Jump to new as of November 28, 1998
Posted on Tuesday, 24-Nov-98
"Evie! Evie! Mamma says will you please come in because Mr. Wentworth has been waiting for you above quarter of an hour."
Evangeline Tilney peered down from the tree-house she had outgrown seven years ago at least. "I'm busy," she said, "I'm improving my mind."
Trust Mamma to serve tea just as Colonel Fairchild was about to propose to Rebecca! Evangeline could barely force herself to lay the book down. What if the dastardly Count Von Freiburg slunk into the arbour and kidnapped poor Rebecca before she returned? Or worse, he might even slay the Colonel!
Henrietta Tilney rolled her eyes, "Evie, Mr. Wentworth is a nice gentleman, you must come in and be nice to him!"
Evangeline went in and was nice to the nice Mr. Wentworth but all the time a letter from a young lady in Yorkshire smouldered like a hot coal in the pocket of her muslin. Now, it wasn't that Evangeline didn't like the clematis and rose strewn gardens of Northanger Abbey or that she didn't appreciate growing up with a real mediaeval ruin on her doorstep but she did want an adventure before she found herself proposed to by Mr. Wentworth or someone like him.
Her parents, however, seemed to think Mr. Wentworth a better prospect for the summer than an invitation to stay at Enscombe with Charlotte Weston and her eccentric guardian, Mr. Churchill. Poor Evangeline! Had her mother never wanted an adventure? Had her father no romance? At last her godmother, the aged but ever-cheerful Mrs. Allen, intervened on her behalf. Evangeline could not imagine what Mrs. Allen said that caused her mother to blush and laugh and, at last, relent but she was grateful and when the carriage finally arrived to take her on the first stage of her journey she was so overjoyed as to promise Mrs. Allen a letter every single day.
She spent a few days in London with her Aunt Eleanor before traveling on to Yorkshire with two elderly sisters for chaperones. They were sweet old things but by the time they reached Ashby where Mr. Churchill's carriage awaited her Evangeline thought she might be going mad for the want of a real conversation. Fortunately the elegant equipage contained Charlotte herself and the entire time it took them to reach Enscombe was taken up with the very interesting subject of a certain Miss Allison and her brother who had recently rented a house in the next village.
"Are you in love with Mr. Allison?" she asked, her dark eyes wide with wonder. Evangeline was severely addicted to love stories.
A rosy hue diffused over Charlotte's normally prim features and Evangeline smiled knowingly. Of course she was in love! In return she told Charlotte of Mr. Wentworth who had rented the little estate of Woodston from her father and with whom she was not in love.
"Woodston," she explained, "was my father's own estate until Uncle Tilney died and left us Northanger."
Engaged upon a discussion of the heart they reached Enscombe in no time at all. It was the loveliest house Evie had ever seen or imagined, at least four hundred years old with delicate Gothic tracery in the multitude of windows and exquisite painted ceilings in all the principal rooms - oh, what a setting for a romance! She fished her latest acquisition by Richelda Rossellini out of her carpet-bag and made sure that Julia and Louisa hadn't been rescued by the dashing Prince Gregory since she last looked at it in York. Which one of them would he fall in love with? If only there was a handsome prince, or two, to rescue her and Charlotte from the dullness of Mr. Wentworth and Mr. Allison!
Dinner was served in a room at least as grand as the main dining chamber at Northanger but where her mother improved Northanger with pale painted walls, ethereal chinoserie embroideries and an endless supply of fresh flowers this room needing no improvement was adorned with colourful hangings, brilliant tapestries and several carved and painted elephants all evidence of Mr. Churchill's having spent some years in India to great effect. He was silent and every bit as eccentric as his reputation but Evangeline was somewhat disappointed in him. Eccentric guardians were elderly and white-haired with hooked noses and arthritic fingers, she knew this because Mrs. Rossellini had told her so, but Mr. Churchill had the bad grace to be a very healthy fifty with fair hair and the figure of a man half his age.
The next day she was introduced to Miss Allison and her brother. The lady, Susannah, was rather attractive and clever but the brother was no more than an average Englishman with a good education and a neglected mind. Evangeline sighed, she had expected more from Charlotte. However, if it made Charlotte happy Evangeline was resolved to be happy on her behalf and when the couple went for a stroll in the garden, Miss Allison making the obligatory third, she was more than delighted to excuse herself and explore the house.
She wandered from room to room marveling at the splendour of it - Mr. Churchill must be rich indeed! An interesting spiral staircase led to a lovely blue and gold sitting room decorated in the style of twenty years ago, it was built into one of the turrets and had windows facing south and west so that it would always be full of sunshine. Evangeline spent several minutes looking at the books and watercolours all of which indicated that the room belonged to a lady of exceptionally fine taste. The most noticeable item in the room was a large and expensive pianoforte, she sat down at it and gazed longingly at the keys, if only she had paid more attention to her music lessons. She tentatively hit one or two keys and suddenly the most exquisite note rang out and echoed around the room. Evangeline leapt up, how could such a celestial chord be struck on an ordinary pianoforte? On the organ of Westminster Abbey, perhaps. For a moment a delicious thrill of fear ran up her spine lest Mr. Churchill should appear and be angry with her but she remembered it was his day for playing backgammon with the rector and relaxed again. Stretching her fingers she tried recreate the sound but her efforts were in vain and it sounded like any other old, out of tune instrument might. At that moment the door slid noiselessly open and Evangeline, guiltily expecting Mr. Churchill, stood up trembling.
"Do not mind me," said the lady who was the cause of her surprise, "I came when I heard someone at my pianoforte for it has not been played for many years."
Evangeline stared in astonishment at the young woman before her. She was certainly nothing to be frightened of - a girl with nut-brown hair and porcelain skin in a quaint white embroidered muslin.
"Please forgive me," she stammered, "I did not mean to intrude but I was..."
"Bored with the company downstairs?" finished the elegant girl with a smile, "Yes, I know what it feels like to be in a group people one's own age and yet be bored by them."
Evangeline allowed herself to sit down again and waited on the owner of the room to introduce herself but she did not. She merely walked to the window with effortless, enviable grace and smiled down on Charlotte and the Allisons.
"I dare say Charlotte is all set to marry that dull boy," she said with some thoughtfulness, "I do hope you will not throw yourself away in a similar fashion."
Evangeline gawked, she had not expected such unforgivable forwardness from anyone in this house, yet unforgivable or not she found she could not rise up and leave. She was inexplicably riveted to her chair. "I do not... I do not plan to throw myself away at all!" she protested.
"I'm glad to hear it," replied her strange companion, "better to be an old maid than marry without love whatever anyone tells you."
Evangeline took a deep breath, "I am Evangeline Tilney of Northanger Abbey," she said resolutely, "and you are?"
The girl laughed like bright silver, "Oh, do forgive me, Miss Tilney - one forgets one's manners after a while! I am Jane Churchill of Enscombe."
She made a pretty curtsey and something in her demeanour made it impossible for Evangeline not to believe her but why, oh why, hadn't she been introduced to Miss Churchill earlier? Why had Charlotte never mentioned a Miss Churchill? At that moment she found she could leave her seat and stood up, "I must get back to Charlotte," she said, "will you join us?"
Jane, however, was tinkling rather expertly on her piano and seemed not to hear.
Mr. Churchill brought the rector home with him and promptly invited the Allisons to join them for dinner. Evangeline noted with a sad but experienced eye (she had found this sort of thing a lot in Mrs. Rossellini's novels) that the poor young rector was very much in love with Charlotte, who of course, was all but affianced to Mr. Allison. She decided that he might be better off courting Miss Allison who was intelligent, rich and still single at five-and-twenty and between working out how to make it happen and keeping up with the conversation she had no chance to quiz Charlotte about the mysterious Miss Churchill.
They retired after dinner to a drawing room Evangeline had not been in before and just as she was wondering how broach the subject of Miss Churchill with Charlotte her attention was arrested by a portrait of that very lady - or someone unbelievably like her.
"Who is that?" she asked when the tea had finally arrived.
"That is Jane Fairfax," sighed Charlotte, "she was my guardian's bride, he brought her here from Surrey some twenty years ago but the poor thing died five years later."
Evangeline gazed heart-broken at the portrait, "In childbirth?" she wondered aloud, "Did she lose her own life giving life to their daughter?"
Miss Allison looked positively shocked at Evangeline's words but Charlotte who was used to her and not much of a prude merely looked confused.
"No, Evie, they had no children," she said, "why ever should you think there was a daughter?"
"I... I don't know," murmured Evangeline in confusion.
What was she do make of Charlotte's information? A moment decided it for her, Mr. Churchill's daughter was insane and he had somehow managed to conceal not only her unhappy condition but her very existence from the world. She retired to her chamber with a head too full of Mr. Churchill, his wife and his daughter even to think about reading her novel. Julia and Louisa must wait for another night to be rescued for Miss Tilney had other things on her mind.
The next day she was left alone again and went immediately in search of Miss Churchill for the poor thing was sure to be lonely and strangely it did not occur to be her to be frightened of someone she had recently diagnosed as insane. She sat in the blue and gold parlour playing odd pieces on the pianoforte for quite some time before her companion arrived and when she did there was more than enough to be afraid of. It started with an unexpected glimmer of sunshine which, to Evie, seemed to be shot through with a rainbow and which gradually took shape until it was no longer a ray of light but the pale, slender woman of the previous day. Evangeline felt sick with fear but unlike the heroines of her books she could not faint, she was forced to remain quite conscious and face the apparition.
"Do I frighten you?" she asked gently when she was fully formed, "I should remember at all times to materialize in the corridor, do forgive me."
Evangeline nodded dumbly. Jane sat on the edge of the sofa and smiled at her, "I heard Charlotte giving you my sad history last night," she said.
"Yes," said Evangeline rather surprised to find her voice. Surely she should be too frightened to speak? "What happened to you? I mean, what did you die of?"
"Oh, consumption," replied Jane, "it was a consumption."
Evangeline sighed, how heroine-like!
"May I enquire," she began rather tentatively because she was about to pry into something incredibly delicate, "why you are here and not in Heaven?"
There was no question of Jane Fairfax Churchill not having been an extremely good person in her three-and-twenty years. Besides, Mrs. Allen always said that the good die young.
Jane coloured slightly, if spirits can be said to colour. "I may as well tell you," she said very slowly, "for I have never told anyone else."
Evangeline's heart lurched. How was she to bear such a confession? If only she had read more about ghosts and not wasted her time reading love stories.
"I married without love while loving another and I have never found the way of forgiving myself. Now, I know as well as you do that is God who does the forgiving but, Miss Tilney, forgiveness must be accepted and while this burden remains on my conscience I can never accept that I am forgiven. I am condemned, by my own hand, to wander here until I can make recompense in some way for the unhappiness I caused while I lived. In short, until I can create an equal amount of happiness."
It seemed rather bad theology to Evangeline but she wasn't really in a position to argue.
"What do you mean by the unhappiness you caused?" she questioned. Somehow she could imagine Jane being made unhappy but never making anyone else unhappy.
"I married Mr. Churchill when I knew I no longer loved him," she said bravely, "but worse than that I was in love with the husband of my friend. Everyone said if Emma had not existed he would have married me but, of course, Emma did exist and there was never anyone else for him but her. However, I loved him quite passionately and a woman called Augusta discovered my sorry secret and used it to make Emma quite miserable."
"I see," said Evangeline. That cast an entirely new light on the subject rather like Richelda Rossellini's The Lament of Lucinda in which the heroine was doomed to spend her youth mourning for the love of her life who had married her sister, Lydia, instead. Lucinda's problems had been solved when Lydia fell out of a gondola leaving the hero free to marry his first love. It seemed no such convenient solution had presented itself in the life of Jane Fairfax.
"Did Emma suffer badly because of Augusta's interference?" she asked.
"Very badly," replied Jane with bright tears in her grey eyes, "Augusta gave her the idea that her husband only married her because I was already engaged to Mr. Churchill. Of course, she eventually saw it for the spiteful lie it was but at the time it almost broke her heart."
"Then why didn't you haunt Augusta?" It was a stupid, childish question but it popped out of its own accord.
"I did," said Jane with unexpected vehemence, "oh, believe me, I did! However, one of my appearances caused a sweet woman, a Mrs. Martin, to give birth to twins rather prematurely and so I thought I had better come back here."
Evangeline worried for the rest of the day about Jane Fairfax and her strange story which seemed to contradict every tenet of Anglican theology she could remember although to be fair she couldn't remember very much. She was sure of one thing, though, and that was that no matter how sorry she felt for Jane she did not want to spend one more night in a haunted house.
Charlotte was still with the Allisons so she had to brave Mr. Churchill alone and she could not tell him about the ghostly visits from his late wife. In the end she found a way of hinting she wanted to go because she was in love with someone at home, Princess Alethea had done as much when she needed a good reason to leave Castello Vecchio and if it was good enough for one of Mrs. Rossellini's heroines it was good enough for Evangeline Tilney. Mr. Churchill, however, was having none of it. A young lady, he said, cannot travel alone. He was most firm on that point and promised her that she might leave when Mr. Knightley arrived for he would escort her but not until, no, not until Mr. Knightley arrived.
Part 2
Evangeline returned to her room with a sense of despair. She did not want to hear anymore of Jane's tragic story, it grieved her too much to be unable to help and she would far rather be back at Northanger where everything was so normal and natural. To take her mind off the perplexing subject of who Mr. Knightley might be and when he might arrive she finished reading Julia and Louisa and, as with all Richelda Rossellini's stories, it had a very satisfactory conclusion. Prince Gregory married Louisa and Julia found her vocation in a convent of Poor Clares.
She then reread all the letters she had received from her mother and Henrietta and Mrs. Allen since arriving at Enscombe. Mr. Wentworth figured in all of them, his interest in her had not abated and he was resolved upon remaining at Woodston until she returned. It was most flattering.
"You cannot marry that man!" cried Jane from the end of the bed.
Evangeline nearly screamed, it had not occurred to her that Jane had the run of the entire hall but of course she did. If she could move back and forth between Yorkshire and Surrey then she could certainly move around a house.
"Mrs. Churchill," she began firmly, "it isn't polite to read other people's letters and it certainly isn't polite to read their minds!"
"Call me Jane," said the elegant wraith, "and listen to me when I tell you not to marry Mr. Wentworth."
"I am heartily sorry that you made the wrong decision," said Evangeline, "but it isn't much of a reason to assume everyone else will."
"I will not let you marry him!" Jane stood up and promptly dissolved into the moonlight.
Evangeline clung to the bedpost in sheer terror. What could she mean? There was only one possible answer and that was that Mrs. Churchill wanted to keep her at Enscombe forever! She would never see her father or mother or sister or dear Mrs. Allen ever again but be condemned to wander, lonely and cold, until Jane had worked out her salvation according to the demands of her scrupulous conscience and that might take all eternity. She fell asleep at last with her Prayer Book under her pillow and not a single thought of looking to see how one of Mrs. Rossellini's heroines might deal with the situation.
The next morning she hurried away from the house as soon as she could and did not sit down until she had crossed some running water thus protecting herself from another ghostly visitation, perhaps. If only she had read more about ghosts! Were they deterred by the same means as witches with running water and rowan wands? She sat down under a gently shedding blossom tree and tried to think of what to do next. Her escape from Enscombe had become imperative and yet she was forced to remain until Mr. Knightly, whoever he might be, should choose to arrive. She knew she could not wait that long but who could she confide in? Charlotte would not believe her, Charlotte was as prim as apple-pie and had never had an imaginative thought in her life. Perhaps she should go to the rector? Yes, that was what she needed - a clergyman of the Church of England. A sensible man not given to seeing spirits yet duty bound to believe in their existence.
In the midst of her thoughts she looked up and found the very answer to her prayers standing before her. A clergyman of the Church of England. She scrambled to her feet and introduced herself going as far as to inform the startled man that he was sent by Heaven to help her. He seemed to accept her behaviour with clerical good grace and even joined her on the grass while she explained her predicament.
"Please do not think I am mad or bad," she finished, "my father was a clergyman and I know that seeing spirits is not entirely orthodox but I am at my wit's end!"
He smiled and she noticed he had rather good teeth, in fact he was rather good all over. His hair was a lovely nut brown and his eyes, although not true hazel, were flecked with a wonderful variety of brown and gold and green. What good fortune that she had chosen to put on her blue dress instead of the first old thing that had come to hand. His clothes, too, were rather fine; they were slightly old-fashioned but cut from the best English wool and the buttonholes on his coat were exquisitely worked. Always the sign of a superior tailor, her father said so, and few men knew as much about clothes as Henry Tilney. She smiled back at him.
"Please say you do not think I am mad for claiming to have seen a ghost?" she repeated.
"Exactly whose ghost do you think you have seen?" he asked very seriously.
"Thinking doesn't come into it," she protested, "I know I have seen her, I know I have seen Mrs. Churchill!"
He threw back his head and laughed loudly, "Oh, Mrs. Churchill! Do not worry, my dear Miss Tilney, she is no problem at all."
"How can a priest say such a thing?" demanded Evangeline indignantly, "The poor woman's soul knows no rest, she is doomed to roam ceaselessly around Enscombe for the whole of eternity and you do not think it is a problem?"
"I know Jane well," he said when he had quite finished laughing, "she is an old and dear friend of mine and when I explain to her that she is disturbing you I am sure she will be very sorry."
An old and dear friend? Evangeline felt the icy feet of a dozen spiders run down her spine. This young priest could not be more than five-and-twenty, he would barely have been out of the nursery when Jane Churchill succumbed to consumption and left this life. Unless... unless... oh, what had happened the last time she met someone hereabouts with old-fashioned clothes and a disinclination to introduce themselves?
"Evie? Evie? Do you hear me?"
Evangeline opened her eyes warily, she was bundled up warmly in a strange bed and the faces of Charlotte and Mr. Churchill floated oddly above her.
"Evie, dearest, you fainted..." Charlotte sounded real and convincing. "You were gone so long that Mr. Churchill wanted to call out the Militia and then, just as it began to rain, Mr. Knightley walked up the path with you in his arms."
Evangeline breathed a sigh of relief. Mr. Knightley had come at last and she could go home where hopefully Jane Fairfax and her old, dear friend would not come visiting.
"I want to go home," she said as soon as she could speak.
Charlotte looked rather disappointed but Mr. Churchill came to her rescue. "Of course she wants to go home, she is unwell and needs her mother. As soon as you are able to travel, my dear, you may go. Mr. Knightley will go with you, have no fear, he is an excellent young man."
Evangeline was so comforted by Mr. Churchill's assurances that she sat up and was able to drink the tea Charlotte had brought. She had also brought the letters from home that had arrived in the two days Evangeline had been unwell and to her great astonishment she discovered that Mr. Wentworth had transferred his affections to Henrietta! Of course, that was why Jane Fairfax had said she must not marry Mr. Wentworth - he was destined for Henrietta. The comfort was unbelievable, she had no longer reason to fear Jane, she would not have to refuse Mr. Wentworth herself and she could stay at Enscombe for Charlotte's engagement which surely could not be far off.
However, the problem of Jane Fairfax's soul continued to bother her and she was obliged to ask Charlotte to arrange an interview with the Rector.
"I am afraid," said Charlotte when she returned an hour later, "that Reverend Glass is indisposed and you will have to make do with Mr. Knightley who is also in Holy Orders and, I dare say, quite serviceable in an emergency."
Evangeline was rather taken aback by Charlotte's irreverent introduction but she supposed they had known each other a long time. Mr. Knightley was, after all, Mr. Churchill's godson. Charlotte stepped aside to reveal the person standing behind her and to Evangeline's extreme horror it was none other than Mrs. Churchill's dear friend. She dropped her tea cup not caring that it was ancient and expensive and shattering into a thousand shards at her feet.
"Charlotte," the apparition spoke and Evangeline trembled wondering just how much dalliance with spirits Charlotte was used to, "please explain our history to Miss Tilney for I seem to have got off on the wrong foot with her."
"George," she replied firmly, "you get off on the wrong foot with everyone. What have you done to my poor friend?"
"I believe the young lady thinks I am rather more spiritual than I deserve," he said with a mischievous glint in his voice.
Evangeline did not dare open her eyes but she sensed a bewilderment in Charlotte that was rather comforting and felt her perch on the arm of her chair.
"I do not pretend to know what George, that is Reverend Knightley is wittering about," she sighed, "but in order to preserve his reputation I will assure you he is of a good family and not nearly as mad as he at first appears. Do you remember I told you my father was an army officer in India?"
Evangeline managed a strangled affirmative.
"Well, he and my mother died of fever at the same time and his cousin, Mr. Churchill, came to take me home to England. He was already a widower and so he deposited me with his father who had remarried and who had a daughter nearly my own age. Her mother, Mrs. Weston, had been governess to a Mrs. Knightley whom we were honoured to call Emma and her sons were our playmates - this is one of them, the younger one, George."
Emma? Evangeline asked an important question. "Would Emma, I mean Mrs. Knightley, have known Mrs. Churchill?"
Charlotte frowned, "You ask the oddest things, Evangeline, but yes I do believe that the Knightleys and the Churchills all knew each other when they were single. Is that right, George?"
Evangeline permitted herself a brief glance at Mr. Knightley who was still as deliciously handsome as he had been three days ago and, thankfully, attired in more modern garments. She mentally kicked herself for not remembering that clerical garb is always a little out of date. What a fool she had been! The most attractive man of her acquaintance so far and she had accused him of being a ghost.
"Now, why did you want to see Dr. Glass?" he asked when Charlotte had gone for a maid to pick up the broken china.
"I was still worried about Jane's soul," she muttered feeling an intense blush seep over her face.
He sighed deeply, "And you are right, Miss Tilney. I have known Jane for so long that I sometimes forget the seriousness of her condition."
There he went again.
"Forgive me, Mr. Knightley, but how old are you?"
"It isn't polite to ask a gentleman his age."
She began to cry from sheer exhaustion, everything was too much and she wished fervently that she had never wanted and adventure, never left Northanger and never, ever met Mr. Knightley.
"Here, have my handkerchief," he said, "I am twenty-five years old and Mrs. Churchill, Jane, was my godmother. I saw very little of her at first because she was always reluctant to visit Highbury but when I came here when I was ten she was the first person I saw and I have seen her ever since."
"Is there no way of helping her?"
"I do not know, Miss Tilney. She is spiritually unhealthy but what can I do?"
"Can you not exorcise her?"
"Oh, the old bell, book and candle stuff? I shouldn't like to try it. I don't know where exorcised spirits actually go, do you?"
"Help her create an equal amount of happiness?" she suggested.
"What?" It was clear he did not know the whole story. No, of course not, he was Emma's son.