Chapter 26

Henry's reaction to being awoken was of more than usual temperance: he felt refreshed and was eager to prove his fitness. It was not long before Dr. Morton agreed, adding that he had no further concerns for Henry's departure. "I should refrain from any hard industry: you will need time to regain your full strength. But there can be no difficulty in returning to your pulpit, provided you continue to rest when needed."

These words were very welcome to hear, and Henry thanked him readily. "I am sure I speak for Mrs. Tilney in saying we could not hope for better news."

"She did appear most troubled when I met her earlier," was the strange reply he received. "I am glad she took my recommendation for a walk: I believe the distraction of nature and movement must give her relief from any lingering worries on your behalf."

Catherine had not seemed upset when she left him; though on reflection, Henry decided she had been at least fussy, which might give way to doubts while they were parted. "I am grateful you encouraged her: I am of the same mind regarding these benefits."

"Would I could give the same relief to all in my care. I am afraid your brother is not making the progress I had hoped. With the plaster set it would do him good to stir some. But, of course, I can only offer my advice, not require it be followed beyond medical necessity. Will you be joining us downstairs?"

It had not occurred to Henry to do so, so habituated was he to the rhythm of trays and bed, but on being asked he agreed at once. The doctor said he would see him then, and departed with another cheerful acclamation of his patient's success.

Perhaps it was silly to become so happy over dressing for dinner but Henry's good mood could not be diminished by admitting its ridiculousness, and he almost found himself humming as he was helped into a fresh shirt and waistcoat. Even when he looked at the mirror and bemoaned his limited wardrobe, he must remain glad, and borrowed a cravat of his brother's without a qualm. He had just finished admiring the result and wondered if he dared hazard the stairs alone, when he heard footfalls in the next room. Without any thought to his carefully arranged attire, he bounded through the door, took his wife in his arms, and kissed her with all the zeal of a new bridegroom.

"Henry!" was the thrilled cry that greeted his ears when Catherine had leave to speak.

"’Tis I: your husband reborn, a knight from Avalon returned hale and hearty. I am afraid I lost my armour so you must accept me in common raiment, without plume or sword, and even my standard is not my own. Will you accept me as your champion at dinner, or be shamed to acknowledge me before the court?"

The outpouring of her mirth prevented any other answer, and he let her escape, taking a seat with a philosophical air. "Alas! I am revealed in my true form, only my lady's jester. She will never permit me to join her now. Not even were I to reveal the wizard has released me of all restraints and I am free to go as I will. But she will not care, it little matters to a great lady who makes her laugh."

"Oh truly: was the doctor pleased? What did he say?"

He would have continued his denials, dragging out the reveal of their hopes and revelling in her amusement, had not the clock chimed, recalling her to her own dress. Henry was glad to observe she did not appear overly fearful or alarmed, only mindful of the time; it did not look as if whatever troubles the doctor had noticed were still present.It was only when they were about to head downstairs, arm in arm, that he noticed anything amiss. "You appear chilled: was it cold outside for your walk?"

"Not terribly, only the wind was strong, and I did not have my shawl."

"Catherine, you ought to have returned for it, or sent someone," he said, shaking his head as they crossed the gallery. "It will not do for you to come down sick when I am just recovering."

"Oh I am unharmed, much better actually, for I must admit my spirits were a little depressed. But the walk has done me good. The doctor was very right about that."

"Well I am glad to hear it, but I hope you did not spend too much time among any foul draughts."

"They did not bother me so long as we kept moving. It was only difficult to stand in one place for so long. It seemed very odd, does the general often halt in his processions that way? but perhaps, wearing a greatcoat, it is of little difference to him. I wish I had had my muff."

They were on the verge of the stair and Henry had to pause before continuing, a trip of the foot betraying his surprise. "Do you mean you were out walking with my father?"

"Yes: I would not have gone otherwise, knowing how offensive it has been. Are you well? Should I call someone else to help you down?"

"No, I believe I may manage," he assured her, the energy he was possessed of transforming at her admission. "But tell me, did he invite you? Did he summon you for any conference?"

"It was all the doctor's doing; I would never have asked. Here, we will only take it a step at a time."

He let her guide him, though not full satisfied with her answers. Henry tried to quiz her on what had transpired, the subject of their conversation and the duration of their company, but the intelligence he received offered little to gauge its character. "You discussed mice?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes, and other dangers we may face besides, I believe he wishes to continue canvasing the subject over dinner. He said he had several proposals we might consider."

"Then he was civil?"

She did not reply at first, only helped him take another step down, and he was convinced by her silence that something unpleasant must have occurred. "He became so," she said at last. "I think he has been very disturbed; and that is not a state of mind that allows for grace."

There were many retorts Henry was tempted to make to this assertion, each more cutting than the other. However, he was struck by the cool consideration Catherine gave her replies. She was never deficient in her understanding of others; if sometimes mistaken about motivations, yet when they became clear his wife was usually candid about her feelings. She did not sound harried or overwrought, as she had the day before when faced with the general's continued disapproval. Instead there was a return of confidence, the kind hinted at when she boldly announced it did not matter what the man thought of their plans. She looked equally untroubled by the idea of attending him now, compassionate but not solicitous, with a firmness of tone bespeaking an equal strength of mind.

"No doubt," he contented himself with agreeing, impressed by her self-assurance. "I see I was not wrong: it is a lady of the realm who serves as my escort tonight, and I a mere knave am flattered by her condescension."

She smiled and advised him to mind the remaining steps over proving any further knavery. It was so nearly arch a reply, so close to teasing him in turn, that Henry must return her smile, leaving off any remaining concerns regarding her jaunt for later.

Their approach to the dining parlour was notable for their being the last to arrive, but Henry forestalled any complaint. "I am afraid I delayed Mrs. Tilney's preparations, and took longer to descend afterwards; the fault is entirely my own."

A sharp look was the only disapproval evidenced after his speech, as the general ordered the table ready. He looked ready to offer his own arm to the one female present, but Catherine held firmly to Henry's, and sweetly begged that General Tilney would lead them in. A firm nod was the answer, after which he formally began the procession as if it were a true dining party and not a mere family affair plus one. Henry's diversion over how easily their host had been managed was interrupted when he felt the man's intense scrutiny turn back to him. Out of practice with the formalities of the abbey he had nearly committed the unforgivable sin of allowing a lady to take her own seat. Instinctively Henry intercepted her progress, and though his strength allowed him to ease the chair out, once she sat down he could not quite move it, but found himself leaning on the back more than affecting any action on the solid wood. Before he could work out what to do, Catherine firmly pushed herself forward and asked the doctor to assist her husband.

It was awkward, having to accept Morton's arm in taking his place on the other side of the table, all under the general's watch. But Henry was not made to suffer the full indignity of silent waiting, as Catherine turned at once to the man at her right and asked that he continue their conversation. "For I explained to my husband the outline of your ideas, but do not think I could convey them properly."

Again the man was led into a behaviour perfectly designed to put him in a good temper, and, distracted by launching into his speeches, he failed to notice Henry almost fall into his chair rather than take it smoothly, nor how imperfectly he unfolded his napkin or reached for his glass. Every time the slightest hint of weakness was betrayed, Catherine covered it through appeals to the general for more household wisdom or the doctor for anecdotes of his trade, and before long the two men were engaged in so many hearty descriptions of country life and their associations as made the room almost festive. Henry little minded the words spoken as his appetite was strong; it was good he was not able to achieve complete mastery of his limbs, for then he might have disgraced himself with gluttony. In between navigating his plate and reacquainting himself with the cutting of meat, though, Henry was captivated by the image of his wife so ably directing the conversation, offering comfort without ever mentioning his name or soliciting his well-being. Though dressed simply and without adornment, she fairly shown with a lunar radiance reflecting all their good humour back among them with true quality, no less splendid for the moderation of her distinction.

"We have been reading too much poetry of late," he decided, but continued to admire and approve, and unbeknownst to him, the esteem of his gaze and smiles offered as much support for the lady as her behaviour in turn provided.

Dinner was over far sooner than he had expected. Henry actually wished he could retire afterward, since after such a large meal he found himself fatigued despite the rest enjoyed earlier; however, the subject of the highway survey had arisen over dessert, and his father ordered coffee for the gentlemen delivered to a sitting room for further deliberation. Rather than debate the point Henry asked if Mrs. Tilney might be excused, seeing as there were no other ladies for her to converse or bide with while the gentlemen met. Here Morton proved his ally, as the doctor encouraged Mrs. Tilney to get some rest with assurances that he would be on hand for any feared lapse, as he would not be leaving until the next morning. With this plan agreed to the general ordered a servant to see Mrs. Tilney upstairs, bowing her out with great solemnity, while Henry—able to stand enough for this ceremony—smiled in encouragement at her look, joining Morton's less florid wish for a good night.

Henry was thankful they did not have far to go once she left, and settled into the nearest sofa with care, grateful for the more comfortable cushion to shelter his back. Unfortunately, as the candles burned and conversation droned on over tolls and pavings, he found himself almost nodding off despite the amount of coffee drunk.

"Will you and Mrs. Tilney depart tomorrow?" was the question that arrested his attention at last, and Henry took a moment to realize it was Morton who had spoken.

"Perhaps, perhaps," the general took advantage of Henry's stupor, "if we can conclude our business. I still have some questions regarding this report from Mr. Wilcox, I have begun to doubt the full efficacy of his observations and recommendations. He may have been commissioned, yet there were certain liberties, an assumption of judgement—then there is the matter of the carriage, which may be unavailable, if as you say Morton there is the possibility of making up even a partial party tomorrow or the day after with the Frasers', it will remain to be seen based on tonight's weather. At any rate there is no hurry."

At first Henry thought he must have been caught napping, sure that could not be his father's true intentions. "I had not realized there might be a delay; if need be, I may send for the curricle. We might be gone by noon."

"Tomorrow is only Friday: I do not see any reason for concern. The carriage will be available well before your presence is required for services, though I did not understand you were to resume your activities all at once."

Henry could not help staring in confusion, even as Morton demurred from the suggestion that Mr. Tilney might not be up to leading his congregation. "I have warned him to precede gradually, of course, but I see no cause for alarm based on this evening's example. Though of course, if there is provision already made, it can do no harm to wait."

"As to that, Henry's curate is a competent man. I am sure given the span of the week he has already made preparations. There is no reason to rush into matters, as you say, so it makes the most sense to fix the start of next week for a return. By then we will have had ample time to establish exactly where to begin the roadworks in October, and the parsonage's needs as well. I will certainly have more leisure come Monday to oversee things."

It was with growing dismay Henry realized his father had not only retracted his order to leave Northanger Abbey as soon as possible, never to return, but seemed instead plotting to mend their breach so far as to actually come to Woodston, a place he had not deigned to visit in over a year. He tried to put together pieces of the evening's conversation and cursed the effects of beef and wine. "But surely we might correspond regarding any of these changes?" he at last suggested, unable to remember anything specific. "There is no need to take more of your time, or abuse your hospitality."

"If I had descendents like the general's I would not think it a hardship to entertain them," the doctor said, "especially with a daughter like Mrs. Tilney. You must not be jealous of sharing her affections, young man: men of your father's age and mine may admire charm and grace as well. Why, I would wager the general's walk was made much easier by having such an agreeable companion." Henry privately wondered if perhaps Morton had not imbibed too much at dinner with that frame of mind, and was only surprised more when the general actually agreed, claiming Mrs. Tilney was a sprightly walker, he had always said as much, and was pleased to observe she maintained her habits. The compliments this line of discussion poured forth were unequal as the doctor's were modest but lively and the general's more supercilious, yet each seemed determined to best the other in their appreciation for the absent Catherine.

"Ah, we have stupefied young Henry, a rare event if I recall: perhaps I was mistaken, and your wits are still addled by fever," were the smiling words turned back in his direction. "If so, we may expect to keep you from parting for some time to come."

It was clear Morton was not serious, though the suggestion was met with some crowing by the general, and the grand pronouncement that he would not mind personally if the couple remained encamped another month, "at the end of which, provided Frederick was deemed fit to travel, it might be expected they could all pay their addresses to his daughter the viscountess."

"I am sure the parish would expect our presence long before then."

"Only of a Sunday and at the occasional meeting. You would not think to hear him talk now, but Henry used to spend the majority of his time here."

"When my sister had need of me," Henry began, wondering how he had fallen into so exceptional a debate. "As a married man I have other responsibilities to consider."

"But of course, Woodston must not be neglected." His father, as always, chose only to hear what he was disposed to. "Quite right: we must not waste time. It is decided: we will depart together come Monday. And before you go of the morning, Morton, might you spare time for the perusal of some papers for the club? I think we really must get affairs well in hand ahead of this year's shooting party."

Any further protests were useless in the face of this decisive announcement, as Henry knew from long experience. He ought not be surprised by his father's sudden change of heart: it had ever been his way to do nothing by halves, pursuing as passionately as he fought and loving as oppressively as he hated. Nor was it difficult to see how Doctor Morton, as a respected member of the community, might unknowingly encourage this conversion with his praise for a person connected with the general, who was never immune to flattery. But what could possibly have occurred during the course of a short walk about the grounds to begin it all was beyond Henry's current ken. He was almost persuaded he had fallen into slumber unawares, and more than half afraid of the entire party’s sobriety.

After more discussion of guns, dogs, and local politics, Morton asked if Henry wished any assistance in achieving his room. He agreed immediately, not waiting for the general to countermand the offer. "You see, we know best sometimes," his father said with knowing smiles, watching Henry lean on the other man's arm for support, "and anyone so fagged by a little entertainment is unprepared to get back on his feet just yet. But I think a ride might be in order: there is nothing better to get a man back in form."

As Morton agreed and Henry was eager to be gone before any further proposals were made, the decision was unanimous, prompting the general’s own happy removal to order horses for the morrow. "For an early start is best, and Henry has not been on the terrain recently, there is much to see and discuss.”

As a certain melancholy Dane feared his dreams, so Henry wondered if he had somehow drifted into a nightmarish reversion back to dependent child, subject to the slings and arrows of paternal authority. Or perhaps it was a farce he had stumbled into, and at any moment some contrived denouement would send his father into the arms of an heiress or a monastery, while the long alluded viscount would suddenly make his appearance to whisk the young lovers away to a bower of joy. Though as he continued labouring to catch his breath and followed Morton's lead up the stairs, and no signs of tragic murder or rapturous deity appeared to draw the curtain to a close, Henry was forced to accept his was not a player's fate, to live all the seven ages of man in one setting. Amused in spite of his annoyance, he reflected that a man healthy enough to ride with his father of the morning was certainly capable of enjoying the convivial society of his wife later on.

Edited 12/6/2021: thanks to DWG Reader Alida for pointing out that General Tilney wishes "not" to waste time (an important word left off originally).