Northanger Abbey

Cat retreated to her room, where she spread her new clothes on the bed and photographed each item with her phone. She posted her favourite shot – a camisole cunningly dyed in gradations of colour from fuchsia to pearly pink – on her Facebook page then sent the others to her sisters. She texted her parents to say she’d spent the day walking around with Susie and they’d be going out to see a show in the evening. Instinctively, she knew what not to tell her parents. Sarah and Emily wouldn’t give her away. Not because they were intent on keeping her confidences, but rather because their annoyance at what they were missing out on would manifest itself in blaming their parents.

The pavement under the triple-arched portico of the Assembly Rooms was busy with people milling around, eyes darting all over the place, eager to spot acquaintances or those they would like to become acquainted with. Posters plastered every surface, over-excited fonts trumpeting the attractions within. Everything clamoured for Cat’s attention and she clung nervously to Susie’s arm as they pushed through the crowds to get inside.

The scrum of people seemed to grow thicker the further they penetrated the building. Mr Allen had spoken of the grace and elegance of the interior, explaining how it had been restored to its eighteenth-century glory. ‘They’ve kept the perfect proportions and returned it to its original style of decoration, right down to the chandeliers and the gold leaf on the ceiling roses,’ he’d told them over their early dinner. Cat had been eager to see it for herself, but it was too crowded to form any sense of how it looked. In between the heads and the hoardings she could catch odd glimpses here and there, but it formed a bewildering kaleidoscope of images. The sole impression she had was of hundreds of people determined to see and be seen on their way to and from an assortment of performances.

‘I know where we’re going.’ Susie had to raise her voice to be heard in the throng. She half-led, half-dragged Cat through the crowd until they finally reached their destination. Susie handed over their tickets and they were admitted to the auditorium.

This was not Cat’s initiation into live performance. She’d regularly attended performances in the village hall and even, occasionally, at the Arts Centre in Dorchester. She knew what to expect. Rows of seats, a soft mumble of conversation, a curtained proscenium arch.

Instead, she was thrust into a hot humid mass of bodies that filled the space around a small raised dais at one end of the packed room. Through the gloom, she could see some chairs, but they were all taken. What remained was standing room only. Standing room so tightly packed that Cat was convinced if she passed out, nobody would know until they all began to file out and she crumpled to the floor.

‘It’s a bit hot,’ she protested.

‘You won’t notice when the show begins,’ Susie assured her.

Because Susie had taken so long to get ready, they were only just in time. A skinny young man with a jack-in-the-box spring in his step bounced on to the stage, his hair a wild shock of blond and blue that matched his T-shirt. He dived straight in with a barbed attack on his arrival in Edinburgh, his West Midlands delivery so fast and so heavily accented that Cat could barely make out one line in three.

The audience seemed to fare better, following the performance well enough to cheer, laugh and heckle in equal measure. It was a novel experience for Cat, and in spite of her discomfort, she found herself caught up in the atmosphere, clapping and laughing regardless of whether she’d got a particular joke.

Eventually the show came to an end, with whoops and cheers signalling that it had been more of a success than not. The one good thing about being so far back was that they were able to make a relatively quick getaway. It was almost dizzying to emerge into the relative airiness of the foyer after the closeness of the event. ‘The bar,’ Susie said, immediately dragging her away from the direction of the street and deeper into the bowels of the building. ‘I’m gagging for a drink.’

The bar was no less crowded. People stood three deep waiting to be served. Susie groaned and glanced at her watch. ‘Andrew will be here any minute; he can do the donkey work for us. Come on, let’s find a seat, my feet are killing me.’ Cat wasn’t surprised. Even a teenager would have had more sense than to go out for the evening in the ridiculous shoes Susie had bought that morning.

Finding a seat didn’t seem a likely prospect to Cat, but Susie was undaunted by the crowds. She spied a table occupied by a group of young people who were clearly together, bunched around wine bottles and glasses. Susie marched straight up to the table and plonked herself on the end of the banquette. ‘Squeeze up, darlings,’ she said, waving her hands in a shooing motion.

Despite their anarchic appearance, this was evidently a group of nicely brought-up students. They obediently squashed closer together, creating just enough space for Susie and a sliver of seat for Cat. But politeness didn’t extend to including the pair in their conversation. Cat felt invisible and unattractive. All at once it dawned on her that she had never been in a crowded place where she didn’t know most of the other people present. It was simultaneously thrilling and unnerving. The potential for romance or danger was all around her; it was time to embrace the unfamiliar, not shrink from it.

She turned to share her insight with Susie, who was scouring the room with a pout on her face. ‘Unbelievable. I emailed and Facebooked at least a dozen of my best friends to say we’d be here tonight and there’s not a single one of them to be seen. I wanted you to meet the Elliots, they’ve got a son around your age. And the Wintersons, their twin girls must be off to university at the end of the summer. But no. Not a soul in sight.’

Cat felt the bubble of excitement burst within her, pricked by Susie’s discontent. But before she could say anything, Mr Allen appeared, pushing his way through the press of bodies. ‘This is impossible,’ he said, breathing a cloud of whisky fumes over them both. ‘There’s no pleasure in this. Let’s just walk home and have a drink there.’

‘But we’ll miss seeing everybody,’ Susie complained.

‘You can’t see anybody in this mob, never mind have a conversation. We’ll catch up with people soon enough. This is no introduction to Edinburgh life for poor Cat. Look at the girl, she’s practically melting in here.’

Cat was sure it had not been his intention, but Mr Allen’s words only served to make her feel more unappealing and unsophisticated. Flushed, she stood up and stepped aside to free Susie from the banquette. As she set off in the wake of the Allens, one of the young men at the table put a hand on her wrist. She startled away from him and he winked at her. ‘Cool top,’ he said.

She took off after Susie before she lost sight of her flamboyant peasant dress, even more hot and bothered than before. But as they emerged into the chill of the evening, she realised that brief final contact had made the entire evening worthwhile. Edinburgh really was a city of infinite promise.

3

Cat was surprised by how quickly her Edinburgh days fell into a routine. In the morning after a late breakfast, she and Susie used the excuse of art to get out of the flat and explore. It was true that they saw many paintings, sculptures and obscure installations, but more than that, they saw the city, from the regimented grid of streets of the Georgian New Town to the multi-layered maze of vennels and closes that formed the old town where Burke and Hare had plied their trade. Cat had googled the dark side of Edinburgh history, and it was she rather than Susie who enlivened their prowls through the city with tales of body-snatchers and Janus-faced citizens who held their sinister secrets behind the mask of respectability. On more than one occasion, Susie put her hands over her ears and laughed nervously, ‘Stop, Cat, you’re scaring me.’ And that was before she even touched on the vampire lore she’d picked up on the Internet. Cat was in her element, seeing potential for terror and adventure around every twist and turn of the narrow streets.

Of course, neither art nor sightseeing was sufficient to hold Susie’s attention for long. Somehow, their routes around the city centre invariably washed them up against some fascinating shop window like flotsam on the shore at Cramond. Cat understood it was the price she had to pay for the delight of exploring so exotic a city. That and Susie’s constant complaint that she couldn’t understand why she wasn’t bumping into anyone they knew from their London days.

On the fifth day, they returned footsore to the flat to find Mr Allen laying the table with a selection of cheeses, meats and vegetable delicacies, several of which Cat was depressingly unable to identify. ‘I was passing Valvona and Crolla on my way back from a rather promising show based on the songs of Chris de Burgh, and I thought I would treat us to lunch,’ was his greeting. He distributed plates and cutlery then opened a bottle of pale white wine with a corkscrew that had the look of something that had won a design award. ‘Oh, and this came by hand while we were out.’ He nodded at a thick piece of card tucked into the flap of the sort of heavy white envelope that signals senders with a good opinion of themselves.

Curious, Susie picked it up and flipped the card over. ‘Oh, Andrew, the Highland Ball! I’ve always wanted to go. It’s been one of my dreams for as long as I can remember.’

He looked mildly surprised. ‘You never said. They invite me every year. But I’m generally here on my own so I’ve given it a miss.’

‘We are going to go, though? Aren’t we?’ Susie reminded Cat of her younger sister Emily faced with the prospect of the latest Pixar animation. She’d been like that once, but she preferred to treat her enthusiasms in a more mature way these days. Even her mother would have struggled to spot just how excited she’d been by the latest Twilight movie, for example. ‘Oh, Andrew, please say we’re going.’ She turned to Cat. ‘The Highland Ball is the social event of the Edinburgh season. Absolutely A-list, Cat. The perfect place for you to find a real catch.’

Cat felt the tide of colour rising from her chest up her neck to her cheeks. Mr Allen shook his head and gave his wife an indulgent smile as he sat down at the table. ‘Leave Cat alone. Not everyone goes to the Highland Ball to find a man, Susie. But if it matters to you that much, we’ll go. And we can take Cat.’ He chuckled. ‘The Highland Ball. That’ll be an experience for you. All those men in kilts. You do know how to do Scottish country dancing?’

Susie subsided into a chair. ‘Don’t be silly, Andrew, where would Cat have learned Scottish country dancing? We’ll have to get her some lessons.’

‘Robbie Alexander’s wife runs a class specifically geared to the Highland Ball,’ he said. ‘She told me about it a couple of years ago. Why don’t you give her a ring and see if she can fit Cat in?’

And so that afternoon, Cat found herself on a bus to Morningside, where Fiona Alexander had commandeered the last available church hall in Edinburgh to impress the basics of Scottish country dancing on the novitiate. ‘Think of it as war conducted by other means,’ Mr Allen had said on her way out the door. It hadn’t exactly reassured Cat about what to expect.

She sidled in, hoping there would be enough people in the hall for her to pass unnoticed. Luck was not her friend, however. There were fewer than two dozen potential dancers in the hall, mostly gathered in clumps of four or five, the young men nudging each other and horsing around, the women rolling their eyes or texting or gossiping with heads close together. Two or three older couples had gravitated to the far end of the room, where a woman of indeterminate age in a tartan skirt and white blouse, hair tied back with a tartan ribbon, stood frowning at a portable CD player. Cat presumed she was Fiona Alexander. She leaned against the wall and waited for something to happen.

After a few minutes, Fiona clapped her hands for silence. The mutter of voices died away and she launched into her welcome speech, moving seamlessly on to a brief explanation of how the session would be run. ‘And so, ladies and gentlemen, please take your partners. We’re going to keep the same partners, and it’s generally easier if you work with someone you know already.’

To Cat’s dismay, almost everyone seemed to be already paired up. Two other girls, both of whom she considered much prettier, and two young men were the odd ones out. They gravitated towards each other, leaving her stranded and terrified that she was going to have to dance with Fiona.

She was saved by a young man thrusting open the double doors of the hall and skidding to a halt on the threshold, panting and dishevelled from running. He bowed low towards Fiona, his thick blond hair flopping forward over his forehead. ‘I’m so sorry, Fiona. I missed the bus and ran all the way from Bruntsfield. I think a bunch of old ladies thought I was a performance artist – they applauded me as I passed the coffee shop.’ He stood up crookedly, one hand pressed against his ribs.

Fiona gave him a look of mock disapproval. ‘Come in, Henry. At least you’re here now. Which is just as well because this young lady here—’ she gestured towards Cat ‘—is without a partner.’ She smiled at Cat. ‘My dear, I presume you’re Catherine Morland? Susie Allen phoned earlier. This unpunctual reprobate is Henry Tilney, who helps me out with my classes. Henry, meet Catherine.’

As he moved towards her, pushing his luxuriant honey-blond hair back from his brow, Cat had the chance properly to take stock of him. Henry was the right sort of tall – a shade under six feet, broad-shouldered but slim without being skinny, graceful rather than gawky. His eyebrows and lashes were much darker than his hair, and had it not been for his dark hazel eyes she might have suspected him of tinting them for effect. His forehead was broad and his cheekbones well defined on either side of a prominent nose that saved him from being too pretty for a man. His skin was pale and clear, unblemished by freckles. He didn’t have the confected good looks of a boy-band member but his face was compelling and memorable. Heroic, even, Cat allowed herself to think.

He dipped his head in greeting. ‘Nice to meet you, Catherine. I promise you, it’s not as hard as it looks. I’ll be gentle with you.’

When she looked back on that first meeting, Cat would wonder whether she should have been more wary of a man who began their acquaintance with such a blatant lie. For there was nothing gentle about what followed.

After an hour of being whirled and birled, of Gay Gordons and Dashing White Sergeants, of pas de basques and dos-à-dos, they broke for refreshments. Cat was uncomfortably aware that she was sweating like an ill-conditioned pony and that Henry seemed positively cool by comparison. She expected him to peel away from her at the first opportunity, to make a bee-line for one of the tall blondes with the far-back vowels and hair bands, but he told her to stay put while he fetched her a drink.

She collapsed gratefully on a bench till he returned with plastic tumblers of fizzy water. He sat down beside her, long legs in raspberry-coloured cords stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankle. ‘Phew,’ he sighed. ‘Fiona really does believe in putting us through our paces.’

‘Why are you here? You totally knew what you were doing, every step of the way.’

‘The Alexanders are neighbours of my father. Fiona mentioned that she was always short of competent men in her classes, so my father volunteered me. He likes to play the good neighbour. It stands him in good stead when he does something monstrous,’ he added, almost too softly for her to hear.

Mysterious bad behaviour was naturally meat and drink to Cat. Now she was even keener to find out more about her intriguing dance partner. ‘Well, I’m glad he did,’ she said. ‘This would be a nightmare if I was partnered with someone as clueless as I am.’

Henry gave her a wolfish grin, revealing small, sharp teeth. His eyes looked almost tawny in the afternoon light, like a lion stalking prey. ‘You’re welcome. But I’m failing in my Edinburgh duties,’ he said, straightening up and ticking off his questions on his fingers. ‘How long have you been in Edinburgh? Is this your first time? Do you prefer the Pleasance to the Assembly Rooms? What’s the best show you’ve seen so far? And have you eaten anywhere decent yet?’ He had a delicious accent; almost BBC, but with a hint of Scots in the vowels and the roll of the r.

Cat giggled. ‘Is that the checklist?’

‘Absolutely. So, have you been in Edinburgh long?’ He gave her a wicked look.

‘Almost a week,’ she replied, stifling another giggle.

‘Really? Wow, that’s amazing.’

‘Why are you amazed?’

He shrugged. ‘Somebody has to be. And are you an Edinburgh virgin? Is this your first time at the festival?’

‘It’s my first time north of the line between the Severn and the Trent,’ she confessed.

Now he looked genuinely amazed. ‘You’ve never been north before? How on earth have you managed that?’

Cat felt shame at her untravelled state. ‘I live in Dorset. We’ve never travelled much. My dad always says we’ve got everything on our doorstep – beaches, cliffs, woodland, green rolling hills. So there’s no need to go anywhere else.’

Henry’s mouth twitched, whether in a smile or a sneer she couldn’t tell. ‘Dorset, eh? Well, I can see the temptation to stay put. But you must admit, Edinburgh’s pretty good fun. Worth the trip, wouldn’t you say?’

Now she was on safer ground. ‘I love it,’ she said. ‘It’s beautiful. And there’s so much going on, it makes me dizzy just thinking about it.’

‘And have you been to the Assembly Rooms?’

‘Our first night we went to a comedy show. God, but it was packed.’

Henry nodded. ‘Always is. Have you seen any theatre yet?’

‘We saw a wonderful play last night about coal mining. Dust. You should catch it if you can, it was very moving.’

‘I’ll add it to my list. What about music?’

Cat shook her head. ‘The friends I’m with don’t really have the same taste in music as I have. But I’ve got a whole list of writers I want to see at the Book Festival. Honestly, Henry, this is the most exciting time I’ve ever had.’

‘More exciting than Dorset?’ He was teasing, she could tell.

She laughed. ‘Almost.’

‘I had better work a bit harder, then. Otherwise I’m going to end up on your Facebook page as, “almost as exciting as Budleigh Salterton”.’

She gave him a gentle punch on the arm. ‘Budleigh’s in Devon, you ignorant boy. And what makes you think I’m going to mention you on Facebook?’

‘Because it’s what you girls say. “Went dancing in Morningside, partnered with weirdo in red trousers who doesn’t even know where Budleigh Salterton is. Duh!”’

She giggled. ‘No way.’

‘Here’s what you should say: “Mrs Alexander partnered me with the best dancer and conversationalist in the room. Ladies, check out the fabulous Henry Tilney.”’

Cat shook her head in pretended sorrow. ‘Anyway, what makes you think I confide everything to Facebook?’

He gave her an incredulous look. ‘You’re female and, I’m pretty sure, under twenty-one. If you don’t do Facebook, how are your sisters and your cousins and your best mates going to be provoked to teeth-gnashing jealousy of your trip to Edinburgh? How else will they know you’re having the time of your life while they’re doing whatever it is they do in Dorset? All you girls do it all the time – Facebook, Twitter. I have this theory. It’s why you’ve all suddenly got so good at writing novels. Chick lit and the serious stuff. It’s because of all the practice you get spinning yarns on your phones and iPads.’

‘You’re telling me that guys don’t do exactly the same thing?’

Henry nodded. ‘We do different stuff. We talk about sport or politics or who got impossibly drunk on Friday night. We don’t do the chit-chat about our lives the way you girls do. We talk about serious stuff. Plus we have better punctuation and grammar.’

Cat hooted with laughter. ‘Now you really are kidding. Here’s one thing that guys do much more than women – trolling. You are the evil that stalks the Internet, with your shouty capital letters and your sweary insults and your truly terrible mangling of the English language.’

Now he was laughing too, enjoying the effect of what she realised was a wind-up. ‘To be honest, I think the honours are pretty much divided between the sexes,’ he said. ‘Men are just as gossipy as women, and you girls can give as good as you get in the abuse stakes.’

Whatever Cat might have said in response was lost, as Fiona was shepherding them all back on to the floor.

‘On your feet, girl,’ Henry said. ‘There are willows to be stripped and eightsome reels to be beaten into submission.’

Cat threw herself into the dance with renewed energy, discovering that the basic steps had finally sunk in. By the end of the afternoon, she could go for several minutes without having to apologise for crushing Henry’s toes. When the final measures of the Canadian Barn Dance concluded and they collapsed on the bench again, she realised she’d had more fun with Henry than she’d ever had on a dance floor before.

‘That was such good fun,’ she said.

‘You’re all set for the Highland Ball now. I take it that’s what this is in aid of?’

Cat nodded. ‘I suppose you’ve been going your whole life?’

‘I’ve been a few times. But I’m not sure whether we’ll still be in Edinburgh by then.’

‘We?’

‘My family. My father gets a little stir-crazy in the city if he’s here too long.’

Before Cat could ask why a grown man’s schedule should be dictated by the preferences of his father, Susie Allen swept through the double doors in an elaborate multi-layered confection of muslins. ‘Cat, darling, over here,’ she called, as if her entrance hadn’t already earned the attention of the whole room. She continued towards them in a cloud of floral perfume. ‘I thought I’d better come and get you. Andrew’s got us an invitation to a preview of Jack Vettriano’s latest show this evening, and it’s over the bridge in some little town in Fife, can you believe it? So he’s outside in the car.’ All the while she was speaking, her eyes were raking Henry from crown to toe, making a mental catalogue of his attributes. She gave him a sultry look that Cat feared was meant to be seductive. ‘And is this your dance partner, Cat? Aren’t you going to introduce us?’

Although she knew she ought not to grudge sharing Henry with Susie, who was the only reason Cat was there in the first place, still she felt a twinge of resentment. ‘Susie, this is Henry Tilney. Henry, this is my friend and neighbour Susie Allen, who has very kindly brought me to Edinburgh.’

Susie extended a hand as if to be kissed. Instead, Henry jumped to his feet and shook it delicately. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said, head cocked as if assessing her for the pot. ‘That’s a lovely frock, by the way. I love the way all the layers are cut on the bias so they cascade like a waterfall.’

Susie gave him a shrewd look. ‘Thank you. Are you in textiles yourself? A designer perhaps?’

He laughed delightedly. ‘God, no. I just have a sister, that’s all. Ellie likes to lecture me on the finer points of women’s fashions. She’s got her eye on a design course at the College of Art.’

Satisfied that he wasn’t a gay man in disguise, Susie tucked a hand under Cat’s arm. ‘Sounds like she’d be a perfect pal for you, Cat. I hate to drag you away when you two are just getting to know each other, but we’re on a tight schedule.’

Henry inclined his head politely. ‘It’s festival time. Everyone’s always running to catch up with themselves. No doubt I’ll see you around at the Book Festival. I usually grab a coffee there in the morning.’

‘’Kay,’ Cat said. She followed Susie to the car, completely oblivious to the ache in her feet and ankles.