CHAPTER 11

The morrow brought a very sober-looking morning, the sun making only

a few efforts to appear, and Catherine augured from it everything most

favourable to her wishes. A bright morning so early in the year,

she allowed, would generally turn to rain, but a cloudy one foretold

improvement as the day advanced. She applied to Mr. Allen for

confirmation of her hopes, but Mr. Allen, not having his own skies and

barometer about him, declined giving any absolute promise of sunshine.

She applied to Mrs. Allen, and Mrs. Allen's opinion was more positive.

"She had no doubt in the world of its being a very fine day, if the

clouds would only go off, and the sun keep out."

At about eleven o'clock, however, a few specks of small rain upon the

windows caught Catherine's watchful eye, and "Oh! dear, I do believe it

will be wet," broke from her in a most desponding tone.

"I thought how it would be," said Mrs. Allen.

"No walk for me today," sighed Catherine; "but perhaps it may come to

nothing, or it may hold up before twelve."

"Perhaps it may, but then, my dear, it will be so dirty."

"Oh! That will not signify; I never mind dirt."

"No," replied her friend very placidly, "I know you never mind dirt."

After a short pause, "It comes on faster and faster!" said Catherine, as

she stood watching at a window.

"So it does indeed. If it keeps raining, the streets will be very wet."

"There are four umbrellas up already. How I hate the sight of an

umbrella!"

"They are disagreeable things to carry. I would much rather take a chair

at any time."

"It was such a nice-looking morning! I felt so convinced it would be

dry!"

"Anybody would have thought so indeed. There will be very few people in

the pump-room, if it rains all the morning. I hope Mr. Allen will put

on his greatcoat when he goes, but I dare say he will not, for he had

rather do anything in the world than walk out in a greatcoat; I wonder

he should dislike it, it must be so comfortable."

The rain continued--fast, though not heavy. Catherine went every five

minutes to the clock, threatening on each return that, if it still

kept on raining another five minutes, she would give up the matter as

hopeless. The clock struck twelve, and it still rained. "You will not be

able to go, my dear."

"I do not quite despair yet. I shall not give it up till a quarter after

twelve. This is just the time of day for it to clear up, and I do think

it looks a little lighter. There, it is twenty minutes after twelve, and

now I shall give it up entirely. Oh! That we had such weather here

as they had at Udolpho, or at least in Tuscany and the south of

France!--the night that poor St. Aubin died!--such beautiful weather!"

At half past twelve, when Catherine's anxious attention to the weather

was over and she could no longer claim any merit from its amendment, the

sky began voluntarily to clear. A gleam of sunshine took her quite by

surprise; she looked round; the clouds were parting, and she instantly

returned to the window to watch over and encourage the happy appearance.

Ten minutes more made it certain that a bright afternoon would succeed,

and justified the opinion of Mrs. Allen, who had "always thought it

would clear up." But whether Catherine might still expect her friends,

whether there had not been too much rain for Miss Tilney to venture,

must yet be a question.

It was too dirty for Mrs. Allen to accompany her husband to the

pump-room; he accordingly set off by himself, and Catherine had barely

watched him down the street when her notice was claimed by the approach

of the same two open carriages, containing the same three people that

had surprised her so much a few mornings back.

"Isabella, my brother, and Mr. Thorpe, I declare! They are coming for

me perhaps--but I shall not go--I cannot go indeed, for you know Miss

Tilney may still call." Mrs. Allen agreed to it. John Thorpe was soon

with them, and his voice was with them yet sooner, for on the stairs he

was calling out to Miss Morland to be quick. "Make haste! Make haste!"

as he threw open the door. "Put on your hat this moment--there is no

time to be lost--we are going to Bristol. How d'ye do, Mrs. Allen?"

"To Bristol! Is not that a great way off? But, however, I cannot go with

you today, because I am engaged; I expect some friends every moment."

This was of course vehemently talked down as no reason at all; Mrs.

Allen was called on to second him, and the two others walked in, to give

their assistance. "My sweetest Catherine, is not this delightful? We

shall have a most heavenly drive. You are to thank your brother and me

for the scheme; it darted into our heads at breakfast-time, I verily

believe at the same instant; and we should have been off two hours ago

if it had not been for this detestable rain. But it does not signify,

the nights are moonlight, and we shall do delightfully. Oh! I am in such

ecstasies at the thoughts of a little country air and quiet! So much

better than going to the Lower Rooms. We shall drive directly to Clifton

and dine there; and, as soon as dinner is over, if there is time for it,

go on to Kingsweston."

"I doubt our being able to do so much," said Morland.

"You croaking fellow!" cried Thorpe. "We shall be able to do ten times

more. Kingsweston! Aye, and Blaize Castle too, and anything else we can

hear of; but here is your sister says she will not go."

"Blaize Castle!" cried Catherine. "What is that'?"

"The finest place in England--worth going fifty miles at any time to

see."

"What, is it really a castle, an old castle?"

"The oldest in the kingdom."

"But is it like what one reads of?"

"Exactly--the very same."

"But now really--are there towers and long galleries?"

"By dozens."

"Then I should like to see it; but I cannot--I cannot go.

"Not go! My beloved creature, what do you mean'?"

"I cannot go, because"--looking down as she spoke, fearful of Isabella's

smile--"I expect Miss Tilney and her brother to call on me to take a

country walk. They promised to come at twelve, only it rained; but now,

as it is so fine, I dare say they will be here soon."

"Not they indeed," cried Thorpe; "for, as we turned into Broad Street, I

saw them--does he not drive a phaeton with bright chestnuts?"

"I do not know indeed."

"Yes, I know he does; I saw him. You are talking of the man you danced

with last night, are not you?"

"Yes.

"Well, I saw him at that moment turn up the Lansdown Road, driving a

smart-looking girl."

"Did you indeed?"

"Did upon my soul; knew him again directly, and he seemed to have got

some very pretty cattle too."

"It is very odd! But I suppose they thought it would be too dirty for a

walk."

"And well they might, for I never saw so much dirt in my life. Walk!

You could no more walk than you could fly! It has not been so dirty the

whole winter; it is ankle-deep everywhere."

Isabella corroborated it: "My dearest Catherine, you cannot form an idea

of the dirt; come, you must go; you cannot refuse going now."

"I should like to see the castle; but may we go all over it? May we go

up every staircase, and into every suite of rooms?"

"Yes, yes, every hole and corner."

"But then, if they should only be gone out for an hour till it is dryer,

and call by and by?"

"Make yourself easy, there is no danger of that, for I heard Tilney

hallooing to a man who was just passing by on horseback, that they were

going as far as Wick Rocks."

"Then I will. Shall I go, Mrs. Allen?"

"Just as you please, my dear."

"Mrs. Allen, you must persuade her to go," was the general cry. Mrs.

Allen was not inattentive to it: "Well, my dear," said she, "suppose you

go." And in two minutes they were off.

Catherine's feelings, as she got into the carriage, were in a very

unsettled state; divided between regret for the loss of one great

pleasure, and the hope of soon enjoying another, almost its equal in

degree, however unlike in kind. She could not think the Tilneys had

acted quite well by her, in so readily giving up their engagement,

without sending her any message of excuse. It was now but an hour later

than the time fixed on for the beginning of their walk; and, in spite of

what she had heard of the prodigious accumulation of dirt in the course

of that hour, she could not from her own observation help thinking that

they might have gone with very little inconvenience. To feel herself

slighted by them was very painful. On the other hand, the delight of

exploring an edifice like Udolpho, as her fancy represented Blaize

Castle to be, was such a counterpoise of good as might console her for

almost anything.

They passed briskly down Pulteney Street, and through Laura Place,

without the exchange of many words. Thorpe talked to his horse, and she

meditated, by turns, on broken promises and broken arches, phaetons

and false hangings, Tilneys and trap-doors. As they entered Argyle

Buildings, however, she was roused by this address from her companion,

"Who is that girl who looked at you so hard as she went by?"

"Who? Where?"

"On the right-hand pavement--she must be almost out of sight now."

Catherine looked round and saw Miss Tilney leaning on her brother's arm,

walking slowly down the street. She saw them both looking back at her.

"Stop, stop, Mr. Thorpe," she impatiently cried; "it is Miss Tilney; it

is indeed. How could you tell me they were gone? Stop, stop, I will

get out this moment and go to them." But to what purpose did she speak?

Thorpe only lashed his horse into a brisker trot; the Tilneys, who had

soon ceased to look after her, were in a moment out of sight round the

corner of Laura Place, and in another moment she was herself whisked

into the marketplace. Still, however, and during the length of another

street, she entreated him to stop. "Pray, pray stop, Mr. Thorpe. I

cannot go on. I will not go on. I must go back to Miss Tilney." But Mr.

Thorpe only laughed, smacked his whip, encouraged his horse, made odd

noises, and drove on; and Catherine, angry and vexed as she was, having

no power of getting away, was obliged to give up the point and submit.

Her reproaches, however, were not spared. "How could you deceive me so,

Mr. Thorpe? How could you say that you saw them driving up the Lansdown

Road? I would not have had it happen so for the world. They must think

it so strange, so rude of me! To go by them, too, without saying a word!

You do not know how vexed I am; I shall have no pleasure at Clifton, nor

in anything else. I had rather, ten thousand times rather, get out now,

and walk back to them. How could you say you saw them driving out in a

phaeton?" Thorpe defended himself very stoutly, declared he had never

seen two men so much alike in his life, and would hardly give up the

point of its having been Tilney himself.

Their drive, even when this subject was over, was not likely to be very

agreeable. Catherine's complaisance was no longer what it had been in

their former airing. She listened reluctantly, and her replies were

short. Blaize Castle remained her only comfort; towards that, she still

looked at intervals with pleasure; though rather than be disappointed of

the promised walk, and especially rather than be thought ill of by the

Tilneys, she would willingly have given up all the happiness which its

walls could supply--the happiness of a progress through a long suite of

lofty rooms, exhibiting the remains of magnificent furniture, though

now for many years deserted--the happiness of being stopped in their way

along narrow, winding vaults, by a low, grated door; or even of having

their lamp, their only lamp, extinguished by a sudden gust of wind, and

of being left in total darkness. In the meanwhile, they proceeded on

their journey without any mischance, and were within view of the town

of Keynsham, when a halloo from Morland, who was behind them, made his

friend pull up, to know what was the matter. The others then came close

enough for conversation, and Morland said, "We had better go back,

Thorpe; it is too late to go on today; your sister thinks so as well as

I. We have been exactly an hour coming from Pulteney Street, very little

more than seven miles; and, I suppose, we have at least eight more to

go. It will never do. We set out a great deal too late. We had much

better put it off till another day, and turn round."

"It is all one to me," replied Thorpe rather angrily; and instantly

turning his horse, they were on their way back to Bath.

"If your brother had not got such a d--beast to drive," said he soon

afterwards, "we might have done it very well. My horse would have

trotted to Clifton within the hour, if left to himself, and I have

almost broke my arm with pulling him in to that cursed broken-winded

jade's pace. Morland is a fool for not keeping a horse and gig of his

own."

"No, he is not," said Catherine warmly, "for I am sure he could not

afford it."

"And why cannot he afford it?"

"Because he has not money enough."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Nobody's, that I know of." Thorpe then said something in the loud,

incoherent way to which he had often recourse, about its being a

d--thing to be miserly; and that if people who rolled in money could not

afford things, he did not know who could, which Catherine did not even

endeavour to understand. Disappointed of what was to have been the

consolation for her first disappointment, she was less and less disposed

either to be agreeable herself or to find her companion so; and they

returned to Pulteney Street without her speaking twenty words.

As she entered the house, the footman told her that a gentleman and lady

had called and inquired for her a few minutes after her setting off;

that, when he told them she was gone out with Mr. Thorpe, the lady had

asked whether any message had been left for her; and on his saying no,

had felt for a card, but said she had none about her, and went away.

Pondering over these heart-rending tidings, Catherine walked slowly

upstairs. At the head of them she was met by Mr. Allen, who, on hearing

the reason of their speedy return, said, "I am glad your brother had so

much sense; I am glad you are come back. It was a strange, wild scheme."

They all spent the evening together at Thorpe's. Catherine was disturbed

and out of spirits; but Isabella seemed to find a pool of commerce, in

the fate of which she shared, by private partnership with Morland, a

very good equivalent for the quiet and country air of an inn at Clifton.

Her satisfaction, too, in not being at the Lower Rooms was spoken more

than once. "How I pity the poor creatures that are going there! How glad

I am that I am not amongst them! I wonder whether it will be a full ball

or not! They have not begun dancing yet. I would not be there for

all the world. It is so delightful to have an evening now and then

to oneself. I dare say it will not be a very good ball. I know the

Mitchells will not be there. I am sure I pity everybody that is. But I

dare say, Mr. Morland, you long to be at it, do not you? I am sure you

do. Well, pray do not let anybody here be a restraint on you. I dare say

we could do very well without you; but you men think yourselves of such

consequence."

Catherine could almost have accused Isabella of being wanting in

tenderness towards herself and her sorrows, so very little did they

appear to dwell on her mind, and so very inadequate was the comfort she

offered. "Do not be so dull, my dearest creature," she whispered. "You

will quite break my heart. It was amazingly shocking, to be sure; but

the Tilneys were entirely to blame. Why were not they more punctual?

It was dirty, indeed, but what did that signify? I am sure John and I

should not have minded it. I never mind going through anything, where a

friend is concerned; that is my disposition, and John is just the same;

he has amazing strong feelings. Good heavens! What a delightful hand you

have got! Kings, I vow! I never was so happy in my life! I would fifty

times rather you should have them than myself."

And now I may dismiss my heroine to the sleepless couch, which is the

true heroine's portion; to a pillow strewed with thorns and wet with

tears. And lucky may she think herself, if she get another good night's

rest in the course of the next three months.