Actual and Unnatural Evil
If you're here, I'm a little concerned for your reading choices. That being said, I'm a little concerned about my writing choices.
-HH
In no way do I own any of these wonderful characters. They belong to Queen Austen and the BBC. I only own the plot, and I'm not sure that I actually do.
It was done; and Catherine found herself alone in the gallery before the clocks had ceased to strike. It was no time for thought; she hurried on, slipped with the least possible noise through the folding doors, and without stopping to look or breathe, rushed forward to the one in question. The lock yielded to her hand, and, luckily, with no sullen sound that could alarm a human being. On tiptoe she entered; the room was before her; but it was some minutes before she could advance another step. She beheld what fixed her to the spot and agitated every feature. She saw a large, well-proportioned apartment, a handsome dimity bed, arranged as unoccupied with a housemaid's care, a bright Bath stove, a handsome grandfather clock, with a hand painted face, mahogany wardrobes, a tall bookshelf, neatly painted chairs, on which the warm beams of a western sun gaily poured through two sash windows, and a big navy box, stood calmly in the east corner.
The room was quiet, save the sound of cautious footsteps on the hard wood floor. As she approached the bed, a cold jolt shot through her spine. The realisation of wrongness fell like a raincloud over Catherine, as the enormity of her accusations began to take shape. Deathly quiet hung over the room, the barrage of thoughts in her brain all the louder. She worked herself into a panic of worries, her eyes darting, breath quickening, and her knees on the verge of giving way. Catherine's vision was starting to spin, when the door of the navy box burst open and a gangly man in a red bowtie charged straight towards her.
"Whoa Nellie, watch yourself! When are we? Amy? Amy! Come on, we can't wait!" The man continued to speak without drawing breath "Ah yes, new girl, nice rosy cheeks, sprigged muslin-y thing, you don't look well, what's wrong?" Catherine jerked back; she blinked and found his face right up against her. "Is it Amy, because I can get rid of her if you like?" There was concern in his eyes, as he withdrew to a normal sort of distance. The man hadn't stopped moving since he burst out that box, and his tweed-clad arms flew around as punctuation before smacking the pretty red head in the nose.
"Doctor, watch where you put those. I'm Amy, he's the Doctor, and you are…?" she said thickly, her head tilted back. Catherine stared. Amy's nose flushed. The doctor bounced on his toes looking extremely pleased with himself.
"Catherine, Catherine Morland. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance." She broke the silence with a stammer. The tall man continued to bounce, whilst fleeting recognition rose in Amy's eyes, shortly followed by fear, and then confusion. Catherine blushed and looked away, realising her intent staring had caused the last one.
"Catherine, where exactly are we?" Amy's voice was low and echoed with seriousness. A cold, uncertain feeling splintered through Catherine's stomach.
"I need details Cath, as much as you can."
"Well, where to begin" Catherine broke from her stunned stupor and started to pace the floor. "It's 1817. It's a Thursday, the 26th June actually. We're in the west wing, in the late Mrs Tilney's bedroom, which none of us should be in." She shook her head, as if to expel her thoughts. "We're in the Tilney's home; Northanger Abbey. It was an old abbey which Henry's father's, father's, father converted into a mansion. I was invited here by Henry and Eleanor a month ago, as I'm head over petticoats in love wi- oh. Henry. " And her mouth turned into a shaky smile, which was undoubtedly fake.
There was the sound of a doorknob being turned, and an almost handsome man walked in. He was a head taller than Catherine, Amy decided. A tamed mop of mousy fluff was trapped under a black top hat. He was wearing a lilac shirt with a black suit. I mean, it looked like a suit, but it was old fashioned and frilly in all the wrong places. Well, by the flush on Cath over there, it was all the right ones. His face, which was just shy of good looking, was graced with a frown. Amy suddenly remembered that this was a late mother or other's room, and an awful, sinking feeling, suddenly came over her stomach. Unfortunately, she then thought that invading a dead woman's room might not be the worst thing they do today.
"Amy you don't look well. Don't upchuck on the bed sheets for heaven's sake; they look too posh for us." To her (slightly queasy) dismay, the Doctor bounded up to the new man and enthusiastically shook his arm, though the irritation was written plainly on his face. Not plainly enough for the doctor, it seemed.
"Look, I have no need for a physician or his companion, so if you were to bugger off, it would be much appreciated. Catherine, what were you doing in here, you've been acting off for days, and I can scarcely imagine to what ideas you have been admitting."
She had never seen him so angry; his voice getting louder with every clock tick. A deadly quality seeped into the words addressed to her, and Catherine wanted nothing more than to cower under the bedcovers. There was no way she could explain herself to his rational, grounded reasoning. She turned, on the edge of fleeing, when the man from the box spoke again.
"Don't mind her; it was us that brought her in here. We must have been making too much noise and young Cathy wandered in to tell us off, didn't you Cath?" The Doctor slung a loose arm round her neck.
"Catherine." It was more of a growl.
"Oranges. Now the question is," The Doctor clipped Henry on the back of the head, and put his other arm round the poor man's shoulders. Catherine looked a little strangled, and Amy realised she was really quite a short girl. "Why are you two dressed like something out of an 18th century English novella that is sure to torture GCSE students in years to come?"
"CSG what? What kind of physician are you?" Henry looked more than a little uncomfortable. His hat tipped in indignation.
"A jolly good one, I like to think." The tall man looked from side to side, an unbridled smile on his face. "What did you say your name was again?" He addressed the companion that wasn't slowly choking.
"I didn't." It was amazing how he managed to retain his dignity with his hat like that, Amy mused to herself. Her attention soon fell upon an exquisite grandfather clock, which stood between the two windows.
"Tilney, Henry Tilney. It's a pleasure, I'm sure." He didn't sound all that sincere, thought Catherine, in what she suspected to be her dying moments. The Doctor didn't pick up on the sarcasm, and instead proceeded to ask Henry about his shirt, and whether its colour was affected by the time of day. She wasn't really listening, or contributing; oxygen choices were necessary. Just as the vision of her left eye was turning dotty, she was released with a loud cry from her captor, as he sped towards the other side of the room.
Air. Sweet, musty air. Catherine gulped down lungful after lungful, oblivious to the commotion by the large, light windows.
"I have never seen anything like this in all my 900 plus years! Well, that's not true, there was a rather lovely planet with had a floating pineapple as a sun, but that's not like this at all, really. Still, what a phenomenon." The Doctor's face was squished against the window, his whole body flush with the wall in a failing attempt to get a better view of the sky. Except where Amy expected to see clouds and sunshine, there was, if she wasn't more rational, pages.
It was the underside of pages from a book.