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Chapter 8
At the same time that Captain Wentworth was securing his escape back to the sea, his brother was feeling the fetters of his own situation tightening around him.
Reverend Edward Wentworth was normally a patient man, normally a man not given to fits of temper and pique. But the past few days had tried him beyond his endurance. Coming into his study without his wife, Catherine hearing him, he sat in his chair and laid his head on his arms. Early the previous week, he had been summoned to Bramford Hall, family seat of the Vernon's. Through a long and complicated set entails and fulfillments, the property now rested in the hands of the seventh generation, Pollard Vernon Levant.
Levant's grandmother had held the property passed to her from her father. She had married young and unwisely, but the man had been killed while engaged in a highly suspect bout of judicial combat, leaving her with one child. This had been Pollard's father.
Because of the odd timing of the grandmother's death and Pollard's father's, there had been a bit of froth from some once removed cousins, but they had decided not to pursue the matter when it was determined that the place had not covered its own expenses for years and that the ground itself seemed to be prone to moulds and creeping vines that choked the life out of anything planted for profit.
Pollard Levant had carried on much as any son of a careless man, in a careless fashion. He had gone to University and eventually came away with what might be loosely termed an education; he had lived beyond his allowance and had caused more than one girl's family to pack her up and send her out of his reach. Pollard was neither pleased nor revulsed by his own ways, he just gave them very little thought. He had had very little in the way of manly training, his father having been in the Army and his living so much of the time with his grandmother. His mother had died while delivering a younger sister who had not lived but a fortnight. While Pollard did not mind his own ways very much, he did mind not having as much as he would like. When possession of Bramford Hall had come to him, his first order of business was to see how much ready money he could find. To his delight, he found that his grandmother, while a shrewd woman was also a woman who possessed a heart, which meant that there were many, far and wide who were indebted to her. This was the exact circumstance with Reverend Wentworth.
Sarah Emily Vernon Levant had performed her responsibilities as the patroness of Crown Hill with a vengeance. She had looked after the small dame's school overseen by Tabby Merton, the poulterer's widow. In exchange for one free education, (always given to a worthy young man), Mrs Levant saw that the reading books were not only sturdy but of the proper Calvinistic sensibilities. Her watchful eye saw to it that whoever was doctoring had the benefit of a private subscription journal that she received quarterly from London. Her offense had been great when that raffish Dr Abernathy had graciously thanked her but proceeded to declare the primary author a quack and a money grubber. But more than anything else, Sarah Levant felt the keen obligation of seeing that the parish pulpit was filled with the proper sort of clergyman.
Over the years, there had been various types of men behind the rostrum of Crown Hill Parish. Reverend Chester Eccles had been a good preacher, but his weight had brought about complications. Custom-made surplices had to be ordered from Shrewsbury and then there had been that embarrassing episode concerning that weak bit of flooring found during the Halliwell christening. The Reverend Daniel Dunston had made a fine preacher, a wonderful voice, fine turn of phrase; the man practiced his sermons so that they were perfect every Sunday morning. The only problem was that he practiced on the hill near the carriageway by the rectory. His wonderful voice would resonate over the roadway so that anyone passing could hear what was to be proclaimed the following day. To those of a mind to listen, did one of two things; the pious listened well and then felt justified in staying home abed the next day because they knew what was to be preached or the sinner listened and studiously avoided church that next morning, also knowing what was to be preached. The tithes had sunk to an alarming level and Reverend Dunston had moved on. Previous to Reverend Wentworth, there had been Reverend Milton Saxon. Reverend Saxon had also been an excellent clergyman, if one were willing to dismiss his tendency to forget Sundays. The first time it had happened, he had ridden out to the Tedlow farm and waited patiently for the family, knowing that they had surely forgotten the appointed meeting time and would return soon. They had returned home, only after the services at the church were ended by fervent prayers for the safe return of the Reverend and the singing of an appropriate hymn. The same had happened enough times that the rumblings brought the notice of the Church Authorities. And so, Reverend Milton having many family members who watched out for his interests, was soon appointed to a rather esteemed position assisting the Bishop in Shrewsbury. In Shrewsbury they did not seem to take any notice of his untimely absences.
Reverend Milton had left them in December of 1813 and in January of the following year, Mrs Levant was determined that a clergyman of sense would be her next choice. She had visited a friend in Glencoe parish one Sunday and had been impressed that the curate was not a young man who had one eye on the young ladies and the other on the clock. She had first noticed him because he was not a young man at all. He had moved about unobtrusively and when the service was ended, the man had gone about ordering prayer books and straightening things that had been put out of order. Enquiring as to his identity, she had found willing sources that informed her that he was Edward Wentworth, he was very old and was in possession of his orders, but chose to serve under men he had read and admired rather than take a pulpit. That had been odd to her and she had quizzed him about it when they had finally met. His answer had pleased the old lady and she had decided then and there to offer him the living of Crown Hill. He had smiled and thanked her most kindly, but had thought it best that he remain under the Reverend of Glencoe just now, not being certain that he was ready to take a parish of his own. At this, the woman had let out a hoot and told Reverend Wentworth that at his advanced age, he best do it now before he was serving the Lord God Almighty himself--in Heaven, for he would surely be dying soon! The curate could see the wisdom in this and after a week or two of reflection, had accepted the calling. There had never been a formal agreement, no documents and no money had changed hands. For a man who at one time had made his living giving and receiving receipts for human beings and doing well enough at it to prosper heavily, he had not taken the same care in this transaction.
In October Mrs Levant had died unexpectedly and in two weeks, her son had joined her in death. All the lady's material goods were naturally to go to her son and this had been the plan being followed by her lawyers. When her son had died, there had been questions as to the beneficiary. The rightest legal claim was that of Pollard, he was most directly descended of the old woman and therefore the best claimant, but questions had been raised as to whether Mrs Levant had made promises and perhaps even a new will. After a few weeks of churning, with not the slightest hint of a newer testament, things had been settled in favour of Pollard.
Not caring for the country, the new Master of the Hall had determined to stay in town and raise what Cain he had time for, having all the fun he was able before trudging off to Bramford with all the inherent responsibilities. But now it was February and Pollard was installed in the Hall and looking to whom he might canoodle a repayment from. His first touch had been Edward Wentworth.
Since the living had always, more or less been bestowed by Mrs Levant without any expectation of payment, Edward had never felt any apprehension when he had said the proper words over the mortal remains of Sarah Levant. But apprehension was now his constant state since his first visit with Pollard Levant. The very Monday after his brother had left them, a note requesting his presence had arrived at the rectory. Expecting that Mr Levant would wish to renew the tacit agreement that had been between Mrs Levant and himself, Edward had trotted happily to Bramford Hall, much like a lamb to its final resting place--the plate. Mr Levant had been quite polite, but rather insistent that there must be some sort of payment, the living was too valuable an asset to go untapped. Edward had countered with the fact that Mrs Levant had despised the practice of selling a calling of God and that she had chosen to give it to him. This had not touched Mr Levant. The young man had pointed out that Crown Hill would soon be in the way of benefitting from the new foundry going in down by the river and that would bring the tithes up, hence a more worthy parish. The first meeting had ended coldly, Mr Levant knew that he had the advantage in that the living was now his to bestow where he might. Edward had nothing and was not certain what he might do. There had been vague figures mentioned, but they had always changed and were never the same from statement to statement. This second meeting was worse, Mr Levant was now talking of advertising and spreading the news of an opening. Edward was in a stew, there was no money to be had, not in such a quantity anywise. He could not share this with Catherine as things were suspect with her pregnancy just now and the fear on his part was that this news would do them both harm. His best wager was to pray and allow God to act, it was also the only thing he was really able to do.
As he sat with his head down, Catherine came into the room, "You have a letter . . . it is from Frederick," she said quietly.
Raising his head, he took it and was thankful that it was only one sheet and would not cost him so much; then upon examining it, found that the dear boy had franked it and that it would cost them nothing. Upon opening and reading it, his thankfulness changed to disappointment and anger. The news of the wedding was not met with joy on the part of Edward Wentworth.
"He is to marry her."
"Miss Musgrove, you mean?"
"Yes. Miss Musgrove."
Catherine was reluctant to say anything about the matter. Since her opinion was not that of her husband, it had always been met with a chilly eye. Edward had spoken of Frederick's divided heart, the fear of faithlessness of the mind and the humiliation that would come to the girl from not being loved by her husband. In her heart, Catherine suspected that it all came down to Edward's deep desire to only see his brother happy. They both knew that happiness for Frederick was tied to one Miss Anne Elliot. Though Catherine believed there were other possibilities.
"It says here that the wedding is to be in a fortnight." Turning the letter and looking at the post mark, he exclaimed, "That scrub! He mailed this Tuesday! He hoped there would be no time for me to come. He in fact says that there is no need." Reading the letter again, he snorted, "I'll wager he is afraid that were I to come, I would try and talk him out of such an abominable scheme. Well, he is right on that score," he said nearly to himself.
Catherine had stood and listened. Watching his face flush and contort as he read and reread the letter. While she knew any interjection on her part would be useless, she tried. "Tell me again why this is such a bad scheme."
With an exaggerated dropping of his hand holding the letter, Edward looked at her with mock stupidity. "He does not love her, he is so tied up inside with Miss Elliot that this marriage will be wrecked before it begins and he will wind up humiliating this poor girl no end. No! I must go and stop him."
"And how do you propose doing that? Shall you forbid him? He is rather too old for that." As she spoke, all the talk of this possibility and how horrible it would be found its way to Catherine's tongue and she was determined to say, just this once, all that she thought. "Or perhaps you might tie him up and hide him somewhere until he comes to his senses. Better yet . . . ," her eyes narrowed with irony, "Perhaps you should tell . . . " She stopped herself before she could voice such a dreadful thought. Perhaps you should tell Miss Musgrove of Frederick's heart and she will abandon the wedding! Catherine was surprised at her own vehemence. She was not at all convinced that the marriage was terrible and felt that of all involved, it was Miss Musgrove's feelings which were being ignored the most. To tell that poor girl such an awful thing about a man she held in enough regard to marry would be criminal.
"Perhaps I should tell who . . . what?"
Scrambling to find something to say, Catherine stuttered out, "Perhaps you . . . should tell, Frederick . . . to . . . try harder and learn to love this girl." She knew that her husband would notice the slip and waited for him to say something.
"I doubt he would be able to. He's not thinking very clearly in any of this and I don't think he wishes to hear that old song again." Edward looked back at the letter and folding it, put it in his drawer.
He had not noticed her slip. Normally he would have seen it and asked her to tell him what she really meant. Edward was a man who very much disliked people saying one thing when they genuinely thought another. "I think I will go and do some hand work in the sitting room, I find I'm rather tired just now." Quickly kissing the top of Edward's head, she left the room before he could continue on about Frederick's predicament.
As she walked to the sitting room, she mused that she was doing that more lately, just in the last weeks since Frederick's departure. She was more cross and given to closeting herself away with her needlework. Edward too was preoccupied. He had received a note from Bramford Hall several days ago and since visiting Pollard Levant as requested, he had been pensive and inattentive. Not only to her, but to everyone. At dinner with the Junkins, he had to be roused to converse several times and they had come home early as he was no fit company. Church was the only place that she had not seen the distraction, though as soon as he was in the house, it had overtaken him. As the rector's wife, she knew there were many things he would never share with her, family secrets too delicate and dangerous for anyone other than a man of God to know. Perhaps this was the case with Pollard Levant. Such things had never bothered her in the past, but this . . . this had a different quality to it and she was troubled by his continued preoccupation.
Leaning into the room, Edward said to her, "I shall leave early tomorrow morning. If I am lucky, I can get to Somerset before the wedding. I am going up to pack a case, now."
Looking up from her embroidery, she asked, "Will you grant me a favour?"
Expecting that she needed him to fetch her something, he came fully into the room. "Certainly, what do you need?"
"I need you to think on something as you travel to the wedding." Laying aside the needle and thread, she looked him fully in the eyes. "Firstly, you have gone through too much torment to lose Frederick to a quarrel about this and secondly, a gentle answer turns away wrath, will you please think on these things? . . . for me?" The whole of her heart was pleading with him as she said this. She knew she could not stop his going, but perhaps she could give him other thoughts to occupy his mind rather than the composing of angry arguments that could only foul the situation worse.
Relaxing his shoulders and allowing a small smile to his lips, he came to sit next to her. Taking her in his arms, he said, "I shall . . . for you. I know that we do not see this the same and perhaps it is time that I listen to you about it. One thing is sure, I will have much time to think." Keeping her close to him, they sat quietly until Catherine broke the silence.
"I would like one more thing. If they have no plans, bring them here, I wish to meet her." The request was simple and there was no dispute on Edward's part.
Giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, he stood and said lazily, "Well, I shall think on the things you have said and if there is nothing that they must immediately do, I shall ask them to come . . . that is . . . if they are married at all." He looked at her with a raised brow. They both knew that one of them would lose this disagreement, the only question was, who?
James Benwick stared at the fire, deep in thought. Taking the last drink of the brandy that had been shared as Captain Wentworth had told of his engagement, he put the glass back on the shelf that held a few cordials. Harville returned from seeing their friend to the door. The two men stood and looked at one another for a moment.
Harville spoke first. "I am astonished. When he left here in November, he had been quite firm in his protestations having to do with Miss Musgrove. But now . . ."
Benwick shook his head and took his chair by the fire. Staring again at the flames, he pondered the entire exchange. There had been something in the Captain's manner which had bothered him. There was a familiarity about it which had put Benwick to thinking. It had suddenly come to him that Wentworth's manner had been very much the same when he had come to tell James of Fanny Harville's death. He carried himself the same and there was the same tightness in his jaw. "But now he is to marry her. I must say that I also am surprised. While their conduct last fall was . . . intimate, I thought that once he had departed, all idea of an attachment had been laid to rest." Taking up a fid which sat on the book shelf as a decoration, James let it slide through his encircled thumb and forefinger until its large end filled the space.
He thought again how the Captain having left Miss Musgrove without an idea of his whereabouts nor an idea about his return, all efforts had been used to draw her mind in other directions. The efforts had been successful and in just a few weeks, Miss Musgrove acted as if the Captain had never been important to her in any way. As this had happened, James Benwick had taken to helping to occupy the girl. He had read to her and when Louisa was able, he had walked with her. They had been comfortable together and for a short time, James had pondered the idea of pursuing an attachment. The thought had been short-lived as he came to realise that other than trying to salve his own pained emotions, he had no business raising the girl's hopes again.
"For a man telling us about his engagement to quite a nice girl, he acted as if he were bearing bad news," James mused aloud.
While Frederick's countenance had not bespoken raptures, Timothy knew Wentworth to be reserved about personal matters, more like himself. James being so romantic, held great store by outward signs of emotions. "So, what do you mean, he looks as though he were bearing bad news?"
"He looked that way when he rowed out to the Grappler to tell me of Fanny." Benwick looked into the fire thinking about that wretched day and how his life had ever been changed by the few little words that his friend and former captain had brought him.
Timothy hobbled over to his chair, his leg had been giving him worse fits than usual these past weeks. Sitting heavily in the chair, he sighed in relief. Taking up his glass of brandy, he took a small sip, savoring the slight burn of the occasional indulgence. "Don't allow yourself to be weighed down with the memories, James."
It was a warning that was kindly meant, Benwick did allow lowness to creep upon him now and again. "No, I was just remembering how even before he said a word, I knew there was something tragic about to befall me. I had no idea how tragic, but just his presence spoke volumes." Commander Benwick had never told his friend any particulars about the week that Wentworth had cared for him. There had been times that it had been as though they were parent and child; other times had been as though they were gaoler and prisoner, each had occupied both offices. Most of the time had been deadly quiet. His small cabin of the brig did not afford much space, even with Wentworth occupying a smaller cabin knocked together by the carpenter and spending as much of the days with James as James would allow. Wentworth had always left a Marine on guard outside the cabin door with orders to look in every quarter hour. And so this had made up the oppressive days of the small, crowded cabin, fug and hot in August. The quiet had made the cabin shrink, but Wentworth had been afraid to allow Benwick out. There had been times that James had muttered disturbing and accusatory words, all direct at himself. The fear of self harm was not far from either captains' mind. "I knew things were not right, he had hired a bum boat. He could have surely gotten loan of a barge from any number of captains in port. And then he came up the larboard with no salute. My first had warned me there was a stern-faced captain headed our way and so I was prepared, but when I recognised him, I was quite at ease, until I saw how he was coming aboard. No attention drawn to himself. Then I knew . . ."
"Now that you say that, he looks just as he did after I told him about Fanny. After he had volunteered to go to you. Damnable business. I regret not having the courage to tell you myself. Frederick offered and I was so grief stricken that I accepted without thinking. What a terrible thing to do to a friend." Timothy Harville's statement did not tell which thing was so terrible nor which friend he meant. The two men sat quietly, watching the fire and thinking.
James gave himself over to thoughts of Fanny. He had become aware that his grief was easing, not a great deal, but enough to notice. The ache that had come upon learning of his fiancee's death did not make itself known upon waking and stay until sleep came, as it had for so many months. There were times he shocked himself with the realisation that he had not thought of her for hours, that he had read and laughed with the Harville children or gone for a walk alone without the dull grieving ache.
As Benwick occupied himself with thoughts of a philosophical turn, Timothy Harville thought about Captain Wentworth's offer. Frederick was certain that he was returning to sea, and soon. He had asked Harville, if it were possible, could he join the crew as First Officer.
As Harville had shown Wentworth out, the Captain had motioned him out the front door, closing it behind, he had asked, "Well, Timothy, do you think you can still make it up an accommodation ladder?"
Harville had looked at him with a cocked head, for it was a strange question to ask. "I suppose I could, yes I know I could. Why do you ask?"
"I am certain to return to sea and should be receiving orders very soon. I have no idea what ship, nor any idea of the mission, but I do know that I wish you to join me as my First. Since you are a full captain in your own right, you will have to volunteer. Take a leave of absence and all." Seating himself on a large coil of rope, Frederick had looked hopefully to his friend.
"But Frederick, I would still be on half pay and then gone into the bargain. I'm not certain that would be to Elsa's liking. I'm not certain it is to mine!" Despite his protestation, Timothy Harville longed to be at sea again. And to stand on a quarterdeck under the command of Frederick Wentworth again more than he could have hoped for. Not only because of Frederick's uncanny good fortune when it came to seizing prize, but volunteering would take the Admiralty's eyes from his injury and onto his willingness to serve the Crown. Then perhaps he could have hope of a ship again. His time on shore had been good. He had healed further from his wounds, he had been with his family and mostly, he had been with Elsa.
His wife had always amazed him, her fortitude in living the life of a seaman's wife. It was hard and lonely, but she only grew finer in the bargain. She had endured the long separations, even having one of their children without him knowing she was expecting. She had nursed his sister through her illness and ultimate death, she had seen him injured and thrown ashore at half pay with no certain knowledge that things would ever be better. No, he was grateful that he had been home with her.
"Your pay will be full-pay, I shall see to that and while I cannot promise any prize, I am certain that we will have some opportunities to enrich ourselves; things always seem to present themselves." As he had said this, he had given Harville a meaningful look. He had yet to take a cruise without having something to tow home and present to the prize court.
Timothy smiled, Frederick's confidence was very nearly as alarming as it had been years ago, when they were both much younger and much hungrier for prize. As a point of curiosity, he asked, "When did all this occur? You were just put ashore in September. It seems odd that you should get something so soon when there are others going begging."
"Well, to tell the truth . . ." Frederick stopped. He still felt deceitful in the whole of the matter. It bothered him that he could use the unfortunate circumstances of the Locke family to wheedle himself a command just so he could leave his own unfortunate circumstances behind. "To tell you the truth, Timothy, I am a little surprised myself, but before we go rejoicing too much, I have no idea what ship I will have nor the assignment. This may just be the sail that cops me, who can tell?"
Timothy laughed a little at the sentiment of his friend. "You are not generally given to such brown thoughts, my friend. No, I imagine you will have a long and profitable career, no being knocked on the head for you. You'll hoist your flag one day, mark my words! That is why I will give you a yes to this proposal. I will speak with Elsa, but I am certain she will see the advantage of doing this." He stood for a moment, then smiled at his friend with a pleased, open look, "G-d, Frederick, to be at sea again! I don't mind telling you, I had despaired of it ever happening for me."
They had continued to talk for a few moments. They made the plans necessary to travel to Uppercross the next day, haggling over the cost of a rig. Harville allowed Frederick to win and pay for everything. Only because Frederick wished it and because it would be a strain for the Harvilles.
"Timothy!"
He stared out of his thoughts and stared at James for a moment. "Oh! I'm sorry, I was thinking on something else, what did you say."
Benwick chuckled, he loved Timothy Harville like a brother, but the man was not often given to deep reflection and it amused him to see his friends gaping expression at being disturbed. "I said, when do we leave in the morning? Must I pack now, or can it wait?"
Timothy thought for a moment, so many things had been discussed and he had to search his mind to remember what time had been set. "You will have time in the morning, we will not be leaving until after noon sometime. Frederick is coming to breakfast and will have all arranged by then." There was one other thing that needed saying before the morning. "James, Frederick has asked me to stand with him . . . at the wedding. I know that in some ways the two of you are closer, but he thought . . . well it being a wedding and with Fanny and all, he did not want to . . . "
"I understand. And as for him and I being closer, it is the two of you that are great seafaring men, not me! I think he likes me because I amuse him."
Timothy was intrigued, James always had an interesting way to view things and this might prove to be one of them. "What do you mean that you 'amuse' him?"
"Oh, he enjoys puzzles and riddling, word games and the like. I always try to have something new to keep him attentive. But his mood this evening did not lend itself to any such play. No matter, it will be good to see our old friends from Uppercross again. Not that it's been all that long. I wonder if Miss Anne will be there? I long to talk to her about some of those books she told me of." He was eager to speak with Miss Elliot, not only to express his gratitude, but to talk again with someone who seemed to genuinely understand his grief.
"No, I doubt it. She had been gone to Bath by the time Elsa and I escorted Louisa Musgrove home. She is not related, except by friendship and I do not think that the Musgroves would wish her to be rattling about the terrible roads this time of year. Though . . . Frederick expects us to!" Both men looked at one another and laughed at the irony.
Chapter 9
Edward awakened to the jostling of the coach. It was not well-sprung and had proven to be in worse condition than his gig at home. Blinking his eyes to adjust to the light, he leaned forward and watched the countryside bounce and lurch by. Checking his watch, he saw it to be nearly ten in the morning. It was Wednesday. He had been travelling and entire day and was feeling it. His sleep had been fitful, not restful in the least. As now, awakening always brought thoughts of why he had left his wife alone, why he had paid the outrageous sum to travel south and why he felt so strongly about his brother's marriage. Leaning against the hard back of the seat, laying back his head, he let his mind wander, allowing his thoughts to move freely.
Here I am, rattling along . . . alone. And I'm going to save my brother from what? A loveless marriage? All marriages are loveless at times. I am not all together certain that Catherine loves me just now. And how do I help her to decide? I go chasing away after Frederick . . . leaving her. Oh God, watch out for her and the little one. I know she has not told me all that the midwife has said. She knows me too well, I'll consume myself with worry, so she will do it for me. I suppose that is what I want for my brother, a marriage in which the two willingly sacrifice for one another . . . but what sacrifice have I made? I am here and Catherine is alone. And there is nothing to say that Miss Musgrove is not just like Catherine. All I know from Frederick is that she is not Miss Anne. Miss Anne . . . what is to say she even cares for him? He said nothing about any partiality on her part. No matter, this whole affair must be stopped, he cannot go on with this. I will do my best to convince him to go to Mr Musgrove and call this off. I will stand with him through it. There will be hurt feelings to be sure . . . and raised voices to be sure. No Wentworth will be allowed to breathe in Somerset after this . . . and Sophia and the Admiral will no doubt have to give up their house. Though knowing them . . . I wonder, did he send one of those addled letters to Sophia? If so, there is the chance she has done the work for me, though he would be in a sorry state after she had finished. But then, perhaps she and the girl are good friends. Then if he were to end this in such a disgraceful manner he would have not only the Musgroves, but his own sister to deal with. Good God, there is no end to this! I must stop ruminating, and just try and be still . . .
"Mary, please hold still! I do not wish to stick this pin into you!"
"Oh, very well. But could you please get on with it, Anne? I have never had a fitting take so long!"
And I have never fitted a dress to anyone before, Sister, and I shall thank you to remember that! Anne took a deep breath. Arguing with Mary got one nowhere. "I appreciate your patience. My fingers are a little sore and I am unused to this task."
"I do not see why. Sewing is sewing, is it not?"
"Mary, hemstitching handkerchiefs and embroidering table linens is far different from this! Could you please turn this way? Thank you."
The clock chimed the hour. "Oh, come along, Anne! I need time to dress and run up to the Mansion before it is time to leave. Louisa is having her final fitting today and I do not want to miss out! Please!"
"I am almost finished here. Just five minutes more, I promise." Anne's quiet, gentle tone of voice belied her exasperated thoughts. And I do mean finished! Never again, Sister-dear!
Mary fell silent, studying her reflection in the tall mirror. "Hmmmm. What do you think about this colour, Anne? I liked it well enough when I chose it, but I am not so sure now."
"You do not like the colour, Mary?" Anne mumbled wearily, her mouth full of straight pins. This is a fine time to decide that!
"Oh, it is well enough, I suppose, although I am not at all certain it compliments my hair. I wonder if Louisa's gown will be nicer."
"I hope so, Mary. The bride should always have the prettiest dress."
"Oh yes, of course." Mary remarked absently. "But do you think lilac will look well with her hair? I am not so sure." She made a little face. "Anne, what colour hair would you say Louisa has?"
"Beautiful," Anne said simply. "Turn this way, please."
"No, no! What colour? What does one call that brownish-reddish tone?"
Anne kept working. "I do not know if there is a name, Mary. Her hair is blonde in the summer, for she is often outdoors and forgets to wear a hat. And in the winter it fades to the colour it is now, which I would say is a honey-brown with red highlights. Her blue eyes will look very well with the lilac colour of the gown."
"Oh," Mary grumbled. "I was hoping mine would be as nice."
"It will be, Mary. But the bride is always the loveliest on her wedding day, for she is the happiest! There!" Anne sat back on her heels. "I believe I am finished fitting it. What do you think?"
"Oh, it will be fine, Anne. Help me get it off, now, so that I may get up to the Great House on time." Mary stripped off the dress as quickly as she could, grimacing a little as she encountered some of the pins. "I am still unsure of this blue colour."
"You will look very well in it." And if you had worked with it half as much as I have, Sister, you would hate the sight of cerulean blue as much as I! As it stands, you have done absolutely nothing ... but complain about the fittings! Aloud she said, "Do you not have a necklace with a blue topaz in it? I believe Father gave it to you for your birthday before you were married."
Mary brightened. "Why yes! I had forgotten! Well then, I shall look very grand indeed ... although not so well as Elizabeth in that sapphire gown you were telling me of."
"No, Mary." Anne smiled as she scanned the floor for any stray pins. "No one ever looks as well as Elizabeth. You know that."
"Humph! Do I not! Help me get back into my other dress, then. There are still fifteen minutes remaining and I do not mean to be late!"
Anne assisted her sister into the gown, buttoned her up, helped her to locate her gloves and hat, and waved her out the door of the dressing room. Now, at last, for some peace! She gathered up her supplies, and the cerulean dress, and headed downstairs to the parlor. All I want is a cup of tea, a few minutes' quiet, and perhaps two or three more hours. Then I will be finished. Hallelujah!
A few minutes later, Anne took her seat by the parlor window, ready to finish the hem on Mary's dress. She sipped her tea reflectively. It was Wednesday afternoon; she had very nearly done it. Her fingertips were swollen and sore, and her eyes were a little strained from sewing at night by candlelight, but she felt immensely satisfied with her work on the dress. She smiled as she thought about how much she had learned in the last five days; not all of it was about the art of garment construction.
In the world of romantic novels, which Anne enjoyed reading (when she could lay her hands on one, which was not often), the well-born and beautiful (but recently-impoverished) heroine would typically go to work as a seamstress or as a governess to eke out a living. Her future looked bleak, yet she waited, hoping against hope, that the man of her dreams (unspecified) would one day come, which, of course, he did, and this would comprise the romance of the story. Anne always enjoyed this theme, in all of its variations.
However, reality had come crashing in; she had done both of these jobs this week, at times simultaneously, and she concluded that authors who used this as a plot device had obviously never done this kind of work! It is exhausting and nerve-wracking ... and vastly unromantic! And then, when the broken-hearted, but very eligible (and handsome) young man shows up, the heroine is supposed to whip out her ball gown (fortunately still in style, and not destroyed by moths) and dance the night away, looking so beautiful that she causes him to instantly fall in love with her. Heavens!
Anne took another sip of tea and looked out of the window. What the poor girl would be longing to do ... what I am longing to do ... is sleep the night away instead! She set down her cup and reached for the needle and thread. But then, the man of my dreams is a specific man, and he did not come for me, but found someone else. And I played as they danced ... and fell in love. And now they will be married! What a sad story! Dear me!
Anne had grown much more hardened to the idea of Frederick Wentworth's marriage during these past days, although not so hardened that she sought to visit Louisa again, or to be involved with any of the preparations at Uppercross Hall. Mary's project had been a blessing in disguise, keeping Anne confined and occupied. In the private world of her thoughts she found refuge, and so very gradually accustomed herself to the reality of the coming wedding. Today she found occupation in rather sarcastically poking fun at herself.
Well, if I ever become impoverished (which is not altogether unlikely), I shall never become a seamstress ... I shall never again begrudge spending money to pay a seamstress, either ... I shall write a book, instead! Yes, a heart-rending love story based on my own life! Now how shall I end it? She smiled wryly as she hemmed Mary's dress, searching for the perfect conclusion. Should the heroine die a tragic death, such as a lingering illness or a fall from a cliff? Or flee the country, be captured by pirates and be heroically rescued at sea? (and not by Captain Frederick Wentworth!) Or be forced through financial distress to marry the butcher (who is handsome, naturally) and live out her days working in his shop, swatting flies and waiting on customers? One thing she shall never do, and that is return to Bath to live with her father and sister, condemned to a life of doing absolutely nothing!
She sat back and turned the hemmed portion to the right side, critically surveying her work. She was pleased with what she saw, and resumed stitching the underside. At least I have had plenty to occupy my mind and keep my hands busy. Ah well, my poor heroine and I share the same fate! It was hopelessly foolish to think that Frederick Wentworth would ever renew his addresses to me. It's just that while he remained unmarried, all those years ... She removed several straight pins and replaced them in the pin-cushion ... now I simply must find something new to hope for. She smiled to herself. Hmmmm. I wonder if the butcher in our neighborhood is unmarried ... and handsome?
Edward was beginning his third day travelling. Being thankful that he wore a beard and that clerics are generally thought to be a bit scruffy as a way to keep them humble, he was also thankful to have the coach to himself for once. Being that it was the dead of night and there was nothing to be seen that could capture his mind, he thought about his wife and the baby and Pollard Levant. He had overridden a frightful thought that Levant might present himself to his wife and tell her of their predicament. Knowing that Levant only wanted money and that a rector's wife could do nothing for him, Edward reasoned that the good gentleman would await his return to renew the dunning. A thought struck him, a thought so ironical he could not resist giving it voice in a low, but hearty chuckle. I have spent all this time rambling on about Frederick and his pride and how it has brought him to this wretched state he finds himself, but I am no better! My pride would rather I cut out my tongue than ask either of my brothers for the money I need. My own good opinion has become my god. Watching the stars as the coach bumped along, Edward realised that there were few choices for him, but to ask God's forgiveness of his presumption and go on to be with his brother.
Chapter 10
"But Sir, Mrs Croft specifically asked that you remain here until she and the Admiral return from Crewkerne," looking at his watch, Harkness continued, "Which should be any time now." The man continued to brush the Captain's blue coat, paying particular attention to the lace and buttons.
"Yes, Harkness, I heard you the first time you told me. And while I do not wish to disappoint my sister, I have future in-laws to satisfy, which in the grand scheme of things, trumps a sister. If you must, tell her that you had me locked up and I knocked you on the head and managed to escape," he said as he leaned into the mirror and arranged his stock. Standing back and looking at the effect, he pulled his shirt cuffs and waistcoat straight. Taking a look at Harkness in the mirror, he could see that man's slight smile at his jest.
Handing the Captain his sword, he said, "I think I shall forgo the embellishment and merely say that you were expected at Uppercross earlier than formerly thought."
Fastening the buckle, Frederick said, "Thank you, Harkness. I think we understand one another."
The Captain was in a hurry to be off, not that he was looking forward to the coming evening. A simple family gathering with the Musgroves would be difficult, a quiet dinner and then sitting about making polite conversation. Then there would be Louisa to face . . . He was grateful that Benwick and Harville were with him, as they knew the Musgrove family in their own right, they would be useful in carrying some of the evening's weight. He also desired to be out of the house when his sister arrived home. There had always been the expectation that she may attend the wedding regardless of his letter, but was not yet prepared to discuss the matter with her. While the thought of entering a battle with guns blazing and the smell of powder in the air was exciting, the thought of entering into a match with his sister did nothing but cause a roiling in his stomach and a desire to flee. "Is the carriage ready, Harkness?"
"Yessir. It is out front as we speak."
"Good, please tell the other gentlemen that it is time to leave and that I shall meet them at the door" Snatching up his hat from the bed, he went out to the hallway.
"Sir, the gentlemen are downstairs awaiting you. They have been ready for a while now."
"Well, perhaps I am more a peacock than I know. Thank you, Harkness. We shan't be too late, it's just a small party," he called as he went down the stairs.
Harkness stood at the top of the stairs, resigning their care to the footmen. "A small party? The Musgroves? Mmm . . . "
The party from Lyme called at Uppercross Hall expecting a 'simple family party,' as Mrs. Musgrove's note of invitation had termed it; this was not what they found. Before they had even reached the Great House, they heard the sound of a large crowd of people talking and laughing, the shrieks of children playing outdoors, and parents hollering to call them in. Someone was playing a piano, glassware was clattering, a lone dog was barking. Every window in the big house was lit; the main door was open; a cluster of gentlemen smoking cigars stood on the steps.
Captains Wentworth, Harville, and Benwick exchanged startled looks. Dismounting the carriage and leaving it to a groom, they elbowed their way into the main hall through a swarm of well-wishers; everyone around them was gaily chatting, eating, and drinking; Weaving through the rooms and adjoining hallways were running, giggling children, all in a holiday mood. Mrs. Musgrove's pre-wedding dinner was to be held tomorrow, which was Friday. Wasn't this Thursday?
Charles Musgrove hurried over to greet them, pleased to see Frederick Wentworth and anxious to usher them into the center of the festivities. He took their overcoats and hats, depositing them in the cloakroom, among a great many others.
"A simple family party? Oh, lord, Mama's in high gig!" laughed Charles. "Besides, can't remember when we have had a 'simple family party,' ever. Never been done, if you ask me."
He took Captain Wentworth's elbow and brought him into the main room. "The thing is, they are all family, well, most of 'em, anyway. Not all of 'em are here. There's more coming in tomorrow, and a few stragglers Saturday morning, and ..."
He led the way through the throng to the refreshment table. "Never seen such a fuss in all my life; food enough to feed the whole district for a month, kegs of ale and wine and such coming in by the cartload; every servant and seamstress for miles around hired in ... Mary!" He motioned to his wife. "Mary, look who's here!" He turned back to Wentworth. " How about something to drink? Benwick? Harville? Here we are ..."
"Charles ..." Captain Wentworth was in shock. "This is ... I didn't mean ... This was supposed to be simple ..."
"Er, I'm, er, sorry about the circus, Frederick. Papa did mention to Mama that you wanted a small, 'family only' wedding. Er, the thing is, you know, it's hard to keep Mama in bounds, and our family breeds like rabbits, you know; so many of 'em. And anyway," Charles laughed, "we can't expect Mama to quietly celebrate the most important marriage alliance our family has ever had! er ..." He encountered a look from Mary.
"You mean the second most important one, after ours," she put in, "which is the alliance with the Elliots. Good evening, Captain Wentworth."
"Oh, er, of course, after ours." He grinned at Captain Wentworth. "Devilish glad to have you in the family, though," he pounded Frederick on the back, "even if you're not an Elliot! Come an' meet the rest of us!" Charles was in 'high gig' this evening, too.
"Oh, Captain," Mary interrupted; " we are all so pleased to learn of your plans to honeymoon at Kellynch Hall! Such an elegant, romantic setting! We hear that Mrs. Croft has been making special preparations to the front apartment." She gave him a knowing smile.
Wentworth stared at her in horror, a polite smile frozen on his lips. What was this? "Harville," he muttered, casting an agonized look over his shoulder at his friend. "Get me a good, stiff drink. Please. Now!" Charles had him by the elbow again, pulling him along, calling out, "Toby! Edward! I say, come and meet the bridegroom ..." They were swallowed by the throng. Captain Harville went off in search of the drink.
Captain Benwick stood by the refreshment table, as if rooted to the spot, wondering what to do. Run! was his first impulse. Then he became aware that Mary Musgrove had been speaking to him.
"... must be exhausted from your journey, Captain Benwick. I'm sure you are. Let me fix you a plate of food. Do you care for pickled eggs and ham?" She held out the plate. Benwick took it automatically. He despised pickled eggs, but knew better than to tangle with Mary Musgrove. He began eyeing the distant corners of the room, looking for a place to hide himself, while Mary chatted on; "... and we have been in such a tizzy, with all the preparations and so many guests!" Captain Benwick turned back to her, listening politely. She obviously enjoyed 'being in a tizzy'.
" And my poor nerves, for everything has been going wrong! Only just this evening my eldest upset the inkwell on Charles' desk, simply drenching himself and his shirt! Can you imagine? Anne has stayed home to cut and baste together another, which he will need for the wedding ... Oh! Juliana! Did you find the -- excuse me, Captain," She smiled at him and hurried off. Captain Benwick watched her go, frowning over her last remark.
Anne? Her sister, Anne Elliot? Here? No, 'at home'... wherever that is. He set down the plate containing the eggs and looked around the room. Where has Charles Musgrove got to? Ah! Captain Benwick threaded his way through the mob to get more information from him.
A few minutes later he had escaped the Great House and was headed in the direction of Uppercross Cottage, in search of Miss Elliot. He smiled to himself as he strode down the stone walkway. Here was something completely unexpected! He had wanted to speak with her for some time, to thank her for the reading material she had recommended last November.
There was enough moonlight to show him the way; soon he reached the graveled road which would lead him to the cottage. It was growing colder. Captain Benwick dug his hands deep into the pockets of his overcoat, listening to the rhythmic crunch of his boots on the gravel; his thoughts focused on her.
He had meant to come to Uppercross a month or so ago, to visit Charles Musgrove and to see Miss Elliot. Most especially to see Miss Elliot, for he had some questions he wanted to ask her about some of those treatises and writings on suffering. How had she known to choose the ones which had spoken so directly to his pain? He wished he had those books with him now, for he had marked specific passages ---
Captain Benwick stopped in his tracks. Of what was he thinking? To have them now would mean he would have brought books along to the Musgrove's this evening. He smiled. Books to a wedding party. No they are on the shelves at Harville's in Lyme, where they belong. He looked up at the starry sky. Oh Fanny, I am improving, am I not? He used to bring a book (or two) with him wherever he went, until Fanny had cured him of it.
He sighed and resumed walking, more slowly now. Fanny. Even the smallest thought of her brought back the dull ache of disappointment and regret. This was unfortunate, for Fanny herself was a cheerful, friendly girl, and hardly ever sad. And she chose to love me, of all men! I shall never understand it! Benwick heaved another sigh, reminding himself to focus his thoughts on being thankful for her love and for the time they had together. He had been making progress by doing this; his presence at this wedding, his first since her death, showed it. Well, at least I have not brought a book! He kicked at a rock lying on the road.
Wait a minute! A sudden, unwelcome suspicion crossed his mind. Had he left all the books in Lyme? He felt for the inside breast pocket of his uniform. Oh no! He pulled out a slim volume. __________. Captain Benwick smiled in spite of himself. I am hopeless!
Ahead he saw the shadowy form of a large oak; he stopped here to get his bearings. According to Musgrove, once he passed this tree, to his right would be a footpath to the back door of the cottage. He should be able to see a light at the kitchen window. The main entrance was to the left, around the corner of the house, and could be reached by staying on the road; Charles was not sure whether this would be lit tonight since everyone would be at the Great House. Sure enough, Captain Benwick found the path and the kitchen light; looming above it was the dark silhouette of the house.
As he approached the door, Captain Benwick found himself thinking of Anne Elliot again. He smiled at the memory of her gentle smile, and warm brown eyes. There was comprehension in those eyes -- and intelligence. Here was someone he could talk with! She was educated, well-read, and insightful ... and she was kind. Yes, he would be delighted to see her again!
When he raised his hand to knock, Captain Benwick hesitated over Charles' directions. It might be a little awkward that he, a stranger, should come to the back door. Most of the house was dark; perhaps everyone had retired for the night. I'll just check the front entrance to be sure. He skirted the cottage to the left, rounded its corner, and promptly collided with an ancient rhododendron bush in the darkness! Blast! He was now covered with dust and last year's shriveled petal debris! But as he brushed himself off, he noticed that some of the ground floor windows on this side of the house were lit. He gingerly made his way over to them and peered inside.
He found he was looking into some sort of small parlor; a young woman was sitting near a branch of candles, sewing. Miss Elliot! She was bent closely over her work, as if she had to strain to see in the candlelight. Her hair shone chestnut in the rosy light, her complexion glowed. Why, she is lovely! Captain Benwick watched as if spellbound. Then she winced, for she had jabbed herself with the needle; she dropped the garment in her lap and, frowning, put her finger in her mouth. Captain Benwick stepped back from the window and began to make his way to the main door.
Captain Harville snorted in disgust. Hang that Benwick! Where on earth has he gone off to? He had searched the entire ground floor of this rabbit-warren of a house, kitchens and all, with no luck! He was counting on his friend's company tonight, as Frederick Wentworth was kept occupied and he was left on his own. And now he has disappeared! And there is nothing to be done about it!
But ... on the other hand, Captain Harville eyed the refreshment table, which was in the process of being replenished, these Musgroves certainly know how to serve up tasty provisions! He made his way over to the table and picked up another plate. I am just a bit hungry. After all, I need to keep my strength up, for Wentworth's sake. He speared several plump sausages, which were still steaming hot, deciding to make the best of a bad situation. He went on to add a thick slice of ham, two rolls, and a generous helping of pie. Maybe I'll just bide my time a bit before worrying about Benwick.
Anne drew back the bolt and opened the heavy front door herself; all of the household staff were working up at the Great House tonight and she had stayed behind with the sleeping children. She had carried a candle with her and had set it on the hall table; it lit the entryway only dimly. Who in the world would come ...? She blinked. Before her on the threshold stood a rather short, solidly built man with smiling brown eyes and a pleasant face. The front of his greatcoat was open, showing a naval officer's uniform. Anne hesitated. He looked familiar but she didn't know why.
"Good evening, Miss Elliot," the man said, a little shyly. He removed his hat, revealing dark curly hair. "Good heavens! Captain Benwick!" Anne gladly welcomed him in. Soon they were both sitting in the small parlor before the fire, reminiscing about their days in Lyme and speaking of Louisa's remarkable progress toward recovery.
Anne had forgotten what a comfortable, unpretentious fellow Captain Benwick was. When he learned that she had not yet had supper, he modestly suggested they "launch a boarding party and do a little raiding" in the kitchen. A few minutes later the "freebooters" were back in the parlor with a tray loaded with "plundered" food and the tea things.
Benwick carefully balanced his plate on his lap while watching Miss Elliot pour out. This room was cozy and warm, with firelight dancing off the walls and ceiling; a welcome change from the cold outside. And the company was delightful! She seemed truly happy to see him; the little frown she had worn while he had seen her through the window had disappeared. He searched for a way to tell her of his gratitude.
"Miss Elliot, I am so pleased to see you, to be able to thank you for those readings you recommended. They have helped me far more than you will know." Having begun, he found the words tumbling out. "I wish I had the time, which I don't, for it's late and I shouldn't stay long, but I wish I could talk about them in detail with you. Please permit me to thank you, most sincerely."
" You are very welcome! It does me good to see you so much recovered." Anne smiled and handed him his tea. "I, too, am sorry we cannot discuss them in detail. I enjoy this subject and ... there are not many who share my interest." She blushed a little.
"Would you? Well, it just so happens that I ... " Captain Benwick paused to set his plate and teacup on a low table nearby; "I have an odd little habit, which I really should overcome ..." he confessed, reaching into the inside chest pocket of his coat. "You see, I often carry a book with me, and I do have this one, which you recommended." He smiled bashfully as he drew out the small volume, "Would you like to read a few passages together?"
Captain Harville closed the lid of his timepiece with a snap. Two hours! This is absurd! There was still no sign of James Benwick. He had checked and rechecked every place he could think of, even the privy. He figured that his friend might have holed himself up in there, with a book! But surely not for two hours!
He wearily searched the crowded room again. It was getting late; would none of these people ever go? Mr. Musgrove, Sr. now had charge of Captain Wentworth; he was obviously proud of his new son-in-law-to-be, but was failing to notice his exhaustion.. Blast it all! The Captain looks done in! We need to get him out of here! Seeing Charles Musgrove's face in the crowd, he made his way directly to him.
"I say, Musgrove, have you seen Benwick anywhere?" His tone was urgent.
Charles knit his brows. "Come to think of it, no, I haven't. Um, have you looked in the library? Never could figure what he sees in those books, but ..."
"I checked it first thing." Harville interrupted, annoyed at such an obvious suggestion, and at what he had found in there. "It was full of squealing children, jumping on the furniture and tossing books and pillows! Spilled food everywhere! I, ah, marched them right out of there and mentioned it to your mother. The door is now locked, I believe. Is there anywhere else he might go?"
"Hmmm. I don't think I ... say!" Charles' eyes began to dance and he put down his tankard of ale. "Maybe ... !" He grabbed Harville's arm. "Come on!" He pulled him along, elbowing his way through the crowd of chatting guests, and a maze of a back hallway, finally ending in the cloak room. "Quick, man! Are his overcoat and hat here?" Charles grinned mischievously. "No? Aha! Caught and cornered, Benwick! Hounds to the hunter! Now we give chase!"
Charles began pulling on his own coat. "Get yours, Harville." He stepped out the door, calling to a passing servant. "Rodgers! I say, Rodgers! Bring a lantern, right away, will you? To the main door." Charles ducked back in to grab his own hat, emerging with a sputtering Captain Harville in tow.
A few minutes later they were on their way down the gravel road; Charles was swinging the lantern, laughing at Captain Harville's bewilderment. "Plain as the nose on my face, Harville! When did you get in from Lyme, late this afternoon? Your friend Benwick doesn't waste any time!"
They passed the large oak. " Uh, this way!" Charles grabbed his elbow, yanking him sharply onto the narrow footpath which was invisible in the darkness. "Shortcut," he explained, without slowing his pace. Charles was enjoying himself hugely, completely oblivious to the fact that his friend was tripping and stumbling over ruts in the uneven path. At last they reached the kitchen door. "Here." Charles handed him the lantern and dug in his pocket for the house key.
"You see, Harville," he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "Benwick came to me asking about Anne Elliot, must've been shortly after you arrived tonight. I gave him directions here, to my house, where she's staying, and no one's seen him since. I'll lay you ten to one this is where he is." Charles got the door open and they stumbled into the deserted kitchen.
"Now we have a little fun. I wonder ... do you suppose I should get my hunting rifle, for effect?" Chuckling to himself, he looked Captain Harville over, particularly eyeing his left hip under his open greatcoat. "He, uh, wouldn't be wearing his, uh, dress sword tonight, would he?" Charles took the lantern and began to lead the way out of the kitchen and through the darkened house.
"Musgrove, what are you talking about?" Captain Harville demanded, torn between amusement and exasperation. He followed along in Charles' wake as best he could, dodging pieces of furniture.
Charles could barely keep from laughing. He struggled to keep his voice low. "Harville, when I told him that she was here, I forgot that the entire staff would be working up at the Great House tonight. That means Anne is alone here in the house! With Benwick! For, what, two hours? So, I get to play the part of the Outraged Brother-in-Law! Shall we make it a double wedding on Saturday? Anne needs a good husband!"
"Stow it, Musgrove!" Captain Harville whispered, but choking a little, for Charles' laughter was infectious. "This is James Benwick we're talking about, not some rakehell! Hey!" He had nearly stepped on a child's wooden horse, left in the doorway to the entry hall. He used his cane to push it under a nearby chair. "He has no romantic interest in any woman, especially Anne Elliot! At Lyme they did nothing but talk about books, Musgrove, books!" He rolled his eyes at the thought. "For hours at a time! Poetry, literature, sermons ..."
"Aha!" Charles cut him short, nodding significantly at a greatcoat and hat laying on a chair in the entry hall. "Here's our man! No romantic interest? Humph!" He held up a corner of the coat and shot an impish look at his friend. "He's been, ah, disrobing, wouldn't you say?" Captain Harville stared at the coat, obviously Benwick's, feeling an overwhelming urge to snicker. Benwick, a seducer? Benwick?!!
Charles turned and tiptoed down an inner hallway. "And look here," he smirked, pointing to the parlor door, which was barely ajar. Light showed through the opening; from within came the low murmur of voices. He set the lantern on the hallway floor. "Shall we join them?"
"Musgrove ... no! What if ...!" Captain Harville fought to keep a straight face, but could not. Both men burst out in a fit of muffled laughter and struggled desperately to maintain absolute silence. At last, Charles got control. He pulled himself up to his full height, put his hand on the doorknob, and gave his friend a wink. He pushed, and the door swung inward, noiselessly.
A sweet domestic scene met their eyes. Miss Elliot and Captain Benwick were sitting side by side, their chairs pulled close together in front of the fire. Between them they held Captain Benwick's small volume of __________, reading; their heads were almost touching. The remains of their supper were spread on a low table nearby. They were intent on their discussion; neither had heard the door open.
"Well, well! Good evening. What have we here?" Charles sauntered into the room, grinning from ear to ear, with Captain Harville at his heels. Anne and Captain Benwick jumped, and looked up, taken aback. The two men burst out laughing.
"Good heavens, Charles!" Anne exclaimed. "You startled me! I didn't know you were home! Is Mary with you?"
"No, we came alone ... and have found you out!"
She chose to ignore this remark and got up from her seat. "Has the party ended?" She began to stack the supper dishes on a tray. "It must be later than I thought ... thank you." Captain Benwick had handed her his teacup. "Oh, good evening, Captain Harville."
"Good evening, Miss Elliot. We, uh, missed you up at the Great House, Benwick. Musgrove thought you might be here." He elbowed Charles.
Captain Benwick came to stand beside Anne, a wary expression on his face. Charles clearly meant to twit her about the awkward situation they were in; he had seen him bait Mary like this during their visit at Lyme.
Charles cleared his throat and attempted to look stern. "Miss Anne," he began impressively, "I think you owe me an explanation. Ahem!" He gestured dramatically; this was his big moment. "What have you been doing here, for all this time, alone with this man?!"
Anne looked at him blankly. "Why, talking, Charles. When you came in we were reading from a book ..."
He and Harville exchanged glances and exploded into loud guffaws. "Reading a book !!" "What did I tell you?" "For two hours?!!" "Naw!"
Captain Benwick folded his arms across his chest, eyeing the rollicking men with growing hostility. "And what did you think I might be doing, Harville?" he asked quietly.
"No, no, James! Nothing ... untoward!" he gasped. "That was Musgrove! I thought -- I only thought -- you were locked in the privy -- reading a book -- for two hours!"
Charles doubled over at that, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his coat. "In the privy! Oh no!"
"If you thought I was 'reading a book,' why didn't you check the library?" Captain Benwick replied, acidly.
"I did! I did!" Captain Harville wailed. "Oh lord, it was full of screaming children, James! They were jumping from the sofa onto the desk and back again! And throwing things! One boy was tearing pages from a book and sailing them in the air! What a bunch of Bedlamites!"
"That's the pot calling the kettle black, Harville!" Captain Benwick muttered, but his eyes begun to twinkle as he recalled that fiasco of a party. And this was just the beginning of the festivities ... the 'simple' part!
"So, my dear sister, what do you have to say for yourself?" Charles broke in, smirking at her.
"Nothing whatsoever!" Anne had finished clearing up. "Charles, you are such a tease! Be a gentleman and take this to the kitchen for me." She held the tray out to him and he took it automatically. She led the way out the door.
"But, Anne! Come back here, Anne! You haven't answered my question!" Charles followed her down the hall, rather deflated.
Captain Benwick smiled in admiration; it seemed Miss Elliot knew how to handle her brother-in-law's teasing rather better than his wife. He gave his friend a cuff on the arm and went out to retrieve his hat and greatcoat.
Anne had taken the lantern from the hallway floor; the two men slowly and cautiously made their way through the dark, unfamiliar house. They could hear Charles in the kitchen, trying to lecture her in his bantering way, but without success.
"But Anne, you must admit, it had a very irregular appearance ..."
"Did it, Charles? I was not aware of anything wrong ." She calmly emptied the tray of the items she had borrowed and began wiping it with a cloth. "We were only talking."
"But Anne, you cannot spend all that time alone with an unmarried man without people thinking things ..."
"We used to do so at Lyme and no one thought anything."
"But we were all together, in a large company!"
"Not always. Besides," she laid her hand on his arm; " think, Charles! Captain Benwick has a broken heart. Nothing improper would happen. He would not wish it to."
"Humph!" Charles thought that Benwick did not look as though his heart was so very broken anymore, but kept this to himself.
Anne began folding up the cloth she had used. "We were discussing a book of his and simply forgot the time. You and I used to talk together, years ago, do you remember? At those parties and assemblies?" She smiled. "No one thought it improper."
"Of course I remember!" His smile faded. "But it was improper, Anne, because ..." his eyes had lost their sparkle, his voice now became quiet. "Don't you see, I ... that's when I began to fall ..." He broke off, aghast at what he was about to say. He looked down at his hands. "Ahem! Well, I believe you, you know that, Anne, but ..."
He looked up; his two friends had found their way to the kitchen. "But please be more careful, sister-dear." He gave her a lopsided smile and turned away, taking a deep breath as he did.
"Very well, gentlemen. We'd best get back to the Great House," Charles said in a forceful, hearty voice. "Goodnight, Anne." He picked up the lantern, preparing to depart. "And please, no more gentlemen visitors tonight, eh?" He smiled in spite of himself, for this warning was clearly ridiculous.
"Musgrove, leave be!" Captain Benwick gave him an exasperated look.
"Very well, Benwick!" Charles replied, looking him over thoughtfully. This man would make a much better husband for Anne than tubby old Cousin Harry! Charles attempted to sound stern. "I'll let you off tonight! But -- the next time I catch the two of you like this, be forewarned, sir," his eyes were twinkling again, "you'll face the alter -- or -- the firing squad!"
Charles began to chuckle at his own joke, then caught himself. "Wait a minute; that's Army. You're Navy. Uh ... what's Navy ... " He thought for a minute, then flashed a triumphant smile at Benwick and opened the door to the outside. "I'll have you keelhauled off the yardarm!"
The 'Navy' men gave a shout of laughter. "No, no, Musgrove!" Harville scolded, "You can't do that! That's the top and bottom of the ship!" They followed him out the door.
Captain Benwick turned and looked back over his shoulder at Anne. Their eyes met and his hand touched his hat in salute; then he was gone.
Captain Harville's voice came drifting back as he followed Charles Musgrove up the path. "Musgrove, that's like trying to, uh, milk the cow and ride it at the same time! Don't you know what a keel is?"
After Harville and Benwick returned to the Great House and with not a little difficulty, extricated their friend from the "Simple Family Party" as it would hereafter be known, the three rode back to Kellynch Hall with little conversation. Having been given the reins, James did his best to drive in a decent manner, but as he was not very skilled, the ride had an effect of a heaving sea. The Captain was lying in the back, hat on chest and one foot extended over the seat arm. While not a dignified position, one he felt justified in taking as it was dark, these were particular friends and he was tired to the bone, so much so that the idea of holding himself upright was too taxing.
"James, I must say," Frederick said in a steady, but weary voice, "You are managing to do something that has not been done since I was a lad."
Benwick frowned, not being able to judge the Captain's frame of mind, he was not certain what was coming. He answered with great care, "And what might that be, sir?"
"I think I am becoming sea sick!" Taking hold of his hat, he sat up and asked, "For all love, where did you learn to drive?" From the tone and the subject, both Harville and Benwick breathed a sigh of relief, they could tell that the Captain was teasing. The spirits had flowed freely at Uppercross, and while all met the naval definition of sober, none were quite in the condition for drawing room conversation. "I shudder to think that I trusted the Laconia and all those poor souls to your skill when you drive like this!"
"Yessir. Well, I never really learned to drive. When I was a child, we had no cart and I have never had reason otherwise to learn . . ."
"James! Watch out!" Harville yelled as he took the reins from his friend.
As James had spoken to Frederick, he had turned to face the Captain and with that had begun to steer the horse into a ditch on the right-hand side of the road. Not that Timothy Harville was a better driver, but he proved more proficient that James Benwick. They continued on their lurching way, the night was cold and dark, the only sound was that of the horse huffing its way along and cart jostling with each step.
Pulling into the drive of Kellynch, Frederick could see a light burning in the library. While on the journey home, he had taken a respite from all his mental agitations, the light told him that it was time to begin again, for either Sophia was waiting up or the Admiral was reading. After the evening he had just spent, he was certain that it must be his sister.
As they entered the Hall, a footman began to help the gentlemen out of their coats. Harkness stepped up to the Captain and in his ear said, "Shortly after your leaving, a man of the Marines rode up asking specifically for you, sir. He says he has a packet for you and that he must have your signature. The Crofts had not returned and so I installed him in your sitting room. I have been feeding him and so he has been quite content to wait."
Looking at the servant, the Captain smiled as he removed his greatcoat, "You are very clever, Harkness. For a Marine, after fighting, the next best thing is to eat. I shall see him directly." Handing Harkness his greatcoat he said, "You put him in my . . .? "
"Frederick? Is that you?"
They all turned at the sound of his sister's voice, the news of the Marine had quite driven his thoughts about Sophie out of his head. She stood in the doorway of the sitting room. Frederick thought to himself that her look was not quite sisterly.
Harville and Benwick made their way to her and did the civil, thanking her for allowing them to stay in her lovely home. Sophia was cordial, but all could tell that it was Frederick she wanted and she wanted him now.
Thanking them for accompanying him to the party, he bid his friends goodnight. Turning to his sister, approached her with hands out and the warmest of smiles. "Sophia, I am glad to see you. I told you there was no need to come. I had no intention of disrupting your time in Bath, but since you are, and have waited up to see me, I shall be right back down after I go upstairs and conduct a bit of business." Bussing her cheek, he hurried up the stairs and to the Marine. As he went, Sophie was certain she heard him humming with great energy. And if she was not mistaken, it was "Heart of Oak."
Harkness had prepared the marine for the Captain's arrival and when all the proper papers were signed, took the corporal down the back stairs and out the kitchen, but not without a final few provisions for his journey back to Plymouth.
Holding the packet, Frederick stared at it intently. The seal was that of Admiral Locke. The waxed sailcloth packet held his entire future and its importance to him was not lost. With these orders, he was set on a course that was irrevocable; his life and that of Louisa Musgrove would move in a direction he had not seen a month ago, a direction he did not wish to move, but now was forced by his own hand.
Not wishing to be disturbed, nor found out, he took the packet into his room. Closing the door quietly, but deliberately, he broke the seal and slowly unfolded the sheets. The first was a formal letter of congratulation from the Admiral, wishing him the joy of a new command. The second was the official order. He stared for a moment, not certain that he was seeing clearly what they said. After the second reading, he knew that he had not misread anything. Aloud, but just barely, he said, "Good G-d! How could this have happened!?"