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Chapter 7 continued

"All alone, Penelope dear? Has the baronet deserted you?"

Mrs. Clay jumped to hear a man's voice so close by. She turned to see who it was and then said nothing. Mr. Elliot was not exactly in favour with her at the moment. He had kept the Musgroves and her waiting for nearly an hour, while he went back to his rooms to change into ballroom attire.

"Ah, well," William Elliot continued amicably, after a sidelong glance at her. "That is to be expected, unfortunately. You are a bit out of your depth in this crowd, my dear."

"You have the oddest notions, Mr. Elliot," she was stung into replying. "Deserted, indeed! Sir Walter has merely stepped away to procure a glass of punch, so you need not fear for me."

She eyed him carefully and added, "Besides, I take great pleasure in watching the young ladies dance. Miss Anne seems to be enjoying herself with that nice Captain Benwick. I cannot recall seeing her in such spirits." Satisfied that her shaft had hit its mark, Penelope Clay directed her attention to the dancers. Mr. Elliot grumbled something inarticulate and stalked away.

"I thank you for the dance, Mr. Turner," Anne said politely. "But I fear I must decline your invitation for the next. I am quite exhausted."

Tino Turner's slender brows knit into a frown. "Gracious, is not the next a waltz? Bless me, Miss Anne, I have been abominably rude! For I have promised that to dear Miss Carteret!" He immediately scurried away, leaving Anne to stand alone on the dance floor.

"He cannot make up with fine words what he lacks in manners," a man's voice grumbled beside her. "Would you like some punch, Miss Anne?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied and gratefully took Captain Benwick's proffered hand. "And then I would dearly love to sit down. I have been dancing for ever so long! And the crowd! It has grown even larger!" She kept hold of his hand as they threaded their way through the throng. It would never do to get lost.

"Now, there's a man I've been wanting to see! Commander Benwick!"

James Benwick halted in his tracks to hear himself so called. "Admiral McGillvary, sir," he gasped. "Er, how do you do?"

"A merry chase you've led me on, Commander," McGillvary grinned, as he extracted himself from the crowd. "I nearly had to send to Whitehall for your address! And I discover we are neighbours!"

"A ... chase, sir? Ah, may I present Miss Anne Elliot. Miss Anne, this is Admiral Patrick McGillvary."

"Elliot!" Patrick McGillvary gave Anne a bright look as he made his bow. He was suddenly very interested in continuing the conversation. "A pleasure, Miss Elliot. Your friend here had me turning Bath upside down last week for his address."

McGillvary then turned to Benwick. "I had no idea you were so well-connected, Commander. Singled out by a Vicountess -- and did you attend the concert, by the way? She was most insistent about that ticket -- and living in the Wrenwyth house, of all places!"

"I hope I did not inconvenience you, sir."

"Of course not," McGillvary laughed. "Starkweather handled the whole thing. The McGillvarys are known as the Irish connection in Bath, you know. It was natural that she would write to me for help. But I had no idea you were related to Mortimer Wrenwyth! He and my grandfather were great friends, Miss Elliot," he said to her. "Once they got past the surveying mistake, that is."

"Chauntecleer was built just over the boundary of the McGillvary property, Miss Anne, while both gentlemen were absent from the country," Benwick explained. "Chaucer Court was supposed to be a private drive, not a street."

"And a master of diplomacy was Wrenwyth, Miss Elliot! For he led my grandfather to see it as a great benefit! He even had a gate cut in the back hedge. My grandfather used to nip down for a game of chess whenever they were both in town. Great lovers of the game, the pair of them. Are you fond of chess, Commander? Perhaps we could revive the tradition."

"I am, but I've not played much since leaving Went..., er, the Laconia, sir."

"Ah! And what do you hear from the old boy? Any news?"

"Miss Elliot and I attended his wedding two fortnights ago, sir."

"What!" Patrick McGillvary was thunderstruck at this. "Frederick is married? Frederick Wentworth, the despair of hostesses, the most gun-shy of the Eligibles? This is hard to believe!"

"Er, the society of the Navy is loaded with predatory females, Miss Anne," Benwick explained. "But our friend eluded capture time and again. He is famous for his distrust of women."

"Predatory females! Eluded capture!" McGillvary chuckled. "Gad, Benwick, you have a way with words! I'd forgotten. So," he said thoughtfully, "our Frederick has married at last. Will wonders never cease? I wish him joy. And you, too, Commander, eh? Good evening."

"Good gracious," Anne said, as Admiral McGillvary disappeared into the crowd. "He is your neighbor?"

"My great aunt's neighbor," Benwick corrected. "And an exceptionally close friend of Wentworth's. It is curious that he should show an interest in me."

"He is very handsome," Anne observed.

"Isn't he. But unlike Wentworth, he has no fear of women. Nor they of him, which I think they should. Now, what do you say about finding that punch and a chair?"

She agreed most heartily and the refreshment table was gained at last. But as Anne reached out to grasp the glass cup, she immediately sensed something was wrong. She was holding the cup in her left hand; did she not always use her right? Anne glanced down at it and experienced a shock. For her right hand was firmly clasping Captain Benwick's! She had been standing there all that while, conversing with that Admiral while holding Benwick's hand!

So that is why the Admiral looked at me so! He thinks ... Anne disengaged her gloved hand from her friend's as nonchalantly as she could and took hold of her cup with both hands. Don't act like a goose! It was nothing! she lectured herself, as she took a sip of the punch. The crowd was very dense. I doubt that anyone saw me acting like a ... oh dear! Like a ... Predatory Female! And perhaps because of pent-up anxiety or perhaps for some other reason, this thought struck Anne as incredibly funny.

"My dear, what have you found to drink at that refreshment table? Vinegar?"

"Mmmm?" William Elliot turned to look fully at his friend.

"Oh, no you don't!" Colonel Wallis chuckled. "That innocent face is very well but I saw how you were looking at her. You're as sour as a dog with a burr up his ... er, backside!" As his companion said nothing, the Colonel chatted amicably on.

"So, this is the sailor I've heard so much about. You have made a mull of things, Elliot, if she prefers him to you." He threw his friend a mischievous look. "And perhaps I am mistaken, but I believe I saw her holding his hand a while ago."

"Do shut up, Wallis!" William Elliot snapped. "Or, barring that, take yourself off and do something helpful for a change! Dance with her, for G-d's sake! Get her away from him!"

"What an excellent idea! I'd not thought of that. Though it won't be easy to do. He watches her like a hawk. Listen, Elliot," Colonel Wallis said, more seriously. "Let me give you a little advice: ride lightly over heavy ground. This battle may be better fought another day."

"Another day," Mr. Elliot repeated. His eyes never left Anne Elliot. "I have every intention of fighting, Wallis, another day and every day, if necessary. I do not believe in surrender."

"Good man," Wallis agreed. "And don't forget, you are fighting on two fronts. A tricky bit of business, that." The Colonel nodded significantly at another couple. "I believe your Mrs. Clay has nearly convinced the man to waltz with her, or so it appears to me. Perhaps you should intervene?"

"Good G-d! That woman is relentless!"

"There is no rest for the wicked, Elliot," Colonel Wallis called softly, as his friend strode away.

"It is very late," Anne sighed happily as she sank into the chair Benwick had found for her. It was such a pleasure to finally be able to rest her feet. "Or should I say it is early? I am not accustomed to these hours."

"Nor am I." James Benwick consulted his timepiece, frowned at it, and with great reluctance turned to face her. "Miss Anne, I hate to say this, but I fear I must bid you adieu for the present."

"Adieu? Oh, surely not! Perhaps it is better said a bientot, sir?"

"Est-ce que vous parlez francais?" he smiled. "Alas, adieu it must be. I have been called to London on business tonight, Miss Anne. I was meaning to tell you this morning when I came, but other things drove it from my mind."

"Tonight? Do you mean you must leave now?" There was a slight catch to Anne's voice. "Shall you be gone long?"

"That I cannot say. But I shall return, Miss Anne, as quickly as I am able."

"I hope so, for we have the Poetry Group to manage."

"Er, I've spoken with Mr. Turner about that. He's not at all keen on leading the discussion in my absence," he said. "And as Lady Dalrymple will be leaving for London herself in less than a fortnight (and he is to go with her), it may be that we have held our final meeting for the season."

"Oh."

"When I return, I hope to bring some very good news ..."

"Then you must promise to call as soon as you arrive and appraise me of it."

"Aye, aye, Ma'am," he smiled. "It will be a great pleasure to obey that order. I bid you a good evening, then, and ..."

"Aha!" a cheerful voice crowed. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Charles Musgrove disentangled himself from the crowd and came to greet them; his eyes were bright with excitement. "She liked it, Anne!" he grinned. "The waltzing, I mean! Did you see us? I am quite the clever husband today, thanks to you and Benwick."

"Musgrove, if you are anything, you are a very brave man," James Benwick replied with a smile. "Not one in ten thousand would have had the courage to dance on the strength of one lesson. Miss Anne does not waltz with me but perhaps you may tempt her to try. Good night."

"Good ... night," Charles repeated. "Now where's he off to? Ah well. I say, Anne, that Army fellow, Wallis, has claimed Mary for the next set. How about standing up with me?"

"Oh, Charles ... now?"

"Nobody will say anything about a brother dancing with his sister! Please, Anne? You wouldn't be so rag-mannered as to refuse, would you?

Anne looked at her brother-in-law's smiling face; he was so happy to have pleased his wife. Oh, what does it matter, she thought recklessly. My feet will ache just as much with one more dance as not. Anne held out her hand to him. "Very well, Brother Charles," she smiled. "I am pleased to accept your invitation."

As the Assembly drew near its conclusion, Elizabeth Elliot was certain of one thing: her family's move to Bath was the best decision her father had ever made -- for this evening had been an unqualified success in every way. Never had she been so sought out and admired; not even her best seasons in London could match this. She had been introduced to scores of the noble and well-born, ladies and gentlemen who did not frequent the card parties given by her father's antiquated friends. She had never once lacked for a dancing partner, in fact, she had been hard pressed to choose among so many. It was a wonderful night.

Elizabeth reached down to tenderly stroke the fabric of her precious gown. In the light of the glittering chandeliers, the silk had a golden sheen, just as she had hoped it would. Tonight she felt golden, too -- as though perfect happiness was at last within her grasp.

At the moment, she was standing with Miss Carteret in the Ballroom and together they observed the crowd. Very close beside Elizabeth were two talkative young women, both painfully ill dressed in the very latest fashion. Elizabeth listened to their chatter with a smile of amusement. They were discussing the merits of a cluster of gentlemen on the opposite side of the room, men who were much too sophisticated for girls just out of the schoolroom.

"Oh, but he is so handsome in that uniform! I could just die," sighed the blonde, who was clad in an ugly gown of white taffeta. "Mother says he was an awful rake while his wife was alive, but I don't care. He's a widow now, that's the important thing. Unmarried."

"He's Irish," warned her companion. "And you know what that means, Flora! It is simply too tragic for words!"

"Oh, I don't know about that," Elizabeth spoke up, in a very friendly way. She was in a generous frame of mind tonight and not inclined to be stuffy. "Miss Carteret and I do not think being Irish is such a bad thing, do we Miss Carteret?"

"No, indeed," came the answer.

The two girls stared at Elizabeth in awe. "You are Miss Elliot, are you not?" the brunette managed to gasp.

"I am," Elizabeth answered, not unnaturally flattered by their youthful worship. "Tell me, which of those gentlemen is your Irishman?"

"The Admiral," the blonde sighed, "... with the moustache ... and the beau-ti-ful smile."

"And you cannot forget the dimples," added the other wistfully. "And his pots and pots of money."

"Dear me, dimples, too? A paragon of male beauty!" Elizabeth's eyes twinkled as she examined the group of men, who most obligingly were too intent on their conversation to notice the admirers. "Alas, he must have gone away, for I cannot see anyone by that description. But you know, my dears, a man of the Navy who lacks a title is most certainly of low birth ... and is not at all suitable for you. No matter how delightful he is to ... look ... at."

Elizabeth froze. For as she spoke a uniformed man with a truly splendid form turned to face them. He had a generous brown moustache and an unforgettable smile. There could be no mistake; he was the man from the Concert.

"There he is," the brunette whispered reverently.

"Do you ... happen to know his name?" Elizabeth asked carefully. Her indifferent tone concealed a raging curiosity.

"McGillicutty," the blonde sighed. "Admiral Patrick McGillicutty."

"Oh ... dear!" Elizabeth gurgled, barely able to contain her glee at such an odious, lowborn name. "That is too bad, certainly."

"You do not like the name, Miss Elliot?"

"Well ..." Elizabeth smiled wickedly. "I would ... if I was seeking to marry and set up a shop in a back alley near Cheap Street! Although, I suppose 'Carbuncle' would be a worse name," she admitted. "I mean, really. 'Mrs. McGillicutty'! Can you imagine being called such a thing?"

"No, I suppose not," the blonde sighed sadly. The two girls eventually wandered off and Elizabeth was left to gloat over the beautiful Admiral. One day he would no doubt grow as stout as Augustus Rushworth and lose most of his wavy hair -- and all he would have left was the name!

She stole another look at him (for he was very handsome), and suffered a shock, for he was now looking directly at her. Across the crowded room, their eyes met -- and his twinkled. Elizabeth hurriedly looked away. She was not one to back down easily, but this was too much!

As she struggled to keep her features composed, the words from yesterday's poem sounded clearly in her mind:

Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine ...

Good heavens! Elizabeth's thoughts were in a whirl. Is this what that poet meant about the eyes? She set her teeth and willed her heart to stop hammering, but it would not. Her eyes also rebelled and sought his face; no matter how she tried, she could not tear her gaze from Admiral McGillicutty.

And then, he smiled. Unmistakably, he smiled -- at her. Elizabeth's face grew warm, though the blush only served to heighten her beauty. She watched as one transfixed. Without looking away, he handed his wineglass to his surprised companion and began to move toward her. From his waistcoat pocket he produced a pair of gloves; as he crossed the room, he began to put them on.

He is going to ask me to dance! Elizabeth was thrown into a panic by such boldness. What could she do? Very faintly she heard the beginning strains of a waltz -- the last dance of the evening. I cannot waltz with him, I cannot! The Admiral was nearer now, he was almost close enough to speak. Elizabeth finally lowered her gaze, she was trembling too badly to do anything else. She was just beginning to compose her words of acceptance when another came bounding up.

"Hello-hullo, Miss Elliot!" a familiar voice crowed. "It's the last dance of the evening -- and here I am! Right on time!"

"Mr. Rushworth," Elizabeth said blankly. She kept her eyes averted and did not look up.

"You promised the last dance of the evening to me, remember?" Mr. Rushworth leaned over her with undisguised eagerness; he did not bother to lower his voice. "I greased the palm of the music leader, so we're to have a waltz! Isn't that jolly?"

Elizabeth studied the hand Mr. Rushworth held out; it was far too chubby to fit properly in the glove he wore.

"I did promise, yes," she said softly and placed her hand in his. With a grace she did not feel, she repeated the words she would have said to Admiral McGillicutty: "Thank you, sir, for the kind invitation. I do accept it."

Though she kept her eyes on the ground and never again looked at the Admiral, Elizabeth was ashamed of herself. She had made him no promise, yet it felt as if she had broken her word. And why was she feeling such disappointment? He was unworthy of her in every way! But deep in her heart Elizabeth knew that the lowborn Admiral would waltz beautifully, just as she knew that Mr. Rushworth would not.

The ride back to Camden Place that night was a quiet one. Anne, who had smiled for so much of the evening, was silent and thoughtful. Elizabeth frowned as she tried to forget the bumptious waltz with Mr. Rushworth. Sir Walter leaned back against the squabs and fell asleep, with his mouth open. Only Mr. Elliot was cheerful, smiling into the darkness, though none of the others in the carriage knew why.

*After Elise sent Anne off to the ball, she says: "God knows what will come of it."

Author's note: The scene with Charles Musgrove and James Benwick working on the waltz has its feet firmly planted in a real life event. I sincerely wish to thank Pamela T for relating the hilarious story of her son and his friend as they practiced their ballroom dancing "moves" for the prom. "I thought I was the woman this time!" is their wonderful line, not mine! ~LL

Chapter 8

The candles burned brightly and gave the room a warm and cosy glow. Rosamond made a circuit and snuffed several. Domestic comfort was not the ambiance she wished; her intentions were best carried out in near darkness. She looked about and was satisfied with the results.

The mantel clock struck the quarter-hour and she hurried to her dressing table. She wished to be perfectly arranged when he entered.

A whisper of a noise at the door told her that Randwick had disposed of Levant for the evening. This assured them that the rest of the night was theirs to do with as they pleased.

She sat painfully still in anticipation. She could barely hear him, but still did not look. His hands were on her shoulders and his lips at the nape of her neck before she realised.

"Are you surprised?"

"Not really, but anticipation can be as stimulating as surprise."

He knelt beside her, and brought a hand at her waist. "The old boy is down for the count and we are free."

Her eyes gleamed. "Yes, more than you realise."

"Oh? How might that be?"

"Ian Demarest's men are here in Shropshire." She picked up a scrap of paper and offered it to him.

He waved the paper away. "When will it be?" His hand moved from her waist to her neck. He began to pull her closer to himself.

"Monday night," she breathed.

His fingers were now in her hair. "How?" he whispered.

"We do not wish to know that. All we must do is send him out the ... " She consulted the note. "Cider Press Road, towards Glencoe, near dusk. They will do the rest." With the news, he grew more insistent. She resisted him just enough to keep him under her control.

"Mm. They will do all the work," he said, as they looked at one another in the mirror. "We shall have all the pleasure." He took her by the chin and brought her mouth to his.

She pulled reluctantly away. "Pleasure later, Daniel. We must think of something that will give him cause to head off to Glencoe Monday evening."

"Must we begin to plan this very minute?" he choked. "The absolute last thing I wish to think on is Pollard."

Rising, she allowed her hand to glide across his cheek. "Yes, now."

Randwick hung his head. Resigned to the circumstances, he hoisted himself into the vacated chair. "Before we arrange the details of Pollard's end, might we have a little something -- I am famished."

As she watched the fire, she mused that perhaps she had been mistaken, Randwick's appetites for intimacy and domestic comfort seemed equally strong ... and easily interchangeable. She touched the bell, gratified her recent cloistering had not dulled her significant feminine powers.

Later, after Tom had sulked his way through serving them wine and cheese and bread, they returned to their previous conversation.

"I will not miss the dull fare of the Bramford cellars, that is certain." Randwick drained his wine and poured another. "I will enjoy getting back to cooks who know what to do with a piece of beef, not just roast it to leather."

Rosamond folded her napkin and said, "Those are trifles, it is the society I miss. The social diversions of London will be a welcome relief and we will arrive just in time to enjoy it all."

He wiped his mouth and laughed a little. "Now Rosa, you have had every opportunity in the world to socialise with the finest of Crown Hill Society. You are the one who chose to snub them, remember?"

"Yes," she mocked, "an opportunity I am sure to regret all of my days!

Draining the second glass, Randwick brought it to the table with a thump. "By Jove! I forgot to tell you the latest about our Pollard."

"What of him?"

"Oh, he has been a bad boy!"

She smirked. "How bad?"

"He has been pursuing that Wentworth girl, the one with the Navy man for a husband."

"Surely not!" she leant back in surprise. "He does not really imagine that he can win her!"

"No, no! Though I am sure that was the opportunity presented ... Anywise, he has the ninny convinced that he is prepared, at any moment, to chuck her, the Rector, rector's wife, kits, cats, sacks and rats all out into the shrubbery unless she gives him a sizeable wad of cash! He is convinced that the captain would have left her well-off for the duration and he intends as much as possible of the ill-gotten prize to make its way into his pocket."

"I am sure that Pollard will try for more, though he will not succeed."

Randwick reached over and chaffed her bare arm. "No normal man would refuse were it offered, but why are you so set that she will not succumb to his ... considerable charms?"

"I heard him say that she is from Somerset. If I recall correctly, it contains no cities of note. It is all countryside. The faithful tillers of the soil breed their daughters to faithfulness, just as they breed some horses to the hunt, or," she drawled, "to the plow."

He reached over and took a bit of bread from her plate. "I was raised in the country. I would be interested to know, to which you think I was bred."

She took hold of his hand, "No question, Daniel, you were most definitely born to the hunt." Taking the bread from his fingers, she put it in her own mouth and smiled at him. When she was finished, she smiled more widely. "Perhaps we might use this to our advantage."

He stood and tossed the napkin down. "I will also not miss that lazy brute, Tom. Does he never do anything without being told?" The fire was very nearly out and Randwick began to tend it. "So, how might the guileless Mrs. Wentworth be used?"

Rosamond joined him at the hearth. "If Pollard were to receive word that Mrs. Wentworth was to be on the road to Glencoe -- at dusk -- Monday ... "

A handful of dry twigs had caught and now crackled in the firebox. Randwick stopped for a moment. "Yes, this could be very helpful to us." He continued to put wood on. "Levant is planning to inform her Sunday that he wants the money -- oh, and how is this for brass -- he intends to give her a note ... in Church! Right under the nose of God and the entire congregation!" He laughed as he sat back from his ministrations to the fire.

The warmth of it, combined with the surge of her active mind, created a flush in Rosamond. She leant into Randwick and said, "This is perfect for us. However, nothing can be in writing -- nothing that could lead anyone to suspect us -- but you could easily deliver a message."

"Good G*d," he exclaimed turning to her. "Why would I get mixed up in Pollard's poor-fisted theatrics?" He turned back to the fire. "Besides, do we really wish to send the girl into whatever brawl Demarest has planned for Levant?"

She drew back. "You do have a heart! Or at the very least, your conscience has not been completely seared." He looked at her quickly and then back to the fire. "I am glad," she murmured. Lightly touching his hand, she continued, "Perhaps you will not treat me as others have. Anywise, we do not send Mrs. Wentworth into the midst of the brawl, we bring her here."

"What? Why would we do that?"

"The money. With Poor Pollard meeting his maker, all that lovely money will, no doubt, go back into the Captain's, considerable account. All we must do is convince Pollard that it would be in his best interest to allow you to act as his intermediary. He will accept this notion for it feeds his delusions of importance -- "

" -- and that will give the silly old mongrel an audience, a sinner like Pollard likes to share tales of his debaucheries --" cried Randwick.

They were of the same mind! This sent a shiver down Rosamond's spine. "Yes and amen! Then he will think nothing of being sent off to Glencoe. He shall meet his fate and then we have the girl come here, leave the money with us -- "

He sidled closer to Rosamond. "We will be faithful to seeing it delivered to the proper hands -- ours!"

She touched his hand again. This time, she lingered. "I must say, Daniel, you are a clever man."

"More than you know, my dear." He took her hand and kissed it, then began an earnest pursuit of her lips.

The Sunday sermon had provided nothing to lift Louisa's spirits. Neither text nor hymns had been chosen that might give her comfort. When the family returned from church, she had immediately excused herself and gone straight to her room. A quiet afternoon with the family was the last thing she felt she could endure.

When her husband had been with her, Louisa had every reason in the world to be cheerful. His presence alone had supported her efforts at maturity. His surreptitious smiles during familiar evening conversations had easily carried her through. Now, without him, with only the company of her brother and sister-in-law, sustaining her pretension to adulthood was daily more difficult.

The days at the Rectory passed slowly. Unlike Catherine, Louisa had no baby of her own to anticipate. No little clothes to mend and make over. No one called on her to bring little bundles of things deemed useful with a baby. Unlike the Rector, Louisa had no parishioners to call upon. She had nowhere to go that would take her out of the house and into the world. For her, going out into town, or just out for a turn about the yard seemed dangerous and an open invitation for a certain person to make an appearance. Louisa counted even Mrs. Graham more fortunate than herself. At least the woman had chores and duties to occupy her time. The young Mrs. Wentworth had proven herself incompetent when it came to making tea, and the previous afternoon, when she had offered to feed the chickens, it had taken Graham half and hour to gather three that had escaped. It was depressing to think she was such a failure at only nineteen.

Louisa had changed her clothes and took her wool shawl from the wardrobe. As she placed it around her shoulders, the self-pity that already surrounded her, found a new morsel upon which to chew.

After the service that morning, as she made her way out of the church, Mr. Randwick had approached her. When he had come upon her, she had been relieved to find him alone, without Mr. Levant. The young man had been very polite and asked if he might speak with her privately. He had taken great care to find a place both quiet and well within the view of anyone who might care to look.

"I know how a small parish can be ... it would not do to bring you or your brother-in-law any embarrassment ... Levant has told me of his demands concerning the Rector ... it sickens me to be a part of this ... I am personally obliged to Levant ... he will be expecting you at the Hall at six o'clock, after dark ... he knows that you will be generous ... if I might help you in any way, I am at your service ... I am sorry ... "

With a touch of the hat, Mr. Randwick was gone and she was left with the odious message. It left her sick with nerves that she was expected to accomplish so much all alone.

First, she would have to get the money before the man left for the day. She would need directions to Bramford Hall and depending upon how far it was, she would have to hide herself until the appointed time. After enduring another meeting with Levant, she would be forced to find her way home in the dark. There would be questions about her whereabouts, for surely she would be discovered missing in all that time. All of it was foreign and frightening, but she was the only person who could keep Pollard Levant at bay.

If only I had gone home to Uppercross, she thought to herself. I would know nothing of their troubles and would certainly not be in this predicament.

As she turned, the little wooden box her husband had given her caught her eye. Its inlaid tulips cheerful as always as it rested upon the top of the dresser. Louisa took it to the bed and dumped out its contents.

The necklace of blue beads, which had been the true present, fell to the bed while all the pieces of his first letter scattered themselves about the comforter.

As she took the pieces one by one, she glanced mechanically at each and placed it in its proper spot. The letter had become like a much played with puzzle. Though the challenge was gone, as it was memorised, it still held a fascination for the owner.

Even after her violent out-burst, and her claims of hatred of her husband, she had faithfully gathered the pieces and brought them to her bedchamber. She had laid them out, in their proper order and gazed on it for quite some time. A few pieces were missing. A word or two here and there gone. But, she knew the text regardless.

As Louisa picked up the largest piece -- nearly the whole bottom half -- she spontaneously began to recite:

" ... and I will send the letters whenever the opportunities present themselves. Though, the mails are beholden to no one or no thing, not even marital affection. Take care of yourself and give my regards to all. Your loving husband, F.W.

"Marital affection ... and loving husband," she murmured aloud. "Do I truly have his affection? And is he a loving husband?" In light of what she had heard, she could not be certain.

She gathered the pieces and placed them back in the mahogany box. The box was then placed precisely back on the dresser. She leant against the wardrobe and sighed. After she had first heard the heart-breaking conversation, her thoughts had been jumbled and chaotic. Now, after three days, she had exhausted her emotions and was able to think more clearly. Having given careful consideration of her husband and Miss Anne's behaviour, Louisa felt confident that she knew precisely what had happened between the two of them, both in the past and the present.

Again, she cast an eye towards the box, hoping perhaps the contents would change and become more clear-cut, putting all her doubts to rest.

After a while, Louisa opened the wardrobe, reached in and took out her husband's linen smock-frock. She wrapped it around herself, and took tentative comfort from its illusion of his presence. However, it was not long before her thoughts went back down the well-worn road.

"Miss Anne Elliot," she mouthed.

The more she thought, the more confident she became in her conclusions concerning Miss Anne, and the more disheartened she became by her conclusions to do with her husband.

"Are you certain she understood? While I see your point in not giving her a note, what if the silly thing forgets the instructions?" Levant asked, as he followed Randwick from place to place around the sitting room.

"Do not worry, she understood perfectly. The instructions were not all that complicated you know." He finally took his ease by the fire. Before Levant could advance the conversation, he said, "And you know Pol, I found her not at all distrustful -- I believe her to have quite an open temperament."

Levant had been examining his reflection in a silver vase. "Uh, well, of course she'd not be skittish with you, my boy. She recognises you as the harmless lad you are."

Randwick smiled broadly, "Yes, I am the personification of innocence." Taking a step closer to Levant, who had lost himself in the mirror-like finish of a vase, he said with an air of fellowship, "She, uh, seemed very pleased -- that you wished to see her -- privately."

Levant took in Randwick's remarks and manner; twigged his meaning and continued primping. "Did she now?" he smirked.

Randwick kept his countenance. "Yes, yes she did. I think it safe to say that Mrs. Wentworth is looking very much forward to meeting you Monday afternoon. But, uh," he paused, "is not five a bit early? There is still enough day light for the two of you to be observed."

A scowl came over Levant's face. "Yeah, still light enough ... " he had paused in his self-study.

"Might I suggest," Randwick leant closer as Levant paused to listen, "there is an abandoned house, near the Ludlow fingerpost. It is right on Cider Press Road, the route she will have to take from town. It is quite private -- from what I have noticed of it --"

"Yes," Levant drawled, "I know precisely where you mean. That would be just the thing -- little rustic hide-away ... " His voice faded. Taking a final swipe through his hair, he turned to Randwick and said, "Yes my boy, that is the place -- private, yet close enough to the road that she will have no trouble in seeing me." He stared off and began to plan for Monday night.

With a hearty nod, meant to encourage, Randwick gave many appropriate statements of envy and leering expressions. After Levant had left the room, Daniel turned to gaze at the fire. As he watched, he wondered if there might be any opportunity to inform Mrs. Louisa Wentworth from what he had just saved her.

Mrs. Louisa Wentworth had retired for the night. When asked, she had assured her sister-in-law that she was not sick, merely tired and would go straight to bed after eating a quiet supper in her room. That had satisfied Mrs. Catherine Wentworth and gotten the younger woman the privacy she craved.

Sleep was settling in when a carriage clattered by the house and woke her fully. Against her own natural inclination and feelings on the matter, Louisa began to think.

Again, as dispassionately as possible, Louisa reaffirmed the obvious -- Miss Anne had rejected Frederick.

"Miss Anne's manner was always courteous and proper in every way, but there was never a hint of excitement or curiosity about him ... and when the two of them were dining at Uppercross or met at the cottage, she never seemed comfortable. The poor thing ... even when we all were in Lyme, she chose the company of James Benwick over everyone else -- because of Frederick no doubt."

Louisa had finally washed his pillowslip, and so the scent was now of soap and not of her husband. Nonetheless, she sighed and snuggled herself deep into it. "During our fight, he was adamant that he wished to marry the woman he had loved -- surely it was her."

She turned onto her back, still clutching the pillow. "What is there about him, that she refused him? She is not vain like her father ... but that would not matter for he is handsome ... he could give her every material thing, for he is rich. He is witty, and brilliant and kind ... what can be his failing that would cause her to refuse him?"

The same thoughts made their way through her mind again and again. Her only conclusion was that Miss Anne was privy to a moral flaw so abominable, she refused to attach herself to him. As this was the only possible explanation, what could this mean for her future?

As Louisa determined her husband dissolute in some manner, the Captain was preparing to dine with an old friend.

"Before we leave port, sir, it might be wise if I was to have another pair of breeches made up, perhaps even two. The harsh sun will have these unfit in no time," Michaelson stated.

"Yes, I think that best. As things are taking an inordinate amount of time, there should be no hurry. Another trifle to take up my time as I beg the Admiral to move on the Laconia" Wentworth muttered.

"Ya hat, sir."

The Captain examined himself in the mirror, "I hope McGillvary appreciates all the primping and fussing on his account."

"That will be all."

The keep opened his mouth to object. McGillvary held up his hand and said, "It is quite all right. My guest is the most punctual fellow I know and will be here directly. Bring the next course in half an hour." The keep touched his forelock and moved to exit. "And take the boy. We shan't need to be served." He gently propelled the boy in the direction of the door.

The table was spread and the wine was poured. McGillvary looked over the room and was satisfied with the hospitality of the Golden Knight. The smell of the buttery hake filets caught his nose and he hurried Wentworth in his mind.

Taking a post at the window, McGillvary caught sight of his guest just dismounting a chair. Checking the packet in his breast pocket one last time, he prepared to greet his friend.

"Captain Wentworth, sir."

"D*mn my eyes, Wentworth! If you have changed one iota, I will take vows right here and now!" McGillvary cried as he vigourously pumped the Captain's hand.

"It has only been three years, Admiral ... hardly an eternity."

"Sit," he said, showing him a seat. "True, but in our profession, three years can make all the difference in the world." Taking his own seat, he continued, "I understand congratulations are in order! Frederick Wentworth married! Women's hearts are breaking all over the globe -- mostly mothers who had hopes for a son-in-law with prospects like yours!"

Accepting a full glass, Wentworth said, "I hardly think there will be universal mourning. I never put myself out enough for hopes to be held very high."

"True," said McGillvary. "But, a marriageable post-captain is rare these days." After a drink, he asked, "So, is she the one?"

"The one? What do you mean?"

"I mean, is she the one who has kept you behaving like a monk all these years? You never said anything, but your behaviour has been that of a man engaged. You finally made good?"

The irony of McGillvary's assumption and his own situation was too galling. "Uh, no. The new Mrs. Wentworth is a young woman I met while put ashore -- when I was visiting the Admiral and my sister. They took a house in Somerset and ... I assume you heard the news from him." Frederick hoped to steer the conversation in a more agreeable direction.

"Ha! George! I did dine with him last week. He never breathed a word about your marriage. He was too busy arguing the weaknesses of the latest appointments to the Home Office. No, it was Commander Benwick who informed me of the nuptials. We met at an assembly and he told me the happy news." He raised his glass in toast.

Wentworth raised his slightly in response. "I had heard he was in Bath. How is he? I have heard no news of him since my wedding."

"He looked very well. Very well indeed. He had a young woman with him. Don't recall her name. Very pretty, but rather grasping -- literally! She held on to him throughout the introductions -- the entire conversation in fact. I never thought of James Benwick as such a good catch!"

"That is good to hear. He lost his fiancé just last June. I had feared for his mind."

"Bad luck that." McGillvary drained his glass and poured another.

His callousness shocked Wentworth, but only a little. He had thought there would be some compassion, considering McGillvary had only recently lost his own wife. As the meal progressed, the personal conversation waned. Suddenly, it took a sharp turn to the professional.

"And how is work on the Laconia progressing?" McGillvary asked.

It surprised Wentworth that he would know anything about the Laconia or work being done on her. "Ah, not well at all. The wrights are as villainous as ever; taking my money and delivering only excuses. The Port Admiral is disinterested at best. The only endeavour that has born fruit has been recruitment, and that I have curtailed for lack of space to house the men."

"So, Locke hinders you," McGillvary said. It was unclear as to whether he was stating a fact, or asking a question. He looked past Wentworth and absently fingered the silver.

His friend's manner was most definitely professional and Wentworth was determined that he would have as much information concerning his ship as he was able to glean. "I said he was indifferent. His words, when I am able to meet with him, are proper and promising, but his actions are unsubstantial." He examined his friend. McGillvary was weighing something in his mind.

The Admiral leant forward and said, "What I tell you now must remain between us -- as brother officers and gentlemen." Frederick nodded. "Admiral Benjamin Locke has been the subject of much conversation around the Admiralty. For years his antics have been petty, ridiculous and wicked in turn, but now, in a very short time, they have gone from all that, to traitorous."

"I never thought Locke intelligent enough for treason. Personally repellent and dissolute, but not the sort of man able to do much to betray his brother officers and the Crown."

McGillvary glanced at the Captain and brightened a bit. "Intelligence is not necessarily on his side of the treason. Locke is just the sort of dupe our enemies pray for. The man is grasping and malicious, but not smart enough to arrange things to his own liking -- but for a price, others can." He took a drink and continued, "The most amusing thing about it all is that, indirectly, his actions have brought about your latest commission."

The statement puzzled Frederick. "I was led to believe -- by the Admiral himself -- that he was responsible, but by your tone, I do not think you mean in the same way."

This piqued the Admiral's attention. "How so?"

"I am nearly ashamed to say, but just last month, I presumed upon a favour done him years ago. I, uh, I made it known that I wanted to be back at sea. He said that he would do what he was in his power -- hinting he had something in mind -- and several days later, I received the orders." The Captain could see that his friend was itching to ask why a newly married man would want to be back at sea, but he was greatly relieved that the question was not given voice.

The suspicious look vanished and the official inquiry continued. "Locke told you that the assignment was by way of him?"

"Yes. It was clear that if I received anything, he wanted me to believe such."

"Never let it be said that Locke would miss an opportunity to take credit, even when it is not due him. Locke had nothing to do with your being brought back, it was I. The orders were signed and sealed in early January. It was not so difficult convincing others that you were the man for the assignment, but I nearly had to sell my soul to get the Laconia for you -- with a refit into the bargain!"

The Captain thought for a time. It was a relief that he owed Locke nothing, but that he would be used in such an infamous manner was vexing. "And so the wretched fraud would have gotten away with this were not for our friendship."

"Looks that way."

By now, the half-hour was up and the serving boy had cleared and brought a saddle of lamb and several sides. After a near disaster with the turnips, he cleared out and the men were able to resume the discussion.

"I hesitate to ask, but what has he done? If you can say without betraying too much," Wentworth added.

"Locke has exchanged information that, while not vital now, has the potential to be so. He helped to prop open a few doors that really should be shut. There had been suspicions, but no real evidence until a few weeks ago. Someone close to Locke grew tired of being harried and sent us a packet of interesting information. We have tried to contact the informant, but they seem to have disappeared."

"Would the informant be a chap named Darwin? Smallish, balding, with glasses."

The expression of the Admiral changed little. "Who might this Darwin be, and how do you know of him?"

"When I met with Locke in February, Darwin was the secretary. A harried fellow if I ever saw one. Now, there is another fellow. Younger, less harried."

"I can not say whether the two are one in the same," McGillvary declared. His tone was significant. "We were to receive more information, but have heard nothing. Inquiries have led nowhere. The informant is a single man with no connections and therefore little can be found about him. It has been suggested that he has thought better of his deed and so has fled the country. I personally believe otherwise."

"And what might you believe, Admiral?"

"I believe he might be dead."

"By Locke's hand?"

"You said it yourself, he is not very intelligent. Perhaps those with which he has allied himself grew concerned. Who can say? No matter what, I just days ago got word that things have fallen into place. There are circumstances taking shape on the other side of the world; our government is anxious to shape them to our benefit." The details the Admiral shared were vague, but clear enough in their breadth and depth. "If you pull this off, my boy, you will be in the roses for a long time. Your name will be remembered, mark me"

The Captain had touched none of his food, only drunk his wine. He laughed lightly. "Yes, I am sure. This is the sort of stuff that gets you killed. Then no one forgets you because they erect a statue with a lovely brass plaque -- bearing your name."

"You do not want it? Since when is playing the hero not to your liking, Wentworth? Someone else could be found -- they'll not do the job with your grace and skill, but -- "

"I never said that. Of course I want it. Peru, Chile, possibly the western coast of America. I would be an idiot not to go. I just never thought ... two, maybe three years is a long time."

As his feeling for his wife had resolved themselves for the better, he had hoped his assignment in the West Indies would be simple -- and short; a year at the most. The scheme which Patrick outlined would be every bit of two years, more realistically, three. But what a three years it would be!

The room was quiet for a few moments. Both men attended to their thoughts and their dinners. The boy returned with another remove. The silence continued.

Part way through his beef, McGillvary laid down his knife and fork. He studied his watch, then as he put it away, he said, "I have forgotten to tell you something. I am retiring." He did not look directly at the Captain, but took up his silver and returned to the beef.

It was the Captain's turn to put down his silver. "Why, in God's name? You have a fair chance to be First Lord one day. I was looking forward to presuming on the connection." It was said mostly in jest -- only mostly.

The boy returned with a treacle pudding, port and walnuts. The Admiral, now speaking personally, felt no need for precaution. "I thought it was time to clear out the list a bit. Give fellows like you a chance to move up." He leant back and sighed, "To be truthful, Frederick, I have no more stomach for it. The Navy is changing and our kind are not wanted. The Admiralty now thrives on forms, reports and clean fingernails. I am in such a position that only full-out war will put me at sea again; I am doomed to fight the battle of paperwork the rest of my career. Besides, you know that Claire died." Frederick nodded. "That leaves me with a fifteen year old daughter to see well-married. As the topper, last spring, my father died. It leaves a lot of McGillvary dependents looking to me to keep the coffers flowing."

In all the years they had been acquainted, Wentworth had never seen McGillvary more serious than at that moment. The weight of responsibility was on him, but this was a man who was more than up to the task, and Frederick said so.

McGillvary smiled. "Do not misunderstand me, part of me will always long for the sea, but I am finding that piracy on paper can have it's rewards." He leant in. "When you take a direct hit, you are in no danger of drowning." He smiled. "I perhaps am becoming a sentimental old fool. Seeing that you are hesitant about South America -- don't interrupt me -- I have a few favours owed me and I do not wish them wasted. There is a position at the Naval College at Portsmouth, they need an officer in charge of sailing; you would be master of your own tiny fleet. Oh, do not roll your eyes so."

"You just finished lamenting that the Navy does not want the likes of us; now you offer me a post which would put me square in the middle of this New Navy. It makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense. I know the thought of weekly sails with a shipload of lubbers is not very appealing, but you could teach these Cadets how a true sailor works and thinks. Give them a taste of the real Navy, not this gentlemanly palaver that is creeping into the Admiralty. They have become far too concerned that officers move brilliantly through drawing rooms rather than have the proficiency needed to win in battle. Nelson would never make lieutenant were he to be examined today. You could have a great influence over these youngsters. Besides all that high-mindedness," his look softened, "most nights, you could be home for dinner."

The very thought had already crossed the Captain's mind. He could give his wife a proper home, a proper life.

McGillvary looked away. "I like to think that it was the demands of my career that ruined my marriage. But," he said, catching Wentworth's eye, "it was not. You better than anyone knows that. I know you never approved of me on that score, and I abused you horribly for it. I am sorry -- "

"There is no need to -- "

"They say that confession is good for the soul, friend. I had few natural feeling for Claire when we married. But perhaps had I cultivated her, that might have changed. Instead I sought comfort in every quarter of the world, except the one I had vowed to cherish. The only thing I have ever been faithful to is the Crown, but you on the other hand are only faithful. It is as much a part of you as breathing. I have disparaged it openly and publicly at times. It is only lately that I find I envy it."

The gentlemen set to diverting themselves. Both were uncomfortable with the remarks.

"It would only be for a year, mind," said McGillvary firmly. "That is as far as my influence with the Head extends. But knowing you, you would be indispensable within a month and they would never let you go. You do what you wish. You are the only man I know who could do either undertaking justice." For a time, both cracked walnuts and made neat little piles of meats and shells. Neither knew how to re-enter the conversation.

After a deep drink and turn about the room, the Admiral opened. "Perhaps a sentimental heart shall serve me well. You see, this past fortnight, I have had three close encounters with the same breathtaking creature. I feel certain luck is with me and that there shall be another."

McGillvary's face betrayed the high feelings still present, but Wentworth would follow the diversion as both had become much too, in Patrick's words, sentimental. "What! Three encounters, but no introductions! How can that be, with the great Admiral McGillvary at the helm?"

"Bad fortune is the only excuse. D*mn near did my own the other evening, but some tubby boy masquerading as a gentleman cut her out and I was obliged to get on the road to come here, so ..." he hesitated, then grinned and raised his glass, "so I think I can blame you for at least one instance of my bad fortune!" He laughed and took a drink.

Wentworth laughed. "If you must blame anyone, blame me then." He too drank.

"You should see her, Captain. She is a dark-haired beauty with eyes that invite a man to touch at his peril, and a tongue that I am certain is able to cut to the bone."

Wentworth set down his glass and offered, "She sounds bloody dangerous! Her husband might not live through the honeymoon."

"Ah," he cried, "that is the challenge! You know how exhilarated a man feels after he has cheated death yet again! Though speaking of marriage, I will want you there. She has a father that could be a trial. I was arrayed in my finest and he looked at me as though I was one of his footmen. With the two of us to face him down, he will not dare such condescension. I have not met him, but from what I have gathered from those who would know, Sir Walter Elliot is -- "

McGillvary's observations of the Baronet went unheard. While the disposition of the mysterious woman bore no resemblance to Anne, because in Frederick's mind, there was but one dark-haired Elliot daughter, the evening's enjoyment was quite ended.

Chapter 9

The sound of holystones, applied vigourously to the boards just above his head, brought Wentworth from his fitful sleep. As the Moonshine was not a King's fighting ship, but in actuality a floating inn, Captain Harville had not deemed it necessary to carry on with the usual customs of a frigate. This included the daily ritual of holystoning the deck, which now, was accomplished only on Mondays. When Wentworth had arrived and taken command, he had chosen not to upset the schedule to which the men had grown accustomed. It was mornings such as this which he realised how much he missed that daily rite.

The Captain rose and dressed without summoning Michaelson. He had no appetite and saw no reason to awaken his steward. Though for a brief moment, he thought of coffee. Rather than indulge himself, he took his best telescope from its rosewood box and went above deck.

The midshipman in charge of the morning detail came to attention, surprised to see the Captain about so early. Wentworth motioned at ease and began the climb the shrouds to the foretop. After a cursory survey of the port and other ships nearby, Wentworth collapsed the scope, carefully placed it in an inner pocket, and stared off towards the hills of Plymouth.

The previous evening's meeting with McGillvary had been unsurprising and disturbing by turns. His new knowledge of Locke had not been much a surprise. The worthless sharp having escaped scragging by his crews and avoiding detection by the Admiralty was more the wonder.

In turn, the Admiral's disclosure about a certain Miss Elliot had momentarily caused a breathless panic to rise within him. The idea that Anne might fall prey to the likes of the faithless McGillvary was not to be borne, but after bumbling through the remainder of the evening and arriving back to his quarters and its solitude, he began to think more clearly. Anne Elliot was a woman too intelligent to suit McGillvary and would not so easily be taken in by his pretty manner nor pretty face. Nonetheless, his friend seemed to be undergoing a transformation of some sort, perhaps one for the better. If by some miracle, Anne would come to prefer him, the situation was not any of Wentworth's business and anything to do with it was best left to God.

Turning to face the channel McGillvary's offer of a position at the Naval College became uppermost in his thoughts. While the idea of a regular a life for he and his wife was tempting, the duties of teaching cadets to sail was less than appealing. It was not that he despised teaching the ways of the Navy to youngsters, he had done more than his share over the long years of his career. Certainly, as a captain, he did not teach such basics, but he did his utmost to provide the most experienced of sailors to pass along the ways of the sea. If he were to accept the position, all he could imagine was being alone trapped and alone aboard a ship of wailing children.

An interesting line of waves caught his attention and he drew out the scope. His heart soared as he watched them crash against Rams Cliff Point. The very movement of the water, the feel of the foretop swaying beneath him, the life the sea afforded him would never be satisfied in Portsmouth. The last thing that McGillvary had said to him, the evening before, was that he should speak with his wife about the appointment. In that moment, Wentworth knew that he would not mention the opportunity to Louisa. He had done his duty by her and been blessed with a love he had not expected to feel, but he knew she would desire to be with him. As pleasing as her presence would be, to accept an appointment at the Naval College would probably shipwreck his seagoing career. In the future he and Louisa would have their time together; being thrown ashore would naturally befall him, as it did all of the sailing trade. His wife would not be hurt by that she did not know, and the choice being left to him, he would stay with that which was deepest in his soul, the sea.

As he turned to leave the top, he spied a small boat being rowed out from the dock. He watched it for a time. It was headed for the Moonshine. It came along side, a man scrambled down and received what looked to be a letter. Mr. Dalton, the mid on duty, raced up the shrouds in a manner that made Wentworth envious of youth.

Dalton flipped over the side with ease and panted, "Sir, a message for you."

Wentworth took the message and dismissed the youngster. He looked at the seal. It bore a bold "PM" entwined with a harp and fouled anchor.

As he opened it, he wondered if the Admiral had some new scheme with which to entice him.

Captain,

Thank you for your company last evening. It was good to see you and have an opportunity to reminisce. I am departing Plymouth just after noon, but not before I visit with the powers that be. I am certain you will see a marked difference in your treatment thereafter. Be prepared Frederick, once things begin to move, they will move with astonishing speed. I know I told you to take your time in deciding my offer, but do not take too long.

PM

He folded the letter and tucked it in his breast pocket. "Astonishing speed, eh? We shall see," he murmured as he slid through the lubber's hole and down the rigging.

The gig, which carried the Rector and Doctor Abernathy, finally disappeared around the bend in the road. Louisa opened the small bag she had packed. In it, Frederick's smock-frock and the Rector's old hat. She felt in her pocket for her blue necklace. Everything was ready. She opened the door and made her way down the hall.

It had been more difficult than she had anticipated convincing Mr. Putnam, the Captain's moneyman, to give her anything. When she had not been able to give him a reasonable answer to his inquiries about why the money was needed, he had lectured her on is responsibilities to his client -- the Captain -- and with precision, counted out fifty pounds. He had also admonished her that he would give her no more that quarter and that to ask would be fruitless.

"So much for my independence," she muttered. Louisa entered Fulton's with the intention of buying a small lantern and some peppermint sticks. It would be necessary to find her way in the dark, hence the lantern. Not knowing how long she would have to wait, once she reached Bramford Hall, she wanted the candy to stave off hunger. Though presently her nerves were doing more than an adequate job on that score.

After purchasing the lamp and candy, she had enquired as to the location of the Hall. Mr. Fulton had been kind enough to draw her a simple map. It seemed easy enough to find and so Louisa set off in the direction indicated by Fulton.

Once out of town, she ducked into a hedgerow and put on her husband's smock-frock along with the hat. She wanted no one to recognise her as she made her way to the Hall. She jammed her pelisse and bonnet into the bag that now held the money. Clambering back onto the road, it took no time before she was at the head of the Hall's drive. It was still light and so she chose a clump of beeches a distance from the gate and settled herself to wait for the appointed time.

After a carriage passed through the gates, she looked around and realised the night was coming quickly. Thinking it best to light the lamp while she still had some sun, she wrestled with the flint. After an unreasonable time, she was able to coax a flame from the wick. She welcomed the slight warmth. Pulling the panels closed around the belly of the lantern, she waited for six o'clock.

Pollard Levant rode up into the yard of the deserted house on Cider Press Road. He surveyed the tumbled-down wreck and began to rethink his plan. A wild hedge engulfed the house and vines commandeered large portions of the kitchen garden. Stones that lay about the yard testified to the cottage being substituted as a Goliath for many a young David. All in all, the house was certainly not the sort of place one would normally choose for an evening of pleasure. Nevertheless, Pollard Levant whistled as he unfastened the straps that held the picnic basket.

The Master of the Manor had harried his longsuffering cook for the best of the Bramford cellars, and tasty delicacies that would tempt the unsophisticated palate of a young woman. As he made his way through the house's thriving English jungle, Levant felt his blood stir in anticipation of the night's game of chance.

After lighting the candles, spreading the blankets and arranging the food, Levant examined his handiwork with a critical eye. He had chosen a small room in the back of the house. From the outside, the room was covered by the hedge and vines; from the road no one would see the candlelight, or the small fire, and become suspicious. As he bent to take a taste of the tarts, he did not hear the two men who entered the room, nor did he see the mud covered boot as it was planted firmly upon his backside.

With the night, the damps had fallen. It was warm for mid March, but the nights were still wet and cold and anyone out is such weather hurried home to warm themselves by the fire. Such was the case of Rector Wentworth and Doctor Abernathy.

"Did you hear me, doctor?" the Rector asked, and touched his friend's arm. He had asked about a certain parishioner taken with a fever, but as yet, had gotten no answer.

Abernathy started. "Wha -- shh. I hear something." His hand hung, midair, as he continued to listen.

Reining the horse to a stop, the men listened.

A shiver went through the rector. He heard nothing out of the ordinary, and wanted more than anything to be home, seated before a hot meal. "I hear nothing, Abernathy. Let us ... " His voice faded. Now he had heard the noise. Whether human or animal he was not certain, but there had been something.

"Walk on," Abernathy clucked to his horse. His voice was low as they strained to hear. "It came from over that way, I think. The house perhaps."

"Perhaps," Wentworth replied.

The abandoned house was one of the few in the area of Crown Hill, and its stark loneliness disturbed Edward whenever he rode by.

"There's a horse in the side yard, over there," the Doctor pointed as they stopped at the head of the short drive. Before Edward could say a word, Abernathy had reached under the seat of the gig and brought out a pistol, jumped down and taken one of the lanterns from its bracket. He was making his way slowly towards the house.

"Doctor, come back here," he called. Hopelessly, he added, "We have no notion of what is going on."

The doctor looked back at the Rector and hissed, "That horse did not bring itself here, and I heard someone cry out, as though in pain -- "

Just then, something in the house clattered. Silence fell.

Both men became as statues.

"It was most likely a cat worrying a rat," the Rector offered. "Let us go on home."

Abernathy raised the lantern and surveyed the yard and house. Just as he was lowering it, two dark shapes ran from the house. Abernathy called for them to stop. When they did not, he fired a shot over their heads. The shapes disappeared into the field that bordered the cottage.

The men remained silent for a moment, both breathed fast and deep. The only things that stirred were small clouds made by their heavy breathing. Eventually, Abernathy gave up and was returning to the gig. Just as he prepared to hoist himself into the cart, a cry grabbed their attention.

"That was definitely from inside." Jumping down and running towards the house, the Doctor called over his shoulder, "Bring my bag. It is under your side of the seat."

Edward took a deep breath. He now had no choice; he was going to accompany Abernathy into the house.

Abernathy had waited for him by the door less entryway. They entered cautiously. Section by section, they examined the room by the lantern's light. They heard the sound again and they walked towards the rear of the house. The smell of a fire became stronger as they came closer to a doorway. They looked in the tiny room and saw the lantern was not necessary; the mantel was lined with candles.

"Someone took some care." Abernathy bent and picked up a broken bottle. He looked about. "There is wine and there was a fire -- " The candles illuminated the wrecked picnic, and in a barely lit corner the shadows tried to hide the body of Pollard Levant.

Abernathy handed off the lantern, knelt and began to examine Levant. By the looks of him, Edward reckoned him dead, but as Abernathy checked and manipulated the body, small moans escaped it and testified to some life.

The Doctor stood and moved the Rector away. "There is nothing that can be done for him. The blessing is that he will not live long. You stay with him and I will go for help. Perhaps the men who did this can be found if we report this to the authorities immediately." Abernathy started for the door.

The Rector caught his arm, "Would it not be better if you were to stay? I can do nothing to make him comfortable, but you -- "

"Edward, he is beaten to death. If he is so unfortunate as to regain consciousness, I assure you, he will need what you can offer him more than anything I have in this bag." He took the lantern headed to the door. Before he got far, Abernathy returned and said, "Keep this with you. Those two might come back."

Edward took the pistol. It was small, with double barrels, but with one shot gone it gave him little comfort. He stood and watched the doctor disappear, then listened as the gig pulled out of the yard and rattled down the road. Turning back into the room, he looked around at the scattered food, napkins and blankets. By the mess, there had been a tremendous struggle. The Rector could not imagine that a man of Pollard Levant's sort would put up much opposition, but when one's life was at stake, who could say how hard a man would fight.

"Ah, wha -- " murmured Levant.

The Rector grabbed up a blanket and went to him.

He covered him and sat quietly. He looked at the swollen face and thought it was just the day before that he had seen him. He had sat in the third row, directly before him as he preached, quite alive. Now, Levant would most certainly be dead in a few hours. "Man is but a vapour," Edward thought.

"Louisa," Levant murmured. He struggled to rise, but his injuries were too severe. The most he could do was turn his head about. "Where is she? Is she here?"

His stomach lurched and it took the Rector a few moments to respond. "No. There is no one here besides us."

"Just us sinners, eh Rector?" Levant coughed. He held Levant's head and did his best to wipe the man's mouth. Fetching a bottle of wine that had escaped the melee, he searched and found a small cup. Holding it to Levant's mouth, the man drank a little and fell back. "Does this gratify you? To see me like this -- in such reduced conditions?"

Even though he lay dying, Levant would only admit to reduced conditions. "No, not at all," replied Wentworth.

"Come, come," he wheezed, "after all the trouble I have caused you -- all piety aside -- aren't you a little glad?"

"No. I realise now that when we wish evil, if it comes to pass, it is more ugly than we could imagine."

"So, you did wish me harm." He laughed which caused a coughing fit.

Again the Rector cleaned his chin and gave him the wine. "I did wish you ill, not harm, but ... can you forgive me?" He tossed the napkin away.

The glassy eyes examined his face. A spasm of pain shot through Levant and he grimaced. "I am dying, Wentworth, your insignificant sin makes no difference in the grand scheme." The dying man licked his lips. The Rector gave him wine. Even now, Levant was too stubborn to ask his help. "And what of me? My sins? Have you any recommendations?" Levant challenged.

If it was possible, Levant was losing strength and colour every second. The end would come soon. "Call upon God's mercy. It is the best any of us can do." Though the Rector knew the truth of them, the words rang hollow when surrounded by such brutality.

"Ah, professional guidance," he mocked. He gritted his teeth and raised himself all he was able. "Do not pity me, priest. I shall never give in to -- " The rest was lost in a snarl of pain. A convulsion shook him, he fell back and was dead.

The Rector Wentworth had presided over many deaths and this was not even the bitterest of them. Even so, his hands shook as he closed the eyes and covered the corpse. He rose and stared at the light the mantel candles reflected. He tried to pray, but could not. Over the past weeks he had taken quiet comfort in knowing that Pollard Levant would pay a heavy toll for his excessive wickedness, but now that he had been present when the payment had been collected, there was no satisfaction; only ashes on his tongue.

When it was time, Louisa disentangled herself from the beeches and began to make her way down the drive. She heard the murmur of voices before she saw anyone. As she rounded a bend in the roadway, leading to the manor house, she saw the flickering lights of lanterns and carriage lights. Louisa paused behind a tree and watched for a moment. Two men stood together outside a well-appointed carriage. They talked to one another, but they also spoke with the occupant of the coach. As she glanced about, the lights of the mansion reminded her of her mission. No one noticed her, she was determined to keep it that way.

Finding cover in some bushes, she closed the panels of the lantern even more. Carefully she proceeded. It was slow going as she ducked around the underbrush and trees that lined the road. Now and then, the Rector's hat was knocked off and it took time to grope in the dark to find it. Reaching a good-sized clump, she stayed put for a time. Keeping a watch on the group at the coach, she waited a moment. Just as she was about to dash to the safety of a large hedge, she found her coat caught on a branch. Turning to free herself, she felt a hand grab her arm, and heard a voice exclaim, "What have we here?" The larger of the two men pulled her from her hiding place. The man was strong and even as she struggled, she had no more power over him than a rag doll.

"Let me go!" she cried, the dark lantern falling from her hands and smashing on the ground.

"We might have a bit of fun with this, Danny," her captor leered.

"Not right away -- looky what ya done, Toddy!" the other cried.

"Well take care o' it," he said as he dragged a struggling Louisa to the carriage and into the light of its lanterns.

As he kicked the remains of the lantern away and began to stamp out the flames, Danny muttered, "All he thinks 'bout are the woman. As though that one would welcome him!"

"Looky what I found," Toddy said, proudly displaying his catch.

Louisa ceased her struggling as the light more clearly showed the man's hands. They were spattered with blood. As the second man joined them, she glanced his way and saw that, he too, was blood stained. She sagged in the huge arms that held her. In a terrifying moment, she wondered how they had come to be in their condition and what it might mean for her.

"Who is this you oaf? Let me see his face!" cried a voice from the carriage.

Toddy knew what he had and that he was now about to lose it. Reluctantly, he turned Louisa's face towards the carriage window. Everyone was silent.

"I think you will have no more fun this evening than you have had any other evening of your stay in the Parish, gentlemen." The man stayed in the shadows, but his voice was strong and commanding enough to loosen the man's grip. To Louisa he said, "Mrs. Wentworth, please allow me to be of use to you." The door to the carriage opened in invitation.

After giving Demarest's men a generous bonus for their expert skills, Randwick had sent them away and assured Louisa that seeing her safely home was his sole concern.

"Mr. Randwick, I must thank you. I don't know why those men were at Bramford Hall. I had come to see Mr. Levant -- to give him something." As she spoke, she noticed that Randwick, and the woman with him, looked at one another. She pulled her bag closer and thought better of the subject. "Anywise, I am sure that he would not approve of such people on his property.

Randwick smirked and said, "You are quite right Mrs. Wentworth, Pollard would not like such characters skulking about, but ... " Another look to the woman. "At this time, Mr. Levant is not in a position to say much about them." He was silent for a moment and then asked what Louisa had brought.

Trying not to fuss and call further attention to the bag, she said, "Nothing really. I was coming more for a visit ... he had invited me."

The woman drawled, "Come now, Mrs. Wentworth, unescorted ladies do not go calling on single men at this time of the evening. I would not like to think you are lying to us -- not the sister-in-law of the Rector."

While Mrs. Wentworth had a strong sense of family honour, she also understood her circumstances were precarious at best and growing more so all the time. If lying would free her, lie she would. "I ... I misspoke about giving him something ... I was only coming to visit," she insisted.

"She does not do this very well, does she?" Randwick commented to the woman.

"No. Not enough practice. But now that she is married, her skills will improve."

"What," began Randwick, "do you think she was bringing to the old fellow?"

"She is endeavouring to hide it, but I would look in that awful little bag."

Out of instinct, Louisa clutched the awful little bag as Randwick moved towards her. When he reached for it, she did not resist him. She still had hopes that she would be released and if the money would help to that end, so much the better.

"Not a fortune," said Randwick, as he squinted at the bills. He held it up to the dim light, trying to count the notes. "But enough for a lovely evening out." He tucked them into his coat pocket.

"We must be nearing the Rectory. Now that you have the money, please, let me out ... I shall find my own way home." She sat back and eyed her companions.

"You are not nearly as clever as I thought. Do you not understand? We are not taking you home to the Rector. You are far too ... important to us at this juncture." Randwick sat back and the woman was silent.

Louisa said nothing for a time. She looked from one to the other. Suddenly she sprang to the door. She gave no thought of possible injury to her person. Nor did she think about being lost and unable to find her way, she was merely determined to escape her captors. Unfortunately, the roads were bad and jostled the carriage a great deal. After a particularly jarring bump, she fell into the lap of the woman. Before she could recover, Randwick pulled her back to the opposite seat. There he held her tightly, in a sort of bear hug.

Louisa struggled more out of anger than any notion of attaining her freedom. The man tightened his grip, to the point of hurting her. She ceased the struggle. Both she and Randwick breathed hard as he collected himself. He finally gained himself and said to the woman, "I realise that taking her was not a part of our plan, but I think improvisation will prove very useful, might it not?"

"Perhaps. Only time will tell." The woman's tone was deadly cool and frightened Louisa.

In a foolish and imprudent burst of bravado, Louisa cried, "No matter where you take me, I shall find a way to escape you -- I shall -- "

Randwick jerked her close and hissed in her ear, "Yes my lovely Mrs. Wentworth, just what might you do? We are exceedingly interested to know."

All she could feel hot his breath on her ear. She was powerless and she knew it. Unfortunately, her pride consisted more of stubbornness than wisdom and she refused to surrender. "The horses cannot go on forever and wherever we stop, I shall scream and cry to anyone who will hear me, " she declared. "I shall not go unnoticed!"

"Did you hear my dear? She intends to make herself known as we travel." Both Randwick and the woman laughed.

"Pity she promises to be so unmanageable, we might have found her to be quite a genial travelling companion," the woman said. As she spoke, she opened and felt around in her reticule. Pulling it closed, she shook a small glass vial before them. "If you would be so kind, Daniel. Open her mouth, please."

"Ah, you are full of surprises." he said as he raised a hand to Louisa's mouth. "Now pet, open without a struggle and things will be much better for all of us."

"No," Louisa shrieked through clinched teeth.

Randwick shook her and pressed the sides of her jaw with murderous force. "I promise you," he said through gritted teeth, "I would have no difficulty -- with either my strength, or my conscience -- in doing you a great deal of damage, Mrs. Wentworth. Now open, please."

There was nothing for Louisa to do but obey. The woman smiled maliciously as she leant over her. The bitter drops of liquid splashed on her tongue and slide down her throat. As she began to gag, Randwick covered her mouth with his hand and forced her to swallow.

When he felt certain it was all down, he let her up and returned to his seat next to the woman. Though it was dark, he straightened his cuffs and sleeves. Satisfied, he said, "Quite handy, that little vial. Mrs. Wentworth, you will begin to feel agitated in a moment. And though it is entirely of our doing, I warn you, we will not brook any bad behaviour. After a half an hour or so, you will fall into a deep sleep." He continued to tidy himself.

"And," said the woman, leaning towards her, "As far as we know, you will wake up. Unless of course I miscalculated the number of drops I gave you. That is sometimes the case with Laudanum. If that is the case tonight -- well, you will never know will you?" She sat back and folded her hands.

Against her will, Louisa could feel an agitation welling up inside her. It never entered her mind that the agitation might be her own nerves rather than anything they had forced upon her. Whether it was truly the laudanum or merely nerves, she was so frightened that the only thoughts that came to her mind were her very ordinary, but now very pacifying, bedtime prayers.

The coach jostled as it found the grooves in the road and Randwick laid Louisa on the floor to keep her from falling and awakening. Settling himself next to Rosamond, he began to go through the bag Louisa had carried. Absently, he said, "She certainly went down quickly, and a bit hard. Don't you think?"

"Yes," she said. The girl's pelisse had fallen across her lap and she pushed it to the floor. "Perhaps I overdid."

The bonnet went to the floor and Randwick retrieved the pelisse. "If that is the case," he said, searching the pockets, "it had better be the only time you overdo." He held up the necklace for a moment and then put it in his own pocket. "I have plans for her and I will not have then spoiled by you." He began to fold the pelisse, but stopped and pointed towards the bonnet on the floor.

Rosamond studied him. She finally reached down and gave him the bonnet. He stuffed it into the pelisse.

"Check to see if she has any rings," Randwick ordered.

The turn in his manner was sudden and annoying. She realised his claims of improvisation were as false as he was. Rosamond did as she was told. "Here. It is a simple band. There are no others."

He studied it in the dim light. "So typical. I am certain the Captain thought a simple band more romantic than anything more ... valuable." He flicked it into the air and caught it. It joined the necklace. He then rapped on the side of the coach. As they drew to a stop, he brought an unsealed letter out of his pocket. He waved the packet before Rosamond's face. "This will buy us some time." He opened the packet, removed the jewelry and folded it into the letter. "Boy," he called. "Deliver this to the Crown Hill Rectory," Randwick said as he shoved the letter at the lad.

"But sir, I get three days wage for a trip to London. Surely a gentleman such as yourself wouldn't cheat me this way."

Randwick had a good mind to thrash the post boy within an inch of his miserable life, but admired the brass he showed. Reaching into his breast pocket, he carelessly pulled out a few of the bills taken from Mrs. Wentworth. "Here you worthless whelp. When you deliver it, say it was given to you by a very young -- wait -- very pretty young woman and say nothing about the two of us. Or else."

The boy grinned after looking at the bills. He shoved them into his pocket, along with the letter. "You got it, Guv. Not one word 'bout you and the lady." He thumped the side of the carriage and called, "See ya next week, Bill," and ran off in the opposite direction from the coach.

The couple was quiet for a time. They had rattled on at a brisk pace for nearly three-quarters of an hour. After a particularly rough stretch, Randwick said, "Were we better people, we might put something under her head."

A low giggle escaped Rosamond. She reached between them, where the pelisse had come to rest, and took the bundle. Opening the window, she glanced back at him and said, "But we are not very good, are we?" With that, she dropped the bundle.

Randwick shook his head. "Perhaps someone will get some good use out of them."

"One can always hope," Rosamond said as she rested her head upon his shoulder.

Continued in Next Section