3863. EBB to Henrietta Cook
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 23, 61–63.
3. Parade. West Cowes
Thursday– [Postmark: 18 September 1856]
You must be pelting me with hard thoughts! [1] I dreamed last night I was walking in the snow—so they may come in snow-balls! But Peni said in my dream, ‘It is exquisite’—so I hope, they wont kill me in your love quite, my dearest dear Henrietta, & that you will forgive me when I tell you why I have been silent for a month after your dear tender letter. The fact is, I could’nt say ‘We are coming’,—and I would’nt say anything else. Robert cried, ‘wait & see what we can do’—so I waited to write, besides. At last, it is settled—we see the light—we leave dear Mr Kenyon on monday & go to you direct,––that is, if you are still of the same mind, & really desire to have us, & dont agree with me that you had better plant us for a few days in some out-house, farm-house, something of that kind. You were offended with me for mentioning it—but Surtees may be reasonable—and remember, Henrietta, there are four of us! Robert, Peni, Wilson, & me!– Shant we ruin you?—break up your comfort?– In that case, put us in a farmhouse, as I prayed. We shall require a bedroom for ourselves, & some little closet for Robert to dress in: and Peni will sleep either with Wilson, or on cushions on the floor in our room—anything of that kind. He dresses always in Wilson’s room. We will try to be good & give you as little trouble as possible. And what joy it will be to see you, & to see the children, and to see Surtees, and to see your house, and to see & know all about you!– We shall come through Yeovil from Southampton,—on monday, mind! Write one word to me to say whether we may come–
Arabel & I talking of this, she said & swore she would go, too, if she could, without fear of an arrival from London. I have written to tell her when we go—and perhaps, perhaps—— But no, I dont dare think of it. Papa would never forgive it, if he did come & find her absence, and Robert says it’s very wrong of me even to wish for it. But I’m wrong obstinately– I’m wicked—I do wish it– Only I dont hope it much,—although she has a notion that papa does’nt mean to go to Ventnor at all, & sent them away simply to be out of the way of bad air & influences from Devonshire Place. But the risk would be immense– I cant press it,—even I. I left her in bad spirits, distressed & angry at being sent out of the way in that manner, & determined to dislike Ventnor accordingly .. pining, too, after schools & chapels in London .. but looking well, and likely (if she will but keep up her spirits) to be all the better for the air & the repose– She says she has been out to sketch with Occy—The fact is, she wants companionship—& never have I been so near to repent my marriage, as in seeing how dull she is, dear thing, all alone. Nobody else misses me—and as to Papa .. really, I dont believe he cares one straw (or ever could have done, much!) whether I am alive or dead. It was hard, Henrietta, his resolving to send his family away, the very day on which he knew I was near—hard,—almost inhuman. But I wont talk of it here– Let Arabel offend him, & he would turn her out at a moment’s notice—which she is so prepared for, that she was considering in London, whether, in that case, she wd go out as a companion, or apply herself among the wood-engravers—poor darling!
We have had a melancholy visit here, & shall feel more melancholy in going away– Dear Mr Kenyon is very ill– Still, I do not think he will die yet—&, if he were younger, I should be still more hopeful. His kindness to us is beyond description. He has asked a good deal about you, & your children– Oh, so kind!
I have a letter this morning from Mrs Martin, who is expecting, as visitors, Mrs Flood & her children, [2] & Mrs (Biddulph) Martin, & her’s. [3]
Little Pen is all the rosier for his month of the sea—but I am prepared for his delicacy being abashing, by the side of Altham & Mary! He has had a child of Sir Charles Fellowes’s to play with here,—otherwise poor Mr Kenyon’s quiet house would have been very dull for him after the joys of Ventnor, where he grew insolent with happiness, in the midst of the kindness of “mine untles.”
Dearest dear Henrietta, remember—if you have any engagements, dont make us miserable by disturbing them. We, on our parts, will be necessarily engaged a good deal with proofsheets .. as we have been all day today, till my back & head ache. The book is scarcely more than half done—& time passes, & the winter comes.
One word to say, if we may come on monday. Robert’s love, & mine to Surtees & the darlings. Your Ba.
Address: Mrs Surtees Cook / Wilton / Taunton.
Publication: Huxley, pp. 255–256 (in part, as 8 September 1856).
Manuscript: British Library.
1. Cf. As You Like It, I, 2, 183–184.
2. Frances Flood (née Hanford, 1823–75) and her husband, William Lloyd Flood (afterwards Hanford-Flood, 1809?–92), had six children at this time: John Compton Lloyd (1849–1911), Robert Thomas (1850–1921), Annie (d. 1938, aged 86), Elizabeth (d. 1936), Frances Alice (d. 1918), and Sarah Teresa (d. 1885).
3. Mary Anne Martin (née Biddulph) and her husband, Robert Martin (see letter 2992, note 8), had four children: Richard (1838–1916), Julia (1839–1925), John Biddulph (1841–97), and Penelope (1842–73).
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