by Jane Austen
CHAPTER 22
The housemaid's folding back her window-shutters at eight o'clock thenext day was the sound which first roused Catherine; and she opened hereyes, wondering that they could ever have been closed, on objects ofcheerfulness; her fire was already burning, and a bright morninghad succeeded the tempest of the night. Instantaneously, with theconsciousness of existence, returned her recollection of the manuscript;and springing from the bed in the very moment of the maid's going away,she eagerly collected every scattered sheet which had burst from theroll on its falling to the ground, and flew back to enjoy the luxuryof their perusal on her pillow. She now plainly saw that she must notexpect a manuscript of equal length with the generality of what she hadshuddered over in books, for the roll, seeming to consist entirely ofsmall disjointed sheets, was altogether but of trifling size, and muchless than she had supposed it to be at first.
Her greedy eye glanced rapidly over a page. She started at its import.Could it be possible, or did not her senses play her false? An inventoryof linen, in coarse and modern characters, seemed all that was beforeher! If the evidence of sight might be trusted, she held a washing-billin her hand. She seized another sheet, and saw the same articles withlittle variation; a third, a fourth, and a fifth presented nothingnew. Shirts, stockings, cravats, and waistcoats faced her in each. Twoothers, penned by the same hand, marked an expenditure scarcely moreinteresting, in letters, hair-powder, shoe-string, and breeches-ball.And the larger sheet, which had enclosed the rest, seemed by its firstcramp line, "To poultice chestnut mare"--a farrier's bill! Such was thecollection of papers (left perhaps, as she could then suppose, by thenegligence of a servant in the place whence she had taken them) whichhad filled her with expectation and alarm, and robbed her of half hernight's rest! She felt humbled to the dust. Could not the adventure ofthe chest have taught her wisdom? A corner of it, catching her eye asshe lay, seemed to rise up in judgment against her. Nothing could nowbe clearer than the absurdity of her recent fancies. To suppose that amanuscript of many generations back could have remained undiscovered ina room such as that, so modern, so habitable!--Or that she should be thefirst to possess the skill of unlocking a cabinet, the key of which wasopen to all!
How could she have so imposed on herself? Heaven forbid that HenryTilney should ever know her folly! And it was in a great measure hisown doing, for had not the cabinet appeared so exactly to agree with hisdescription of her adventures, she should never have felt the smallestcuriosity about it. This was the only comfort that occurred. Impatientto get rid of those hateful evidences of her folly, those detestablepapers then scattered over the bed, she rose directly, and folding themup as nearly as possible in the same shape as before, returned themto the same spot within the cabinet, with a very hearty wish that nountoward accident might ever bring them forward again, to disgrace hereven with herself.
Why the locks should have been so difficult to open, however, was stillsomething remarkable, for she could now manage them with perfect ease.In this there was surely something mysterious, and she indulged in theflattering suggestion for half a minute, till the possibility of thedoor'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 conductproduced such unpleasant reflections, and found her way with all speedto the breakfast-parlour, as it had been pointed out to her by MissTilney the evening before. Henry was alone in it; and his immediate hopeof her having been undisturbed by the tempest, with an arch referenceto the character of the building they inhabited, was rather distressing.For the world would she not have her weakness suspected, and yet,unequal to an absolute falsehood, was constrained to acknowledge thatthe wind had kept her awake a little. "But we have a charming morningafter it," she added, desiring to get rid of the subject; "and stormsand sleeplessness are nothing when they are over. What beautifulhyacinths! I have just learnt to love a hyacinth."
"And how might you learn? By accident or argument?"
"Your sister taught me; I cannot tell how. Mrs. Allen used to takepains, year after year, to make me like them; but I never could, tillI saw them the other day in Milsom Street; I am naturally indifferentabout flowers."
"But now you love a hyacinth. So much the better. You have gained a newsource of enjoyment, and it is well to have as many holds upon happinessas possible. Besides, a taste for flowers is always desirable in yoursex, as a means of getting you out of doors, and tempting you to morefrequent exercise than you would otherwise take. And though the loveof a hyacinth may be rather domestic, who can tell, the sentiment onceraised, but you may in time come to love a rose?"
"But I do not want any such pursuit to get me out of doors. The pleasureof walking and breathing fresh air is enough for me, and in fine weatherI am out more than half my time. Mamma says I am never within."
"At any rate, however, I am pleased that you have learnt to lovea hyacinth. The mere habit of learning to love is the thing; and ateachableness of disposition in a young lady is a great blessing. Has mysister a pleasant mode of instruction?"
Catherine was saved the embarrassment of attempting an answer by theentrance of the general, whose smiling compliments announced a happystate of mind, but whose gentle hint of sympathetic early rising did notadvance her composure.
The elegance of the breakfast set forced itself on Catherine's noticewhen they were seated at table; and, luckily, it had been the general'schoice. He was enchanted by her approbation of his taste, confessed itto be neat and simple, thought it right to encourage the manufacture ofhis country; and for his part, to his uncritical palate, the tea was aswell flavoured from the clay of Staffordshire, as from that of Dresdenor Save. But this was quite an old set, purchased two years ago.The manufacture was much improved since that time; he had seen somebeautiful specimens when last in town, and had he not been perfectlywithout vanity of that kind, might have been tempted to order a newset. He trusted, however, that an opportunity might ere long occur ofselecting one--though not for himself. Catherine was probably the onlyone of the party who did not understand him.
Shortly after breakfast Henry left them for Woodston, where businessrequired and would keep him two or three days. They all attended inthe hall to see him mount his horse, and immediately on re-entering thebreakfast-room, Catherine walked to a window in the hope of catchinganother glimpse of his figure. "This is a somewhat heavy call upon yourbrother's fortitude," observed the general to Eleanor. "Woodston willmake but a sombre appearance today."
"Is it a pretty place?" asked Catherine.
"What say you, Eleanor? Speak your opinion, for ladies can best tell thetaste of ladies in regard to places as well as men. I think it would beacknowledged by the most impartial eye to have many recommendations. Thehouse stands among fine meadows facing the south-east, with an excellentkitchen-garden in the same aspect; the walls surrounding which I builtand stocked myself about ten years ago, for the benefit of my son. Itis a family living, Miss Morland; and the property in the place beingchiefly my own, you may believe I take care that it shall not be a badone. Did Henry's income depend solely on this living, he would not beill-provided for. Perhaps it may seem odd, that with only two youngerchildren, I should think any profession necessary for him; and certainlythere are moments when we could all wish him disengaged from every tieof business. But though I may not exactly make converts of you youngladies, I am sure your father, Miss Morland, would agree with me inthinking it expedient to give every young man some employment. Themoney is nothing, it is not an object, but employment is the thing.Even Frederick, my eldest son, you see, who will perhaps inherit asconsiderable a landed property as any private man in the county, has hisprofession."
The imposing effect of this last argument was equal to his wishes. Thesilence of the lady proved it to be unanswerable.
Something had been said the evening before of her being shown over thehouse, and he now offered himself as her conductor; and though Catherineha
d hoped to explore it accompanied only by his daughter, it was aproposal of too much happiness in itself, under any circumstances, notto be gladly accepted; for she had been already eighteen hours in theabbey, and had seen only a few of its rooms. The netting-box, justleisurely drawn forth, was closed with joyful haste, and she was readyto attend him in a moment. "And when they had gone over the house, hepromised himself moreover the pleasure of accompanying her into theshrubberies and garden." She curtsied her acquiescence. "But perhapsit might be more agreeable to her to make those her first object.The weather was at present favourable, and at this time of year theuncertainty was very great of its continuing so. Which would she prefer?He was equally at her service. Which did his daughter think would mostaccord with her fair friend's wishes? But he thought he could discern.Yes, he certainly read in Miss Morland's eyes a judicious desire ofmaking use of the present smiling weather. But when did she judge amiss?The abbey would be always safe and dry. He yielded implicitly, andwould fetch his hat and attend them in a moment." He left the room,and Catherine, with a disappointed, anxious face, began to speak of herunwillingness that he should be taking them out of doors against his owninclination, under a mistaken idea of pleasing her; but she was stoppedby Miss Tilney's saying, with a little confusion, "I believe it will bewisest to take the morning while it is so fine; and do not be uneasy onmy father's account; he always walks out at this time of day."
Catherine did not exactly know how this was to be understood. Whywas Miss Tilney embarrassed? Could there be any unwillingness on thegeneral's side to show her over the abbey? The proposal was his own. Andwas not it odd that he should always take his walk so early? Neither herfather nor Mr. Allen did so. It was certainly very provoking. She wasall impatience to see the house, and had scarcely any curiosity aboutthe grounds. If Henry had been with them indeed! But now she should notknow what was picturesque when she saw it. Such were her thoughts, butshe kept them to herself, and put on her bonnet in patient discontent.
She was struck, however, beyond her expectation, by the grandeur ofthe abbey, as she saw it for the first time from the lawn. The wholebuilding enclosed a large court; and two sides of the quadrangle, richin Gothic ornaments, stood forward for admiration. The remainder wasshut off by knolls of old trees, or luxuriant plantations, and the steepwoody hills rising behind, to give it shelter, were beautiful even inthe leafless month of March. Catherine had seen nothing to compare withit; and her feelings of delight were so strong, that without waiting forany better authority, she boldly burst forth in wonder and praise. Thegeneral listened with assenting gratitude; and it seemed as if his ownestimation of Northanger had waited unfixed till that hour.
The kitchen-garden was to be next admired, and he led the way to itacross a small portion of the park.
The number of acres contained in this garden was such as Catherine couldnot listen to without dismay, being more than double the extent of allMr. Allen's, as well as her father's, including church-yard and orchard.The walls seemed countless in number, endless in length; a village ofhot-houses seemed to arise among them, and a whole parish to be atwork within the enclosure. The general was flattered by her looks ofsurprise, which told him almost as plainly, as he soon forced her totell him in words, that she had never seen any gardens at all equal tothem before; and he then modestly owned that, "without any ambition ofthat sort himself--without any solicitude about it--he did believe themto be unrivalled in the kingdom. If he had a hobby-horse, it was that.He loved a garden. Though careless enough in most matters of eating, heloved good fruit--or if he did not, his friends and children did. Therewere great vexations, however, attending such a garden as his. Theutmost care could not always secure the most valuable fruits. The pineryhad yielded only one hundred in the last year. Mr. Allen, he supposed,must feel these inconveniences as well as himself."
"No, not at all. Mr. Allen did not care about the garden, and never wentinto it."
With a triumphant smile of self-satisfaction, the general wished hecould do the same, for he never entered his, without being vexed in someway or other, by its falling short of his plan.
"How were Mr. Allen's succession-houses worked?" describing the natureof his own as they entered them.
"Mr. Allen had only one small hot-house, which Mrs. Allen had the use offor her plants in winter, and there was a fire in it now and then."
"He is a happy man!" said the general, with a look of very happycontempt.
Having taken her into every division, and led her under every wall, tillshe was heartily weary of seeing and wondering, he suffered the girlsat last to seize the advantage of an outer door, and then expressinghis wish to examine the effect of some recent alterations about thetea-house, proposed it as no unpleasant extension of their walk, if MissMorland were not tired. "But where are you going, Eleanor? Why do youchoose that cold, damp path to it? Miss Morland will get wet. Our bestway is across the park."
"This is so favourite a walk of mine," said Miss Tilney, "that I alwaysthink it the best and nearest way. But perhaps it may be damp."
It was a narrow winding path through a thick grove of old Scotch firs;and Catherine, struck by its gloomy aspect, and eager to enter it,could not, even by the general's disapprobation, be kept from steppingforward. He perceived her inclination, and having again urged the pleaof health in vain, was too polite to make further opposition. He excusedhimself, however, from attending them: "The rays of the sun were not toocheerful for him, and he would meet them by another course." He turnedaway; and Catherine was shocked to find how much her spirits wererelieved by the separation. The shock, however, being less real than therelief, offered it no injury; and she began to talk with easy gaiety ofthe delightful melancholy which such a grove inspired.
"I am particularly fond of this spot," said her companion, with a sigh."It was my mother's favourite walk."
Catherine had never heard Mrs. Tilney mentioned in the family before,and the interest excited by this tender remembrance showed itselfdirectly in her altered countenance, and in the attentive pause withwhich she waited for something more.
"I used to walk here so often with her!" added Eleanor; "though I neverloved it then, as I have loved it since. At that time indeed I used towonder at her choice. But her memory 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, sheventured to say, "Her death must have been a great affliction!"
"A great and increasing one," replied the other, in a low voice. "I wasonly thirteen when it happened; and though I felt my loss perhaps asstrongly as one so young could feel it, I did not, I could not, thenknow what a loss it was." She stopped for a moment, and then added, withgreat firmness, "I have no sister, you know--and though Henry--though mybrothers are very affectionate, and Henry is a great deal here, which Iam most thankful for, it is impossible for me not to be often solitary."
"To be sure you must miss him very much."
"A mother would have been always present. A mother would have been aconstant friend; her influence would have been beyond all other."
"Was she a very charming woman? Was she handsome? Was there any pictureof her in the abbey? And why had she been so partial to that grove? Wasit from dejection of spirits?"--were questions now eagerly poured forth;the first three received a ready affirmative, the two others were passedby; and Catherine's interest in the deceased Mrs. Tilney augmented withevery question, whether answered or not. Of her unhappiness in marriage,she felt persuaded. The general certainly had been an unkind husband. Hedid not love her walk: could he therefore have loved her? And besides,handsome as he was, there was a something in the turn of his featureswhich spoke his not having behaved well to her.
"Her picture, I suppose," blushing at the consummate art of her ownquestion, "hangs in your father's room?"
"No; it was intended for the drawing-room; but my father wasdissatisfied with the painting, and for some time it had no place.Soon after her death I
obtained it for my own, and hung it in mybed-chamber--where I shall be happy to show it you; it is very like."Here was another proof. A portrait--very like--of a departed wife, notvalued by the husband! He must have been dreadfully cruel to her!
Catherine attempted no longer to hide from herself the nature of thefeelings which, in spite of all his attentions, he had previouslyexcited; and what had been terror and dislike before, was now absoluteaversion. Yes, aversion! His cruelty to such a charming woman made himodious to her. She had often read of such characters, characters whichMr. Allen had been used to call unnatural and overdrawn; but here wasproof positive of the contrary.
She had just settled this point when the end of the path brought themdirectly upon the general; and in spite of all her virtuous indignation,she found herself again obliged to walk with him, listen to him, andeven to smile when he smiled. Being no longer able, however, to receivepleasure from the surrounding objects, she soon began to walk withlassitude; the general perceived it, and with a concern for her health,which seemed to reproach her for her opinion of him, was most urgentfor returning with his daughter to the house. He would follow them ina quarter of an hour. Again they parted--but Eleanor was called back inhalf a minute to receive a strict charge against taking her friend roundthe abbey till his return. This second instance of his anxiety to delaywhat she so much wished for struck Catherine as very remarkable.
