Chapter 16

The work of Catherine's pen was not the only correspondence to be shared, for scarcely had she sealed the envelopes then a maid brought letters fresh from Woodston, along with packages that were revealed to contain all the comforts the faithful Mrs. Forest could conceivably arrange: changes of clothes, favourite books, even Catherine's netting-box were all provided, along with calm assurances that the parsonage was well in hand and would be ready and waiting for their safe return, whenever that should be.

Also included was a short reply from the curate promising to lift them daily in prayer, as well as lead the entire parish to do likewise come Sunday. He was not eloquent, it must be admitted, but what he lacked in rhetoric was more than compensated for by a decent, dependable nature, so that his words were accepted with all the tenderness they were meant to employ.

"I am happy Jones has such an easy text to deliver on short notice: the second letter of John is straightforward enough, and is so brief he cannot help but finish on time." With this assessment Henry was content to trust the entire matter into the other's hands.

"Now, Catherine, you must take another room," was the next subject her husband broached. "You cannot be stuck within these walls for another week together, and you will become ill yourself without proper rest."

Here Catherine had no powers of resistance; she accepted the truth of his words not only from her own feelings but the idea that however much Henry appreciated her devotion, he might wish for some privacy during the remainder of his convalescence. As to her concern over the general's sensibilities, she had fairly well made up her mind that she must attempt some conference with the man that evening, unpleasant as the interview might prove, if only to satisfy the common forms. One could not remain in even so large a house as Northanger Abbey without acknowledging the host for an entire week.

Perhaps she should share her plan with Henry; he might instruct her on the best approach, and was likely to have many opinions on the nature of duties owed. But despite his cheerfulness, Catherine suspected her husband was more weary than he let on, and as the hours passed it became harder for him to disguise his yawns. Rather than expose him to further agitation, therefore, she decided to take all the responsibility of kinship upon herself. "And after all, it was I who spoke so rashly, and that at least must be made amends, if nothing else."

The housekeeper was very pleased to hear the young lady would retire to the adjoining room, which she had already prepared with the foresight of an experienced retainer, and Catherine allowed herself to be led away with a parting injunction that she be sent for if Henry should need anything. The servants lost no time in setting her to rights: her things were brought in, clothes laid out, all with steady assurances made that Mr. Tilney would be looked after with prompt regularity.

"Thank you; please, could you inform General Tilney that I am able to join him for dinner, if he is amendable?" For Catherine had always found it easier to do the right thing quickly rather than delay, and having made her decision was impatient to see its completion. If the housekeeper felt surprise at the request she hid it well as she engaged to deliver the news personally, leaving the more incredulous-looking maid a strict command to prepare Mrs. Tilney for the evening meal.

Whatever were Catherine's fears about the impending encounter, she was at least given the restoratives of a fresh bath and skilful hands to arrange her hair, which had become quite unruly from the previous days' neglect. Henry might have rejoiced to see her so relaxed under the influence of these kind attentions, and Catherine herself recognized that for all its faults, Northanger Abbey provided some benefits as well.

By the time the clock chimed again she felt ready to meet her father-in-law, her best available attire donned, skin cleaned, and excuses rehearsed. Only she had not been given permission to join him, and as the minutes ticked by could not help worrying that all her preparations had been in vain. Would the general keep her at bay in resentment? Was he even now planning how to take his revenge on her? What had occupied him the past few days, with his sons both abed and an arrant daughter defying him? Catherine's mind raced with suppositions, explanations, and conjectures, so that it was a relief when the summons finally came.

She went downstairs with growing trepidation, but held to the justice of her cause. It was only right she face whatever cross words the general presented. She would not let them discompose her: Henry was past danger, nothing could rob her of that peace, and if the price of his continuing so was the accommodation of their host's resentment, at least he had more right to those feelings than previously, for they would be aimed at the proper cause of her own rebellious conduct and not any imagined fault of her husband's.

The great hall was as grand as she remembered it, though not nearly as haunting or imposing as when she first walked its floor. Standing before the dining parlour was General Tilney. It was perhaps the light of the candles or the measure by which illness had transformed Henry's features, but for the first time she perceived some resemblance between their persons, so disparate in their respective dispositions as to almost deny it. The elder Tilney was looking at his watch, unaware of her presence at first, and with such a look as she had sometimes seen her husband use when concerned about an appointment. "But what could the general possibly be nervous about?" was the question that struck her just before he turned, and all likeness fled as he assumed a stern hauteur.

"Dinner is ready," he said without preamble, and while not offering his arm gave way for her to enter first, with all the formal correctness of a supper party.

It was a quiet affair at first, for Catherine was not sure how to start the conversation and the general seemed determined against it. Once or twice she attempted to compliment the surroundings or the food, but a fierce glance from her companion stilled her tongue. How marked a change from their earliest interactions, in the days when she had first been introduced as Miss Morland! She now recognized he had courted her, with far more obvious determination than his son then evinced. Their situations were now reversed: it was Henry, with greater sincerity and compassion, who sought her good graces, while the general lagged in the commonest courtesies. At least, she comforted herself, he did not appear angry at her.

They had just finished the soup when the general spoke at last. "I understand from Morton that Henry will be dependent on Northanger Abbey for another week." She was not sure if any reply was required, so only nodded her head in assent. "I did not think the case so serious. I have met with my solicitor, and we have been out to inspect where the river is diverted. This business of flooding and abandoned works is intolerable: it really must be addressed. I have told Greves so; I have had a great deal to do."

Again, she was not sure whether he wished her to speak or no, so she did him the courtesy of listening rather than attempting any reply. It was almost as if she was not in the room at all.

"I will not stand by and see such neglect. They will hear of it, they will not come off lightly in the matter. You need have no fear on that score."

Here Catherine felt he had actually addressed her, though she had no idea what he was talking about. In deference to his feelings she murmured a polite inconsequence, as much to express sympathy as any real comprehension.

"You understand, I see. Even you, it is so plain a matter. I am glad of it. They will be made to see reason. And if not, there is always the court of law, though there is nothing I despise more than legalities between neighbours. But if it must be, it must be. I will not have my sons incapacitated, and who knows what else on my land ruined, without mounting a counterattack."

There was a strange disturbance about his features; she had seen harshness there before, yet a something else was also present, and she was reminded of that unguarded look on her approach. She wondered, could the general be worried about his family? It did not seem so from his words: he talked on of suits, and countermeasures, and the necessity of seeing his rights enforced, with so much vigour that anyone would suppose his primary concern was the protection of his property rather than his family. A Catherine Morland would have been very perplexed to make out what he was trying to communicate.

Catherine Tilney was not necessarily better informed; but her experiences, both within this very house and as helpmeet in a not too peaceful parish meant she no longer believed matters were always as simple as she had formerly understood them to be. That the general was not a kind man she could not doubt, as much from his children's own admission as her observations; but further speculations as to his character were both unprofitable and unwise, and she did not hazard to guess what he meant beyond the plain words of his speech. Where there was uncertainty as to motive, Catherine had always sought to believe the best, even when so many had proven the reverse of her generosity. But the Gospels did not invite her to examine the ill behaviour of others when governing her own, and besides, she had already decided to grant Henry's father his due that evening.

"I suppose you have entertained yourself?" was the sudden question that caught Catherine out of her musings, and it was a moment before she regained sense enough to assure him that she had lacked for nothing.

"Hmm. I am told you have been offered every courtesy. You will of course inform me if anything is wanting."

"Yes sir."

They lapsed into another albeit different silence. It was almost as if the general meant for her to say something, but Catherine was not sure what it was. Did he wish her to complain? Was he merely looking for her to betray her worst feelings? She had already done that when they last parted. She certainly could not have anything to say about the law, which she little understood.

"You must be glad of the captain's prospects," was the happy remark she at last hit on, for surely he would celebrate as an officer if nothing else.

"Quite," was the short reply. "He has been very lucky." And then, "One is tempted to say too lucky, but it is best not to question fate who is so fickle a mistress, like all such women."

This comment was not of a kind to strengthen conversation on the lady's part, and Catherine despaired of finding any common ground between them. Every potential topic was either forbidden or impossible; the usual role she took in her husband's witty dialogue would not do with his father, and she felt her ignorance in attempting to understand what would please. Rather than deplore her position Catherine only considered how amazing it was that Eleanor had endured a similar one for so many years, and how good a brother Henry was to have kept her company as long; it was wonderful to know that after so much patient submission, their sister now possessed a peaceful home and a husband nearly as good as Catherine's. These welcome reflections allowed her to listen without comment to the rest of General Tilney's talk, with insinuations so subtle she could not hope to recognize them, and therefore did not bother trying.

When the meal was done the general stood and she did likewise, wondering if he would demand her company in the parlour. "You must be very tired," was his comment instead, and when she agreed, excused her with a terse command that she be provided with a lamp.

It would have been very easy to let matters rest at that, constrained but civil, yet Catherine must satisfy the strictures of her conscience. "Thank you for your kindness," she said, dropping into as proper a curtsy as she could devise. She did not look up to see the general's reaction, too nervous was she over what might be found, and instead quickly continued, "And for your forbearance, for Henry's sake. He is much improved; the doctor has been so good. I am sorry I have not been more grateful. I will be glad to make amends."

It was not near as pretty a speech as she had planned, rushed and breathless and made looking more at his shoes than his person. She was sure he must be insulted by her lack of refinement.

When there was no response she dared glance up. The general was staring at her with a look she could not name, his eyes more cold and removed than ever. "The carriage will be ready after ten. See you are properly dressed." And with that she was dismissed.

After she had checked to see that Henry was sleeping well and retired to her own room, it occurred to Catherine that she had not actually asked the general to take her to church as intended. How clever he was to read into her words, as Henry sometimes claimed to. It struck her that, however little the gentlemen shared in taste or principals, they must have some resemblance after all. This observation explained much she had sometimes wondered about in her husband's manners. What it could tell her about the general's remained to be seen.