Chapter 11

The m orrow brought a very sober-looking m orning, the sun m aking

only a few efforts to appear, and Catherine augured from it every thing m ost favourable to her wishes. A bright m orning so early in the y ear, she allowed, would generally turn to rain, but a cloudy one foretold im provem ent as the day advanced. She applied to Mr. Allen for confirm ation of her hopes, but Mr. Allen, not having his own skies and barom eter about him , declined giving any absolute prom ise of sunshine. She applied to Mrs. Allen, and Mrs. Allen’s opinion was m ore positive. “She had no doubt in the world of its being a very fine day, if the clouds would only go off, and the sun keep out.”

At about eleven o’clock, however, a few specks of sm all rain upon the

windows caught Catherine’s watchful ey e, and “Oh! dear, I do believe it will be wet,” broke from her in a m ost desponding tone.

“I thought how it would be,” said Mrs. Allen.

“No walk for m e today,” sighed Catherine; “but perhaps it m ay com e to

nothing, or it m ay hold up before twelve.”

“Perhaps it m ay, but then, m y dear, it will be so dirty.”

“Oh! That will not signify ; I never m ind dirt.”

“No,” replied her friend very placidly, “I know y ou never m ind dirt.” After a short pause, “It com es on faster and faster!” said Catherine, as

she stood watching at a window.

“So it does indeed. If it keeps raining, the streets will be very wet.”

“There are four um brellas up already. How I hate the sight of an

um brella!”

“They are disagreeable things to carry. I would m uch rather take a

chair at any tim e.”

“It was such a nice-looking m orning! I felt so convinced it would be

dry !”

“Any body would have thought so indeed. There will be very few

people in the pum p-room , if it rains all the m orning. I hope Mr. Allen will put on his greatcoat when he goes, but I dare say he will not, for he had rather do any thing in the world than walk out in a greatcoat; I wonder he should dislike it, it m ust be so com fortable.”

The rain continued – fast, though not heavy. Catherine went every five

m inutes to the clock, threatening on each return that, if it still kept on raining another five m inutes, she would give up the m atter as hopeless. The clock struck twelve, and it still rained. “You will not be able to go, m y dear.”

“I do not quite despair y et. I shall not give it up till a quarter after

twelve. This is j ust the tim e of day for it to clear up, and I do think it looks a little lighter. There, it is twenty m inutes after twelve, and now I shall give it up entirely. Oh! That we had such weather here as they had at Udolpho, or at least in Tuscany and the south of France! – the night that poor St. Aubin died! – such beautiful weather!”

At half past twelve, when Catherine’s anxious attention to the weather

was over and she could no longer claim any m erit from its am endm ent, the sky began voluntarily to clear. A gleam of sunshine took her quite by surprise; she looked round; the clouds were parting, and she instantly returned to the window to watch over and encourage the happy appearance. Ten m inutes m ore m ade it certain that a bright afternoon would succeed, and j ustified the opinion of Mrs. Allen, who had “alway s thought it would clear up.” But whether Catherine m ight still expect her friends, whether there had not been too m uch rain for Miss Tilney to venture, m ust y et be a question.

It was too dirty for Mrs. Allen to accom pany her husband to the pum p-

room ; he accordingly set off by him self, and Catherine had barely watched him down the street when her notice was claim ed by the approach of the sam e two open carriages, containing the sam e three people that had surprised her so m uch a few m ornings back.

“Isabella, m y brother, and Mr. Thorpe, I declare! They are com ing for

m e perhaps – but I shall not go – I cannot go indeed, for y ou know Miss Tilney m ay still call.” Mrs. Allen agreed to it. John Thorpe was soon with them , and his voice was with them y et sooner, for on the stairs he was calling out to Miss Morland to be quick. “Make haste! Make haste!” as he threw open the door. “Put on y our hat this m om ent – there is no tim e to be lost – we are going to Bristol. How d’y e do, Mrs. Allen?”

“To Bristol! Is not that a great way off? But, however, I cannot go with

y ou today, because I am engaged; I expect som e friends every m om ent.” This was of course vehem ently talked down as no reason at all; Mrs. Allen was called on to second him , and the two others walked in, to give their assistance. “My sweetest Catherine, is not this delightful? We shall have a m ost heavenly drive. You are to thank y our brother and m e for the schem e; it darted into our heads at breakfast-tim e, I verily believe at the sam e instant; and we should have been off two hours ago if it had not been for this detestable rain. But it does not signify, the nights are m oonlight, and we shall do delightfully. Oh! I am in such ecstasies at the thoughts of a little country air and quiet! So m uch better than going to the Lower Room s. We shall drive directly to Clifton and dine there; and, as soon as dinner is over, if there is tim e for it, go on to Kingsweston.”

“I doubt our being able to do so m uch,” said Morland. “You croaking fellow!” cried Thorpe. “We shall be able to do ten tim es

m ore. Kingsweston! Ay e, and Blaize Castle too, and any thing else we can hear of; but here is y our sister say s she will not go.”

“Blaize Castle!” cried Catherine. “What is that’?”

“The finest place in England – worth going fifty m iles at any tim e to

see.”

“What, is it really a castle, an old castle?”

“The oldest in the kingdom .”

“But is it like what one reads of?”

“Exactly – the very sam e.”

“But now really – are there towers and long galleries?”

“By dozens.”

“Then I should like to see it; but I cannot. I cannot go. “Not go! My beloved creature, what do y ou m ean’?”

“I cannot go, because” – looking down as she spoke, fearful of Isabella’s

sm ile – “I expect Miss Tilney and her brother to call on m e to take a country walk. They prom ised to com e at twelve, only it rained; but now, as it is so fine, I dare say they will be here soon.”

“Not they indeed,” cried Thorpe; “for, as we turned into Broad Street, I

saw them – does he not drive a phaeton with bright chestnuts?”

“I do not know indeed.”

“Yes, I know he does; I saw him . You are talking of the m an y ou danced

with last night, are not y ou?”

“Yes.

“Well, I saw him at that m om ent turn up the Lansdown Road, driving a

sm art-looking girl.”

“Did y ou indeed?”

“Did upon m y soul; knew him again directly, and he seem ed to have got

som e very pretty cattle too.”

“It is very odd! But I suppose they thought it would be too dirty for a

walk.”

“And well they m ight, for I never saw so m uch dirt in m y life. Walk!

You could no m ore walk than y ou could fly ! It has not been so dirty the whole winter; it is ankle-deep every where.”

Isabella corroborated it: “My dearest Catherine, y ou cannot form an

idea of the dirt; com e, y ou m ust go; y ou cannot refuse going now.”

“I should like to see the castle; but m ay we go all over it? May we go up

every staircase, and into every suite of room s?”

“Yes, y es, every hole and corner.”

“But then, if they should only be gone out for an hour till it is dry er, and

call by and by ?”

“Make y ourself easy, there is no danger of that, for I heard Tilney

hallooing to a m an who was j ust passing by on horseback, that they were going as far as Wick Rocks.”

“Then I will. Shall I go, Mrs. Allen?”

“Just as y ou please, m y dear.”

“Mrs. Allen, y ou m ust persuade her to go,” was the general cry. Mrs.

Allen was not inattentive to it: “Well, m y dear,” said she, “suppose y ou go.” And in two m inutes they were off.

Catherine’s feelings, as she got into the carriage, were in a very

unsettled state; divided between regret for the loss of one great pleasure, and the hope of soon enj oy ing another, alm ost its equal in degree, however unlike in kind. She could not think the Tilney s had acted quite well by her, in so readily giving up their engagem ent, without sending her any m essage of excuse. It was now but an hour later than the tim e fixed on for the beginning of their walk; and, in spite of what she had heard of the prodigious accum ulation of dirt in the course of that hour, she could not from her own observation help thinking that they m ight have gone with very little inconvenience. To feel herself slighted by them was very painful. On the other hand, the delight of exploring an edifice like Udolpho, as her fancy represented Blaize Castle to be, was such a counterpoise of good as m ight console her for alm ost any thing.

They passed briskly down Pulteney Street, and through Laura Place,

without the exchange of m any words. Thorpe talked to his horse, and she m editated, by turns, on broken prom ises and broken arches, phaetons and false hangings, Tilney s and trap-doors. As they entered Argy le Buildings, however, she was roused by this address from her com panion, “Who is that girl who looked at y ou so hard as she went by ?”

“Who? Where?”

“On the right-hand pavem ent – she m ust be alm ost out of sight now.”

Catherine looked round and saw Miss Tilney leaning on her brother’s arm , walking slowly down the street. She saw them both looking back at her. “Stop, stop, Mr. Thorpe,” she im patiently cried; “it is Miss Tilney ; it is indeed. How could y ou tell m e they were gone? Stop, stop, I will get out this m om ent and go to them .” But to what purpose did she speak? Thorpe only lashed his horse into a brisker trot; the Tilney s, who had soon ceased to look after her, were in a m om ent out of sight round the corner of Laura Place, and in another m om ent she was herself whisked into the m arketplace. Still, however, and during the length of another street, she entreated him to stop. “Pray, pray stop, Mr. Thorpe. I cannot go on. I will not go on. I m ust go back to Miss Tilney.” But Mr. Thorpe only laughed, sm acked his whip, encouraged his horse, m ade odd noises, and drove on; and Catherine, angry and vexed as she was, having no power of getting away, was obliged to give up the point and subm it. Her reproaches, however, were not spared. “How could y ou deceive m e so, Mr. Thorpe? How could y ou say that y ou saw them driving up the Lansdown Road? I would not have had it happen so for the world. They m ust think it so strange, so rude of m e! To go by them , too, without say ing a word! You do not know how vexed I am ; I shall have no pleasure at Clifton, nor in any thing else. I had rather, ten thousand tim es rather, get out now, and walk back to them . How could y ou say y ou saw them driving out in a phaeton?” Thorpe defended him self very stoutly, declared he had never seen two m en so m uch alike in his life, and would hardly give up the point of its having been Tilney him self.

Their drive, even when this subj ect was over, was not likely to be very

agreeable. Catherine’s com plaisance was no longer what it had been in their form er airing. She listened reluctantly, and her replies were short. Blaize Castle rem ained her only com fort; towards that, she still looked at intervals with pleasure; though rather than be disappointed of the prom ised walk, and especially rather than be thought ill of by the Tilney s, she would willingly have given up all the happiness which its walls could supply – the happiness of a progress through a long suite of lofty room s, exhibiting the rem ains of m agnificent furniture, though now for m any y ears deserted – the happiness of being stopped in their way along narrow, winding vaults, by a low, grated door; or even of having their lam p, their only lam p, extinguished by a sudden gust of wind, and of being left in total darkness. In the m eanwhile, they proceeded on their j ourney without any m ischance, and were within view of the town of Key nsham , when a halloo from Morland, who was behind them , m ade his friend pull up, to know what was the m atter. The others then cam e close enough for conversation, and Morland said, “We had better go back, Thorpe; it is too late to go on today ; y our sister thinks so as well as I. We have been exactly an hour com ing from Pulteney Street, very little m ore than seven m iles; and, I suppose, we have at least eight m ore to go. It will never do. We set out a great deal too late. We had m uch better put it off till another day, and turn round.”

“It is all one to m e,” replied Thorpe rather angrily ; and instantly turning

his horse, they were on their way back to Bath.

“If y our brother had not got such a d – beast to drive,” said he soon

afterwards, “we m ight have done it very well. My horse would have trotted to Clifton within the hour, if left to him self, and I have alm ost broke m y arm with pulling him in to that cursed broken-winded j ade’s pace. Morland is a fool for not keeping a horse and gig of his own.”

“No, he is not,” said Catherine warm ly, “for I am sure he could not

afford it.”

“And why cannot he afford it?”

“Because he has not m oney enough.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Nobody ’s, that I know of.” Thorpe then said som ething in the loud,

incoherent way to which he had often recourse, about its being a d – thing to be m iserly ; and that if people who rolled in m oney could not afford things, he did not know who could, which Catherine did not even endeavour to understand. Disappointed of what was to have been the consolation for her first disappointm ent, she was less and less disposed either to be agreeable herself or to find her com panion so; and they returned to Pulteney Street without her speaking twenty words.

As she entered the house, the footm an told her that a gentlem an and

lady had called and inquired for her a few m inutes after her setting off; that, when he told them she was gone out with Mr. Thorpe, the lady had asked whether any m essage had been left for her; and on his say ing no, had felt for a card, but said she had none about her, and went away. Pondering over these heart-rending tidings, Catherine walked slowly upstairs. At the head of them she was m et by Mr. Allen, who, on hearing the reason of their speedy return, said, “I am glad y our brother had so m uch sense; I am glad y ou are com e back. It was a strange, wild schem e.”

They all spent the evening together at Thorpe’s. Catherine was disturbed

and out of spirits; but Isabella seem ed to find a pool of com m erce, in the fate of which she shared, by private partnership with Morland, a very good equivalent for the quiet and country air of an inn at Clifton. Her satisfaction, too, in not being at the Lower Room s was spoken m ore than once. “How I pity the poor creatures that are going there! How glad I am that I am not am ongst them ! I wonder whether it will be a full ball or not! They have not begun dancing y et. I would not be there for all the world. It is so delightful to have an evening now and then to oneself. I dare say it will not be a very good ball. I know the Mitchells will not be there. I am sure I pity every body that is. But I dare say, Mr. Morland, y ou long to be at it, do not y ou? I am sure y ou do. Well, pray do not let any body here be a restraint on y ou. I dare say we could do very well without y ou; but y ou m en think y ourselves of such consequence.”

Catherine could alm ost have accused Isabella of being wanting in

tenderness towards herself and her sorrows, so very little did they appear to dwell on her m ind, and so very inadequate was the com fort she offered. “Do not be so dull, m y dearest creature,” she whispered. “You will quite break m y heart. It was am azingly shocking, to be sure; but the Tilney s were entirely to blam e. Why were not they m ore punctual? It was dirty, indeed, but what did that signify ? I am sure John and I should not have m inded it. I never m ind going through any thing, where a friend is concerned; that is m y disposition, and John is j ust the sam e; he has am azing strong feelings. Good heavens! What a delightful hand y ou have got! Kings, I vow! I never was so happy in m y life! I would fifty tim es rather y ou should have them than m y self.”

And now I m ay dism iss m y heroine to the sleepless couch, which is the

true heroine’s portion; to a pillow strewed with thorns and wet with tears. And lucky m ay she think herself, if she get another good night’s rest in the course of the next three m onths.