Chapter 25

It was a cool air that greeted them outside. Catherine was concerned to see the return of dark clouds on the horizon, hoping that any new disturbance might wait until she and Henry completed their journey home. She was not allowed to dwell on the future, though, as the general's brisk stride required she devote her full attention to their passage. Nor could she spare much time in observing the scenery, for they were past one landmark ere she fully recognized it, and then trundling off to the next. It was less a walk than a march, speed for its own sake, her steps falling into the same pattern as the general's whether she would or no.

This parade was silent, which suited Catherine, for she had no idea how to placate her companion. It would be in vain to protest she had not connived to have her company foisted upon him, any more than she had already explained her reluctance to trespass on his hospitality in the first place. She knew he did not like her, did not approve of her; he must be furious to escort her about. Why, she wondered, had he agreed to it at all?

Her musings were interrupted by their stopping at a place some distance from the house. She looked about, and realized they were all the way on the other side of the abbey from the main hall and busy kitchen or stable, and with windows from the abandoned rooms overlooking them. They were quite alone, and if Catherine were still a girl she might have been unnerved to consider what the general's anger and hatred might do with no witnesses about.

Instead, Catherine used the opportunity to ask if he desired solitude. He said nothing, only let her go and walked a few steps away, looking out to the woody hills which rose in the distance. She did not observe anything else of note, though, and gave off continuing to stare in one direction to take in more of the country. The increasing breeze made her miss her shawl, but she was not too cold so long as she kept moving, and she circled some shrubs, admiring the careful attention given even out here, so far from the main paths. A bird flew overhead and Catherine watched it soar away, reminded that nothing was truly unseen. She turned back to the general, who still remained at his post, quiet and unmoving. The shadows were lengthening, and she was uncertain how long he was determined to remain thus, or if it were part of his normal routine. There was something in the stern rigidity of his posture that made her suspect he was not obeying custom. Was he concerned about something out at the perimeter of his land? Or, rather, did he wish to be farther away from something behind them?

"I was very surprised to see the doctor so soon," she hazarded a comment at last. "I had not thought he would come until tomorrow at the earliest."

"I sent for him."

Catherine considered this intelligence in light of the previous day's events and found she could not wonder at it. The general wished them gone: it was obviously imperative the doctor should return to hasten this departure. "I hope he will be as glad of Henry's amendment as I am."

"And are you?" He did not turn around, so that Catherine found herself still addressing his back, and she came alongside to not appear rude.

"I am very glad," she said by rote, but stopped and wondered if that were altogether the case given her strange conduct earlier. It was not untrue: she was relieved, excited, and beyond happy by Henry's return to health. Could sorrow and jubilance exist together, drawing from the same circumstance? She found herself surveying the same landscape as the general, and perhaps as unseeing, puzzling out this discovery. "I am glad," she repeated finally, "but, perhaps, not without regrets, for my spirits have also been very low this afternoon. Is that not altogether strange?"

She did not expect an answer, speaking as she was more to the open air, so that she was surprised when he spoke. "Only idiots and fools always seek to be happy. It is the folly of our age to make comfort its chief design. Each generation must make every sacrifice to preserve and improve upon the next. Happiness comes in seeing one's purpose carried out, and that is never undivided from pain."

It was a strange speech for this isolated spot, and an audience of one. Catherine wondered if he actually meant for her to hear it. But she considered what he had to say all the same. She could not deny there was a certain wisdom imparted. The duties owed one's family, and the warnings against idleness, were such as she had heard all her life. But the idea that happiness must be painful was new to her. She had not found it to be so in her father's house. And, she wondered further, was not happiness also discovered through serving, not merely commanding? There was surely something to be said for doing one's best, trusting to Providence, and appreciating life's blessings.

Yet had she not felt the opposite so recently? It was very odd, for Catherine did not like thinking she was so capricious or inattentive. Perhaps these moods were part of growing older. If that were the case, she must guard against fostering them in the future. How distressing it would be to feel that way all the time. She wondered if the general, so often dissatisfied with his children, and without a wife to alleviate his resentment, endured this torment. That the captain must as well was obvious from his volatile behaviour; surely, at times, he was a better man, or why would Henry even as a child have clung to his brother?

"I suppose we all have our responsibilities; yet it would be very lonely to do so much with no one to commiserate or lighten the burden," she mused, remembering Henry's fever, and the worry she felt when he was completely insensible, "as if the very best part of life were over, and there was nothing to admire or care for again, even as it continued. All joy might be painful then." She felt the general's eyes upon her and wondered if he was about to turn back to the house. There did not seem to be anything more to see in the fading light. She brought her arms round her frame, turning slightly to escape the drafts blowing in their direction. "I hope it will not storm again," was the next thought that passed her lips, and she could not help shivering.

"Storms will come; it is a fact of life. There is no use wishing them away." The general was still peering intently, so that Catherine began to wonder if there was something the matter with her attire.

"Yes, I would not wish it to never rain again. Still, I would pray it holds off in the present case."

"Are you dissatisfied? You think you are owed something greater?"

His words were so acrimonious she started, and saw that he was frowning with a fierceness that betrayed a great agitation of spirits. "You have nothing to say? No defence, no pretty words? None of that perverse influence to make everyone overlook your ineligibility, heedless of the least symptom of respectable pride? Henry may be inattentive but I am sure the viscount will not be deceived forever regardless of the volume of your letters. His last barely mentioned you, and that only as a common civility to the family; certainly, as my daughter has more important correspondents to attend to, and no leisure to pen any accompanying lines with his, she can have no concern for you. Do not think you will impose by that connection again."

It was not the same anger and bluster exhibited heretofore, or rather, there was something more she had not been aware of: a pain or grievance, the sort of snarling a dog might give when nursing a wound. What was more, she saw that even as he towered over her, with a different face and figure, and opposite disposition entirely, she caught the trace of a beloved form. He could of occasion grow cross when annoyed, and might tilt his head or raise his brow in the same manner. She had always seen it as arch or pert when Henry did so, a dry commentary on his unease. And though she could not ascribe this motive to the general, the nonsensical threat of his words, the vainglorious bluster, even to pulling in a third party who had only displayed the warmest affection toward her, was too outrageous to take seriously. "This is why Henry laughs," she realized. "It is no use shrinking from such nonsense."

"Indeed," she said with careful deliberation, wary lest her silence sound defiant, "I make no claims beyond what she has termed acceptable. I am sorry you have received nothing yet. I trust it is the fault of the post, though, and that we will hear from her soon."

"You think, I suppose, that it only waits for you to order it so, and that like your husband, her Ladyship will take your part?"

"I trust everyone in the family must be united in gratitude for what has been saved; the only privilege I request is being allowed to share it."

"So you are playing the diplomat while pushing Henry into the attack. Then let us hear your terms straightaway: but know, this house will never come into your possession, not if Frederick were ten times the benighted fool he has shewn himself."

It appeared that General Tilney was discontented with all of his offspring and not only herself. Which, Catherine considered with increasing pity, was unsurprising: one injured and quite possibly deranged, the other lacking any deference to his command, and the viscountess apparently finding him as beneath her notice as he wanted Catherine to feel of his. He was, of course, reaping as he had sown. Except he was capable of generosity. His care for his dying wife, the accommodation of a younger son's self-professed foibles, even the maintenance of her own dear establishment in Woodston was all at his behest. Perhaps if he understood how contented she was with the latter they might find some means of rapport.

"Truly, I am in no way unhappy with our present circumstances, except perhaps the condition of Captain Tilney and his brother. The parsonage is everything wonderful, we are very fortunate, I am sure there could have been nothing better planned or fitted out for our requirements, I cannot imagine making it over in any way. And it is quite correct to preserve the greater fortune for your eldest: it would be very bad for him to be deprived of what must always have been an expected blessing and comfort."

Truly, her father-in-law had done nothing worse than vent his spleen over every perceived transgression, never actually preventing or punishing them: her earlier sense of persecution, while inspired by his harshness, was owed more to an inability to forget past slights as any of later commission. Perhaps, though surrounded by retainers and of consequence in the neighbourhood, he was a pilgrim on the King's Highway like herself, and as much in need of guidance and encouragement as any Christian.

"It is very good for you to manage things with such vigour. My husband has told me of your conscientious provision, has tried to explain the sincere attachment that has been the origin for so much of the family's security. I must, again, thank you for everything that has been done for him, and your patience in tolerating my ignorance."

Whatever the general's response would have been, he was interrupted by a pair of noisome crows, cackling with frantic delirium, winging in a gust around their persons before sweeping away. The man's ire turned instantly to the birds, and without a change of language or manner lamented his gamekeeper's negligence in letting a nest build so close to the house, cursed the insufferability of the species, and threatened to file suit if he found someone had loosed them apurpose on his land. She listened with a patience now well-formed of indifference to his pique, so childish as to make even the youngest Morland blush, and used the time to consider her next course of action.

When he at last gave off, she took his arm while picking up her skirt. "I am sure you will wish to see to those things immediately: let us turn back," and rather than wait for him she started forward with a confident step, gratified when he moved as well. It was not long before he assumed the lead, complaining heartily about pests and vermin, and the difficulties involved in keeping them out. "And when one has been taken up with the maintenance of the surrounding county, to find an infestation at home! People cannot be made to see the need for constant vigilance."

Catherine, who had feigned concern even if she could not be so affected by the matter, latched onto the latter statement with real interest. "Oh! We have had some pests in the parsonage recently; do you think they will come back?"

The general looked so horrified Catherine felt called upon to defend her servants, explaining it was the first sighting she had experienced since her marriage. She launched into fresh commendation of every fixture and cranny, gracing its modest tidiness with more adulation than even an Italian castle might have received, no less florid in her appreciation for wainscotting and wallpaper as tapestries or turrets. "Any recent failing must be due to my own inexperience. My mother has often chided me to be more diligent, and I do wish to improve: have you any recommendations?"

This line of questioning launched him into a lecture on how best to guard a house from all enemies domestic and foreign, for one could not be too careful where pestilence was concerned. Catherine was not sure how knowledge of rats in the south seas could be applied to the midlands of England, or for that matter if it were practical to perform the elaborate hygienic rituals of an entire brigade with her small retinue. Still, she listened all the same, nodding here and forwarding an inquiry there, so that by the time they regained the front hall the gentleman had worked himself into a positive frenzy. So keen was he to plan shoring up the parsonage's defences, he actually pulled a face in glancing at the time. "We must to dinner first, that cannot be helped, why there is barely time to change. But we will discuss this further!" So saying he turned on his heel and made for his apartments.

Catherine could not help wondering if another attack of rodents might have been preferable to whatever improvements the general was set on making, but decided it could not be helped. "And at least," she comforted herself while climbing the stair, "we were able to get inside before sunset."