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Catherine had fallen into a light, chilly doze, when she was awakened by Eleanor and her husband, who came hurrying into the General’s chamber, still in their traveling clothes, not long after sunrise.
“Oh, my dear Catherine, Sterling told us you had been made to sit with my father all night!” exclaimed Eleanor in a rush, as she embraced her sister-in-law.
Catherine was really thankful to see her. “You can’t think how glad I am that you are back! But you must have traveled all night. How tired you must be!” she cried with relief.
“Yes, it was a long journey, but we had good lamps, and there was the three-quarter moon,” Charles explained. “In any event, we are here now, and you need not remain in this room for another moment.”
Eleanor looked around her father’s chamber in distress. “The idea of leaving you in here, with the coffin! What an ordeal! Such a thing should never have been.”
“Do not be alarmed, Eleanor, it does not signify. It was quiet all night, and I was not frightened. Not very,” she amended. “I did fancy I saw something – strange – out on the lawn, toward dawn. But I will tell you all about it later.”
“I don’t see how any one could permit you to keep such a vigil. It was very wrong. Henry could not have known it. Why was it done?”
“No, Henry did not know it,” Catherine answered, “but Mr. Carter, and the doctor, thought it was needful for a family member. It was not very pleasant, but I knew nothing could really happen to me, and you see nothing has.”
“Well, now we are here, and I shall watch over the body, if any body must,” Charles said firmly. “Until the time of the funeral. Do you know when that is likely to be?”
Catherine did not, but they heard footsteps and voices in the corridor, and Dr. Lyford and Mr. Carter appeared.
“Ah, good morning, you have arrived, Lady Eastham, and Your Lordship. Mrs. Tilney as you see has very nobly stepped into the breach and watched over your father in your absence, and we are very glad she should be relieved. You may like to retire to your own room now, madam.”
“I certainly shall,” said Catherine with relief. “I have not slept, and I wish to freshen myself and rest, after some breakfast.”
“Yes, let us give orders for breakfast at once,” agreed Eleanor. “And Mr. Carter – my husband is wanting to know when the funeral is to be held?”
“That is for you and your brothers to decide, my lady. We can proceed almost as soon as they have returned. The court will come to its formal conclusions tomorrow, on Monday, and the burial can take place as early as Tuesday.”
“That gives us sufficient time to notify my father’s friends and associates in the county,” Eleanor considered, “and Henry will return Monday, will he not, Catherine?”
“That was his promise. Only we do not know where Frederick is.”
While the party was at breakfast, and Catherine satisfying herself with a boiled egg and brown bread while the travelers helped themselves to a more solid repast of cold meats, a carriage rolled up to the Abbey and the sounds of the servants attending to the horses could be heard.
“That must be Frederick now,” Catherine observed, “it is too soon for Henry.”
It was so. In a few minutes Captain Tilney strode into the room, looking disheveled, as if he, too, had been traveling a long way, and had the help of some few bottles of wine. With him was a very young girl whom he held by the hand. She was cloaked, but a mischievous face, sparkling eyes, and tumbling copper curls could be discerned.
“Frederick!” cried Eleanor, jumping up. “Thank heaven you are here! We had no notion where you had gone.”
“Now, Eleanor, there was no need for worry,” he assured her. “Though I do have some news to tell. First let us eat – looks very good – our journey has worked up a hearty appetite. Sit here, Harriette, take off your cloak, and have some of these chops. We have been traveling long enough without sustenance.”
“I will!” and the girl tossed off her cloak, revealing a gown cut very low, showing a tiny waist and more of her bosom than would be thought proper except at an evening ball.
“Will you introduce this young lady, Frederick,” asked Eleanor politely, “and permit us to know how she comes to be here?”
“This is Harriette – Dubochet, I think you said you are calling yourself?” He turned to the girl. “And I’ll tell you the whole story when we have ate. Harriette, this is my sister, Lady Eastham. Now pass those chops.”
A servant sprang to pass the platter and for a few moments there was no sound but the newcomers’ hungry eating, while the others looked at each other with expressions of some wonderment.
“There, that’s better,” Frederick said at last, pushing his chair back. “Shall we go into the drawing-room? For I have, as I said, things to tell.”
“So we collect, Frederick,” said Eleanor, and turning to the young lady, asked concernedly if she would like a shawl to cover herself.
“No thanks, I’m quite warm,” the girl said carelessly, and Frederick took her by the hand to lead her out.
When they were all seated by a comfortable fire, the coroner was the first to speak. “But where have you been, Captain Tilney? It is urgent that we should be able to consult you upon all matter of business, now that you are the master of Northanger Abbey.”
“All in good time,” he replied. “I’m dreadfully tired; been rampaging all over the countryside, you know.”
“And to no avail, I suppose,” inquired the doctor. “There was no sign of the Frenchman?”
“On the contrary, there was,” answered Frederick to their astonishment. “Found him in a tavern, in Cheltenham, if you will believe me.”
“You found him!”
“Aye, I did find Monsieur Blaine, and I questioned him smartly, you may be sure. I was ready to take him into custody myself if I thought there was due cause.”
“That you could not have done,” interposed the girl, “for you were both far too drunk.”
The others were taken aback, but Frederick only laughed. “You don’t know Harriette,” he told them. “The most outspoken girl of her age in all England. There’s nothing she won’t say, and quite the wit she is, too.”
Nobody knew quite what to say to this, so the doctor pursued, “So you encountered Monsieur Blaine in a tavern?”
“That I did, and he was such a great talker, even oiled up with drinks as he was, that he convinced me he had nothing to do with my father’s demise. Why, he swore that General Tilney was the finest man in England, and he would never have harmed a hair on his head, nor had he any reason to do so.”
“And you believed him?” asked Mr. Carter disapprovingly. “I confess I am surprised you did not bring him back for questioning, at the least. That would have been the right mode of action to take.”
“I daresay it would; but I was so tired by then, after riding two days with the dogs, and Blaine plied me well with wine, cunning devil, and then there was this young lady.”
“But who is she?” asked the doctor as they all gazed at the girl, whose cheeks seemed, Catherine saw with surprise, to be painted.
“Harriette’s the name, he told you already,” she said pertly.
“She was with Blaine, don’t you see, and he made her over to me, as a kind of distraction, I suppose it was, now I am in my senses.”
“Great heaven! Frederick!” exclaimed Eleanor.
“Brother, this is not fit for ladies to hear,” Charles objected.
“Well, if it is fit for Harriette to do it, it is fit enough for my sister and Catherine to hear, for they are fully grown married women, which she is not.”
“She is very young,” said Eleanor pityingly. “How old are you, my dear?”
“Past fifteen,” said the girl pertly, “and I didn’t mind coming along with Captain Tilney, for he told me he lived in a castle sort of a place, and I couldn’t stand that dirty stinking Frenchman for one more hour.”
“But how did you come to be with such a man?” asked Eleanor. “Did he – abduct you?”
“Oh, he picked her up in Cheltenham, where she was trying to hawk her wares, I suppose,” said Frederick.
“You were selling something?” Catherine asked innocently.
“Only herself,” Frederick sniggered, but stopped laughing in the face of their silence. “To be sure, ‘tis no laughing matter. The girl isn’t important; it’s the Frenchman. Now that I’ve had time to consider, I could kick myself for letting him slip through my hands, but he scarpered when I was occupied with her.”
“Ran away, do you mean?” asked Charles.
“That’s it. But I recollect, now, that he did say something about him and my father disagreeing, for my father was always ranting against the Great Nation, you know. Blaine imagined he was a threat, having it in for all Frenchmen like that; and he was afraid that they could not both live in the same countryside. His wish was to settle here, but that would mean the General had to be dealt with. Oh, there was more; and now my head is clear, I consider Blaine must be some sort of a spy. He assured me that he would not stoop to murder, but I suspect that he is the murderer we seek, after all. Curse me for a fool, for letting him slip through my hands.”
“What a misfortune,” breathed Catherine.
“Yes. It is indeed,” said the coroner, “I confess I looked for more sensible actions from an officer of your caliber, Tilney. Now what is to be done? Shall we send out the militia?”
“Oh, don’t bother,” put in Harriette confidently, “you have only to wait. I am sure the Monsieur will come back for me.”
As it happened, Harriette was more nearly right than she knew. That night, all beneath the roof of Northanger slept deeply, and no one could discern the sounds made by the approach of a visitor. It was none other than the Frenchman, Monsieur Blaine himself, who stealthily entered the precincts of Northanger Abbey, as the parish bells chimed three. Tying up his horse at some little distance, he approached the house on silent footfall. His mission was at least in part the very same that the bold young Harriette had named to her incredulous listeners: he had come back for her. If he had the further motives of a spy, no one would ever know it.
With only the partial moon to light his way, yet determined to enter the house unheard and unseen, he slipped into a cellar entrance. This led into a subterraneous corridor, and the intruder felt his way by sense of touch, pacing slowly around twists narrow and winding. It was utter blackness, and the passage mazelike and intricate. Stopping, baffled, and aware that he knew not how to find his way out again, he considered that there no use pressing any further in this blackness. He must wait until morning let at least some small ray of light into the underground passages to show him the way. There was nothing else to be done, and no likelihood of any one finding him in this remote abandoned part of the Abbey. With philosophic resignation, he lay down, covered himself in his greatcoat, and slept.
Still in darkness, Blaine was awakened by a glimmering of light, and jumped up startled at the sight of a lady wearing long diaphanous grey robes, and holding a single flickering rush candle.
“Mon dieu! What are you?” he exclaimed.
She did not answer, but only gazed at him, with a quiet, mournful demeanor. “C’est une fantome,” he gasped. “Can you be a ghost?” Stricken and startled by being wakened by such a spectre, he rapidly retreated backwards, but only to stumble, lose his balance, and smash unseeing into a gigantic outsize suit of iron armour that stood in that corner of the corridor.
The strength of the collision caused the iron structure to topple and there was no escape from the monstrous thing. The Frenchman scrambled to evade the falling armour, but there was nowhere to move in the narrow space, and the heavy contraption crashed onto the hapless man, hitting him full on the skull. He lay there, not moving.
The lady gave a small involuntary cry, but stifled it, and after a moment she gathered herself and knelt beside the man. Even by her dim light she could see that his injury was catastrophic, and could not but be imminently fatal. His skull seemed to be crushed and he was bleeding terribly. There was not a hope that she might be able to move the armour off him, or slide him from under the behemoth; there nothing for her to do at all but to watch helplessly as the man’s breathing slowed.
In moments it was over. He was dead. The lady in grey knew not who he was, nor why he had come there. Was his death divine retribution for some unknown sin? Was it connected with the curse on the house, and had he interfered with its appointed path?
The poor lady had a muddled fog of curses and sins in her disordered mind, and was far beyond being able to puzzle out what had happened. She had been quite helpless in her own plight for so long, that she was unable to act; and even if she had wanted to do so, she could not, for she was by now faintingly weak. Crossing herself, she murmured a prayer, and retreated, silently tottering back into her chamber. Knowing very well that there was nowhere else she could go, she fell onto her bed, insensible.