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Chapter 4
"Shove off," ordered Captain Harville, his voice made nearly a whisper by the patchy morning fog. The jolly boat glided smoothly from the dock and rose slightly on the oarsmen's first pull. The occupants had an excellent prospect from which to watch the ships come alive on this cold, damp morning. Harville drew his boat cloak close and said to the other passenger, "It will not be long now. The Captain will be wonderfully surprised to have you back, I am sure."
John Michaelson nodded, but said nothing in return. The sound of the oars was soft in comparison with the other noise filling familiar harbour of Plymouth. He clutched his duckcloth sack close to him as he pondered his good fortune.
The morning before, at this very time, he had been awakened to the dissonant sounds and rancid smells of the workhouse. However, this morning he had awakened in a cosy cot, not a pile of mildewed straw. He had also awakened to clean sheets, clean clothes and gratefully, a clean person. It amazed him that in one day, everything in his world was changed. Michaelson was not certain to what lengths Harville had gone to find him, but he was extraordinarily grateful that he had been successful in his attempt.
Harville pulled off his gloves as they entered the Captain's small day cabin. "She is not, even now, much to behold, but compared with her condition when we first came aboard, the old dear is a palace." Turning to the rack as he unbuttoned his cloak, he continued, "Stow your bag on one of the stern lockers until we get you a berth." He swung off the cape and hung it. Straightening his coat, he noticed the door to the Captain's sleeping cabin stood open. He pushed it further and looked in. "He is not here," Harville said to Michaelson.
Michaelson joined him and looked about the room. As the cot had not been used for sleep, he suggested, "Perhaps the Captain has gone ashore already."
Harville scowled. "I doubt it. The coxswain would have said something when I met him at the dock. The watch officer would have taken care to report the captain's absence. No," the First said, making for the door, "he is aboard. Somewhere. Perhaps in the tops, he has been known to go aloft to watch the weather."
"If I might say, sir," Michaelson suggested, "the officer on duty would have made you aware, don't you think? Besides, if he were aloft, I believe he'd'a called out to you. I think he might be below." For a man of his rank, Captain Wentworth owned few proclivities. Yet with this disappearance, Michaelson wondered if he had not returned to one that had been put aside long ago.
It took Harville no time to see the sense in what the man said, and head down into the rabbit warren that comprised the lower decks. Michaelson followed the Captain and they began the search
As the steward inspected the inferior officers' quarters, he heard the First's voice. "Well, this is a fine thing," muttered Harville. Michaelson came up behind him and looked to see of what he spoke.
It was hard to make out anything in the dark nook. Even with the lantern Harville held high, it was difficult to sort the jumble of goods that crammed the small room. Eventually, Michaelson's eyes could make out the sailcloth-covered form of Captain Wentworth. He was sleeping, draped elegantly over what looked to be an old binnacle box.* By the looks of the stained wood and bottle at his feet, he had come down to the hold to have a private drink.
Shaking Frederick's shoulder, Harville called his name. This roused him, and when he was sensible, they got him upright and to his cabin.
After bringing him to the upper deck, Harville said, "I had only intended to bring you over and sign you up, I had not figured on your having to begin your duties so soon." The Captain shifted Frederick over to the steward.
Michaelson continued to the sleeping cabin and called softly, "Quite all right, sir. I know my duty from here. I'll sign them papers later, when you return." He set the Captain on a locker, leant him into a corner to steady him, and returned to Harville. "Thank you and your fine wife for all that you did, Captain. I can manage from here, and there is really no need that we tell him anything. He'll remember enough on his own to be a little mortified."
Harville took his cloak and hat from the pegs. "You are a good man, Michaelson, I see why he wished you back. I will return at four bells," indicating the room and its occupant, he said, "I am to breakfast with him."
"All will be ready, sir -- including the Captain."
Returning to the sleeping cabin, Michaelson again roused Wentworth, prepared him for bed and got him placed in his hammock. Accomplishing that, he set about to find the cook and inspect the Captain's larder to see what he might fadge up for a respectable breakfast.
Though he was not familiar with the ship, the familiarness of the duties gave Michaelson a feeling of safety. He, like many sailors, when not sworn to a captain and a ship, was adrift in the world. This being the case, in the future, no matter how much he might grumble about his tiresome duties, limited circumstances or unexalted position in life, he was grateful to be back safe in this simple and constant, wooden world.**
With his eyes still closed, Frederick took a deep and restorative drink from a wonderfully strong mug of coffee. Setting it gently upon the table, he opened his eyes to gaze upon the well-laid breakfast and took heartfelt comfort in his changing fortunes.
Since he had left the exacting care of his brother's housekeeper, Mrs. Graham, and the less than exacting, but lovingly bestowed care of his wife, he had called upon the hand of Providence to send him a steward who could approximate the skill of his last -- Michaelson.
With the Laconia torn to pieces, over the past few days, larger issues had occupied his mind than assembling his personal staff. This being case, he had yet to be frustrated in a search, but was quickly growing weary of Pym's best efforts. To awaken after such an indulgent night of sloppy sentimentality and find this meager, but practical desire realised, made him wonder that the ill winds of Plymouth were shifting to another direction.
"Your eggs, sir."
"Thank you, Michaelson. They look to be perfect."
Yes, the winds were shifting and the man's appearance was truly magical. Not just a competent approximation of a steward, but the man himself! With no effort on the Captain's part -- for the man had simply appeared in his cabin that morning. To the best of his recollection, Frederick had been in the hold when a bottle of whiskey got the better of him. Upon waking, he had found himself undressed, in his hanging cot with the blankets securely tucked about him.
Knowing he had been in no condition to perform such a task, but having a vague notion of Harville being involved, he had called for Pym to give him the explanation. Receiving no answer, the Captain had struggled through the exquisite pain of sitting up, and with a bit of difficulty, disengaged himself from his berth. The pain decreased markedly after he stood for a moment and brought his vision under his own control. Accomplishing that, Frederick had tottered into the day room.
At first glance, he had thought the bright morning sun that streamed through the stern gallery windows was playing him a trick. The table was fully laid for a sumptuous breakfast. From the pots and platters, the glorious scent of coffee and sausages vigourously competed for his attention. For a man recovering from one tot too many, he had a remarkable hunger. If the table were not marvel enough, in walked the agent responsible -- Seaman John Michaelson.
After the longed for steward was properly greeted by the Captain, he had tried to extract an explanation of Michaelson's recent whereabouts and how he came to be aboard the Moonshine. The man's reluctance to tell of his latest activities and reason for his unexpected return to the King's service was enigmatical, but not problematic enough to get him put ashore.
"I'm sorry, Capt'n. I was in the galley, settin' the cook straight. There won't be another platter of that second-rate beefsteak come to this table. You have my guaranty on that." Michaelson busied himself pouring coffee and filling the first plate. He stopped and looked at the Captain. "I am sure, sir," he said softly, "that you would like to dress before sitting down. Number two coat and breeches, sir?" Before receiving an answer, the steward moved towards the sleeping cabin.
Glancing down at his bare legs and feet, Frederick murmured, "Uh, yes, Michaelson. I do not think we will be receiving many guests today." Following to his cabin, the Captain smiled a satisfied smile and silently said a prayer of thanks.
While in Plymouth, the Captain thanked Providence for the return of his steward, in Shropshire, the young Mrs. Wentworth was experiencing a domestic 'situation' of quite a different nature.
The elder Mrs. Wentworth was a bed. While she pled a little cold to her husband, it was exhaustion that was the true culprit. She had been awakened often during the night with twinges and spasms and cramps, which caused distress, discomfort and anxiety enough to keep the lady to her bed. Yet in doing so, it left the house unsupervised.
"Do you smell something burning, Mr. Junkins?" Beatrice asked as they approached the back door of the Rectory. They had come bearing another dozen eggs for the Rector's table. It was Mrs. Junkins opinion that Catherine Wentworth's color had not been good when they had called Monday, and so, the eggs made a wonderfully useful pretext.
"Yes. I think it is ... bread of some sort. However, there is something else with it, I believe." They looked at one another, puzzled and not a little concerned. Listening for a moment and hearing activity, Mr. Junkins rapped three times on the door and awaited an answer.
"Come!" shouted a voice on the other side.
Upon entering, a thick cloud of smoke greeted the Junkins, along with the frantic flapping of a cloth, as Louisa tried to put out the flames of something burning on the floor.
"Mr. Junkins," Mrs. Junkins directed, "some water please, while I attend the toast."
After the fire was extinguished and the blackened toast thrown outside, a shamed Louisa took a seat at the table and began to sniffle.
Joshua, embarrassed, knelt to gather the charred remains of a burnt apron. This left any talking to his wife. Mrs. Junkins turned her attention to the young woman. "What was going on here? Where is everyone?"
"The Rector is on his calls," Louisa gulped, and Catherine is abed again. I was trying to make her some toast and tea. I -- I -- was distracted. I was using the apron to open the hot oven and a corner somehow caught fire and then the bread began to burn ... "
"Where is Mrs. Graham? Surely you could have waited until she returned to make the toast!" cried Beatrice as she unfastened her bonnet strings.
Joshua stood and went to his wife's side. He whispered in her ear.
"Yes, I shall go see to her." Removing the hat as she turned to Louisa, she said, "Then I will return and help you prepare the tea."
Mrs. Junkins took the back stairs to see to the Rector's wife while Joshua ordered the china on the tray. "I am much better with tea than my wife," he said offhandedly.
"Catherine? Catherine are you all right?" Mrs. Junkins called. "There was a little difficulty down in the kitchen, but things are well in hand now," she said, hurrying down the hall.
"Beatrice? What are you doing here?" Mrs. Wentworth exclaimed as she came out her door. "I was asleep," she said, struggling with to right a thick shawl about her shoulders. "I awoke to smell smoke and was so frightened ..." She began to move down the hall towards the kitchen.
"Ah, ah. Back to your bed," Beatrice said, turning her friend back to the bedroom. "Everything is quite well now. We shall have tea for you in a trice." She helped Catherine back into the bed and saw her covered properly. "Your sister-in-law was endeavouring to make you tea and toast. The results were not quite what she expected I am afraid." The woman raised a brow.
Catherine sighed in relief. "Thank heavens it was nothing more serious." She closed her eyes for a moment and ordered herself. "It was really a sweet thought, but I do not think the creature as the slightest notion of anything domestic. So it was the toast." Beatrice nodded. "Graham will be in a state. She is at the market I imagine. She was to go after breakfast." Catherine smoothed the blankets. "She is trying -- Louisa I mean."
"Yes," said Mrs. Junkins. She unbuttoned her gloves and removed them along with her cloak. "And were we not all young once? She also burnt a rather attractive apron, I am afraid." Patting Catherine on the shoulder, she said with a chuckle, "I will see how the two are fairing."
"Two?" Catherine said. "Is Mary with you?"
"No, Mr. Junkins, of course. You know that Arthur will not drive for me. I think he does not like my accent." Looking at her friend, she said quietly, "I know she is uncomfortable with him. He said as much about bringing her home Monday. She must learn somehow."
Catherine began to speak, but closed her mouth.
"He understands everyone's discomfit. He will do what he can to make it easier."
Catherine smiled. "I know. I just feel a bit responsible for her. Still, she is an adult -- quite old enough to play with fire, evidently." She pursed her lips as she looked at Beatrice.
Beatrice laughed aloud. "She certainly is, my friend. I shall return in a moment."
Louisa had not understood a word the man had said to her, but watched as he set the tray for the tea perfectly. She was struck by his hands and how rough they were, but how gently they handled the delicate china.
"Tea is the proof of civilization, I think," he said, glancing at Louisa. "In my reading, I have found that the Chinese have ceremonies dedicated to the preparing and the serving of tea. And just as we, they have particular pieces for particular occasions." He finished measuring the tea and pouring the hot water in the pot. "We seem to have much in common with them, do you not think? I would like to go to China one day." He replaced the lid and placed the kettle back on the fire. "Now we wait." He too took a seat at the table.
She had still understood nothing of what Mr. Junkins had said. Though she was certain, by his tone, that there had been no rebuke pointed at her. For this she was grateful, as it was humiliation enough to be found incompetent at such a simple task -- and found so by people as good as strangers, at that. "Thank you for making the tea. Shall I try to make the toast, or should I wait for your wife?" She was not certain from where the courage had come to ask the simple question, but it seemed right to put her trust in this man. After all, he had more than proven himself a friend.
"Bread?" he asked.
"I do not understand."
Making hand gestures of cutting a loaf, Joshua made himself understood. She brought the loaf and he cut slices. Taking the meat fork from the hearth, he secured two slices and pantomimed toasting by hand. Giving Louisa the long-handled tool, he took a shorter fork and settled himself by her side so that he might toast a third.
After toasting one side, as Louisa turned her slices, she broke the silence. "Mr. Junkins," she began, "I thank you for your help Monday -- and today," she blushed. "I know that I was not very polite -- Monday, I mean. It was wretched of me, saying nothing the entire ride home -- and especially not thanking you when we pulled up in the yard. It was horribly rude of me to dart into the house the way I did." She managed the words, but she could not bear more than a glance or two in his direction. "I am sorry."
He tapped her knee lightly. She forced a look. Very carefully, he said, "Apology accepted."
Louisa smiled. She had understood perfectly and could not miss the kindness in his eyes.
Again he tapped her knee and pointed to her toast. "Thank you again. It would not do to burn another loaf," she laughed as she removed the toasted slices.
"Well," came the voice of Mrs. Junkins. "I am glad to see that things are put back in order. And what a dear you are to make the tea, Mr. Junkins," she said, observing the tray. She hung her cloak on the rack of pegs by the door and straightened her dress before facing back.
"And how is Mrs. Wentworth?" asked Joshua, taking care to speak slowly enough for Louisa.
"She was quite frightened actually, she could smell the smoke and was just flying out the door when I arrived at her room. I saw her settled back in the bed and smoothed the ruffled feathers a bit."
Louisa said nothing, but stared straight ahead at the dancing flames of the fire. Every word from Mrs. Junkins felt like pinpricks. All Catherine's anxiety was her doing. Had the Junkins' not come unexpectedly -- if Mrs. Wentworth had fallen as she hurried or in any way hurt herself -- She could not bear to continue the thought.
"I told her that I would bring the tea directly. Is the toast finished?" Her tone was crisp and she seemed not to notice Louisa's quietness.
Joshua brought her the piece from his fork and placed it with the others. "I think, Mrs. Junkins, that Mrs. Wentworth should take the tea upstairs."
"But I told Catherine ... " her voice trailed off as she studied her husband's face. "Yes, of course." She said to Louisa, "Mrs. Wentworth is waiting for her tea. Could you take it? I think she needs something after all the excitement." She folded her hands and looked at the young woman.
Louisa stood and hurriedly brushed a tear aside. "Of course she is waiting. Thank you both." She took the tray and bustled up the stairs.
"Now why the look Mr. Junkins?"
"She is more than enough embarrassed. We do not need to heap rebuke on her."
"I did not rebuke her --"
"No, not directly. He lightly touched her arm, "But your tone was -- blunt."
She sighed, recognising that he was correct. "I know, but you did not see the look on Catherine's face. She is abed again and that means she is not well and I just ..."
"You are afraid for your friend. It is understandable, but the girl is a stranger too. He smiled and handed her a cup and saucer from the table. "Now you go up and take tea with your friends. I am going out to walk amongst the apple trees. He should have pruned them months ago, but perhaps it is not too late."
She watched him go. Looking at the cup, she shook her head and mumbled, "He always knows exactly how people feel. Even me." She turned and went up the stairs.
In Plymouth there was not so much excitement as curiosity and the drink was coffee, not tea. "Another cup here. Now Michaelson, just how did you come to be in Plymouth? You had mentioned taking your prize money and going back to -- " he held out the cup.
"Dorset, sir," he said as he poured. "That was my aim, but I got ... turned aside." He turned and replaced the pot on the warmer. "Are you particular about dinner sir? Your stores are what I would call, unsubstantial."
The Captain laughed and said, "You are being diplomatic. My stores are nonexistent. Pym did what he could, but he is an armourer by trade, not one accustomed to the responsibilities of a first-rate steward. I am not certain how long the Port authorities will relegate us to this -- butterbox, but I do not wish to load myself down with provisions that will be ground to powder by shifting them back and forth. No, better to have them stowed on the Laconia when she is finally ready and be done with it." He said this with more wishfulness than he was comfortable. "We shall have to go from week to week. As for dinner, whatever you are able to wrest from the cook, I shall make a valiant attempt to eat."
"Speaking of eating, am I too late, Captain?" Captain Harville poked his head in the door of the cabin. He stepped in and removed his hat. Handing it to Michaelson he took a seat.
"To tell the truth, I had forgotten your joining me. I have been enjoying the privileges that rank brings," he said, indicating his steward.
Harville exchanged a look with Michaelson. "So, you are glad of your surprise?"
Wentworth smiled. "And might this be of your doing?"
"Thank you," he said as the steward placed a plate before him. "Yes, as a matter of fact." Taking a bite of beefsteak, he talked through it, "And, this is not the only surprise." Concerning himself with his meal, Harville left the Captain to ponder his statement.
The Captain finished his coffee. Crossing his arms, he looked at his First Officer and wondered what else Harville might conjure. No hints would be coming from Harville, as he continued eating with his customary gusto and paid little mind to Wentworth.
"So out with it, Captain, what else is in store for me? Benwick come to be our Second? No, better yet, perhaps Croft has consented to sign on as the purser!" He laughed at his own joke, but ceased when Harville joined him.
"Well, now that you mention, I do have you a purser. I can vouch that the man is honest as your own brother would be." Harville resumed maiming his beefsteak.
"Well," Frederick brightened, "that is news. Old Rood's bad fortune in dying after such a nasty fall was an inconvenient business. I was not certain the loss would not dog us they entire voyage," he declared.
In the past week, George Henry Rood had fallen down the stairs leading from his mistress's rooms. The fall had broken his neck, but the gentleman had lived long enough to make an honest woman of his mistress and to have letters of farewell written to his wife in Portsmouth and the other in Swanage.
"The Laconia is much to large for me to try and serve as her purser." Captain Wentworth had done his own books for the two years he had commanded the Asp. The job was quite manageable with a ship as small as a sloop, but the task of the books and buying for a fifth-class frigate was far too vast for the captain alone.
As the position of purser was warranted by the Victualling Board and commissioned to a particular ship for her lifetime of duty, Mr. Twist had been with the Laconia since Moses parted the seas. He had served Wentworth and the crew well, and, most importantly, with honesty. The Captain, after a few years, never had reason to wonder if he was being shammed. If Twist cheated anyone, it was one the merchant side as he was intelligent enough to keep a good relationship with the man who could have him flogged.
It was owing to the man's honesty that his fall and subsequent death were so tragic to the officers. An honest replacement would be difficult to find.
"And you say this one is honest? Is there such a creature?" He took another drink of coffee and continued before Harville could explain. "Having Rood all these years, but being regaled by other officers, I am not certain it is not a myth. Sirens, Sea Monsters and The Honest Purser -- myths all! I think it to be a phantasm, perpetuated by officers so bogged down in receipts, bills of lading and logs, they have driven themselves mad!"
Timothy smiled and wiped his mouth. Handing off the first plate to Michaelson, he accepted the second of eggs and toast and sausage, saying, "No, not this one. Honest as your brother." Facing down the eggs, he lowered his voice and said, "He is a clergyman. Top drawer with the books --" Harville knew that stuffing his mouth with toast would only put off the inevitable.
"A clergyman!" Frederick cried as he sat forward. "I will not carry a parson. While I am not quite the cartload of superstitions you are, my friend, I do believe in prudence! I have never carried a parson and never shall -- unless pressed by only the highest authorities!"
"You said that you wanted an honest purser. Tweedt -- "
"Tweedt! Not only a parson, but winged as well!"
"Please. He is Elsa's cousin, and comes from a family in trade."
Frederick glowered. "As do I. That does not assure his honesty nor skill in the post. Is that all that recommends him?"
"Yes." Harville pushed back his half-finished plate. "Sir, you want an honest man for the post and I will vouch for the honesty of Elias Tweedt. He possesses a beautiful hand and can keep a set of books more than admirably. Because his command of the language is not exactly fluent, I doubt very much that he will have many aspirations of the pulpit -- especially once he sees 'church.'
"He speaks no English? That is not so much a problem when a man is hauling, steering or reefing, but his honesty will not be any protection from dishonest tradesmen who have no feelings either way about cheating a foreigner. And cheating this particular foreigner cheats me!"
"True sir, but," said Harville, "he reads and understands the language magnificently! From what Solveig told us -- you remember Solveig," Frederick nodded, "she said that he bargained for their passage from Norway. It was a British merchantman bound for home but not taking any passengers. Not only did he get them aboard, but he got them the best of the accommodations and at a price that could best be called a losing proposition for the captain. And besides Frederick, we both know that no matter how loudly the men protest a man of God on board, when the times are desperate, even seamen seek that comfort without shame."
The two men sat looking at one another. Both were correct in their assertions. All that was left was for them to agree upon the appointing of Tweedt as purser.
Wentworth relented. "At this juncture, I have little choice," he said, spearing a sausage. "Still, mark me, if he even begins to play the holy man, I shall have him placed in the dinghy and towed. Am I clear?"
Harville did his best not to laugh at the idea. "Aye, sir. I shall make certain that Tweedt knows the rules."
"So, who else do you have for me? A singing surgeon perhaps? Midshipmen that pull double-duty as circus acrobats?" He called for Michaelson.
Harville fished in his pocket. Pulling out a warrant, he handed it to the Captain. "I have no idea if he sings, but his warrant is real and he had a letter or recommendation from the surgeon who sails with Captain Jack Aubrey.***"
"Ah, Aubrey, well, I'll not hold that against anyone." Wentworth took the warrant and read it once. He read it twice. After the third time, he declared, "Good G-d, Harville! First the Parson Purser, and now this! Is it truly your intention to flay me an inch at a time?"
*binnacle -- A desk-like piece of furniture, found on the deck of a ship near the helm, that housed the compass.
**A colloquial term referring to the closed society of a ship.
***Captain Jack Aubrey is the creation of Patrick O'Brian.
Chapter 4, Part II
As Captain Wentworth sat at breakfast on the Moonshine and frowned over the warrant in his hand, many miles away Anne Elliot was frowning, too -- at the pages of a book. She had not read much of it, but what she had learned of the plot was enough to make her squirm. The heroine's family had been cruelly wronged by a weak-willed half-brother who would not act to give them a proper income, as he had sworn to do. At this point in the story, the widow and her daughters were about to be cast adrift to live as best they could in a remote location in the country. The three unmarried sisters had no dowry, no expectation of society, and very little income. And the hero? So far, he had not made his appearance, or if he had, Anne was not impressed.
But Barton Cottage would surely be better than Bath! Anne thought, as she put the book aside and rose to take a turn before the windows. At last she came to a halt; her eyes traced the path of a drop of water as it slid down one of the glass panes. Never had she been more weary of Bath -- chilly, crowded, fog-swathed Bath! Anne knew this thought was ridiculous, for just yesterday evening she had exulted in the musical delights this city had to offer. But today? Today there was a heaviness in her heart which she could not explain. Her eyes strayed to the street below.
A burst of laughter recalled her attention to her present surroundings. This forenoon a lively card game was underway; Mary made a fourth and so had relieved Anne of voicing a refusal to play. The atmosphere in the room was decidedly cheerful, for a caller had lately arrived -- a man who never failed to please each of the members of her family.
But although she made conscientious effort to participate, their conversation did not hold Anne's attention for long. Soon she was wandering once more the world of her thoughts.
Why did he look at me so? The question repeated itself over and over, as did her recollection of the expression in Captain Benwick's eyes. He was laughing, I know it! But after the interval, he was so grave! He hardly said a thing! Anne continued to puzzle over the Concert as she paced before the windows. And why does he not come? He knows this is our morning at home and yet ...
"A penny for your thoughts, Cousin." A friendly voice brought Anne abruptly back to the drawing room. Mr. Elliot had drifted away from his post at the game table and was now standing beside her. His fingers teasingly held out a coin.
She could not help but smile. "That is hardly a penny, Mr. Elliot."
He looked at it with mock surprise. "So it is -- or, I should say, it isn't ! But your face has a look of great pensiveness, Cousin. I believe your thoughts today are worth more."
"No one's thoughts are worth a guinea, Mr. Elliot," she replied. "I was merely remembering the Concert last night ... and the wonderful music."
"Ah, yes, you did enjoy it. I am gratified to hear you say so."
"Gratified? Why?" The words left her lips before she could stop them. But if Mr. Elliot felt any discomposure, he never showed it.
"Why not?" said he, and his smile grew wider. "After all, you spent the entire evening in my company."
"But not alone! I mean, there was also ..."
"Mmmm. Though it did not appear that you enjoyed his company very well."
To her annoyance, Anne found she was blushing. "I did not mean him, er, that!" She stammered in her attempt to explain her thoughtless remark. " I meant that your answer perplexes me. I said I enjoyed the music ... and you spoke in such a way ... almost as if you were responsible for it." Anne's eyes searched his face for clues but found only his customary pleasant expression.
"Which is a nonsensical thought, for of course you were not," she continued. "Unless ... Lady Russell is correct in her assumption ..."
"Which is?" His smile was vexing, but irritation gave Anne the courage to speak her mind.
"She told me you were a patron, anonymously. Is this true?"
Now it was William Elliot's turn to flush, but he did not look away. "Lady Russell is a great deal too ... No, no. Forgive me! I can hide nothing from you, it is useless to try!" He glanced at game table before continuing.
"You have found me out," he said, in a more subdued tone. "Things were a bit difficult for the company. Funding, you know. And your father had already purchased tickets for the family." Mr. Elliot hesitated, then said softly, "I knew of your great love of music, Miss Anne. When I intervened, I believe I thought only of you."
"And I am not alone," he continued smoothly, "in wishing to secure the pleasure of a lady through generosity. I believe an admirer of your sister's has done the same. I rather expected to see the fellow this morning; he must be late." William raised an eyebrow at the expression on Anne's face. "But you disapprove?"
Anne did not know where to look. "It was not proper for you to act from such a motive, sir!" As she said the words, another question rose in her mind. She boldly lifted her eyes to his.
"And yesterday! Those coins I found on the pavement ..."
"Which were there by happenstance!" His tone brooked no argument; his smile slipped only for a moment.
"Was it because of my sympathy that you thought I left them for you?" he said softly. "I am flattered by such an opinion!"
William leaned closer. "My dear, all too well do I understand your situation -- and the humiliation deprivation can bring! I understand the pain you feel! When I was studying law, I was forced to live as ..."
For the barest moment his eyes flashed, but he quickly mastered the emotion and began again, speaking in a tone of great earnestness.
"I know what you think of me, Miss Anne. I know of the contempt in which you hold the marriage I made. I do not blame you for that, but perhaps I may make you see. I was young and foolish ... and weary of the hardscrabble existence I was forced to eke out!" Anne stared at him in surprise.
"Surely your fortune was not so small as to reduce you to living in abject poverty, Mr. Elliot!"
"Near enough. And I foolishly allowed myself to be swayed by the admiration of a well-looking young woman, a woman who aspired to become Lady Elliot one day." Mr. Elliot lowered his voice to a whisper.
"Such admiration is difficult for a man to resist, Miss Anne ... as you have daily proof." His eyes traveled significantly to the game table. " She has the same ambition, I can recognise that now. And I fear your poor father may be blind to his situation ... as was I."
"Mrs. Clay?" Anne exclaimed. "You see that, too?" In her relief, she instantly forgot his other perplexing comments. "We are of the same opinion, Mr. Elliot," she said eagerly. "But what is to be done?"
"A great deal, I believe," he answered.
Anne was not convinced. "I have spoken to Elizabeth," she whispered, "several times. But she has not heeded my advice."
"No, she is too fond of her own opinion to see the value of yours. But perhaps we might take a more direct approach to circumvent the danger, Anne. You and I, working together, might accomplish it."
And then William Elliot was summoned to join the others. He gave her arm a pat before he moved off.
"Courage, Anne," he whispered. "All will be well in the end, I promise." His voice took on a bantering tone as he then addressed the group at the table.
"How fare you, Sir Walter?" he called. "Has my Cousin Mary trounced you and bled you dry?" As the women tittered at this sally, Anne was left alone to puzzle over his closing words.
'All will be well,' she mused. What can that signify? And how might we work together? Her eyes strayed to the window; she looked anxiously at the street below as she recalled a more troubling thought. Where in the world can he be?
At that very moment, the man in question was seated at the desk in the library at Chauntecleer, accompanied by a bright fire, a large cup of coffee, and a copy of the scriptures. A text had caught his attention; he frowned as he read it once again.
'Let love be without dissimulation. Abhor what is evil, cleave to that which is good.'
"That is, let love be without ... hypocrisy ," Captain Benwick muttered. He could not say this last word without an image of William Elliot's smiling face rising in his mind.
Genuine love is not a self-serving, self-gratifying love, he grumbled to himself. And if ever a man looked to be aware of his own value and interests, it is he! The man's behaviour toward Anne last evening was plainly flirtatious -- and the moment she was gone, what should Elliot do but speak in precisely the same way to her sister! This certainly was circumvention at its finest, but why?
Benwick took a sip of coffee and thought some more about the Concert. Had he overheard those conversations several years earlier, he would have dismissed Elliot's words as mere gallantry. But his own engagement had taught him well the delightful art of flirtation and he recognised Elliot's genuine interest in Anne. He was working very hard to win her heart, and presumably, her hand. But why would he want Elizabeth, too?
And should I alert Anne? James pondered this for quite some time. One simply could not say, 'Miss Anne, I believe your cousin's attentions are fallacious and insincere!' After all, he would be attempting to put Anne on her guard against a man of her own family! It looked to be impossible.
James pushed back his chair and moved to stand before the tall windows behind the desk. He must speak with her alone, that much was clear. But when would there be opportunity to do this? Tomorrow? That was the day for the poetry group; no chance there. And today? Would he dare to come before her on her family's morning at home, possibly with her cousin right at hand?
It must be the poetry meeting, then, he decided. Benwick's eyes roamed the shelves of his great uncle's library as he thought. It would be best to speak to her through the medium of poetry, but whatever he chose, it must be exactingly precise in meaning. He let out a sigh and began to pace about the room as he considered the dilemma. Two sisters, one suitor -- one sly, deceptive, trusted suitor whose ultimate intentions are unclear. He passed a hand over his eyes.
Presently he returned to the desk, pulled his cup closer, and stirred the coffee as he thought carefully about pairs of sisters. Rachael and Leah? Benwick dismissed them quickly; Jacob had wanted to marry only the younger and was cruelly tricked by her father. Katharina and Bianca? Benwick frowned. No, Petruchio had courted only the shrewish Katharina.
Courted. The word hung in his mind as he finished the last of his coffee. All at once, his head came up. " He courted the eldest with glove and ring ... ," he recited. "Of course! Binnorie! It must be here somewhere ..."
Benwick was on his feet in a moment, eager to examine his uncle's collection of poetry. The volumes were not well organised, much to his frustration. Finally, he found himself looking on a lower shelf in a corner, the place where his late father's books were housed.
Impatiently he read through the titles. At last, he found it: a volume of Scottish poetry with an oddly textured leather cover, very worn; the lettering on the spine was nearly faded away. With great care, he leafed through the fragile pages until he found what he was looking for.
"Perfect," he muttered, and read the first stanzas aloud.
'There were twa sisters sat in a bour; Binnorie, O Binnorie! There cam a knight to be their wooer, By the bonnie mill-dams o' Binnorie.
He courted the eldest with glove and ring, But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a thing.'
Benwick smiled grimly as read through the remainder. So the fellow was a knight, was he? Not quite a baronet, but it'll do. All that remained was to get this volume into Anne's hands, guide her through the piece, and trust her to discern the truth.
While he was considering how best to bring this meeting about, the younger Yee entered the room with a fresh pot of coffee. Benwick murmured his thanks but kept his eyes on the text of the poem. After a moment or two, he looked up. Yee stood at attention before the desk.
"I beg your pardon, sir," the man said, "but I have been charged with an invitation. Sir Robin wishes you to join him for tea this afternoon."
"Today?" Benwick groaned inwardly, for he could not refuse his elderly cousin.
"Yes, sir. It is one of his good days; he has them very rarely. He wishes this to be an outdoor affair. We are, er, heating 'Sherwood Forest' now. And I believe he expects you to sing, sir," Yee added.
"You aren't moving the pianoforte into the conservatory, too, are you?" Benwick muttered. He covered his eyes with his hand for a moment and sighed. "Best to prepare the staff for the inevitable, then. I shall sing, but I refuse to play! That would be worse than anything! And I carry no accompanist in my pocket to facilitate Sir Robin on these occasions, so you'd best brace yourself for an a cappella catastrophe! Unless ... that is ... I wonder ... "
A twinkle came into in Captain Benwick's eyes, his lips twitched, and then a full-fledged grin appeared as a most interesting idea came to mind.
"Yee," he announced at last, very cheerfully, "You may present my compliments to Sir Robin; I shall certainly attend. And will you please lay a place at table for another guest. Now that I think on it, I may be able to produce a pianist after all."
And so it was that within the hour, James Benwick had made his plans and was standing before Sir Walter's door. He eyed the brass knocker warily before taking it in hand. Many times he had brought unwelcome news to a superior -- and he knew this invitation would be most unwelcome to Anne's fastidious father. To succeed with him would require a bit of abstruse phraseology; if only he could manage it! At last, James gathered his resolve and rapped firmly at the door.
Presently he was ushered into the drawing room and was welcomed as before: warmly by Anne and not at all by her family. He was coming to recognise the tactic employed by the Elliot clan to repulse an unwanted visitor: the awkward silence. But their effort came to nothing, for Anne was genuinely pleased to see him and said so.
Sir Walter had only this comment: "You should have left your hat in the hall with Burton, Captain."
"Thank you, Sir Walter, but I do not stay," Benwick replied politely, with a formal bow. "I am here on an errand for my cousin, Sir Robin. I am to say that he would be pleased to invite Miss Anne to join him for tea this afternoon."
"Eh? Sir ... Robin?" Sir Walter wrinkled his nose. "Who in the world is that?"
Captain Benwick kept his face perfectly serious as he said, "I believe his formal name is Sir Robert Locksley, sir. Although we have never called him other than "Sir Robin" among the family, at his request. He is an elderly relation of mine; a gentleman who is very weak and frail, but a most kind and gentle soul. His family line is an ancient one, of the East Midlands.
"East Midlands? Where in the East Midlands?"
"Er, I believe ... Nottinghamshire, sir."
"I see. Mmmm, his name does sound familiar, somehow. Mrs. Clay," Sir Walter turned to his companion with a smile of apology, "I hate to trouble you, my dear, but would you kindly bring the Baronetage ? And my spectacles?"
Soon Sir Walter had the volume on the table and was leafing through its pages, muttering, "Locksly, Locksly."
As he did so, James began to be alarmed. Was such genealogical information catalogued in a book? If so, he was hung! For he had no idea whether dear, deranged Robin was a relation at all -- or simply an impoverished friend of his great aunt and uncle! He rather doubted the title 'Sir' was genuine, either -- but the only thing to do now was to brazen it out. He turned to Anne.
"Sir Robin has heard me speak of you, Miss Anne, and he would like the pleasure of meeting you himself. I know this is not a conventional invitation, but it would mean the world to him."
"I am free this afternoon," Anne said softly. "And I would be pleased to accept if ..." Her eyes traveled significantly to her father, who was poring over the pages with Mrs. Clay.
"I believe the name is spelled with an 'ey,' sir," Mrs. Clay whispered helpfully, as they put their heads together to examine the entries.
"Ah, yes. Quite right. And here we are: Sir Rrrr obert Locksley. Yes, he is mentioned, do you see? Quite closely connected to the earl of Huntingdon." Sir Walter pointed to the reference for Mrs. Clay's benefit.
"He is ?" Benwick coughed in an attempt to cover his slip. "I mean, he is a very ancient gentleman! I had no idea he would be in such an, er, modern listing."
"But of course. The truly worthy lineages, such as ours, are all ancient. And he is of your family?" Sir Walter looked at Benwick over the top of his spectacles.
"To be honest, sir, I do not know," Captain Benwick admitted. "He has always been referred to as my 'cousin,' though I must be several generations removed."
"It is very singular that he should wish to meet Miss Anne." This was from William Elliot, who stood behind the game table. Benwick wisely ignored the comment and addressed Sir Walter.
"Sir Robin's dignities are irrefragable but I must tell you that the company today will not be in keeping with his station, Sir Walter. Your daughter is becoming known in Bath for her charitable kindness and this would certainly qualify as such. The other members of the party will be Dr Minthorne, who is also our neighbour -- and who has approved of this occasion, I might add -- and a female cousin who is his assistant.
"Doctor Minthorne! I have heard that name." Mary now spoke up. "Elizabeth, is he not the man who is attending poor Mr. Turner? Miss Carteret told me that her mother would have no other!"
Elizabeth and Sir Walter exchanged a look; clearly they could not argue with the approval of the Vicountess.
"Very well, Anne, you may attend. For although it is not an occasion I would like myself, the Captain is right: charity is not to be avoided." Sir Walter smiled. "And I expect word of your kindness will come to our cousin through this doctor -- and that would not be a bad thing, eh?" It was decided that Captain Benwick and Doctor Minthorne would come for Anne in his carriage shortly before three.
For her part, Anne was longing to ask Captain Benwick about the Concert, but she had no idea how to begin. She settled for escorting him from the drawing room in hopes of finding an opportunity to speak in the hall. Unfortunately, she neglected to close the door fully and as Captain Benwick began to speak of Sir Robin's love of music, her father's voice could be heard quite plainly:
"I object to both his family and his person, Mr. Elliot. That is the worst of it! If only he were not so scruffy in his appearance! The other was at least tolerable-looking! A-hem! And now, Mary, I believe the next move is yours ..."
Anne looked at Benwick in horror. "I am so sorry!" she whispered hoarsely. "My father has very exacting standards concerning appearance ..."
"Yes, I know. And I am in good company, it seems." Benwick gave her a lopsided smile. "Tell me, has he approved of any of your suitors?"
"Why ... no." Anne had to smile, it was too ridiculous.
"I thought as much. Until three o'clock, then, Miss Anne."
And before she could say another word, Captain Benwick had made his bow and was on his way out the door.
Chapter 4, Part III
Louisa looked out the window. She paid little heed to either the conversation between Mrs. Wentworth and Mrs. Junkins, or the view from the Rectory's second floor window. She had been in the midst of an apology when Mrs. Junkins had joined them for tea. It was just as well. Her only excuse for the accident in the kitchen was distraction and she could never have told her sister-in-law that she had been pretending to serve her far-away husband, tea.
"She would think me daft, that is certain," Louisa thought. "Nonsensical, childish -- "
"Louisa, would you care for another cup?" Catherine asked.
The young woman started at her name and turned to see Beatrice lift the teapot in an offer.
"No," she said, looking into her nearly full cup. She smiled, "I am fine, but thank you." The sun was breaking out of the clouds and she could see that a small place in the valley was receiving its warmth. Just as she was about to turn from the window and rejoin the ladies, she noticed a familiar man riding by in a well-appointed curricle. He stopped for a moment, and then manoeuvered the rig in a full circle. With little trouble, he brought the small carriage to a stop, directly facing the Rectory.
It was an astonishing thing to watch, but what proved more astonishing was that the man then stood, lifted his hat and bowed -- bowed to her!
Smiling, for a moment, Louisa looked closer and realised the man was Pollard Levant.
He replaced the hat, took his seat and began looking at her through the window. He began to move his hands as though gesturing to her. It only took a moment for her to realise that he waved at her. Conscious that she was not alone, she slightly lifted her free hand so that they might not see, and returned his wave. She then realised that he no longer waved, but beckoned her to him.
For the briefest of moments, she was quite charmed. She then remembered her conversation with the Rector. Shaking her head as much as she dared, she waited for him to go. But he would not. Levant continued to face the Rectory and his gestures were becoming more pronounced. Louisa thought it best to excuse herself, go down to the man and bid him gone.
"So, I persuaded you to come down."
"Yes," she said. "I do not think you left me much choice." Louisa stood behind the hedge, taking comfort that he was mounted and they were separated. "What might you need Mr. Levant?"
"Oh, so formal. Please, call me Pollard."
Louisa blushed. She was just able to call her husband by his Christian name, and had never called the Rector such. His request was impossible. "I thank you for the compliment, but I believe that it would not be right -- Mr. Levant."
Levant's face betrayed nothing of his feelings. "Very well then, we shall remain formal -- for now." He dismounted and stood close to the hedge. "I have seen my manager today -- " The horse violently bobbed its head and Levant yanked violently back on the reins. Turning back to her, he said, You did ask what I might need. I need to see a lovely face, for not only is my man ugly, he had very bad news for me." Levant began to make for the opening to the path. Louisa stepped back and he stopped.
"I am sorry that you have had bad news." She watched him closely, fearing that the hedge would not be much of a barrier for long.
"So am I. It looks as though I will be forced to take some drastic measures -- and very soon."
Louisa understood his meaning precisely and was now caught up in what he said rather than his presence. "Soon? How soon?"
"Oh, what was weeks, is now days I think. Precious few days."
"And there is nothing else to be done?"
"I can not see any alternatives to what I had told you. And my man is quite insistent that I act." He leant close into the hedge. "You see Lou-- Mrs. Wentworth, I am powerless." Joshua had examined the all apple trees in the grove and was satisfied that, though it was late in the season, with just a just a day or twos work, he could have them pruned and ready for spring. He was more closely examining a cane when something caught his eye. Looking to the carriageway, he saw Mrs. Wentworth talking to Pollard Levant.
Joshua moved slowly, so not to be noticed, behind the tree, and kept the two in sight. It was obvious that they had not noticed his presence.
Levant dismounted his rig. Good, Joshua thought as she moved back when he moved towards her. She does not like him.
Mrs. Wentworth and her meeting with Levant had bothered Junkins quite a lot. He did not wish to think that his friend was married to a schemer, and while he was still not convinced that the young woman was completely innocent, with her earlier apology and now, watching this exchange, his opinion of her was rising markedly.
Ah. He has moved too quickly, Joshua murmured as he saw Levant advance once more towards the path. Louisa stepped back again and then suddenly turned and ran back to the house.
Just then, he realised that Levant was staring towards him. Joshua stepped out from behind the tree and twisted off a short cane. The two examined one another for a very short time when Joshua turned his back to Levant. Soon he heard the sound of horses' hooves retreating down the carriageway.
Harville looked at his captain with shock. "Flay you, sir? I have no idea what you mean by such a thing. We needed a surgeon and this man presented a warrant and credentials more than suff -- "
The Captain raised his hand. "I know, Timothy, I know. Dr Hemmings is a capable medico as far as I am concerned." He looked again at the warrant. "It is his moral character with which I am concerned." Tossing the warrant back on the table, he folded his arms and sighed, "You had no way of knowing that this would not be Dr Hemmings' first commission on the Laconia."
Harville's expression remained one of shock and surprise. He had spoken at length with Dr Hemmings and at no point during the interview had the man made any mention of being familiar with the Laconia, her captain, or of having sailed aboard her in the past.
He dropped his utensils and wiped his mouth. "I will certainly have it out with Hemmings - tear up his papers. He has used me ill in this -- he obviously did not wish me to know of his connection to the ship and therefore hid it. He cannot have anything honourable on his mind in doing so! There be no need for you to -- "
Again the Captain interrupted him. "There will be no need to strike him from the crew." He stood and taking up the warrant, studied it further. As he did, he remembered the man it armed. "When he signed on, he knew that I was captain, he cannot claim ignorance in that. Why he would do this ... "
Now curious, Harville asked, if he might, what the doctor had done that caused such a violent reaction.
Frederick smiled. "On his first sail, he was charmed into the cable tier by, what we thought to e, the waiting woman of a female passenger."
"Female passenger?!" Harville cried. "I thought my Elsa had been the only woman you had ever taken anywhere!"
"Oh no, Harville." He tossed the paper to the table and called again for Michaelson. "While that cruise is not the entire basis for my objecting to women aboard ships, it cemented my position rigidly enough." Michaelson appeared and instructions were given him concerning dinner at three.
"Why, again may I ask, are you inviting the man to dinner?"
The Captain had been looking out the window when Harville summoned the courage to ask his question. He turned and smiled. "I wish to see the doctor -- and your Tweedt. It is not so unusual for the Captain to dine with his Ward room officers, now is it?"
Timothy studied Frederick. "As your friend, I must say, I do not like the look about you."
"And what might there be about my look that you do not like?" Frederick asked with interest.
Harville cleared his throat. "All I mean is that ... when you use that tone and have that look ... well -- "
"Out with it, Harville."
"It just means, sir, that ... look always means you are looking forward to something."
He smiled more broadly. Harville's equivocation was obvious. "Is it wrong for a host to anticipate his party?" He walked over and picked up the warrant. "I am looking forward to this reacquainting myself with our surgeon -- and my other guests."
"This was most definitely a night to look forward to," thought Wentworth as he watched the table. "Many surprises."
The evening had started well -- every man had been on time. The guest list had grown throughout the day until the total finally reached six and the party moved from the cramped dining room aboard the Moonshine, to the Golden Knight and a private room there.
As he looked around the table, he was not only pleased with what he saw, he looked very much forward to a cruise comprised of such skilled men.
Chapter 4, Part IV
Anne Elliot could only look forward to her afternoon engagement with a sense of dread, for she had made a most awkward mistake. While readying herself for tea with Sir Robin, she happened to notice a slip of paper wedged in the frame of the mirror above her dressing table. The brief notation, written in her own hand, said:
Anne now held it tightly, as she paced the length of the empty drawing room. How could I be so addle-brained! she winced. I made the appointment myself, only two days ago! How could I have forgotten it? The truth was, she had accepted Captain Benwick's invitation without a thought for anything else.
The thought of him brought a tightening in her stomach. He and his friend would be arriving any moment; whatever would she say to them? Over and over she rehearsed an apology, but though the reasons were sound, the words sounded hollow.
Presently she heard the sounds of a carriage; a quick look out the window confirmed that they had come. Anne pressed her hands to her cheeks and waited. She longed to run down to the street, to pour out her tale to Benwick, to beg his forgiveness -- in short, to create a scene -- but of course, she did nothing of the kind. Instead, she stole another look at the street, in time to see a tall, unknown man climb out the carriage. He was probably the doctor Benwick spoke of.
After the two men had been shown into the drawing room, Anne explained her dilemma. The fault was entirely hers, but whatever could she do? Mrs. Smith was a poor window, an invalid just like Sir Robin, and she had faithfully promised to visit her this afternoon! The blame could be laid nowhere but at the feet of her own wretched memory, but she had no choice; she must refuse their invitation. Mrs. Smith had so few callers, she simply could not disappoint her.
A slight frown came into Captain Benwick's eyes as he listened, but it was swiftly replaced by an expression Anne could not name. A glance to his companion came next, and then a question.
"How many persons does your carriage hold, Minthorne?"
"Ah! Very good!" Doctor Minthorne turned to Anne with a smile. "Your friend is not a large person, is she, Miss Elliot? And is she able to sit? She is not confined to her bed?" After receiving Anne's answers, he said, "I do not believe transportation will be any trouble, Benwick. And the staff can easily accommodate another invalid."
And before Anne knew what was happening, she was bustled into the entry hall, where Burton held out her cloak and hat. She could scarcely tie the ribbons on her bonnet, so great was her excitement. For these two men had decided to pursue the very best course of action: to disappoint no one! They would simply drive to the Westgate Buildings, collect Mrs. Smith, and bring her with them!
As the carriage clattered toward the lodging house, Dr Minthorne peppered Anne with questions about her widowed friend. Anne could not help herself; with many smiles, she told him everything she knew about Mrs. Smith, her bout with rheumatic fever, and the resulting lameness. But as they neared their destination, caution began to replace giddiness. If Mrs. Smith was not feeling well enough to join them, could she bear the disappointment? And how in the world should such an outrageous invitation be presented?
But if Anne was hesitant about such a scheme, the doctor was not. She had barely finished introducing her companions when he stepped out from behind her, removed his hat, and extended his hand.
"Mrs. Smith," said he, in his fine, deep voice, "I am Richard Minthorne, and though you may not know it ... er ... " He broke off speaking and turned to Anne in mock consternation.
"Miss Elliot, you told me that your friend was a poor widow. Here before me is a very nice-looking woman, who does not seem at all miserable or depressed!"
Anne dimpled. "I did not say she was miserable or depressed, Doctor."
"No? Then I have been gravely mistaken in my ideas! I was thinking of her as quite an old lady!" The doctor grinned at Mrs. Smith and bowed over her hand.
"You must forgive me, Mrs. Smith. In the course of my medical practice, I see many widows -- and being a widower myself, I unfortunately think of all by that designation as being at least as old as I am. Ahem! Now, where was I? Ah yes. The invitation."
"You, Mrs. Smith," he announced grandly, "are our prisoner. We are, in fact, here to kidnap you from your own dwelling in broad daylight! Although, Benwick, I see you forgot your sword. Anywise, you are our captive, Mrs. Smith; I hope you will not feel inclined to scream. You will be taken with Miss Elliot, here, to have tea with a patient of mine, a fine old gentlemen whom neither of you have ever met. And you will not be released and brought home until you have laughed at least three times and sung at least once! What say you to that?"
"Nothing at all! How can I?" said Mrs. Smith, who was laughing now. "If I am a prisoner, my words of entreaty are useless! I must submit to the will of my captors." She gripped the arms of her chair and bravely struggled to her feet. "Where did you say you are taking me, sir?"
"You can stand! Excellent!" Dr Minthorne exclaimed, and he offered his arm for support. "I did not say; it is to be a surprise."
And when Anne had assisted Mrs. Smith with her cloak and hat, he admonished that lady to "hold tightly, now " and promptly lifted her into his arms. "Open the door, Benwick," he commanded, "for I have taken the prisoner into custody!"
Mrs. Smith was absolutely astonished, but she was mindful to heed the tall doctor's instruction and held on for dear life. As they went out the door, she cast a single look at her friend. "Oh, Miss Elliot!" was all she could manage to whisper, but her eyes were shining.
"So, I am to 'sing for my supper' in the 'prison,' Doctor?" Mrs. Smith said cheerfully, as soon as all were settled in the carriage.
"Actually, I believe it is Benwick who will sing for us," he replied, as the vehicle began to move forward.
Anne looked at Benwick in surprise. "I did not know you sang, sir."
James folded his arms across his chest. "Only when I must, to please Sir Robin," he grumbled. "It was my mother's doing, and he remembers it, unfortunately." He went on to explain. "With four sons and a daughter so close in age, we became her choir -- and we performed at every opportunity."
"With little robes and all that?" Dr Minthorne chuckled.
"Yes," James grimaced. "Quite. We were the darlings of the parish. Mother played and we sang. Er, which brings to mind something I meant to ask you this morning, Miss Anne."
And while he and Anne discussed a simple hymn she might play, Dr Minthorne turned to Mrs. Smith. "Before we arrive, I must tell you a little about my patient, Sir Robin. This is no ordinary party today; we will be venturing into ... Sherwood Forest."
"Sherwood For ...?" Mrs. Smith caught the expression on his face and her eyes began to dance. "Ah-ha! To see Sir ... Robin!"
"Er, Robin Hood, to be precise. Please do use the proper name; it is more important than you might think. The old gentleman becomes confused when we do not comply. It is a harmless delusion; otherwise he is quite lucid."
Captain Benwick looked up. "I don't know about that, Minthorne. Is it a delusion? I saw a book today with his name listed in it: Sir Robert Locksley, plain as day. Related to the Earl of Huntingdon, if you please. Although," he frowned, "according to the legends, Robin Hood was the earl of Huntingdon, wasn't he?"
"You don't suppose ..."
"I have no idea.
"Well, what do you know!" The doctor raised his eyebrows, then continued with his speech. "At any rate, when I exit this carriage, ladies, I will cease to be myself and will become Friar Tuck; you will please call me by that name. You will not have difficulty remembering for I do look the part, unfortunately." He removed his hat and pointed to his balding pate. "And Benwick here -- who will you be today, Benwick?"
"It depends. I used to be Little John, Mrs. Smith, as Robin would forget that the man by that name was a giant, not a short fellow like me. However, more lately I have become Alan a Dale, the wandering minstrel. The Navy does cause a fellow to wander and I do sing. I suppose my absences were explained by using that name."
"But," he cast a comical look at Anne, "I told Robin that my balalaika or whatever it is I'm supposed to play got ..." He stopped, then frowned. "You know, I can't for the life of me recall what Dale's musical instrument is called."
"A lyre?" Mrs. Smith suggested.
"Zither? Mandolin?" supplied the doctor.
"Perhaps you might play a lute, sir," Anne offered.
"A lute. Thank you, yes. He thinks my lute got washed overboard during a storm! So, alas, I can play it no more. In other words," he grinned, "don't ask!"
Anne hid a smile with her gloved hand and looked away.
"What are you thinking?" James muttered. "Yes, out with it, Miss Anne. I saw that look."
Anne lowered her hand and whispered, unsteadily, "Such a number of things you don't like just happen to wash overboard, Captain Benwick! Tino Turner's book and now, the musical instrument! It is most ... convenient!"
"Isn't it? One of the benefits to being a sailor. There aren't many," he chuckled. "But our friends seem to be getting on very well." He nodded at the doctor and Mrs. Smith.
"I most admire that you are in good spirits, Mrs. Smith, despite that hole you are living in," Dr Minthorne was now saying.
"Oh, never call my precious room a 'hole', sir," she cried. "Unless you mean to imply that I am a fox, for 'foxes have holes,' as you know. And in my former life, I suppose I was a bit of a sly one! But I am so grateful to have such a nice dwelling; my fellow-lodgers are so very good to me."
"I am glad to hear it. But one would suppose it is impossible to find happiness in such conditions."
"But happiness does not depend on circumstances!" Mrs. Smith's expression became more serious. "I have learned much from my misfortunes, doctor," she said earnestly. "At one time I lived very much in the world; pleasure and frivolity were my chief pursuits. But chasing after happiness is rather like trying to catch your shadow; no matter how hard you try, it always runs away. But I have found that when I fix my attention on something else, on helping others in my small way and on being thankful that in the grace of God I have what I do, happiness, like my shadow, follows after me. Isn't it a paradox?"
Dr Minthorne was silent for a moment. "It is, indeed," he said softly. The carriage made a sharp turn and began an ascent, which steadily grew steeper. "Ah. The hill. We have not much further to go," he said, with a glance out the window.
"How can you tell? It is so dreary out; everything's hidden in the mist."
"And it is growing colder," Benwick spoke up. "But the house will be warm. They have been working to heat 'Sherwood' since early this morning, I'm told.
The carriage made several more turns and at last came to a stop. "Here we are," Benwick said, as the door was opened by Dr Minthorne's coachman. "I'll see if Yee can locate the wheeled chair for us," he remarked, as he climbed out.
"Benwick, no, wait!" Dr Minthorne called. "Dash it, he's gone. Would you ladies mind waiting here until I return? I think it will be better if I carried Mrs. Smith into the house." And he nimbly exited the carriage in pursuit of Captain Benwick.
Anne and Mrs. Smith stared through the fog at the large stone house. "I have heard of places like this." Mrs. Smith's whisper reflected her wonder. "Very comfortable, very elegant lodging houses for the well-to-do, who have no family to care for them. With an excellent cook and a large staff of attendants to meet every need. After all, the doctor did tell me that 'one more invalid' would be no trouble."
"I have no idea where we are," Anne whispered back. "Captain Benwick only said we were going to tea 'at Sir Robin's.' "
The main doors of the house were open now; light spilled out onto the fog-shrouded walk and cobbled street; it was a most welcoming sight. In no time at all Dr Minthorne was back. As before, he deftly lifted Mrs. Smith into his arms.
"Here we go," he said cheerfully. "I'll just take you directly to the table, if you don't mind, Mrs. Smith. Miss Elliot, if you would be so good as to follow. I cannot figure where Benwick has got to, but you two mustn't be left out in the cold any longer."
Anne came behind the pair, but slowly, for she was quite taken by the house and its environs. There were the most enormous trees behind it; their bare limbs were just visible through the mist, against the darkening sky. And she was certain she could hear the cries of waterfowl in the distance.
"Where are we?" she whispered.
An elderly attendant stood at attention just inside the open door, ready to receive her outer garments. A Chinaman! Anne wondered to see such a sight. She quickly removed her cloak and hat and hastened to follow the others. They had gone beyond her sight, but Anne did not wait to inquire the direction. She listened carefully for the resonating sound of their voices and began to make her way through the house.
"Miss Anne!" Captain Benwick came upon her as she was entering the large, well-lit drawing room. "I am so sorry; Minthorne's quite the man of action! He decided not to wait for the chair and barged on ahead! Please, come this way."
"Where are we, Captain Benwick? What is this place?"
James Benwick suddenly became bashful. "I welcome you to the Wrenwyth residence, Miss Elliot," he said quietly. "This is ... Chauntecleer."
"Chantecleer," Anne repeated. "It is a very beautiful house. Such interesting furnishings ... from all sorts of foreign places."
"My great uncle was in the diplomatic service," he answered. "I'd be happy to show you through it later. But perhaps we should join the others?"
Anne agreed. As they drew near to the conservatory, they saw Dr Minthorne standing at the doorway. He was still holding Mrs. Smith.
"Perhaps you'd best go in first, Benwick," he murmured. "Sir Robin's at table; he's been asking for you."
Anne took Captain Benwick's arm and they entered 'Sherwood' together. Her eyes widened in surprise. They were to take tea in a glassed-in room filled with beautiful palms and greenery. What was more, it had been decorated to resemble the outlaw's famous encampment! A large green cloth was suspended from the ceiling to resemble a canopy; beneath it was a round mahogany table with places laid for six.
The glossy tabletop had no cloth covering; it was set in the style of a huntsman, with shining pewter goblets and chargers. The chinaware plates and teacups were in an ivy vine pattern, green against white. And scattered about on the table, among the candelabrums, were items Robin Hood might like to keep close at hand: a huntsman's horn, several feathered arrows, and a sheathed dagger.
Seated at table, in a location closest to the fire, was a white-haired old gentleman in a Lincoln green frock coat. Perched jauntily on his head was a replica of the outlaw's famous cap, complete with red feather. Sir Robin's head nodded forward on his chest; he appeared to be dozing. But as Captain Benwick brought Anne nearer to the table, his blue eyes opened.
"Why Alan," Robin's voice faltered as he beheld the pair; a smile of wonderment then came to his lips. "You ... you have brought her! At last! Your lady love, rescued from that despicable Norman lord!" He extended a trembling hand to Anne. "My dear, welcome! Welcome to Sherwood!"
"Thank you, sir," Anne replied. She curtseyed gracefully.
Robin's childlike eyes clouded for a moment as he thought of something else. "Now where is that friar?" he muttered. "We need him to perform the wedding, don't we? Such a delightful way to begin a party, with a wedding!"
"Er, Cousin Robin, er, just a minute now ..." James Benwick's face turned an alarming shade of red as he stammered. "First of all, I, er, think ...
"Why, what's wrong, Alan? Don't you wish to marry this girl? After all, you rescued her, did you not?"
"Er, yes, I did, after a manner of speaking, but ..."
James could say no more. But the poor fellow was spared further agony by the entry of the doctor and Mrs. Smith. As the pair came forward, Robin gave a gasp of recognition.
"Why, Will Scarlett!" he exclaimed. "My dear old friend! I have not seen you this age! And ... my gracious! You have brought one, too!"
"Huh?" Dr Minthorne blinked, and did his best to deal with the change of his identity. "Er, yes, Robin. I have brought with me Mrs. ..."
"Missus ... Scarlett!" Robin was absolutely radiant with joy. "You have a wife, Will? Yes, of course, of course you do; I had forgotten! I saw the Sheriff lay another place at table just now -- he is put to forced labor for us, you know. And it was for your wife! Please, my dear, sit here beside me! But ... Mrs. Scarlett, you are ... wounded!" Robin's voice showed sincere concern.
"It is nothing, sir," Mrs. Smith answered cheerfully, as she settled herself in the chair. "And as you are such good friends with my, er, Will Scarlett, I wish you would use my Christian name. Won't you please call me Jennifer?"
Anne looked at her friend in amazement, for she had cleverly found a way around a very awkward circumstance. She was presented next, and the old man was captivated. In that instant she became 'Annie Laurie,' the Scottish lass from the ballad. Anne could only smile, for her mother had called her by this name now and again.
And so began an afternoon Anne would long remember, filled with laughter, wry comments, and clever sallies as the guests struggled to stay within their roles. Only the doctor's cousin Winnie Owen, who was a frequent visitor, was allowed to keep her proper name.
"Perhaps next time we can come in costume," the doctor remarked to Mrs. Smith in a low voice. "What do you know about this Will Scarlett fellow, Jennifer? Wasn't he supposed to wear a red tunic? I haven't anything of that colour ... except ... I say! I do have a burgandy-coloured bathing robe! Do you think I should run home to fetch it?"
And with comments like these, all were kept in a continual chuckle throughout the afternoon. When the last of the tea things were cleared away, Anne was surprised to see Sir Robin draw a deck of playing cards from his pocket and hand them to Alan a Dale.
"We are to play ... cards?" she asked.
Benwick noticed her hesitation and murmured, "Don't you like cards, Annie Laurie?"
"Not very well," she whispered back.
"Ah! What's wrong? Hate to lose, do you?"
"Captain Benwick!" Anne sputtered. "How can you say such a thing! I do not ... I do not hate to ... to looo... " She clenched her teeth, but to no avail. A bubble of laughter gurgled up from deep within her.
"The members of my family have a tendency to gloat so! You have no idea what it is like," she confessed, when the giggle had subsided. "And when we play in pairs, every mistake, every loss is laid at my feet. It is dreadful."
"Poor Annie," he grinned, and competently shuffled the deck. "We shall play in pairs today but have no fear; I do not intend to let us lose. And I know exactly what you mean; I have all those brothers and I was forced to play with them. Eventually, I learned how to win. And it is a good thing I did, " he added, as he passed the deck to Winnie Owen to cut. "For that is how I earned spending money as a midshipman. Oh, and when meat was scarce on board, I hunted and sold raa ... er, A-hem! Miss Owen," he said more loudly, "have you brought the money?"
Anne looked speculatively at Benwick as Miss Owen brought out a small canvas bag and emptied its contents on the table. It was filled with foreign coins which Mortimer Wrenwyth had collected in his travels. According to Benwick, this pile would become their gaming money.
But the card game did not progress very far that afternoon, for the players first had to determine the relative value of the coins. This was accompanied by much laughter and good-natured haggling. They had just begun to play when it became apparent that Sir Robin was tiring.
"Perhaps we should have the music now," Anne suggested gently.
And she played while James Benwick sang, and Robin Hood quietly fell asleep in his chair. Jennifer Smith sang the hymn too, very softly. When it was finished she had tears in her eyes.
"One of the things I miss very much, since I am now confined, is church," she confided to Dr Minthorne. "Isn't that the oddest thing? I used to loathe it; I could think of only how boring the rector was, and wasn't he such a hypocrite to be admonishing me! Can you imagine? Ah," her smile brightened, "and you may only guess what a day like this has meant. Thank you so much, Doctor, for taking me as prisoner."
Anne played several more songs and then it was time to depart. She and Mrs. Smith sat in the entry hall while they waited for the men to bring the carriage. In their laps they each held a small potted violet, a gift from Sherwood Forest and Sir Robin. Mrs. Smith stroked the delicate purple-blue flowers with trembling fingers.
"Oh, Miss Elliot," she whispered. "I am tired, but I am so happy!" She looked at her companion thoughtfully before adding, shyly, "He asked if he could call on me."
"He?"
"Richard Minthorne. And, oh, Miss Elliot, I do not think he meant it as a doctor! For when I said I could pay him nothing, he looked so surprised! As if the thought of payment never entered his head!" Mrs. Smith frowned at the dark green leaves of the plant. "I am a goose to think this way, I know I am! But he is the kindest man! And so gallant and ... strong!"
"He is a little older than you are," Anne ventured to suggest.
"My goodness, Miss Elliot," Mrs. Smith smiled. "He cannot be much above forty! That is not so old! He is ... perfectly wonderful! Er, as a friend, of course."
Anne reached over and squeezed her friend's gloved hand. "I quite agree, he is a wonderful friend," she said, with complete sincerely. "And alas for us, I think I hear his carriage."
The trip home was a merry one, though each hated to see the afternoon come to an end. Anne smiled the entire way. She smiled when she said good-bye to Captain Benwick, and she smiled at Burton when she handed him her bonnet. Even when climbing the stairs to reach her bedchamber, she smiled and hummed the hymn she had played for Sir Robin.
The room was dark, so Anne went in search of a candle. Presently she returned with one. The potted violet was placed on her desk, along with an old book Captain Benwick had given her to read. One by one she lit the other candles in the room, watching as the golden light spread to dispel the darkness. She had felt this way in 'Sherwood,' as though brightness and warmth had flooded her being in the happiness, laughter, and music.
Still smiling, Anne sat at the desk and carefully opened the book. She found the place her friend had marked and began to read the selection he had chosen.
'There were twa sisters sat in a bour ...'
Anne frowned at the page. It was an odd way to end a pleasant afternoon, with this peculiar old ballad. She shook her head and sighed. There was sometimes no comprehending the mind of Captain Benwick.