Posted on Wednesday, 31 October 2007

A note in The Times, October 1812:

In consequence of some heavy storms in the Caribbean, three ships of the Royal Navy have failed to report back at their base in Antigua. It is feared that they have been heavily damaged, or may even be lost.. HMS Laconia, HMS Mercury and HMS Antelope have been missing for two weeks. A search is being conducted. The Times will report as to these ships’ fate as soon as further information is available.

The Times, November 1812:

Good news has reached The Times from the Royal Navy base in Antigua. Both HMS Mercury and HMS Antelope have returned to port. They have been greatly damaged during heavy storms and had to seek shelter to make the necessary repairs before returning to Antigua. HMS Laconia, however, is still missing. The captain of HMS Antelope, a Mr Harville, reported that during the storm the Laconia became separated from their group, and has not been seen ever since. Captain Harville hopes that the Laconia may still be found with both ship and crew unharmed, but in view of the grim facts such optimism seems unreasonable.

The Times, December 1812:

It is the sad duty of this newspaper to report that HMS Laconia, the ship that has been missing in the Caribbean since some heavy storms in late September, is believed to have sunk during said storms. Items from the Laconia as well as several corpses, identified as the remains of crew members, have been found along the coast of St Kitts. It is therefore assumed that HMS Laconia has sunk, and that all hands were lost.

With a cry of dismay, Anne Elliot sank into unconsciousness.

The Road to Sidmouth, October 1816:

“There now, Mrs Elliot, we’ll soon be there,” Purvis said.

Anne Elliot looked out of the window into the fading light of a late afternoon. She could hear the sea, even in here, in her husband’s carriage, as they travelled along the coast road in South Devonshire.

Six months previously, she had given in to her family’s demands and had married Mr Elliot, her father’s heir. He had seemed like the best opportunity she would ever get; and at her age she could not expect an offer of marriage every day – or any offer, really. Anne had not expected happiness in marriage – she knew this would be quite out of the question, with her heart still belonging to a man she would never see again in this life. But she had hoped to be somewhat content, to live quietly in the way she wished to, and her future husband had seemed to take her wishes seriously.

Not for long, as it had turned out. Anne had soon found out that William Elliot had only married her to gain some control over her father, and that he was not interested in her otherwise. It had hurt, but had not overly upset Anne until she had also discovered that, in order to detach Sir Walter from Mrs Clay, Mr Elliot had set the lady up as his mistress in Town. That had been the last straw.

And now she was on the run, more or less. She was not going to put up with this kind of insult, she had decided, and since she knew she had nowhere else to go, Anne had decided to post down to Sidmouth, where she knew her husband had a house that had belonged to his first wife; a house that she knew stood empty. She had taken her maid, Purvis, with her for company, and there was a housekeeper and a maid-of-all-work in Cliff House, as far she knew. Anne did not think she would need any more servants than that. A young woman like her did not need much looking after, especially since she had been used to look after herself for so many years, with no one worrying about her comfort.

There were some threatening clouds on the horizon when Anne alighted from the carriage in front of Cliff House, her husband’s former home. It was growing dark, too, and she was glad to finally have a roof over her head, even though the furniture was under holland covers and no fire was burning in any of the grates. The housekeeper, a Mrs Fielding, repeatedly apologised for her lapse, but having had no warning of Mrs Elliot’s impending arrival she had been unable to make the necessary preparations. With only one girl to help, too, and her not being much use either, surely Mrs Elliot knew what it was like – but a bedchamber would be made ready for her immediately, and by tomorrow afternoon at the latest the house would be in perfect order …

Anne was quite willing to overlook the omission, admitted readily to being at fault for not having let Mrs Fielding know she would come, and was quite content to spend her first evening in the housekeeper’s parlour, with some tea and bread-and-butter for dinner before turning in for the night rather earlier than was her wont. The two-day journey across England had tired her out, and she was in sore need of some rest.

Mrs Fielding was happy to keep her company, and since she was a garrulous woman, and Anne showed no disinclination to listen, she talked almost incessantly. At one point, Anne realised that the wind had grown stronger; it was howling around the house now, making eerie noises. Anne got up to look out of the window, which overlooked the coast path and some cliffs. The noise of the waves crashing against the rocks below was surely almost deafening outside, Anne thought, but on a beautiful day the cliffs and the bay would be something to look at, without doubt. She could not make out much of the view; by this time it had grown quite dark, and mist enveloped the cliffs. The moon was almost full, though, so Anne could still distinguish some outlines.

“You have a spectacular view from this window,” she remarked, returning to her seat and pouring herself some more tea.

“Oh, to be sure, so I have,” Mrs Fielding agreed. “Though in autumn and winter one cannot enjoy it very often – we often get fog coming in from the sea, you know, and then it is quite dangerous to walk along the coast path, though it is the shortest way here from town. Many accidents have happened along this path – so many that the cove has been named Dead Man’s Cove by the locals, you won’t find that name on any map however. There are some strange stories about the place as well, but if you ask me they’re all nonsense. Stories of ghost ships haunting this coast, and of ghostly figures creeping up behind one when one walks along the coast path in the mist. All nonsense, of course – I have been living here for years and have never encountered anything out of the ordinary, and surely I would know, walking this path almost every day? Mistress didn’t hold with that nonsense either – the first Mrs Elliot, you know.”

“I once heard that smugglers often spread tales like these to keep people inside their houses at night,” Anne said. “Is there any smuggling in these parts?”

“I suppose so,” Mrs Fielding sniffed. “But I don’t know a thing about it, being a respectable woman.”

Anne agreed that respectable women knew nothing about smuggling, thereby placating the housekeeper whose sensibilities had been offended by the mere allusion to smuggling, wished the lady a good night and went off to bed.

The next morning, Anne set out on a brisk walk towards Sidmouth. The storm had subsided, in fact it was a sunny day, though a trifle cold, but Anne had never been one to shrink from the cold. She put on a warm pelisse, stout shoes, and a bonnet, and walked along the coast path into town, delighting in the marvellous view from the cliffs as she did so.

She stayed in town for longer than expected; Sidmouth was a pretty little town and Anne spent considerable time admiring its beauty. She also went shopping for some necessities – she had left London in a hurry and needed to replenish her wardrobe. So it was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon when she directed her steps towards Cliff House again, and as she left town and walked along the coast path she noticed the fog coming in from the sea. For a moment she wondered whether she should turn back and take the longer road, or even hire a carriage to take her back to her husband’s house in safety, but decided against it. If she walked quickly, she would be home before the fog had really set in, and she would be perfectly safe there.

The fog around her grew quickly, though, and Anne wasn’t feeling all that comfortable any more by the time she had reached the top of the cliff. Only with a great deal of effort could she find her way, and so her progress was necessarily slow. It didn’t help that at that moment Mrs Fielding’s stories came back into Anne’s mind – those stories of ghostly figures creeping up behind one if one walked along the coast path in this fog – and though she was not usually a fanciful creature she began to feel increasingly uncomfortable. Perhaps she should sit down, Anne thought, until someone would come looking for her, but upon reflection that idea held no merit. No one would set foot on the coast path in this fog, and for all Anne knew the fog might last for days. She didn’t feel like freezing to death here, and so the only alternative was to watch her step and try to get back home safely. In retrospect, she had been foolish to choose a path she knew to be dangerous, but now she had to make the best of her situation and learn from her mistake.

The fog did strange things to one’s senses, Anne knew. It muffled some sounds and magnified others, so that her own steps on the path sounded as if someone was indeed following her. Though she knew she was only imagining things, Anne stopped and looked behind her – realising that although she had stopped, those steps she had heard had not. Someone was coming after her, though she could not see anyone yet.
It was hard not to panic – Anne knew that starting to run would invite disaster, that she might miss the path and fall from the cliff – but she made an effort to walk on, calmly, and to hope that whoever it was that was following her meant no harm.

As she walked on, she listened keenly for every sound, and noticed that her pursuer had quickened his steps and was getting closer. Anne decided to stop and wait for whoever it was – she knew she would not have the strength of mind to continue her walk with a cool head. So she stopped and turned around to face her follower. When he caught up with her, she gave a laugh of relief.

“Oh, it’s you!” she exclaimed. “You gave me such a fright….”

Anne awoke with a start. She felt as if she’d had a nightmare, though she couldn’t quite remember what it had been. Her surroundings didn’t look familiar either, she noted. She was not in Cliff House; neither was she in her town house in London. Coming to think of it, it almost felt as if she were on board a ship.

By now she had woken up sufficiently to take stock of her surroundings. One thing was certain – wherever she was, she had never been there before. Nothing looked familiar. Anne got up, and started exploring the apartment she had found herself in. She was on board a ship, there could be no doubt about that.

The floor was moving up and down, making her feel slightly dizzy. The walls were wooden, and the portholes small. Anne tried to look out of a window to see whether she could, by that means, determine where exactly she was. She could not – dense mist surrounded the vessel, and it was impossible to see anything – not even the sea below.

While Anne explored the cabin, she wondered at how large and cosy it seemed – from what she had heard, passengers could not usually expect spacious accommodation. But how had she got here? This was the most important question, yet Anne found herself unable to answer it.

She was roused from her thoughts by a sudden commotion outside the door. Someone came down some stairs, and there appeared to be an argument of some sort going on. Anne was not in the habit of listening at keyholes, but she could not help overhearing some of the things that were being said. Apparently, the argument was about her.

“A woman? On this ship? How the heck did she get here?” one imperious voice demanded – a voice that sounded familiar, though Anne could not place it anywhere in her memory at the moment.

“How would I know, captain?” another voice replied. “She almost dropped on top of me when we passed those cliffs. I thought it was a good idea to put her in there.”

“In my cabin, of all places,” the captain said, derisively. “Not only a woman on my ship, but also in my cabin. What have I done to deserve this?”

“Worse things could happen,” the other man observed. Anne began to like him, whoever he was.

“But it’s bad luck to have a woman on board. Everybody knows that,” the captain protested.

“Bad luck? Such as all of us getting killed?” the other man asked. Anne could not see him, but his tone of voice suggested he was grinning. Impertinently.

“Oh, shut up Benwick,” the captain said impatiently. Benwick made no reply, but walked up the stairs again – probably with a shrug. Anne braced herself for an encounter with an irate captain, but nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.

The cabin door creaked open – and in came Frederick Wentworth. Frederick Wentworth, who had been dead these past four years, looking very much alive, and almost exactly as she remembered him!

Her surprise at seeing him was no less than his at seeing her, however. He stopped short, gave her a disbelieving stare, and exclaimed, “You! What in God’s name are you doing here, Anne?”

Anne, recovering from her initial shock at seeing a man she had believed to be dead, replied, “Frederick! But this is impossible! I …. I thought you were dead!”

“So I am,” he said, matter-of-factly.

With a nervous laugh, Anne sat down on the sofa where she had found herself when waking up.

“Fine. Fine. I … I must be dreaming. This is impossible – this cannot be real!”

“Female logic, I suppose,” Frederick said, watching her closely.

“Oh, do be quiet, Frederick. I am not going to listen to a figment of my imagination. This is it … I must be imagining all this. I must be dreaming – surely this is no wonder. All those ghost stories Mrs Fielding told me – they must have given me a nightmare. All I need to do is wake up. Wake up, Anne. You are dreaming. Wake up now!”

Nothing happened, beyond Frederick giving her a pitying look.

“That might be a trifle difficult,” he remarked. “Though I’m glad to see you’re still good old practical Anne.”

“What might be difficult?” Anne demanded, pointedly ignoring the rest of his remark. She was not good old Anne to anyone, not even Frederick.

“Waking up.”

“Why?”

“Seems like you are dead too,” he explained.

“What nonsense,” Anne said. “I feel perfectly well! I cannot be dead!”

“As you wish,” he said with a shrug. “It always takes people a while to realise that they’re dead. In my case, it took me the better part of a fortnight to accept the fact.”

“What made you realise it?”

“When I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for two weeks and didn’t feel as if I’d missed anything at all I began to suspect that something was wrong with me,” he said with a grin.

Anne got up from the sofa, and walked around the room a couple of times.

“I cannot be dead,” she said resolutely.

“You think so if it gives you any comfort.”

Ignoring his comment, she continued, “I was just taking a walk along the cliffs…”

“Yes?” He seemed all interest.

“…then the fog set in – and it seemed as if someone was following me…”

“Strange, wasn’t it?”

“Will you be quiet? I am trying to think here,” Anne exclaimed impatiently.

“Sorry.” He sat down at his desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a book. “Just go on thinking; I won’t disturb you. I think you were at the point where someone followed you. On the cliffs.”

“That’s right,” Anne said. “On the cliffs …. oh!”

There was a long pause. “Could it be that my husband pushed me off those cliffs?” Anne finally asked.

“I don’t know your husband,” Frederick said dryly. “Is he the sort who’d do that kind of thing?”

“I didn’t think so, but he turned out different than I thought, once I’d married him,” Anne admitted. “Still, it’s hard to believe he murdered me. I cannot be dead.”

“You cannot be on a ghost ship and not be dead,” Frederick pointed out. “This vessel wouldn’t carry a living person.”

“You do sound pretty reasonable for a ghost,” Anne complained.

“I have always been pretty reasonable, if you remember,” Frederick said. “It’s a habit hard to get rid of.”

“Obviously.” Anne sighed. “Very well. So you tell me I am dead. What is going to happen next? Where are those angels who are supposed to guide me to Heaven? Where is my harp? Or my pair of wings?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” Frederick said, “but it seems you won’t get any of these things. You’re a ghost like me – and the rest of my crew.”

“Am I to haunt the coast path, then, wringing my hands and wailing?” Anne asked sarcastically.

“If that’s what you would like to do, I can set you down in Sidmouth. But haunting isn’t much fun if one’s all by oneself. I’ve a better suggestion to make.”

“You have?” Anne looked at him expectantly.

“You could stay here with me,” he suggested.

“I can’t! I cannot run off with a ghost! I am a married woman, after all,” she cried.

“Are you? What happened to till death us do part then?” he asked. “You’re dead. You’re no longer married.”

Anne had to admit that there was some logic in what he said.

“Besides, we are both dead,” he pointed out. “Just how many scandalous things do you think we can do?”

Regretfully, Anne realised, that was true as well. “Fine,” she said. “I will stay. So, what am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing much. We’re cruising the English coast between Land’s End and Hastings, frightening the occasional smugglers, spreading horror wherever we are seen … the usual stuff. We do appear to doomed ships as well.”

“Like the … the Flying Dutchman?”

“You know him? He’s a bit further up the ladder than me, of course, I mean he got the Cape when all I got is this miserable stretch of English coastline, but I’m not one to complain. The Dutchman is a capital fellow, once one gets to know him that is. – I think I had better introduce you to the crew, wouldn’t you agree?”

Anne smiled. “How will you explain to them there’s a woman on the ship now?” she asked. “I have been told it was bad luck.”

Frederick laughed. “I am not superstitious,” he said dismissively. “Are you?”

Mr Elliot, having successfully disposed of his wife, turned his steps homewards. Not having been to Sidmouth in a while, however, he was not as familiar with the coast path as he had been. Nobody heard his cry when he slipped and fell to his death onto the rocks in Dead Man’s Cove.

They say his ghost still roams the coast path at night, looking for his wife and trying to push the unwary traveller off the cliffs…

The End