Northanger Abbey

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.’

Cat was dismayed at this further misunderstanding. ‘Oh no, not at all. I mean, I did look back, but I was appalled, not cheerful. I begged Johnny to stop and let me out. As soon as I saw you, I told him. If he’d only done what I asked instead of taking off like a bat out of hell, I’d have run after you and we could have had our walk. I wouldn’t have offended you and Ellie for the world.’

Her breathless entreaty would have charmed a harder heart than Henry Tilney’s. He shook his head indulgently and said, ‘Ellie was right. She insisted you’d never let us down deliberately. And we were horribly late, after all. Ellie blamed herself for putting the wrong number in her phone. She didn’t realise at first that she’d done it. She’d sent three or four texts before the other woman finally lost patience with her.’ He chuckled. ‘It was quite funny, really.’

‘Don’t say Ellie wasn’t angry, because I know she was. The man who answered your door—’

‘That’s Calman. He was my father’s batman in the army, now he’s our driver and man about the house.’

‘Calman,’ she said firmly, refusing to be diverted, ‘said your sister wasn’t in. And then, not five minutes later, she came out with your father. What’s that if it’s not being angry?’

‘Ellie told me. She was mortified in case you saw her leaving. But she was going to a private view with my father and he hates to be unpunctual. If she’d asked you in, he’d have been furious. If she was here, she’d tell you herself how sorry she is. But my father does rather rule the roost.’

‘So we’ve established that Ellie wasn’t cross with me. But you were.’

He frowned. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You gave me such a black look from your box.’

‘If it was a black look, it was provoked by the dance, not you. Look, here I am. Would I have bothered to come round if I’d been angry with you?’

She had to own he had a point. ‘So we’re all happy again?’

He smiled. ‘Bloody delirious. So. When are we going to take this famous walk?’

‘Tomorrow?’

He made a face. ‘The weather forecast says it’s going to be hot and sunny. I hate climbing hills when it’s hot, I get so uncomfortable and sweaty. Leave it with me, I’ll work something out with Ellie.’ They swapped phone numbers, both taking extreme care to enter the correct set of digits on their phones. ‘I’ll text you.’ And he was gone, slipping away as suddenly as he had arrived.

Meanwhile, Martha Thorpe had opened the picnic basket she had brought with her and was handing round chilled canapés and individual cans of Pimm’s. ‘Just a little treat,’ she said. ‘We might as well make the most of the box while the crowds disperse.’

Cat gave Susie a questioning glance. Even though the younger Thorpe girls were tucking into their Pimm’s, Cat knew she shouldn’t be drinking under age in a public place. The occasional ginger beer shandy over Sunday lunch was permissible, but she didn’t want to cause the Allens any difficulty.

‘Get stuck in, Cat,’ Mr Allen said. ‘There’s not enough alcohol in that to bother a toddler. I won’t tell if you don’t.’ And he graced her with that charming smile of his, the one that made her understand exactly how he talked people into multi-million-pound projects. ‘You sorted things out with young Henry, then?’

Cat nodded. ‘I think so.’ Dreamily, she drifted across to the edge of the box and looked around the almost empty theatre. To her surprise, at the rear of the auditorium, she spotted John Thorpe deep in conversation with General Tilney, of all people. From the way they kept glancing up at the Allens’ box, she couldn’t help wondering if she was the subject of their conversation, though she couldn’t imagine why that might be. Cat did not consider herself to be that interesting.

She turned away and allowed herself to be drawn into conversation with Jess and Claire Thorpe, although she had little to add to their discussion of the relative merits of TV reality-show winners. As Martha cleared away their impromptu picnic, another male figure filled the doorway. This one was less welcome, however; John Thorpe stood tapping his watch. ‘Come on, ladies, there’s gin to be drunk at the Pleasance.’

In spite of her finest efforts, Cat couldn’t avoid John’s determined company as they made their way downstairs. ‘I saw you talking to General Tilney,’ she said, making the best of a bad job.

‘Amazing bloke. Fit, active. Looks as young as his sons.’

‘How do you know the General?’

‘How do I know the General?’ He gave her an incredulous look. ‘I said the other night, I was Freddie Tilney’s potboy at Fenners. He brought a bunch of us back to Northanger Abbey one Easter break. Three of his friends and us four potboys. I met the General then. And more recently, we’ve run into each other at the tables.’ He preened momentarily. ‘Playing poker, that was the last time. Down in London. I took him for a few quid and, fair play to him, he coughed up without a whimper. Rich as a Jew, so they say. And apparently he’s a real foodie. Not that I’ve ever managed to fiddle an invitation to dinner. Only a matter of time, though. Especially since he thinks you’re such a cracker.’

‘Me? You were talking about me?’

‘Absolutely. He thinks you’re quite the prettiest girl in town. And what do you think I said?’ He lowered his voice and murmured in her ear. ‘I said, “Well spotted, General, that makes two of us.” So I think that dinner invitation can only be a matter of time.’

Cat was too busy considering the General’s opinion of her to notice the proprietary air of John Thorpe. He continued in the same vein of flattery, but she tuned him out as she had learned to do. All that mattered to Cat was that everything had been ironed out between her and the Tilneys. And, as it turned out, even the General liked her.

Going to bed, she congratulated herself on turning things around. No more gloom and misery. Now she was her happy optimistic self again.

Sorted.