Northanger Abbey and Angels and Dragons (30 page)

Her heart pounding, Catherine immediately dismissed her. But the interruption recalled her to the sense of what she
ought
to be doing. Catherine forced herself, in spite of her anxious desire to penetrate this mystery, to proceed in her dressing without further delay.

Her progress was not quick, for her thoughts and her eyes were still bent on the
object
so well calculated to interest and alarm, while the bright angelic forms attempted to distract her with muslin and ribbons. And though she dared not waste a moment upon a second attempt, she could not remain many paces from the
chest
. It
beckoned
her, like a siren of old calling the Greek hero Odysseus—except that Catherine had no special wax to pour into her ears, nor anyone to tie her to a mast; nor, for that matter, was a mast at hand, for here was a proper apartment, as opposed to a sloop—that is,
oh dear
 . . .

At length, however, having slipped one arm into her gown, her toilette seemed so nearly finished that the impatience of her curiosity might safely be indulged. One moment surely might be spared! And, so desperate should be the exertion of her strength, that, unless secured by
supernatural
means, the lid in one moment should be thrown back.

With this spirit she sprang forward, and her confidence did not deceive her. Her resolute effort threw back the lid, and Catherine had to spring back immediately with an ungodly scream directly out of Udolpho—

Darkness,
roiling screeching darkness burst out like a billowing smoke-stack from a chimney, at first without form, but in seconds resolving into many distinct shapes—all vaguely humanoid, but wickedly distorted, and translucent, made of the fabric of smoke. And these smoke creatures scattered all around the chamber . . .

And, oh goodness, the shrieking! The infernal shrieking and hissing!

The three angels at Catherine’s side flew before her, suddenly growing three times larger and brighter than usual, attaining the size of large dolls or maybe small children, their wings beating rapidly, and keeping the smoke
monster
—whatever it was—at some minor distance. But it was not quite enough.

The darkness gathered and undulated; figures elongated, or grew squat, with limbs like angry fog, reaching out for her. And Catherine, cowering back at first, then absolutely petrified, heard something that vaguely sounded almost like human speech, but modulated in a very high and simultaneously very low rumbling register, so that at least five octaves separated it:

WEEEEEGIHOOOONNN!!!

HWEEEHHHAWWWRRRREGHEWOOOOWNN!

And before Catherine could react, the
living hive
of darkness—for there was no better manner of describing it—spun rapidly around the chamber, and then dove like a million bees directly
into
the nearest wall, and went right
through
it, like incorporeal ghosts . . .

. . . And was gone. As though none of this had even existed.

Catherine exhaled with amazed horror, and straightened up, while her dear angels attempted to console her.

“Oh! Oh!
What
in the world was that?” Catherine finally managed to utter. “Were those dreadful things ghosts?”

But the angels sighed in sorrow. One of them gently placed its white-iridescent wings on her cheek, and Catherine felt in that exact spot a current of warm kindness fill her with momentary peace.

“Were those real ghosts?” she repeated, feeling a tad better.

“Dear Catherine, oh, would that they
had
been ghosts. No, these are far worse . . . But fortunately
they
are no longer here.”

“Did—did
I
release them? Were they locked in the chest?”

And Catherine finally glanced down at the odious object before her, which had possessed her to such an act of mad curiosity. Her astonished eyes were treated to a view of a white cotton counterpane, properly folded, reposing at one end of the chest in undisputed possession. An ordinary silly counterpane!

Still stunned by what had just taken place, she was gazing on it vacantly with the blush of unbelieving surprise when Miss Tilney, anxious for her friend’s being ready, entered the room.

Catherine was now additionally shamed. She was caught in an idle and unseemly search of her hosts’ property!

“That is a curious old chest, is not it?” said Miss Tilney, as Catherine hastily closed it and turned away to the glass. “It is impossible to say how many generations it has been here. How it came to be in this room I know not. But I have not had it moved, thinking it might sometimes be of use in holding hats and bonnets. Though, its weight makes it difficult to open. In that corner, however, it is at least out of the way.”

Catherine had no leisure for speech, simultaneously blushing, tying her gown, throwing pointed glances at the angels and at the wall into which the dark hive
disappeared
.

Miss Tilney gently hinted her fear of being late. And in half a minute they ran downstairs together, in an alarm not wholly unfounded—for General Tilney was pacing the drawing-room, his watch in his hand. The instant they entered, he pulled the bell with violence, and ordered “Dinner to be on table
directly!
”

Catherine trembled at the emphasis with which he spoke, and sat pale and breathless, in a most humble and stunned mood, concerned for his children, and detesting old chests and
whatever
they contained.

The general, recovering his politeness as he looked at her, now scolded his daughter at length for so foolishly hurrying her fair friend, who was so out of breath from haste—there was no occasion for hurry in the world.

But Catherine could not get over the varied distress of having
opened
that horrid chest, involved her friend in a lecture and been a great simpleton herself, till they were happily seated to dinner. The general’s complacent smiles, and a good appetite of her own, restored her to peace.

But, oh dear, whatever had been in that chest?

The dining-parlour was a large noble room, done in a style of luxury which was almost lost on Catherine, who saw little more than its spaciousness and the number of their attendants. She spoke aloud her admiration; and the general graciously acknowledged that it was by no means an ill-sized room. He supposed, however, “that she must have been used to much better-sized apartments at Mr. Allen’s?”

“No, indeed,” was Catherine’s honest assurance; “Mr. Allen’s dining-parlour was not more than half as large,” and she had never seen so large a room in her life.

The general’s good humour increased, and he waxed eloquent about having and using large rooms. But Mr. Allen’s house, he was sure, must be exactly of the true size for rational happiness.

The evening passed without any further disturbance—and, in the occasional absence of General Tilney—with much positive cheerfulness. It was only in his presence that Catherine felt any fatigue from her journey; and she could think of her friends in Bath without one wish of being with them.

What she had released from the chest still bothered her, and thoughts returned to the dark smoke-beings writhing and menacing her—it was far less amiable to experience such an
Udolpho
occurrence in reality, than from the pages of a novel.

The night was stormy; the wind had been rising at intervals the whole afternoon. By the time the party broke up, it blew and rained violently.

Catherine, as she crossed the hall, listened to the tempest with sensations of awe, and shivers down her spine. The angels flew cheerfully before her, casting a bright tiny glow like a trio of candles visible only to herself. She thought with gratitude of their presence always at her side . . . and then noticed that their specks of light multiplied in number, turning into many more than what Catherine was used to seeing when she was all alone and without the company of other people and their own angels.

“Dear child,” said Lawrence, “we have been told, now that the danger is greatest, we must guard you in full force. So in addition to myself, Terence, and Clarence, there are several others sent to be your permanent guardians.”

“I am Florence!” cried a new dulcet voice, separating from the glowing cloud.

“And I am Patrice!” sang another.

“Maurice!

“Clarisse!”

“Horace!”

“Felice!”

“Delice!”

“Charisse!”

And finally, one littlest form of light danced just before Catherine’s eyes. “And I am Jack!”

“Oh!” said Catherine. “It is so
nice
to meet you, and thank you! For indeed it is somewhat frightful to be alone with all these highly peculiar things happening all the time.” And then she added: “Oh dear, but now I do think I might have forgotten all your names . . .”

A
ccompanied by the twelve angels, Catherine now felt far less terror than moments ago.

And yet, listening to the storm rage round a corner of the ancient building and close with sudden fury a distant door, it truly
felt
for the first time that she was really in an
abbey
.

Yes, these sounds brought to her recollection a countless variety of dreadful situations and horrid scenes, which such buildings had witnessed, and such storms ushered in. . . . And other, perfectly inexplicable
things
found locked in encrypted chests.

And then, most heartily did she rejoice in the happier circumstances attending her entrance within walls so solemn! She had nothing to dread from midnight assassins or drunken gallants—only demonic smoke entities and dragons outside the window! For indeed, now Catherine had no doubt the
hive
, though less putrid and belching than Isabella’s demon and less lumpy and grotesque than John Thorpe’s—was of ungodly origins—even though for some reason the dear angels refused to tell her precisely what it
was
.

And yet—was it not the case that demons were forbidden to appear before midnight? Another horrid mystery!

Henry had certainly been only in jest in what he had told her that morning. And yet, Catherine was equally certain she had found the
real
Udolpho Code, and nowhere else than in her own assigned apartment! And was it not that strange letter T (and possibly missing R-O-O) that bound whatever it was she had so thoughtlessly released from the chest?

In a house so furnished, and so guarded, she could have nothing to explore or to suffer, and might go to her bedroom as securely as if it had been her own chamber at Fullerton. Because surely,
her bedroom was the key to it all!

Thus wisely fortifying her mind, as she proceeded upstairs, she was able (especially seeing that Miss Tilney slept only two doors from her), to enter her room with a tolerably stout heart, and not one, not three, but a dozen heavenly guardians.

And her spirits were immediately assisted by the cheerful blaze of a wood fire. “How much better is this,” said she, as she walked to the fender
^[25]
—“to find a fire ready lit, than to have to wait shivering in the cold till all the family are in bed—as so many poor girls in novels have been obliged to do—and then to have a faithful old servant frightening one by coming in with a faggot!
^[26]
How glad I am that Northanger is what it is! If it had been like some other places, I do not know that, in such a night as this, I could have answered for my courage: but now, to be sure, there is nothing to alarm one.
Nothing!
”

She looked round the room. The window curtains seemed in motion—surely, nothing but the violence of the wind penetrating through the divisions of the shutters. She stepped boldly forward, carelessly humming a tune, to assure herself of its being so, peeped courageously behind each curtain, saw nothing on either low window seat to scare her, placed a hand against the shutter, and felt indeed the wind’s force.

A glance at the old chest (now perfectly silent and harmless) was not without its use. She scorned the causeless fears of an idle fancy, and began with a most happy indifference to prepare herself for bed. The angels alighted in various bright spots around the room.

Catherine resolved
to take her time;
not hurry herself. She did not care if she were the last person up in the house. But she would
not
make up her fire (that would seem cowardly, as if she wished for the protection of light after she were in bed).

The fire therefore died away. There was only a single candle left burning—and
angel light
.

Catherine, having spent the best part of an hour in her arrangements, was about to step into bed. But, glancing round the room, she was struck by the appearance of a high, old-fashioned black
cabinet,
which, though conspicuous enough, had never caught her notice before.

Oh dear . . .