inspiration + perspiration = invention :: T. Edison ::
A collection of one-shots based on Northanger Abbey: drabbles, flash fiction, missing scenes, and more. Title from Shakespeare's Othello, as quoted by Jane Austen in Chapter One. Now available as an eBook via Draft2Digital.
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It was pointless to attempt a word in reply during one of General Tilney's speeches, especially when they contained strictures demanding obedience or judgements deemed the final word on any subject. He did not give leave for it, nor even the space of a breath to allow for anything but the briefest assent, and always assumed agreement as a matter of course.
Henry therefore listened with increasing confusion as his father detailed their itinerary for the next day, week, and even fortnight. It was not unusual for their family to change plans or lodgings suddenly, but to do so with Miss Morland in tow appeared odd, especially as it did not sound as if Lord Longtown expected any of them that evening regardless of his longstanding invitation to visit.
Before this treacherous thought could receive appropriate consideration, his mind was arrested by an even greater surprise: "And last, you will not bring up that person who has so lately imposed on us, not even the slightest hint, I have endured enough of your sister's resentment on that head and do not intend for us to make ourselves unpleasant to His Lordship and his own children during our stay. What a waste! But I mean to make it up to you, rest assured, and now that we are rid of her infernal machinations there is every possibility of discovering a better situation."
"I beg your pardon?" Henry could not help exclaiming, startled anew by the solicitude voiced with so unkind a sentiment.
"There is no time for details, we must leave soon, and your sister already so upset any further discussion will only distress her more. A clean break is needed; and there are plenty of amusements in that vein at our host’s manor, enough for you both to forget this most unpleasant affair in the company of better friends. At least we have no fear of ever being troubled by that woman again."
"The young lady has a name," his son spoke up in an overly cheerful tone of voice, his growing suspicions barely concealed.
"A noxious one that will not be spoken in this house again."
"Then it is good we are out of doors, for I do not mean to forget it any time soon."
The visage before him darkened with a violent ire. "As you please, but you will hold your tongue and keep any further ideas on that score to yourself."
"Though, of course, it is but half as pleasant as the one as I would chose she answer by," Henry continued blithely on, irony lacing his words with mock deprecation, every sentence growing sharper.
It was but the opening salvo of a lengthy skirmish, one neither man escaped unscathed. There was no surrender, nor any truce tendered. When Henry rode away, he did so with a curse at his back and the sting of bitter disappointment pricking his lids, knowing his rebellion would not be soon forgiven. Abandoning Eleanor was painful.
Forsaking Catherine was impossible.
Title from Chapter 28 of Northanger Abbey: "It was as incomprehensible as it was mortifying and grievous."