Cat wanted to leap to her feet and uncover the truth of the hidden rooms at once, but she had the good sense to know she must be patient. She would wait till Ellie had taken her to see Mrs Tilney’s room, using that as a sort of reconnaissance trip for her own secret exploration. She could wait, couldn’t she?

The young women passed a pleasant evening in their sitting room. When Ellie discovered at tea that Cat had never seen Sex and the City, she insisted her friend couldn’t live another day without it. And as she predicted, Cat was gripped from the first episode. They watched the whole six hours of the first series, finishing practically on the stroke of midnight.

Revved up by the delights of the TV series, Cat’s mind was still active as she prepared for bed. What if Mrs Tilney really was a prisoner? Cat might have been within feet of the poor woman’s cell as the General showed her round the house. Those massive stone walls would muffle any sound of captivity. She recalled those arched passages of the maze of small rooms beyond the kitchen. Who knew what was going on there?

Her imagination conjured up a vision of the General carrying his unconscious wife through concealed doors and secret stairways to her new lodging, away from the eyes of her children, where he could use her as he pleased. Perhaps she was his secret source of blood, the one he could slake his thirst on so he was able to be safe around other humans.

Her father had often told Cat that she allowed her imagination to carry her away. But how else was she supposed to react when such powerful evidence was laid out before her? Something odd was going on at Northanger Abbey, and she was determined to find out what it was. Tomorrow, her quest would continue.

25

Cat’s eagerness to turn detective next morning was unintentionally thwarted by the General. At breakfast, he informed the young women that he would be unavailable to escort them anywhere since he was hosting an important meeting of key strategists. ‘We will be using the main drawing room all day, I’m afraid.’ He glanced out of the window, where the sun was vainly trying to make its way through thin cloud. ‘The forecast is for a cool day without rain. I suggest you have Mrs Calman make you up a packed lunch, Eleanor, and take Catherine on a hike up the Devil’s Hump.’

‘The Devil’s Hump?’ Cat was startled and it showed. The General grinned as widely as she’d ever seen, his teeth glittering.

‘The hill you can see from the grounds,’ Ellie explained. ‘There’s a local legend. Apparently the Devil came down to Kelso to steal some cattle. But a brave young cowherd raised the alarm and they chased him back to the cleft of hell he’d carved into the hillside. Just as he was about to disappear, the brave young cowherd jumped on his back. And the cleft closed behind the Devil, leaving his hump and the cowherd behind.’

‘Pretty standard nonsense,’ the General said. ‘People will make up any old rubbish when they come across things they can’t explain, from a peculiarly shaped hill to a meteor shower.’

Whether it was nothing more than legend, the story of the Devil’s Hump was sufficiently exciting for Cat to be more sanguine about not having the chance to explore the abbey’s mysteries. She had no walking boots with her, but she and Ellie had the same size feet and her host was able to kit her out with an old pair of hiking shoes. ‘There’s not much ankle support,’ she apologised. ‘But they’ll protect your feet better than trainers.’

They hung around the kitchen while Mrs Calman packed substantial picnics, and Cat marvelled at the array of appliances. There was everything from a breadmaker to an ice-cream machine, including three different coffee makers. Some of the devices were incomprehensible to her and she was too shy of Mrs Calman to ask their purpose. It was hard to believe this temple to the preparation of food sheltered under the same label as Annie Morland’s domain back in Dorset. Cat couldn’t imagine sitting round the table here with a tumbler of squash, talking about the latest book she’d read.

With the picnics stowed in a couple of daypacks, the two young women set out, leaving by the kitchen door. Cat couldn’t resist looking over her shoulder at the turret with the stair she’d glimpsed the day before. ‘Do you ever go up the turrets?’

‘Three of them are sealed off because the stairs aren’t safe and Father says there’s no point in spending what it would cost to repair or replace them. It’s not as if there are lots of rooms you could use. They only ever had one proper room, right at the top.’ Ellie struck off across the park at a steady pace.

‘What about the fourth one?’

‘You can only climb up another twenty feet or so, then it’s closed off with a gate. We used to play up there when we were kids, but Father had the gate put in because he thought the stairs were too dodgy and he didn’t want some visitor falling down and killing themselves.’

Her words only fuelled Cat’s curiosity. But there was nothing to be gained until she could see the secret corridor for herself. Instead, she concentrated on enjoying the scenery as they climbed steadily through the park. Soon they entered a dark stand of conifers that scarcely let through enough light to trace their path. It was strange and even spooky; when they occasionally emerged into a clearing, Cat couldn’t help wondering what macabre rituals it might have seen. At length they cleared the trees and reached a deer fence. Cat paused to catch her breath while Ellie undid the combination lock that held the tall gate fast.

Once through the gate, they were in open moorland. Ellie led the way along a faint path which climbed the Devil’s Hump in a gentle spiral. As they rounded the hill, Cat caught sight of a pitched roof. ‘What’s that?’ she asked.

‘You’ll see soon enough,’ Ellie said, turning into a narrow cleft in the hillside. Cat followed her and found herself staring at a tiny red sandstone church surrounded by weathered gravestones.

‘What is it?’ she asked again.

‘It’s the Tilney family chapel. The path we’ve just been walking on, it’s called a lyke-wake walk. It’s the route the coffin is carried from the house to the chapel so it can be laid to rest here in the graveyard.’

‘You’re using the present tense,’ Cat said.

‘That’s because we still do it. This is where we brought my mother. Father and Henry and Freddie and Calman carried the coffin.’

‘Doesn’t it freak you out, coming here?’ Cat hung back as Ellie set off for the chapel.

Ellie looked back. ‘Why should it? It’s where we come to remember our dead. You’re a vicar’s daughter, you should understand the importance of memorials.’ She gestured for Cat to follow. Reluctantly, she caught up and entered the chapel just behind Ellie.

It was a small, plain place with narrow wooden pews and frosted-glass windows. On the wall were several memorial plaques to various Tilney ancestors, dating back to the fifteenth century. Ellie was right, it wasn’t freaking her out at all. Cat approached the freshest-looking plaque, an ornately carved memorial to Margaret Johanna Tilney. It gave her dates and beneath them, a single line of chiselled lettering: Taken from us too soon.

No wonder General Tilney had wanted Ellie to bring her here without him. This was no proof of his wife’s demise, but being in the presence of her memorial would surely provoke a guilty reaction, whether he had had a hand in her death or her continued captivity. No man could fail to react in such circumstances. ‘It’s very moving,’ she said.

‘I like to come up here and remember her,’ Ellie said. She gave her shoulders a little shake and said, ‘Come on, let’s carry on to the summit. We’ll have our picnic up there.’

As they left the graveyard, Ellie casually pointed out her mother’s headstone. Beneath her name and dates, it read, Beloved wife of General Henry Tilney, mother to Frederick, Henry and Eleanor. We miss you every day.

They clambered up the hill and enjoyed the view while they worked their way through the minor feast that Mrs Calman had packed for them. Cat lay back on the warm grass and groaned. ‘Thank God it’s downhill all the way, because you’re going to have to roll me down. How come you’re not as fat as a barrel, living on Mrs C’s cooking all the time?’

‘It’s tough,’ Ellie said. ‘I’m making the most of it while I’m home this time. I’m still holding out hope that Father will change his mind and let me go to art school in Edinburgh.’

‘That would be so cool. You’re lucky to have qualifications to do something like that. I’ve got a bunch of GCSEs but I didn’t even bother sitting A-levels. You couldn’t call what Mum taught me a curriculum.’

‘What do you want to do?’

‘Mum thinks I should train as a nanny, but I’d quite like to be a writer,’ she said. ‘Not for grown-ups, for kids. I’m really good at making up stories for the kids in the village. And I do the storytelling at Junior Church. Hey, you could be my illustrator!’

‘That’d be fun. Maybe we could try to start one while you’re here?’

‘Yes, why not?’

Buoyed up with the idea of a joint project, Cat and Ellie made it back to Northanger Abbey in record time. Judging by the four substantial black cars parked outside, the meeting was still going strong, so they ran straight upstairs. ‘I want a quick shower before we begin,’ Ellie said as they reached the top of the stairs.

‘Me too. But before we do that – your dad’s obviously still tied up with his buddies. Why don’t we take our chance? You could show me your mother’s room.’

Ellie looked uncertain. ‘I suppose. Look, why don’t you come to my room first, then I can show you her portrait.’ Clearly, she hoped this would be enough to assuage Cat’s curiosity. Equally clearly, she did not know her friend as well as she thought.