Northanger Abbey

by Val McDermid

  Because she was looking away, she didn’t see the look of guile that passed across John’s face. ‘Henry Tilney? Freddie Tilney’s brother? The bloke you were dancing with last night?’

  Cat turned back to face him. Her chin came up. ‘That’s right.’

  John laughed. ‘You’ll be waiting a long time if you’re expecting him to call today,’ he said. ‘I’ve just seen him going into Haymarket station with a very good-looking blonde. The pair of them had backpacks, like they were heading off somewhere for the day. I’d say you were the last thing on his mind.’

  Seeing Cat’s stricken expression, Bella said casually, ‘Ellie probably thought it was too muddy to go hill-walking. She’s a bit precious, Cat. I think so, anyway. The least she could have done was text you and not leave you high and dry. Come on, we’ll have a brilliant time at Linlithgow and Glasgow. It’ll be so cool, just like being in a Hebridean Harpies story.’

  ‘What do you think, Susie? Should I go?’

  Susie shrugged. ‘It’s up to you. But Bella’s got a point: Ellie could have texted you.’

  And so it was settled. Which was more than could be said of Cat’s feelings, divided between the pleasure lost and the pleasure anticipated. In spite of her natural tendency to think well of people, she couldn’t help a niggle of annoyance that Ellie had left her dangling without a word.

  They bounced over the cobbles of Queen Street and Ainslie Place, juddering so hard that Cat feared for her teeth. As they screeched through the sharp right turn on to Queensferry Road, John shouted, ‘Who’s that girl?’ before they lurched to a halt at a red light.

  ‘What girl?’

  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘Blonde, back there at the lights. She was waving at us, and I’m bloody sure I don’t know her.’

  Cat swivelled round in her seat just in time to see Ellie Tilney and her brother crossing at the pedestrian light behind them, both dressed for walking in waxed jackets, thornproof trousers and hiking boots. ‘Pull over, you—’ She almost called him a moron, but stopped herself in time. ‘It’s the Tilneys. Henry and Ellie. I need to catch up with them. Pull over.’

  But the lights turned to green and John accelerated wildly. ‘You’re seeing things,’ he said, hammering across the Dean Bridge as if the hounds of hell were on his tail.

  ‘That was the Tilneys, John. I bet they’re on their way round to meet me right now. Please, please take me back.’

  ‘Too late,’ he said. ‘Other plans.’

  Angry now, and confused by his behaviour, Cat said, ‘Why did you lie to me? Why did you say Henry was going into the station at Haymarket when he obviously wasn’t? They must think I’m the rudest person on the planet, shooting past them in a car when I’m supposed to be meeting up with them. How could you do that to me?’

  ‘Christ, Cat, it was an honest mistake,’ he protested at the next traffic signal. ‘Just chill, would you? If you’re so bothered, text your girlfriend and tell her you got a better offer.’

  If she could have thought of a message that would convey her combination of anger, humiliation and regret to Ellie, she would have done just that. But there was no nuance in a text and Cat knew better than to try and explain the complicated misunderstanding in that abbreviated form. All she could hope for was that an opportunity would present itself when she could explain the whole horrible saga to Ellie face-to-face. And sooner rather than later.

  By the time she had worked all this out, they had left the city behind and were hurtling down the M9 towards Linlithgow and Stirling. But they had barely left the turning for the Forth Bridge behind them when John started swearing and gesticulating at his rear-view mirror.

  ‘What is it?’ Cat fought the slipstream and managed to turn around. Diminishing on the hard shoulder was a terrible sight. Smoke billowed from the chrome grille of her brother’s borrowed car. Even as she watched, James and Bella climbed out of the car and up the grassy bank beside it. ‘Oh my God. You’ll have to go back, you can’t just leave them.’

  ‘How the hell can I go back? I’m on a bloody motorway.’

  ‘Come off at the next junction and double back.’

  ‘What about our trip?’

  ‘Never mind that, we need to go back and help James and Bella. The car might explode, for heaven’s sake.’ She was close to punching him, so angry and frightened was she.

  John grumbled extensively, but as the next junction approached, he pulled off and did as she had asked him. ‘Bloody stupid bloody car,’ he yelled as they set off back the way they’d come.

  Within five minutes, they were pulling up behind the Spitfire, which seemed to have ceased its belching and spewing of smoke. They clambered up the bank to the others. Bella threw her arms around Cat and said, ‘Thank God you came back for us.’

  ‘I wouldn’t leave you in distress,’ John said, preening himself, apparently oblivious to Cat’s incredulity. ‘That’s what friends are for. And brothers, obviously.’

  ‘You’re a mate,’ James said. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done otherwise. I don’t have roadside assistance.’

  Neither, it transpired, did John. They might have been expensively stranded for hours had it not been for Cat. On their earlier trip to North Berwick, she had been so determined not to pay attention to the journey itself that she had memorised every detail of the car’s interior, including the sticker with the emergency number for the car’s dedicated rescue service. When John called them and explained the situation, they reluctantly agreed to help. Cat suspected it was easier to give in than to have John Thorpe hector everyone in the company hierarchy until he finally got the answer he required.

  Nevertheless, it was late afternoon by the time their small convoy was mobile again. ‘It’s too bloody late for Linlithgow now,’ John whined.

  ‘And for Glasgow,’ Bella said. ‘We’re supposed to be at Ma’s charity poker evening tonight, don’t forget.’

  And so they set off to return to Edinburgh. ‘If your brother had a decent set of wheels, we’d have had a great day out,’ John complained bitterly. ‘It’s a false economy not to have a good motor.’

  ‘It’s not if you can’t afford it.’

  ‘And why can’t he afford it?’

  ‘Because he’s not got enough money?’ Cat knew she was being snippy and she didn’t care. Besides, she’d come to realise that John Thorpe was so thick-skinned he didn’t notice.

  ‘And whose fault is that? If there’s one fault I can’t abide, it’s being tight with money. It’s a man’s duty to spend his money and keep the economy turning, not hoard it like a miser. And money’s never been cheaper.’ He fulminated in this vein for a while, but Cat tuned him out. She was long past the point of being polite.

  Back at Queen Street, the Thorpes and James invited themselves up for a drink. Before Cat could even put the kettle on, Susie emerged from her bedroom wrapped in a silk kimono. ‘You’re back,’ she said, ready to state the irrefutable as ever.

  ‘Things didn’t quite work out as planned,’ James said, abashed. ‘My fault, Susie.’

  ‘That’s a shame. You would have done better to stay here after all, Cat. Because you just missed Ellie and Henry. Not more than ten minutes after you’d left. They were terribly apologetic about being so late, but apparently the General had invited some people around for morning coffee and they had to hang around and make small talk. Too boring, Ellie said. But apparently when the General says jump, they all jump.’

  ‘Couldn’t she have texted me?’ Cat said.

  ‘She tried to, but when you swapped numbers last night, she got one digit wrong on your number. So she’s been texting some complete stranger who finally lost her temper and sent back a really rude message. Poor Ellie. The girl was mortified.’

  Bella made a sound that somehow conveyed both disbelief and contempt. ‘So you see, Cat, you’ve got nothing to reproach yourself with. It was totally Ellie’s fault after all. She’s the one who cocked everything up. Me, I’d never put a friend t
hrough that, even if it meant falling out with my mother. John’s the same, aren’t you, sweetie? You can never bear to let a friend down.’

  It was the final irony. And although Bella pressed hard for her to join them, Cat was not sorry to see the other three leave for their poker evening. She supposed she must have had a more disappointing day in her short life, but she was damned if she could bring it to mind.

  12

  Cat hated people to think badly of her; she was so distressed at the possibility of having unwittingly upset the Tilneys that she spent much of the night in restless wakefulness, rehearsing how she might explain the events that had overtaken her. At breakfast, she could barely eat, satisfying herself with nibbling toast and sipping tea. ‘Is it too early to go round to the Tilneys?’ she asked as the clock hands crept towards nine.

  ‘I wouldn’t thank you for turning up at this time,’ Mr Allen said from behind his paper and his coffee.

  ‘That’s all very well, Andrew, but people have tickets for festival events from quite early in the day. There are Book Festival events that start well before ten, if you can believe it,’ Susie said. ‘Of course, if they’re not early risers, they won’t welcome an early visit.’

  It was all very well lecturing young people about the value of listening to their elders, Cat thought mutinously. But what was she supposed to think when they gave completely opposing pieces of advice? She finished her tea and stood up. ‘I’m going round to Ainslie Place right now,’ she said. ‘I’ll walk past the house and see if there’s any sign of life. And then I’ll decide whether to knock or wait.’

  Mr Allen grunted. ‘Sensible girl.’

  Although the sky was overcast with high thin cloud, Cat didn’t think it looked like rain, so there was little risk in walking the short distance to the Tilneys’ rented house without a coat. She set off briskly, but slowed as she turned into Ainslie Place, an oval of elegant Georgian buildings with private gardens in the middle. On one side, there were tall five-storey tenements, divided into flats. But the Tilneys had rented on the smarter side of the gardens. No mere flat for them; they had taken an entire house for the month of August. Cat had learned enough from the conversation in Edinburgh to understand that represented an eye-watering outlay of cash. The knowledge did not make her envious however; she was more than happy with her lodgings, more than delighted to be in Edinburgh at all.

  Cat made her first pass of the Tilneys’ house, surreptitiously eyeing the windows. All the curtains seemed to be open, and she could see dim electric light through the muslins that draped the ground-floor windows. There was definitely life inside the house. She walked to the corner and turned into the side street. She stopped, breathed deeply until her fluttering stomach had calmed itself, then walked back to the Tilneys’ front door. She puzzled briefly then pulled a gleaming brass knob and heard the distant pealing of a bell.

  A long moment passed then the door swung open soundlessly to reveal a gaunt, pale figure with perfectly barbered grey hair. His clothes were almost – but not quite – a military uniform. ‘May I help you?’ he said, his voice brusque, his brogue unmistakably Scottish.

  Cat managed a faint smile. ‘I’m looking for Ellie Tilney,’ she said.

  He looked her up and down. ‘And who shall I say is calling?’

  ‘Cat Morland. Her friend Cat. Catherine. Is she in?’

  ‘I believe so. I’ll go and see.’ And the door was firmly shut in her face. Cat knew she was unaccustomed to the habits of the rich and powerful, but she couldn’t help feeling there were better manners to be found in the villages of Dorset. She hung around on the doorstep, trying not to look like someone who might be intent on persuading the inhabitants to change their electricity provider. After what seemed like a very long time, the door opened again. ‘I’m sorry,’ the man said. ‘I was mistaken. Miss Eleanor is not at home. I’ll tell her you called.’

  Before Cat could respond, the door was closed again. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so mortified. He’d treated her like she was completely insignificant. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, she wasn’t at all sure she believed what he’d told her. She climbed down the steps slowly, casting a sideways glance at the drawing-room curtains, as if she half-expected Ellie to appear at the window, making certain she’d really left.

  Cat trudged down the street, head lowered and spirits lower still. When she turned the corner leading her towards Queen Street, she leaned on the railings and stared back down the curve of the street as if that would summon the Tilneys to her. In apparent answer to her yearning, the door swung open and General Tilney marched down the steps to the street. He looked back at the house and spoke sharply. To Cat’s dismay, Ellie ran out of the house and caught up with her father as he walked on round the crescent away from Cat.

  Disconsolate and dejected, Cat had no choice but to head back to the Allens’ flat. She had been thoroughly humbled – no, humiliated – and she had completely lost her appetite for culture. In spite of Susie’s attempts to get her to the Book Festival, Cat insisted on remaining at home, furious with herself but even more furious with John Thorpe and his forcefulness. She couldn’t even bear to go on Facebook or Twitter because she didn’t have the energy to lie or the chutzpah to tell the truth. It occurred to her that although she had initially seen Ellie Tilney purely as a conduit to her brother, she had quickly grown to like the young woman for herself. Losing the prospect of her friendship was almost as cruel a blow as losing the chance of becoming Henry’s – dare she think it? – girlfriend.

  When Susie returned late in the afternoon, laden with shopping and full of gossip that meant nothing to Cat in her mournful state, she was insistent that her young charge should get in the shower and prepare for that evening’s excursion to the ballet. Cat was resistant at first, but it gradually dawned on her that she’d spent long enough being miserable without distraction, not to mention that she’d never seen a proper ballet even though she was quite certain dance was an art form whose language she understood. ‘Besides,’ Susie said, clinching it, ‘you never know who you might see.’

  Mr Allen’s connections had provided them with a box, which Cat was excited about until she discovered Susie had invited Martha Thorpe along. Fortunately, only Jess and Claire had chosen to come; James and Bella had apparently managed to get tickets for the recording of a BBC radio comedy show, which they thought would be more to their taste than modern dance. ‘Johnny’s somewhere around,’ Martha said vaguely. ‘He doesn’t like the ballet, but he enjoys socialising.’

  Cat said nothing, simply grateful that John would not be joining them. She made the most of the box, leaning on the velvet-covered sill to scan the audience. She told herself she was people-watching but in her heart she knew she was Tilney-spotting. But no matter how keenly she studied the audience, she could see none of them. Perhaps they had no interest in ballet. It wasn’t a likely pursuit for a general and his lawyer son, after all. Disappointed, she sat back and immersed herself in the performance, which she found almost as captivating as she’d hoped.

  At the interval, the Allens and Mrs Thorpe went to the bar. But Cat stayed put, preferring to continue her scrutiny of the audience. Even without the Tilneys, it was still an interesting study. But when the curtain went up for the second act, her attention was drawn by a commotion in the box opposite them. There seemed to be some reorganisation of the seating going on. Cat kept half an eye on the disturbance, which was enough attention to spot the unmistakable profile of Henry Tilney, his attention fixed on the spectacle on the stage.

  Cat saw nothing of the rest of the ballet. Her eyes were glued to Henry, willing him to turn his head. But he was clearly impervious to any power of telepathy she possessed for his gaze never wavered from the dancers.

  Then there came a brief scene change, and he did look around. His eyebrows rose then lowered when he saw her and he gave her the briefest of nods before turning back to the stage. For Cat, it was almost worse than if he’d never looked
across at all. She wished she had the nerve to leave the box and run around the gallery to confront him with her explanation of what had happened the day before. It never crossed her mind that most people would consider Henry’s reaction to be an excessive response to an innocent error. Cat was determined to shoulder all the blame. Some might think that she was enjoying the opportunity to abase herself before him, but it should be remembered that she had been raised in a house where the notion of wifely obedience was honoured verbally at least.

  When the applause died away and the house lights rose, there was no sign of Henry in the box opposite. Cat assumed he had left as soon as the curtain fell to avoid seeing her, in the same spirit exercised by his sister in the morning. But she was mistaken. Before they could leave their own box, there was a knock at the door and Mr Allen opened it to reveal Henry, who greeted Susie with calm politeness. ‘I saw you across the theatre and thought I should come and say hello,’ he said. He nodded at Cat, a look of dark reserve in his eyes.

  ‘Henry! Thank goodness you came round, I’ve been dying to speak to you and Ellie. You must have thought I was the rudest person on the planet yesterday, but it wasn’t my fault, was it, Susie. They told me you’d gone off with somebody else for the day, Johnny said he’d seen you walking into Haymarket station, and it was an hour after you said you’d be there, and he cornered me and I couldn’t say no. And honestly, I would much rather have been with you and Ellie, you wouldn’t believe the day I had—’

  ‘Cat, you’re crushing poor Henry against the wall,’ Susie said.

  ‘It’s OK, Susie, it’s very crowded in here,’ Henry said, a more natural smile lighting up his face as they stood as close as partners in a tango rather than a reel. She could sense the heat of his body and the clean masculine smell that clung to his skin. But his eyes were unfathomably dark. ‘At least you looked back and waved us on cheerfully when you passed us in Queensferry Street.’