That would be a trial, and Philip knew that the friends who would gather there this afternoon would be of little comfort to him. This was the severest affliction: the death of his final nearest relation. Robert Brampton had been more like a brother than a cousin, had been his dearest friend all his life, had supported him after the death of his parents, and had encouraged him in his pursuits.
Now Vaughan was dead, someone full of opinions and emotions was gone, and Philip was uncertain how to bear the grief. He not only suffered his own sorrow at the loss, but he now was laden with responsibilities and the viscountcy, and hundreds of people were within his care. As shy as he naturally was, the solitude of such a duty was crushing.
He wanted Eleanor to share his grief, to ease the shock and loneliness of it.
Philip was entering the house and handing his hat and gloves to the footman when the realisation struck him. He had not thought of Eleanor in days, and he felt a forcible blow of both enthusiasm and regret. To possibly realise all of his wishes—the despairing wishes of many years—brought the first smile to his lips in days. But the realisation of what such a possibility had cost him staggered him. Another wave of sadness washed over him, threatening to sink him again.
Mr Brampton could never approach General Tilney and expect to marry Eleanor, but the Right Honourable Viscount Vaughan could.
The eagerness of seeing Eleanor, of reaching her before she accepted Sir Charles, dispelled some of the gloom and grief that had lately oppressed him. He could save her from a despairing marriage to a man ill-suited to make her happy, save her from the tyranny of her cruel father.
If she still has any affection for me after I told her I had lost all respect for her.
What manner of rescuer was he if he had lacked all courage over the last five years, but now with a title and fifteen thousand pounds thought he could present himself and be accepted?
He cringed at the recollection of how he had left Welland. She might not accept him after Philip Brampton had lacked the courage to do what Lord Vaughan would now presume to do. He had always known what she suffered, how desperate she was for independence, the complete want of spirits she felt at Northanger. And not only did he never say aloud that he loved her, but he had been so hurt by her turning to a man like Sir Charles that he lashed out in anger and they parted in bitterness.
It was fifty miles to the Abbey. He could take the carriage and be there in six hours. He would prove himself to be worthy of Eleanor’s love. Pleading would be involved if need be.
Philip heard a noise and realised a footman had entered the drawing room.
“Forgive me, my lord, but... the hearse... His Lordship is here.”
The recollection subdued him, and he abruptly rose and walked away so the servant could not observe his grief.
“Thank you,” he said through a throat-clearing, sorrow-dispelling cough. “I shall be there directly.”
Vaughan had come home. Philip had to bury his cousin, but he would leave for Northanger tomorrow.
ChapterFifteen
Eleanor had spent the days since her father left given up in sorrow. His cold refusal did not surprise her. It was the general’s assurance that her mother would have sided with him and would not have given any value to her desire for a marriage of equal affection that sank Eleanor into melancholy.
She had persuaded herself that her mother would have regarded the affair the same as she did, but who was to know for certain? It was one of the many conversations she wished she had with her mother while she had the chance. Despite asserting herself, her father refused to hear her pleas, and her mother was not here to support her.
She ate another meal alone in the breakfast room. Her father had left two days ago, and although any letters would be kept from her, she was surprised that the London papers were not brought in. She realised that yesterday there had been no paper either. Eleanor rang the bell and asked to speak with the butler, who came in just as Eleanor finished eating. She knew it was hopeless to ask the servants to defy her father and bring in her letters, but she could at least read the newspapers.
To Eleanor’s surprise, the butler shifted his feet and looked away at her request. “Forgive me, ma’am, but the general said they were to be kept aside.”
Eleanor thought she had been misunderstood. She had always been allowed to read whatever newspaper, book, or pamphlet that entered the house. “I know that all letters sent to the Abbey are to be reviewed by the general,” she said kindly. It was not the servants’ fault that General Tilney isolated her from her friends. “I only wondered where Wednesday’s and Thursday’s newspapers were.” Friday’s papers from town would not have come, of course, but the previous days’ papers should have arrived.
The butler gave her a pitying look. “General Tilney said the newspapers were to be kept from—kept aside for him as well.”
For a long moment, the butler stood awkwardly while Eleanor’s mouth fell open, and she tried to recover her composure. No letters, no newspapers, no friends to visit her, and she was allowed to go nowhere. The depth of her isolation at Northanger struck her painfully. She smiled tightly and dismissed the butler.
“I am sorry, madam,” he mumbled before he left.
Everyone is afraid of the general.
The lonely silence of the breakfast room felt oppressive. Her father would never relent, her mother might never have approved, and all was hopeless. She walked to her apartment and, with pulse pounding and her breath coming fast, looked around the walls of her chamber, feeling as though it were a prison cell.
Nothing about her life would improve, and she could either remain single—unwanted, unloved, with no power—or agree to marry the least objectionable wealthy man her father presented to her. At length, Eleanor roused herself from this melancholy indulgence and summoned all her resolution.
“I will not live here any longer.”
If she could not be respectably removed from the injustices of her father’s house, she would take matters into her own hands and leave by any means in her power. She would travel post to the town nearest to Belleville and walk the rest of the way. She no longer had access to Northanger’s ready cash, but she had enough left of the pin money her father gave her last quarter to get there. She was not ignorant of the route; she knew the names of the places to conduct her there.
The problem was that she would arrive there solitary and in disgrace and with no certainty that she was wanted.
