Posted on Sunday, 27 January 2008
When they quit the Harville's cosy home to return to the inn after a most convivial visit, Anne could not help but feel a pang of sorrow at the thought that these might have been her own dear friends and a comfortable cottage such as theirs could have been hers and Wentworth's if she had not bent to persuasion. Now, as she watched the captain strolling ahead with the two Musgrove girls upon either arm, she knew it was never to be.
Captains Harville and Benwick joined them at the inn after they had dined, and spent the evening with them. Anne found herself discussing melancholy literature with the latter -- it seemed to assuage his broken heart. Nothing could do the same for her, as energetic laughter and girlish giggles from the other end of the room showed how well Captain Wentworth was entertaining and being entertained.
When the gentlemen departed it was noted that the weather had taken a turn.
"The air is so chill," remarked Wentworth as he returned to the parlour, "I do fear it may snow."
"Snow in November by the seashore!" cried Louisa. "Oh fie, Captain! You are playing your tricks on us."
"It would not dare to snow while we are here," said Mary. "I'll be bound we'll have as much sunshine tomorrow as we did yesterday."
Charles reacted with more concern. "Wentworth is a sailor -- they understand weather much the same as farmers do."
"Farmers!" scoffed Mary.
Anne peered out the window. The sky that had earlier blinked with stars was now totally obscured by cloud. An icy draught seeped through the casement. She feared greatly the captain might be right.
When Anne awoke the world outside was completely white and snow was still falling. She dressed quickly in her warmest clothes and hurried to the dining room where breakfast was being served. Captain Wentworth, Louisa, and Henrietta had preceded her and were gazing out the window -- the girls in raptures.
"It is magical!" cried Louisa. "I cannot wait to go outside."
"Look how the snow covers the branches of the trees!" cried Henrietta. "Turning them into the finest lace!"
"I shall make snow angels." Louisa's eyes glittered with anticipation. She looked truly lovely -- what man could resist her?
"But, is not the snow too deep to walk about in it?" asked Anne, at once regretting her prosaic and sensible comment.
To her relief Captain Wentworth nodded in agreement. "It has been a great fall," he said. "I am afraid we are snowed in today."
"I am not one to be thwarted by such a trifling amount of snow!" cried Louisa. "It is so soft and downy! I long to taste it upon my tongue."
"And catch your death of cold?" asked Wentworth. "I could not permit it."
"Do not fear. I have a warm pelisse and a very sturdy pair of boots. Unlike Henrietta. I would not advise Henrietta going out at all in her little kid shoes."
Henrietta disclaimed and insisted that her shoes, though they looked delicate, were as sturdy as the aforementioned boots. The argument continued as they all chose food from the sideboard and only abated with the entrance of Mary and Charles.
"My word," said Mary. "Did I not say how it would be? Even before we had left Uppercross I warned everybody that a trip to the seaside in November was foolhardy -- but no one ever listens to me." She punctuated this comment with a sneeze.
Her good husband lost no time in contradicting her. "Only last night you proclaimed it would not dare to snow!"
"Charles, you do say such foolish things at times. I was always of the opinion that the weather would turn." She sneezed again. "And now I am positively ill."
"A mere sniffle." He scoffed.
"How can you be so unfeeling? My head is throbbing and I swear I have not felt weaker in my life." She heaped cold ham upon her plate and fortified it with two servings of omelette.
"Would you not do well to return to bed, then?" asked Anne.
Mary took some moments to chew a mouthful of food before responding. "And miss all the conversation, cooped up in my bedchamber alone and forgotten, with nothing to do but bear my ailments in silence?"
"Bear your ailments in silence?" Charles almost choked upon his wine. "Is that at all possible?"
"You, of all people, must know how greatly I suffer, yet I rarely let on the full extent of what I constantly endure." She blew her nose upon a hanky and then turned to Captain Wentworth. "Though I strive to keep it hidden I am of a very invalidish constitution. It comes from having such impeccable ancestry. I cannot think why Anne is so healthy."
"A very good thing that she is," said Charles, "or she would not be available to nurse you half as often as you expect her to."
"There is no one so proper, so capable as Anne when it comes to nursing me!" cried Mary. "She is, after all, my sister. It is too unkind to suggest that I abuse her. She does it of her own free will. She likes to nurse me. Do you not Anne? Tell them it is so!"
"Indeed I have no hesitation in nursing you when you are ill," said Anne. "I would do anything in my power for you, or anyone who needs me. I am always happy to be of use."
"Well I need you now!" cried Mary, wiping the last of the gravy from her plate with a crust of bread, and stuffing it into her mouth. "This dreadful snow has made me so ill I swear I shall not leave my bed for a week." She stared at her reflection in the silver tumbler that had held her wine. "My nose is red, and my eyes swollen, and I am deathly pale. Charles must go for the apothecary."
"In this blizzard?" He looked at her aghast. "The streets are impassable."
Anne stood and took her sister's arm. "There will be no need to go out, Charles," she said. "I know just how to nurse Mary. If you would be so kind as to ask them to send up a hot mustard pilaster and a pot of herbal tea, I will have your wife on the road to recovery in no time."
As she led her sister out of the dining room, Anne noticed a gentleman not of their party seated at a table by the fire. He bowed in her direction, and his eyes followed her from the room.
"Who was that gentleman?" asked Mary.
"I have never seen him before," said Anne.
"He must have known who I was, though, for he bowed to me, in respect to my consequence. It is nice to see that the Elliot name is as highly esteemed as it deserves, even in such far flung places as Lyme. If only other people would remember my worth -- but at Uppercross no one seems to bear it in mind at all."
Anne mumbled something conciliatory and guided her sister through her bedchamber door.
"One cannot help but feel sincerely sorry for Anne," said Louisa, as soon as the sisters had quit the room. "Her sister uses her abominably. If I were Anne I would not bow to Mary's will so often."
"Is not her caring nature something to be admired?" asked Wentworth.
"Indeed," said Henrietta. "We all love Anne."
"But she allows herself to be taken advantage of," said Louisa. "Mary puts on such great airs. I do not believe she is the slightest bit ill, in truth. Her appetite seemed healthy enough."
"Then why should Miss Anne cater to her whims?" asked Wentworth. "She has sense enough to discern as much for herself."
"Pardon me," said a voice from the corner. "I could not help but overhear your conversation, and as we are snowed in here and will be thrown all day into each other's company, whether we like it or not, I thought I might make myself known to you, and add my thoughts to your most interesting discourse."
The introductions made, Louisa exclaimed. "Mr Elliot? Can you be related to the Elliots of Kellynch Hall?"
"I am the heir," he acceded.
"Why then, you are the relative of the ladies who just quitted this room! Miss Anne Elliot and her sister Mrs Mary Musgrove -- who is my sister and my brother's wife!" cried Louisa. "You are practically our own family."
With that, nobody had any qualms about the gentleman admitting himself into their private conversation, except, perhaps, the captain, who could not help but find the newcomer's behaviour somewhat encroaching.
"I was actually quite favourably impressed by Miss Anne Elliot's handling of the situation," he said. "If I may be so bold, I think the lot of you missed the point entirely."
"Whatever do you mean?" asked Charles, bristling slightly.
Wentworth simply glared at Elliot coldly, challenging him to continue.
"Well, you all felt that she acted out of sisterly feeling, which I have no intention of discounting, and also that she was unwittingly being put upon. Have you never considered a third alternative?"
"Namely?" There was a hint of interest in Wentworth's voice, but his expression did not change.
"Clearly the sister was making a nuisance of herself, if you will pardon me saying so." This comment was directed at Charles and he took it complacently. "Do you not think it at all feasible that she took it upon herself to remove her sister from the room out of consideration for the rest of you more than anything else?"
Wentworth wondered that he had never thought of such a thing before. The problem was, he had to concede, that he was too willing to judge Miss Anne since her rejection of himself. He had allowed his bitterness at her perceived weakness to cloud his usual clear-sightedness.
"My cousin appears to me to be a very good sort of girl," said Mr Elliot. "And quite pretty too," he added upon consideration.
Pretty? When Wentworth had first seen her after their eight year separation, he had been shocked by how dull and worn she appeared. As if the life had gone out of her. She had used to be pretty, very pretty, but now . . . she was a mere shadow of her former self. But she appeared to have made an impression upon Mr Elliot, and in no short order.
It wasn't long before Louisa and Henrietta were feeling the effects of being cooped up indoors and craving to go outside to frolic in the snow.
"It is unchivalrous of you not to offer to escort us, Captain Wentworth," said Louisa with a becoming pout.
"It is sensible," said the captain resolutely, turning back to his book.
"Charles?" asked Henrietta. "Would you be the sweetest brother possible and take us out of doors?"
"And have you put snow down my back? I fully recollect winters past. No, I shall stay here snug by the fire." He leaned back in his chair, stretched his legs out, and put his feet upon the fender. "Be sure to wake me when luncheon is served."
"Brothers!" cried Henrietta in exasperation.
"I think I shall go crazy if I do not get out," sighed Louisa as she gazed out the window. "This room is so small and confining. Do you not find it so, Captain?"
"My quarters on my ship are much smaller."
"But you are out at sea, on the open water, and you have the entire ship to walk upon at your leisure."
"What little leisure a sea captain has," he conceded.
"I should dearly love to be at sea -- the salt wind in my hair -- the cobalt waves pearling against the bow -- but this stifling containment is unbearable."
"If I were to have a lady aboard any ship of mine, which is a practice I little approve of, she would be expected to stay in her cabin more often than not, for her safety and for the peace of mind of my crew."
"If I were aboard your ship I should like to have duties. I would trim the sails and man the wheel, and stand lookout."
"And climb the rigging to the bird's nest, no doubt," he scoffed. "Dressed in sprigged muslin and carrying a parasol? A ship is not the place for a lady." Especially not a lady who cannot find a quiet way to amuse herself indoors on a snowy winter's day.
"You are too cruel, Captain Wentworth." She pouted again very prettily, but it was lost upon the captain as he had returned to his book. She looked longingly out the window and then undid the latch, and pulled it wide. Cold swept through the room as a billow of white cascaded in.
"Damme!" shouted Charles as he jumped up from his chair. "Have you completely lost your wits, Louisa? Close the blasted window!"
"It is so fresh!" she cried. Snowflakes sparkled upon her eyelashes and glistened in her hair. A drift of snow littered the settee. "So soft!" she grasped a handful of the stuff and threw it in the air. Henrietta followed suit, throwing snow up to watch it fall back down, giggling all the while.
Mr Elliot was before the captain, sweeping the ledge free of snow with his bare hand as he pushed the window to.
"This will only melt into a soggy mess," admonished Wentworth as he attempted to remove snow from the settee into the coal bucket, before it soaked into the cushions.
"It seems some sort of diversion is required," said Mr Elliot, who had long given up his attempt at reading a novel and had been amusing himself watching the interactions between Louisa and the hard-hearted captain. "If the two young ladies truly want to venture out of doors and do not mind the company of a virtual stranger, I would be most happy to be their protector against the ravages of the weather."
Louisa and Henrietta both clapped their hands with glee. Captain Wentworth said nothing, but his expression clearly questioned the wisdom of the undertaking. Charles merely admonished Elliot to watch his back, and closed his eyes once more.
Louisa and Henrietta were soon ready to brave the elements in their thick pelisses, warm scarves wound about their necks, bonnets firmly clamped upon their curls, and the sturdy footwear they had boasted so long and hard about on their dainty little feet. They even had thick woolly mittens, provided by the sympathetic landlady. Mr Elliot had had the foresight to hire two of the stable boys with a shovel and a broom, to clear the way ahead of them as they proceeded down the road.
Not five minutes after the excited party had bustled downstairs and out the door, Anne entered to the parlour. Captain Wentworth looked up as she slipped into the room. Her face appeared tired and drawn, but when he pointedly asked her how her sister did, she smiled and the change it brought to her countenance was remarkable.
"She is sleeping, I am pleased to say, and really not at all as ill as had at first been feared."
"Her fear or yours?" he asked with a smile of his own.
Anne blushed slightly. "I had never supposed her poorly," she admitted. "But she can work herself into a state, which it is best to prevent."
"I trust you have not tired yourself out?"
Anne stood in confusion for a moment, before sitting down and responding collectedly. "I am made of sterner stuff than that, sir."
"I believe I know that."
Anne blushed again and Wentworth couldn't help but notice how pretty the colour looked upon her cheeks. And how bright and alive her eyes were.
"Where are the girls?" asked Anne, suddenly noticing that the only other occupant of the room was Charles, softly snoring before the fire.
"Mr Elliot took them out for a walk -- they were most adamant about going, though in my opinion it is an ill-judged excursion. I hope they suffer no adverse effects from their exposure to such harsh weather."
"Mr Elliot?" Anne asked in wonder.
"The gentleman who bowed to you when you left the room with your sister," said Wentworth, unwittingly admitting that he had not missed the exchange.
"My relation?"
Wentworth nodded the affirmative.
"How strange that he should be here at the same time as us." She appeared flustered for a moment and then met the captain's eyes with a determined expression upon her face. "He has been estranged from our family these many years. My father . . . does not speak of him. But as he is here and there is nothing else to be done, I must recognise him, must I not?"
"I think you can safely follow your own inclination in the matter -- my opinion is of no importance."
Her eyes widened. "Of course what you think is important."
"It wasn't in the past," Wentworth said stiffly, but at Anne's hurt expression he relented. "I ought not to have said that -- I do apologise."
"No," said Anne, "you have every right to say what you feel -- but do not think for a minute that I ever . . . discounted your opinions. Or your feelings." Her hands twisted together in her lap and she looked away. "That is all in the past. Is not this snow a dreadful thing? I wonder how long it will keep us here in Lyme."
"I am hoping long enough for me to see reason," Wentworth said softly, but not so softly that Anne could not hear.
Anne got up and wandered over to the window. "The snow really is very beautiful."
"Is it?" asked Wentworth, coming up behind her to look out over her shoulder. "And do you feel a mad passion to walk out in this storm?"
"I believe I can enjoy it much better from the warmth of this parlour," answered Anne. "But there is something awe inspiring about nature -- how it can change its aspect so quickly -- one moment the weather is temperate and calm and you cannot help but feel secure that it will always be safe and then suddenly it changes in such a way that the dangers are more than apparent. I can only imagine the storms you must encounter and the hazards of your sailing journeys."
Wentworth but his hands out to grasp her shoulders and turned Anne to face him. "Voyages of the heart can be as dangerous as voyages upon the high seas."
Anne nodded and took a deep breath before responding in a tight little voice. "Especially if one is an inexperienced sailor."
"And after one's ship has been destroyed -- dashed upon the rocks -- can one take the chance of heading out to sea again?" His eyes held hers in a gaze so powerful she could not hope to break it.
"If one loves the sea, one must brave the chance of storms that may never come, and reap the rewards of fair weather."
Wentworth took a step closer. His hands fell from their grip on her shoulders and one reached up to brush gently along Anne's cheek. "My love of the sea is undiminished."
"Mine too," she whispered.
The door flew open. Louisa and Henrietta rushed in, with Mr Elliot close on their heels.
"We are quite frozen to the bone," cried Louisa, "and must dry off before the fire, so wet our skirts have become."
"I cannot feel my feet," added Henrietta through chattering teeth.
"But the snow has stopped and the skies have cleared," said Louisa. "Mr Elliot predicts fair weather."
Captain Wentworth looked away from the group by the fire and smiled down at Anne. "So do I," he said, watching her answering smile spread from her eyes across her face, enhancing the beauty of her sweet expression. "Fair weather, plain sailing, and a life devoted to the sea."