Prologue
“Iwant her gone in the morning, Eleanor! Hire a chaise from the inn to be here by seven—not a minute later. I refuse to rest my eyes on her again.”
General Tilney paced in front of her, his jaw set. Her father’s temper had not calmed since he entered the house in a fury twenty minutes ago. As he walked past his desk, he suddenly threw out his arm and swept the contents onto the floor. Eleanor started, but the general continued striding across the room, muttering something about “Damned Thorpe.”
“I cannot go to Miss Morland with such an errand,” she whispered. It was too cruel, too completely removed from decent civility—even for her father.
General Tilney never had a happy disposition, but he had arrived home from London in a state of vexation and disappointment that Eleanor had never before seen. He was not calm enough to elucidate, but even if he was, her father would never justify his decisions to her.
“We are going to Lord Longtown’s on Monday,” he said, and if he heard her quiet plea, he surely did not care, “and neither you nor Henry are to so much as speak of that girl. If I see a letter from her, I shall burn it, do you hear me?”
Eleanor nodded, her heart sinking. How joyfully had her time at Northanger passed with Catherine Morland, an artless, open girl who had become a dear friend. And now she was forbidden from seeing her or writing to her. All she could do was ensure Catherine arrived home safely and make her understand that she had done nothing to deserve such unkind treatment.
“Whom shall I send with Miss Morland, sir?” she asked, hiding her disappointment as best she could.
“No one! Once she crosses my door, she can go to the devil for all I care.”
“You cannot drive Catherine from the house—at dawn—and send her to Fullerton alone,” Eleanor cried. It shocked her that the happiness that Catherine’s company had hitherto given her was to be repaid like this. It was a breach of hospitality, of the honour of anyone claiming to be a gentleman.
As soon as the words were spoken, Eleanor wished them unsaid. Her father turned on his heel and pierced her with a stare. She was twenty-two, she was mistress of his house, but it was a nominal role.I have no power here.What point was there to tell her father that she could not bear to throw her friend from the house?
“If you like it so little,” her father said, coming near, and Eleanor shrank back, “you can join her and never come back!” He pointed to the door. “You can leave now with the clothes on your back.”
Eleanor kept her countenance and only shook her head.
The general gave a satisfied smile. “Now, if you could remember whose house you are in, do as you are bid and dismiss that little upstart.”
Eleanor slowly walked to Catherine’s chamber and hesitated outside her door, her hand on the lock. How could she tolerate telling dear Catherine—her newest friend who had been such a comfort to have at Northanger, who adored Henry so sincerely—how could Eleanor tell her they must part, and part forever, and under terms of such cruelty?
ChapterOne
April 1798
On the whole, travelling to Lord Longtown’s seat in Herefordshire with her father had not been as terrible as Eleanor Tilney had feared. Other than losing his patience with every porter, waiter, and groom when they changed horses or stopped for the night, General Tilney’s fury over Catherine Morland had settled into a quieter, simmering anger.
Maybe listening to Henry’s vehement defiance exhausted all of my father’s rage.
She had not been in the room with them, of course, but Eleanor had heard her father’s tones of ranting and storming, and Henry’s firm refusals of increasing volume from one floor above. Who could have guessed that her dear brother—who had always said that everyone at Northanger would be happier if they simply acceded to the general—would boldly express his indignation on how her father had treated Catherine?
Henry had refused to join them on this contrived visit to her father’s lifelong friend, and he hastily told her as he was banished from Northanger and would follow Catherine to Fullerton to assure himself that she had arrived home safely. Catherine’s affections and wishes were obvious to Eleanor, but Eleanor could not be certain if Henry, with his arch ways, loved Catherine, and loved her enough to defy their father.
She wondered how much Henry had confessed of his affections before he left Northanger. “Sir, did Henry—”
“Not a word about Henry!” her father demanded as Welland Hall came into view. “Until he comes to reason, I do not want to hear his name.” The general exhaled loudly and shook his head. “As far as Longtown will know, Henry is tending to his duties to his parish and village, and that is why he is not joining us.”
At least my father will attempt to keep his temper while he is a guest at someone else’s house.
Their chaise and four entered the sweep, and from the moment that General Tilney brusquely waved away the footman who had been too slow to open the door, he was smiling and charming. Lord and Lady Longtown had come outside to greet them and lead them into the house, he with stern reserve and she repeating the same pleasantries five times.
Aside from their daughter Alice’s company, this would be a tedious visit to Lord Longtown’s seat. The marquess loved his wife but seemed to have no affection left over for anyone else, and Lady Longtown was good-humoured but without an original thought in her head. As Eleanor greeted them, it occurred to her that if a few more people joined this impromptu engagement, perhaps it would distract her father from the rest of his anger.
“Well, Miss Tilney, here you are,” said Lady Longtown again when they were in the drawing room. By this point, Eleanor had no inclination to agree with this repeated fact. “And I hope you have had a pleasant drive from Northanger?”
“Yes, ma’am. We could not have had finer weather.”
“So pleasant to have you here; sudden, but very pleasant. The roads were good, I hope?”
Eleanor remained for some minutes civilly answering all her ladyship’s common remarks about the weather and roads. When her father and the marquess were about to leave them, she said to Lady Longtown, “I suppose Alice is walking on a fine day like today?”
