Beginning, Section II

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Chapter 7: Invitation to Northanger Abbey

Posted on Wednesday, 16-Sep-98

leanor you look pale. What has happened? Has father done something to upset you?" Inquired Henry concerned about his sister's well being. The lovely face was pale and tight with unspoken emotion. Unlike Henry Eleanor rarely reveals what she is thinking or suffering from. Like some pale Madonna she withstands the turmoil within herself until peace once again rules her heart.

"I was talking to father earlier and he insisted that I invite Catherine to return to the Abbey with us." Her voice was cold and jaded.

Henry's lips narrowed into a marked slash on the handsome visage, "I am going to have a word with that man. What is he doing with Catherine? I cannot imagine it…"

"Silence Henry. Don't be a fool. I know your preference for Miss Morland runs higher than her exotic brows and chin. If father wishes for us to have her company at home then I suggest we do exactly that. If General Tilney is so blind to the truth I wish for you to benefit from his mistakes. Let us invite Catherine and develop our acquaintance even further. If everything is set and proper at the end of it I might benefit from a sister and you dear brother a wife who can finally accept and love your presence." She turned to him her light colored eyes darkening with emotions. The two looked at each other, a perfect mirror of each other in thoughts and emotions.

Eleanor's chances to foil her father's plans and perfect her brother's wishes emerged in a few days when Miss Morland paid them a call. Using subtle words and hints she educated Catherine on General Tilney's desires to leave Bath in the near future. Miss Morland's countenance fell quickly at the distress of the news and Eleanor felt pity for the girl's attachments to Henry and herself were quite real and strong.

"Yes, my father can seldom be prevailed on to give the waters what I think a fair trial. He has been disappointed of some friends' arrival whom he expected to meet here, and as he is now pretty well, is in a hurry to get home." Eleanor explained to the pale girl.

"I am very sorry for it. If I had known this before - " The young lady muttered underneath her sorrowful breath.

"Perhaps you would be so good - it would make me very happy if - " Eleanor asked hesitantly for she didn't want to persuade Catherine to do anything she did not wish to.

Suddenly her father entered and all chances of subtlety was banished from Eleanor's plans. "Well, Eleanor, may I congratulate you on being successful in your application to your fair friend?" He asked loudly.

"I was just beginning to make the request, sir, as you came in." Was her cold and cutting reply. She was rewarded with a blush upon her father's handsome face.

"Well, proceed by all means. I know how much your heart is in it. My daughter, Miss Morland, has been forming a very bold wish. We leave Bath, as she has perhaps told you, on Saturday se'nnight. A letter from my steward tells me that my presence is wanted at home; and being disappointed in my hope of seeing the Marquis of Longtown and General Courteney here, some of my very old friends, there is nothing to detain me longer in Bath. And could we carry our selfish point with you, we should leave it without a single regret. Can you, in short, be prevailed on to quit this scene of public triumph and oblige your friend Eleanor with your company in Gloucestershire? I am almost ashamed to make the request, though its presumption would certainly appear greater to every creature in Bath than yourself. Modesty such as yours - but not for the world would I pain it by open praise. If you can be induced to honour us with a visit, you will make us happy beyond expression. 'Tis true, we can offer you nothing like the gaieties of this lively place; we can tempt you neither by amusement nor splendour, for our mode of living, as you see, is plain and unpretending; yet no endeavours shall be wanting on our side to make Northanger Abbey not wholly disagreeable." He asked without letting his daughter have any chance to explain her 'supposed' wishes!

The change upon Miss Morland's face was remarkable. Color rose within moments of General Tilney's offer and a bright smile dawned upon the pretty face.

"I will write home directly and if they do not object, as I dare say they will not - " She replied eagerly dreaming of the adventures that was ahead of her young life.

Eleanor knew that her father already obtained the Allens' wishes yesterday so their plan was coming into fruition! General Tilney informed Catherine of the result of his visit to the Allens.

"Since they can consent to part with you, we may expect philosophy from all the world." The girl happily departed in order to dispatch a letter to Fullerton. The father turned to the daughter and gave a bright smile followed by a remarkably amiable kiss upon Eleanor's cheeks before he exited the room. The daughter stared after the father with calm and a little bit of coldness in her eyes. She informed Henry immediately of the meeting and the two silently rejoiced at the outcome.

A blight on this happy pairing was Captain Tilney's attentions to young Miss Thorpe. So flagrant was their behavior that even Eleanor entreated her brother to pay his wishes elsewhere. She informed him of their father's desire to cultivate their friendship with Miss Morland and it's hardly a winning hand for Frederick to flirt with her future sister-in-law! But Frederick paid no attention to such social wisdom and did much to frustrate his other siblings. However Henry rarely complained of Frederick's inappropriate behavior though it was towards wounding Henry that Frederick's behavior could be contributed to. The brother remained mysteriously silent and sphinx-like when he was informed of Frederick's latest transgression with Miss Thorpe. But Miss Morland was not blessed with such a jaded heart and it pained her to see her loving brother's future wife behave in such a manner. So she appealed to Henry in informing Captain Tilney of the engagement which unknown to her the brother already knew.

"My brother does know it." Henry told Catherine watching her face become pale.

"Does he? Then why does he stay here?" She whispered in shock.

"Why do not you persuade him to go away? The longer he stays, the worse it will be for him at last. Pray advise him for his own sake, and for everybody's sake, to leave Bath directly. Absence will in time make him comfortable again; but he can have no hope here, and it is only staying to be miserable." She persisted though Henry tried to change the conversation.

"I am sure my brother would not wish to do that." Answered Henry feeling her pain and pitying the innocent girl for it.

"Then you will persuade him to go away?" She asked hopefully.

"Persuasion is not at command; but pardon me, if I cannot even endeavour to persuade him. I have myself told him that Miss Thorpe is engaged. He knows what he is about, and must be his own master." Her disappointment was almost tragic. Clearly Miss Morland was never introduced to the world of lovemaking in Society.

"No, he does not know what he is about. He does not know the pain he is giving my brother. Not that James has ever told me so, but I am sure he is very uncomfortable." There the girl was ever correct for James her beloved brother was suffering greatly.

"And are you sure it is my brother's doing?" Henry inquired gently.

"Yes, very sure." She replied but there was no conviction in her voice. Alas, the girl's disillusionment of her best friend, her friend-of-the-bosom was coming quickly!

"Is it my brother's attentions to Miss Thorpe, or Miss Thorpe's admission of them, that gives the pain?" Henry continued wishing her to realize who was equally to blame!

"Is not it the same thing?" She fought back to no one in particular.

"I think Mr. Morland would acknowledge a difference. No man is offended by another man's admiration of the woman he loves; it is the woman only who can make it a torment." There he said it and now she knows who he thinks is to also blame for her brother's unhappiness.

"Isabella is wrong. But I am sure she cannot mean to torment, for she is very much attached to my brother. She has been in love with him ever since they first met, and while my father's consent was uncertain, she fretted herself almost into a fever. You know she must be attached to him." The girl rallied back hoping once again to hide from the ugly truth.

"I understand: she is in love with James, and flirts with Frederick." Henry's voice turned cold here and the words were like shears cutting away at her will to stay loyal to Isabella.

"Oh! no, not flirts. A woman in love with one man cannot flirt with another." The ridiculousness of that statement struck Catherine as well as Henry.

"It is probable that she will neither love so well, nor flirt so well, as she might do either singly. The gentlemen must each give up a little." Henry determined with no subtlety to hide his sarcasm.

"Then you do not believe Isabella so very much attached to my brother?" She asked in a poor voice and poor of heart.

"I can have no opinion on that subject." Henry lied of course but there was no need to damage Miss Morland even more with his savage opinions of Miss Thorpe.

"But what can your brother mean? If he knows her engagement, what can he mean by his behaviour?" She cried out in great confusion.

"You are a very close questioner."

"Am I? I only ask what I want to be told." She replied bravely.

"But do you only ask what I can be expected to tell?" He wondered out loud for she could not like his reply…

"Yes, I think so; for you must know your brother's heart." And what miserly heart Frederick has!

"My brother's heart, as you term it, on the present occasion, I assure you I can only guess at."

"Well?" She persisted dubiously.

"Well! Nay, if it is to be guesswork, let us all guess for ourselves. To be guided by second-hand conjecture is pitiful. The premises are before you. My brother is a lively and perhaps sometimes a thoughtless young man; he has had about a week's acquaintance with your friend, and he has known her engagement almost as long as he has known her." It was a plain reply really but the truth within the words was unassailable.

"Well, you may be able to guess at your brother's intentions from all this; but I am sure I cannot. But is not your father uncomfortable about it? Does not he want Captain Tilney to go away? Sure, if your father were to speak to him, he would go." Catherine offered yet another escape for her friend! Dear child Henry thought where did you think my brother inherited such a heart?

"My dear Miss Morland, in this amiable solicitude for your brother's comfort, may you not be a little mistaken? Are you not carried a little too far? Would he thank you, either on his own account or Miss Thorpe's, for supposing that her affection, or at least her good behaviour, is only to be secured by her seeing nothing of Captain Tilney? Is he safe only in solitude? Or is her heart constant to him only when unsolicited by anyone else? He cannot think this - and you may be sure that he would not have you think it. I will not say, `Do not be uneasy,' because I know that you are so, at this moment; but be as little uneasy as you can. You have no doubt of the mutual attachment of your brother and your friend; depend upon it, therefore, that real jealousy never can exist between them; depend upon it that no disagreement between them can be of any duration. Their hearts are open to each other, as neither heart can be to you; they know exactly what is required and what can be borne; and you may be certain that one will never tease the other beyond what is known to be pleasant." He was being merciful and he knew it. The outcome will be a great disaster to everyone concerned including her dear brother but the girl will be far away and entrenched safely within the Abbey when it happens. James her brother is a fool who needs such a lesson in life. But a marital state with that creature is too great a punishment for his naïveté. Let Isabella and Frederick play their games; Henry knew his brother and the selfish man that he is. As long as Catherine was far away when the inevitable event occurs Henry was satisfied. He saw her anxiety still remaining on that face so he continued to lie.

"Though Frederick does not leave Bath with us, he will probably remain but a very short time, perhaps only a few days behind us. His leave of absence will soon expire, and he must return to his regiment. And what will then be their acquaintance? The mess-room will drink Isabella Thorpe for a fortnight, and she will laugh with your brother over poor Tilney's passion for a month." And Catherine so eager to find comfort and having it offered from the one man she trusted and adored took his words into her young heart. Henry saw her faith in his lies and felt wretched for the rest of the day because of it.

Chapter 8: 30 Miles from Bath...

Posted on Monday, 21-Sep-98

The preparation for the trip to Northanger Abbey was an ordeal made more difficult with all the packages and General Tilney himself. They stopped at an inn to refresh themselves but Catherine found herself more anxious to leave the place and finish their journey. General Tilney suggested as they were returning to their carriages that Catherine accompany Henry for the rest of the journey. Both now isolated from any other unwanted diversions found the freedom a balm to their sensitive natures. Since the distance from the Abbey to Bath was 30 miles the pilgrims were making good distance and were due to arrive at the ancient homestead before dark.

Henry was glad that Eleanor would have the charming young lady for a companion. His sister found herself without proper company too many times when she returned home. He expressed his gratitude and surprised Catherine who believed he was still living at Northanger Abbey.

"But how can that be? Are not you with her?"

"Northanger is not more than half my home; I have an establishment at my own house in Woodston, which is nearly twenty miles from my father's, and some of my time is necessarily spent there." He informed her amused at her surprise.

"How sorry you must be for that!" Catherine remarked for she believed there to be no finer and romantic place than the Abbey.

"I am always sorry to leave Eleanor." Was the polite and cryptic remark from the gentleman.

"Yes; but besides your affection for her, you must be so fond of the abbey! After being used to such a home as the abbey, an ordinary parsonage-house must be very disagreeable." She countered expressing her rather innocent and gothic ideas!

"You have formed a very favourable idea of the abbey." He wondered what she was expecting from the Abbey. Perhaps a land tunneled with elaborate labyrinths and hidden passageways?

"To be sure, I have. Is not it a fine old place, just like what one reads about?"

"And are you prepared to encounter all the horrors that a building such as `what one reads about' may produce? Have you a stout heart? Nerves fit for sliding panels and tapestry?" He teased almost laughing at her imagination. She would never lack in the romantic ideals produced by her prodigious readings of those novels!

"Oh! yes - I do not think I should be easily frightened, because there would be so many people in the house - and besides, it has never been uninhabited and left deserted for years, and then the family come back to it unawares, without giving any notice, as generally happens." She stated not realizing how rare such a situation truly was.

"No, certainly. We shall not have to explore our way into a hall dimly lighted by the expiring embers of a wood fire - nor be obliged to spread our beds on the floor of a room without windows, doors, or furniture. But you must be aware that when a young lady is (by whatever means) introduced into a dwelling of this kind, she is always lodged apart from the rest of the family. While they snugly repair to their own end of the house, she is formally conducted by Dorothy, the ancient housekeeper, up a different staircase, and along many gloomy passages, into an apartment never used since some cousin or kin died in it about twenty years before. Can you stand such a ceremony as this? Will not your mind misgive you when you find yourself in this gloomy chamber - too lofty and extensive for you, with only the feeble rays of a single lamp to take in its size - its walls hung with tapestry exhibiting figures as large as life, and the bed, of dark green stuff or purple velvet, presenting even a funereal appearance? Will not your heart sink within you?" He theorized painting this ghastly picture with great delight and some sardonic pleasure.

"Oh! But this will not happen to me, I am sure." Catherine answered brightly dismissing his scenario with her light-hearted trust.

"How fearfully will you examine the furniture of your apartment! And what will you discern? Not tables, toilettes, wardrobes, or drawers, but on one side perhaps the remains of a broken lute, on the other a ponderous chest which no efforts can open, and over the fireplace the portrait of some handsome warrior, whose features will so incomprehensibly strike you, that you will not be able to withdraw your eyes from it. Dorothy, meanwhile, no less struck by your appearance, gazes on you in great agitation, and drops a few unintelligible hints. To raise your spirits, moreover, she gives you reason to suppose that the part of the abbey you inhabit is undoubtedly haunted, and informs you that you will not have a single domestic within call. With this parting cordial she curtsies off - you listen to the sound of her receding footsteps as long as the last echo can reach you - and when, with fainting spirits, you attempt to fasten your door, you discover, with increased alarm, that it has no lock." He continued determined to put her in a rather spirited and anxious mood as they approached the Abbey.

"Oh! Mr. Tilney, how frightful! This is just like a book! But it cannot really happen to me. I am sure your housekeeper is not really Dorothy. Well, what then?" Finally the girl succumbed to his dark painting of the place.

"Nothing further to alarm perhaps may occur the first night. After surmounting your unconquerable horror of the bed, you will retire to rest, and get a few hours' unquiet slumber. But on the second, or at farthest the third night after your arrival, you will probably have a violent storm. Peals of thunder so loud as to seem to shake the edifice to its foundation will roll round the neighbouring mountains - and during the frightful gusts of wind which accompany it, you will probably think you discern (for your lamp is not extinguished) one part of the hanging more violently agitated than the rest. Unable of course to repress your curiosity in so favourable a moment for indulging it, you will instantly arise, and throwing your dressing-gown around you, proceed to examine this mystery. After a very short search, you will discover a division in the tapestry so artfully constructed as to defy the minutest inspection, and on opening it, a door will immediately appear - which door, being only secured by massy bars and a padlock, you will, after a few efforts, succeed in opening - and, with your lamp in your hand, will pass through it into a small vaulted room." Henry continued his imagination in full gallop for he meant to excite her as much as he could. He rather liked the blush upon her cheeks and the sparkling in those dark eyes as she imagined such a terrible sight.

"No, indeed; I should be too much frightened to do any such thing." Catherine replied for she was certain if ever such an adventure presented itself to her person she would hide beneath the covers until there was bright day-sun outside her windows!

"What! Not when Dorothy has given you to understand that there is a secret subterraneous communication between your apartment and the chapel of St. Anthony, scarcely two miles off? Could you shrink from so simple an adventure? No, no, you will proceed into this small vaulted room, and through this into several others, without perceiving anything very remarkable in either. In one perhaps there may be a dagger, in another a few drops of blood, and in a third the remains of some instrument of torture; but there being nothing in all this out of the common way, and your lamp being nearly exhausted, you will return towards your own apartment. In repassing through the small vaulted room, however, your eyes will be attracted towards a large, old-fashioned cabinet of ebony and gold, which, though narrowly examining the furniture before, you had passed unnoticed. Impelled by an irresistible presentiment, you will eagerly advance to it, unlock its folding doors, and search into every drawer - but for some time without discovering anything of importance - perhaps nothing but a considerable hoard of diamonds. At last, however, by touching a secret spring, an inner compartment will open - a roll of paper appears - you seize it - it contains many sheets of manuscript - you hasten with the precious treasure into your own chamber, but scarcely have you been able to decipher `Oh! Thou - whomsoever thou mayst be, into whose hands these memoirs of the wretched Matilda may fall' - when your lamp suddenly expires in the socket, and leaves you in total darkness." Henry's voice fairly danced with his words. Unbeknownst to him he was outdoing Udolpho and every gothic novel Catherine had read!

"Oh! No, no - do not say so. Well, go on." Her fickle reply was enough to break even Henry's self-control and he did burst out laughing from the whole ridiculous transaction. Catherine realizing how silly she was blushed and suffered from acute mortification for the rest of the ride. But the weather was very fair and so was her companion thus her pleasure on this particular trip was not disturbed by Henry's story or her behavior.

They reached the Abbey without any great mishap and dinner was very pleasant for all. Everyone turned in early for the trip tired them to a greater degree than they expected. Henry was in that sweet layer between dreams and reality when violent winds woke him to a full state of consciousness. Staring outside his windows as the old chestnut tree heaved its branches against the glass the young man wondered about their guest sleeping nearby. Perhaps it was his reverie about Miss Morland during his last waking moments but Henry was plagued with dark nightmares in which Catherine wandered off to her doom holding a single candle in her cold grasp and he unable to prevent her from falling off the edge.

Part 9

Posted on Monday, 25 January 1999

Henry was alone in the breakfast-parlour silently wishing for their guest's presence. He knew his sister would be judiciously delayed and the General in spite of his military background was not an early riser. Though he made many declarations to the contrary in front of his acquaintances. A rustle announced his hopes and Miss Morland made a rather hurried entrance. Henry frowned, she was agitated to a great degree and it was not to his liking. Her face was flushed and she looked positively annoyed at something or someone. Henry resorted to his usual banter to soothe the girl and her uncharacteristic show of ill humor.

"I hope last night's tempest did not keep you awake." The dark eyes rose to him and her face gained even more colour. "I will admit the winds did bother me a little." She replied then the eyes sank to her cup and Henry was left with more than a little worry. "This building does lend itself to some fantastic sounds when such a storm comes upon it. You would think an abbey could withstand anything but it is old in spite of all the improvements my father has doused it with. And these stone walls will make strange noises if one is unfortunate enough to be awake so late into the night."

"But we have a charming morning after it," Catherine suddenly added as if she wished to change the topic immediately, "and storms and sleeplessness are nothing when they are over. What beautiful hyacinths! I have just learnt to love a hyacinth."

"And how might you learn? By accident or argument?" Henry asked surprised at the turn of the conversation. Miss Morland did have an unusual talent of dismissing a topic of discussion simply by changing her mind and warning no one of her decision. "Your sister taught me; I cannot tell how. Mrs. Allen used to take pains, year after year, to make me like them; but I never could, till I saw them the other day in Milsom Street; I am naturally indifferent about flowers." Catherine explained seeing the confusion written plainly on Henry's visage.

"But now you love a hyacinth. So much the better. You have gained a new source of enjoyment, and it is well to have as many holds upon happiness as possible. Besides, a taste for flowers is always desirable in your sex, as a means of getting you out of doors, and tempting you to more frequent exercise than you would otherwise take. And though the love of a hyacinth may be rather domestic, who can tell, the sentiment once raised, but you may in time come to love a rose?" Henry teased his young companion. Whatever was bothering the guest would not come to light in this morning room thus better for them to move onto more pleasant topics. Eleanor will find out for him before the day is done.

"But I do not want any such pursuit to get me out of doors. The pleasure of walking and breathing fresh air is enough for me, and in fine weather I am out more than half my time. Mamma says I am never within." Catherine confessed slowly forgetting her folly from earlier as she benefited from her companion's tender and observant nature. "At any rate, however, I am pleased that you have learnt to love a hyacinth. The mere habit of learning to love is the thing; and a teachableness of disposition in a young lady is a great blessing. Has my sister a pleasant mode of instruction?" He continued but before Miss Morland was forced to reply General Tilney entered the room. He was in a good mood, which did much to darken his son's.

Henry had to return Woodston for business so he entrusted the safety and well being of Miss Morland to Eleanor. Though he knew not why Miss Morland had his father's approval the reasons could not be honorable enough for his taste. And when he departed from the estate the last figure he saw was that of Catherine Morland staring at him from a window in the breakfast-room. As he rode away from the slight and dark figure he was determined more than ever to finish his business as quickly as possible and return to the Abbey. Eleanor keeping faith with the promise she gave to Henry escorted her father as the gentleman gave Catherine a tour of the Abbey's grounds and gardens. Feeling embarrassment at his unending flattery to Catherine's modest tastes and inclinations she devised a plan to rid of him if only for a moment. They reached a dark path shielded by a grove of Scotch firs and Eleanor witnessing Miss Morland's interest in a walk down the gloomy aisle offered her a tour of it. Eleanor knew her father did not like the place for it led to a spot, which was a favorite with her mother. As she suspected the general bowed out from their presence and the two women were finally able to find some sanctuary deep within the lovely and melancholy path.

Eleanor looked at the surroundings and confessed, "I am particularly fond of this spot. It was my mother's favourite walk. I used to walk here so often with her!" With a sad smile that matched the mood Eleanor continued, "though I never loved it then, as I have loved it since. At that time indeed I used to wonder at her choice. But her memory endears it now."

Catherine thoughtlessly asked, "And ought it not to endear it to her husband? Yet the general would not enter it." For which Eleanor had no reply so Catherine continued, "Her death must have been a great affliction!"

"A great and increasing one. I was only thirteen when it happened; and though I felt my loss perhaps as strongly as one so young could feel it, I did not, I could not, then know what a loss it was. I have no sister, you know - and though Henry - though my brothers are very affectionate, and Henry is a great deal here, which I am most thankful for, it is impossible for me not to be often solitary." Eleanor added earning a look of pity from her companion.

"To be sure you must miss him very much." Catherine replied kindly though she had no comprehension of what loneliness could be with nine other siblings. "A mother would have been always present. A mother would have been a constant friend; her influence would have been beyond all other." Eleanor spoke in a subdued tone for even Henry could not understand the emptiness in her life when she stayed at the Abbey with only General Tilney for company.

"Was she a very charming woman? Was she handsome? Was there any picture of her in the abbey? And why had she been so partial to that grove? Was it from dejection of spirits?" Catherine asked but Eleanor was only willing to respond to the first three, the rest were not touched. Catherine's mind was not consumed by the ones that were answered but the two that were neglected. "Her picture, I suppose hangs in your father's room?" She continued now more curious than ever about the late Mrs. Tilney.

"No; it was intended for the drawing-room; but my father was dissatisfied with the painting, and for some time it had no place. Soon after her death I obtained it for my own, and hung it in my bed-chamber - where I shall be happy to show it you; it is very like." Eleanor did not see the look of triumphant understanding flash across her companion's face. Nor did she make any connection between her guest's reaction at the return of General Tilney to their side and the private talk they shared in the grove.

Chapter 10

Posted on Monday, 1 February 1999

Henry was bounding the stairs with unusual amount of vigor when he came upon Ms. Morland on the landing. The two stared at each other speechless of each other's presence. "Mr. Tilney! Good God! How came you here? How came you up that staircase?" Catherine asked in astonishment.

"How came I up that staircase! Because it is my nearest way from the stable-yard to my own chamber; and why should I not come up it?" Henry responded confused as to why their guest was wandering unescorted in this part of the Abbey. "And may I not, in my turn ask how you came here? This passage is at least as extraordinary a road from the breakfast-parlour to your apartment, as that staircase can be from the stables to mine." Henry inquired resolved to discover why she was present in this gallery. Did she see him dismount in the stables and come to greet him upon returning? It was a pleasant thought but his wisdom told him otherwise.

"I have been to see your mother's room." Catherine whispered miserably looking at her shoes.

"My mother's room! Is there anything extraordinary to be seen there?" Henry asked feeling some agitation in the trespass of the abandoned room. He asked Eleanor once why she didn't claim the place for her own but the sister refused sadly shaking her head. The loss of their mother was too great for either sibling to ever occupy the brightly-lit apartment.

"No, nothing at all. I thought you did not mean to come back till tomorrow." Catherine replied hoping to change the conversation to safer waters.

"I did not expect to be able to return sooner, when I went away; but three hours ago I had the pleasure of finding nothing to detain me. You look pale. I am afraid I alarmed you by running so fast up those stairs. Perhaps you did not know - you were not aware of their leading from the offices in common use?" Henry answered puzzled at the woman's obvious discomfort.

"No, I was not. You have had a very fine day for your ride." Catherine wanted to escape to her room as her folly dawned in all its miserable glory in her mind.

"Very; and does Eleanor leave you to find your way into an the rooms in the house by yourself?"

"Oh! No; she showed me over the greatest part on Saturday - and we were coming here to these rooms - but only your father was with us." Catherine confessed not fully grasping the truth behind her words. So my father has already made you uncomfortable Henry thought sadly.

"And that prevented you…Have you looked into all the rooms in that passage?" He asked politely.

Catherine bravely tried to excuse herself. "No, I only wanted to see - Is not it very late? I must go and dress."

"It is only a quarter past four and you are not now in Bath. No theatre, no rooms to prepare for. Half an hour at Northanger must be enough." Henry was determined at once to find out the reason for her rambling. "Have you had any letter from Bath since I saw you?" If direct questions weren't going to succeed Henry had other ways.

"No, and I am very much surprised. Isabella promised so faithfully to write directly." Catherine answered despondently.

"Promised so faithfully! A faithful promise! That puzzles me. I have heard of a faithful performance. But a faithful promise - the fidelity of promising! It is a power little worth knowing, however, since it can deceive and pain you. My mother's room is very commodious, is it not? Large and cheerful-looking, and the dressing-closets so well disposed! It always strikes me as the most comfortable apartment in the house, and I rather wonder that Eleanor should not take it for her own. She sent you to look at it, I suppose?" Henry deviously returned to the previous topic hoping to catch Catherine unaware. All he received for his pains was "No."

"It has been your own doing entirely? As there is nothing in the room in itself to raise curiosity, this must have proceeded from a sentiment of respect for my mother's character, as described by Eleanor, which does honour to her memory. The world, I believe, never saw a better woman. But it is not often that virtue can boast an interest such as this. The domestic, unpretending merits of a person never known do not often create that kind of fervent, venerating tenderness which would prompt a visit like yours. Eleanor, I suppose, has talked of her a great deal?" Henry began to suspect the reason for Miss Morland's curiosity.

"Yes, a great deal. That is - no, not much, but what she did say was very interesting. Her dying so suddenly and you - none of you being at home - and your father, I thought - perhaps had not been very fond of her." Catherine continued and Henry saw the full logic of her exploration. The young lady indeed could not dissemble well.

"And from these circumstances you infer perhaps the probability of some negligence – some or it may be - of something still less pardonable." Catherine raised her embarrassed eyes to his and Henry felt annoyance lift its unwanted head. "The seizure which ended in her death, was sudden. The malady itself, one from which she had often suffered, a bilious fever - its cause therefore constitutional. On the third day, in short, as soon as she could be prevailed on, a physician attended her, a very respectable man, and one in whom she had always placed great confidence. Upon his opinion of her danger, two others were called in the next day, and remained in almost constant attendance for four and twenty hours. On the fifth day she died. During the progress of her disorder, Frederick and I (we were both at home) saw her repeatedly; and from our own observation can bear witness to her having received every possible attention which could spring from the affection of those about her, or which her situation in life could command. Poor Eleanor was absent, and at such a distance as to return only to see her mother in her coffin." Henry informed her coldly. Speaking of his mother's death was still a painful memory for the young gentleman.

"But your father was he afflicted?" Catherine could not stop herself from asking and was rewarded with a hard gaze from her companion. "For a time, greatly so. You have erred in supposing him not attached to her. He loved her, I am persuaded, as well as it was possible for him to - we have not all, you know, the same tenderness of disposition - and I will not pretend to say that while she lived, she might not often have had much to bear, but though his temper injured her, his judgment never did. His value of her was sincere; and, if not permanently, he was truly afflicted by her death." Henry replied and he knew it as the truth. He had seen his father grieve silently and alone for the loss of his dear and patient wife for many years after her unfortunate end.

"I am very glad of it, it would have been very shocking!" The reply freed his temper and Henry's infamous wit wielded his tongue in full. "If I understand you rightly, you had formed a surmise of such horror as I have hardly words to - Dear Miss Morland, consider the dreadful nature of the suspicions you have entertained. What have you been judging from? Remember the country and the age in which we live. Remember that we are English, that we are Christians. Consult your own understanding, your own sense of the probable, your own observation of what is passing around you. Does our education prepare us for such atrocities? Do our laws connive at them? Could they be perpetrated without being known, in a country like this, where social and literary intercourse is on such a footing, where every man is surrounded by a neighbourhood of voluntary spies, and where roads and newspapers lay everything open? Dearest Miss Morland, what ideas have you been admitting?" His accusation was too painful for Catherine to bear so as they came to the end of the gallery she fairly ran to her room crying tears of shame and distress. How imprudent she was and how foolish Henry must think of her! Her companion stared after the swift figure feeling dejection and disappointment. She is still a child he thought to himself, only a child. And filled with immature dreams and curiosities. What was he thinking when he allowed himself to feel attraction towards the silly girl?

Chapter 11

Posted on Monday, 8 February 1999

Henry suffered some awkwardness as he prepared for dinner. Wondering what prompted such active imagination from their guest he came to the conclusion he was partially to blame. Did he not actively tease her imagination when they were at Bath? And regal her with outlandish and romantic stories regarding the Abbey? For him it was all a jest, but the poor girl had obviously taken his teasing with serious heart. His words combined with her romantic nature had created the painful scenario in the landing and Henry was vexed at his own behavior. Eleanor had warned him many times of his sharp tongue and quick turn of emotions. And how they can damage more than his good name. Now it seems that he had fulfilled his sister's warning to his best ability.

Hoping that was not true Henry entered the Hall and to his unending dismay Catherine Morland looked to wish she were anywhere else but with them. She was subdued, hardly answering any of Eleanor's polite inquiries. She also refused to look at him throughout the meal and focused on the table instead. Rearing his best wit and voice Henry began a conversation with their reluctant guest hoping to undo some of the damage he caused earlier. All that can be placed at Miss Morland's feet was her foolish fancies. What can be dropped on his doorstep were his pride, sarcasm and lack of patience. From comparing the two Henry definitely came out poorer in his honest estimation of the situation. Hi efforts were rewarded by the slow return of Miss Morland's good humor and ease of spirits. She obviously did not hold him in any blame for what has transpired and was willing to forget what had passed in hopes of something more pleasant. It was a test of spirit to forget one's folly and strive forward for a better turn and Henry was glad she was capable of it. Too many times had he been buried in the gloom of his own or more particularly his father's errors.

Their fair guest soon returned to her cheerful self but she was always haunted by the lack of letters from her dear best friend Isabella. Henry was rather glad the silly chit never wrote to Catherine for he disapproved of Miss Thorpe immensely. Then one day he received an envelope addressed to Catherine and was relieved to see it was from Oxford. Miss Morland opened the letter and confirmed his guess that it was from her brother James. Henry silently observed Miss Morland as she read the letter and became concerned as all color fled from her face and her eyes widened in shock. However before he could inquire as to what alarmed her so his father entered and effectively silenced the whole room. The breakfast concluded and to Henry's frustration Catherine disappeared from their presence. Some time later though she returned to the breakfast-room still looking pale and disturbed as she did during the meal.

"No bad news from Fullerton, I hope? Mr. and Mrs. Morland - your brothers and sisters - I hope they are none of them ill?" Eleanor asked being aware of their guest's countenance as her brother was.

"No, I thank you. They are all very well. My letter was from my brother at Oxford." Then the tears came again and she sobbed, "I do not think I shall ever wish for a letter again!"

Henry dreaded hearing the news, "I am sorry if I had suspected the letter of containing anything unwelcome, I should have given it with very different feelings."

"It contained something worse than anybody could suppose! Poor James is so unhappy! You will soon know why." Catherine cried out softly feeling her brother's unhappiness like it was her own.

"To have so kind-hearted, so affectionate a sister must be a comfort to him under any distress." Henry added hoping to soothe the girl's bruised heart.

"I have one favour to beg. That, if your brother should be coming here, you will give me notice of it, that I may go away." Catherine asked and Henry's worst suspicions became justified with that honest request.

"Our brother! Frederick!" Eleanor cried out in surprise.

"Yes; I am sure I should be very sorry to leave you so soon, but something has happened that would make it very dreadful for me to be in the same house with Captain Tilney."

"Isabella Thorpe" Henry uttered under his breath dismayed at what must have transpired while they were in the Abbey.

"How quick you are! You have guessed it, I declare! And yet, when we talked about it in Bath, you little thought of its ending so. Isabella - no wonder now I have not heard from her - Isabella has deserted my brother, and is to marry yours! Could you have believed there had been such inconstancy and fickleness, and everything that is bad in the world?" Her accusation escaped from her lips not out of malice but from disappointment.

"I hope, so far as concerns my brother, you are misinformed. I hope he has not had any material share in bringing on Mr. Morland's disappointment. His marrying Miss Thorpe is not probable. I think you must be deceived so far. I am very sorry for Mr. Morland - sorry that anyone you love should be unhappy; but my surprise would be greater at Frederick's marrying her than at any other part of the story." Henry confessed sharing a look of dismal understanding with Eleanor who began to grasp the story told in those sheets of paper.

"It is very true, however; you shall read James's letter yourself. Stay - There is one part - "

Henry interrupted, "Will you take the trouble of reading to us the passages which concern my brother?"

"No, read it yourself. I do not know what I was thinking of. James only means to give me good advice." Catherine handed him the letter blushing furiously. Henry gladly took the letter and read it thoroughly at least once.

"Well, if it is to be so, I can only say that I am sorry for it. Frederick will not be the first man who has chosen a wife with less sense than his family expected. I do not envy his situation, either as a lover or a son." Then Eleanor read the letter and knew such a marriage was well nigh impossible. With some concern she began to ask questions regarding the Thorpe family.

"Her mother is a very good sort of woman," Catherine answered. "What was her father?"

"A lawyer, I believe. They live at Putney." Eleanor and Henry exchanged another glance.

"Are they a wealthy family?" But both siblings knew the answer before Miss Morland had a chance to reply.

"No, not very. I do not believe Isabella has any fortune at all: but that will not signify in your family. Your father is so very liberal! He told me the other day that he only valued money as it allowed him to promote the happiness of his children."

This was indeed news to both brother and sister. "But would it be to promote his happiness, to enable him to marry such a girl? She must be an unprincipled one, or she could not have used your brother so. And how strange an infatuation on Frederick's side! A girl who, before his eyes, is violating an engagement voluntarily entered into with another man! Is not it inconceivable, Henry? Frederick too, who always wore his heart so proudly! Who found no woman good enough to be loved!"

"That is the most unpromising circumstance, the strongest presumption against him. When I think of his past declarations, I give him up. Moreover, I have too good an opinion of Miss Thorpe's prudence to suppose that she would part with one gentleman before the other was secured. It is all over with Frederick indeed! He is a deceased man - defunct in understanding. Prepare for your sister-in-law, Eleanor, and such a sister-in-law as you must delight in! Open, candid, artless, guileless, with affections strong but simple, forming no pretensions, and knowing no disguise." Henry added hurrying to strengthen Eleanor's words. Frederick would never marry the likes of Isabella Thorpe; a pretty face did very little for his brother unless it came with considerable fortune. Perhaps there was a way to save Miss Morland's feelings yet and prevent her from leaving them when Frederick comes for a visit.

"Such a sister-in-law, Henry, I should delight in," Eleanor added with a knowing smile and Henry had the grace to blush.

Catherine was too unfamiliar with the Tilney siblings to fully grasp the underlying conversation so she continued with the topic of her now past-friend. "But perhaps though she has behaved so ill by our family, she may behave better by yours. Now she has really got the man she likes, she may be constant."

Henry almost laughed at that remark. "Indeed I am afraid she will. I am afraid she will be very constant, unless a baronet should come in her way; that is Frederick's only chance. I will get the Bath paper, and look over the arrivals." His humorous and scathing remark seemed to make Miss Morland think deeper into her past conversation with Isabella.

"You think it is all for ambition, then? And, upon my word, there are some things that seem very like it. I cannot forget that, when she first knew what my father would do for them, she seemed quite disappointed that it was not more. I never was so deceived in anyone's character in my life before."

"Among all the great variety that you have known and studied." Henry added, gently reminding her that in her innocent life such people were absent and to her great fortune. "My own disappointment and loss in her is very great; but, as for poor James, I suppose he will hardly ever recover it."

"Your brother is certainly very much to be pitied at present; but we must not, in our concern for his sufferings, undervalue yours. You feel, I suppose, that in losing Isabella, you lose half yourself: you feel a void in your heart which nothing else can occupy. Society is becoming irksome; and as for the amusements in which you were wont to share at Bath, the very idea of them without her is abhorrent. You would not, for instance, now go to a ball for the world. You feel that you have no longer any friend to whom you can speak without reserve, on whose regard you can place dependence, or whose counsel, in any difficulty, you could rely on. You feel all this?" Henry inquired trying to measure the damage done by her fickle friend and his callous brother. Eleanor observed his tender nature towards this girl and felt silent delight.

"No, I do not - ought I? To say the truth, though I am hurt and grieved, that I cannot still love her, that I am never to hear from her, perhaps never to see her again, I do not feel so very, very much afflicted as one would have thought." She confessed and the siblings gave a quiet sigh of relief. Pain when accompanied with wisdom always lessened the blows of disappointment in others.

"You feel, as you always do, what is most to the credit of human nature. Such feelings ought to be investigated, that they may know themselves." The betrayed friend looked at Henry not quite comprehending what he meant by those words. But the understanding was standing right outside of her grasp and she was content to know that one day she will be able to do as he asked.

The End

Posted on Sunday, 21 March 1999

Henry was agitated to a degree unbeknownst even to his dear sister as he waited for his father's presence in the parlor. Eleanor knew the anger was for the unjust and ungenerous treatment of their fair guest Catherine Morland. Without proper explanation or even an escort the young woman was hastily sent home by their father's orders. The dark look fixated on the doors as the General entered. The man did not even have time to bestow a greeting upon his son. "I am outraged at your treatment of Miss Morland father. Not even I had the imagination to think you could treat so decent a person with such shameful actions. Tell me for my own sake before I go visit the Morlands and apologize for your grievous behavior why you committed such inexcusable effrontery to so gentle a soul? I have seen you careless father but this, this is unforgivable."

"How dare you speak to me in such a manner! Be glad that I rescued you from that schemer! She has no dowry to speak of! She has nothing to recommend herself and certainly does not deserve our consideration! From the beginning…"

"From the beginning I knew she was no such person. From the beginning I was quite aware of her genteel station in life. Eleanor was also quite aware of this fact so what convinced you to believe otherwise?"

The general paused as this revelation had taken him by surprise. "You knew then?"

"Yes father, I knew." The thinly veiled hostility was no longer within Henry's control as he felt justice needed to be finally dealt here.

"Mr. Thorpe had informed me when we met in Bath regarding Ms. Morland's supposed favorable condition. He was led to believe that she would inherit a generous sum upon her parents' death and that she would also be made the beneficiary of the Allens since they have no children to speak of."

"Mr. Thorpe?" Eleanor cried out in shock. In a moment Henry understood the petty scheme that had broken all his hopes. "And what changed your mind to such a great degree?"

"I met Mr. Thorpe again while I was in Town. He told me the truth about Miss Morland. How he was falsely led to believe she was an heiress and a woman of good tributes. The truth was she and her whole family are nothing but schemers. They are in want of a good match for their children because they desire a lifestyle which they could never afford. After hearing this I did not…"

"No you didn't father. You wasted no time sending Ms. Morland back to where she belonged. Am I correct?" The general gave a resolute nod but felt no firmness in his stance regarding his treatment of the deceitful girl. "Father I have to inform you that Mr. Thorpe proposed to Miss Morland while we were in Bath. And that she turned him out on his ear because she saw him for what he was, a braggart, a schemer and a man of low breeding. It was upon this worthless creature's lies you based your hotheaded decisions. While a seventeen-year old girl could see this man plain, he was able to take you around the corner through your nose. Tell me is this what you learned during your campaigns?" The father went pale in his vexation but the truth kept him silent.

"Know this father. Miss Morland never made one claim to fortune nor did she even hint on such a notion during her stay with us. Her modesty should have made it clear that she was not used to such lifestyle yet you somehow managed to convince yourself otherwise. Your nonsensical behavior has made us look more than foolish. It will reflect badly upon our name when others find out how she was treated while she stayed with us! Think father, what have you done? But that wrong as shameful as it is does not compare to what you are asking me to do. You want me to set Miss Morland aside and marry for financial gain. Am I correct in this?'

The general stiffened, "This Abbey, our status demands that one of you wed for gain. And I have chosen you."

Henry drew to his height, "I will not be made a Thorpe. I will not be made a scoundrel because you want to keep this land. This is not my home any longer because of you." Henry was very shocked at his own words but even more so with what his father was demanding from him.

"I will breach no disobedience! I am your father and you will do as I say! There are many women, far more deserving than this, this Morland creature! You will obey me on this boy."

"No. There might be women who might even be more deserving than Miss Morland as you so boldly put it but I sincerely doubt any of them will have the patience or the kindness to accept me as a husband. After all, you are family and that is something I cannot change in spite of my best efforts. I am going to beg Miss Morland for her forgiveness. And if she has the generous soul which I pray she does I will ask for her hand. Should you interfere with this I will tell every acquaintance of ours your shameful treatment of her and the reasons behind it. I will humiliate you well enough that you will never be able to show yourself again in public or otherwise. Have I made my intentions clear father?"

The general sat down as he could not believe what Henry was threatening to do.

"I have long-suffered your capricious treatment of myself. But do not expect me to take it so lightly when you inflict your shallow and vindictive nature upon a soul who harmed no one. And one who trusted me with her welfare and happiness. She did no wrong father, the only fault that can be laid on her doorstep was that she had feelings for myself and for Eleanor. She was true while you were not and to a great degree myself. Good bye father and remember this discussion well." Henry stormed out of the room with Eleanor at his elbow. "I am returning to Woodston and tomorrow I shall make my way to Fullerton. Pray for me Eleanor. Please."

"I shall Henry, take care." She gave her brother a farewell kiss as he rode away from the Abbey.

With this passion Henry rode to visit Catherine and his confession (to all that has been schemed behind her back) translated this emotion to his great advantage. Catherine forgave the poor man instantly and to his contentment agreed to be his bride. But there was one great obstacle which neither could overcome. Catherine's parents refused to consent to the marriage until the general also agreed. Both despaired for a while until next summer when Eleanor married a man of title, wealth, and kind heart. This love match was not hastily created as both were made acquaintances long before. Thus it was with great and honest rejoicing that Eleanor accepted the gentleman's proposal, paving the way for yet another wedding.

The new Viscountess did much to sway General Tilney's opinion regarding Henry. It wasn't long before he shrugged his approval for the match. Why did he care if his son made a fool of himself? After all, his dear sweet Eleanor did much to restore the grandeur of the Abbey and the Tilney name! So it was almost exactly a year after their first meeting that Henry Tilney and Catherine Morland wed. At a very respectable age of twenty-six and eighteen I might add. There were no great tragic scenes or gothic dramas to be played out in the wedding ceremony. And Miss Morland cared not. She had her taste of adventure, of scoundrels, haunted places and parents bent on ruining their children's lives for fortune. And to her amusement they did not suit her very well, or at least not as well as her new and very handsome husband.

The End