Northanger Abbey and Angels and Dragons (11 page)

This made some of the angels weep, and James’s own heavenly guardian bawled outright, shedding great diamond-bright tears to scatter on the ground as lovely sparkles.

“Oh dear . . .” whispered Catherine, biting her lip in regret. “I can hardly tell him the truth, can I?” And she coughed as usual, muttering the rest of the sentence in her sleeve.

But James was exceedingly gladdened. “He is as good-natured a fellow as ever lived; a little of a rattle, but—And how do you like the rest of the family?”

Once placed on a path of minor deception, what could Catherine say?

“Very, very much indeed: Isabella—uhm—particularly.”

“I am very glad to hear you say so; she is just the kind of young woman I could wish to see you attached to. So much good sense! So thoroughly unaffected and amiable! So
lovely!
—ahem. I always wanted you to know her; and she seems very fond of you. She said the highest things in your praise; and the praise of such a girl as Miss Thorpe even you, Catherine,” taking her hand with affection, “may be proud of.”

“Indeed I am,” she replied (while angels sobbed all around); “I—ahem—
like
her exceedingly—that is, well—yes, I am delighted that you like her too. You hardly mentioned anything of her when you wrote to me after your visit there.”

Catherine wanted to rend her handkerchief in horrid guilt and agitation at her own untrue words, but her brother was still holding her hand. . . .

“Because I thought I should soon see you myself,” said James warmly. “I hope you will be a great deal together while you are in Bath. She is a most amiable girl; such a superior understanding! How fond all the family are of her! And how she must be admired in such a place as this—is not she?”

“Oh,
yes
. Very much indeed, I fancy; Mr. Allen thinks her the prettiest girl in Bath.”
And so does every other gentleman.

“I dare say he does; and I do not know any man who is a better judge of beauty than Mr. Allen. I need not ask you whether you are happy here, my dear Catherine; with such a companion and friend as Isabella Thorpe, it would be impossible to be otherwise. And the Allens are very kind to you?”

“Yes, very kind; I never was so happy before; and now you are come it will be more delightful than ever. How good of you to come so far on purpose to see me.”

James accepted this tribute of gratitude, and qualified his conscience for accepting it too, by saying with perfect sincerity, “Indeed, Catherine, I love you dearly.”

He then added, “But there is one more reason for my arrival, I admit. It might be complete nonsense, but it is amusing to imagine . . . There was talk, I must say, among the Thorpes when I was there, of
hidden treasure
. From what I understand, there is a grand ancient hoard of gold—or diamonds, sapphires, rubies, and emeralds!—or other some such, buried or otherwise hidden away in Bath, or its whereabouts. Maybe in the pump-room! Or
underneath
the pump-room, in deep secret corridors! Or maybe even right underneath our feet! And there are Secret Clues! They are supposedly concealed all about, leading to horrid places just like in Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels. All very gothic and sanguine and mysterious!”

Catherine froze and listened, her imagination immediately and fiercely engaged.
Dark gothic mysteries! Treasure! Here in Bath! Dark gothic mysteries beyond a black veil! Udolpho!

But the fascinating subject was far too quickly changed.

Inquiries and communications concerning brothers and sisters, followed. Family matters passed between them, and continued (with only one digression on James’s part, in praise of the beauties of Miss Thorpe), till they reached Pulteney Street.

Here he was welcomed with great kindness by Mr. and Mrs. Allen, and invited to dine with them. A pre-engagement in Edgar’s Buildings prevented his accepting the invitation and obliged him to hurry away.

Until the time of the two parties uniting in the Octagon Room, Catherine was left to the company of dear, familiar fluttering angels whom she largely ignored, and the luxury of a raised, restless, and frightened imagination, in near darkness, over the pages of
Udolpho
—lost from all worldly concerns of dressing (and Mrs. Allen’s late-running dressmaker) and dinner, and taking only a minute to reflect upon her own felicity in being already engaged for the evening.

I
n spite of
Udolpho
and the dressmaker, however, the party from Pulteney Street reached the Upper Rooms in very good time.

The Thorpes and James Morland were there only two minutes before them. Catherine observed James’s angelic guardian soar nervously over the top of his head and rapidly beat his tiny glittering wings in an attempt to fan away the scalding air radiated by John Thorpe. The other household angels—likely in charge of Mrs. Thorpe and her younger daughters—were making every effort to assist, but keeping well away from both John and Isabella.

“Upon my word! It only now occurs to me,” whispered Catherine to Lawrence who perched on one of her sleeves, “that neither of these . . . nephilim have angels to watch over them!”

“Indeed, not,” the angel replied. “The nephilim are most often watched over by beings of another kind.”

“You do not perchance mean—
demons?
Oh dear!”

The angel sadly nodded, adding, “But, it
is
their choice. Nephilim—even though they are children of the fallen ones—are fundamentally
neutral,
poised on the brink of Good and Evil, and gifted with human free will. They are able to take either fork in the road. Sadly, they most often choose the non-human side of their blood, which is tainted by the dark.”

“Are their—demons—
here,
then? Should I somehow see them also?”

“Blessedly, they are not,” replied Lawrence, unfurling his wings, and starting to fan Catherine gently as the Thorpes closed the distance enough to make John Thorpe’s heat palpable. “You will indeed
know
them if you see them, dear child, and I hope you never have to . . . But, by Heavenly Decree, demons are not permitted to appear in the flesh, or be fully tangible, before midnight, and not after three in the morning when the rooster crows. So, they are not here . . .
yet
.”

And Catherine realized in that chilling moment that she had never up to that point had the pleasure of being in Isabella’s company at an evening event that carried on past midnight—either one or the other of them had been elsewhere, or had left early.

She was fortunate all this time—indeed, all her life! To have never seen a demon! And, most recently, to have avoided being in the presence of Isabella’s demonic guardian! As if Isabella herself was not dire enough!

But, oh dear, tonight was going to be horridly different . . . Although, I
did
long for frightful Udolpho excitement, did I not?

Catherine’s eager yet terrified anticipation of horrid events was momentarily lessened as the two parties came together. Isabella went through the usual ceremony of meeting her friend with the most smiling and affectionate haste, admiring her gown, and envying the curl of her hair. Catherine felt only mildly doubtful about reciprocating, even though to her true sight Isabella appeared to be a scarecrow attired in finery.

They followed their chaperones, arm in (thoroughly chilled) arm, into the ballroom, whispering to each other whenever a thought occurred, and supplying the place of many ideas by a squeeze of the hand or a smile of sometimes forced affection.

The dancing began within a few minutes after they were seated. Catherine stared in open wonder at the sea of dancers and, directly overhead, a blazing cloud of their angels, brighter than candlelight—oh, so many glorious angels!—all whirling in time to the music, above and below. An impossible, beautiful sight!

James, who had been engaged quite as far in advance for dancing as his sister, was very importunate with Isabella to stand up. However, John had gone into the card-room to speak to a friend (
hidden clues
and
treasure
was overheard by Catherine despite all the best efforts on the gentleman’s part to keep his roar down) and taken the infernal heat wave with him and away from the proximity of his sister’s cold front—thus assuring there would be neither dance partner nor indoor precipitation.

As a result, Isabella declared that nothing should induce her to join the set before her dear Catherine could join it too. “I assure you,” said she to enraptured James, “I would not stand up without your dear sister for all the world; or we should certainly be separated the whole evening.”

Catherine gratefully accepted this kindness, and they continued as they were for three minutes longer. Isabella, talking to James, turned again to his sister and whispered in her honeyed shrill tone, audible as such to no one but Catherine, “My dear creature, I am afraid I must leave you, your brother is so amazingly impatient to begin; I know you will not mind, and I dare say John will be back in a moment.”

Catherine, though a little disappointed, had too much good nature to make any opposition in a friendly situation even to a naphil. And Isabella had only time to press her friend’s hand long enough to make it thoroughly ice-numb, and say, “Good-bye, my dear love,” before they hurried off in a wintry whiff.

The younger Miss Thorpes also away dancing, Catherine was left to the mercy of Mrs. Thorpe and Mrs. Allen. She could not help being vexed at the non-appearance of Mr. Thorpe, even though he was a large-toothed ogre with foul breath, for she not only longed to be dancing, but was, to her discredit, revealing the
want of a partner
.

However, to be disgraced in the eye of the world due to the misconduct of another, is one of those fortitude-building circumstances which belong to the heroine’s life. Catherine had fortitude too; she suffered, but no murmur passed her lips—only several angels, and one right near her nose, as they were guarding her.

From this state of humiliation, she was soon roused to a pleasanter feeling, by seeing, not Mr. Thorpe, but Mr. Tilney, within yards of where they sat.

He seemed to be moving her way, but did not see her. Thus, the smile and the blush, which his sudden reappearance raised in Catherine, both passed without sullying her heroic gravity.

“Look, dear child, there, at last, is your
good
friend!” whispered Clarence, and Catherine felt another flush of warmth.

Mr. Tilney looked as handsome and as lively as ever, and was talking with interest to a fashionable and pleasing-looking young woman on his arm, and whom Catherine immediately guessed to be his sister (unthinkingly
not
considering him lost to her forever on the arm of another female). It had never entered her head that Mr. Tilney could be married. He had certainly not behaved like a married man, and he
had
acknowledged a sister. Thus, instead of turning deathly pale and fainting on Mrs. Allen’s bosom, Catherine remained perfectly upright and sensible, and with cheeks only a little redder than usual.

Mr. Tilney and his companion eventually approached, preceded by a lady acquaintance of Mrs. Thorpe. And Catherine, catching Mr. Tilney’s eye, instantly received from him the smiling tribute of recognition.

Directly overhead, angelic guardians of the Tilneys happily fluttered to mingle with Catherine’s own grand aerial crowd. Mr. Tilney’s angel in particular seemed to regard her with a glorious smile.

She returned both smiles of the man and his angel with pleasure. Then, advancing nearer, Mr. Tilney spoke both to her and Mrs. Allen, by whom he was very civilly acknowledged.

“I am very happy to see you again, sir, indeed; I was afraid you had left Bath.” Mrs. Allen was eager to share her most recent textile purchases with a well-versed fellow connoisseur.

He thanked her for her fears, and said that he had quitted it for a week, on the very morning after his having had the pleasure of seeing her.

Gone for a week! That explains it!
thought Catherine.