that I never stop thinking of you and that I am,
your own devoted
C.M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
18 August, 1798
My love,
I was glad to read in your last that you did not mind my hunting-talk, but I do not think you realize the danger in which you have placed yourself. In future I shall feel free to weary you with discussions of dogs and guns and horses and hunting-masters.
I know you will be glad to hear of Bear, at least. He is a natural retriever. I am quite the envy of my shooting companions. However, his success seems to have swollen his head. This morning I discovered that he pilfered a volume of Radcliffe from my study and chewed it to bits. Even if you must censure his behaviour, my sweet, you must applaud his taste. I suppose he gets it from you.
I am sure your gown will be lovely, my sweet, but you will be lovelier still. You must wear it for me someday. I have formed a mental picture of the gown, and on the twenty-eighth evening of this month, I shall watch you dancing in my mind. I am sure that you shall not mind if I imagine that I am your partner, instead of some redcoated rogue intent on winning a heart that can never be his, a heart that is more devoted and true than I deserve.
How is the weather in Fullerton? Here it has been glorious; cool mornings and evenings, warm golden afternoons, the occasional soft rain beating upon the fields, nourishing the earth so that it produces its harvest. There is nothing like summer in the country, except perhaps autumn in the country. I look forward to sharing a country summer with you, Catherine, and an autumn as well. A great deal of them, in fact, and springs and winters into the bargain.
I have neglected my work for sweet ramblings with Catherine in my imagination. I have a sermon to write, guns to clean, a dog to scold, and servants to direct. Be assured, my dearest girl, that even during the performance of these homely tasks, your face is before me and your voice is in my heart, a heart that longs for you even as it remains
your own,
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Fullerton Parsonage,
21 August, 1798
My dearest Henry,
Weary me all you like, my love, only continue to think of me and send word to me. I miss you so, and your letters soften the hardship that I suffer every day that we are apart. To hear of your shooting, and your dogs, and your life in Woodston helps me to feel that we are together, or that we soon shall be.
My gown is finished at last. I think you would approve, Henry. Sarah and I have embroidered it in soft shades of blue and pink and green and purple and white. There are flowers and leaves along the hem, around the edge of the sleeves, and at the edge of the neckline. I feel that I shall be the envy of every young lady at the ball!
Only another sen'night until the dance! I must confess that my anticipation grows by the day. Sarah is even more excited than I, if that is possible. I have a sense that the night shall be wonderful and magical, like something from a novel. Not a novel by Mrs. Radcliffe, of course. In one of her novels, the heroine would probably go to the ball and be kidnapped by the villain. That would not do at all.
We have had wonderful weather here in Fullerton as well. I hope it holds for another week. Sarah and I pray daily that there will be no rain for the ball. I do not think God will grudge us one dry day, when we have willingly accepted so many wet ones this summer.
I have a great deal to do in the morning, so I must be abed. I have a secret to tell you. You may have noticed that I often write to you just before I go to sleep. I do so because then I shall dream of you. The last time I was walking in the orchard. It was foggy and misty, and I heard hoofbeats behind me. But I was not frightened, because I knew it was Henry and that he had come to take me to Woodston forever. Think of me often, my love, and perhaps you shall dream of she who is
your affectionate
C.M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
25 August, 1798
My sweet,
This will not be a long letter. I write only to tell you of the extraordinary events of the past two days, then I must set off--but let me start from the beginning.
I received a letter this morning from Eleanor. She and her husband have returned from their wedding-tour and are at Northanger, as you already knew. She has been promoting our union, and has explained to my father the falsehoods that Thorpe imparted early in their acquaintance as well as the misleading information he gave later. She told him that your family is well-respected in your neighbourhood, despite Thorpe's assertions, and that your father told me you would have a dowry of three thousand pounds upon our marriage.
The happy result of my dearest sister's intercessions is that my father has agreed to give his permission for our marriage. Catherine, we must give thanks. Our prayers have been answered. I am off for Northanger directly I finish this letter. I shall obtain my father's permission in writing and bring it to Fullerton. Look for me very soon, my sweet. Until then, I remain
yours in haste,
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
VIA SPECIAL MESSENGER
Northanger Abbey,
26 August, 1798
My dear Mr. Morland,
I most humbly beg leave to send to you my most sincere Approbation of my Son Henry's wish to take your Daughter Catherine's Hand in Marriage. Miss Morland is a delightful young Lady, and I welcome her to my Family with all my Heart. My Daughter, the Viscountess --------, and I were delighted to make Miss Morland's Acquaintance when she visited Northanger Abbey. Her very proper Comportment, the Elasticity of her Walk, and the demure Manner that she always employed toward her Social Betters, left me with a very positive Idea of her Attributes, and I assure you that I am quite delighted with Henry's Choice.
I do hope, my dear Sir, that the unfortunate Incident of April last, which was the result of Misinformation that I received from a Source I considered Unexceptionable, shall not weigh heavily against my Son's Application for dear Miss Morland's Hand. Henry assures me that you have a complete Understanding of the Circumstances.
I believe that my Son has already acquainted you with his Expectations, as he has acquainted me with your Daughter's. All Correspondence related to the Marriage-Contract should be directed to Mr. J. Potter, Solicitor, Huntsville, Gloucestershire. Mr. Potter shall engage in all Negotiations, subject to my Consent. I have the great Honour to remain,
Yr. ob't. Serv't.,
GENERAL F. TILNEY
The Rev. Mr. Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
BY HAND
Note accompanying bouquet of red and white roses
Fullerton,
28 August, 1798
My love,
Now that you have learnt to love a rose, I hope that you will find these humble blossoms worthy of your affection. Mrs. Allen was kind enough to give me the freedom of her hothouse, and you have the results before you.
Our long wait is nearly over, my sweet. In four weeks we shall be together forever. And in the interim, we have the kindness of our friends to sustain us. My gratitude to the Allens knows no bounds; I am still reeling in astonishment at their invitation for me to stay at Fullerton until the wedding. I only wish that it was in my power to do so, but I must return to Woodston and prepare for my bride. But not until we have had that dance we have longed for all these months, and perhaps a little while longer. I fear it shall be terribly difficult to leave you again.
I look forward to opening the ball with you tonight. I have never awaited a party with such impatience. Until the first dance, sweet Catherine, I am
your loving
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage
Fullerton Parsonage,
29 August, 1798
My dearest Henry,
In response to your request, enclosed is one of the roses I wore in my hair at the ball last night, as well as a ribbon. I am saving a blossom for myself from the nosegay you so kindly sent. I have already pressed it and I shall treasure it always. It will be a lovely souvenir of the most wonderful night of my life.
I was so proud when my father and Mr. Allen announced our engagement, and when you led me to the top of the set. Everyone was watching us, and normally I would have been very nervous, but all I knew was that I was dancing with Henry and that we were to be married. I thought my heart would burst from happiness.
And Sarah had so many admirers! I did not even know there were so many young men in the neighborhood! I am very glad for her. I do not believe she sat out a single dance. And James was equally as busy partnering the young ladies. He has not stopped smiling all day, and he has mentioned Miss Emily Woodward at least four times. And the word "Isabella" has not passed his lips. I believe your scheme was successful, my love, not that I ever doubted you.
But I am saving the rose for another reason. It will always remind me of when we slipped away and walked in Mrs. Allen's garden in the moonlight. I imagined being with you at Midsummer, but it was more wonderful than I ever dared to dream, especially when you took me in your arms and whispered in my ear of your love for me. I thought that it was wonderful to kiss you by daylight, but Henry, to kiss you by moonlight is the most perfect felicity that there can ever be.
I do not know why I am writing such a long note, when I have already seen you once today, and I hope that I shall see you again. I suppose I have gotten in the habit of writing my thoughts to you. But today we shall be together, and we shall talk about the ball, and about our wedding, and about our life together. I shall enlist little George to run this note over to Fullerton, and I shall tell him to wait for your reply. Until then, my love, I am
yours devotedly,
C.M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Fullerton
Fullerton,
29 August, 1798
My sweet,
Meet me in the orchard at nine o'clock. We shall watch the moon rise together. Until then, I am
yours affectionately and impatiently,
H.T.
Miss Morland, by courtesy of Master George Morland
Chapter 6: September
Woodston Parsonage,
10 September, 1798
My love,
I am returned to Woodston at last. Our time together has been glorious, my sweet, but all too short. Only another fortnight, and a little longer, until we are together forever. And how busy I shall be until that time fitting up my house for you. I remember your instructions for the drawing-room; fear not, sweet one, I shall strictly adhere to them.
I must confess that my sorrow at our parting has been somewhat tempered. I know you will not mind when I name the balm that soothes me, the only one that could compensate me for your absence. Eleanor and her husband shall be here in two days. We shall have such a nice long visit before the wedding. Since I am to take you away to visit every ancient castle in England for our wedding-tour, I am sure you will not begrudge me this time. Our no-longer-clandestine correspondence will continue apace, my sweet, until the day that I lead you to the altar.
And if you wish to continue the correspondence after the wedding, I shall certainly not object. I rather enjoy the idea of finding love-notes tucked into the folds of my clean shirts, like the one I found in the bag you helped me to pack. How terribly clever of you, Catherine. If it would not be ungentlemanly, I would claim that my own regard surpasses yours, but I shall gracefully retire and allow your affection to carry the day.
Woodston seems little changed since I have been away. I have stayed away previously, but this place has become so much more a home to me since you promised to share it. I could not have asked for a happier greeting; three ecstatic terriers, one drooling Newfoundland, and a smiling Mrs. Cooke. She made much of me, provided a rich dinner that gave me the stomach-ache, and spoiled my dogs quite properly while I was away, judging by their wild behaviour. Or do you think they were simply happy to have me at home? They pushed and shoved each other to fall asleep on my feet. I suspect that canine affection has no higher expression.
There is much work to be done before I retire, and I am already fatigued, so I will end now. In seventeen days I shall see you again; in nineteen we shall be wed. Those few days stretch out before me like a rock-strewn uphill path through the brush, but I shall employ my time usefully in preparing Woodston Parsonage for its mistress. Your new home awaits, you my sweet, as does
your impatient but still affectionate
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Fullerton Parsonage,
14 September 1798
My dearest Henry,
Here we are, writing our hopes and dreams to one another once again! I can think of no more delightful way to endure our separation.
We have begun the wedding preparations in earnest. I have had fitting after fitting and spent more time in shops than I have at home. My parents have been terribly generous with the allowance for my wedding-clothes. My mother explained that I must have new clothes, as my old ones will not be fitting for my new role as mistress of the parsonage, and that I must also have warm clothes for our wedding-trip to the north. My father simply gave her another draught on his bank. He is such a wonderful, obliging father!
I sometimes catch my father watching me strangely. He looks at me so earnestly, with warm affection, and then sighs and turns away, shaking his head. I do not know what to make of this. Have you any insights you can share with me, Henry?
Such a delicious homecoming you had, my love! If I could not be there for you, who better than our dogs and dear Mrs. Cooke? I suppose by now you have told her of our impending marriage. I hope that we will be friends. I shall need her help as I learn my new duties. I must confess that I am nervous. I hope that I will learn to be the wife that you deserve.
I have found that I am quite emotional these past few days. I am busy with my work, then I look around the little parlour and realize that I am going away, and I begin to weep. Is that not a strange reaction? I wanted to be with you at Woodston for so long--and so I do still--and yet I grow nostalgic for my childhood home. I thought being engaged would give me the maturity to answer such questions, but I still have so many!
I shall retire now, my dearest love, and think on these questions. I suspect that I shall be tempted to banish them from my head entirely, for they take up too much room, which must be reserved for my Henry. That is how I am able to dream of you every single night. Until we meet in the land of dreams, I remain
your affectionate,
C.M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
18 September, 1798
My sweet,
Such a philosophical bent you have taken! I read your last over and over and thought about the questions you posed. I am not sure that anyone can answer these questions but you. You know your own mind best, although I think I may boast that I know your heart as well as anyone.
You said that you have been feeling nostalgic for your childhood home. I felt much the same way when the time came for me to take orders and move to Woodston. Even though I spent nearly half my time at Northanger, knowing it was no longer my real home gave it a poignancy of sorts. I actually pined for the Abbey at first, even though I had wanted to leave it badly--I think you know why. At first I simply thought that I missed Eleanor, and then I realized that I had experienced some of the highest joys and deepest sorrows of my life in my father's house. Such emotions are like tiny roots that we put into a place, and they ache when we are torn from their nourishing soil. But I find that now I suffer that pain when I must leave the parsonage. The Abbey is simply a house to me now; a house that contains memories both painful and sweet, but it is no longer my home. I hope that you shall put down roots here at Woodston after a time, but be not concerned if those roots are a bit tender at first.
As to your father, I think perhaps he has a few roots in each of his children, and he is experiencing that ache because you are being taken from him. He has been so cordial to me that I think he does not blame me for it, and I am sure that he does not blame you. That separation comes to every parent at some time. I suspect that we shall not truly understand until our own children leave home.
So, you are bringing a new wardrobe with you to the north country. I am all anticipation. Tell me of your wedding-gown, my sweet. How else shall I recognize you at the altar? Oh, yes, I know--you will be the sweet, lovely, glowing one on your father's arm. My own Catherine, to have and to hold. Yes, I am indeed running mad with anticipation!
Eleanor sends her love. We are having a wonderful visit. Her husband is as charming as I remember, and he almost deserves her. Which reminds me of a passage in your last--you say that you wish to be the wife that I deserve. I am not sure what that may entail. And to tell the truth I am almost afraid to find out, after the way I have teased you since our first meeting. Simply be the best Catherine you can be, and you cannot fail to be the wife I desire. On that happy thought I shall close, and it only remains to tell you that I am
your not-so-deserving
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Fullerton Parsonage,
21 September, 1798
My dearest Henry,
I have never considered myself philosophical, but if you think I am, then I suppose I must be. I shall address the question you posed about the wife you deserve. You are the kindest, most generous and affectionate of men; you deserve a wife that is at least your equal, and one who can make you comfortable in your home. I shall endeavour to do so, sir.
However, in one respect I shall not be generous. Despite your pleas, I am not going to give you the details of my wedding-gown. My motives are purely selfish; I want to surprise you. Fear not, my love, I know your taste by now, and I shall not disappoint you.
I am continually dreaming of our wedding-trip. Imagine all those old castles! It will be as if one of Mrs. Radcliffe's works had come to life. But I shall not be frightened, not with you beside me. If I scream or become faint, take me in your arms, and your love shall revive me. My goodness, that is terribly poetic! I have taken to reading love poems of late. Shakespeare's sonnets are my favourite.
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen,
What old December's bareness everywhere!
And yet this time removed was summer's time,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widowed wombs after their lords' decease.
Yet this abundant issue seemed to me
But hope of orphans and unfathered fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute;
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer,
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
As you can see, I am selfish, my love. After we had a glorious fortnight together, and shall be together forever in just eight days, I still have the presumption to miss you. I suppose that I became spoiled, seeing you every day whilst you were at the Allens'. I confess that I have been so busy of late that I have not had much time to sit and dream of you as I did during our last separation, but you are never really gone from my thoughts, or my heart. All I do in preparation for our wedding is for you. And yet I save a few moments for you at twilight, when I watch the moon rise and remember how it felt to be in your arms. With that thought I close, and only pause to remind you that I remain
your devoted
C.M.
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Woodston Parsonage,
Woodston, Gloucestershire
Woodston Parsonage,
25 September, 1798
My sweet,
This will only be a flying note as I must finish packing and making sure all is in order for our trip. Eleanor, the Viscount, and I shall depart the day after tomorrow and should arrive at Fullerton sometime in the afternoon. I hope that you and Eleanor have the opportunity for a nice long talk together before we leave. I know that she is planning on it, so be sure to save some time for her.
You need not tell me the details of your wedding-gown. You are correct; you know my taste by now. If that gown is as lovely as the one you wore at the Allens' ball, it shall be more beautiful than I dared to dream. I must confess that it is really you of whom I dream, my Catherine, and not of your gown.
The parsonage is nearly ready for its new mistress, my sweet. Mr. Robinson shall attend to the last few details whilst we are away, and Eleanor has a complete understanding of our choices if he should have a question. If the dogs do not tear everything to bits before we return, all shall be ready, although I am sure that you will have some last details to command your attention. I only hope that everything is as you like. If it is not, you are free to change it in any manner that suits you.
I have much to do, and I will see you on the day that you receive this, so I must finish. In closing, since you were so kind as to write out such a beautiful sonnet for me, I have chosen one for you:
Let those who are in favour with their stars
Of public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst I whom fortune of such triumph bars,
Unlooked for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread
But as the marigold at the sun's eye,
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for might,
After a thousand victories thus foiled,
Is from the book of honour raised quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled.
Then happy I that love and am beloved
Where I may not remove, or be removed.
I treasure your affection, Catherine. It is more precious to me than anything I have ever been privileged to own, or ever shall own. It is especially precious because you gave it so freely, without expectation of gain or return. However, I pledge that you shall have something in return: a heart that shall be always devoted, always loving, and always your own, a heart that belongs to
your affectionate
H.T.
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage,
Fullerton, Wiltshire
Fullerton Parsonage,
28 September, 1798
My dearest Henry,
Tomorrow we shall wed! It seems a lifetime ago that we met in the Lower Rooms, and yet it has not been a twelvemonth. It seems that we have waited so long to be together forever, and yet it has not been half a year. And despite the unhappiness I have suffered during those months, missing you and wondering if we were to ever wed, I would suffer it all again happily to be with my Henry.
I am nearly breathless when I think of the honour you have bestowed upon me by asking me to be your wife. Of all the young ladies in Bath--of all the young ladies in the world--you chose me. I had admired you since we met, and I hoped--dreamed--but never dared give voice to my admiration. But somehow you knew. Henry, my dearest, my love, you knew.
And when I think of how you read my terrible imaginings and yet forgave them, I tremble. How many men would have done so? How many men would have cast me aside forever? Many, I suspect, except for the one whose love and respect I can never fully deserve.
I will dream of you tonight, Henry, and then I shall need to dream no longer. We will be together, not only in our minds but in our hearts, our souls, our lives. Dream of me one last time tonight, my love, she who has always been, and will tomorrow be
yours forever,
Catherine
The Rev. Mr. Tilney,
Fullerton
Note accompanying a velvet box containing a pearl set consisting of necklace, ear drops, brooch, and two bracelets.
Fullerton,
29 September, 1798
My dear Miss Morland,
The last time I shall address a note to Miss Morland! Before the sun sets you shall be Mrs. Tilney. I look forward to that time with great impatience.
It is quite proper and significant that we marry on Michaelmas, my love. Imagine having an archangel guarding our union. Indeed, I believe that Michael has been fighting for us all along, and perhaps has even enlisted his compatriots Raphael and Gabriel. How could a mere general of the army stand a chance against such an array of celestial warriors? And yet I receive the prize; an angel of my own, named Catherine.
You once wrote to me that you thought a bride looked well in pearls. Here are yours, my sweet. They are not family heirlooms, at least not yet. My mother's pearls went to my sister, as you know. Perhaps you will give these to our daughter someday. Until then, wear them in joy, and know that they come to you along with all my love and respect.
I will see you at the altar, dearest Catherine, and I am always
your own
Henry
Miss Morland,
Fullerton Parsonage
Epilogue
Woodston Parsonage
6 February, 1799
My dearest wife,
I find myself unable to sleep tonight, and I hereby resort to that device which comforted my unease during the period in which I remained unsure that we would ever wed. In that bleak time, expressing my feelings in the written word provided great consolation, only surpassed by the reception of your own epistles, full of unaffected girlish life.
I left the bed-curtains partly open; it is moonlight, and your sweet face is illuminated, surrounded by your lovely dark hair, spread across the pillow like a halo. I am glad that my small candle does not disturb your slumber. I can write and observe you at the same time. I must be the happiest, and most fortunate, man in Gloucestershire.
Do you realize, my sweet, that we met one year ago tonight? Of course you do, for you wrote about it in your journal, did you not? We must return to Bath someday, present ourselves to Mr. King, and tell him what a successful introduction he made that night at the Lower Rooms! Luckily you were not frightened away by my nonsensical flirting; it was your first test, of course, since a parson's wife must be able to stomach a great deal of such absurdity, both from the parson and from his parishioners. I also remember having a very earnest conversation about muslin with Mrs. Allen. I am afraid that the dear woman took me seriously. You knew better, my Catherine, did you not?
When I think back to that time, I wonder that I did not know immediately that you were meant to be my wife. I hope that it does not disappoint you if I tell you that I did not fall desperately in love with you that first night. That occurred later, but I am unsure when it began; perhaps when we met at the theatre, and you exerted yourself so to convince me that our missed walk was a mistake, rumpling poor Mrs. Allen's dress in the process. Perhaps it was when John Thorpe tried to lure you away while you were dancing with me; I know that I felt a twinge of jealousy, and was delighted when you declared so emphatically that you preferred my company. I wish that I could fix the moment when you became more to me than just another sweet, engaging, lovely girl amongst the multitudes in Bath. But perhaps it is best that there was no one moment; I have observed that the strongest connections are those that are built over a period, rather than formed on first sight. All I can tell you is that by the time I teased you about the horrors awaiting you at Northanger Abbey, you had become very special to me, my love, and not because my father directed me to gain your affection. For once his desires and mine were the same, and never have I obeyed a parental command with more alacrity.
You murmur and stir; I hope that your dreams are sweet, Catherine. I hope that they do not hearken back to the unfortunate incident that ended your stay at the Abbey. It is sometimes fantastic to me that you overlooked my father's abominable behaviour and connected yourself to my family. But it should not surprise me. Your heart is steadfast and warm, and I thank God daily that you condescended to give it to me. The first few months of our marriage have been wonderful, and they are even more precious to me when I consider that a less generous woman would have gone back to Wiltshire and refused to have any further dealings with me.
And now you have told me of your suspicion, the possibility that you bear a child. I suspect that is the real root of my wakefulness. I did not think it was possible for me to be more joyful than I have been since we married, but I was mistaken. We shall have a child, Catherine! A life to guide and direct! I cannot think of anyone worthier to be a mother than you, with your directness and innate goodness. Our child--our children--shall have an advantage from the very beginning: their mother.
I must end this, my love; suddenly my fatigue has returned, and I feel that I can sleep. I will return to our bed, and take you in my arms, and know that my life is complete, one year after that night in Bath. As I hold you in my arms tonight, I hold you in my heart at all times, my dearest wife, and I am ever,
your loving husband,
Henry
© 1999 Copyright held by author