Dressed in Black

Chapter 18

Catherine, missing the effusion of scents in her old rose garden, often crept into Miranda's glass-house, and, that same morning, after having seen her mistress to sleep, and been appeased by the doctor's exultant announcement of her recovery, she had gone thence to think and stroll and sit. She was breathing in the fragrance of a bunch of red roses, and recalling the pleasant memories of home, when she heard a footfall at the glass-house's open doors.

She straightened herself just in time to be met by Henry Slater. "Good morning, sir," she bowed coolly to him, biting the inside of her cheek so as not to burst forth with an impulsive criticism on his manner or look. Indeed, she was bold enough to lash out at him, but not quite low enough.

"Miss Crane," he bowed shortly. "I had been looking for you – but now that I've found you sneaking about in my dying mother's glass-house, I may cease to make myself uneasy about your whereabouts."

"Miranda is not dying," she said, to spite him. "And I've no doubt that the General has commissioned you to look for me – again. Well, I suppose we cannot stand here staring at each other and twirling our thumbs, can we, sir? You must have a purpose in seeking me out, and admitting it to my face without any degree of shame." One side of his lip curled up, and he took another step into the glass-house, with his hands clasped casually behind his back. He pretended at first not to have anything to say, and while he fingered the petals of a hyacinth, he made his mind up to give way to speech.

"Miss Crane, I am finally taking leave of the Abbey," he declared at last, tearing a damp, helpless petal from the flower and crushing it mercilessly in his large white claw.

"I've nothing to say on that matter, sir," she said through her teeth, observing his cruel impulse. Though Harry's cruelty was being unleashed on a mere flower, Catherine saw in that seemingly inoffensive conduct a rising evil. "Except that I hope you have a comfortable journey – and find yourself a suitable wife in London."

"You know you're quite trite," said he, after gaping at her with open-mouthed disdain. "I'm glad I did not follow through with our engagement, after all. You would have been a murderously tedious companion, I expect." Having uttered this scornful speech, he turned on his heels and walked out of the glass-house without saying another word, or paying her another look.

*

I have already said that General Fitzwilliam Slater had a peculiar talent for making himself agreeable: he merely said the right thing at the right time to the right person, and in spite of his dark deeds, he was the merriest man to be found in Society. But his merriment was hollow, because there was no foundation for it, and it is Society's greatest misunderstanding to favour an extravert to an introvert merely because the former entertains his company better than the latter. In short, because a man prefers books to people, does not mean that he is the worse for it.

Catherine began to see through the Abbey's inmates' masks of virtue, and to read them with more understanding than any other book she had read before. In her blind despair she had formed a self-created delusion so as to forget reality, and was willing to believe it all until the past few days, which had been so terribly revealing. In short, it was nothing that she could find in her novels, so she decided that she would no longer rely on her books to form a sound opinion on something she met with in real life. Yes, she had been dictated by etiquette, but what's worse is that novels had dictated her expectations.

Catherine was slowly but surely beginning to shake off her stiffness, and make way for her natural sweetness and ease, which did not disfigure her elegance, but rather lend it the charm of vivacity and unaffectedness. She had not changed personalities, merely unveiled her real one and gotten rid of her false one. Mr. Borne was to take Catherine away that day – there was nothing left for them to do in that country, and he thought it best to surprise her with the good news as he paid his habitual afternoon call on the family.