Chapter 24

The next day afforded no opportunity for the proposed exam ination of

the m y sterious apartm ents. It was Sunday, and the whole tim e between m orning and afternoon service was required by the general in exercise abroad or eating cold m eat at hom e; and great as was Catherine’s curiosity, her courage was not equal to a wish of exploring them after dinner, either by the fading light of the sky between six and seven o’clock, or by the y et m ore partial though stronger illum ination of a treacherous lam p. The day was unm arked therefore by any thing to interest her im agination bey ond the sight of a very elegant m onum ent to the m em ory of Mrs. Tilney, which im m ediately fronted the fam ily pew. By that her ey e was instantly caught and long retained; and the perusal of the highly strained epitaph, in which every virtue was ascribed to her by the inconsolable husband, who m ust have been in som e way or other her destroy er, affected her even to tears.

That the general, having erected such a m onum ent, should be able to

face it, was not perhaps very strange, and y et that he could sit so boldly collected within its view, m aintain so elevated an air, look so fearlessly around, nay, that he should even enter the church, seem ed wonderful to Catherine. Not, however, that m any instances of beings equally hardened in guilt m ight not be produced. She could rem em ber dozens who had persevered in every possible vice, going on from crim e to crim e, m urdering whom soever they chose, without any feeling of hum anity or rem orse; till a violent death or a religious retirem ent closed their black career. The erection of the m onum ent itself could not in the sm allest degree affect her doubts of Mrs. Tilney ’s actual decease. Were she even to descend into the fam ily vault where her ashes were supposed to slum ber, were she to behold the coffin in which they were said to be enclosed – what could it avail in such a case? Catherine had read too m uch not to be perfectly aware of the ease with which a waxen figure m ight be introduced, and a supposititious funeral carried on.

The succeeding m orning prom ised som ething better. The general’s

early walk, ill-tim ed as it was in every other view, was favourable here; and when she knew him to be out of the house, she directly proposed to Miss Tilney the accom plishm ent of her prom ise. Eleanor was ready to oblige her; and Catherine rem inding her as they went of another prom ise, their first visit in consequence was to the portrait in her bed-cham ber. It represented a very lovely wom an, with a m ild and pensive countenance, j ustify ing, so far, the expectations of its new observer; but they were not in every respect answered, for Catherine had depended upon m eeting with features, hair, com plexion, that should be the very counterpart, the very im age, if not of Henry ’s, of Eleanor’s – the only portraits of which she had been in the habit of thinking, bearing alway s an equal resem blance of m other and child. A face once taken was taken for generations. But here she was obliged to look and consider and study for a likeness. She contem plated it, however, in spite of this drawback, with m uch em otion, and, but for a y et stronger interest, would have left it unwillingly.

Her agitation as they entered the great gallery was too m uch for any

endeavour at discourse; she could only look at her com panion. Eleanor’s countenance was dej ected, y et sedate; and its com posure spoke her inured to all the gloom y obj ects to which they were advancing. Again she passed through the folding doors, again her hand was upon the im portant lock, and Catherine, hardly able to breathe, was turning to close the form er with fearful caution, when the figure, the dreaded figure of the general him self at the further end of the gallery, stood before her! The nam e of “Eleanor” at the sam e m om ent, in his loudest tone, resounded through the building, giving to his daughter the first intim ation of his presence, and to Catherine terror upon terror. An attem pt at concealm ent had been her first instinctive m ovem ent on perceiving him , y et she could scarcely hope to have escaped his ey e; and when her friend, who with an apologizing look darted hastily by her, had j oined and disappeared with him , she ran for safety to her own room , and, locking herself in, believed that she should never have courage to go down again. She rem ained there at least an hour, in the greatest agitation, deeply com m iserating the state of her poor friend, and expecting a sum m ons herself from the angry general to attend him in his own apartm ent. No sum m ons, however, arrived; and at last, on seeing a carriage drive up to the abbey, she was em boldened to descend and m eet him under the protection of visitors. The breakfast-room was gay with com pany ; and she was nam ed to them by the general as the friend of his daughter, in a com plim entary sty le, which so well concealed his resentful ire, as to m ake her feel secure at least of life for the present. And Eleanor, with a com m and of countenance which did honour to her concern for his character, taking an early occasion of say ing to her, “My father only wanted m e to answer a note,” she began to hope that she had either been unseen by the general, or that from som e consideration of policy she should be allowed to suppose herself so. Upon this trust she dared still to rem ain in his presence, after the com pany left them , and nothing occurred to disturb it.

In the course of this m orning’s reflections, she cam e to a resolution of

m aking her next attem pt on the forbidden door alone. It would be m uch better in every respect that Eleanor should know nothing of the m atter. To involve her in the danger of a second detection, to court her into an apartm ent which m ust wring her heart, could not be the office of a friend. The general’s utm ost anger could not be to herself what it m ight be to a daughter; and, besides, she thought the exam ination itself would be m ore satisfactory if m ade without any com panion. It would be im possible to explain to Eleanor the suspicions, from which the other had, in all likelihood, been hitherto happily exem pt; nor could she therefore, in her presence, search for those proofs of the general’s cruelty, which however they m ight y et have escaped discovery, she felt confident of som ewhere drawing forth, in the shape of som e fragm ented j ournal, continued to the last gasp. Of the way to the apartm ent she was now perfectly m istress; and as she wished to get it over before Henry ’s return, who was expected on the m orrow, there was no tim e to be lost. The day was bright, her courage high; at four o’clock, the sun was now two hours above the horizon, and it would be only her retiring to dress half an hour earlier than usual.

It was done; and Catherine found herself alone in the gallery before the

clocks had ceased to strike. It was no tim e for thought; she hurried on, slipped with the least possible noise through the folding doors, and without stopping to look or breathe, rushed forward to the one in question. The lock y ielded to her hand, and, luckily, with no sullen sound that could alarm a hum an being. On tiptoe she entered; the room was before her; but it was som e m inutes before she could advance another step. She beheld what fixed her to the spot and agitated every feature. She saw a large, well-proportioned apartm ent, an handsom e dim ity bed, arranged as unoccupied with an housem aid’s care, a bright Bath stove, m ahogany wardrobes, and neatly painted chairs, on which the warm beam s of a western sun gaily poured through two sash windows! Catherine had expected to have her feelings worked, and worked they were. Astonishm ent and doubt first seized them ; and a shortly succeeding ray of com m on sense added som e bitter em otions of sham e. She could not be m istaken as to the room ; but how grossly m istaken in every thing else! – in Miss Tilney ’s m eaning, in her own calculation! This apartm ent, to which she had given a date so ancient, a position so awful, proved to be one end of what the general’s father had built. There were two other doors in the cham ber, leading probably into dressing-closets; but she had no inclination to open either. Would the veil in which Mrs. Tilney had last walked, or the volum e in which she had last read, rem ain to tell what nothing else was allowed to whisper? No: whatever m ight have been the general’s crim es, he had certainly too m uch wit to let them sue for detection. She was sick of exploring, and desired but to be safe in her own room , with her own heart only privy to its folly ; and she was on the point of retreating as softly as she had entered, when the sound of footsteps, she could hardly tell where, m ade her pause and trem ble. To be found there, even by a servant, would be unpleasant; but by the general (and he seem ed alway s at hand when least wanted), m uch worse! She listened – the sound had ceased; and resolving not to lose a m om ent, she passed through and closed the door. At that instant a door underneath was hastily opened; som eone seem ed with swift steps to ascend the stairs, by the head of which she had y et to pass before she could gain the gallery. She had no power to m ove. With a feeling of terror not very definable, she fixed her ey es on the staircase, and in a few m om ents it gave Henry to her view. “Mr. Tilney !” she exclaim ed in a voice of m ore than com m on astonishm ent. He looked astonished too. “Good God!” she continued, not attending to his address. “How cam e y ou here? How cam e y ou up that staircase?”

“How cam e I up that staircase!” he replied, greatly surprised.

“Because it is m y nearest way from the stable-y ard to m y own cham ber; and why should I not com e up it?”

Catherine recollected herself, blushed deeply, and could say no m ore.

He seem ed to be looking in her countenance for that explanation which her lips did not afford. She m oved on towards the gallery. “And m ay I not, in m y turn,” said he, as he pushed back the folding doors, “ask how y ou cam e here? This passage is at least as extraordinary a road from the breakfast-parlour to y our apartm ent, as that staircase can be from the stables to m ine.”

“I have been,” said Catherine, looking down, “to see y our m other’s

room .”

“My m other’s room ! Is there any thing extraordinary to be seen there?”

“No, nothing at all. I thought y ou did not m ean to com e back till

tom orrow.”

“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 m e. You look pale. I am afraid I alarm ed y ou by running so fast up those stairs. Perhaps y ou did not know – y ou were not aware of their leading from the offices in com m on use?”

“No, I was not. You have had a very fine day for y our ride.”

“Very ; and does Eleanor leave y ou to find y our way into all the room s

in the house by y ourself?”

“Oh! No; she showed m e over the greatest part on Saturday – and we

were com ing here to these room s – but only ” – dropping her voice – “y our father was with us.”

“And that prevented y ou,” said Henry, earnestly regarding her. “Have

y ou looked into all the room s in that passage?”

“No, I only wanted to see – Is not it very late? I m ust go and dress.”

“It is only a quarter past four” showing his watch – “and y ou are not

now in Bath. No theatre, no room s to prepare for. Half an hour at Northanger m ust be enough.”

She could not contradict it, and therefore suffered herself to be

detained, though her dread of further questions m ade her, for the first tim e in their acquaintance, wish to leave him . They walked slowly up the gallery. “Have y ou had any letter from Bath since I saw y ou?”

“No, and I am very m uch surprised. Isabella prom ised so faithfully to

write directly.”

“Prom ised so faithfully ! A faithful prom ise! That puzzles m e. I have

heard of a faithful perform ance. But a faithful prom ise – the fidelity of prom ising! It is a power little worth knowing, however, since it can deceive and pain y ou. My m other’s room is very com -m odious, is it not? Large and cheerful-looking, and the dressing-closets so well disposed! It alway s strikes m e as the m ost com fortable apartm ent in the house, and I rather wonder that Eleanor should not take it for her own. She sent y ou to look at it, I suppose?”

“No.”

“It has been y our own doing entirely ?” Catherine said nothing. After a

short silence, during which he had closely observed her, he added, “As there is nothing in the room in itself to raise curiosity, this m ust have proceeded from a sentim ent of respect for m y m other’s character, as described by Eleanor, which does honour to her m em ory. The world, I believe, never saw a better wom an. But it is not often that virtue can boast an interest such as this. The dom estic, un-pretending m erits of a person never known do not often create that kind of fervent, venerating tenderness which would prom pt a visit like y ours. Eleanor, I suppose, has talked of her a great deal?”

“Yes, a great deal. That is... no, not m uch, but what she did say was

very interesting. Her dy ing so suddenly ” (slowly, and with hesitation it was spoken), “and y ou, none of y ou being at hom e, and y our father, I thought, perhaps had not been very fond of her.”

“And from these circum stances,” he replied (his quick ey e fixed on

hers), “y ou infer perhaps the probability of som e negligence, som e...” – (involuntarily she shook her head) – “or it m ay be – of som ething still less pardonable.” She raised her ey es towards him m ore fully than she had ever done before. “My m other’s illness,” he continued, “the seizure which ended in her death, was sudden. The m alady 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 phy sician attended her, a very respectable m an, and one in whom she had alway s placed great confidence. Upon his opinion of her danger, two others were called in the next day, and rem ained in alm ost 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 hom e) 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 com m and. Poor Eleanor was absent, and at such a distance as to return only to see her m other in her coffin.”

“But y our father,” said Catherine, “was he afflicted?”

“For a tim e, 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, y ou know, the sam e tenderness of disposition – and I will not pretend to say that while she lived, she m ight not often have had m uch to bear, but though his tem per inj ured her, his j udgm ent never did. His value of her was sincere; and, if not perm anently, he was truly afflicted by her death.”

“I am very glad of it,” said Catherine; “it would have been very

shocking!”

“If I understand y ou rightly, y ou had form ed a surm ise of such horror

as I have hardly words to – Dear Miss Morland, consider the dreadful nature of the suspicions y ou have entertained. What have y ou been j udging from ? Rem em ber the country and the age in which we live. Rem em ber that we are English, that we are Christians. Consult y our own under-standing, y our own sense of the probable, y our own observation of what is passing around y ou. 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 m an is surrounded by a neighbourhood of voluntary spies, and where roads and newspapers lay every thing open? Dearest Miss Morland, what ideas have y ou been adm itting?”

They had reached the end of the gallery, and with tears of sham e she

ran off to her own room .