Death and Deception at Northanger Abbey

January 1798,

Northanger Abbey

For three days I have remained in this house. To even call it such is a mislabeling. On the exterior, it is like any other opulent castle with its expansive rooms furnished lavishly and sprawling gardens of exotic shrubbery and flowers of the most vibrant colors and aromas. But the unassuming yet palatial facade is merely a veneer used to conceal the true horror that lives within the many rooms and winding passages of Northanger Abbey.

From the moment I received Elinor's invitation inviting me to stay an extended period of time at the Abbey with her, I knew there was something more to that letter of hers that she was not letting on. I accepted, of course, and packed my bags that very moment. I was partly excited to see the grand estate that I had heard described as something straight from a novel by Anne Radcliff, but there was another urge inside of me, one that centered on another member of the Tilney lineage. Though I shall never admit it to another living soul, my true hope in coming to the Abbey was that I may be able to see more of Henry Tilney, Elinor's older brother, who I must admit is a handsome man with a genuine disposition that stirs within me a longing for connection. But all of this must be put aside. There is a more pressing matter—a matter concerning the king of this castle, General Tilney himself.

With each passing moment, I have spent in this house, my suspicions regarding his true nefarious nature have escalated to unreachable heights. It all started with Elinor's admittance of her mother's mysterious death. She claims it was natural causes but there was a quiver in her voice that conveyed to me grief was not the only emotion she associates with her mother, but fear too— fear of the General! I did not understand at the time why this was until she revealed to me her departed mother's favorite walk in the garden which the General refused to go down. O, it is certain that the General must have been an increasingly cruel man. How could any husband not love their wife's favorite walk if it is not because he shares the same displeasure with his wife? Poor Mrs. Tilney, how she must have suffered at his hand—or perhaps suffer she still. It is my suspicion that, perhaps, the dearly departed Lady Tilney has not departed at all. The General, being the callous man he is, has likely shut her away in some secret room within the abbey for no reason other than to feed his sadistic desire to inflict pain on others. Perhaps Eleanor and Henry are completely unaware of this. Upon Eleanor's word, she revealed to me that she and her dear brother were not even home during the sudden death of their mother. That leaves the General plenty of time to snatch up his wife and chain her in some cold, dark, and damp medieval dungeon.

All of these thoughts running through my head have chased away any semblance of sleep that might have come to me. If I am to get any rest I must put these tales of terror aside and think about more pleasant concepts. Perhaps some light reading would fare me well. Eleanor showed me the abbey's impressive library on our tour of the property yesterday afternoon after our walk. I am certain she would not mind if I were to borrow a novel to tide me over until morn'. I shall go there now.

* * *

Casting aside the leather-bound journal and quill that she was just scrawling an entry upon, Catherine peels the intricate woven coverlet from her body and swings her bare feet over the edge of the amply cushioned feather bed. The night air wafting in from the raised turret window nips at any skin not covered by the soft cotton of her nightgown. Once the sun made its descent behind the ridges of the distant mountain ranges, it greedily took all the day's warmth with it leaving only the pearlescent moon to fill its spot in the navy blue midnight sky. The single candlestick flickering beside her bed does little to warm the stately room or her rosey flesh but the light it provides is invaluable nonetheless. The thick plaster walls of the abbey seem to entrap the cold.