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Chapter 6 (cont.)

"I suppose you are right." Anne sighed, and let go of the beautiful sample. She turned away from the display and watched as her godmother fastened her gaze on something else. Soon Lady Russell moved to join Elizabeth and Mrs. Clay, who were in raptures over bolts of brocade at the far end of the draper's shop. Anne closed her eyes for a moment. She was extremely weary; her feet hurt and she dearly wished she could sit down. But James wanted a new duvet made up for their bed (as it could be classified as a household expense and so charged to the estate), and Anne was determined to do her best to accommodate him.

Presently she directed her attention to a stack of somber, striped patterns. One of these would be serviceable enough, but to her eyes every one was hopelessly dreary. She knew this was a ridiculous notion; it was probably because she had not made decisions of this kind for an age, and had simply forgotten how to choose.

With renewed determination, she once again applied herself to the samples. A dark green one caught her attention. She gazed at it critically.

"That one is rather nice," said a voice beside her. Anne turned to see a familiar face.

"James!" she smiled. "I didn't know you were here!"

"My appointment ended early and I took a chance. What have you found for us?"

"Oh, there are several here which will do very well," she replied, and handed him the stack of striped samples.

"But which do you prefer?" he asked quietly, with a pointed look into her eyes. "What about ... where is it? There was one you studied for quite some time." Captain Benwick began to pick through the piles on the table. "It was pink. With flowers on it, as I recall."

"Good heavens," smiled Anne. "How long have you been here, watching me? If you must know, it was this one. But it is not at all appropriate for us. I well remember your aversion to pink flowers," she added teasingly.

"Oh, I don't know about that," he said cheerfully, as he took the square of fabric and spread it out. "That ruffly handkerchief is now my favourite one. Let me have a good look at this."

"James," Anne protested, and she clutched at his arm. "It was a foolish fancy of mine; this one is not at all practical! Besides, I wouldn't dream of saddling you with such a feminine design."

"But I like roses," he murmured smilingly. "Not for the public rooms, mind, but for our bedchamber, I think they would be rather nice. Do you see," he pointed, "this is not entirely pink. These leaves are green, and this maroon colour will look very well with the woodwork. You remember, the dark bedstead and wainscoting?

This opinion stretched Anne's credulity too far and she said so. She was surprised to see a faint blush appear on his cheeks.

"Anne," he murmured, "dear one, you don't know how I've lived at sea; at times, with only the contents of my locker, an old wool blanket, and an hammock to call my own. To have a coverlet like this on my bed, womanish as it is ..." He leaned in more closely and whispered, "Whenever I would see it, it would remind me that I am no longer alone. That I have a wife with whom I share my bed. I would think of ... you."

Anne's cheeks flamed scarlet. "Good heavens, James!" she gasped.

"Shall I order it made up, then?" he grinned. "And I think it should have a ruffle along the edge, don't you?"

"A ruffle?" Anne gulped, for she could see that he was perfectly serious. "Very well, if ... if you insist," she agreed reluctantly. "And ... what do you think of ... frilly pillows to match?"

"Oh, we must have those," he smiled. "Absolutely."

When Lady Russell came over to greet Captain Benwick, Anne did not know what to say to her, for he was holding the offending sample. "Captain Benwick wants the roses," she murmured, as he went off to find the draper. "And he will brook no argument about it, either."

Lady Russell took a long look at Benwick. "I suppose he is so accommodating because he is a Romantic," she observed. "That is most considerate in a husband, Anne. But take care not to push him too far."

"Yes, ma'am," replied Anne. "We shall have a naval painting and shelves of his books in our bedchamber, as well."

"Our bedchamber?" Lady Russell repeated, in a low voice. "What is this? Shall you not have one of your own?"

Anne raised her chin. "He believes such a practice is ... 'civilised barbarity,' ma'am," she said softly. "And as you know, I must submit to my husband's wishes, mustn't I?"

Lady Russell opened her mouth in surprise and was about to say more, but by then Anne had wisely moved out of earshot.

Charles Musgrove arched his back and stretched his aching muscles. He had been shut up inside the stifling carriage for longer than he cared to think about, but he knew it could not be helped. It would never do to arrive sitting out on the box with Coney and Joe, as he had done for most of the journey. Even so, he thought grimly, it makes no difference. His father-in-law had an unnerving way of looking him over which never failed to make him unhappily aware of every wrinkle in his shirt, every speck of dust on his coat. He could not help but recall Mary's comment about the horse hairs, and brushed at his trousers self-consciously.

At last the carriage turned onto Camden Place and came to a halt. Charles looked out at the house; his heart sank. It was quite dark now; the windows on the second floor were brightly lit. No doubt the family was still at dinner; an uncomfortable time to have an unexpected caller, no matter who he was. Joe opened the door and assisted him to climb out of the vehicle, which was no bad thing, for his limbs were stiff and awkward. This trip seemed such a good idea this morning, Charles thought wearily. Now he kicked himself for coming.

As always, Sir Walter's butler (who was nearly as finicky as the man himself) scrutinized him with a critical eye, causing Charles to feel every bit as disheveled and sunburned as he was. Nevertheless, the man could not refuse to admit him, and Charles took perverse pleasure in that. As he waited to be shown into the drawing room, he again straightened his coat and willed his empty stomach to stop growling. There was not much hope of dinner now, for according to the butler, the family had just left the dining room.

But some thirty minutes later, Charles was climbing back into the carriage, in considerably better spirits. Captain Benwick was with him; he was to lodge at Benwick's house for the night, with the promise of a hearty meal before the fire. Things were definitely looking up!

The blue gown was the biggest surprise of all; Anne had received it with a sincerity which was touching. Charles shook his head at this; could it be that Mary had been right, that Anne actually liked it? As he and Benwick were leaving, he had heard her ask the butler to summon her maid. Charles knew Anne had good manners, and was usually willing to humour Mary, but this was taking it too far!

However, Charles quickly put all thoughts of the gown aside, as he had other things to be occupied with. He was now wholly in Benwick's power, and he was most interested to see where he would sleep that night. When his father's carriage pulled to a stop before a tall stone residence, and when it became clear that no, this was not a lodging house but Benwick's own inherited property, Charles began to smile.

A hired hovel in Lyme, indeed, he scoffed cheerfully, as he climbed out and stood on the walk. Won't Mary stare to see this! And as he took in the elegant entry hall, and peeked behind Benwick into the spacious drawing room which opened from it, his smile widened into a grin. He shot a look at his future brother-in-law, who was now arranging his accommodations (which included a hot bath!) with a slim, somberly clad servant, a man Charles decided must be the butler. His shoulders sagged in relief at the thought of the bath. It would never occur to him to ask for such a thing; Benwick was a most considerate fellow.

Soon he was following his host down a hallway, eagerly taking in the details of this most interesting house. As Benwick walked along, Charles was surprised to see him shrug off his frock coat and loosen the knot of his neckcloth.

"The library," said he, as he opened the door and motioned Charles inside. "I spend most of my time here." His discarded garments were tossed onto a small sofa. Charles grinned some more and gladly followed suit; he was liking Benwick better and better!

Presently Charles found himself to be lounging in one of two oversized leather armchairs placed before a bright fire. He stretched out his stocking feet, sighed, and took another swallow from his wineglass, which he held with both hands.

"This does beat all, Benwick," he remarked at last. "I thought I was in for it: an evening of elegant agony with The Great Man and his kin, until you rescued me." He lowered his glass. "And where was it I was supposed to sleep tonight? I felt badly for Anne and all, but honestly, I'd as lief stay with you any day.

"Ah, the newly-appointed guest quarters," murmured Benwick, with an unholy smile. "You must get a look in there sometime, Musgrove, once that cousin leaves. I cannot imagine the amount Sir Walter laid out to have that painting done. The work is first-rate, but the subject! Anne calls it 'Elliot's Folly.' Er, you'd best not repeat that," he added, with a wary look to his companion. "Her father's uncommonly pleased with it."

"That figures," agreed Charles. "But how'd Elliot end up staying there?"

"His rooms are being painted, or some such thing," grumbled Benwick. "That mural's barely dry, but Sir Walter would extend the invitation, with the most incredible amount of patronizing condescension I've ever seen. But the man accepted. And then you show up, his own son-in-law, needing lodging." Benwick took a sip of coffee. "What a shame," he said. "And it is left for Anne to blush for him."

"That's our Papa. Behaves badly but never owns up to it," Charles quipped, and finished his wine. "He's seen this house?"

"Not yet. He knows of the location; that's enough to keep him at bay, for now."

"So he thinks I'll be sleeping on the floor of a garret tonight, eh?"

"I suppose. Elizabeth was here with Anne the other day. I don't know what she's told him."

"Good lord, you are undone, man! I don't think even the, the -- what's the name of that palace in India? Oh, yes! I remember now! -- I'll bet not even the Taj Mahal would meet with her approval!"

"Very likely not. Though, you know," said Benwick, as he lowered his cup, "it is a mausoleum, Musgrove, not a palace."

"Hah!" cried Charles. "Is it, now? Just the place for Elizabeth! And my wife could visit her upon occasion," he added maliciously.

"Er, you were telling me earlier about your horse," Benwick broke in. "And something about a business?"

"Oh. Well, it's Frederick's horse, you know," replied Charles, leaning forward as he warmed to his subject. "And he's allowing me to breed her. I've always wanted to do that, breed horses."

And as Benwick was a most attentive and encouraging listener, and even went so far as to ask specific questions (which was more than could be said for most people), Charles went on and on. He talked through his meal, around bites of beef and potatoes and pieces of carrot, about his plans to raise and train horses.

"I have a horse," offered Benwick, when at last Charles had fallen silent. "Would you like to see it?"

He then rose, unlocked a closet, and rummaged about in it. Presently he brought out a glazed pottery figure, about two feet high. It was an exquisite Chinese war-horse, dressed for battle. Benwick lowered it carefully to the floor before Charles' feet; the light of the dancing flames caused the horse's chestnut neck and flank to shine.

"Yee tells me this was made in China, during the Tang dynasty," he said, in a voice hushed with wonder. "That's the eighth century," he explained.

Charles leaned forward to touch the detailed bridle and saddle, and fingered the animal's flowing mane. "This is absolutely beautiful," he breathed. "I say, James. Shouldn't something like this be in the British Museum?"

"That's my dilemma," sighed Benwick. "Which of these pieces do I sell and which do I keep? For I do not think I could bear to part with this."

"Of course not," agreed Charles.

"But I find myself saying that about nearly all of the valuables in this house. What shall I do?"

Charles' grin spread from ear to ear. "You'll be a man who has very little money but who owns much property," he chirped cheerfully. "Like me!"

Meanwhile, in Sir Walter's house, Anne had rejoined the others in the drawing room. Elise had been able to assure her that with some slight modifications, Mary's gown would fit perfectly. Anne had always liked blue, and this particular shade, which so reminded her of springtime, was the ideal symbol of her new beginning. 'They that sow in tears shall reap in joy,' Anne recalled. The irony of the text brought a tiny smile to her lips. She had indeed sewn this gown in tears, but she was determined to wear it with joy.

She was also determined to finish another project, a gift for James. She took a quick look about the room before she brought her sewing basket from beneath her chair. Inside it was her latest undertaking, which had been carefully concealed from everyone: the embellishment of her most feminine lace handkerchief. Anne struggled to contain a wicked smile as she pulled it out and ran her fingertips over his initials, which she had stitched in pink silk. She had copied the flamboyant style of the letters from Miss Calvine's flowery note; she smiled to think of his expression when he recognised that. James had a way of noticing details which was most gratifying.

The handkerchief was meant to be a joke, but only partly. During the past week, he had sent so many little gifts and loving letters, Anne had been overwhelmed. She had no idea how to reciprocate his kindnesses, and very little ability to do so. But she knew he would treasure this gift, and that made the chore of doing the exacting needlework as if it was nothing.

We shall grow to be a fusty, old married couple, I am sure, she thought with a smile, as she put the finishing stitches on the 'B.' Somehow, that prospect sounded pleasant and comfortable, and not at all dull.

Meanwhile, from his post beside Elizabeth on the far side of the drawing room, someone else was occupied within the world of his thoughts. I must say, she is good. She is very good, Mr. Elliot thought ruefully, as he watched Mrs. Clay from beneath lowered lids.

In the short time he has been acquainted with the family in Bath, he has seen her make considerable progress toward her object. Seldom had he seen a woman so anxious to please, so willing to stoop to nearly any level to do it. This evening, for example, Sir Walter had voiced the mildest complaint of boredom and she immediately went into action; the two of them were now playing backgammon. William Elliot had to admire her shrewdness: she had chosen a game for only two players.

Yes, there was a growing intimacy there, though he could not help but notice desperation in her pleasant manner. He raised an eyebrow as he took in the bodice of her gown. The woman certainly dressed to inflame male sensibilities, for its neckline did more than hint at what was concealed beneath. William smiled to himself. It had been his experience that the desperate women were the ones who most readily displayed their 'wares' like this.

Nevetheless, I wonder, he mused as he watched the two together, what shall I see in the hall abovestairs, in the wee hours of the night? For Sir Walter could not be so stupid -- or such a poor specimen of a man -- as to be immune to her amorous intentions. Just now, for instance, both had reached for the same game piece; they had smiled and laughed, but their hands had touched a shade too long for William Elliot's liking. Would she dare to risk a direct encounter with the man in the night? he wondered. And then appeal to his sense of honour later on? Mr. Elliot had seen this attempted at large houseparties on more than a few occasions. And he knew Sir Walter was foolish enough to succumb to such a scheme. The question was, did Penelope Clay know it, as well?

The question continued to nag at him hours later, as he lay in the sumptuous guest chamber. At last he threw back the blankets in disgust.

How very like Sir Walter, he grumbled. Here was a lavishly decorated room, yet it housed the most miserably uncomfortable bed! In addition to that, the smell of fresh paint was everywhere; he could not escape it. Even with the window open, it was maddening. William Elliot was by now at his wit's end; how could he endure it?

At last he moved to stand in the open doorway. Unless he chose to hang his head out of the window for the entire night, this was the only way he could breathe properly. William rubbed his eyes and looked up and down the dim hall. He had heard a clock strike three some time ago; other than that, the house was absolutely silent. There had been no sign of Penelope Clay; he had heard no door open or close.

William sighed and absently studied the row of doors. In the pale moonlight, he could make out shoes on the floor, one pair beside each door. He supposed that after daybreak a servant would collect, polish, and return them before the family awakened. The shoes caught his interest, for they gave a clue as to the occupant of each room. William began to make his way along the hallway, as silently as he could. When he reached a pair of large, rather worn shoes, he stopped. So, she has not yet 'stooped to folly' in her attempt to attach him, he thought acidly. To tell the truth, William was rather disappointed. Had he been in Penelope's place, this would be exactly the manoeuvre he would attempt.

He then located Sir Walter's pumps, and Elizabeth's elegant kid slippers. And then, beside the door at the very end of the hall, he found Anne's little boots. These shoes were even more worn than Penelope Clay's. William's face hardened. She whom I would have taken to my heart, lies within, he thought. He lowered his eyes and swallowed down his disappointment. If only he could make her see how much he loved her! If only he could have her as his very own, then she would know. Then she would realise how happy she would be in his care. But she has already pledged herself to that sailor, he recalled, and there is no way to turn her back ...

... or is there? William spent some time before Anne's door, thinking, until the sound of the clock chiming the half-hour brought him to his senses.

All at once, he bent down, took up one of Anne's boots, and from his full height, dropped it to the floor. He waited expectantly, but nothing happened. The house remained silent; all were soundly asleep.

A tiny smile came to William's lips. It was then that he put his hand on the knob of the door, and turned it.

Authors' Note: With Chauntecleer so full of antiquities, we've had quite a jolly time looking around for items to bring colour to the story. Benwick's 7-8th century Chinese horse, which we have been hopelessly unable to describe properly, does indeed exist. You may see it by following the link below.

The Chinese Horse

Chapter 7

Her note was short, formal, and to the point. It brought a look of concern to James Benwick's face when he read it, for his darling's little letters to him were invariably sweet and smiling. But this one, which simply requested that he grant her an interview at the soonest opportunity, caught his attention. Even the closing was wrong; it was signed A Elliot.

Leaving Charles Musgrove to sleep the morning away, James lost no time in setting out for Camden Place. She is likely worried over something to do with the wedding, and dashed off this note in haste, he reasoned, as he hurried along.

But once he arrived at his destination, he was no longer sure this was the case, for Burton did not bring him into the drawing room as before. This time, the man escorted him to the baronet's office and closed the door as he left. After what seemed like an eternity, Anne entered the room, but not alone. She held tightly to the arm of her cousin, William Elliot. Her face was drawn and pale.

She had no smile for him, no welcoming sparkle lit her eyes. Instead, she kept her gaze fixed on the carpet, until Mr. Elliot prompted her to speak. She lifted her eyes only briefly then; her stricken, fearful look tore at James' heart. But even this did not prepare him for what came next.

"I find I have ... made a mistake, sir," she said quietly. "I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me."

At a murmur from her companion, she extended her free hand. "Here is your ring," she said, unsteadily. "Please believe me when I say I am sorry for the pain I have caused you."

James was struck speechless; he could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was Anne actually breaking their engagement? His eyes searched her face for clues, but she turned away, as if to hide from his gaze.

"Anne," he said at last, though his voice could not be trusted. "Anne, may I speak to you privately? For if there has been a misunderstand..."

"No!" she cried, in genuine alarm. "No, that I cannot. Please. Here is your ring."

Not knowing what else to do, James held out his palm. Her fingers brushed it lightly as she placed the ring there. "Anne, what has happened?" he whispered urgently. "You must tell me!"

Anne bowed her head. "I have come to believe that we shall not suit," she said, in a small voice. "You have done nothing wrong, nothing at all. It is just that I am ... I am not fit to be your wife. Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness, sir."

"Anne, wait!" James could not help himself; he could not bear to let her go like this. He reached out and grasped her wrist. She cried out and pulled away.

"I believe this interview is now over, sir," Mr. Elliot broke in, smoothly. " Your presence is painful to this lady." He allowed Anne's hand to slide from his arm as he moved to open the door. "Anne, dear, have you left the box of this man's gifts with Burton?"

Anne nodded mutely and turned to face the window. Though overcome by shock and disbelief, James realised he had been dismissed.

"God bless you, my dear Anne," was all he could think to say. After a final, searching look at her averted face, he turned and walked out of the room.

When he reached the main door, the butler handed him his hat and a wrapped parcel. And then James found himself ushered across the threshold, and onto the pavement. The door was closed with a snap behind him. He was shut out, out of the baronet's house, and out of Anne's life. Their brief engagement was ended.

"There now," said William softly, as he closed the door. He crossed the room and took hold of Anne's hand. Very gently, he kissed it. "That was not so hard; the worst is over. You were splendid, my dear."

"The worst is far from over," she whispered, and pulled her hand free.

"But you have followed the path of highest honour, dear Anne" he murmured. "I salute you."

"I would that you had done the same!" she shot back.

"My dear," said he, in a voice of great patience. "We have been through all this before, have we not? If you hadn't tempted me so, perhaps -- but, no. It is useless to go over this territory again. Far be it from me to accuse you. We shall make amends for our little indiscretion, and all will be well. Now," he said, more cheerfully, "shall I call your father? We may tell him our news together."

"No!" cried Anne. With her bare hand, she wiped at her eyes. "You agreed that I would tell him -- and everyone else -- in my own time, and in my own way!"

"I did, yes. But perhaps it would be easier if ..."

"You promised, William!"

"But my dear, time is something we simply do not have. For if you are even now with chi..."

"You gave me your word!" said Anne, through clenched teeth. "I expect you to keep it! And do not worry, I shall not delay overlong. I, too, want no scandal attached to our family name.

"Very well, my dear."

"And another thing. I would like you to purchase a special license."

"A special license?" he frowned. "That is rather expensive, Anne."

"Nevertheless, I want it done," she retorted. "The banns have already been read, announcing my intention to wed another. I can not and will not have the ceremony here!"

"As you wish, dearest," he murmured, and reached out to caress her tear-stained cheek. "I live only to serve you."

Anne pulled away. "Please excuse me, sir. I am not feeling at all well." And with that, she wisked herself from the room.

"The h-ll she did!" exclaimed Charles, as soon as he could find his voice. "Anne would never do such a thing!"

"I know, I know. It makes no sense." James groaned as he sank into one of the chairs in the library. "But she said the words, Charles. And she returned the ring. I've been over it again and again in my mind: every sigh, every look, every word. Unfortunately, that does not alter the end result."

Charles dropped into the chair beside his. "But I don't understand, James. She loves you. I know it!" he insisted. "D-mnation, she was willing to wear that blasted dress of Mary's simply because you said you liked the colour!"

James smiled weakly. "She was, wasn't she? Dear girl."

"Well," said Charles bracingly, and he heaved himself out the chair, "you deserve a little consolation, my friend. Where do you keep your liquor?"

James held up a hand. "No, no. Sit down, Charles. I need you to help me to think."

"You need me to do what? Gad, you're the first person ever to want me for that!" grumbled Charles. He obediently slumped into the chair.

"You're not as stupid as you wish to appear," James said softly, "so spare me the playacting, please." He bowed his head and lapsed into abstraction. Just when Charles was beginning to wonder whether he had fallen asleep, James opened his eyes.

"Playacting," he repeated. "That may be the ticket. Stand up, Charles," he ordered. "I need to go through this once again." James got up and motioned Charles over to the window.

"Now," he said, "Anne stood like this, with the window to her right." He moved Charles into position. "She held Elliot's arm with her left hand; she returned the ring to me with her right. Thank you, hold it out just like that."

"And when she turned to the window, her face was so," continued James, and he tilted Charles' jaw to the proper angle. "And I thought I saw there -- but it was her wrist which caught my attention first, wasn't it?"

"Wrist? What's Anne's wrist got to do with anything?" demanded Charles.

James paid him no mind. "When I realised that she had said farewell," he continued, "and that I might never see her again, I did a foolish, impulsive thing. I grabbed her, Charles, I grabbed her wrist, like this." James demonstrated. "Does this hurt you?" he asked; his eyes searched Charles' face for a reaction.

"Of course not! What are you getting at?"

"When my hand closed on her wrist, Anne cried out. Not in annoyance, not in anger, but in pain. Very well do I know the cry of pain," he added ruefully. "This has troubled me nearly as much as the rest. For I could hardly have hurt her this morning, unless ..." James let go of Charles' wrist and sighed deeply.

"Go on," urged Charles. "Unless, what?"

"... unless she had been injured previously. And I, in my foolishness, compressed her wrist at just that point." James' face hardened. "Which brings me to my first observation," he said. "I could swear that when she turned her face away, there were what looked like bruises along her jaw and on her neck."

"Bruises?" Charles dropped his hand; his fingers closed into a fist. "Someone has hurt her, then," he said grimly. "And you say Elliot stood by her side the entire time?"

"He never left us alone, not for a moment."

Charles' eyes widened in comprehension. "Good G-d, James!" he cried. "That man slept in the house last night! And today, out of the blue, Anne tells you she no longer loves you! And breaks the engagement! Bloody h-ll!

"Keep your voice down, please. I'll not have Yee barging in here, asking questions. Now, let me think."

James' eyes narrowed in concentration; he took a turn about the library. "Anne never said she did not love me, Charles," he said at last. "She never said she no longer wanted to marry me, either. What she did say, and this is most important, is that she was not fit to be my wife. Those were her very words."

"You don't think that Elliot ..."

"I don't know anything for certain, not yet."

"He is a very devil from hell!" Charles spat. "A smooth-talking, lying, smiling devil!"

"Naturally," grumbled James. "Lucifer is not ugly and coarse, as most suppose. He comes as an angel of light: handsome, well-mannered, and erudite."

"That's my wife's charming cousin, to a hair!" agreed Charles. "And her father, too, come to think of it. Well, except for being eru-whatever-you-said."

"So, I'm not deceiving myself when I conclude that Anne's hand has been forced," James said slowly. "I must say, I never expected such a direct move. Elliot's a clever, cautious sort; keeps his tracks well covered ..." James took a deep breath. "Get over to that house, Charles, now," he ordered suddenly. "I want you to learn everything you can about what happened this morning."

"Yes, yes, of course, right away," stammered Charles eagerly, and he immediately made for the door. When he reached it, he turned. "I may not know anything about espionage," he quipped, "but there's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

"Espionage? Who said anything about espionage," muttered James. "You need only to look stupid, ask questions, and listen carefully. And report back to me, post-haste."

"Hah!" Charles grinned. "I can manage the looking stupid part, can't I? That's me, the country clod! Never thought I'd put that to good use, eh?" And with a wave, Charles took himself off.

At that moment, Anne was lying full-length on her bed. She had wept until there were no more tears left; only misery remained. Presently she sat up and pressed her hands to her temples.

"It is over," she repeated again and again. "It is over. I have done it. I cannot go back."

Anne squeezed her eyes shut and tried to forget the look on James' face when she had returned his ring; his dark eyes had showed such bewilderment and hurt. "Oh, James," she whispered, "if there was any other way ..."

But she knew there was not. She could not marry him in good conscience, not any more. And she would never betray the trust of such a dear and honest man. All that was left to her now was William Elliot.

Father shall be pleased by the news, she thought sadly. After all, she would be marrying his heir, and in his beloved London, of all places. The entire family would then reside in her husband's wretchedly fashionable townhouse for the remainder of the Season. He would have no choice in the matter, for Anne planned to invite them herself. And after that ...

Anne took a deep breath. She knew exactly what she would do after that, for she had made some rather cold-hearted plans during those agonizing hours before dawn. In September, she would make him take up the lease for Kellynch Hall. It would be expensive, but her father would have an income for his retrenchment. She would have a home, a beloved retreat, a safe haven. And her husband? He would return to London alone, of this Anne was adamant.

"And James will be alone, too, poor lamb," she whispered. It broke her heart to think of her precious love, a man so surprised to find romance again, living as a solitary inmate in that lonely house. He had loved her so sincerely; his letters (now returned) had been so heartfelt and adoring.

"And I was too shy of him to reply in kind," Anne murmured miserably. "How is it that I never realise how much I love a man until he is gone?"

Charles Musgrove returned to Chauntecleer much sooner than James expected and burst into the library, full of news. James struggled to make sense of his report, which was given willy-nilly, without regard to any order.

"I talked and asked questions and made jokes until I was blue in the face, James, but no one said anything about a broken engagement," he announced; his words tumbled over one another in his excitement. "Not Sir Walter, not Mrs. Clay, not even Elizabeth, and yes, I did go so far as to actually begin a conversation with her royal highness, thank you very much. I can't ever recall doing that before, for any reason."

"No one said anything about Anne?"

"Oh, they had plenty to say about The Wedding and how it is such an Inconvenience, being held upon such Short Notice! Gad, you'd think Anne had saddled them with hosting one of my mother's slap-up galas instead of a simple family reception!" Charles' pleasant face knit in a frown as he struggled to remember every detail. "But do you know, in all that time, I never once saw Anne. Or Mr. Elliot. Mrs. Clay told me later that she was keeping to her room with a head-ache, and that he had gone out with Colonel Wallis."

Charles shrugged his shoulders elaborately. "So, there you have it. It appears to me that if your engagement is off, no one of the family knows a thing about it!"

"Thank God!" James bowed his head in relief. "We have a chance," he murmured. "It is a slim one, and we'll need to act quickly, but there is hope."

James then pulled himself together; indeed, he began to look downright cheerful. From his pocket, he removed a wad of bills, which he stuffed into Charles' palm. "Are you ready for another assignment?" he asked. "I've had time to make some plans while you were out. We must now take the next step."

"But what about luncheon?" wailed Charles. "The baronet refused to feed me; lord, you should have heard the hints he laid down to get me to shove off! They were beyond anything! I suppose his grub's only for those he deems worthy." He then noticed the notes in his hand. "You needn't pay me, you know," said he, softly.

"I haven't. What I want you to do next is to purchase a gun. Several of them, in fact. Harville and Wentworth both told me you're a crack shot; I'm counting on that. And we'll need your carriage, provisioned and ready to leave at first light tomorrow morning. Can you do this?" James stood and began to pull on his frock coat.

"Can I?" repeated Charles, with shining eyes. "Surely! I'll eat after I buy the guns. But, where are you going?"

"To call on Lady Russell," replied James, "and I pray to God that she is at home. And that she knows how to insinuate a dinner invitation for herself. I need to enlist her help if I'm to see Anne privately. If not," he shrugged his shoulders.

"You're going to challenge Elliot to a duel?"

"Certainly not! I'm no marksman, and even if I was, that's a fine way to begin with one's in-laws, by breaking the law and killing the heir!"

"Then what are you going to do?"

"That depends upon Lady Russell," said James, as he made his way to the library door.

Charles watched him go with a grin; there was certainly more to this fellow than one would expect. He wandered about the library for a bit, considering which sort of gun he should purchase. Would pistols do? Quite by accident, he stumbled upon an open chest in the corner. Charles knelt down beside it.

He guessed it was Benwick's sea locker, for his brother had had a chest of this same type years ago. Laid out to one side of it were supplies: a large coil of rope, an iron piece with hooks which Charles thought was called a grapnel, a bundle of dark clothing, and a small sack of tools which was emblazoned Lt. Benwick. There was also some sort of long knife. Charles drew it from its sheath and blinked as the bright gleam of metal met his curious eyes. He whistled in surprise. It was a particularly wicked-looking dagger; the blade was cruelly sharp.

"What in the world is he planning?" Charles wondered, as he carefully replaced the blade. And then he remembered the guns and made haste to be about his business.

It was shortly after three, and the night watchman had just finished his rounds on Camden Place, when a figure in black scrambled over the wall and dropped into Sir Walter's rear courtyard. The man immediately flattened himself against the stone bricks and waited until he caught his breath. Presently he began to make his way toward the house, mindful to keep himself hidden in the shadows.

At last James Benwick was near enough to see. He pulled his knit cap clear of his brows, shielded his eyes against the glare of the moon, and studied the row of windows on the uppermost floor. A long sigh left his lips. For there could be no mistake; wedged in the frame of one window hung a small, white flag: Lady Russell's handkerchief. James stared at it in wonder, for here was confirmation indeed. Lady Russell had seen Anne, and there was enough doubt in her mind that she had left this prearranged signal. Anne's window would be open.

As James looked more particularly at the back of the house, a smile spread over his grimy face. There were handholds everywhere; the veriest child could climb it! That is, a boy child, who has been at sea a year or two, he amended. He lowered a sack from his back, removed his ditty bag, the grapnel, and the rope, and hid them beneath some leafy bushes. For this time, he thought wryly, Rapunzel's rescuer isn't a knight, but a man of the sea, who won't have need of a rope!

Without these things, his bag was lighter; James slung it easily onto his back. As he began to mount the wall of the house, his spirits did likewise. The years spent boarding enemy ships by night, his nearly overmastering dread of discovery and capture, his sickening fear of pain -- these horrible memories melted away in the light of a generous Providence. For this task was not impossible, nor was he unprepared! He had done it many times before, and under conditions far worse than these, for Sir Walter's house was neither wet nor was it moving! James' heart nearly burst with gratitude; just in time he caught himself from singing aloud the first lines of the Doxology.

'... and who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?' On this night, in such a situation, James could not help but recall Mordecai's bracing words to Esther. But his smile appeared only for a moment. He quickly willed down his sensation of triumph, and reached for another handhold.

Chapter 7, Part 2

As things turned out, Captain Benwick could have used the grapnel at the very end of his precarious climb. It was more than a little awkward to open Anne's window while keeping his grip on the narrow ledge, nevertheless he managed it. James bit his lip and waited for his breathing to quiet before he attempted to enter. Presently he reached inside, parted the heavy drapery, and blinked in surprise. The room was not dark as he had expected; it was lit by a single candle, which the chill breeze soon set to flickering.

How to climb into the room posed the next challenge, for Anne had some sort of desk placed immediately before the window. What was more, its surface was cluttered with writing material and trinkets . James grimaced, readjusted his hold on the sill, and began to move the items to the side, one by one. His progress was impeded by Anne herself, who stirred in her sleep. James froze. If she were to awaken and cry out, all would be lost! As he waited, scarcely daring to breathe, he cursed his own short-sightedness. He had spent all his time and effort planning the climb; he had given nary a thought to the difficulties he would face once inside!

It does not matter. I'll find a way, somehow, he told himself, as he resumed his exacting task. Regardless of the obstacles, he was determined to see this through. He had lost his beloved Fanny to an untimely death; he did not intend to lose Anne.

Anne slept fitfully; her dreams were troubled by sounds: the tinkling of glass, the rasp of paper, the scraping of a chair against the floor. There were other muffled noises she could not identify, and for some reason the room had become colder. She gradually wavered up from sleep. And then she heard her name.

Anne came awake at once, though she kept perfectly still. Somehow she knew that she was no longer alone. Her body tensed. He was in the room, she could feel it. He had promised not to come again, but evidently breaking promises was nothing to him. She kept her eyes shut in fear.

"Annie?" his voice whispered. "Annie, wake up."

Annie? Anger boiled up within her; how did he dare to call her by that name? Only one had ever done so, and that one was now parted from her forever! He was closer now; she could feel him leaning over her. Anne's little hand formed into a fist.

"Annie," he persisted, going so far as to sit on the edge of the bed. "Wake up. I need to talk with you." He placed his hand on her blanket-covered shoulder.

Anne shuddered at his touch and found her voice. "Go away," she groaned. "Haven't you done enough already?"

"Er, well, that is just the trouble, Dearheart," he whispered back. "I was rather hoping you could tell me what I've done to so offend you ..."

"To so offend me?" cried Anne, and she twisted round to face him. "Good G-d," she gasped, as she took in the bulky, black-clad form. "You are not --"

The man removed his knit cap and gave her his lopsided smile. "It's me. James," said he, rather sheepishly. He rubbed self-consciously at his coal-smeared face.

"James!" Anne recoiled in horror; this was worse than anything! "What are you doing here?" she choked. "Go away! Go away, now!"

There was silence.

"Do you loathe me so completely, then?" he asked quietly. "Will you not even speak with me?"

Anne fought for control of her voice. "There is nothing to say," she faltered. "We cannot be married, not anymore. I am terribly sorry, more than you know ..."

"Dearheart, what has happened?" he whispered. "Tell me."

Anne bowed her head and remained silent. She did not trust herself to speak.

James reached over and brought the candle nearer to her face. With his other hand, he gently lifted her chin. "Who has hurt you?" he asked.

"No one has --," she began, and was stopped by the untruth of this answer. Anne hid her face, overcome with confusion and shame. She felt him reach out and gently touch a strand of hair which had escaped her braid.

"Someone has hurt you," he murmured. "Beneath your chin there is a mark, though it now appears to be fainter than when I first saw it." He paused. "Your hand is being forced, isn't it?" he said gently.

Anne squeezed her eyes shut in a desperate attempt to hold back tears.

"You cannot cry off, you know," he murmured, as his fingers continued to caress her hair. "It is, mmmm, how shall I say it? Bad Form? The one who makes the offer may not break the engagement." As she answered nothing, he went on. "I promised to become your husband, Miss Elliot, and so I shall be. No matter what has happened. The vow is 'for better, for worse,' is it not?"

Anne could bear it no more. A great sob rose in her throat; she could not keep it back. His anger and contempt could be borne; she was powerless before his kindness.

"Oh, Annie," he said softly; he set down the candle and drew her close. "Tell me what has happened. Tell me everything."

This, or something very like it, was what he had said on that dreadful day at Uppercross, when she had poured out her deepest hurts and sorrows. Anne flung herself into his arms as she had done then, and buried her face in the scratchy collar of his dark sweater.

"I cannot say it, I cannot," Anne whispered brokenly, when at last her tears had subsided. "Please don't make me, James."

"But an evil which is hidden has the greater power to wound," he replied softly. "You must tell someone." James paused before he said, "He was here last night, wasn't he? Your cousin."

Anne nodded and clung to James more tightly.

"And he has convinced you that you are not fit to be my wife, is that it?" James shifted his position and cupped Anne's face in his hands. "Well, he has figured wrong," he said deliberately. "I'll not lose you to something so trivial."

"Trivial?" she was stung into replying. "James, he ... he ..."

"Yes?" he urged. "Go on."

Anne's lips trembled. The words were there, on the tip of her tongue, but try as she might, she could not utter them. It was safer to remain silent, but should she? Honour fought a mighty battle with Happiness as she sat there, enfolded in James' comfortable embrace, but in the end, Honour won out. He must be told the awful truth, somehow. Happiness could not be gained dishonestly. Anne disengaged herself from his arms, climbed down from the bed, and stumbled to the wardrobe. From it she removed a tight ball of white flannel which had been carefully hidden there: her nightdress. She brought it back to the bed and spread it out so that he could see the tear.

Anne's insides twisted as she watched James examine the garment. His eyes narrowed as his fingers traced the jagged rip, which began at its yoke. Must he be so meticulous, she groaned, as she saw him bring the garment closer to the candle to study it. She was altogether filled with shame, and therefore was truly stunned when at last he looked up at her. His eyes were curiously bright; his expression had lost its melancholy look.

"Your cousin is a very clever man, Annie," he said quietly, returning his attention to the gown for one last look. "Yes, diabolically clever. Having, er, compromised you, what did he do next?" James raised his eyes to meet hers. "Did he suggest that you might be with child?"

Anne's face flamed; how could he speak of these things in such a matter of fact way? "He did," she whispered. "Mr. Elliot was most insistent about keeping me from scandal."

"A little late for that, wasn't it?" grumbled James. "And what were the choices he presented?"

"He gave me no choices, James. I was to marry him; he said he would be pleased and proud to have me as his wife."

"For how long, I wonder?" James raised an eyebrow. "Did he threaten you with a secluded life in the country as an alternative?"

Anne hung her head. "He did not need to. I accepted." She took a deep breath. "I could not bear it, James. It makes me so ashamed, to know that I am so poor-spirited! I could not live like that, in disgrace, alone, cut off from every friend, every connection ..."

"And yet, Charles tells me you have said nothing to your family about your, er, change of marriage partner."

Anne raised her head at that. "Charles! What has Charles to do with this?" she demanded. "What does he know?"

James' lopsided smile appeared again. "Charles has proven to be quite indispensable; I have employed him as my spy," he confessed. "Along with Lady Russell."

"Lady Russell!!!" Anne was truly mortified. "Dear heaven above, never tell me that she --"

"She was loath to help me at first, I assure you," he replied, "for I had only a hunch, and your bruised wrist, to work from. And help me she did, for it was she who unlocked your window and flagged it with her handkerchief. How did you injure your wrist, by the way?"

Anne stared at him in shock. "Lady Russell unlocked my window for you? My bedchamber window?" she sputtered. "Oh, no! She would never countenance such an improper thing!"

"Desperate times require desperate measures," James pointed out, helpfully. "Now, tell me about your wrist."

"My wrist?" Anne looked down at it. "You have provided that answer, yourself. A most desperate measure: I hit him. Several times."

"Good for you!" grinned James. "In the face?"

She could not help but return the smile; his tone was most heartening. "I don't know," she admitted. "I think I hurt myself more than I hurt him."

"An unimportant detail; the thing is, you resisted. Do you see? You're not as poor-spirited as you suppose! It is well you did not injure your left hand." He fished beneath the collar of his sweater and located a cord which was fastened about his neck. This he drew over his head, as he said, "For that hand plays an important part in our little plan. Here is your ring, which you must wear for all to see ..."

Anne's eyes widened as she watched him untie the knot. "James," she whispered, torn between shame and relief, "don't you understand? I cannot wear this. I cannot marry you. For I may be ..."

He ignored her protest and gained possession of her hand. Putting the ring on the proper finger, he continued speaking:

"Listen carefully. Lady Russell will call this morning, very early. You will need to be ready to go with her, without delay. She will be using Charles Musgrove's carriage; it is crucial that no one notices that."

"Go with her?" Anne repeated blankly. "Go with her, where?"

"To, er ... " James bit his lip. "I'm always forgetting. Where is it that she lives? Not Uppercross, but ..."

"I am going to Kellynch Lodge?" Anne interrupted.

"Kellynch Lodge, yes. You're to stay there until Saturday next, when you shall both return to her house here. We'll be married on Sunday, as planned."

"Married?" Anne cried, in an anguished whisper. "But we cannot be married! Haven't you understood anything?"

"More than you think," he replied softly. "And certainly more than William Elliot intended. But, Anne, consider. Any child of ours could resemble your cousin in his own right, quite innocently. It is best to be married straightway and to never give it another thought."

"But ..."

James looked Anne fully in the eyes. "What actually happened last night? Apart from how it was made to appear? I've had time to think about this; it is most perplexing. For a crime of passion seems so unlike your careful cousin! Didn't you tell me that the man studied law?"

"Yes, before his marriage."

"Which would mean that he learned about the importance of keeping his tracks well-covered. He would certainly be careful, extremely careful not to implicate himself in any way."

"Yes," she agreed. "But my nightdress ..."

"Anne, don't you see?" James replied earnestly. "That is what is so wrong! It does not add up properly! For the tear in it is not nearly long enough! And the garment is absolutely spotless, there is no evidence of ..."

"Evidence?" Anne frowned, at a loss. "What do you mean? What sort of evidence?"

Even in the dim light, Anne could see a blush creep onto James' coal-smeared cheeks. "Er, well, that is ..." he said awkwardly, "... if what he said happened actually did happen, er, then one would see ..."

"Yes?"

James swallowed and made another attempt. "Er, the thing is, ..."

"James, even if I had shown the gown to my father, he would have done nothing other than insist that Mr. Elliot become my husband!" Anne whispered bitterly. "My cousin was well aware of that!"

"But what if you had told someone else?" he countered. "Lady Russell, perhaps? And what if that person had believed your story? And had insisted that there be an examination of your person? I don't think your careful cousin would have risked that."

"An examination of my ... person?" repeated Anne, as she struggled to understand what James meant.

"After all, he could defend himself by saying that you tore the nightdress yourself, to entrap him. Whereas there is no defense against the other ..."

"Do you mean like Potiphar's wife?!" cried Anne. She did not understand everything James had said about an examination, but this much was clear. "He would accuse me of trying to entrap him into marriage, instead? Oh, how hateful!"

"Exactly so!" James grinned appreciatively. "I couldn't have said it better myself! For what had been done to Potiphar's wife?"

Anne's eyes widened. "Nothing," she breathed. "Absolutely nothing. But Mr. Elliot tore my gown, James. He ... he ..."

"He shamed you, intentionally. And he planted the fear that you may be with child. That's all wrong too; for it's the man who is always full of false assurances, isn't it? Telling his, er, beloved that nothing will come of their ... liaison?"

"The term he used was 'indiscretion,' " Anne sniffed. "He said he loved me. And he said that I would come to love him better, after we were married." She heard James cough, then make a stifled, gurgling sound. Anne looked at him in surprise. Could it be that he was --

"Forgive me," James gasped, as another guffaw escaped. "I should be more sympathetic! But of all the stupid, idiotic, asinine lines of reasoning! And how was he to bring that about, pray? By means of charming conversation?"

"He was particularly stupid, wasn't he?" Anne agreed, as her lips curved into a smile. "For I should certainly never love him! And although it is very wicked, I had all sorts of plans to punish him," she confided.

"Good girl! And punish him we shall!"

Anne laid her hand over one of his and pressed it tenderly. It was rough and grimy, as was the rest of him, but she cared not. "Will you fight him?" she asked, a little fearfully.

"There is no need," he replied gently. "We'll do better. We'll make him look the fool, by continuing with our plans as though nothing had happened. It will be his word against ours; what can he possibly say?"

"What, indeed?" Anne whispered, as relief and hope began to overtake her heart. She thought for a moment. "We're to be married in ... nine days, then?"

"Eight," James replied cheerfully, as he pulled his timepiece from his pocket. "For this is now Saturday. And so long as I live and breathe, Anne, you shall never be in your cousin's presence again."

James brought the watch closer to the candle and grimaced at what he saw. "Look at the time; it's after four. Charles will likely have gnawed his fingernails to the quick by now. I hope he doesn't attempt to rescue me." He paused. "I'm afraid I must be on my way, Dearheart."

"No!" Anne exclaimed softly, and leaned against his chest. "Please don't leave me, James," she pleaded.

"But Annie, I ..."

"Please." She shyly raised a hand to caress his dirty, unshaven cheek. "I've never told you how much I love you," she confided. "Please don't go. I am safe while you are here."

"But ..." James drew a ragged breath and surrendered. "Very well," he murmured. "What will you do with me come daybreak?"

"I'll hide you in my wardrobe," Anne replied, with a guilty smile. "Isn't that what ladies do with their lovers?"

"Anne, you wretch," he grumbled into her ear. "And what will you do when I begin to snore?"

"Do you snore?" she asked, a little anxiously.

"Only when I am very tired, as I am now."

"Oh dear! Poor James, of course you are tired! I'm sorry. I won't teaze you anymore." After she released her hold on him, Anne's hand found his knit cap on the coverlet. She took it up and placed it on his head. "Please be careful, Dearest," she whispered, as she tenderly straightened the cap and arranged his curls. "I'll be ready when Lady Russell comes."

"Good girl."

"And look," she added, reaching for something on her bedside table, "I have my father's letter opener. It is quite sharp. And if Mr. Elliot dares to come here again, I'll stick it into him!"

"What did you say?" James demanded. "You cousin is now in this house?"

"He is, yes." Anne caught her breath at the fearful expression which crossed James' gentle face. He mastered it, but his tone was quite altered when he said:

"Get up, Annie! We haven't much time."

It was now Anne's turn to be astonished. "What do you mean?" she whispered.

"Your father can not or will not protect you, so it is up to me. Pack your things, as quietly as you can. You're coming with me." He took up his sack from the floor, pulled an old coat and a battered hat from it, and held it out to her. "Put what you need in here. Lady Russell will have to purchase what you are unable to bring."

"Yes, James, of course." Anne's heart began to pound again, but this time it was with excitement; she was to leave this house! As quietly as she could, she pulled open the drawers of her bureau. "But what shall I wear?" she faltered. "Surely you cannot help me to dress!"

"Wear your cloak over your nightdress, and a hat," James said shortly, as he put on the battered hat from his sack. "And not a pretty hat, either," he added.

"I have plenty of ugly hats," Anne smiled, as she stuffed an armload of garments into his bag. The idea of a clandestine escape was becoming more and more appealing. "Shall I climb down from the window with you?"

James looked up at that, and smiled at her courage. "Better not risk it," he replied, as he eased himself into an old, worn frock coat. "We'll go out the front door."

"That is just as well, for my cloak is kept downstairs," Anne agreed. She was now pulling on her shoes. "I've never thought much about it, but I suppose it is most efficient to elope in one's nightdress," she quipped cheerfully.

James made a strangled noise. "Anne, stop it," he chided, as he tied the sack shut and swung it onto his back. "We're not eloping and this is no time for jokes! And for heaven's sake, put that letter opener down! I'll not have you sticking it into your cousin, should we meet him in the hall!"

"I should like that," she replied wistfully, "very much."

A flash of bright metal met Anne's eyes, as James removed something from his belt. "I think you'd best leave that honour to me," he said grimly.

Anne's face paled as she took in the fearful dagger, and the dangerous look in her sweetheart's eyes. She returned the letter opener to the table and moved toward the door. As her hand touched the knob, she stopped.

"Just a minute, James." Anne raised her chin. "I am a daughter of this house. I'll not creep about as if I am a common burglar." She removed the hat from her head, hid it in the folds of her nightdress, and took up the candle. "I have every right to walk about at night," she said crisply. "After all, I may be going to raid cook's pantry."

"Good girl," James grinned. "I'll be right behind you, though you see me not."

The walk to the staircase was agonisingly slow, but Anne followed James' orders and concentrated solely on the task before her: to walk quietly. Mrs. Clay's door was passed, then Elizabeth's, and her father's. At last, she was before Mr. Elliot's door. The candle in her hand trembled, but Anne battled down her panic and tiptoed past. I shall never see him again, she reminded herself. Thank God! The stair was then reached and descended. After what seemed like an eternity, Anne found herself pulling her cloak from the closet in the entry hall.

James had moved so silently that it was a shock to see him step from behind her to draw back the bolt on the front door. It creaked dreadfully as he opened it, but he paid it no mind. Anne put on her hat, took a deep breath, and stepped across the threshold into the chilly night air.

"Now remember," he murmured into her ear, after the door was closed behind them. "You are a night nurse, just relieved of her duty. You are extremely tired; your patient was particularly fractious tonight. Shuffle as you walk and keep your head down. Above all, do not hurry or look about you."

"I'll try," she whispered back. The walk down Camden Place was horrifically slow. At any moment she expected Burton, or Mr. Elliot, or her father pull open the door and raise the alarm.

"Try acting as though you are bored," James suggested.

Anne's heart was in her throat; she could not answer. But she bravely gave a weary sigh, hung her head, and shuffled her feet. One block was gained, then two, then three. At length, Anne's heart began to beat more normally. It was working; they were escaping!

As they turned the corner, she felt James stiffen. "Hold on," he murmured. "This may not be as easy as I thought."

Anne looked up to see a loaded carriage, with lanterns lit, drawn to the side of the street. Leaning against it were several men, talking.

"Your brother, Charles, is yonder," James remarked. "That's his carriage. And what do you bet that's the night watchman he's gabbing with? The very man he was to avoid."

"What shall we do?" whispered Anne.

"Brazen it out. Walk right by." As they drew nearer to the vehicle, James give a snort. "And would you look at that," he said in an undervoice. "They're smoking cigars, my cigars! Dear Charles is a thief, as well as a spy!"

Anne kept her head down and gripped his arm more tightly. How James managed to be so unconcerned she never knew, but he did it, and even went so far as to murmur a bored-sounding greeting to the men. The two of them continued slowly down the street together, turned the corner, and went on their way. A few minutes later, Anne heard the sounds of a carriage coming up behind them.

"Hidy-ho!" Charles called out, and then everything began to happen very fast. Anne found herself bundled into the carriage, followed by James and Charles. The door was shut and the vehicle lurched forward, with both men talking at once. Anne sank back against the squabs and clutched at the lap rob Charles tossed her way, overcome with relief.

"I was going to rake you over the coals for being so late, Benwick, but now I see why," Charles chirped, with a welcoming smile for Anne. "And why'd you tell me to steer clear of that guard? Nice fellow, was brought up near Exeter, on a --"

"We'll take Anne home first," James cut in, "and I'll go on to Lady Russell's. You'll need to leave for Kellynch as soon as possible, Charles. Within the hour. I hope her ladyship's man is a light sleeper."

Anne found her voice. "James," she exclaimed, "you'll never convince Longwell to let you see Lady Russell at this time of morning! He'll eat you alive!"

"A crabby brute, eh?" Charles remarked. "Just the sort her ladyship would have about!"

"That's not what I meant," Anne replied. "James, I should go to the door, instead. After all, he cannot refuse to admit me."

James opened his mouth to object, and then thought better of it. "I do believe you're right, my dear," he grinned, and he put his arm around Anne in order to draw her close against him. "To Rivers Street, then, Charles," he ordered cheerfully.

Shortly after five, the Musgrove's carriage again traversed the streets of Bath, though this time it had several additional trunks strapped to the box. Inside were Captain Benwick, Lady Russell, and Anne. They had made a stop at Camden Place, and as the main door had remained unlocked, their business there was accomplished easily enough. Two letters now lay on the table in Sir Walter's entry hall. One was to the baronet from Lady Russell and the other, written in Anne's hand, was addressed to Captain Benwick.

Anne, who was now properly dressed for travel, sat beside him with her hand in his, as she listened to him outline the remainder of his plan.

"I do wish you were coming to Kellynch, Captain Benwick," Lady Russell was now saying, with a frown. "I should feel much safer if you were with us."

"I do not scruple to leave you in Charles Musgrove's care, your ladyship," Benwick replied. "He's a crack shot, as you no doubt know, and has proven to be a dab hand at making do in times of adversity. You need not fear."

"But what of this Mr. Elliot?" she fretted. "We know so little about him! Other than the fact that he has shown himself to be a complete scoundrel! What if he accosts us at Kellynch Lodge?"

"Which is why Charles will be maintaining a guard at all times, Lady Russell. I will come myself later in the week, if he deems that necessary."

"Please do come," Anne whispered shyly. "I shall miss you terribly."

"I must stay in Bath much of the week, to maintain appearances, alas," he said softly. "In fact, it is nearly time for Charles to set me down, for I must be ready to present myself to your father later this morning. I'm to play the part of the annoyed fiancé, as well as to collect my letter. And I'd like to have a little sleep before I do." James gave Anne's hand a squeeze before he reached up to knock on the ceiling.

After the carriage had come to a stop, Charles clambered down from the box to open the door himself. It was obvious that he was enjoying himself hugely.

At last, with his good-byes said, James Benwick stood in the road before Charles. "Into your hands I am placing the one I love best in all the world," he said gravely. "Guard her well, sir."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Charles replied, with grin and an attempt at a salute.

James returned the salute with an indulgent smile. Charles had it all wrong, of course, but his heart was in the right place. "Carry on, Commander," he said softly.

Charles patted the grip of his pistol, then mounted the box and settled himself between Coney and Joe with a sigh of happiness. James held back, curious to hear the man give his first order.

Charles did not disappoint. As the carriage pulled away, he gestured to the clear night sky and crowed, "Second star to the right, Coney, and straight on 'til morning!"

"How's that again?" James muttered.

With a shake of his head, he set his face toward Bath and began the trek home.

Chapter 8, Part One

A Clouded Joy

"If so much did not depend upon it, I should certainly repair to an inn! Immediately!" muttered William Elliot, as he made his way downstairs late that morning. Under his breath, he swore softly. He had now spent two nights at Camden Place and was heartily sick of the uncomfortable accommodations. He made a mental note not to stay at this house whenever he and Anne would next visit Bath. "Which won't be soon, or often, I thank God!" he sniffed.

As he came into the dining room, William nearly collided with Penelope Clay, who was in the process of bringing a glass of water to the baronet. She smiled pleasantly, as always, and begged his pardon. He made his way to the table, signed to the footman to serve a cup of tea, and glanced about the room. What he saw brought a scowl to his face, for Sir Walter's daughters were nowhere to be seen.

"Good morning, sir," he murmured, with a polite nod to his host. "And, er, Mrs Clay, of course." William was so revolted by the cozy tryst he had interrupted that he did not offer to assist the woman with her chair. Instead, he sat, shook out his napkin and said, with a frown, "I do not see Miss Elliot this morning. I trust she is not unwell?"

Sir Walter shared an amused look with Mrs Clay before he replied. "Elizabeth has a distinct aversion to breakfast, Cousin. She shall be here presently, I expect."

"But you must make certain not to speak to her at table, Mr Elliot, as you did yesterday morning," put in Mrs Clay, with a knowing smile. "None of the rest of us dares to do so. Elizabeth abominates conversation at this time of day and is best left to herself."

William Elliot could only stare at what he considered a most ill-bred, unbecoming familiarity. "Surely Miss Anne does not share a similar disinclination," he said severely, as he selected a sweetbread from the proffered tray. "Perhaps she is sleeping late this morning?"

"Anne? No, no, Anne was up hours ago," replied Sir Walter absently. "She went off somewhere with Lady Russell."

"I see," said William, as he helped himself to a generous slice of ham. "Yes, I now recall it; the requisite morning drive. It has been her habit to accompany her ladyship most mornings, has it not?"

"Why, yes, Mr Elliot," Mrs Clay replied, though her smile wavered just a bit. "I believe Miss Anne has done just that."

Edward picked at a stray bit of sealing wax left from his brother's letter. He and Abernathy continued to laugh over some nonsense. As the two quieted, he looked about and realised the Captain had left them. He caught sight of boots under a tree some feet away. The Rector squatted and studied the scene. Unable to resolve the peculiarity, he murmured to Abernathy, "What is he doing?" The doctor dropped down with him, but had no answer. "Are you all right, brother?" Edward called.

"Aye, Papa," the Captain called. He had not even tried to keep the sarcasm from his voice. A distant shout caught his attention. He looked up and watched a carriage making for Crown Hill. The turn off the infamous Glencoe Road was marked by a deceptively sharp corner. The vehicle, though moving at the double, managed to make it without incident. Coming to the straight-away, its pace freshened. He mused that the cargo must be vital, or very expensive as the horses were lathered under their harnesses. His eyes moved from the team to the box. "Good G-d," he breathed. It could not be -- but what if it were? He ducked under a branch, though not low enough. He scraped his forehead as the branch yanked off his hat and sent it tumbling to the grass. He thought he heard his brother call out to him. Or perhaps it was Abernathy. He paid no mind. Nothing mattered just then. Not his brother, his lost hat or the pain of the scrape. Frederick kept his eyes on the carriage and began to run towards the road.

The Rector and the Doctor looked at one another, then at the approaching carriage.

"Lor, I hope his mind has not snapped with the pressure." the doctor said.

"I haven't the faintest idea where he might be off to," said the Rector, heading in the same direction as his brother. He struggled to open a gate which moments earlier the Captain had taken in one stride. Holding it open for the Doctor, he said, "It looks as though we have visitors."

The Captain slowed along side the carriage. His hand was on the door handle even before the carriage came to a full stop. In one motion he had the door opened and the steps down. He was rewarded by the sight of his wife coming to him from the shadows. The hood of her cape shadowed her face, but he knew her frame. "You are here," was all she said. She came into his arms.

"Where have you been, my girl? Where have you been?" he asked, his voice ragged. There were no answers, only her sobs. It did not matter, in time the answers would come, for now he would glory in her return. From somewhere nearby a voice interrupted their joyful reunion.

"Please be careful, Captain. Your wife is not in the best of health and she is not the most obedient patient either." He opened his eyes to see the sober, angular face of his ship's surgeon. Hemmings was his usual unsmiling self and continued in his typical brusque manner. "Did you know you've cut yourself, Captain?" He dismissed the wound and returned to the matter of Mrs Wentworth. "In light of your wife's resistance, might you see her to the house? She has fought sleep the entire journey, and has only just begun to eat to my satisfaction, I suspect her to be very weak. Though, by her stubbornness, you would never know it."

The Doctor's words brought Frederick out of his reverie and he became aware that others, his brother and Abernathy, had joined them. He also became aware that his wife's sobs seemed to be a peculiar mixture of joy and something else. He put her on her feet. He pulled back the hood and gently raised her face that he might examine her. "What is the matter, Loua? Good G-d, your face," he cried. "What has happened Hemmings? I demand to know what has happened to her."

As he spoke, his eyes never left her face. She was deathly pale, her eyes at first glance were mere dark smudges. On closer examination, the left was darkly ringed while the right was cruelly blacked. Had this been all, Louisa would have presented a shocking sight, but it was not. Her blackened eye continued down and ended with a ferocious wound, the severity of which could not be gauged as it was covered with a sticking plaster.

She turned from his gaze and pulled up the hood of the cape. He held her by the waist and could feel her tremble under his hands. The joy he had felt upon seeing her was washing quickly away.

"I shall explain what I know, Captain," Hemmings said. He indicated the house, "Might we get her inside? She is very weak."

Louisa stepped away and began towards the house.

"Mrs Wentworth, please allow someone to assist you."

She ignore Hemmings and continued on.

"Cousin," Abernathy called. He started towards her. The Captain held him back. In two steps he had come even with her.

"Allow me."

She stopped and turned. Before she could say anything he swept her into his arms.

"Ugh," she groaned, and bit her lip. "Please put me down, I do not wish -- " she began.

"Mrs Wentworth, please," interrupted the doctor. To the Captain he said, "Her ribs are bound. None are broken that I can tell, but she is very bruised." He turned back to the carriage and helped Mrs Partridge dismount, but added over his shoulder, "She is a stubborn one, your wife."

As he strode to the Rectory, the Captain's thoughts were in a shambles. Her unexpected arrival, the warmth of her initial embrace, her now clouded expression, the vicious marks on her face all clambered for his full attention. To add to the tumult, he now realised she had lost a significant amount of weight. What abominations had befallen her he did not know. Explanations would come. He dreaded them, but come they must.

"Have a care, Abbey," said Hemmings to his sister. He was aware that two other man had joined them. One of them was a religious man. He seemed to remember that the Captain had a brother that was a cleric of some stripe. On the other he could not speculate. As his sister alighted and turned back for her bag, he asked, under his breath, "You are very certain about your examination? It would not due to keep this quiet and then be proved wrong later."

She turned and opened her mouth to answer, but before she could the two unknown men moved closer, obviously bent upon introductions. Hemmings glanced at Partridge. She nodded and kept her counsel. The cleric introduced himself as Rector Wentworth and the other as a Doctor Abernathy. They got very little in the way of response. "Good to meet you. I am Doctor Ambrose Hemmings and this is my mate, Mrs Abigail Partridge. Please excuse us, we have a patient to see settled." The man and woman hurried to the house.

Neither Wentworth nor Abernathy wished to condemn the man was insufferably rude; he was only saved by the obvious good-breeding of his female companion; the woman had given them a kindly smile with her curtsey. It was Abernathy who broke the silence.

"So, he is a doctor. I wonder where he came from."

They made their way to the house as the pondered the arrival. "He was very familiar with my brother. I suspect," said Edward, "that he is the surgeon assigned to the Laconia. The name seems ring a bell.

"Ah, I see. But," he said, with a puzzled tone, "what of the introduction of his wife? 'My mate' he calls her. But she is Mrs Partridge and he is Hemmings. That is queer."

Wentworth examined his friend as he opened the door. He was certain the Doctor was having a joke at his expense. Seeing no humour in Abernathy's face he realised the man knew nothing of the sea, her ways or the titles given those who sail on her. He laughed. "No, Michael, she is not his mate -- I mean she's not his wife. Let me explain," he said as they entered the house.

After a brief explanation to Graham about the train which had just passed through her kitchen, Wentworth and Abernathy entered the study to find Dr Hemmings warming himself by the fire. He looked up at them and then back to the flames. "I hope you do not mind, the sun is bright, but has not much warmth."

"Uh, no. Not at all, Doctor. Will you have some sherry?" The Rector went to the table to pour out the glasses." Or perhaps you would care for tea instead."

"Yes, a sherry would be quite welcome. Thank you. All the rest have gone upstairs to see Mrs Wentworth settled." He accepted the sherry.

The Rector handed Abernathy a glass. He began to pour for himself and stopped suddenly. "They are upstairs." He abandoned the sherry and hurried to the door. "Catherine will hear all the ruckus in the hall and wonder at it. I had best tell her of this happy news." He left the doctors to themselves.

"His wife just had a baby -- twins actually. It was a difficult birth and she is abed." Abernathy explained.

Hemmings nodded and took a sip, but made no reply.

"So, Doctor," Abernathy tried again to converse. "How do you come to be involved in bringing Mrs Wentworth back to the bosom of her family?"

Hemmings looked from the fire and made a quick appraisal of Abernathy. "I do not mean to be rude, sir, but I would prefer to discuss the particulars with the woman's husband."

"Oh, sure you would." He would not be daunted. "I am ignorant of the finer points of sailing and the sea, but I am very interested." Hemmings stared at the fire. "The Rector says that a 'mate' is your assistant. That you have a female assistant is remarkable."

Hemmings relented. It was not his lot to have any quiet. He took a seat next to Abernathy. "It is not so remarkable at sea. Mrs Partridge is my assistant, but also my sister. She has sailed with me before and has the finest pair of hands I have ever seen at work."

"I suppose she would have great skill with poultices and such. And all the womanly skills of nursing."

Hemmings looked over the glass. He sighed and said, "She is of course all that, but I was referring to her skills with a scalpel." He raised his glass and drained it.

Abernathy sputtered his sherry and came forward in his chair. "You mean she has surgical training? She is a surgeon -- that she operates?"

"Oh yes," said Hemmings. The reactions of his male colleagues always amused him. "When there is a battle, no man cares whether is a woman or a man who wields the saw that removes the mangles limb. The men on board all have great respect for my sister." His tone made clear his own pride.

While the doctors began an in-depth discussion of the intricacies and paradoxes of naval medicine, Mrs Wentworth was being settled upstairs.

"One moment sir while I prepare things." Partridge began to bustle about the room. She seemed to know her duty even in a strange place. He nodded. Holding her longer would not be difficult, she seemed like nothing in his arms. Her hands were folded before her. They were bandaged. Another mystery. Her eyes were closed. Tears had spilled down her cheeks.

"Sir?" The voice was that of Partridge. "Might I put this satchel aside? So that I may put your wife to bed."

"Uh, yes. I suppose that might make putting you to bed a bit easier." He looked at Louisa. Her eyes came open suddenly.

"Put me down, please."

She watched the satchel being whisked away and said, "You were leaving here?"

"Yes, I was. My plans now will have to be altered."

She did not face him, but said, "Yes, I suppose my homecoming has interrupted many things."

"I did not -- "

"Sir, I mean neither rudeness, nor insubordination, but I must ask you to leave us. I have a patient to care for. It is my duty, sir." The small woman folded her hands and looked squarely at her captain.

Louisa's back was to him. She made no attempt at conversation, or even to look his way. Had she somehow been forced home by Hemmings? Was that the reason for her defiance? Was coming back to him such a torture? "I will be back after you are settled. We can talk then." He turned and walked out the door.

"Thank you, sir," Partridge said as she ushered him out the door. He was about to move on when he felt the ring in his pocket. Perhaps this will soften her feelings. The door clicked shut just as he turned to re-enter the room. Again, in just a few weeks, he was nose to nose with the same door; separated from his wife by illness and a woman bent on nursing her.

"I can give it to her later, I suppose. I should just be grateful she is home and safe," he muttered as he pushed the ring back in its pocket. As he walked down the hall, to the stairs, his brother exited from his own room.

"I have told Catherine the good news. She is overjoyed, I may have to tie her to the bed to keep her from creeping across the hall for a visit."

Frederick stopped and stared at Edward.

Edward took his arm. "Are you all right, Frederick? You have gone quite pale."

"I don't know." His eyes stung and his throat suddenly ached. "I have seen extraordinary things in my life -- miracles really -- but this -- she has been returned to me -- I -- "

Edward took his brother's arm and propelled him towards the stairs. "Her return is a wondrous gift from the All Mighty, Frederick. Embrace it, revel in it. Never forget it."

"A gift it is, I must say."

"Aye, and so is healthy glass of brandy. You look as though you need one, Brother."

The Rector and the Captain entered the study to find Doctors Abernathy and Hemmings debating the merits of opium,or other depressants, to be used in the course of surgery. As surgeons each was interested in the others opinion. Hemmings thought them to be a waste of precious time. He declared that a decently sharp saw would have the job finished and the patient on the road to recovery before even a heroic dose of laudanum had a chance to take affect. Abernathy countered with that strapping a man down, and giving him a leather bit to chew, was hardly to be considered civilised medicine. As the other gentlemen found seats, the men of medicine agreed to disagree and refilled their sherry.

Taking his glass back to his seat, Hemmings asked the Captain, "Is there a place that we might speak privately."

Still in a bit of a fog from the sudden events of the day, the Captain said, "You may speak freely, Hemmings. The Rector is my brother and Abernathy is my wife's cousin. They have been privy to everything that has occurred."

Hemmings kept his feet. "Sir, I do not mean to be contradictory, but I must really speak with you in private."

Frederick looked hastily at Abernathy. He was taking a long drink of his sherry. "Use the sitting-room, by all means," offered the Rector.

"What is it, Hemmings?" Wentworth asked, having closed the doors to the hallway.

"May we stipulate, sir," said Hemmings, "that I am speaking as your wife's doctor, and not as a member of the Laconia's crew?"

Inherent in such a suggestion was that his surgeon bore bad news and was aiming to protect himself from any formal punishment. "Yes, Mr Hemmings, I stipulate this. Now, tell me about my wife." A sudden flush and creeping chill were struggling to take control of Wentworth's taut frame.

"First, sir, I understand that your family is anxious to know of Mrs Wentworth's condition and I will be happy to relate what information I have in their company -- with your permission, of course."

"Thank you, now will you please tell me about my wife." His mind swirled with the possibilities if Randwick were involved. "Where was she? Who was she with?"

"She was in Plymouth, sir. All this time. She was being held by a fellow named Randwick, he is from this area I believe she said. He held her in a house somewhere in the midst of town. It was close to the Hill, sir. It must have been fairly close to the Harville's neighbourhood, as it was yesterday morning Mrs Harville found -- "

"Elsa Harville found my wife?" The Captain was not certain whether he should laugh or cry at such a revelation. "She had been in Plymouth?" He was disgusted, as though he should have known.

"Yes sir, all this time. She has no idea where the house is located. It was dark, the middle of the night when she escaped. That accounts for -- " He stopped mid sentence. "Sir, these are facts that I will gladly relate in the company of your relations. There are other matters to do with your wife that I wish to discuss."

"Go on, Hemmings."

"Captain, it is a practice of mine keep a log of my patients and a pictorial of the location of wounds and the severity of them. It helps me when the are so many."

"She is wounded badly?"

"For a young woman of her station, I would say yes. She has told me that the wounds were all gotten in falls and such. But I know that is not completely true. There is much about this affair that she chose not to tell me."

"How so?"

"Captain, I think she told me enough so that I would not press her too sorely, that I would be pacified with certain information and not question further."

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