Chapter 20

Mr. and Mrs. Allen were sorry to lose their y oung friend, whose good

hum our and cheerfulness had m ade her a valuable com panion, and in the prom otion of whose enj oy m ent their own had been gently increased. Her happiness in going with Miss Tilney, however, prevented their wishing it otherwise; and, as they were to rem ain only one m ore week in Bath them selves, her quitting them now would not long be felt. Mr. Allen attended her to Milsom Street, where she was to breakfast, and saw her seated with the kindest welcom e am ong her new friends; but so great was her agitation in finding herself as one of the fam ily, and so fearful was she of not doing exactly what was right, and of not being able to preserve their good opinion, that, in the em barrassm ent of the first five m inutes, she could alm ost have wished to return with him to Pulteney Street.

Miss Tilney ’s m anners and Henry ’s sm ile soon did away som e of her

unpleasant feelings; but still she was far from being at ease; nor could the incessant attentions of the general him self entirely reassure her. Nay, perverse as it seem ed, she doubted whether she m ight not have felt less, had she been less attended to. His anxiety for her com fort – his continual solicitations that she would eat, and his often-expressed fears of her seeing nothing to her taste – though never in her life before had she beheld half such variety on a breakfast-table – m ade it im possible for her to forget for a m om ent that she was a visitor. She felt utterly unworthy of such respect, and knew not how to reply to it. Her tranquillity was not im proved by the general’s im patience for the appearance of his eldest son, nor by the displeasure he expressed at his laziness when Captain Tilney at last cam e down. She was quite pained by the severity of his father’s reproof, which seem ed disproportionate to the offence; and m uch was her concern increased when she found herself the principal cause of the lecture, and that his tardiness was chiefly resented from being disrespectful to her. This was placing her in a very uncom fortable situation, and she felt great com passion for Captain Tilney, without being able to hope for his goodwill.

He listened to his father in silence, and attem pted not any defence,

which confirm ed her in fearing that the inquietude of his m ind, on Isabella’s account, m ight, by keeping him long sleepless, have been the real cause of his rising late. It was the first tim e of her being decidedly in his com pany, and she had hoped to be now able to form her opinion of him ; but she scarcely heard his voice while his father rem ained in the room ; and even afterwards, so m uch were his spirits affected, she could distinguish nothing but these words, in a whisper to Eleanor, “How glad I shall be when y ou are all off.”

The bustle of going was not pleasant. The clock struck ten while the

trunks were carry ing down, and the general had fixed to be out of Milsom Street by that hour. His greatcoat, instead of being brought for him to put on directly, was spread out in the curricle in which he was to accom pany his son. The m iddle seat of the chaise was not drawn out, though there were three people to go in it, and his daughter’s m aid had so crowded it with parcels that Miss Morland would not have room to sit; and, so m uch was he influenced by this apprehension when he handed her in, that she had som e difficulty in saving her own new writing-desk from being thrown out into the street. At last, however, the door was closed upon the three fem ales, and they set off at the sober pace in which the handsom e, highly fed four horses of a gentlem an usually perform a j ourney of thirty m iles: such was the distance of Northanger from Bath, to be now divided into two equal stages. Catherine’s spirits revived as they drove from the door; for with Miss Tilney she felt no restraint; and, with the interest of a road entirely new to her, of an abbey before, and a curricle behind, she caught the last view of Bath without any regret, and m et with every m ilestone before she expected it. The tediousness of a two hours’ wait at Petty France, in which there was nothing to be done but to eat without being hungry, and loiter about without any thing to see, next followed – and her adm iration of the sty le in which they travelled, of the fashionable chaise and four – postilions handsom ely liveried, rising so regularly in their stirrups, and num erous outriders properly m ounted, sunk a little under this consequent inconvenience. Had their party been perfectly agreeable, the delay would have been nothing; but General Tilney, though so charm ing a m an, seem ed alway s a check upon his children’s spirits, and scarcely any thing was said but by him self; the observation of which, with his discontent at whatever the inn afforded, and his angry im patience at the waiters, m ade Catherine grow every m om ent m ore in awe of him , and appeared to lengthen the two hours into four. At last, however, the order of release was given; and m uch was Catherine then surprised by the general’s proposal of her taking his place in his son’s curricle for the rest of the j ourney : “the day was fine, and he was anxious for her seeing as m uch of the country as possible.”

The rem em brance of Mr. Allen’s opinion, respecting y oung m en’s open

carriages, m ade her blush at the m ention of such a plan, and her first thought was to decline it; but her second was of greater deference for General Tilney ’s j udgm ent; he could not propose any thing im proper for her; and, in the course of a few m inutes, she found herself with Henry in the curricle, as happy a being as ever existed. A very short trial convinced her that a curricle was the prettiest equipage in the world; the chaise and four wheeled off with som e grandeur, to be sure, but it was a heavy and troublesom e business, and she could not easily forget its having stopped two hours at Petty France. Half the tim e would have been enough for the curricle, and so nim bly were the light horses disposed to m ove, that, had not the general chosen to have his own carriage lead the way, they could have passed it with ease in half a m inute. But the m erit of the curricle did not all belong to the horses; Henry drove so well – so quietly – without m aking any disturbance, without parading to her, or swearing at them : so different from the only gentlem an-coachm an whom it was in her power to com pare him with! And then his hat sat so well, and the innum erable capes of his greatcoat looked so becom ingly im portant! To be driven by him , next to being dancing with him , was certainly the greatest happiness in the world. In addition to every other delight, she had now that of listening to her own praise; of being thanked at least, on his sister’s account, for her kindness in thus becom ing her visitor; of hearing it ranked as real friendship, and described as creating real gratitude. His sister, he said, was uncom fortably circum stanced – she had no fem ale com panion – and, in the frequent absence of her father, was som etim es without any com panion at all.

“But how can that be?” said Catherine. “Are not y ou with her?”

“Northanger is not m ore than half m y hom e; I have an establishm ent at

m y own house in Woodston, which is nearly twenty m iles from m y father’s, and som e of m y tim e is necessarily spent there.”

“How sorry y ou m ust be for that!”

“I am alway s sorry to leave Eleanor.”

“Yes; but besides y our affection for her, y ou m ust be so fond of the

abbey ! After being used to such a hom e as the abbey, an ordinary parsonage-house m ust be very disagreeable.”

He sm iled, and said, “You have form ed a very favourable idea of the

abbey.”

“To be sure, I have. Is not it a fine old place, j ust like what one reads

about?”

“And are y ou prepared to encounter all the horrors that a building such

as ‘what one reads about’ m ay produce? Have y ou a stout heart? Nerves fit for sliding panels and tapestry ?”

“Oh! y es – I do not think I should be easily frightened, because there

would be so m any people in the house – and besides, it has never been uninhabited and left deserted for y ears, and then the fam ily com e back to it unawares, without giving any notice, as generally happens.”

“No, certainly. We shall not have to explore our way into a hall dim ly

lighted by the expiring em bers of a wood fire – nor be obliged to spread our beds on the floor of a room without windows, doors, or furniture. But y ou m ust be aware that when a y oung lady is (by whatever m eans) introduced into a dwelling of this kind, she is alway s lodged apart from the rest of the fam ily. While they snugly repair to their own end of the house, she is form ally conducted by Dorothy, the ancient housekeeper, up a different staircase, and along m any gloom y passages, into an apartm ent never used since som e cousin or kin died in it about twenty y ears before. Can y ou stand such a cerem ony as this? Will not y our m ind m isgive y ou when y ou find y ourself in this gloom y cham ber – too lofty and extensive for y ou, with only the feeble ray s of a single lam p 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 y our heart sink within y ou?”

“Oh! But this will not happen to m e, I am sure.”

“How fearfully will y ou exam ine the furniture of y our apartm ent! And

what will y ou discern? Not tables, toilettes, wardrobes, or drawers, but on one side perhaps the rem ains of a broken lute, on the other a ponderous chest which no efforts can open, and over the fireplace the portrait of som e handsom e warrior, whose features will so incom prehensibly strike y ou, that y ou will not be able to withdraw y our ey es from it. Dorothy, m eanwhile, no less struck by y our appearance, gazes on y ou in great agitation, and drops a few unintelligible hints. To raise y our spirits, m oreover, she gives y ou reason to suppose that the part of the abbey y ou inhabit is undoubtedly haunted, and inform s y ou that y ou will not have a single dom estic within call. With this parting cordial she curtsies off – y ou listen to the sound of her receding footsteps as long as the last echo can reach y ou – and when, with fainting spirits, y ou attem pt to fasten y our door, y ou discover, with increased alarm , that it has no lock.”

“Oh! Mr. Tilney, how frightful! This is j ust like a book! But it cannot

really happen to m e. I am sure y our housekeeper is not really Dorothy. Well, what then?”

“Nothing further to alarm perhaps m ay occur the first night. After

surm ounting y our unconquerable horror of the bed, y ou will retire to rest, and get a few hours’ unquiet slum ber. But on the second, or at farthest the third night after y our arrival, y ou 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 m ountains – and during the frightful gusts of wind which accom pany it, y ou will probably think y ou discern (for y our lam p is not extinguished) one part of the hanging m ore violently agitated than the rest. Unable of course to repress y our curiosity in so favourable a m om ent for indulging it, y ou will instantly arise, and throwing y our dressing-gown around y ou, proceed to exam ine this m y stery. After a very short search, y ou will discover a division in the tapestry so artfully constructed as to defy the m inutest inspection, and on opening it, a door will im m ediately appear – which door, being only secured by m assy bars and a padlock, y ou will, after a few efforts, succeed in opening – and, with y our lam p in y our hand, will pass through it into a sm all vaulted room .”

“No, indeed; I should be too m uch frightened to do any such thing.”

“What! Not when Dorothy has given y ou to understand that there is a

secret subterraneous com m unication between y our apartm ent and the chapel of St. Anthony, scarcely two m iles off? Could y ou shrink from so sim ple an adventure? No, no, y ou will proceed into this sm all vaulted room , and through this into several others, without perceiving any thing very rem arkable in either. In one perhaps there m ay be a dagger, in another a few drops of blood, and in a third the rem ains of som e instrum ent of torture; but there being nothing in all this out of the com m on way, and y our lam p being nearly exhausted, y ou will return towards y our own apartm ent. In repassing through the sm all vaulted room , however, y our ey es will be attracted towards a large, old-fashioned cabinet of ebony and gold, which, though narrowly exam ining the furniture before, y ou had passed unnoticed. Im pelled by an irresistible presentim ent, y ou will eagerly advance to it, unlock its folding doors, and search into every drawer – but for som e tim e without discovering any thing of im portance – perhaps nothing but a considerable hoard of diam onds. At last, however, by touching a secret spring, an inner com partm ent will open – a roll of paper appears – y ou seize it – it contains m any sheets of m anuscript – y ou hasten with the precious treasure into y our own cham ber, but scarcely have y ou been able to decipher ‘Oh! Thou – whom soever thou m ay st be, into whose hands these m em oirs of the wretched Matilda m ay fall’, when y our lam p suddenly expires in the socket, and leaves y ou in total darkness.”

“Oh! No, no. Do not say so. Well, go on.”

But Henry was too m uch am used by the interest he had raised to be

able to carry it farther; he could no longer com m and solem nity either of subj ect or voice, and was obliged to entreat her to use her own fancy in the perusal of Matilda’s woes. Catherine, recollecting herself, grew asham ed of her eagerness, and began earnestly to assure him that her attention had been fixed without the sm allest apprehension of really m eeting with what he related. “Miss Tilney, she was sure, would never put her into such a cham ber as he had described! She was not at all afraid.”

As they drew near the end of their j ourney, her im patience for a sight

of the abbey – for som e tim e suspended by his conversation on subj ects very different – returned in full force, and every bend in the road was expected with solem n awe to afford a glim pse of its m assy walls of grey stone, rising am idst a grove of ancient oaks, with the last beam s of the sun play ing in beautiful splendour on its high Gothic windows. But so low did the building stand, that she found herself passing through the great gates of the lodge into the very grounds of Northanger, without having discerned even an antique chim ney.

She knew not that she had any right to be surprised, but there was a

som ething in this m ode of approach which she certainly had not expected. To pass between lodges of a m odern appearance, to find herself with such ease in the very precincts of the abbey, and driven so rapidly along a sm ooth, level road of fine gravel, without obstacle, alarm , or solem nity of any kind, struck her as odd and inconsistent. She was not long at leisure, however, for such considerations. A sudden scud of rain, driving full in her face, m ade it im possible for her to observe any thing further, and fixed all her thoughts on the welfare of her new straw bonnet; and she was actually under the abbey walls, was springing, with Henry ’s assistance, from the carriage, was beneath the shelter of the old porch, and had even passed on to the hall, where her friend and the general were waiting to welcom e her, without feeling one awful foreboding of future m isery to herself, or one m om ent’s suspicion of any past scenes of horror being acted within the solem n edifice. The breeze had not seem ed to waft the sighs of the m urdered to her; it had wafted nothing worse than a thick m izzling rain; and having given a good shake to her habit, she was ready to be shown into the com m on drawing-room , and capable of considering where she was.

An abbey ! Yes, it was delightful to be really in an abbey ! But she

doubted, as she looked round the room , whether any thing within her observation would have given her the consciousness. The furniture was in all the profusion and elegance of m odern taste. The fireplace, where she had expected the am ple width and ponderous carving of form er tim es, was contracted to a Rum ford, with slabs of plain though handsom e m arble, and ornam ents over it of the prettiest English china. The windows, to which she looked with peculiar dependence, from having heard the general talk of his preserving them in their Gothic form with reverential care, were y et less what her fancy had portray ed. To be sure, the pointed arch was preserved – the form of them was Gothic – they m ight be even casem ents – but every pane was so large, so clear, so light! To an im agination which had hoped for the sm allest divisions, and the heaviest stone-work, for painted glass, dirt, and cobwebs, the difference was very distressing.

The general, perceiving how her ey e was em ploy ed, began to talk of

the sm allness of the room and sim plicity of the furniture, where every thing, being for daily use, pretended only to com fort, etc.; flattering him self, however, that there were som e apartm ents in the Abbey not unworthy her notice – and was proceeding to m ention the costly gilding of one in particular, when, taking out his watch, he stopped short to pronounce it with surprise within twenty m inutes of five! This seem ed the word of separation, and Catherine found herself hurried away by Miss Tilney in such a m anner as convinced her that the strictest punctuality to the fam ily hours would be expected at Northanger.

Returning through the large and lofty hall, they ascended a broad

staircase of shining oak, which, after m any flights and m any landing-places, brought them upon a long, wide gallery. On one side it had a range of doors, and it was lighted on the other by windows which Catherine had only tim e to discover looked into a quadrangle, before Miss Tilney led the way into a cham ber, and scarcely stay ing to hope she would find it com fortable, left her with an anxious entreaty that she would m ake as little alteration as possible in her dress.