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Chapter 7
"It's Martin, sir." A smallish, black-eyed young man poked his head in the open door of the captain's cabin. There not yet being any Marines to stand guard, the boy had had to announce himself.
"Come in, Martin. Come in," Captain Timothy Harville said, as he pushed back one of several unruly stacks of paper that littered the desk.
Midshipman Joseph Martin stood before Captain Harville, mortally afraid. Not so much afraid of Harville himself, but afraid of the reason he had been summoned. The word around the scuttlebutt had it that the crew of forty-seven men -- an impressive crew considering the Captain had only been advertising the Laconia's recommissioning for six days -- was to be broken up as the dear old ship was to be refitted clear to her waterline. If that were the case, any hopes that Martin entertained about advancing, were going to be blown to bits.
Joseph Martin was somewhat a minor miracle in the Naval line. He had first gone to sea in the year '06, as a ship's boy, with Captain Frederick Wentworth on the sloop, Asp. After her sinking in the year '08, the Captain had been given the frigate, Laconia and had done Martin the honour of taking him right along. On that frigate, Martin had become a midshipman and now, after several years, was quite ready to stand for his examination for lieutenant. That had been before September and the cruelness of fortune had thrown he, and all other members of the crew, including their captain, ashore.
Having dodged the press for this many months, Martin's heart had filled to bursting when he had chanced to see a poster bearing together the names, Wentworth and Laconia. When he had arrived onboard to sign himself back into naval indenturedness, he had found no Captain Wentworth, but Captain Harville.
Harville, having only the Laconia's master and boson to assist with those wishing to sign on, had been all business and had asked all the proper questions and seemed to be an all right sort, but Martin had been leery. He of course knew Harville as Wentworth's first on various cruises, but now ...
Further word around the scuttlebutt had told him that Harville was now a full captain in his own right. This news had chilled Martin's vitals. The boy had heard assurances of Captain Wentworth being on the quarter-deck when the Laconia weighed anchor, but he could not help the the sickening feeling that he had been artfully cheated out of his freedom. Freedom he would have willing given to serve under one particular captain, but no other.
The Lieutenant Harville with which Martin had been acquaintented in the past, was an amiable fellow, scrupulously fair and a dedicated seaman, but it was not unknown for a man who came into the power held by a naval captain to make many changes. It was not unknown for a desperate captain to use any number of lies to gather a crew. Not knowing of Harville for many years, Martin was not certain what he should trust -- his knowledge of the old man or his suspicions of the new.
"I came soon as I was called, sir." Martin stood rigid and stared straight ahead. He would give this present Harville no cause to find fault with his manners.
"Yes, you are very prompt. Thank you. You might not remember much of me, our past time together was rather short, but I must tell you, I am impressed, in these few days, you have proven to be all the Captain Wentworth said you had grown into."
"Sir?" The boy allowed his countenance a little brightness at hearing these words.
"When I last saw Wentworth, he said that, if we were truly fortunate, we should be able to
acquire the services of a Midshipman Joseph Martin. And here you are -- so we are fortunate, are we not?" Harville smiled at the boy.
"If you says so, sir." At least Harville seemed to have recent knowledge of Captain Wentworth, though, if he were putting on in order to fill a complement, he would as easily drop the name of Wentworth as he would say he'd had tea with the Regent recently!
"Well, I do say so," said Harville as he rose from behind the desk. Making his way around the desk, he occasionally used it for balance. Sitting on the leading edge of the desk, he crossed his arms and took on a serious air. "Martin, since there are no secrets upon a Man of War, I am sure that the word has already gotten round to the men about the refitting."
"Aye, sir. We's heard a bit about something of that nature -- and that the crew has to be off her by the first watch tonight." If there was bad news for him, it would be coming in the next moment.
"And all of that is true. I don't want to lose the crew that we have and I intend to add to it -- if I am able to find a place to quarter them all. That is why I have asked you to come. The Captain has told me that you are a clever boy, and that you live close to Plymouth and know most of the goings on of the port. Is that true?"
Martin puffed up a bit knowing that his captain -- Captain Wentworth -- held him in such high regard as to speak well of him to a fellow officer. "Yes, sir. I live out in the country a ways, but I know what's what 'round Plymouth."
"Good! Then you shall help me to find a place where I can house forty-seven men, and add to them as time goes on."
"I would be most happy to, sir." With his saying such good words about him, Martin's feelings about Captain Harville were softening markedly. Even if he had shammed them all, and Captain Wentworth never showed up, perhaps he would not be such a bad sort to serve under -- perhaps.
"Now then," the woman spoke over her shoulder, in gusts. She was a little out of breath, for she was walking quickly. The afternoon light was fading and the fog was beginning to roll in. "Two more blocks and just to the right, and we're there!"
"Two?" Elsa Harville struggled to keep up with her companion. She simply could not hurry, there was so much to see, even in the mist! But she forced herself to go on, caught between excitement and apprehension. In a short time she would see the house her husband had chosen for them in Plymouth.
"Come along, dear," Mrs Wescott called cheerfully, as she waited at next corner. "It is not far, now. Let me see. Doctor Hamilton and his wife live just there," she pointed down a side street, "and Mister Findlay, he's the banker's nephew, don't you know, he lives in that house over there. The one with the red door, although," she squinted, "you cannot see it in all this mist, can you? And here we go, up this little way ... and we'll turn to the right, there ... but I already told you that, didn't I?" she chuckled. "Goodness, my shocking memory!"
Mrs. Harville's steps slowed as she looked around her in wonder. In this area of Plymouth, every block made a difference, and the neighborhood was becoming more respectable with each step! Their last house in this city had been extremely modest, dingy, even ... but now! Captain Harville was returning to sea and had been promised full pay, which would make quite a difference in what they could afford. Tears came to Elsa's eyes as she spied ruffled curtains at the windows of one house, and a painted half-barrel with early primroses beside the door of another. What sort of house had Timothy rented?
Now Mrs Wescott was removing a key from her pocket. "We shan't need this, I'm sure, but I'll have it ready, just in case. The workmen are probably here this afternoon, finishing up."
"The ... workmen?"
"Aye. Your husband thought the house needed a thorough cleaning and set some fellows to work straightway, although don't you be telling Mrs Hyatt that! The walls were due to be painted Friday or Saturday, if I remember aright. The men were glad to get the work, you know, and already the place looks so much better!"
She stepped up to a tall brick house, which seemed enormous to Elsa, after such tiny lodgings in Lyme. "And here we are! My, isn't this nice!" Mrs Wescott beamed. "The door shines so! I'm not certain whether the paint is wet or not!" She opened the gleaming green door, while Elsa Harville remained rooted to the sidewalk, dumbstruck.
"Oh, Mrs Wescott ..." she managed at last. Such a house! Two stories high, four shuttered windows facing the street on each level, and an empty flowerbox beneath every window. "It's so ... so like ... home." Elsa covered her mouth with her hands to quiet the sob which rose in her throat. This exceeded everything!
Once inside, Elsa tiptoed from one empty room to another, examining the large front parlour, the generous dining room, the kitchen, and the wide oak staircase which led to the upstairs bedrooms. She was scarcely able to breathe. Surely there must be something wrong! But what was it? For everything about this house was perfectly wonderful!
The furnishings (what she could see of them, for they had been pushed aside and stacked, to facilitate the cleaning), were tasteful and had been well cared-for. Elsa removed her gloves and knelt to inspect a large rolled carpet. The pattern could not be seen, but the nap looked to be in very good condition. Elsa's eyes widened in surprise. If she didn't know any better, she would swear this was a Wilton carpet, an unheard-of luxury for the Harvilles.
Her eyes travelled around the parlour; it was a beautiful room, even when empty. The walls and ceiling were smooth and spotlessly white, the woodwork shone. She felt the surface of the floor with a bemused smile. Her husband had indeed hired men to do the work on this house, seasoned men of the sea, no doubt. For these floors had not been not waxed, they had been freshly varnished, as were the doors and window casings. The window glass sparkled, and ...
"Mrs Wescott," Elsa called out, her voice strained with emotion. As the woman poked her head in at the parlour door, Elsa got to her feet and gestured to the crisp, snowy curtains at each window. "These beautiful curtains," she whispered. "Did ..."
"Aye, we all had a hand in that, we did!" Mrs Wescott gave a chuckle of pleasure. "Mrs Strahm, and Mrs Joyner, and Mrs Clement, and Mrs Boyd, and I. It was a bit of work, but they did turn out well."
Elsa could say nothing, her heart was too full. To have such friends -- and a beautiful home! So many years of thriftiness and scrimping since Timothy's injury -- doing everything possible to guard his pride as the provider, living in the humblest of dwellings, being so careful not to complain overmuch at the myriad of inconveniences -- and now, this! All at once it occurred to her that Mrs Wescott was still speaking. Elsa clasped her hands tightly together, to quiet their trembling, and did her best to pay attention.
"... and while I'm thinking on it, I do have a list for the dinners ... if I can remember where I put it. " Mrs Wescott hunted in her pocket and produced a folded paper. "Here we are. Now. Tonight, that's Monday, isn't it, you're to sup with the Ingersolls. You husband told me he would be quite late in joining you there, so you're to go ahead without him. And to-morrow, it will be the Everetts, and Wednesday ..."
"My friend, we are surely able to eat at the inn until ..." Elsa's voice came out as a whisper.
"Oh, my, no!" Mrs Wescott's eyes twinkled merrily. "We have tussled over this schedule between us more than is properly Christian, I am sure. For we all have missed you sorely and everyone wants to have you at table, in turn, for the next two weeks at least! Now, as I was saying, Wednesday night you're to eat with us ..."
"With ... but the prayer group, Mrs Wescott, and the work to prepare for all of those people! We would be right underfoot ..."
"Now, you're not to fret. I've got Gert to help, and Mr Wescott's not useless, either, you know. He can move around the chairs and things, like he does each week. All told, it will be easiest to have you here that night. You may put the children to sleep in the upstairs bedroom, and stay as long as you like. I'm sure you'll be wanting the wee one nearby, instead of way off at that inn with Molly." Mrs Wescott patted Elsa's shoulder kindly. "It will do my heart good to see you there, my dear. It will do all of us good. None of us can find the words to say how glad we are to have you amongst us again."
The tears which threatened all afternoon now spilled onto Elsa Harville's cheeks. "Nor can I, dear Mrs Wescott," she smiled, "nor can I."
"Sir, if I might not be thought impertinent for saying so, that was a brilliant ploy, telling Mr Budgery that you'd sooner take all those men to your own home, as pay such a shocking price for the lease of his ship. You are a sharp negotiator, sir."
"Yes, well thank you. I wanted him to realise that I was in earnest when I said I would not bow to such obvious blackmail."
"And a fine speech it was, sir," complimented Martin, thinking about the last of the mens'
exchange.
"You need the Moonshine, Captain Harville. I am quite certain that Captain Wentworth will think you very clever for conceiving of such an inventive plan to save his infant crew. He will not begrudge me the profit and you will be a hero to him. We both will shine in this.""Shine? Certainly you will shine, Budgery! You will make a pile of money if I agree to these terms. Suits of spun gold will no longer be out of your reach! As for Wentworth, the Captain is well-off because he, like yourself, does not take the bad end of a bargain. If I oblige him to this amount of money, the words 'shine' and 'hero' will not be anything like the words he will use to describe me! I reiterate my offer, ninety-seven pounds now -- that is a pound per head, per month for the forty-seven men. A pound and five for each new man sent aboard -- and with you providing the paint and materials, the Laconias will make as many improvements as our time and talents will allow. This is all I will agree to, and I must have your answer by the first gun this evening. Good day, Mr Budgery."
"Captain Harville -- me, my terms and my Moonshine are your only option, as all other available ships are being used to carry troops to the continent, you are not going to find another solution to your dilemma -- I urge you to agree to my terms -- now."
"Mr Budgery, I would sooner pack up the lot of them and take them home to live with me, than agree to terms such as yours! Again, sir, good day."
With that hasty snipe, Harville and Martin had left Mr Budgery to his extortionate activities. The sound of Martin's voice brought him back to the present.
" ... we would have come out better had we given him a straight hundred for the first two months and then paid by the head as they were added, sir. I know you are counting on using that scow no longer than two months, but if the refit should prove longer, and you are able to add many more to the crew, a pound and five a head, per month will add up to a pile of money."
"Yes I know, Martin. But I had to give him something. He liked that ninety-four pounds he is to receive, but even better was you pointing out that all those men would need occupation, and rather than kicking their heels, destroying his ship, they could be put to work painting, repairing and prettying the Moonshine." Harville had not appreciated the boy's interruption when it had occurred. But after seeing Budgery's cheeks grow pink at the prospect of being paid for the privilege of having his own ship refit, the Captain forgave the transgression and grew to appreciate the mids' abilities to persuade.
"His eyes did sparkle at that notion, didn't they? Though I though it very cheeky that he presume that we would furnish the materials."
"It most certainly was, but cheek has gotten him all that he has. He can't be expected to put it aside just for Crown and Country, now can he? I just hope that he is greedy enough, and that no one has shown any interest in that tub for a long enough time, that he agrees to the terms -- outrageous as they are." While putting forth a confident front to Martin, Harville was actually dreadful of Wentworth's reaction to the amount of money he had been obliged to offer Budgery. Not that it could be helped.
"I hope you do not think me disrespectful, sir, but what are you going to do if we have not heard from him by the first gun?"
Harville grunted. While he had been bluffing with Budgery about taking all those men into his very own home, he was now thinking that it might be something he could actually pull off. As it would cost far too much to keep the crew at an inn, if he left Elsa and the children at the inn -- no, he would need Elsa to cook for the men -- no, Rutland was doing a good enough job -- that would mean that there would be three, perhaps four rooms for the men to sling their hammocks in. If that were not enough, there was the attic, as the lower rooms would be needed to all the cordage and extra timbers they were taking off the ship. (Harville saw no sense in leaving extra stores to be pillaged by the wrights, and then having to begin all over again when they got the Laconia back.) Or perhaps he should ship them in the small garden behind the house, but was it large enough to stow all that? He wondered. After thinking on the material goods, he determined that he would have to sneak the men in by the cover of night -- the neighbours would put up such a fuss if they were to see forty-seven sailors with sea bags -- there should be no problems with the workmen he had hired, the whole place should be cleaned by now -- no one else should be wanting in -- d*mn, all those barrels of water and provisions -- and the wood! The front parlour -- excellent!
"I may have some unanticipated guests for a while, Martin. How would you feel about living on the Hill for a time?"
"The Hill, sir?"
"Aye, let me explain ... "
"This is such an elegant residence, Anne! How exciting it must be for you to live here!" As Mary mounted the staircase, her spirits did likewise. "Uppercross is so dreadfully flat at this time of year. In fact, it grows more dreary by the day, now that Louisa is gone and Henrietta is to be married. I cannot tell you what a refreshing change this is!"
Anne searched her mind for a tactful answer. She could hardly agree with any of her sister's observations. The way she was behaving, it sounded as though she was glad to have left her ailing husband behind!
"Here are the bedchambers, Mary." Anne decided that a safe answer was best. But what to say next? The afternoon was rapidly passing into evening; her father and Elizabeth had not returned. And as Mr Musgrove's travelling carriage was being walked up and down the street below, something would have to be settled, and soon. It was beginning to look as if she would be the one to break the unpleasant news. Her sister's next words did not help matters.
"And in which rooms shall we be staying?" Mary eagerly eyed the hallway lined with doors. "I should like to have my trunks brought up, and then I shall need a little rest before dinner, you know. I am quite exhausted, for I have had the most harrowing time! We have been travelling since daybreak and ... but I already told you all that, didn't I? Bless me! But, once I am recovered, I am certain I shall have a lovely time here in Bath."
"But what about poor Charles," Anne burst out. "Wouldn't you be too worried about him to ... " She turned to face her sister. The way Mary was behaving ... was this to be some sort of holiday? Suddenly Anne did not feel so sorry for her sister's sufferings. Perhaps Charles was not gravely ill after all! If this was so, it would put things in quite a different light! Anne decided to address the matter of accommodations head-on.
"Mary, I must tell you plainly, you shall not be able to stay with us during this visit. Let me show you why." She turned on her heel and led the way down the hall.
"But ... surely you must be mistaken, Anne!" Mary sputtered, as she followed closely behind. "Not able to stay? But we must! Now, just a minute, Anne. I know Father said this house has six bedchambers! There are only four of you; that leaves two to spare!"
"That is true, but there are a few ... complications. Here is one of the 'spare' rooms, which I doubt you will like." Anne opened a door. "You may see for yourself, it is completely uninhabitable."
And so it was. Mary peered into the dim little room. "It is a very tiny ..." Her words died away as the meaning of Anne's words came home. For from floor to ceiling, the room was stacked with packing cases and trunks, odds-and-ends of furniture, and the like. "But ... it's stuffed full!" Mary said at last. "All of this ... whatever it is ... will need to be cleared away before Jemima and the boys can sleep here tonight!" Mary moistened her lips. "It will not be so bad, as a room for them. Er, what is all of this, anyway?"
"Things from Kellynch which we have nowhere else to store, Mary. Much of it is, er, clothing and the like. And items which Father and Elizabeth do not wish to display in the main rooms any longer. They are very sensitive about not being behind the times, now that we are in town."
"Yes, of course, anyone may understand that!" Mary followed her sister out of the room. "But this room must be emptied! And right away!"
The look of mulish determination on Mary's face was comical. If Anne was not so mortified by her sister's outrageous and unmannerly demand, she would have laughed outright. "And where do you suggest we put these things ... since there is nowhere else to store them?"
"Oh, somewhere! How should I know? What about in one of the servant's rooms? Or in yours? But I do know there are guest quarters, Anne! Father said so."
"Mmmm. But he has been doing some redecoration. I am certain I mentioned it in one of my letters. The room is in a shamb ... Er, come and see." Anne decided to let the situation speak for itself. She led her sister to the proper door.
"Then it should be just right for me, nice and freshly done and ..." For the second time that morning Mary was bereft of speech as she took in the condition of the room. It was spacious and wonderfully bright, but in hopeless disarray. The larger pieces of furniture were stacked together against one wall and were draped with Holland cloth. The smell of paint was very strong. Covering the wall opposite the windows was the mural. It was not quite complete, yet it dominated the room. The quality of the work was undeniable.
Mary threaded her way past the artist's equipment and came to stand in front of it. "Well, I never!" she said at last. "Is this what Father has been up to? It is very grand! But ... what is it supposed to be?"
"It is the Italian countryside, at midsummer," Anne answered, bemused at Mary's sudden change of interest. She had forgotten how much her sister lived in the present moment. "Or at least, it was intended to be Italy, originally. Do you see the olive and cypress trees? There is a Grecian temple on that little rise of land, there," she pointed.
"Yes ... and a puddle of mud, right in front. Why would anyone put that in a painting?"
"Perhaps as a ... compliment to beauty?" Anne murmured. "Muddy pools with a little ... slime?" She swallowed a chuckle. Whatever would Captain Benwick say if he could see this mural? "But seriously, I suppose it is not fair to judge what that spot shall be, as the artist is not yet finished. Er, do be careful, Mary, not to touch anything. The paint is quite wet in places."
Mary pulled her hand away from the wall and hid it from Anne's view; her fingertips were smudged with oily paint. "So I see," she grumbled, and found a rag to wipe them on. "But ... if this is Greece, what is this building, here?"
"That is a ... Chinese pagoda, I believe," Anne replied, with a slight tremour in her voice. "There was some disagreement over what the mural was to portray, after it was begun. Father has some new friends who are quite keen on Chinese antiquities; he could not rest until this was included."
"Oh." Mary took it all in, impressed; her need for accommodations completely forgotten. "But what is this? A stick of chalk?"
"Well ..." It took all of Anne's self-possession to maintain a grave countenance. "Mrs Clay did mention that she thought an Egyptian theme was in vogue just now, and Father agreed."
"Mrs Clay! The solicitor's daughter? She is nothing but a hired companion! What has she to say about anything?"
"Father was quite taken with the idea, Mary," Anne sighed, "and you know how he is when something strikes his fancy. It was to be a pyramid, with sand dunes and desert palms. Elizabeth and I convinced him to have an Egyptian obelisk, instead."
"Sand dunes, in Greece! Really! Isn't that just like Mrs Clay!" Mary shook her head in disgust. "And this? What are these pencil marks to be?"
"Er, that is a bit of whimsy, put in by the artist," Anne explained, a little sheepishly. "As everyone else has had their part in this, he asked me what I would like to see there."
"He asked ... what infernal cheek!"
"So," Anne continued, choosing to overlook her sister's remark, "not thinking he was serious, I thought of something Italian and suggested it ... as this is supposed to be Italy."
"And?"
"That will be the ... Leaning Tower of Pisa," Anne said, unsteadily, "er, when it is completed."
"Bless me! A tilting tower?" Mary stared at her sister. "At least the Egyptian what-do-you-call-it is standing straight!" She turned back to the wall and shook her head in amazement. "Well! This is quite something! When does the artist return to finish it? For we must have this jumble cleared out of here right away, if we are to use this room tonight!"
"He comes on Thursdays and Fridays. Truly, he has made remarkable progress in a very short time; the mural is due be completed in two or three weeks. Er, Mary, I'm afraid we shall not be able to use this room until then. I am sorry, but that is how it is."
But an idea began to occur to Mary just then; she heard almost nothing of her sister's answer. "I wonder ..." Her eyes began to sparkle. "Anne, do you suppose I could have something put in, as well as you? I mean, Really! How can Father allow a person like Mrs Clay to take precedence over his own daughter? It is bad enough that she stays here, while the boys and I are forced to stay ..."
Mary turned to face her sister, her eyes wide with sudden comprehension. "Goodness! Where shall we stay? Since you will do nothing for your own sister ... and her poor children?"
"If we had only known of your coming, perhaps something might have been arranged ahead of time ... a room at an inn could have been spoken for," Anne said gently. "I am very sorr..."
"A room at an ... well! That settles it!" Mary interrupted. "Yes! We have no other choice, have we?" She smiled broadly. "And I know the very thing! We shall stay at the White Hart, as we did when last we came with the Musgroves. They had the loveliest set of rooms, Anne, with a view of the entrance to the Pump Room. You cannot imagine all of the interesting people who passed in and out last year! Yes, it shall be quite perfect!"
"A ... set of rooms? Is that not rather expensive?"
"Perhaps, a little," Mary shrugged. "But the boys require space, Anne! I have no choice! And besides, Papa Musgrove has already thought of that. He gave me a whole wad of money when we left, ever so much! Enough for weeks and weeks, I daresay. He said I am not to worry about anything while I am here, and so I shan't!"
"I ... see."
"But about this mural ... and then we must be on our way, to arrange the rooms! I shall speak to Father about it as soon as I can! For I would choose to have something truly magnificent put in, much better than a Grecian temple or a crooked building! Or an Egyptian whatever-it-is. Something English. Something worthy of the noble name of Elliot. Yes." Mary smiled in simple pride. "Winchester Cathedral, right there!"
Anne took her lip between her teeth and bit down, hard. She must not laugh! "That ... that would be ... just the thing, Mary," she managed. It would be just the thing to make 'Elliot's Folly' the talk of the town!
A light rain began to fall over Bath, as the afternoon deepened into evening. In the mansion atop the Belsom Park Estate, a tall man stood looking out of the dining room windows at the city below. The soft candlelight glanced off of the gold lace on his naval uniform, and gave his russet hair a burnished glow. In his hand was a stack of place cards. A clock began to chime the hour; he came to himself with a start. The dinner guests would soon be arriving; he had best be about the task of arranging the seating.
"Lionel, here, with Gliddy," he murmured, as he set the cards before the gleaming silver chargers on the perfectly laid table. "Townsend, here. And Croft, mmmm, best seat him as far from Glidcrest as possible, eh? Ah! Over there, beside Brigden." This was to be a gentlemen's dinner, as were all he had given since returning to Bath last year. He moved to come around the foot of the table.
But Patrick McGillvary hesitated as he passed by the empty seat. For the barest moment, he wondered what it would be like to have a wife to grace his table once again. His daughter Cleora had lately returned to her aunt's home in Richmond, where she had lived since her mother's death three years ago. Although her visit had been brief, Belsom now seemed empty without her. He quickly shook off the sentimental thought and continued with his task. But the idea persisted.
"A wife, hah!" he grumbled, as he placed the remaining cards. "Of all the idiotic, ill-considered ... and Hell will freeze over, Gliddy, before she is seated at my table!" His eye kindled at the memory of his last dinner at this man's home, where Glidcrest had positively thrust his niece, or whoever she was, at him. "What a simpleton!" McGillvary continued muttering to himself. "The chit was not yet eighteen! A companion for my daughter! Not a fit wife for me!"
He stepped back and surveyed the gorgeously-appointed table; all was in readiness. I would be a fool to marry again, he told himself. Claire had been eighteen when they wed, and how mistaken he had been in her! The Admiral tugged absently at the cuffs of his beautifully tailored coat as he thought. I was not deceived in her character, exactly, but in her lack of spir ... He caught up short; one should not think ill of the dead. For Claire had been everything their daughter was now: pretty, and smiling, and agreeable, and ... timid. Which are admirable qualities in a marriageable young woman, he reminded himself. Which is why I shall never take another wife! For I cannot abide a ... He winced, but the thought came anyway ... a coward.
James Benwick stood beneath the portico overlooking the back garden, and listened to the evening rain. He closed his eyes, savouring the textures of sound made by the patter of the drops on the leaves of the ancient rhododendrons. The garden was wide and deep, with a sweeping lawn and a thick evergreen hedge at the back. Although the trees were bare, spring was on the way, the signs were all around. There were birds chattering this evening. Chauntecleer abutted an extensive estate; just beyond the hedge was a small lake, a haven for waterfowl. James took a puff on his cigar and made another turn about the terrace.
In the gathering dark, he could just make out the white wicket gate which led to Yee's kitchen garden. The thought of the Yees brought a lopsided smile to his lips. After all their work to make his person more agreeable today, he wondered what the final result would be. Probably nothing, he sighed. Anne had been awkward and shy this afternoon, more so than he had ever seen her before. And to think that in Lyme, it was just the opposite! He flicked some ash onto the pavement and scuffed at it with the toe of his shoe. In Lyme, Anne had been the one to begin the acquaintance, she had initiated those first conversations. And yet today ...
Today he was with her ... again. That cousin. James' brow clouded as he thought about the tender scene he had interrupted. If he didn't know any better, he would say his arrival had caused Anne great agitation. But as the afternoon progressed, she grew more like herself, and even seemed to enjoy his company. That was something, at least.
So next time, Benwick, don't arrive early! He sighed and stamped out the cigar. His mind was too full to enjoy the beauties of the evening, and besides, there was work to be done. He reentered the house and made his way to the library.
But unfortunately, even the most exacting task was not enough to drive Anne Elliot from his mind. And the task was a grim one. It was not long before Benwick was glaring at the ledger in disgust; the figures would not tally correctly. Even after he had double-checked the entries, everything was in a hopeless muddle. He set his teeth and began to add the column of figures for the third time. Surely the solicitor could not have made such a bungle of it! But the numbers on the page faded from sight as a voice, his own voice, resounded in his memory.
Your hair is like a flock of goats, going down from Mount Gilead ...
James threw down the pen and clapped his hand over his eyes. "Of all the idiotic, asinine things to say to her!" he muttered. "Could I possibly have said anything more Boeotian! Hair like ... goats! Gah!"
He had kicked himself all the way home, and after, for this cloddish quotation. For it occurred to him then, that when considered individually, goats were ugly, smelled bad, and were covered with flies! I marvel that she did not boot me from the house! he grimaced. No wonder she thought I was speaking of Fanny! The poor girl!
Benwick began to pick at the pen as he wrestled with his thoughts, pulling the vane of the feather apart, then mending it again. This absurd pursuit of Anne was becoming more impossible by the moment, in ways entirely unforeseen. He thought about tomorrow's Poetry Reading at Lady Dalrymple's; it would probably be his undoing!
"That idiot Turner would never be so foolish, to liken a lovely young woman to a goat!" he muttered. "Or that invidious smiling cousin, whoever he is! Humph! And I considered myself to be such an expert in the art of loving a woman. Bah! I am the veriest abecedarian!"
He turned back to the ledger with determination. One way or another, he would drive the thoughts of Anne from his mind. But the dark ink on the page reminded him of her dark eyes, and her eyes reminded him of his remark about the doves, and the goats, and his stupidity, and ...
He continued berating himself silently, until the opening of the library door caused him to look up. Old Mr Yee entered with a tray, accompanied by the delicious aroma of freshly-made coffee. He came up to the desk, settled the tray, and began to pour out a cup. "Would you care for coff-ee, sir." This was not a question, as he knew Benwick's after-dinner habits.
James leant back in the chair and watched as Old Mr Yee added the exact amounts of cream and sugar and placed the cup on the desk. Always awake upon every suit, the man had studied even the smallest of his preferences. "Mrs Yee sends up a little cake. She no-ticed you did not have any with your dinner." As he set the plate, fork, and napkin on the desk, he added, "At one time this was your partic-u-lar favorite, was it not?" Old Mr Yee finished with the tray and turned to go.
"Thank you, Yee," Benwick replied quietly, and then he laid eyes on the cake. It was a wonderful moist spice cake, Mrs Yee's specialty, with a delicious burnt-sugar glaze, but ...
"Yee!" he growled. "What is this? There are two pieces here!"
Old Mr Yee was unperturbed. "Yes, Captain. Is there some-thing wrong? You always have two." His face remained impassive. "It save time to bring now. More efficient."
"Oh, is it?"
"But of course. It save you having to ask, and me, having to come up-stairs from kitchen with second piece."
"I would like only one, Yee. Now, take the other back." James took a sip of the perfectly made coffee. "Give it to Jonathan," he murmured, over the rim of the cup. "He likes this cake very well, as I recall."
"Very good, sir. But it was his idea to send to you." Old Mr Yee's eyes began to twinkle. "He has pretty young wife, now. He want to keep his boyish figure. He does not want cake."
"Oh he does, does he? Then you eat it, Yee!"
Old Mr Yee assumed his most dignified posture. "I have pretty young wife, too," He returned the plate to the tray with precision. "Young compared to me. I also want to keep my boyish, er, physique."
"And I would like to get a wife in the first place, thank you," James grumbled, good naturedly. He had forgotten how much he had learned from these bantering exchanges with Yee, in how far one could go when sparring with a superior. He probably owed his friendship with Frederick Wentworth to this man. James found himself biting back a smile as he waited to see what the response would be.
Old Mr Yee did not disappoint. He raised an eyebrow as he took up the tray. "Might I respectfully suggest, Master Yames, that you employ a little dis-cipline and self-control in the matter?"
"I did use self-control, Yee," James complained. "I left that cake on the sideboard, where it belonged!"
"Indeed. So you did. Very good, sir." Yee bowed and left the room. James watched him go, but not without a pang; he did not like to waste that cake. Mrs Yee was right, it was his very favourite. He turned back to the ledger with a sigh. Now he had two regrets: Anne ... and those uneaten pieces of cake!
But the round with Old Mr Yee was not over. Several minutes later, a soft knock sounded on the library door. In response to his command, it opened. James put down his pen and stared in amazement. Without thinking, he rose to his feet. For there, on the threshold, carrying a covered plate, was one of the loveliest young women he had ever seen.
Benwick had never had an interest in foreign women, especially the sort which were encountered by the men of the Navy. But this graceful Chinese girl, with her beautiful dark eyes and sweet, heart-shaped face ... she was loveliness itself. She could not have been more than fifteen or sixteen, but who was she? Then it dawned on him; this was Gloria Yee, Jonathan's wife. No wonder the man had put himself back into service in order to marry!
"Please, sir," the girl approached the desk shyly. "This cake ... for you." She blushed, and dropped a tiny curtsey. "My father send ... eh ..." She had obviously come to the end of her English vocabulary. "My father send ... for you."
After she left the library, James looked down at the plate on the desk. "Why the devil did Yee see fit to cover this?" he muttered. But a moment later, after he removed the silver dome, he knew ... and he burst into laughter. For there on the plate was his one piece of cake ... one truly enormous piece! As usual, Old Mr Yee had won.
"Take it, Martin. You've been eyeing that last bit of pudding since I started my brandy. Besides, you deserve it for all your expert help in finding Budgery and helping to negotiate such a good deal. To you Martin." Harville raised his glass and toasted the mid.
Blushing furiously, Martin replied, "It was nothing, sir. I think you frightened the gentleman with that last remark about taking the men home -- he weren't certain that you might not just!"
Harville gave Martin a relieved look. "As I told you, I had it all planned out in my mind. Had things not gone differently, you'd even now be slinging a hammock in my attic." Raising his glass again, Harville said, "I give you Mr Budgery and his barely on time, and tersely worded message."
"Mr Budgery," they chorused.
"As soon as we finish here, we shall head back and see how far the move has progressed. I hope that the Murder's Hand is able to deliver the beer before breakfast, the men will need something more satisfying than water, after being up all night."
"Yes, sir," Martin agreed simply, as he finally was able to tuck into the pudding. He had been with Captain Harville for the whole of the day and this last bonus for the men was sweetening the already good opinion he was forming of the man.
As with Captain Wentworth, Martin now knew more than a midshipman's share about Captain Harville. As they had gone about the day, Martin had discovered that Harville had been injured some years before and things had been grim, but with Wentworth's offering him a post, at full pay, he was now able to elevate his family's circumstances by leasing a nice house on the Hill. Martin also knew that Captain Harville was endeavouring to toughen his injured leg by not using his cane so much and that this strained Captain a great deal. He also now knew that Captain Wentworth would be arriving within a fortnight. Captain Harville had turned out not to be a sham at all.
Finishing the pudding and taking the proffered brandy, Martin worked up nerve to ask about Captain Wentworth. "Has the Captain been well during his time ashore, sir?"
The day having been what it was, it was impossible for Harville not to notice Martin's
uncommon loyalty to their captain. And so he took the question not as overreaching, but that of two sailors speaking about a mutual friend.
"Very well. In fact, he has married."
"Married, sir! How wonderful."
"Yes, he has taken the vows and now is one of my kind -- an old married gentlemen." Harville chuckled thinking of Wentworth in that way.
"I had wondered if he might not be leaning that way. He had mentioned that he would be staying for a time in Somerset, and that he had lived there for a time, years ago, and was anxious to see if the landscape had changed a great deal. By his tone, I did not take it that he was speaking of geography, sir."
Harville knew Wentworth had been in Somerset years ago. It was just after being made a
commander for the San Domingo action and before getting the Asp. But he had never spoken about any 'geography' in that district that had interested him. Though Harville always had the feeling that there was a woman, somewhere, that had touched his friend's heart.
"The lady is indeed from Somerset, but he never spoke of a previous acquaintance with her. And she is rather young, she'd only have been a child when he was in Somerset before. Anywise, he is now of the Familial Fraternity."
"I shall make it a point to wish him joy, when next I see him."
"Aye, you do that, Martin, for this being his first cruise after his marriage, it promises to be a rather difficult one, I assure you." Harville finished his brandy, paid the landlord and they pushed on to the Laconia.
Chapter 8, Part 1
On a typical Monday morning at the Rectory, the laundry was collected and that which needed mending, was mended. They sent that which needed the attention of the laundress out for that special attention. Mrs Graham and Mrs Wentworth did all the rest. While this was a situation that suited Catherine, Mrs Graham had never liked it much, and she especially disliked it this morning.
"Mrs Wentworth, please give that basket to me. I saw you clutchin' yourself yesterday. I know you been havin' hitches, which made me happy to go for Callow, but in the meanwhile, you have no business cartin' the washin' about. Here." Mrs Graham plucked the basket from Catherine's hands and left her standing alone in the kitchen.
Looking after Graham and the basket, Catherine thought about the woman's awkward expression. Had she not known the woman for most of her life, she might have taken it into her mind to feel insulted, but knowing the old housekeeper as she did, there was no offense to take.
Thinking how well she felt, Catherine attributed the 'hitches' of the previous day to the loosening of her over tightened nerves. Their company dinner had come off as well, and now she had nothing to be concerned over. She felt it to be a good thing that the midwife was not available until the following afternoon. Mrs Callow would have scolded her for being such a goose and calling her in for no good reason. The midwife might still call her a goose, Catherine would still have her to come, Edward had agreed and this opportunity was not to be lost.
Enough maundering about such things, Monday is the day for work, she scolded herself. "Mrs Graham, have you seen Mrs Wentworth. Since I breakfasted early, I missed them both," she called, as she went into the housekeeper.
"No, Ma'am, I've not seen her. She didn't come down as far as I am aware. The Captain took up a plate to her -- and an unholy amount he piled on, if I might be so bold. I couldn't tell whether she'd eaten any or not. There was so much left on the plate."
"I see. Well, men are never very good at judging things like a woman's appetites. I shall go up and see if they have anything to be washed. Surely he will need things taken care of before he departs Thursday ... "
"And what was I sayin' about you haulin' things about? Your ma will have my eyes if anything were to happen to you -- or that babe."
Catherine tsked, "For shame, Mrs Graham, my mother will have no one's eyes, least of all yours! I shall be very careful -- they are not all that large a people -- their clothes cannot weigh overly much." She smiled to Graham as she started up the back steps.
"That girl has never known her place, never in all her life," Mrs Graham muttered to the laundry basket as she began to pick through the clothes.
"Louisa?" Catherine called hesitantly, as she knocked upon the chamber door. "I've come to gather the washing ... have you anything needing the laundress? It will be back Wednesday ... oh! I am sorry ... I had hoped that you'd gone out for some air with the Captain."
Louisa sat on the bed, only looking up when Catherine entered the room. She tried as best she could to right her countenance, for she had been deep in thought, not giving much attention to what passed in the house. "What did you say, Mrs Wentworth? I was thinking ... ."
Catherine saw that the curtains had yet to be opened. As she made her way over to the window, she took stock of the young woman. Looking her over, Mrs Wentworth feared Louisa ill again for her complexion was pale and she was obviously tired. She had been very well the evening before, but perhaps the dinner had been too strenuous for her, causing her headache to return. Catherine asked as much.
"No ... no I have no headache. I just don't feel very well ... I ... I am not certain why." She hated lying to Mrs Wentworth, but how could she tell this woman of her worst mortification?
"Well, I think you should come downstairs. I shall give you a preparation that Mrs Junkins gave me ... she claims it to be a wonderful curative ... she said that all the plants are available here and so will help me concoct my own, come spring." Not wishing to pry further, Catherine stood, hands together and asked again after laundry.
Louisa thought about the sheets ... perhaps she could shade the truth and give them to her without explanation. "Now that you mention ... I did have to remove the sheets ... we ... I ... I ... ." As she spoke, she retrieved them from behind the screen. Carrying them to Catherine, she tried to keep the stain in the middle of the bundle along with the nightclothes.
Seeing the look on the girl's face, she knew immediately what had happened. "Ah! An accident. Not to worry, I will do these here, no need to send them out ... ." Taking the sheets, and patting Louisa on the arm, she said, "It happens to us all, sometimes these things catch us by surprise and this is the result. It is nothing to bother yourself with, really." As she turned, she caught her foot on the bedstead. To right herself, Catherine let go the bundle and reached for the door frame. "Lor, how clumsy I have become!" she muttered.
Before she could reach for the sheets, Louisa jumped to them and began to gather them up. Catherine could not help but notice Louisa's lovely pink silk was amongst the sheets. She supposed that was to be expected. Though it was puzzling for the Captain's clothing to be included.
The two women stood, neither knowing what they could say. The young woman's face having flushed furiously, was now paling as Catherine took the linens from her.
Catherine finally broke the silence. "I shall bring you more sheets and if you will help me, we will get the bed fitted up for sleeping again." She quickly moved to the door, thinking that Louisa wished to be alone.
"Yes ... I should be happy to help with the bed. Um, Mrs Wentworth?" The words left her mouth before she knew it.
"Yes?"
"May I ask you something?
Catherine stopped. "Certainly, Louisa."
"Is ... is it always so ... so awful?" she asked, indicating the sheets.
Looking from the sheets to Louisa, Catherine was relieved when she heard her husband's voice.
"Catherine! Catherine ... where are you, girl?"
"I shall be right back," she whispered to Louisa. "I am here," she called, rising from the bed. "What do you need, dear?" she said, through the slightly open door.
"What is wrong?" he whispered. The Rector could see a look of concern on Catherine's face. It was bothersome to him that she was, again, so soon closeted away with the younger Mrs Wentworth. He fleetingly wondered if it concerned the baby. Dismissing this, he wondered if Louisa's staying with them might be more than Catherine had strength to bear.
"Everything is fine ... where is your brother?"
"He is downstairs ... we were just going over to Abernathy's ... Frederick has something to discuss with him ... is she ill again, do we need to fetch the Doctor here?"
"No ... she is fine. The two of you will be gone for a time then?"
"Yes ... two ... perhaps three hours. We will be back in time for dinner. Are you sure this is not something Frederick should see to? I do not wish you to take on more than is your place."
"No ... this is precisely my place. She needs a woman just now ... not him. Don't mention this ... there is no need to cause him any concern." Giving Edward a quick kiss, she smiled. Given their recent determination on these matters, it was odd that she, of all people, should be conversing about this subject with Louisa. "I will miss you, and we are having a roly-poly for dessert ... don't be late."
"A rolled pudding? ... on a Monday? Have you found treasure in the garden and not told me?"
"No, just a whim. Besides, everything else will be left over from yesterday. I felt the need to compensate you."
"I see ... I think such a magnificent sweet to be more than adequate recompense. Be careful," he said, nodding toward the room, "Do not do more than you should ... and send for that Callow woman ... please."
"I shall be very good ... and I have sent for her, she cannot come until tomorrow. Now take your brother to Abernathy's." She bussed him hurriedly on his cheek, rushing him down to the Captain. Then, satisfied he had gone, she closed the door and returned to Louisa. "They are off to Dr Abernathy's. They shall be gone a good long time." Bending to fetch the sheets, she straightened and said, "You ask a difficult question, my dear. I will answer it, but instead of sitting here, wringing our hands, we shall go down and wash these out. Come along."
The older woman headed out the door and Louisa quickly rose, gave her eyes a quick wipe and followed.
"Mrs Graham wishes me to do a little less today, so," she tossed the sheets into one of the buck-baskets, to be boiled clean. "That being the case, we will mend. Oh, mustn't allow this in there!" she exclaimed, pulling out the silken gown. "We shall set this to soak."
It took some waiting, but the girl arrived to help Mrs Graham with the laundry and that being started, Catherine took Louisa into the sitting room with the mending.
"I am not at all good with a needle. You could see that last night."
"I saw. We shall remedy that by practice. You said that your sister plays many musical instruments, so you understand the value of practice."
"Yes, though there is much to be said for natural talent. I have none for music and I think I have none for needlework either."
"That is quite all right, Louisa." Catherine took up a pair of the Rector's stockings. "Just as no one is born playing an instrument, no one is born being proficient with a needle." Looking at Louisa, she said, "I suppose there is really nothing that does not take a certain amount of patience to master. Patience is the only solution." She turned her attention back to the stocking.
Buttoning the top button of his great coat, Frederick settled back into the seat of the gig. Other than a fleeting thought that the cart needed new springs, he paid no attention to anything in particular. Not to the passing scenery or his brother's occasional comment. All he chose to do was remember the previous night.
A single candle, along with the fire and the fading moon had provided the only light in the room at that late hour. He had poked and prodded the wood in the hearth, it had caught right off, but now, he was merely keeping himself busy. The sounds from behind the screen had been impossible not to hear. There had been Louisa's sharp intake of breath as she had removed her nightdress and begun to wash in the cold of the room; the fire had not yet warmed the air. He heard the water as it fell back into the basin when she wrung the cloth. He was not certain, but he fancied that he could hear the cloth glide over her skin as she washed. No, that could not be real. It was only his own guilt causing him to hear things. She would not be so anxious to wash -- to wash away all traces of him -- had he not caused her to cry out as she had.
Daring a look, he had watched. Her head and shoulders were visible, though disappearing as she bent. As her head passed out of sight and into a clean nightdress, he thought how cruel it was that this act, trumpeted from all quarters as one of love, could be so pleasurable to him and yet so painful to her. The difference between men and women being so great in this, he wondered, apart from violence, how did the human race manage to carry on?
Without looking in his direction, she had slipped from behind the screen and quickly gone to the bed. As she raised the blankets to get in, he cleared his throat and reminded her, "We should strip the sheets ... don't you think?"
The sound of his voice made her start. Glancing quickly his way, and then looking at the bed, she said, "I suppose I should. I ... had not thought ... ." Her words trailed away, there was nothing more she could think to say. Tugging weakly at the blankets, she began the task.
"Let me help you, " he said quietly, as he had moved to her side.
Just standing by her, he felt her stiffen. His very presence seemed to cause her pain. Taking the blankets, he laid them aside and took the sheets out of her hands. "I am sorry," was all she said as they worked.
"We shall have to make due with the blankets ... I have no idea where the linens might be kept ... that will be all right, will it not?"
"Yes ... that shall be all right. I am sorry."
Halting his work, he said more harshly than meant, "Please, stop saying that. There is nothing to be sorry for. It is nature ... and you cannot help nature. Neither can I." He continued to put the bed in order.
Their movements and exertions while accomplishing the chore of stripping the bed seemed more elaborate than they really were. The whole of it possessed a dreamlike quality. Not really a dream, more like a nightmare. One of those horrid phantasms that progress sweetly and gently, until comes a moment so wonderful, your dream-self is lost in the amazement of it all, and suddenly, that joyful landscape disappears in fear and panic. Everything considered beautiful and comforting, takes on dangerous proportions and there is no place safe enough to hide from the evil that seems to surround. The beginning of the evening had been beautiful and comforting, and just as in a nightmare, there had come a second when it all had turned so horribly bad.
All he desired was to forget the unpleasantness which had passed between them. He wished nothing more than to take her in his arms and beg her forgiveness. His rational mind knew there was nothing to forgive. The way of a man with a woman was always fraught with pain. Unfortunately, a woman's first time was only pain, from all he had ever heard. He could not help but think of the coarse and ignorant jesting, along with generous bouts of laughter at countless late night conversations, at countless tables, over countless miles of the sea. As a young officer, he had taken little part in any of it, not out of gallantry, but out of a fear that his own inexperience might be found out. No, he had not taken part, but he had listened intently enough.
Those conversations were years and miles away. He could have forgone every last one of them, for all the wisdom they had imparted. The truth was, only a cruel and thoughtless man could take much pleasure in the suffering he had caused Louisa. While he was not such a man, cruel and thoughtless he felt. The evening had begun gently and lovingly. It had pleased him that as his passion had mounted, she had met it with an equal amount of her own. He had not discerned any change until her desperate whisper made him know that something was wrong. He had come to his senses just at the moment of release and so her plea had meant very little--they had accomplished the deed.
If he were more skilled with words, he could possibly have brought some comfort to her -- and himself. But then, there were really no words that one could say in such a circumstance, he would have to stumble blindly through this, as he had stumbled through most of this marriage, thus far.
He had tossed the sheets behind the dressing screen as she replaced the blankets and coverlet. She quickly slid beneath them and pulled them to her neck. In all the preparations for bed, she had grown terribly cold and now lay shivering.
He had changed quickly, and joined her in the bed. They had lay silent and still for a few moments when he decided to take his own course. Without saying anything, he enfolded her in his arms. She had said nothing, but had tried desperately to pull away. He would not release her. Finally, she lay in his arms, rigid and silent. Frederick was afraid that now, was he to let go, she might spring from the bed. He knew that he revolted her, she had said as much with her pleas for him to stop. It had all happened together, his pleasure, her pleading -- it all blended to make a nightmarish hodgepodge of touch and sound and emotion. It had ...
"Frederick! Did you hear me?" Edward asked.
Frederick looked at his brother with a blank stare. "No ... no, I did not, what were you saying?"
"I was saying that if you and Abernathy cannot work out terms for the mare, then we could go by the Tedlow's. He does not have horses, but his brother does, he can tell us if his brother's got anything worth going to have a look at." Glancing at his brother, Edward saw that he had gone back to thinking. "Have you said anything to your wife about staying longer?"
"What?" Frederick's reply had been brusque and impatient. "Sorry ... I seem to be distracted. What did you ask?"
Edward looked off down the lane and asked again. "Have you said anything to your wife about you staying until Friday?" Waiting for Frederick to answer, he mused on how they were so different. He too was distracted, but rather than mire himself in thoughts about Catherine and the baby, he intruded upon his brother and tried desperately to kick up a conversation.
"No, not yet. I did not wish to get her hopes up. But now, thinking on it, perhaps I should just go Thursday as planned." On saying it, he sank back against the seat and heaved a sigh. After the previous night, he was certain that his staying an extra day would not be welcomed as good news.
Assuming a perfect understanding of his brother, the Rector decided to draw him out. Leaning close and giving him a sharp nudge, Edward said in a low voice, "I know what you must be thinking about."
Startled, the nudge and the comment threw Frederick into a agitation. "What? ... what did you hear?" he cried. Frantically, he wondered if his brother had perhaps heard Louisa ... He was not certain as to how loudly or how long she had protested before he had taken notice.
Edward ignored his brother's odd answer. "It is not hard to know ... you are always thinking this close to leaving. What might it be today? The sight of Plymouth sinking as you head off to the Indies? The sound of beating to quarters, perhaps? It is always the same with you -- getting back to the sea."
The Captain stared off and thought about what Edward had said. It was close to his leaving, but there was nothing of the usual anticipation to be off. He had not given much thought to any of the things that Edward had spoken about. His thoughts were being continually pulled back to her. Even now he could smell her just after she had washed, just the scent of the soap ... and her.
"I am right, aren't I? You just will not admit that your old, fusty brother is right!"
Frederick glanced and gave a thin smile, "Yea ... you are quite right. It is always about getting back to the sea ... isn't it?" He could hear his brother's voice in the background of his thoughts. He tried to attend, but focusing his thoughts on what was said was impossible for him. All he could manage, was relive the night before.
" ... always thought it an interesting comparison." Edward concluded.
Again, Frederick had to ask for him to repeat himself. "I was saying, the way that men are about the sea. It is no wonder that she is oft times compared to a mistress. An interesting comparison ... don't you think?"
The gig jostled on as Frederick gave it some thought. He reached down and knocked a clump of mud from his boot. He almost said he thought it an apt analogy, but then he realised that everything was wrong with it, at least for a man of his rank.
No, the sea is not my mistress. If there is a wanton here, it is I. It is she who gives me everything I require. I have always been alive in her presence, and it is I who have sold myself to be with her. My faithful procuress, the Admiralty, sees that I am elegantly fitted up and reasonably accommodated; fed and entertained. In exchange, all I must do is make myself available whenever I am called and for whatever purpose I am desired.
He relentlessly continued with the fascinatingly unorthodox thought -- just a little change of the sexes; the wondrously appalling thought -- though he did not like imagining that he would allow himself used so. Then he could not help reminding himself how so often men used women ... often hurt them in that use ...
He finally said, "Yes, I suppose there are some similarities. Very general things." Taking a change in tack, he continued, "But, is the best part of me only alive on the quarterdeck? Lately, I find there are so many other things that press upon my mind ... things before which have never had a place. The sea and my return to her ... I realise that I am not anticipating it as I once would have."
Edward glanced over to him and then quickly looked ahead. He did not care for the latter of his brother's statements. In all the years Frederick had been at sea, Edward had never seen him ambivalent about returning. Dreadful of a bad posting at times, but always anxious to be off. The Rector touched the whip to Standish's flank more for something to do rather than a need for speed. He realised that he had misread his brother. What he had taken for distraction born of anticipation, was really another matter all together. Something deeper, more vital than just returning to his career. But he could not ask. He was afraid that it concerned Frederick's heart and marriage, and he felt he had wormed his way into that further than was becoming.
With the mending done, the bed upstairs fitted up with clean sheets, and the first of the washing finished, Catherine had shooed Mrs Graham off by sending her to do errands. The errands were conjured, but Mrs Wentworth felt the need to be busy at more than sewing. Daring her body to behave, she and Louisa were in the process of hanging the sheets to dry.
"My dear young friend, never mistake the notion, the union between a man and a woman is not just for this thing or that thing ... it does many things at once. Neither of you is merely gratifying a physical hunger ... you are knitting your souls together ... the vows talk about being one, that is one flesh and one soul ... you are neither of you your own anymore ... you belong to each other." She felt safe in talking about the vows and the purpose of marriage. Those were simple and nothing revealling about herself, or her recently challenged beliefs about husbands.
Finishing with the last sheet, Catherine exclaimed, "I must sit! I am exhausted and need some refreshment." A cold knot appeared in her stomach when she recalled the pains from the day before, and how hanging sheets was not something she should be about. She vowed to be more circumspect in her activities until Mrs Callow would come the next day to give her a look. Comforting herself with the idea that a woman with child had odd aches and pains all the time, she also reasoned that the morning's activities with Louisa had been too important, and had kept them both from lowering thoughts.
As they came into the house, Louisa helped Catherine with her pelisse and said, "I can get the tea, Mrs Wentworth. You sit, and I shall make things ready." The girl had not spent any time in the kitchen of the Rectory and knew where nothing resided, but with Catherine seated at the table directing from the fire to the cupboard, to the shelf over there, a spill of water and dropping several spoons that would need washing again, they soon laid the tray and they made their way to the study.
After the ladies were seated and the tea poured, she suddenly looked at Louisa. Something had been preying on Catherine's mind since discovering the girl earlier, and now she knew precisely what that thing was.
"Louisa, I have not said as much as I might were this a week ago, or even yesterday morning. I have always had my opinions on this matter. In my home, these sorts of things were never hidden from me and within reason, I was given the freedom to try to understand the relationship between men and women. I thought I did."
Putting down her cup, Catherine took a seat on the sofa next to Louisa."It has been brought to my attention that I am not always right when it comes to my opinions, and especially not when it comes to this ... subject ... in particular." Taking her hands, she continued, "I have been silent in giving you any sort of advice for fear of telling you the wrong thing, because, as I say, I have come to find out that I have been very wrong in what I believed."
Catherine was struck with the irony of the day. Here she was, trying as best she could, within propriety, to help her sister-in-law to overcome her hurt and fear, that she and the Captain might come to know one another more fully. While she had discovered her husband's true nature just in time to give it up. Though she and the Rector were only putting intimacy aside for a little while, she lamented not having understood his heart sooner.
In a sudden burst of comprehension, Catherine quickly said, "No matter what, do not be afraid of the pleasure. Do not fear the passion you see in him -- or in yourself, for that matter. He is your husband and this is how it is to be. Sometimes I think we disdain the knowledge that these homely frames we all possess, can impassion our mate, but it must be this way if the joy of your marriage is to last. It is vital, Louisa. Do not be afraid of him, or his desire for you." Catherine sat back a moment, astonished that she now understood her mind concerning the matter.
Louisa had not understood much of what Catherine had told her, but this last she understood clearly. She could not allow fear to drive her from the warmth, and desire for her husband's touch. But fear was a powerful force, one that set armies of grown men to flight, and she was only a young woman -- alone.
After fetching Mrs Wentworth's tea, the two sat quietly on the sofa, thinking their own thoughts. Louisa thought about repairing the breach between her and the Captain. Catherine sat marvelling that she had not seen more clearly how blessed she was to have the Rector for her husband.
"Giving all that tack with her was capital of Abernathy," the Rector said as the Doctor waved them off. "I think he wishes to be counted among your friends."
Frederick looked back at the fine mare and gave a glance to the good wool blanket, saddle, and two bridles that had been thrown into the bargain. The Doctor was indeed generous, nearly to a fault. The Captain could not help feeling guilty seeing the physical evidence of the man's affection towards him. If Abernathy only knew how Frederick had spoken about him the previous afternoon. "Yes, he is quite a fellow."
"So, what did you think of his ideas about New Holland."
At this, the Captain grimaced, looked squarely at his brother and replied, "The man is a ghoul, or a fiend -- whichever is worse! 'The price of bodies available for dissection is going far too high, but New Holland would afford me opportunities that England is regulating out of existence.' What kind of man thinks like that?" Frederick had tried, but had not been successful in keeping the disgust from his voice.
"A man who needs bodies for dissection, evidently." Edward said, coolly. "We may find it loathsome, but I have read several very convincing arguments about how doctors learn quite a lot from the dead and that allowing certain ones -- with proper licenses -- to broker in that repulsive commodity would solve several difficulties. While I have my objections on a theological basis, I have difficulty refuting their medical views."
"Ah, what is there to learn from one that is dead that you cannot learn from the living?"
Both having listened to several of Abernathy's examples of the aid dissection lent a medical man, Edward glanced his brother's way, "So my boy, would you care to volunteer yourself to bear some of those diseases he told us of?"
"Well, perhaps what they are saying is true, but still, all that talk about rotting sicknesses, and how putrid the body can become because of the heat -- gad, my stomach has not felt so delicate since I was fourteen, caught in a seven-day blow without a letup!"
Edward laughed at all this high blown pontification coming from a man who made his fortune from one of the most dehumanising, and at times, bloodiest businesses known. "All I can say is that I admire his dedication." He turned to face his brother. "I have never known a doctor so driven to understand the 'Fleshly Machine' as he calls it, but is not cold and distant to those inhabiting those machines. Most men are one or the other, not both."
"True, no matter what, I got a good horse for a good price. I now can give Louisa another day."
"I think, it is perhaps you who wishes another day."
"I think, you, perhaps, are correct. As I said, I am not as anxious as I once was to go back. She has changed my mind."
"Mm."
"What?"
"I have never been so glad to be wrong in all my life." He glanced his brother's way. "Remember that day I chastised you for even considering marrying her? Telling you how Anne Elliot would haunt you ... never happy ... coming to hate your wife. I feared for you, truly, but now I see there was no need."
"It has not been half the struggle you made it. She is a sweet girl, after I had made up my mind, all it took was seeing her as she is."
"Yea, but you could have stopped yourself, you could have left her to languish in Somerset, but you are seeing to her, that speaks a great deal."
"I did have my plans, but I have seen too much of her to want anything less than her best. I wish I had felt that way from the start. I might not have ... "
"Might not have what?"
"If I had truly wanted her best, I might not have married her. I would have done as you advised ... taken myself to Musgrove, meek as a lamb, and convinced him that marriage to me would not be in her best interest. Nevertheless, now, I have feelings for her, and I cannot find it in me to regret them. It is still all a jumble."
"Do not think too much about it. There is nothing to be done now, and never regret loving her. I think, in time, she will be quite your equal."
"I think so too."
"Thank you, Mrs Wentworth, thank you for your help." she called.
Closing the door behind Catherine, Louisa went to the fire and put in more wood. She poked and arranged and waited for it to catch. She wanted the room as warm as she could make it. Then, she lit two candles and placed them on either side of the bed. Just enough light, not too much. Pulling the pins from her hair, she went back to the dresser and began to brush it out. There would be no braid tonight, as he had shown a marked preference for it down. Looking in the mirror, she was pleased with the way it shone in the firelight. Opening the jar of lotion, she rubbed it into her hands and neck and shoulders. He liked it -- on her. One last thing. She took out his nightshirt and hung it on the dressing screen, facing the hearth. It would warm with the high fire and be ready for him when he came to bed.
Taking one last look around the room, she felt satisfied that she had prepared it perfectly. Taking a deep breath, she made her way to the bed. Standing at the foot, she looked at it. Such a simple piece of furniture, and yet it represented so much. Just then, the clock pinged the hour. Surely they will be finished with supper by now, and who knows when he will excuse himself to come to bed, she thought. Louisa knew she would have to be prepared, no matter how soon or how late. With that, she pulled off her nightdress, tossed it, and dashed for the covering of the bedclothes.
As she lay there, it felt terribly odd, being under the blankets without a nightdress. Even on the hottest of summer nights, Louisa had never lain bare between the sheets of her bed. But this was not a summer night at Uppercross, it was early March in Shropshire. Even with the fire, it was much colder than she liked. This caused her to muse that were she ever to do such a thing again -- which was quite unlikely -- it would certainly not be in the cold of late winter.
Hoping to ward off the chill, she clutched the blankets more tightly to her. Pulling up her knees, she curled a bit, hoping to find some warmth. She attempted to bolster her sagging courage by recounting her plan and speculating what it might be like when the Captain came to bed.
From the time of the Captain's return from Abernathy's, and his announcement that he would stay for another day, there had been a celebratory air about the Rectory. Catherine had proclaimed that she now knew why she had indulged in the luxury of a rolled pudding on an ordinary washday Monday.
The gentlemen had missed dinner and so the pudding had been eaten at tea. The Rector had praised not only the pudding, but the inventor of pudding and the lovely hands that had prepared this particular one. Catherine had chosen not to tell him that Mrs Graham was more the sculptor of said sweet, while his wife had been the architect thereof.
Between Louisa and Frederick, as with the evening before, there had been hurried glances and bewildering gazes, though neither had abandoned them in favour of smiles and nods. She had been afraid to allow any opportunities for them to be alone. So, when the Captain had revealled that he would be staying another day, until late in the afternoon on Friday, Louisa had had no idea what it all meant. She had been so surprised by his announcement, that her plate with the pudding, and her fork had gone to the floor. All had watched as the roly-poly had rolled across the floor and stopped just short of the toe of the Rector's boot.
In a wild effort to mop herself, Louisa had given her husband a puzzling look and had fled to the safety of the kitchen. The rest of the day, through supper and until excusing herself early, she had stayed close to Catherine.
All day, she harried herself with images of him, raking her with his disapproval. In her imagination, he would make it clear that he had no taste for such juvenile tricks as she had displayed the night before -- trying to spring away from him and remaining silent when he spoke to her. It was a cruel day, one that she could only hope would have a good outcome.
Louisa had thought about her previous day's conversation with Catherine. There had been so much said, so much that she should do. There was so much she feared from him. The Captain had seemed so angry. She decided she must to do something so bold as to make him put aside that anger. Hence, her decision to present herself so willing to please him. She had hopes, that in his shock of seeing her in a state of undress, natural desire would overcome his offended sensibilities and she would be given an opportunity to mend things. Not precisely knowing his mind, whether he was angry with her or revolted by the night before, it seemed that she had every contingency planned for.
As she had sat in the study, by the warm fire, in the light of day, her plan had seemed daring, but quite reasonable and very sound considering what was at stake. However, as she lay waiting for him to come to bed, shivering from the cold, with nothing to protect her from his eyes, her carefully crafted plan seemed grasping and extraordinarily lewd. She did not want him to think her indecent or conniving ... no matter how successful her plan might prove.
As these doubts crossed her mind, she could not help but remember the night before and how the Captain had comported himself. He had helped her with the sheets, he had stoked the fire high, when he had come to bed, he had held her ... though she had fought him.
"Please stop, Louisa, I'll not hurt you ... and, I'll not let you lay here and shiver all night. Just go to sleep."
He had held her tenderly, but as she had made a move to get up, his hold had become more firm. Firm, but never hurtful. He had not chastised her, and when she had stopped her useless struggle, he had sought out, and taken her hand in his. That was all she remembered, for she had fallen asleep in his arms.
Struck with the tenderness of it all, she realised that he was a kind and caring man -- he cared for her, even after such a terrible night. To use his own natural drives against him would be to build upon a bad foundation and she had no desire to make things worse than they were already. She determined that she would put on her nightdress and when he came to bed, she would still make him know of her willingness to please him, but in an honest and forthright fashion, without deception.
As she sat up, holding the blankets to her, she sucked in her breath as the cold of the room touched her warm skin. She reached towards the foot of the bed where she had dropped the gown. "Oh, botheration," she muttered. Not immediately feeling it, she got to her knees and began to crawl, hoping to find it.
Scarcely had she leant over the end of the bed to see her nightdress heaped on the floor, than she heard the knob of the door rattle as someone took hold of it. Fear shot through her, and making a mad grab for the gown, the blankets pulled away, leaving her exposed ...