Chapter 22

The housem aid’s folding back her window-shutters at eight o’clock the

next day was the sound which first roused Catherine; and she opened her ey es, wondering that they could ever have been closed, on obj ects of cheerfulness; her fire was already burning, and a bright m orning had succeeded the tem pest of the night. Instantaneously, with the consciousness of existence, returned her recollection of the m anuscript; and springing from the bed in the very m om ent of the m aid’s going away, she eagerly collected every scattered sheet which had burst from the roll on its falling to the ground, and flew back to enj oy the luxury of their perusal on her pillow. She now plainly saw that she m ust not expect a m anuscript of equal length with the generality of what she had shuddered over in books, for the roll, seem ing to consist entirely of sm all disj ointed sheets, was altogether but of trifling size, and m uch less than she had supposed it to be at first.

Her greedy ey e glanced rapidly over a page. She started at its im port.

Could it be possible, or did not her senses play her false? An inventory of linen, in coarse and m odern characters, seem ed all that was before her! If the evidence of sight m ight be trusted, she held a washing-bill in her hand. She seized another sheet, and saw the sam e articles with little variation; a third, a fourth, and a fifth presented nothing new. Shirts, stockings, cravats, and waistcoats faced her in each. Two others, penned by the sam e hand, m arked an expenditure scarcely m ore interesting, in letters, hair-powder, shoe-string, and breeches-ball. And the larger sheet, which had enclosed the rest, seem ed by its first cram p line, “To poultice chestnut m are” – a farrier’s bill! Such was the collection of papers (left perhaps, as she could then suppose, by the negligence of a servant in the place whence she had taken them ) which had filled her with expectation and alarm , and robbed her of half her night’s rest! She felt hum bled to the dust. Could not the adventure of the chest have taught her wisdom ? A corner of it, catching her ey e as she lay, seem ed to rise up in j udgm ent against her. Nothing could now be clearer than the absurdity of her recent fancies. To suppose that a m anuscript of m any generations back could have rem ained undiscovered in a room such as that, so m odern, so habitable! – Or that she should be the first to possess the skill of unlocking a cabinet, the key of which was open to all!

How could she have so im posed on herself? Heaven forbid that Henry

Tilney should ever know her folly ! And it was in a great m easure his own doing, for had not the cabinet appeared so exactly to agree with his description of her adventures, she should never have felt the sm allest curiosity about it. This was the only com fort that occurred. Im patient to get rid of those hateful evidences of her folly, those detestable papers then scattered over the bed, she rose directly, and folding them up as nearly as possible in the sam e shape as before, returned them to the sam e spot within the cabinet, with a very hearty wish that no untoward accident m ight ever bring them forward again, to disgrace her even with herself.

Why the locks should have been so difficult to open, however, was still

som ething rem arkable, for she could now m anage them with perfect ease. In this there was surely som ething m y sterious, and she indulged in the flattering suggestion for half a m inute, till the possibility of the door’s having been at first unlocked, and of being herself its fastener, darted into her head, and cost her another blush.

She got away as soon as she could from a room in which her conduct

produced such unpleasant reflections, and found her way with all speed to the breakfast-parlour, as it had been pointed out to her by Miss Tilney the evening before. Henry was alone in it; and his im m ediate hope of her having been undisturbed by the tem pest, with an arch reference to the character of the building they inhabited, was rather distressing. For the world would she not have her weakness suspected, and y et, unequal to an absolute falsehood, was constrained to acknowledge that the wind had kept her awake a little. “But we have a charm ing m orning after it,” she added, desiring to get rid of the subj ect; “and storm s and sleeplessness are nothing when they are over. What beautiful hy acinths! I have j ust learnt to love a hy acinth.”

“And how m ight y ou learn? By accident or argum ent?”

“Your sister taught m e; I cannot tell how. Mrs. Allen used to take pains,

y ear after y ear, to m ake m e like them ; but I never could, till I saw them the other day in Milsom Street; I am naturally indifferent about flowers.”

“But now y ou love a hy acinth. So m uch the better. You have gained a

new source of enj oy m ent, and it is well to have as m any holds upon happiness as possible. Besides, a taste for flowers is alway s desirable in y our sex, as a m eans of getting y ou out of doors, and tem pting y ou to m ore frequent exercise than y ou would otherwise take. And though the love of a hy acinth m ay be rather dom estic, who can tell, the sentim ent once raised, but y ou m ay in tim e com e to love a rose?”

“But I do not want any such pursuit to get m e out of doors. The pleasure

of walking and breathing fresh air is enough for m e, and in fine weather I am out m ore than half m y tim e. Mam m a say s I am never within.”

“At any rate, however, I am pleased that y ou have learnt to love a

hy acinth. The m ere habit of learning to love is the thing; and a teachableness of disposition in a y oung lady is a great blessing. Has m y sister a pleasant m ode of instruction?”

Catherine was saved the em bar-rassm ent of attem pting an answer by

the entrance of the general, whose sm iling com plim ents announced a happy state of m ind, but whose gentle hint of sy m pathetic early rising did not advance her com posure.

The elegance of the breakfast set forced itself on Catherine’s notice when they were seated at table; and, lucidly, it had been the general’s choice. He was enchanted by her approbation of his taste, confessed it to be neat and sim ple, thought it right to encourage the m anufacture of his country ; and for his part, to his uncritical palate, the tea was as well flavoured from the clay of Staffordshire, as from that of Dresden or Save. But this was quite an old set, purchased two y ears ago. The m anufacture was m uch im proved since that tim e; he had seen som e beautiful specim ens when last in town, and had he not been perfectly without vanity of that kind, m ight have been tem pted to order a new set. He trusted, however, that an opportunity m ight ere long occur of selecting one – though not for him self. Catherine was probably the only one of the party who did not understand him .

Shortly after breakfast Henry left them for Woodston, where business

required and would keep him two or three day s. They all attended in the hall to see him m ount his horse, and im m ediately on re-entering the breakfast-room , Catherine walked to a window in the hope of catching another glim pse of his figure. “This is a som ewhat heavy call upon y our brother’s fortitude,” observed the general to Eleanor. “Woodston will m ake but a som bre appearance today.”

“Is it a pretty place?” asked Catherine.

“What say y ou, Eleanor? Speak y our opinion, for ladies can best tell the

taste of ladies in regard to places as well as m en. I think it would be acknowledged by the m ost im partial ey e to have m any recom m en-dations. The house stands am ong fine m eadows facing the south-east, with an excellent kitchen-garden in the sam e aspect; the walls surrounding which I built and stocked m y self about ten y ears ago, for the benefit of m y son. It is a fam ily living, Miss Morland; and the property in the place being chiefly m y own, y ou m ay believe I take care that it shall not be a bad one. Did Henry ’s incom e depend solely on this living, he would not be ill-provided for. Perhaps it m ay seem odd, that with only two y ounger children, I should think any profession necessary for him ; and certainly there are m om ents when we could all wish him disengaged from every tie of business. But though I m ay not exactly m ake converts of y ou y oung ladies, I am sure y our father, Miss Morland, would agree with m e in thinking it expedient to give every y oung m an som e em ploy m ent. The m oney is nothing, it is not an obj ect, but em ploy m ent is the thing. Even Frederick, m y eldest son, y ou see, who will perhaps inherit as considerable a landed property as any private m an in the county, has his profession.”

The im posing effect of this last argum ent was equal to his wishes. The

silence of the lady proved it to be unanswerable.

Som ething had been said the evening before of her being shown over

the house, and he now offered him self as her conductor; and though Catherine had hoped to explore it accom panied only by his daughter, it was a proposal of too m uch happiness in itself, under any circum stances, not to be gladly accepted; for she had been already eighteen hours in the abbey, and had seen only a few of its room s. The netting-box, j ust leisurely drawn forth, was closed with j oy ful haste, and she was ready to attend him in a m om ent. “And when they had gone over the house, he prom ised him self m oreover the pleasure of accom pany ing her into the shrubberies and garden.” She curtsied her acquiescence. “But perhaps it m ight be m ore agreeable to her to m ake those her first obj ect. The weather was at present favourable, and at this tim e of y ear the uncertainty was very great of its continuing so. Which would she prefer? He was equally at her service. Which did his daughter think would m ost accord with her fair friend’s wishes? But he thought he could discern. Yes, he certainly read in Miss Morland’s ey es a j udicious desire of m aking use of the present sm iling weather. But when did she j udge am iss? The abbey would be alway s safe and dry. He y ielded im plicitly, and would fetch his hat and attend them in a m om ent.” He left the room , and Catherine, with a disappointed, anxious face, began to speak of her unwillingness that he should be taking them out of doors against his own inclination, under a m istaken idea of pleasing her; but she was stopped by Miss Tilney ’s say ing, with a little confusion, “I believe it will be wisest to take the m orning while it is so fine; and do not be uneasy on m y father’s account; he alway s walks out at this tim e of day.”

Catherine did not exactly know how this was to be understood. Why was

Miss Tilney em barrassed? Could there be any unwillingness on the general’s side to show her over the abbey ? The proposal was his own. And was not it odd that he should alway s take his walk so early ? Neither her father nor Mr. Allen did so. It was certainly very provoking. She was all im patience to see the house, and had scarcely any curiosity about the grounds. If Henry had been with them indeed! But now she should not know what was picturesque when she saw it. Such were her thoughts, but she kept them to herself, and put on her bonnet in patient discontent.

She was struck, however, bey ond her expectation, by the grandeur of

the abbey, as she saw it for the first tim e from the lawn. The whole building enclosed a large court; and two sides of the quadrangle, rich in Gothic ornam ents, stood forward for adm iration. The rem ainder was shut off by knolls of old trees, or luxuriant plantations, and the steep woody hills rising behind, to give it shelter, were beautiful even in the leafless m onth of March. Catherine had seen nothing to com pare with it; and her feelings of delight were so strong, that without waiting for any better authority, she boldly burst forth in wonder and praise. The general listened with assenting gratitude; and it seem ed as if his own estim ation of Northanger had waited unfixed till that hour.

The kitchen-garden was to be next adm ired, and he led the way to it

across a sm all portion of the park.

The num ber of acres contained in this garden was such as Catherine could not listen to without dism ay, being m ore than double the extent of all Mr. Allen’s, as well her father’s, including church-y ard and orchard. The walls seem ed countless in num ber, endless in length; a village of hot-houses seem ed to arise am ong them , and a whole parish to be at work within the enclosure. The general was flattered by her looks of surprise, which told him alm ost as plainly, as he soon forced her to tell him in words, that she had never seen any gardens at all equal to them before; and he then m odestly owned that, “without any am bition of that sort him self – without any solicitude about it – he did believe them to be unrivalled in the kingdom . If he had a hobby -horse, it was that. He loved a garden. Though careless enough in m ost m atters of eating, he loved good fruit – or if he did not, his friends and children did. There were great vexations, however, attending such a garden as his. The utm ost care could not alway s secure the m ost valuable fruits. The pinery had y ielded only one hundred in the last y ear. Mr. Allen, he supposed, m ust feel these inconveniences as well as him self.”

“No, not at all. Mr. Allen did not care about the garden, and never went

into it.”

With a trium phant sm ile of self-satisfaction, the general wished he

could do the sam e, for he never entered his, without being vexed in som e way or other, by its falling short of his plan.

“How were Mr. Allen’s succession-houses worked?” describing the

nature of his own as they entered them .

“Mr. Allen had only one sm all hot-house, which Mrs. Allen had the use

of for her plants in winter, and there was a fire in it now and then.”

“He is a happy m an!” said the general, with a look of very happy

contem pt.

Having taken her into every division, and led her under every wall, till

she was heartily weary of seeing and wondering, he suffered the girls at last to seize the advantage of an outer door, and then expressing his wish to exam ine the effect of som e recent alterations about the tea-house, proposed it as no unpleasant extension of their walk, if Miss Morland were not tired. “But where are y ou going, Eleanor? Why do y ou choose that cold, dam p path to it? Miss Morland will get wet. Our best way is across the park.”

“This is so favourite a walk of m ine,” said Miss Tilney, “that I alway s

think it the best and nearest way. But perhaps it m ay be dam p.”

It was a narrow winding path through a thick grove of old Scotch firs;

and Catherine, struck by its gloom y aspect, and eager to enter it, could not, even by the general’s disapprobation, be kept from stepping forward. He perceived her inclination, and having again urged the plea of health in vain, was too polite to m ake further opposition. He excused him self, however, from attending them : “The ray s of the sun were not too cheerful for him , and he would m eet them by another course.” He turned away ; and Catherine was shocked to find how m uch her spirits were relieved by the separation. The shock, however, being less real than the relief, offered it no inj ury ; and she began to talk with easy gaiety of the delightful m elancholy which such a grove inspired.

“I am particularly fond of this spot,” said her com panion, with a sigh.

“It was m y m other’s favourite walk.”

Catherine had never heard Mrs. Tilney m entioned in the fam ily before,

and the interest excited by this tender rem em brance showed itself directly in her altered countenance, and in the attentive pause with which she waited for som ething m ore.

“I used to walk here so often with her!” added Eleanor; “though I never

loved it then, as I have loved it since. At that tim e indeed I used to wonder at her choice. But her m em ory endears it now.”

“And ought it not,” reflected Catherine, “to endear it to her husband?

Yet the general would not enter it.” Miss Tilney continuing silent, she ventured to say, “Her death m ust have been a great affliction!”

“A great and increasing one,” replied the other, in a low voice. “I was

only thirteen when it happened; and though I felt m y loss perhaps as strongly as one so y oung could feel it, I did not, I could not, then know what a loss it was.” She stopped for a m om ent, and then added, with great firm ness, “I have no sister, y ou know – and though Henry – though m y brothers are very affectionate, and Henry is a great deal here, which I am m ost thankful for, it is im possible for m e not to be often solitary.”

“To be sure y ou m ust m iss him very m uch.”

“A m other would have been alway s present. A m other would have been

a constant friend; her influence would have been bey ond all other.”

“Was she a very charm ing wom an? Was she handsom e? Was there any

picture of her in the abbey ? And why had she been so partial to that grove? Was it from dej ection of spirits?” – were questions now eagerly poured forth; the first three received a ready affirm ative, the two others were passed by ; and Catherine’s interest in the deceased Mrs. Tilney augm ented with every question, whether answered or not. Of her unhappiness in m arriage, she felt persuaded. The general certainly had been an unkind husband. He did not love her walk: could he therefore have loved her? And besides, handsom e as he was, there was a som ething in the turn of his features which spoke his not having behaved well to her.

“Her picture, I suppose,” blushing at the consum m ate art of her own

question, “hangs in y our father’s room ?”

“No; it was intended for the drawing-room ; but m y father was

dissatisfied with the painting, and for som e tim e it had no place. Soon after her death I obtained it for m y own, and hung it in m y bed-cham ber – where I shall be happy to show it y ou; it is very like.” Here was another proof. A portrait – very like – of a departed wife, not valued by the husband! He m ust have been dreadfully cruel to her!

Catherine attem pted no longer to hide from herself the nature of the

feelings which, in spite of all his attentions, he had previously excited; and what had been terror and dislike before, was now absolute aversion. Yes, aversion! His cruelty to such a charm ing wom an m ade him odious to her. She had often read of such characters, characters which Mr. Allen had been used to call unnatural and overdrawn; but here was proof positive of the contrary.

She had j ust settled this point when the end of the path brought them

directly upon the general; and in spite of all her virtuous indignation, she found herself again obliged to walk with him , listen to him , and even to sm ile when he sm iled. Being no longer able, however, to receive pleasure from the surrounding obj ects, she soon began to walk with lassitude; the general perceived it, and with a concern for her health, which seem ed to reproach her for her opinion of him , was m ost urgent for returning with his daughter to the house. He would follow them in a quarter of an hour. Again they parted – but Eleanor was called back in half a m inute to receive a strict charge against taking her friend round the abbey till his return. This second instance of his anxiety to delay what she so m uch wished for struck Catherine as very rem arkable.