Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter 5, Part 2

Posted on Wednesday, 27 October 1999, at 10 : 27 a.m.

It was long before Timothy Harville came to bed that Sunday night. His wife had just finished nursing the baby; he was now sleeping peacefully in the crib beside their bed.

"Well, he is leaving us." Harville sat down heavily on his side of the bed. It had been a long day, with the guests and all, and now this. It was as if he had received a blow to the stomach that he had not seen coming.

"What did you say?" Elsa was smoothing an extra wool blanket over the coverlet; it would be a cold night. "Who is leaving?"

"Benwick. That legal business of his great aunt's he's been muttering about ... something about a will. He had a talk with me just now, says he has to go and take care of it himself. He will be leaving for London within the next few days, as soon as he can arrange it."

"Oh." She slid under the bedclothes, shivering a little. "Well! That is a piece of news! That should be good for him ... it will take him out into the world a bit, get him out of himself ... don't you think? He has been too much alone."

"Humph! He will be clearing out his room, Elsa. He says he does not know how long it will take and he knows we need the space in this tiny house."

"Oh. I see." She looked over at her husband as she adjusted her nightcap. "That is very thoughtful. I could use the extra room, even for a few weeks."

"That is not the point, Elsa! His home is here with us now. How can he just leave?"

"Because ... he must."

Harville frowned at her. "Meaning?"

"We ... remind him too much ... of Fanny." Elsa Harville spoke softly, choosing her words carefully. "He has been ... healing. He needs to go on, to make a new life for himself. This is the beginning, the first step, leaving us."

"Oh, that is very nice, I'm sure!"

"He cannot mourn her forever, Timothy. He has been through a long, dark time."

"Only since June ... August, for him!" He sounded disgusted. "It has not been all that long."

"It is not his fault that he did not learn of it right away."

Harville grumbled, "Aye, I suppose." He lay down in the bed beside his wife, pulling the blankets up to his chin. He was nearly exhausted, both physically and emotionally. And now that he was finally alone with Elsa, this was the opportune time to tell her about his orders from Wentworth. But somehow he did not have the heart to do it. And then there was this business with Benwick. Harville found that he was rather put out with his friend James, but the struggle to understand why he should feel so was beyond him on this night. He leaned over to blow out the candle. The room was now lit only by a dark lantern on the floor near the baby's crib, kept as an aid to Elsa should the child require her attentions.

Would you have him mourn her forever, Timothy?" Elsa's voice came out of the darkness beside him.

"Of course not!" Harville grumbled, a little annoyed; his wife apparently was in a talkative frame of mind, and he did not want to talk anymore about Benwick.

"Then what more can he do?" She snuggled close to her husband for warmth and comfort. "He cannot bring Fanny back!"

"But how can he forget her?"

"Timothy, he must!" She turned toward him, speaking earnestly. "He never will, completely, but he must go on! And we must let him! Or ... do you expect him to wait the twelve years until Ellie is grown up?"

"Elsa!" Harville was fully awake now.

"I was afraid for a while that he might actually consider doing it. That sort of thing would appeal to his romantical nature, you know. But she would only see him as her old Uncle Benwick; it would be quite useless."

"Aye, I should think so!" Harville snorted, rather revolted at the thought of James Benwick as his son-in-law. "And what do you know about his romantical nature? It's nothing but pig-swill if he can forget her so soon!"

Elsa Harville gave her husband a reproachful look, faintly visible in the dim light. "You keep saying that! I do not understand what you mean! He could not have loved her more, you know that! Sometimes ... I wonder if he loved her more than we. He certainly knew her better."

"Don't be foolish Elsa! Of course he did not!"

"But ... his letters, Timothy. What he said to her in his letters. I ..." She hesitated.

"And what do you know about his letters?"

There was a rather long silence. He turned to look at his wife, her face was half-hidden in the shadows; what he saw of it held a rather stricken, guilty expression. "I have never told you this, Timothy", she confessed. "I hope you are not offended." She picked at a slub in the woolen blanket as she spoke. "When Fanny knew that she would not be getting well..." she lifted her eyes to meet his, "and she knew it, Timothy, those last days, and she was quite peaceful about it; she asked me to read to her ... from two things. One was the Bible, which you know, for you were often in and out of the room." Elsa Harville smiled a little at the memory. "Those words were her lifeline of hope, dear girl! And the other ..." She took a deep breath. "And the other ... she had me read Benwick's letters to her. All of them. And I did, when we were alone. It was quite a ... revelation."

"I imagine it was!" Harville was grimly amused. "Of all the ...! So you waded through all that soppy lovey-dovey bile, did you?"

"Timothy! Don't be mean! Of course I did, and it brought such pleasure to poor Fanny! And I was quite surprised. I remember thinking that it was very like that first night he came here, the first time he came here alone, that is, to deliver a letter of yours. We made him stay to dinner, poor man. He was very shy and a little afraid to be all by himself with three women, I think! And Fanny made him talk ... and he did! I was never more astonished, for he was not at all the quiet, dull man I had thought he was.

"Humph! No, Benwick is not at all quiet, once he begins talking. Then it becomes hard to shut him up!"

"Well he certainly kept us entertained with stories of your adventures on the Laconia. I recall one in particular which had us in stitches," she smiled. "You never told us about climbing that cliff to steal eggs from the seagulls, but he did!"

"Oh lord, Elsa! He told you about that?"

"Yes, and how you were attacked by the angry gulls and barely made it down safely! He used such funny words to describe what happened! We laughed ourselves silly!"

"Hah! We were quite a sight! Three grown men; able, fighting men! Running from a bunch of flapping, squawking birds!" Harville grinned in spite of himself. "I hate birds! Was pecked by one the other day." His grin widened. "Wentworth hates 'em too. In fact, I tried to ... well, never mind!"

Mrs. Harville smiled with him -- and also at her memories of that dinner conversation three years ago. "Do you know, I can so clearly recall the look on Fanny's face that evening; I think her attachment to him began that very night! I felt that same kind of astonishment when I began to read his letters, for they were not at all prosy or dull!"

Captain Harville rolled his eyes in the darkness and groaned.

"In fact, I think I learnt more of what everyday life is like in the Navy from his letters than anything, for he told her all about his duties, and those of the other officers. He described the different men on the ship (some of them very odd characters!), and told all about each port they visited."

"No lovey-dovey slop, eh?"

"Yes, but he asked her questions, Timothy, about all kinds of things. Even deep theological questions, and you know how she never tired of that subject! He was struggling through some issues about faith, I think. And she answered him. The Laconia was stranded at Liverpool for a month or more, due to repairs and the weather, or some such thing, during the time they were getting to know one another. Their letters flew back and forth across the countryside through the mails; they must have written nearly every day! Benwick was not afraid of Fanny's intelligence, as some were; he was rather pleased by her ability to think. And it seemed to me, by reading what he said, that she asked him some very hard, penetrating questions; you remember how she was."

"Aye, that I do."

"And as I read those letters I kept thinking how surprised she must have been, to find that he was her equal in intellect; more than her equal, really, for he was much better educated. And very romantic, which Fanny was not ... or so I had always thought, but I was very wrong about this, too. He wrote such sweet things to her ... and she hung on every word! If you could have seen how her pale, sickly face would light up, and her eyes would shine, as I read his precious words to her!" Elsa blushed a little. "I remember that he told her how glad he was that her eyes were that particular shade of blue-green, for every morning and all day long the sea would remind him of her."

"Oh no!" Harville grumbled. "Of all the muttonheaded things for Benwick to say! What a mooncalf!"

"Yes, but to have a man write such things, sincerely, I mean! It is very appealing to a woman! My eyes are blue, and I would love to have my lonely sweetheart write from his ship that he thinks of me all the day, each time he notices the sea! I mean, who could resist ... he said that her smile was like the sun breaking out from behind the somber clouds, giving light, and warmth, and cheer, and beauty ... to everything around her! Or something like that, I cannot remember exactly. I was halfway in love with him myself, to read such things! I don't blame Fanny for being overwhelmed by such heartfelt sentiments. No wonder she cherished his letters."

"Elsa!" Timothy was rather revolted. "You like that pap? I ... well, I have thoughts like that about you, while I am away," he muttered, "many times. They seem ... too silly ... to put in a letter."

"You do? You have never told me!" She snuggled against him more closely, laying her head against his shoulder. "I would so like it if you would write them down, so that I may read them again and again, when I am lonely and missing you."

"Yes, well, perhaps," he murmured, rather embarrassed. Elsa was a practical woman, like Fanny. How could she be so romantic as to like the kinds of things someone like Benwick would write?

"Well, at any rate, it begins to look like I will be back at sea, so perhaps I may try my hand at ..." he smiled bashfully at his wife, "writing silly letters to my sweetheart." He fingered a stray tendril of her hair which had fallen out of her nightcap, and as he did, he took a deep breath. The conversation had turned toward the very subject he had wanted to put off. There was nothing for it; he must speak.

"I, ah, did tell you that Wentworth has his orders?" he began, reluctantly. It was now his turn to pick at the threads in the blanket.

"Does he? I did not know that, no."

"He received them the day before the wedding, of all things."

"Oh Timothy, his poor bride!

"Aye. And poor Frederick! He asked me which part of the honeymoon would be best to tell such a thing, that he is leaving her! I was never more befuddled in my life! How does one answer a question like that?!"

"Yes, that would be awkward! Whatever did you say?"

"That ... based on my experience ... there is no good time. Ah, Elsa ..." He spoke quietly, soberly. "Elsa, he is still insisting that I go with him, as his First. He needs to be ..." This was even more difficult than he had thought. This time there were no orders involving him; he would be joining the crew by his own choice. "Ah ... he needs to be on the Laconia, ready to weigh anchor ... by the end of April."

"The ... Laconia, Timothy? Again? Why, that is ... amazing!"

"Isn't it. He ... he would like me to ..." Timothy put his free arm over his wife and braced himself for the worst. "Well, you see," he explained, " the Laconia has been sitting idle for months now, and will need quite a bit of refitting work done before she is ready to put to sea. And Frederick has told me ... uh, unless there is an unforeseen change in the plan, that is ... I will need to be in Plymouth ... within ... a week or so." Harville found it difficult to speak. "I'm sorry, Elsa, dear. This is much ... sooner than I had expected."

"I see. Yes, it is that." Elsa whispered, and nothing more.

"I'm ... sorry," he repeated, not knowing what to say to her. "And that's another reason I don't like Benwick leaving us just now. I was hoping he would stay on, to look after things in my absence."

"But Timothy!" she raised her head. "He cannot stay! Surely you must see the hand of Providence working in this! Benwick wants to leave of his own will; we do not have to ask it of him! It would not be at all right for him to continue to live with us while you are away at sea!"

"Nonsense! He is a member of our family now, have we not always said so?"

"Yes, while you were with us, but Timothy, you have not considered! How very improper it would appear! You would not wish to expose me to gossip and speculation, I am sure."

Harville frowned. "Gossip! What gossip? Benwick was engaged to marry Fanny, as everyone knows!"

"Even if he had done so, he would now be a widower, and it would not be at all respectable for us to share a residence! No, I will invite my cousin Solveig to stay with me again, so I shall not be alone. And ... I have been doing some thinking, since Captain Wentworth told you of this possibility. Was it only last week?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Well, as the lease to this house is up in March, what do you say about finding us a house in Plymouth, where we have friends and family nearby? Although I have loved living in Lyme ..." she added, rather wistfully.

"Elsa, I'm sorry," Harville broke in, torn between his love for his family and his profession. "I do not have to go with Wentworth. I am not ordered to do so. Perhaps it would be better to tell him to find someone else."

"Yes, but if we all move to Plymouth, we will have two more months together before you have to leave." Elsa took a deep breath and put on a cheerful face; "Besides, this is a chance to advance your career, a wonderful chance, for what could be better than serving under Captain Wentworth again? I know how much you would enjoy it! Your health is so much improved, and you need occupation, Timothy. And ... although we shall miss you dreadfully, I do believe that this is God's will for us, as everything we need is being provided for. Even poor Benwick is leaving at exactly the right time."

"Aye, I see your point," Harville muttered; "but not quite everything. I was hoping to leave you in better financial condition, Elsa, when I went back to sea. This may not be the right time, for we have very little in reserve."

"It will be enough, Timothy. I have some money put by, so you need not worry." She kissed him on the cheek and turned over in the bed. "Good night, dear. Everything will be fine."

Harville frowned into the darkened room, surprised at her quick dismissal of the subject which would usually be of great concern to her. "What money, Elsa?" There was no answer. "You have never mentioned this before. What money are you talking about?" She kept silent; he tapped her shoulder impatiently. "Elsa? I know you are not asleep! Out with it, now! What money?"

"Oh, very well," she grumbled, goaded into speaking. "You're almost as bad as he is." Elsa turned over to face her husband. "I have not mentioned this to you, either," she began, a little guiltily, "as I had so much trouble about Benwick and the grocery money."

"Humph! The grocery money! Which you were forbidden to take, as I recall ... until that dolt simply went 'round you, and began paying the grocer directly. Aye, I remember very well! What about it?"

"Ah, not the grocery money, exactly, but ..." Elsa took a deep breath and began. "Well, a few months after Benwick had begun this, ah, system of contributing to the household expenses, he came to me with a statement of account from a bank here in Lyme." She put her hand on his arm. "Now hear me out, Timothy. You won't like this but let me tell you how it happened."

Harville crossed his arms across his chest and grunted.

"When he received his promotion, and some of his prize money, he told me that he wrote to Fanny; you remember the letter. It told her the good news: that he was on his way back to England and they could be married. In it he had enclosed his checque made payable to her, to help with any expenses in setting up their household. Having waited so long to marry, they did not want to waste any time once he got here. Poor Benwick." Her voice wavered a little. "I did not realise how ... devastating ... it was for him when we returned his letter, unopened." Elsa began to pick at the blanket again.

"He later cashed the checque, and deposited the money in that bank here in town . He put the account ... in our names, Timothy, for the children ... for their education or for any need we might have in the future. He told me that ..." her eyes welled with tears, "that the money was his gift to Fanny ... and that our children were all he had left of her ... now, and that he wanted them to have it. What could I say, but 'God bless you, dear friend'? You may tell him 'no thank you,' if you like, but I could not."

Harville breathed out a long sigh. "How much?" he asked at last.

"Two hundred pounds."

"Oh, James." Harville found it hard to speak. "Such a gift." He closed his eyes for a moment, working to control his emotions. "Aye, my dear, you did right. To refuse would wound him even more. And I thank him from the bottom of my heart ... and I shall tell him so tomorrow." He slipped his arms around his wife and held her close against his chest for a long while. "Well, Elsa, it appears I am going back to sea." He was relieved to be rid of the burden of the bad news; now he was beginning to feel the impact of the sadness their parting would bring.

"And I am returning to Plymouth, which will be nice, for we will be together until the end of April." She spoke cheerfully and decisively, as she always did after he had received his orders. Elsa was a very practical woman. She knew it would do no good to allow him to see her dismay at the thought of being alone again. There would be plenty of time for tears ... later.

"Aye. And Benwick is going to settle his business." Harville sighed. "Well, I will miss him."

"And I. Oh, and bye the bye, Timothy," Elsa said, turning the conversation in a more light-hearted direction, "here is something which will amuse you." She adjusted her position so that her head rested on the pillow next to his; as much as she enjoyed being held close against him, she now cherished every opportunity to look at him face to face, to talk with him about the little happenings of everyday life. "I have finally found out what it is that Ellie has been saying, about Ella-nor of Aka-tane. She said Uncle Benwick told her she was named after a queen, so I asked him about it today. Ellie was saying, Eleanor of Acquitaine: wife of two kings, mother of two kings. A little history lesson of his."

"Hah! Ellie was not named for a queen!" Harville burst out, highly amused.

"Shhhh! The baby!"

"Sorry. She was not named for a queen," he explained, this time in a whisper. "You remember. She was named after my mother's mother, Eleanor, a fish-fag in Cockerham ... 'Elkie the Heckler,' as she was known in the marketplace!"

"Elkie the Heck ... a fish-fag? Timothy! You never ... " Elsa chuckled. "And you said she was a fine woman!"

"Well, she was ... kind and generous to a fault ... and she could screech like anything!" Harville grinned. "Not unlike our Ellie, eh? Heaven help us! Ellie, a queen! Isn't that just like Benwick to think so? Poor romantical fellow."

"Now Timothy, even queens must screech sometime."

"Aye, but they say, 'Off with his head!' or some such thing!"

"Yes, well, don't give Ellie any ideas, please! I am having enough trouble teaching her to share with Tommy as it is!" she smiled, leaning over to kiss him fondly on the cheek. "Now that I think of it, I myself still struggle with sharing, sometimes."

"Hummm?" he yawned. "Sharing what?"

"You ... with the sea." Elsa playfully stroked his hair. "And I am very fond of having a dashing, adventuresome sea captain for a husband ... so I suppose I wouldn't have it any other way. Goodnight, my dear." She kissed his cheek once again and turned over in the bed, preparing to sleep.

"... dashing, hmmm?" Her husband's voice came out of the darkness beside her. He sounded amused. " I haven't been able to dash anywhere these past two years, my dear."

"Oh, I would say you do very well, Captain," Elsa smiled into the pillow. "Besides ..." she turned back to face him, enjoying the feel of his arms, which were stealing around her, "that wasn't exactly what I meant ... as I believe you know." She smiled as she felt him remove her cap and gently touch her hair. There was no need to share him tonight, with the sea or with anyone else. Tonight they were together, and he was hers alone.

Chapter 5, Part 3

Posted on Friday, 29 October 1999, at 12 : 10 p.m.

Two packets of letters lay on the table beside James Benwick's bed. He had come across them earlier that evening while rummaging through his sea chest to find an old dagger he thought Mrs. Harville's uncle might be interested in seeing -- what he called, in jest, his "piratical memento." He had found the weapon, as expected, but he had also found the letters: Fanny's letters ... and his.

Benwick now reached over and picked them up, holding a bundle in each hand, examining them by the light of the single candle on the table. There is no way to measure the value of these, he thought, as he lay there in bed. Each one was written and received with such delight! He did not need to read hers, he knew every word of them. And his to her, they were similarly worn, also much read and cherished. How we loved one another! We, who each had thought ourselves unable to find love!

He smiled into the darkness as he put them down. It was as if his decision to leave Lyme had opened a door to some hidden place in his heart, for a flood of memories had begun to sweep across his mind; sweet, tender memories; things he had not thought of for a long while.

On impulse, he again took up his letters, tied with a pink ribbon, and carefully slid out the one on the bottom, the oldest one, and began to read what he had written to her. It was formal and brief (when compared to the others); its simple wording had cost him hours of deliberation.

Aboard the H.M.S. Laconia, August __, 1811

Miss Harville,

As you have requested, I would like to report on the remarkable recovery of the seaman known as Two-Toed Jack ...

Benwick broke off reading and began to wander the streets of Plymouth in his mind, reliving that wondrous night in August, more than three years ago, that night when he had found himself to be suddenly and overwhelmingly in love. He had walked back to the waterfront, along the pier and down the gangplank with such a feeling in his heart, smiling at nothing, keenly aware of everything: the damp sea air, the gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the ships which were docked there, the groan of the mooring ropes, the 'slap-slap' of the rigging, the small lights from the ships anchored out in the harbour, which bobbed and danced across the dark water. Such a beautiful summer night!

The Laconia had arrived in Plymouth that morning; her stay in port was only to be long enough to reprovision and enable a few much-needed repairs to be made. Benwick had returned from his shore leave that night well within his allotted time, but at a very advanced hour -- an almost unheard-of occurrence for him. He had been quietly making his way below, when he heard a voice in the dark companionway. James closed his eyes as the scene unfolded in his memory ...

"And just where have you been?" It was the Captain, standing in the doorway to his cabin, his tall form silhouetted against the lamplight. "Have you any idea what time it is?"

"Yessir, it's a little after one. Hanson's on the quarter-deck, I'm not on 'til four. However, if you need me to relieve him now, I can."

"No, that will not be necessary. But ... could you spare a few minutes?" The Captain jerked his head toward his cabin. "I think we need to have a little talk."

"Very well, sir." A private talk with Wentworth! It was hard to read the Captain's face in the dim light, and he gave no verbal indication as to what was on his mind. He did, however, make it a point to close the door firmly behind him, and this was not a particularly good sign. Whatever was wrong, it was best to begin well. "And how are you feeling, Captain? You look to be much better." The Captain was recovering from a bout of influenza.

"I am not! My head ... and now, my nose ... gah! I cannot breathe whenever I lay down. So I have been up, stumbling about ... and it is a good thing, hmmm?" This was said with a knowing look. "Sit down." He motioned to the table as he crossed the cabin to pull his appointment book out of its place. "Muker is getting some coffee made. I'll have him bring an extra cup and leave the coffeepot here. I daresay you will need it, as you are to be up all night!"

"Oh, I am fine. I have already had some, as a matter of fact." It was absolutely horrible coffee, but she had served it, and so it was delightful.

"Have you now." The Captain sat down in his chair and leaned back in it. "You seem to have enjoyed yourself this evening." He opened the book. " So, how were the Harvilles? You, ah, did remember to deliver Timothy's letter?"

"Yessir. And they are very well ... and send their kind regards!" There was a knock at the door. The steward brought in the coffee, fetched and placed the extra cup, and left. "And I did enjoy myself this evening. In fact, I had a wonderful time. Mrs. Harville, er, constrained me to stay to dinner."

"Constrained you?"

"Yessir. I did not want impose upon her kindness, but she would not be gainsaid."

The Captain had looked surprised at that, but merely said, "I see."

"You should have been there, sir. It is too bad you were not feeling up to coming with me, for she served the most delicious meal! They were very concerned about you, when I told them you were not feeling well. And they wanted to know all about where we had been and what Timothy was up to when we saw him last. He, ah, writes rather short letters, you know, and the ladies wanted me to fill in the details."

"Which you did."

"Yessir."

"Until one o'clock in the morning." There was a short silence. He tapped on the shining mahogany tabletop. "James, you were engaged to have dinner with me tonight. And although I realise that familiarity does breed contempt, I believe it is still counted as something to dine at the Captain's table, is it not?"

"Tonight sir? Surely you must be mistaken! Wasn't that to be tomorrow? I distinctly remember it as tomorrow!"

The Captain pushed his appointment book across the table. 'Benwick: Dinner' was clearly marked. "This is Wednesday, is it not?"

"Uh, yessir, it certainly is. I am terribly sorry, Frederick! I don't know what came over me! I would have never ...! Indeed, I ..."

"Well, we shall overlook it, this once," he interrupted, "as you have never done such a thing before. And after all, Mrs. Harville did constrain you, as you said, to stay ... until one o'clock." He smiled rather maliciously. "Timothy will have your hide, James! Whatever were you thinking, to stay until such an hour?"

"Uh ... thank you, sir, for understanding ... about the dinner, that is. But I did not stay nearly so late! That is, I left the Harville home shortly before seven."

"Ah! And where, may I ask, did you go?" There was a long silence. "Hang it, James!" He coughed and paused to blow his nose several times. " You come in here, at this hour, looking like the cat that swallowed the canary! What am I to think?" Wentworth took a swallow of coffee and resumed his cross examination. "So, you went someplace else ... after dinner."

"I did."

"Where did you go?"

"I'd rather not say. I mean, you'd think it rather foolish, sir."

"Oh would I? And did you go alone when you went to this place?" The Captain was now openly suspicious.

The hanging lamp above the table swayed slightly with a swell. "I ... did not go alone, sir, no."

"You went with someone."

"I did."

"Did you go with a man? Or with a woman?"

A short silence followed, punctuated only by the ticking of the regulator clock. "With a ... woman, sir."

"And you say you had a wonderful time."

It was hard not to laugh. "Uh, yessir. Absolutely wonderful."

Frederick leaned forward and glared. "James!" he chided sarcastically, "I see I will need to give you my brother Edward's lecture on moral uprightness and the evils of wanton women!"

"Oh, this woman is not wanton, sir! Not at all!"

"Humph!" Frederick cupped his chin in his hand. "If she isn't, why the devil are you sitting there with that stupid grin on your face? Where did you go?"

"Well, if you must know, I went to a prayer meeting."

"A prayer meeting!" Frederick was openly dubious. " Until one in the morning?"

"Well, yes! We prayed, which took a long time, for there must have been at least thirty people crowded into that little house! And then the Rector gave a talk on a passage of scripture ... very well done, most interesting! And after that we sang hymns. One of the women is married to a Norwegian fellow; he and his brothers brought their ... mandolins, I think ... and these people like to sing, apparently, for they went on and on. And when they were finished, to top it off, everybody shared the sweets they had brought. There were pies by the dozen, Frederick, the tables were full! And all kinds of cakes, and puddings, and berry tarts; it was marvelous! And when I checked my watch, it was twelve-thirty. Then I took her home."

"A prayer meeting." He raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Where's your Bible, then, choirboy?"

"Oh, I didn't plan to go! I would never ... my Bible is in the bottom of my locker, Frederick, probably moulded shut! But we got to talking at dinner, and after, and then it was time for her to go ... and we were still talking. Then she invited me to come with her. So I did! I did not need my Bible because ... she let me look on with her."

"James, my boy, I believe you are blushing!" Frederick was grinning now. "She? Now who might She be? I recollect that a cousin of Mrs. Harville's sometimes comes for an extended visit ..." Another cough and a sneeze followed.

"No, no, not Miss Jensen! I must be ten years her junior, at least! It was ... Miss Harville." Even to say her name brought a smile.

"Fanny Harville. Timothy's sister." He was astonished. "You went to a prayer meeting with Fanny Harville?"

"I did, yes."

"At her express invitation." His eyebrow went up again. "And she sat right beside you the entire evening, in order to share her Bible? And ... did she hang on your arm while she took you around to introduce you to all of her friends?" He made a comical face. "Have a care, James! Or you'll find yourself known as Lieutenant Benwick, Miss Harville's Fellow. And you know what that means!"

"Actually, they were calling me Miss Fanny's Sailor Friend."

"No!" He grinned. "You are in the suds! Miss Fanny's Sailor Friend! Hah! And ... this being a prayer meeting, I take it you prayed?"

"Yes indeed! Most earnestly! Although ... I don't think Timothy would like what I prayed about, uh, silently, that is."

"James, you scoundrel!"

"She's a wonderful girl, Frederick! Not at all like Timothy. I mean, she reads!"

"Timothy reads, James!"

"No, no, not the newspaper! I mean books! And tonight she had a notebook with her. She listened very carefully to Reverend Shroyer's talk and wrote down the references to study later. She thinks about things, important things. She's not like ordinary girls at all!"

"And she is pretty, as I recall." He took another sip of coffee. "And rather tall for a woman. That does not bother you?"

"Of course not! She is only a little taller than I ... we see 'eye to eye,' you might say. And she does have the most beautiful eyes, Frederick! They are the same colour as Timothy's, but ... how is it that those eyes are so much prettier in her face than his?"

"Mmmm. Odd, that."

"She ... asked me ... to write to her, Frederick, to let her know about Two-Toed Jack. I, ah, had them pray for him, as he is so bad off."

"And not your poor Captain, who is hobbled with the grippe?"

"Uh, no. Sorry. I thought I'd better stick to the hopeless cases. But ... do you think I should write to her? I mean, do you think Harville would mind if I did?"

"No," he smiled. "I do not think he would mind, James."

"Oh. Good! Then I shall certainly do so."

"Well, Miss Fanny's Sailor Friend, you'd best turn in and catch what little sleep you can."

"Oh, I can never sleep, sir, not tonight! I, uh, am sorry about our dinner, Frederick! I don't know what came over me."

"I quite understand," he smiled kindly. " 'The way of a man with a maid,' James. Proverbs, I believe. Good night."

James smiled as slid his letter back under the pink ribbon. What a very precious time of my life. 'The way of a man with a maid,' indeed. Good night, my dear Fanny. He leaned over to snuff the candle. Except that where you are, there is no night ... no pain ... no weeping ... no sadness. He lay back on his pillow and sighed deeply, contentedly. I am glad. Yes, I am glad to know that you are happy ... and well.

He closed his eyes and yawned. And tomorrow, I book passage for London. Yes. Tomorrow.

Chapter 6

Posted on Wednesday, 3 November 1999, at 12 : 19 a.m.

"Achoo . . . Gah. Oh, I'b sorry, I din't bean to stneez on you," Frederick coughed out, handing his coat over to Harkness. Coughing again into his handkerchief, he blinked, hoping that the spinning of the room would soon stop. Surely Musgrove and I didn't drink that much this evening, he thought as he started to the stairs.

Looking down at herself, and wiping her gown with what had become an ever-present handkerchief, Louisa murmured, "That's all right. You didn't mean to. Oh, Crayshaw, please help the Captain upstairs. His cold has suddenly worsened, so we are home early." The Captain was wandering towards the stairway and she was worried that, unescorted, he might stumble.

Having snagged the Captain's hat as he walked by, Harkness fussed with a bit of loose lace, suppressing the urge to correct Mrs Wentworth. I don't look a bit like that toadstool, hmph, he sniffed to himself. Looking at Captain Wentworth, he mused that the gentleman seemed to be having a devilishly bad time of it. He had not helped noticing that the previous night, the Captain had slept apart from his new bride and now he was taken with a thundering head cold. These being the facts, he felt the need to ask a rather delicate question. "Shall I take him to the front apartment or his rooms, Madam?"

Feeling fairly certain of her response, he moved to the Captain's side. Louisa took no time in saying, "The front rooms, if you please. I shall watch him through the night. You will have to get night things from his rooms. And please, be patient. He is peevish . . . very peevish."

Harkness turned and restated, "The front rooms you said, Madam?" He had thought that she would surely put the gentleman in his own rooms, thus avoiding the possibility of taking the cold herself. It surprised him as he had not marked her a woman of much substance, no more than the usual young girl that men of Captain Wentworth's station sometimes attached themselves to; it vexed him to think that he might have misjudged the young Mrs Wentworth. Not because of any slight to the young lady, but Harkness was a man who detested being wrong.

"Yes, the front rooms. I shall be up myself in a moment." She watched them mount the stairs and then went into the sitting room. A low fire was burning as she went to the fireplace. Taking a small bottle from her pocket, she uncorked it and taking a whiff put it away from herself hurriedly. "Phew . . .Mama, it is much too strong this year! I do not care what you and Sarah may say, I am still of the mind that anything that takes paint from hands should not be part of medicine!"

Dashing the contents of the bottle into the fire, she jumped back with the sudden flash of the flames. As turpentine and tar were the major ingredients in Mrs Musgrove's cold remedy, this occurrence was not surprising.

When Mrs Musgrove had noticed the Captain's breathing was labored due to his cold, she had pronounced that she would dose him and had gone off to seek Alice who would bring her out the jug from the still-room. It was Sadie Musgrove's contention that when there was one in the family ill, all must be dosed.

At hearing the call for a dosing, those Musgroves of any age and ability found other rooms of the house to occupy. Charles went so far as to excuse himself to his wife pleading the need to check the horses. Just as she realised her husband's sham, (they of course had no carriage and therefore no horses), and had begun to go after him, Mrs Musgrove had entered the room and so Mary was bound to be dosed along with the other unfortunates.

Frederick was mortified that such a fuss was being made for a cold. It is not that sailors are particularly stoic when it comes to illness, most in fact are eager to partake of a good stiff dosing, but seeing the family abandon the Great Room, en mass was disquieting to say the least.

When Mrs. Musgrove re-entered the room with Alice, the Housekeeper, bearing the dreaded jug, she, of course, caught Mary along with Master Harry, who had begged to be allowed to dine with the Captain just this once. He had been revelling in his privilege, when, at the mention of the jug, he tried to bolt from the room but Alice's ample form stood between he and freedom. All the rest escaped, except, of course, the Captain and Louisa, (though she knew what was to come, she would not abandon her husband to face it alone). The last captured was Mr. Musgrove, who was hobbled by his gouty leg. He had long ago determined that it was more trouble to flee than to just take it straight up and be done with the whole silly business. "Where has everybody got to? This is for their own goods!" The good woman was greatly put out as this happened frequently when she brought out her home physics.

Standing in the middle of the room, Alice at her side and large spoon in hand, Sadie Musgrove said, "Well, Captain. I would think you more than anxious to be rid of that abominable cold and so want to be first. Come, come." She motioned for him to come closer.

"No, Mama, I think I should be first! I . . . I have a . . . tickle in my throat and an ache in my head . . . I think I should have mine first." Leaving Frederick's side, Louisa began to go to her mother.

Taking his wife's arm, Frederick leaned and whispered, "Why are you taking this? You are dot in the least ill."

Whispering back to him, "I want you to see that this will not kill you. The taste will make you wish it . . . but that will pass." Smiling as she went, she said to her mother, "This is a new batch, I think. It smells very potent Mama. It should work exceedingly well." She looked over her shoulder to Frederick. He gave her a weak smile, The girl's got pluck.

"Sit down and open, Louisa. There's a good girl! That should take care of anything you may have gotten from him," her mother purred as she watched for the signs of the medicine doing its work. Mrs Musgrove was not a woman of delicate sensibilities and so had no notion that she had, again managed to lay a good allowance of guilt at the feet of the man who was now her son-in-law. She was also a woman who measured the efficaciousness of medicines by the shudder produced in the patient. Louisa, having learned this many years earlier, did not disappoint.

Seeing that her mother was satisfied, she rose from the stool which had been brought for the occasion. "Now you, Captain," Mrs Musgrove said with delight. Louisa had responded just right and for Sadie Musgrove, caring well for her family gave her an immense pleasure. Frederick came forward and sat on the stool. He was aware that all eyes were on him, as though this were an initiation of sorts. "Though you sound to be stopped pretty tight, you may still wish to hold your nose, Captain. Anyone's not had this before can find it a bit on the powerful side," Mrs. Musgrove warned him, punctuating her words with the spoon.

"Badam, ovfer the years of by serfice to the Kink, I hafe idgested beny a think that, I am quite sure, will causs this to pale whed compaired. Haff ndoe worries about be." As he spoke, Harry Musgrove snickered. Mary gave him a good cuffing as Frederick scowled in the boy's direction. He had endeavoured to maintain his dignity, but the head cold was quickly making that an impossibility.

Placing her hands on his shoulders, Louisa leant close and whispered into his ear, "No matter what, upon swallowing, shake violently. If you don't, there will be another dose in the offing." They looked at one another, she with a raised brow.

"All right, Brs. Busgrobe. I am prepedt for adything." So, with Master Harry sniggering in the background and holding his nose as the lady had advised, he took the dose in a manner he thought befitting a captain of the Royal Navy . As for the shudder, there had been no need to dramatise.

As she stood watching the fire die back, Louisa murmured, "Well, there. That poison is gone. I only hope that there is no damage to either of us from what we did take," She corked the bottle and slid it back into her pocket. Walking through the entryway, she met with Crayshaw and said, "Harkness, has my husband finalised the arrangements for tomorrow's journey? Breakfast and the carriage and all?"

Crayshaw resisted the urge to correct the Captain's wife. She did not seem to purposely confuse he and that churl, Harkness. "I have not been told directly by the Captain, but it has been mentioned by Cook that you are breakfasting at six o'clock. And I did hear Captain Wentworth talking with the hired driver this afternoon, before you arrived home, Madam."

"Thank you. And is the Captain settled in bed yet?"

"I hardly know, Madam. I have been with the other staff, finishing dinner."

"But . . ." Louisa looked up the stairs and then back at the man. Squinting a bit and taking a step closer, she realised her mistake. "I am sorry, Crayshaw. I thought you to be Harkness. So, it must have been Harkness who took the Captain upstairs. I must be more tired than I thought. I do apologise. That will be all, good night."

"Very good, Madam." He gave her a small bow as she mounted the stairs. In-deed, you must be excessively tired to make such a glaring error, Crayshaw thought as he walked back to the kitchen.

Meeting Harkness in the hall, she was told that the Captain was, as near as possible, comfortably situated in bed.

He was thanked and as he went down the hall, he murmured, "And peevish is not nearly the word I would use to describe his mood."

Turning back to Harkness, she called, "And will you please bring a hot brandy as soon as possible?" Louisa continued on to the room. A tiny corner of her heart revelled in playing the Mistress of the Hall and taking care of her husband now that he needed her. Entering the rooms, she was pleased to see that the curtains were drawn, the fire was blazing and the candles all lit, everything was ready for evening, though they had been unexpected in returning from Uppercross so early. Peeking into the bed chamber, she looked at Frederick. He was half sitting up, but he looked to be dozing. Going to the dressing room, she found the girl waiting to help her change. That being accomplished, she returned to the bed chamber. As she tied her wrapper, she stood again looking at her husband.

There he is, the object of all my affections! Hair dishevelled, beard unshaven and making a rather peculiar noise. No matter . . . I do love him. Though I never realised that the 'in sickness' part of the vows would be so soon. She laughed at herself. The second night of her, so far, uneventful honeymoon, was to be spent watching over the Captain in case he grew feverish. She did not trust a cold this time of year, they could so easily turn. And he had been so adamant that they would leave in the morning as planned; she wished to watch him, for if his head cold were to turn, he might need the doctor.

She found that the brandy along with the decanter had all been brought and set on the morning table. Taking the glass on the salver over to him, she set it on the bedside table. Looking at the Captain and the bed, she thought, Do I take the liberty of sitting on the bed, or no? There was more than enough room for her to sit, and so, sit she did. As her weight caused the bed to shift, Frederick opened his eyes, he had not been sleeping at all, but merely enveloped in that cottony drowse which accompanies most colds. "So, you are not sleeping. I have brou . . ."

Before she could finish, a scowl came to his weary face and he gruffly asked, "What are you doing in my rooms?" Taking a quick look about him, he realised these were not his rooms, it was not his bed . . . and he was in his nightshirt. Surely she's not thinking that we can . . . "Laweeza, I do't think idt wize . . ."

"Sh-h-h-h." Taking up the brandy, she brought the warm glass to his hands and said, "I think that you should drink this. It will help you to sleep even better, for if you insist that we be off tomorrow, you should be well rested. Here, it's only warm brandy. Or would a sailor prefer grog?"

Taking a drink, he looked at her with a shade of a smile and shook his head as he told her, "Dot dhis sailor! I detest rumb ad grok. Dhe brahdy iss buch appre. . . appre . . Dhak you." Taking another drink, a thought came to him, "Whadt wass dhad . . . fhoul brew your bhother dossed me wit?" Finishing off the glass, he handed it to Louisa.

Chuckling, and taking on an amused look, she told him, "That is the 'Evil Elixir of Uppercross' as Charles so lovingly calls it. In truth it is a secret concoction that Sarah the Nurserymaid and Mama make up every year." Putting down the glass, she fussed a bit with his blankets and smoothed them. "No one knows what is in it . . . well not completely, and for my part . . . I think that best. It has been gaining in strength for many years now; though, this batch was the worst I have ever had." Placing her hand on his brow, she considered what she felt. Closing his eyes, he took a bit of pleasure in her concern and the cool softness of her hand.

Feeling nothing to alarm her, she stood and took up the salver and replaced it on the table. Returning to his side of the bed, she bent and blew out the candles. "Now . . . lay down. You have no fever and there is no matter about Mama's brew, the brandy will help you to sleep. I shall sit up a while . . . reading. Good night." She bent and kissed him lightly on the cheek. As she turned, he caught her hand.

"Dhank you, Laweeza." They both smiled at how ridiculous it sounded.

She took a great deal of delight in his thanks. Chaffing his hand, she murmured quietly, "Go to sleep, Captain." He closed his eyes and she laid his hand upon his chest.

Louisa went about the outer chamber dousing candles and going over in her mind all the arrangements for the morrow. All was packed save their travelling clothes and what they were wearing now. And she would have to remember the heavy woolen robe that her mother had given her for the Captain. Laying the parcel that contained it on the table, she thought to pack it in one of his trunks in the other room, but that she would do in the morning. Surveying the room before returning to the bed chamber, the bouquet of pink roses caught her eye.

Mrs Croft had taken great pains to have them brought from a greenhouse in Crewkerne. She had lovingly arranged them in a beautiful vase and had them place upon the morning table in the bridal chamber. The evening before, Louisa had been saddened by them. The presence of such a rare and romantic flower had made being alone on her wedding night more hurtful, but when tiredness had driven her to the bed she had fallen asleep knowing that there was the rest of her life to be Frederick's wife. Leaning over the vase and breathing deeply of the fresh smell of the flowers, she tried to put out of her mind that now, there was no assurance of that being true.

Laying her wrapper on the bed's foot, Louisa slid under the sheets. Hugging the bed's edge and hesitant to move, lest she disturb the Captain. Slowly, she pulled her knees to her chest. Resting her arms and chin, she began to think about how everything she had believed was now changed, now that he was to return to the sea.

The day had begun simply enough, he had come to her room and they had had breakfast together. The Captain's cold had been apparent from the moment he had sat down; he had sneezed through much of the meal. After talk of foregoing church, (which could not be done as he wished to talk with his brother one more time before the Rector departed for Crown Hill), there had been the discussion of delaying their own departure for Shropshire. Frederick had been firm that they would have to leave in the morning, else there would not be enough time for the trip at all. She had not understood his vehemency until later in the day.

After church, she had taken a quiet dinner with her husband in the main dining room. While Mr and Mrs Musgrove had, on special occasions, dined at Kellynch Hall, and Charles, as Sir Walter's son-in-law had certainly done so; no other Musgoves had ever been extended the privilege. As the only other of the family to be afforded the opportunity, Louisa was rather distracted. When the Captain had asked how she found her lamb, she realised that she had not eaten much and what she had, she had not tasted.

Sir Walter was very particular when it came to his surroundings and especially those rooms of the Hall where guests were entertained. Therefore, the dining room of Kellynch Hall was as magnificent a place as ever one could wish to take a meal. The whole Hall was as close to a palace as Louisa could imagine, but the dining room in particular was fascinating.

The brocades and gilt shone in the candlelight. The polished silver and delicate china glittered on the snowy white of the linen cloth. Louisa's family was by no means poor and her mother could, and often did, display many fine pieces. But when even a modest amount Kellynch elegance was demonstrated, the finest of Uppercross was significantly outdone.

She could see by her husband's demeanor that was not in the least awed by the setting. Or perhaps he had grown so accustomed to it, that now, it now inspired no feeling what so ever. He ate heartily, though he also said something about not tasting much.

Louisa had taken this chance to study him as he was occupied with his meal and the two were seated very far from one another. Possibly that inspired her feelings of awe more than anything. Sitting so far from him, feeling nearly alone at her end of the table, she might just as well have been by herself.

As he had finished his soup, he had told her that he was going riding with her father after dinner. She had seen them talking before taking leave of the Church, and had been curious as to what they spoke on. Asking if he thought that wise, his having a cold and the weather being wet and all, the Captain had simply replied, "I wish to speak wid hib and he wid be. This is our oly oppatunity. I will be fihde, dthis cold is nodthink."

Louisa held back her opinion that colds can very much become something, if neglected. She did not point out that his had worsened since breakfast, and that his speech was becoming more difficult to understand. The Captain's response that his cold was nothing had been very much like that she would have received from her father, and since it was the two of them going out, she knew she could not win.

Having watched the Captain ride out in the drizzle that had begun during their meal, Louisa had wandered about looking for some sort of amusement. Other than some very old books, there was really nothing to be had, not even cards. She had been thankful to hear a cart pulling into the drive. Looking out she had seen Charles Hayter's gig. In it were he and Etta. Her sister had handed him the umbrella and jumping down, hurried to the door.

The pair were on their way to Winthrop and wanted Louisa to come and see the cottage that Charles was remodelling. In just a few weeks, after they were married, it would be their home. Etta had only seen it a few times since he had begun. Before this, it was a home for flock of chickens that would not stay cooped. She confided that she wished her sister's support in the event that it was turning out to be horrible and she needed to find compliments for her husband-to-be. Louisa gladly accepted the invitation and fetching her bonnet and cloak had left Kellynch, not mentioning to anyone where she was off to.

"On my call . . . boarders away!" Frederick muttered. He mumbled a bit more she could not understand, and then turned to his other side and grew quiet again.

Reaching over, Louisa gently felt of his forehead. There was no fever, no beginning of a sweat. As she looked at him, she trailed her fingers across his stubbly cheek and lightly touched his hair. A feeling swept over her that she could not name. Her eyes stung and her throat ached. Was it love . . . or disappointment perhaps? There was so much of both now when she thought of him. Fussing with the covers, but not really accomplishing anything, she sat up and made her way back to the cottage at Winthrop.

"Mama has been so kind in giving us little things from Uppercross. And Mrs Shirley gave us a rug they no longer use, so the floor in the front room is covered and the entire house is nearly all furnished. Charles has finished the plaster in our bedch . . ."

"Ahem," Charles gave Etta a look.

She smiled shyly, " . . . in the smaller room, and I am sewing the curtains now for the kitchen and the front room. I think you will be proud of us, Sister. We will have the finest, snuggest cottage for miles . . . when we are finished." Etta wrapped her arm around his and beamed proudly at them both.

Louisa had smiled as Etta and occasionally Charles chattered on about the Cottage and all that they were doing to it. She was truly happy for her sister and looked forward to seeing the two of them married and happy in their own home. When thinking this way, it was impossible not to look forward to a home of her own. A home that she would make for Frederick and herself and one day, their children.

The smell of fresh paint and plaster was all through the tiny Cottage. The rug from the Shirleys was mostly a cozy red and with a small table and two high-backed chairs from the attics at Uppercross, made the room very inviting indeed. With all the house's plaster work finished, Charles was beginning on the kitchen. He had begun to dress the counter, it having been the favourite roost of the previous occupants. The stone shone from what little polishing he had done. A little table and two mismatched chairs were waiting to serve the new master and mistress. The hearth was swept and laid with wood, all it lacked was the fire to prepare their first meal.

Charles had excused himself to the main house to visit a moment with his mother. Etta grabbed her sister's hand and giggled as they ran through the front room to a smaller room off the back side. It was the bed chamber.

"Loua, isn't it beautiful?" Etta asked, in a awed whisper. Her voice was faraway as she took it all in, and Louisa knew that she was thinking of the time that she and Charles would share this private place. It was nearly embarrassing to be brought into it; it also stung a bit, considering the night before.

"I have not seen this room since it has been finished. Aunt Hayter and our cousins sewed the coverlet," Henrietta said as she ran her hands over the light blue fabric. "They have been so much help, they are so looking forward to the wedding and when I move here. They treat me quite like a sister, you know." Turning to Louisa, she came to her and took her arm. "But you shall always be my favourite sister, you know that, do you not?" Seeing that Louisa was distracted, she spoke again, "Loua, what is wrong? Surely you are not jealous?"

Louisa pulled herself from her thoughts and looked at Etta. "Jealous? Of our cousins? Never in life." Louisa hugged her sister and both went back to examining the blue coverlet. As she had moved from one side of the bed to the other, Louisa had spotted the one thing of which she could begrudge her sister. I am not jealous of them, only of you dearest Etta, she thought as her sister went on about their cousins and the coverlet.

What she saw was a small pine chest. The chest itself was old and battered, and she knew, that were she so bold as to raise the lid, there, on one of the edge pieces, would be her own name scribbled in a childish scrawl . Over the years, various things had been kept in it. When the two older girls had been younger and in the nursery, it had held the extra blankets for their beds. Later it had gone to the attic and held baby clothes outgrown by the younger children. She and Etta, on rainy days had used the clothes for each of their dolls. The chest had always made Louisa feel she was home. Without ever saying so, she had thought since she was the first to marry, she would be given the chest.

"Oh! you have noticed that old thing! Mama gave that to me the day we returned from Winthrop and I told her that everything was set to right with Charles. She was so happy that we went up to the attic and she said that very day it was to be mine; how you and I used to play in it! And to think . . . I have you to thank for all of this! Had you not made me go on that ghastly walk and made me to disobey Mary and go down to Charles . . . well, I might not be marrying him now." Hugging Louisa again, she said hoarsely, "Thank you, Louisa. You are the best of sisters!"

After both girls had wiped their eyes, Henrietta had excitedly shown Louisa the freshly hemmed linens that they had decided to keep in the chest. As her sister talked, Louisa had wondered what she might have kept in the chest had it come to her, and she struggled to put aside the picture of her own daughters playing with dolls by its side.

Laying back on the pillows and pulling the covers to her chin, she looked at Frederick. He had turned to his back and was breathing more quietly than before. Suppressing the urge to stroke his face, she murmured, "It makes no difference now. The chest was never mine and even had it been given to me, I will have no home for Heaven only knows how long."

While her going to Winthrop, and the discovery about the chest had been nettlesome, thinking back upon the day, Louisa could truly say that the grimmest part of it had come upon her return to Kellynch Hall.

Chapter 6

Posted on Tuesday, 9 November 1999, at 11 : 52 a.m.