She never expected her father to justly and greatly respect her. Being disrespected was what she was accustomed to in her daily life at Northanger. His words were not unexpected, and yet it was still such a blow. Her mother would have understood. She would have listened and considered the possibility of her marrying Philip. She would have taken Eleanor’s side and worked on her father.
Eleanor brought a hand to the necklace around her neck. “I think my mother... Mamma would put some credence to”—she endeavoured to command her trembling voice—“to my happiness, to the temperament of the man, to the affection between us... Mamma would have approved of Mr Brampton.”
General Tilney held her gaze for a long moment before he looked down at the necklace. “Turn round, Eleanor.”
She was puzzled, but years of ready submission won out over her confusion. She saw her father come up behind her in the mirror’s reflection, and he swiftly unfastened the clasp.
“Your mother would be ashamed of you for this deplorable conduct. Such insolence would make her mortified to look at you.”
The shock made her knees falter, and she saw the colour drain from her own face in the mirror.
“How fortunate that your mother is not alive to hear you express these thoughts when she had such high ambitions for you,” he went on. “It would subject you to her displeasure to hear you talk of marrying Philip Brampton, someone so far beneath you.”
Eleanor’s astonishment soon changed to the agony of complete disappointment. The general put the necklace back into its box with the rest of the pearl jewellery, and Eleanor slowly turned around, unable to utter another word.
“I shall take these because it will be some time before you are deserving of them.” He closed the lid and then gave her a cold look. “You have been too occupied by remembrances of your mother. You are not well enough to join me for dinner, certainly you are not. I will have something sent to your room, and you had best go there directly. I am leaving in the morning—you need not see me off—and I leave with the hope that when I return you will have a better appreciation of familial duty and a return to the good sense you seem to have lost.
“Your mother would be absolutely ashamed of you if you settled for a man like Philip Brampton.” General Tilney took her mother’s pearls and left.
She should have known that the moment of speaking her mind to her father, which she had looked forward to for the completion of all her wishes, proved only the commencement of more suffering. Overwhelmed with disappointment on receiving contempt and abhorrence from her father, with the certainty of her dead mother’s disdain, Eleanor sat on the bed and cried.
* * *
Philip wokewith a vague feeling of sadness, and in the brief moment between sleep and consciousness he wondered why he did not want to get out of bed. And then awareness struck, and he remembered Vaughan was dead. The same tormented waking had happened the two mornings after he had heard the news.
Having indulged his tears a moment, Philip dressed and entered his parlour with a countenance composed. He had so much to do; he had no time to be miserable and melancholy. Business followed business, and twenty-four hours barely seemed to be enough in a day.
Philip had to take an accounting of what his cousin had died possessed of, and what debts he had outstanding. The personal effects of Vaughan were also considerable, and the death notice had to be sent to the London papers today. Yesterday, the Letters of Patent were officially reviewed, and he still had the funeral to conduct and the will to be executed.
He knew he was trying to bury his feelings through exertions on behalf of business matters, and he was often successful.
Philip sat at his desk in front of his window, all of his tables and calculations pushed aside. He had one matter of business that ought to have been done on the day he heard the news. Vaughan was due to arrive home soon, and poor Lady Metcalfe could not even have the husband of her heart buried near to her or attend his funeral.
Belleville Hall
Thursday, May 17, 1798
Most heartily do I condole with Your Ladyship on your very great loss, and should have presumed to do it before had I not been myself so distraught and disordered that for some time I was unable to write, and had I not at other times considered that anything I could offer by way of consolation for so heavy a deprivation would be useless.
You and your daughter are always welcome at Belleville Hall, but I know time must first mellow your affliction. When your more sorrowful days come, I hope your little daughter is a wonderful consolation and comfort to you. Our dear departed friend was most devoted to her and you, and when you are of a mind to discuss it, he left to your daughter a generous sum over which all discretion is to be yours alone.
I offer you my grateful thanks for your kind concern for me in your previous letter.
I remain your most faithful and obliged humble servant,
How he wanted to sign it Philip Brampton. He took a deep breath and awkwardly signed the name Vaughan. It made him sick to his stomach. How was every man who inherited from his father, from a loved one, to cast aside their own name and forever forward sign with the name of the beloved person who had just died?
The endeavour increased his grief, but he was relieved to have replied to Lady Metcalfe. There would be more letters between them to sort the details of the ten thousand pounds Vaughan had settled on his natural daughter, the Honourable Miss Phoebe Aubert, but this first and most difficult communication was finally over.
Philip stood quickly, clearing his throat and busying himself with walking to post the letters himself. The death notice to the London papers, the reply to Lady Metcalfe, a reply to the solicitor, another to the banker to settle Vaughan’s accounts all had to be sent. His man had hinted that a viscount need not walk to the post, but Philip only refrained from glaring at him and stuck his hat upon his head, made sure his black armband was in place, and strode from the house.
I still do not answer when the servants say “my lord.”
After he had finished his errand, with every person he passed giving him a sorrowful look and an obeisance he did not want, Philip walked slowly to the great house. Vaughan was due to arrive within the hour, and the funeral was to be this afternoon. In his memorandum, Vaughan had said he did not want a grand funeral party or processions. He had wanted to be buried at Belleville, have the church bells rung, and any other trappings were to be avoided.
Philip could hardly bring himself to enter Belleville Hall. He had gone the day after receiving the news only because Vaughan’s man had returned and all but demanded he join him at the Hall to talk with everyone. Philip had always had a room of his own when he visited, but it did not feel like home. He had yet to sleep in the house. It had only been three days, and as far as Philip was concerned it was too soon.
I can avoid it until after the funeral.
