Ihatfield2013: Thank you, I'm really glad you love this story. They're two of my favourite Austen characters too (along with Elizabeth Bennet). By the way, I think I will include a bit more suggestive/risqué things in the story later on, but very, very tame in order to comply with the guidelines of the site. But Catherine and Henry are passionately in love, it must show somehow in the story so I will write more :)
Asline Nicole: I confess I've watched the film a lot recently, every time I need a bit of inspiration to write :) It's true that Catherine's imagination sometimes leads her astray, but her instinct might (or might not) guide her to the right explanation... ;)
A sad chapter for now, but I promise there will be some fun, light-hearted ones too (at some point) :)
Chapter 7: Tears
Henry was at his parish, preparing sermons for the following Sunday, when Mrs. Jones burst in, her hair dishevelled and her eyes wild. Her appearance was far from her usual impeccable outfits, her hat was askew, her ribbon untied. It looked like she had dressed herself hastily, without any care. She fretted about what she wanted to say.
"Reverend Tilney, I must tell you something. I must."
Henry was taken aback but politely offered her a seat. She waved her hand, dismissing it.
"What I was telling you about the other day – it's… it's Mr. Thomas Wright!" she wailed.
"I surmised as much," replied Henry.
Mrs. Jones' eyes widened comically, "You knew? How did you know? But then if you knew why didn't you…"
"Why didn't I what?"
"Why aren't you keeping an eye on your wife? She is encouraging him! You should forbid her from seeing him."
"It is not your place to tell me what my wife should or should not be doing," replied Henry coldly.
"You don't understand! Thomas loves me. We love each other. Your wife–"
"–is not encouraging him in the slightest!" thundered Henry.
"I just saw him!" Mrs. Jones was near hysterics now, "I usually do not see him when my husband is home, but I had to see him, and afterwards he told me… he told me… 'Mary, you are boring me'… and then he said…"
Mrs. Jones brought her hands to her face and sobbed uncontrollably.
Henry hesitantly held out his handkerchief but she ignored it.
"I just know it's because of her," spat Mrs. Jones, before being overtaken by a fit of hiccups.
"It is not because of Mrs. Tilney," replied Henry with all the composure he could muster, "It is because Mr. Wright is a rake who delights in the challenge, in the pursuit, and once his goal is achieved, his conquest complete, loses interest. He does not respect other people's vows, in fact, this might add to the allure, to the challenge." He could not help thinking of his elder brother Frederick and his pursuit of Isabella Thorpe.
Mrs. Jones' hiccups had stilled, her hands had come down to her sides, gripping the material of her dress between her fingers as if for dear life. She stared at him with wide eyes.
"No," she whispered. Henry was not sure whether she was trying to convince him or herself, but regardless, it did not sound convincing.
"Mrs. Jones," he said with a softer tone, "You believed him to be sincerely in love with you, and you continued to see him despite being wracked by feelings of guilt. Now that it seems all has come at an end between you, perhaps you will consider telling your husband when you have recuperated and healed from your heartbreak and disappointment."
Mrs. Jones' eyes were as wide as saucers.
"I cannot. He will despise me, my reputation will be ruined, I will be called a loose woman, he will request a parliamentary divorce, and I shall be scorned by society, friendless, poor and resourceless…"
"Let's not be so hasty. You already know the Church's position on your actions, but you do not know your husband's – he may forgive you."
"He will not," she wailed, "No respectable man would! He will partake in my shame, he will be ridiculed because of me. We have been married but three years and already I have failed him; he does not deserve the pain I am inflicting upon–" she was now weeping too heavily for words.
Henry could not do much for her comfort and so waited patiently for her to compose herself.
Finally, she drew in a deep breath and dabbed her eyes with her sleeves.
"I thank you, Reverend," she said in a hoarse voice. She turned to leave. At the door, she turned her head back slightly and said in a timid voice, "My apologies for the unjust accusations I levelled against your wife. I hope Mrs. Tilney will forgive me for my recent coldness. I was not myself." And with those parting words, she left the parish.
Henry had just sat back down at his desk, when there was a knock at the door. He wondered if Mrs. Jones had returned because she had more to say and had suddenly remembered that knocking was more polite than barging in.
"Enter," he said with a little apprehension.
His spirits were very differently affected when Catherine opened the door. He brightened up immediately.
"Catherine," he said with a smile.
"Henry," she smiled back, his smile was so contagious she felt it could brighten her darkest moods, "I just saw Mrs. Jones leave but I managed to hide behind the hedge before she could see me."
Despite the oddity and awkwardness of the situation, Henry was amused.
"Hiding behind a hedge? A Gothic heroine and a spy."
Catherine let out a small chuckle, "Hardly a spy, I have no idea what she up to, although she did look a bit out of sorts. Her dress was haphazard and her eyes red." There was pity and compassion in her voice, "But I doubt she would have wanted any consolation from me anyway and I am not in the mood for further coldness from her part."
It occurred to Henry that the situation might be liable to misinterpretation, but he could not see anything in Catherine's demeanour that hinted at suspicion – she trusted him wholeheartedly. His heart warmed at the thought.
He considered telling her that Mrs. Jones might no longer behave standoffishly as she had been wont to do lately, but he could not do so without revealing or exposing some of the confession Mrs. Jones had made. Furthermore, he was not sure that Mrs. Jones' apology meant she would genuinely amend her behaviour towards Catherine. Instead, he resolved on addressing the reason for Catherine's presence.
"What do you want, Catherine?" he asked with a gentle voice.
Catherine grew serious and sat down with her hands in her lap and her head bowed down. She took a deep breath, and her voice trembled as she spoke, "I've just been to see Mrs. Hayes. She grows more ill and weaker every day. She has asked me to come again tomorrow and if she is yet worse, she will ask you to come and administer…"
Catherine trailed off and Henry gently clasped her hands in his.
A clergyman's job was not always easy, and a parson's wife usually also experienced her fair share of sitting at sick beds. Henry had often wondered whether he would be able to bear it were he not allowed to desert his parish several weeks per year, which gave him time to recuperate.
"I am sure your presence brought her comfort, dearest," Henry's voice grew quieter as he gently wiped a tear that was escaping from the corner of her eye.
"I hope so," her voice was so quiet Henry had to strain to hear her, "Her daughter is very distraught. She is only seven and does not understand… Mrs. Hayes does not want her in the room to avoid distressing her with her suffering but…"
Henry could not find appropriate comforting words to this, so he just engulfed her in his arms and let her sob on his shoulder. Silent tears started running down his cheeks.
