Chapter 27

Frederick's larger frame forbade Henry to appropriate more from his wardrobe even had he been willing to risk it. The good Mrs. Forest, in packing for their impromptu visit, had not thought to equip him for proper riding attire, and so there were only two coats to choose from come the morning, notwithstanding an old thing from his university days that was still found haunting his former quarters. Mindful of the possibility of even more dinners to dress for, Henry was forced to make do with an article far out of fashion. As was his custom, he found comfort in the humour of the situation, recognizing that what he considered barely presentable was still the rule for his brother-in-law's ensemble. While holding the strongest opinion of that friend's good sense and character, Henry once again lamented the viscount’s complete indifference to clothing, a characteristic unmodified by his elevation in any noticeable way. Deciding he simply must arrange for them to see a tailor when next paying a call, Henry savoured the noble feeling of determining to offer a kindness without any pressing need to actually do so.

His spirits were further buoyed by his ability to master the stairs of his own accord, only needing to pause twice to gather his strength. The short walk to the breakfast parlour did not conquer him, and if he directed a servant to fetch the food, it did not diminish his feelings of triumph. He felt healthier, stronger, and altogether more akin to his usual frame of mind, prompting him to greet his father with genial good humour upon his entrance. As per usual when he wanted to be out, the general did not take long to eat, and it was therefore only a short time before the two made their way to the stable.

It was only a little daunting for Henry to approach the horse held for him; his youth had afforded him plenty of opportunities to learn the wisdom of always stepping back into the saddle after an accident. He did not admonish the servant who prepared a stepping block for him with great discretion, hidden until the general turned to his own animal. Instead he gratefully accepted help in mounting, taking a moment to clear any confusion brought on by the sudden movement before following the his father's lead. As General Tilney liked speed and horsemanship best, their rides had never been leisurely enough to allow much conversation. Unlike on other occasions, though, Henry was thankful for this impediment, devoting his full attention to the task of managing his horse. He fell behind, not wishing to risk too strenuous a canter with the state of his concentration, and was not sorry for it, happy to let the other man clear the way ahead.

Contemplation must intrude, however. He could not help observing a metaphor in his current position: how many times had he demurred, not daring to challenge the way prepared for him, casually accepting the unyielding nature of his father's guidance? Such a course had not steered him wrong: education and occupation alike provided the foundation for his present felicity, and he would never have been afforded as many opportunities for travel and recreation without fraternal license. Henry had played the amiable, dutiful son for so long that perhaps it was unsurprising his father should be shocked he could do other but perform obedience in all things, even unto matrimony.

Yet even as Henry guided his animal around a rocky patch rather than leap it like the horse before him, he considered again how little he had ever followed the example set. Where the general valued victory over one's enemies, Henry had pursued a more conciliatory policy, not openly challenging his father's goals so that he was free to manoeuvrer where silence gave him opening. So often the general's bluster led to nothing; it was not worth arguing over, as it blew over so quickly. His brother never had been able to learn the value of waiting for the sun to shine instead of cursing the clouds hiding it.

Really, Henry's open rebellion came as a shock to himself as much as his father: not because he never acted contrary to the other's opinion but because he was usually careful not to draw attention to the fact, preferring to wait the old man out than challenge him. There had never been anything worth the confrontation, not even his sister's unhappiness, or his friend's reluctance to openly address her. Those lovers had suffered in silence, and he—while far from disinterested—had been led by their example. Nothing, in short, had brought him so close to fulfilling his father's continual prodding to take the initiative as when Henry was commanded to abandon Catherine. Nor, he realized, had he quite forgiven his father yet, as his own recent display of temper exposed.

He was quite far behind now, having slowed to a walk to better keep his balance. The general was circling around, and Henry shook his head in recognition of how clearly exultant the man was to prove his superior riding against a younger (even weakened) opponent. For so he had been taught from a young age: ally or foe, all were to be weighed according to the aim of one’s own desire. Even an intimate acquaintance must constantly be proven through competition. Henry had not ascribed to this philosophy; he liked his relationships cordial, easy, and unmarred by superciliousness. It was Catherine's greatest attraction how little she considered rank or superiority, how strong was her capacity for courtesy and forbearance. It was gratifying for others to finally realize her worth, even if he could not help wishing it had come far sooner, without nearly as much heartache for the lady to bear.

A thought struck him unwanted as he turned back, and attempted to guide his way without a leader: was his lingering resentment due solely to aggravation at his father's wantonness alone, or did part of it emerge from frustration at his own passivity? No complaint had ever been hinted at by his long-suffering, gentle wife, but she could not help noticing how often Henry let matters come to a head rather than meet them, that his pursuit of discretion as the better valour sometimes led to overcautious complacency. His brief dalliance with defiance had not erased this tendency, as recent events proved.

If, a week past, he had been firmer with Frederick from the start, rather than switch between lures and threats—all equally impotent—would his brother even now be safely back with his regiment unwounded? Or if Henry left at once to find him the next morning, rather than waiting over half the day, would he and Catherine have been saved their misadventure? He should have brought an entire company with him, rather than worry over what Wilcox might say; indeed, it appeared the man had still voiced his complaints, regardless of any precautions taken. Whatever might be the fault of others in this sorry affair, and he was not so carried away as to overlook their part, Henry must admit he had not acted altogether wisely, to the detriment not only of himself but those he loved most. It was a sobering admission for a young man of seven and twenty to make, especially one so used to feeling more than satisfied with his own sagacity.

His ruminations were cut short by the general urging him to race back toward the house; with the way already cleared, Henry did not think twice before agreeing. He might even have gained the advantage of his steed's earlier rest had not the general outflanked him with a better angle, and pushed ahead in the final leg of their ride. The good humour he radiated at this success was infectious, and though beaten, Henry still enjoyed a heady sense of accomplishment from his own exertions, encouraged by his father's open praise of them.

All of this camaraderie prompted him to comment, in as offhand a manner as he could conceive, that he would be glad to discuss the previously mentioned report when convenient. "I am afraid I did not attend well last night, and was very lacking in my replies. Could I, in fact, review it first?"

His father, already instructing the butler about his itinerary for the day, easily added this command to a string of others about his papers. A quick inquiry informed Henry that Mrs. Tilney had gone out for a walk and not returned yet, and he was further cheered when this news was met with only a distracted nod, and the pronouncement that they would meet again by one, ere his father left for his rooms. With plenty of experience with this sort of dismissal Henry went to change as well, determined to enjoy the grounds again with his wife before setting down to read whatever fractious commentary had been sent from Woodston.

He turned out of habit to the nearby back stair, intent on taking up the challenge of yet another journey under his own power, and was so caught up in his meditations that he nearly stumbled into a figure coming around the corner in a hurried bustle. Fortunately he was not so preoccupied and stepped to the side, apologizing with a sharp intake of breath. "At ease, Darrow, it is my fault entirely," Henry assured the servant, whose drawn and pallid look was as surprising as his sudden appearance. His brother's valet usually appeared imperturbable no matter the requirement, a necessary trait when serving any Tilney. With chagrin Henry realized he had spared few thoughts for said brother beyond the barest confirmation of his survival. "I take it from Doctor Morton that Captain Tilney is recovering well."

"He says so?" was the question blurted out with a mixed incredulity and exasperation, before Darrow tightened his lips and nodded with a faint "Yes, sir."

This reaction was enough to keep Henry from moving on, and he regarded the man with an equal scepticism. "The past week has been difficult for everyone, though I dare say you shouldered as heavy a load as any."

"Thank you sir."

"I must, if no one else has done so, tender gratitude for coming in search of Frederick last Wednesday; an age and a quarter ago, or so it feels! Playing at might have beens is a fruitless venture, but I at least am thankful you were so diligent, for who knows what may have occurred otherwise."

A bit of colour returned to the man's features, though they remained inscrutable and his posture wary. "God be praised, sir," was the polite reply at last given.

The impromptu conversation was becoming absurd; Henry did not wish to increase Darrow's unease by forcing him to loiter about the corridor, nor linger himself. But he was also growing truly concerned. Abandoning subtlety, he answered, "Amen. But do you agree with the good doctor's opinion of my brother?"

It was a horribly unpolitic inquiry, nearly commanding the man tell tales on a master and officer, and one Henry shrank from even as he made it. Still, he needed to know, if only for his own peace of mind, let alone the ramifications to all if Frederick were to worsen.

Darrow drew himself up, his mouth working but making no sound as he struggled to answer. Taking pity on his obvious anxiety, Henry gestured to the nearest room, and once they were safely out of sight or hearing from any passing attendant, was provided the following advice: "Perhaps it would be best if someone else saw him: there is nothing more a physician may do."

"Someone else? To whom do you refer?"

"I am sure I do not know. It is not something I thought to look for here—" his eyes withdrew, and his voice sank lower still—"though Lieutenant Thomas had been relieved at that church near Lisbon, and of a like evil."

"I will answer for Dr. Prewitt, that even were he amendable and skilled enough for the task, exorcism is hardly the Church of England's cure for paralysis, no matter what the priests on the continent may recommend."

"No, of course not sir, I did not mean to imply any of the regiment would consort with Papist devilry." Before Henry could decide exactly how his ordination required him to treat this sterling testimony, it was quickly followed by a statement far more perplexing:

"'Twere a witch that cured him of the ague when nothing else worked."

To his credit, Darrow looked somewhat abashed at this recommendation to a clergyman, but as he had in fact done so—after great reluctance—Henry did him the justice of his motives rather than belittle or question their expression, even if he could not help wondering to himself whether this malady was more tribute to Venus or Bacchus (or, he almost smiled, perhaps both). Yet for his man to fret so, Frederick must be exhibiting some very queer symptoms, which it was hard for Henry to even conceive of the usually confident, even arrogant captain, who fought troubles rather than fear them. The memory of his brother's odd, almost mad, behaviour at the start of this ordeal arrested Henry. He had put it down at the time to the effects of drink and disappointment, and no doubt that was still true, but had there been a deeper cause for his rashness? His brother, however trying of patience, was not usually so lacking in sense.

"I am sorry sir, I should not have said as much. Though if you were to see him"...

The servant trailed off with reluctance, but whether it was from not finishing or making the suggestion at all was unclear. Henry's own experience warned that an intrusion would not be appreciated; and besides, what could he discover that Morton had not? Then every minute wasted in the hopeless endeavour would be stolen from his reunion with Catherine, whom he had yet to see that day and whose company would be far more agreeable.

Catching himself lapsing into indecision, Henry ended both their miseries by commanding what had been hinted. "Once you have shown me to the room, please bear word to Mrs. Tilney that I am in counsel with my brother, and that I will see her afterward."

If crossing a full turn of the abbey's court was less momentous than of the Rubicon, it was at least as full of conflicting expectations for Henry. With nothing but idle fancies to guide his conjectures, he was forced to abandon them, and schooled himself in the principles of his college and religion, and what is more long acquaintance with Frederick. Whether his wounds were only physical, or required some other succour, was a question Henry would not guess at, would not make assumptions regarding, without observing the truth for himself.

Edited 12/7/2021: thanks again to DWG commenters for pointing out several errors that crept into this chapter.