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Chapter 11
Anne was up at first light; this was Friday and there was much yet to be done before tomorrow. By the time the rest of the family was stirring, the replacement shirt for young Charles was well on its way to being finished. She had taken apart the ink-stained shirt to use as a pattern. Mary had offered to do the fiddly bits (the buttons and such) if her sister would do the larger work of cutting, basting and piecing together the shirt. Her part completed, Anne wandered through the cottage with the sewing basket, looking for Mary. She pushed open the door to the dining room.
Charles and Mary were present, finishing a late breakfast. Mary had an odd look on her face, as if she were repulsed by something. Her plate of food was pushed well away from the rest of her table service.
"Oh, g'morning, Anne!" Charles said around a bite of toast. "Come an' join us. Just got up myself. Umph! Late night! Late night!"
She greeted them both and slid into a nearby chair, eyeing her sister who was seated across the table. Things did not look well with Mary. Anne sighed, set the work basket on the vacant chair next to her, and poured out a cup of tea for herself. She would mention the sewing later, after her sister got over whatever it was that was bothering her.
"Umph!" Charles took another sip of tea, "I hope you slept well Anne ... uh, no more pesky visitors, eh?" He gave her a little half-smile.
Anne looked steadily at him over the rim of her teacup. Don't you dare! There is enough to do today without having to figure out how satisfy Mary's curiosity about last night!
Thankfully, Charles was content merely to wink at her instead, and, taking another bite, continued talking. "Humph! I did not sleep well, myself. I've been telling Mary, here, some of the things that Harville told me about the navy after we left you, Anne. What keelhauling is, and hanging someone off the yardarm, and all the beatings and floggings for impudence and insubordi-something-or-other! Ugh! Makes buccaneers forcing fellows to 'walk the plank' look namby-pamby!"
He scratched his head. "Y'know, I used to think I might like to be a sailor-high adventure, foreign ports, a man's life! Humph! Not anymore!" He shook his head. "What a brutish existence; poor devils."
"I think I am going to be ill!" Mary held her head in her hands. "Charles, are you deliberately trying to torture me with these gruesome details?! As if your hunting stories aren't bad enough, now you plague me with ... "
"Hunting! Hah!" Charles took another gulp of tea. "This navy business makes hunting look like a drive through the park, Mary! It seems our friends saw quite a bit of, uh, fighting action when they were together on the Lacoma, or whatever that ship of Wentworth's was."
"Laconia," murmured Anne. She took a tiny bite of toast.
"Ah, yes, that was it!" Charles was pleased to find such an attentive listener. "Well, anyway, I guess I thought navy battles were when ships shot each other full of holes and the loser sank." He took another bite of ham. "Humph. Sounds more like a bunch of da-, uh, cutthroat pirates, what with boarding parties and hand to hand combat with maces and daggers, looting and burning ships and all."
He chewed thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. "Never thought of someone like Benwick doing that! Although he told me that his job as First Officer was to make sure the swords were sharp, Wentworth and the fighting brutes would lop off the heads, and then he would count 'em up! They have something called, er ..." He stopped chewing as he encountered horrified looks from Mary and Anne.
" 'Count 'em up,' Charles?" Mary gasped, staring at him with wide eyes. "How ... ghastly!"
"Well, sure, you know, for the recor ..." His voice dwindled off; the atmosphere in the room became tense. " I, ah, think Benwick and Harville were, ah ..." Charles forced a grin. "Well, we had to wait a long while for Wentworth last night, you know; by then we'd had a little much to dri -- well, mum's the word on that!" He drained his teacup and pushed back his chair. There was nothing for it but to beat a hasty retreat.
"Ah me!" He got up from the table, pausing to brush away crumbs from his lap and waistcoat. "Oh, Anne! Nearly forgot!" Charles reached into his coat pocket and drew out a letter which he passed to her. "This came in for you yesterday afternoon," he said, smiling apologetically. "Well! I hope you ladies enjoy your morning." He peered out of the window. It was foggy, but no rain. "Nice weather. Wentworth's last day of freedom. Hah!"
But the bridegroom was conspicuously absent from the dining room at Kellynch Hall, having chosen to closet himself in his room on this, his last 'free' day. Sophie Croft had looked in from time to time, seeking an opportunity to speak with him, but had only found his two friends. Captains Benwick and Harville were occupying themselves as best they could, having lingered over a very late breakfast, but the situation was becoming more and more awkward as the clock ticked on. The serving staff were now beginning to set out platters of luncheon food on the sideboard.
"More coffee?" Captain Harville motioned to the pot which had been newly placed on the table. "It's pretty good and it's hot."
"No, no. I've had at least four or five cups." Captain Benwick was standing, peering out of the dining room windows into the bright fog outside. "What in the world is keeping Wentworth?" He sighed and resumed his pacing. "I did not expect to spend all day in here, kicking my heels while we wait for him!" he grumbled. "And he accuses me of being an unsociable recluse!"
"Jitters, my man, jitters. Tomorrow he gets his leg-shackle! Trying to bring his courage to the sticking place!" Captain Harville replied, looking over his shoulder at the loaded sideboard, trying to decide if he was still hungry. He rather hoped he was.
"I suppose. I'm sorry, Harville. I didn't mean to snap your nose off! He said he wanted us here to support him. If he would get his, uh, hind end down here maybe we could do that!" Benwick took his seat at the dining table.
"No harm done, old man." Captain Harville grinned, then leaned back in his chair surveying the room. "I must say, this is some place, isn't it? Never thought I'd stay in an elegant manor house like this. Especially as a guest of old Croft!"
"No, no, and I suppose that's what's eating me! I was hoping we three could have a look around, do some exploring. Maybe it would take the Captain's mind off whatever's bothering him." Benwick reached over and poured himself another cup of coffee. "He seems mighty tense."
"Aye, that he does. So, too, will you be if you drink much more of that!" He heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes in resignation. "I suppose what we do as the groom's men is to hang about all day, waiting for whatever Mrs. Musgrove has in store for us at the big dinner tonight! I'll bet it's really something!"
"Is that what she called it? The Big Dinner?" Benwick took a sip of his coffee. " I'd love to see how the invitation was worded, last night being The Simple Family Party!
"Last night! Poor Wentworth! Did you see his face when we arrived and found total pandemonium? Ah me, it was a lost cause for him from then on. Although you did rather better for yourself!" Harville shot a look at his friend. "She's sure to be at this dinner tonight but I don't mean to let you give me the slip again, my friend. Abandoning me to the Musgrove clan like that! "
Benwick grinned. "No worse than you, abandoning me to the likes of Charles Musgrove and his vulgar insinuations! But I think we settled that score."
"Hah! I should say we did! Poor Musgrove! What did he think the navy was for? A pack of warships waiting around to escort old Prinny whenever he decides to take a pleasure cruise?" He helped himself to a pastry and took a bite.
"Most people have no idea of what war is all about, Timothy." Benwick said quietly. "Thank God."
"Well, at least he now knows what keelhauling is, and a hanging off the yardarm, along with every other form of disciplinary torture! He won't mix them up again. Hah! What do you think? I'll bet he'll never see Wentworth in quite the same light." Harville took another bite of the pastry. "Probably thinks he's some sort of modern-day Captain Kidd! And you, stacking up dead men's heads like cannonballs! I couldn't believe my ears, James! That was rich!"
"Did I really say that?" Benwick chuckled and took another sip from his cup. "Good. Maybe he won't be so eager to have me as a brother-in-law!"
"Aye, perhaps. I know how he feels." He gave his 'almost brother-in-law' a rueful grin. "Aw, you know Charles is a grig! He just got carried away with having a little fun last night, James -- at your expense."
"At Miss Elliot's expense!" Benwick corrected; "which is a different matter, Timothy. He is a good enough fellow, just thoughtless. I don't mind being the butt of his joke, but he shouldn't tease her like that, on such a subject."
He examined the contents of his coffee cup and began to muse over the events of the previous night. Imagine, being forced to the altar by Charles Musgrove, of all people! Running his finger along the rim of the cup, he allowed his thoughts to wander in this direction. On the other hand, marrying Anne Elliot as a matter of honor would not be so very bad, now would it?
Captain Harville noticed his friend's abstraction and resumed studying the decor of the dining room, absently drumming his fingers on the table. There was still no sign of Wentworth, but there were three more pastries on that tray ...
The clock began to strike the hour and James Benwick reigned in his fanciful thoughts with a sigh. "Three o'clock." He stretched and glanced out the window. "I think the fog is beginning to burn off. It should be a fairly nice afternoon ... what is left of it, that is."
"Do you know," Captain Harville mused as he finished the last bite, "Croft did mention he had a spyglass mount on the roof. I think he said the scope is kept inside by the access door. Do you suppose the housekeeper could show us the stairway up there?"
Captain Benwick grinned and pushed back his coffee cup decisively. "I do! Are you up for it? By all means, let's find that housekeeper!"
Watkins led the two men to a door at the end of the long hallway. "Here it is. Keep the lantern with you and watch those steps toward the top. There are several needing repair." She unlocked it and handed the lantern to Captain Benwick, peering into the dark stairwell disapprovingly. "The Family never had a cause to use this stair," she sniffed. "Why the Admiral should put that contraption up there is beyond me."
Benwick and Harville swallowed their amusement and nodded solemnly to the housekeeper. She was not deceived by their meek demeanor. "Now mind you boys don't break any of the slate up there," she said severely. "And do not throw rocks!" She turned on her heel and hurried off.
The two men stepped through the narrow door into what appeared to be an attic storage room. It was musty and cobweb-laden, just as it should be. Harville gently shut the door behind them. "Improves the 'haunted' atmosphere, don't you think?" he grinned.
Benwick was holding the lantern up in an effort to determine the size and shape of the stairwell. "What I think is that it's too bad we don't have Miss Elliot along. I'll bet she knows every nook and cranny in this place," he murmured.
"Do you? I'll wager she hasn't been up here above once in her life!"
"This is her childhood home; of course she has."
"I don't know, Benwick. The daughter of a Baronet, playing in the attic? I doubt it. Musgrove thinks his father-in-law is pretty high in the instep. It sounds as though he's rather fastidious about the proprieties."
"Maybe. But she could tell us the history of this place and answer any number of questions I have." He continued looking around the room for the spyglass, but without success. "Now what do you suppose that is? " He pointed out a large, flat object leaning against the wall just inside the doorway. It was almost as big as the door itself and was covered with a clean, white Holland cloth.
Harville poked at it with his cane "A portrait of hideous old great-great grandsire Elliot, relegated to the storage closet, no doubt! Let's have a look!" He reached over and pulled off the cloth covering. A tall, ornately framed mirror greeted them, throwing the light from the lantern throughout the room. Behind it were stacked a number of others, in varying sizes.
Captain Harville whistled. "Can you beat that? These must be worth a small fortune!"
"... four, five, six," Benwick counted. "They don't look like they've been here as long as some of this other rubbish. The cover's not as dirty, see?"
"I wonder if old Croft put 'em here," his friend grinned, replacing the linen cloth. "Not able to abide his own reflec ... Hey! This looks like the spyglass case!"
Captain Benwick picked it up and the two men began to mount the rickety stairs. The door at the top was difficult to open; once achieved, both stood on the rooftop landing, blinking in the sunlight. A pale blue winter sky showed through the dissipating fog; it would be a beautiful afternoon.
This section of the rooftop was flat, surrounded by a waist-high parapet; a perfect location for the Admiral's 'contraption,' as it commanded a magnificent view of the surrounding countryside. At the far corner of the mansion grew an enormous black walnut tree; the roof was littered with nuts and leaves which made walking difficult. Benwick extinguished the lantern and set it by the door; then he and Harville picked their way over to the mount and affixed the spyglass.
Sometime later, after they had looked over the countryside with great care, they began to speculate on distances when a cart stopped at the head of the drive. Swinging the glass towards it, Benwick began to describe in minute detail the cart and its contents.
" . . . And there is a man dismounting . . . he looks to be a clergyman. The hat always gives them up. Why do they wear such silly looking things anyhow?" he said as he squinted into the glass.
"They're silly? . . . have you taken a keen look to ours lately? Especially when those old boys who were with Nelson wear them athwart? Like Croft? I think we give the clergy a real run for the prize in that contest, James."
"Aye . . . I suppose you're right. He's taking down a case. Looks as though he's coming to stay."
"Must be Frederick's brother, Edmund . . . no, Edward. We met years ago in Whitecross. Tiny cottage, cold as midnight on Christmas. Nice fellow . . . a little closed off, not like Frederick. I'm surprised he came all the way from Shropshire though. Hope he didn't have to take the cart the whole way!" Harville said with a smile.
"I hope not too, the cart seems to be full of mouldy hay. I'm certain it's hay . . . old used hay," James said with a great deal of certitude, moving aside to allow Timothy to the glass.
"No, city boy . . . that's dung. Sure as I'm standing . . . dung," Timothy Harville said, straightening to face his friend. "But why would a parson be riding in such a thing? Unless he has taken on Papist leanings and this is a penance of some sort," he said.
The two continued their supposing as Reverend Wentworth entered the Hall.
"Reverend Edward Wentworth, ma'am," the man intoned, giving the Rector a pronounced sniff and a withering look as he withdrew from the room.
"Edward!" Sophy cried as she rose to greet her brother. She had not seen him for nearly a year and was surprised by his appearing.
"Sophy!" Edward said with enthusiasm. As she was about to embrace him, he held up a hand and said, "Not until I have had a chance at a bath, my last conveyance was not terribly lavish . . . a farm-cart. How are you bearing up, sister?" He saw no reason to keep from the purpose of his arrival. "I came as soon as I received his letter, I assume you did the same?"
Ignoring the air about him, she started, "Yes! I had the trunks packed as the Admiral was returning from the coaching station with a schedule. We were able to return the very next day. Edward, what shall we do? You must convince him that this is sheer folly. To marry this unsuit . . . this girl . . . and so soon after her accident. What can he be thinking?" cried Sophy. Her face showed some nights with no sleep and days with no peace.
"What has he had to say for himself?" asked Edward.
"I have had no opportunity to speak with him! When we arrived, he was not even in the district! He was in Plymouth, of all places. Then on to Lyme, visiting with Captains Harville and Benwick, I assume. He has brought them back to attend the wedding. He attended a party at Uppercross last night, and when he returned--late, late I might add--he said we could talk, but then he never came downstairs again, and he has not been down this morning or afternoon. His friends are who knows where and he is closeted away in his rooms. Edward, you must stop him. He cannot be allowed to do this."
Edward studied his sister and said, "I do not think it is a matter of 'allowing' anything. He is a grown man, dear. He can do as he chooses."
"But Edward, if you only knew this girl, you too would see that she is thoughtless, imprudent . . . altogether heedless. She is wholly unworthy of him. It would not surprise me if she had schemed to marry him from the outset," she said with great animation and agitation. As they had been speaking, Sophy had drawn them into the sitting room. Having called for tea, she offered him a seat. He chose to stand, being considerate of her furniture and his 'aromatic' state. "And of what opinion are you? Surely you did not come here to bless this union?"
The tea had come and as it was being poured out, he considered his words, knowing that what he had to say could do more damage than even the wedding itself. "I agree with you that this marriage should not take place, but mine are much different reasons than yours." Taking a drink, he watched Sophia to see how she would respond.
"And what might those reasons be?" At this juncture, Sophy was just glad to have an ally; George was too open to the marriage and could not find it in himself to see it as it was--a disaster. But she wished to know Edward's reasons, perhaps they could be added to her own and both their opinions strengthened.
Edward moved from the mantel and placed his cup on the tray. He began to walk the room as he spoke. "First, I must tell you, Sister, I do not hold Miss Musgrove in any way responsible. My reasons have to do with Frederick's heart, not Miss Musgrove's lack of 'worth,' as you seem to see it. He has an attachment . . . it is long unspoken, but nonetheless, his heart is engaged elsewhere and I do not think him capable of relinquishing it. This would keep him from being a good husband to his wife."
"Ha! as though that creature would deserve a such good man . . ." Sophia snorted.
Her brother's patience was taken to the quick with that statement. In his opinion, if there was an innocent in all of this, it was Louisa Musgrove, but his sister was determined to make Frederick out to be a lamb being led to a slaughter; Edward would have none of it. "Good G-d, Sophy! He is a good man . . . but only a man! The sun does not rise and set upon him! You have always taken his mother's part and when he was young that no doubt kept him from harm by Father's hand, but now he is a man and must be held to account! He has said himself that he acted imprudently with the girl! He admits it! While I am not one to hold social propriety above all things, I must say that if he was indeed rash in his behaviour with her, and he would not be honest with the girl's father, he must marry her, he has no choice." Walking to the French doors, he looked out on the garden and watched as the sun played off of the beginning new growth.
"Edward, I realise that he is a man, and that he has an obligation . . . "
Turning to his sister, he asked rather harshly, "If you realise that he has an obligation, where were you when he was obliging himself? Did you see him act unguarded? Did you know that he was being foolish?"
Sophia gave no answer, she pursed her lips and looked away.
"I thought as much. But now . . . rather than it being our brother's doing, it is all the fault of Miss Musgrove. She is conniving and an unsuitable match. Perhaps she lured him with her feminine wiles! As I recall Mr Musgrove, that is not the kind of girl he would raise. Even if she is, Frederick is thirty-two years old! More than old enough to keep himself out of danger--if he cares to! I'm sorry, Sister. I have had several long days to think on this and I cannot find anyone to blame but our brother."
"You sound as if, other than his attachment to another, you have no objections to this marriage taking place. How can that be?" Listening to Edward, her heart sunk. There was no relief that she could see from his quarter.
"My dear sister, he would not be the first man to marry from a sense of duty. There are many marriages which begin as such and become good loving unions. It will be up to him, and him alone. I feel pity for Miss Musgrove . . . her only mistake in all this was taking his dallying for genuine affection. If you must pity . . . pity her. I will talk to him, but if he insists upon marriage, we will have no choice, but to accept her," he said. "And accept her we must or what little family we have will be ruined." Giving his sister a last hug, he said, "I will do what I am able. Just tell me where to find him."
Motioning for the man, Sophia said, "Harkness will show you to his room, he is preparing for the family engagement dinner. We are all expected to attend. Will you be up to it?"
"I think so, let me talk to Frederick and then we will discuss dinners and such. Particularly a bath."
"I shall have one drawn and it will be waiting for you when you have finished."
Patting Sophy's arm, he mounted the stairs to Frederick's room.
"This is the room, Sir." Harkness said as he motioned to the door.
"Thank you." Knocking on the door as he opened it, he hoped to find Frederick in a reasonable mood, but considering the evening ahead, that seemed to be a remote possibility. "Brother, can I tie your stock for you?" He stood in the doorway, looking to Frederick, taking account of his physical being. No sleep, pale and most likely has not eaten for a day or two. That is as much as I expected.
Frederick started and turned to see to whom the voice belonged. At the moment he saw Edward, he was completely torn. The relief in his heart was immense; to have his brother at his side during this time . . . but he also knew that Edward would not have come all these miles to merely wish him well.
The clouds had begun to flee in earnest now, showing a broad rolling land dotted by great silver-trunked beech trees. Beyond the park lay ploughed acres and dappled copses; the fields were wet with mist, the droplets sparkled in the sun. In the underbrush birds chirped and twittered, announcing the promise of spring. It was a pleasant prospect; both men felt their spirits lift from a heaviness they couldn't explain.
After a few minutes of quiet observation of the landscape, Captain Harville turned around and leaned back against the parapet, studying a section of the house which rose above them. It appeared to be in the design of a tower. He gingerly made his way over to its wall and stood looking up into the eaves. An idea had begun to occur to him.
Ever since his injury, Captain Harville had developed the habit of examining the surface of the ground for possible pitfalls; his balance was at best unsteady. What he had noticed under those eaves was bird guano, quite a lot of it, and feathers. Following a hunch, he walked around the corner. An ancient joining of the older and newer additions of the house had left a small overhang, about shoulder height. At some point, it had been modified into a sort of boxed rookery. Coming from under it, Harville could hear the distinctive cooing of nesting birds: pigeons!
"James!" He stuck his head around the corner of the tower and hissed at his friend, who was lost in rapt contemplation of the countryside. "James! Over here!"
Benwick roused himself and frowned; he knew that tone of voice. What now?
"Do you know, our friend the Captain has been mighty cagey and tense these days," Harville began, barely able to contain his amusement. "I think he needs some cheering up. Our poor bridegroom is too, um, solemn!"
Captain Benwick folded his arms across his chest. "I would use the word 'stoic' to describe him -- but that cannot be right, not at his own wedding!" His eyes narrowed. "Define 'cheering up,'" he added, suspiciously.
Harville's eyes twinkled. "What do you think, James? The happy couple needs some 'company' to liven things up in their honeymoon quarters," he rolled his eyes up at the birds. "Maybe two or three, in the privy?"
"He will make mincemeat out of us, Timothy!" Captain Benwick grumbled, but he was grinning, too.
"Nay, you're out there! We're leaving for home shortly after that Wedding Breakfast on Saturday. Everyone is . . . even Croft and his wife! Wentworth will have this place to himself and he won't be able to trace it to us, well, not directly. And if he does, what can he do about it? Not a blessed thing!" He cocked an eye at his friend. "Good idea?"
"If we live! So, how do you suggest we catch them?"
Chapter 11 (Part 2)
Edward entered the room and closed the door behind him. He came to Frederick and pulled him to himself. The tension in his brother was incredible. His arms and back and shoulders were tight and hard as rock. There was no softness about him at all. The strength of his grasp was nearly painful, as though he were clinging for his very life. "Edward," he rasped, "I am heartened to have you here. I need you." Frederick's voice was small and quiet, as it had been when Edward had first come home from Barbados.
I wonder that you will come through this at all, my boy, Edward thought. Releasing one another, they stood in the middle of the room, both knowing that there were things to say, but neither knowing where to begin. "It is good to see you. Though it has only been a week or two, Catherine and I miss you very much. She sends her love," Edward said as casually as he could muster. "You made quite a hole in things, she has only just stopped figuring you for dinner every night."
Frederick smiled slightly at the thought of the two of them missing him quite as much as his brother told. Surely they had better things to occupy themselves rather than lamenting his absence. "Thank you. I miss the two of you. I did not expect that I would be leaving you to be married. I had thought that I could work myself out of this entanglement, but . . . that was not the case. I found things in rather a worse state than I had imagined," Frederick said, turning back to the mirror and beginning his stock again.
"You and I discussed all this on New Year's Eve. I thought that you had determined not to marry her," Edward said, softly. Awaiting his brothers answer, he took up a brush and began to clean off his coat. He was rather dismayed thinking about how dishevelled he must look.
"Yes, you and I did discuss this. I also told you that if Mr. Musgrove pressed, I would marry her. I felt it was only right."
Edward came around to face his brother, "And did he press you so hard you were unable to resist? Was there no other way?" Though Edward had had three nights with little or no sleep, he was managing to keep himself in check, just barely in check.
"Mr. Musgrove was very amiable, actually. He did not press in the way that you mean. He alluded that his daughter did have an honourable claim on me and I could see myself that she would most likely have little chance of making a good marriage now that she is so . . . changed." Frederick walked away from his brother, not wishing to see the judgmental look in Edward's eye. "While her father did not, in so many words say that I was responsible for her fall, what hand I did have in it and the fact that I had made myself so intimate with her combine to make me feel obligated to her."
"How can you feel obliged to marry a woman you do not love when there is another woman you do love, I made it clear that . . . "
"D_mmit Edward, enough!" Frederick fairly shouted the words. He spun around to face his brother, and said, "Your words are soft and kind, but I do not need a Father confessor, nor do I need you as a clergyman to tell me all the theological reasons I am wrong. I need my brother." The anger shone in his eyes, the anger and the tears. Frederick remembered well the conversation that snowy night in Shropshire. It was nearly impossible to think that it had only been weeks and not the lifetime ago that it seemed. He also remembered his evening with Dr. Abernathy a few nights after. He remembered all the reasons why he should not marry Louisa Musgrove. He turned from his brother and composed himself. "I was never so glad to see anyone's face as I was yours when you came in here, but if you cannot just be my brother and prop me up a bit, Edward, go back to Shropshire. I do not need lectures, I need your support."
Edward could see Frederick's shoulders yielding with the weight of this burden. The choice was now his. He could pursue the moral imperative and lose what that he had worked so hard to gain, possibly forever. Or he could leave his well-known opinion silent, and be Frederick's brother. A brother was needed more. The partial verse, ". . . a brother is born for adversity . . . " came to his remembrance. "You're right, my boy. The Reverend Wentworth has left. It is only me now." He put his hand on Frederick shoulder and came to face him, as they embraced, he said, "I support you. I'll not leave you." The sigh from his brother was deep. He could feel some of the tension go from him. Edward knew he had judged rightly.
As he moved from Frederick to walk about the room, he noticed the sailcloth packet and the broken Admiralty seal which had contained Frederick's orders. The orders themselves were laying nearby where Frederick had placed them after he last reread them. Looking to his brother and seeing that he was occupied with his dressing, he picked them up and began to read.
By the Right Honourable Lord Mannington, Knight of the Bath, Admiral of the Blue and Commander in Chief of His Majesty's ships and Vessels employed and to be employed in the West Indies, etc., etc., etc.Whereas His Majesty's Frigate Laconia is removed from non-commission and placed in active employment.
You are hereby required and directed to proceed on board the Laconia and take upon you the Charge and Command of Captain of her; willing and requiring all the Officers and Company belonging to the said Frigate to behave themselves in their several Employments with all due Respect and Obedience to their Captain; and you likewise to observe as well the General Printed Instructions as what Orders and Directions you may from time to time receive from any of your superior Officers for His Majesty's Service. Hereof nor you nor any of you may fail as you will answer the contrary at your Peril.
And for doing this shall be your Order. Given on board the Caledonia, At sea, ---February, 1815
To Frederick Wentworth, Esqr, hereby appointed Commander of His Majesty's Frigate Laconia
By command of the Admiral Benj. Locke*
He's going back to sea! Frederick had proudly shown his orders for the Laconia the first time and so Edward recognised these immediately. Sophy had said he had been in Plymouth when she and the Admiral had arrived from Bath; had Frederick been arranging all this? The question could not be answered and Edward was not certain that he wished to know. "When were you going to announce this bit of news, brother?" He stood holding the orders so Frederick could see what he meant.
Frederick's face hardened and any relaxation he had enjoyed over the past moments vanished. "Give me those, Edward!" He fairly shouted again. Moving toward his brother, his countenance was rather menacing. "Those are none of your affair!" Edward handed him the orders, there was no need to keep them, it was enough that he knew of their existence.
"Does Miss Musgrove know?"
"Apart from you and I, no one does. Not yet."
"Was this the plan all along? Marry her and then leave her? What a lovely way to begin married life, 'Oh! and by the bye dear, I just happen to have orders for Heaven knows where and will be gone for Heaven knows how long! Take care. Good bye!'" Edward's tone was mocking and sharp, other than Catherine, he loved his brother more than any human being, but this . . .
Having taken the orders from his brother and folding them to place in his breast pocket for safe keeping, Frederick fastened his waistcoat. He listened with a tightened jaw and shaking hands. He had no defense as his brother was dead on with his taunting. This was what he had intended, this was exactly what he meant to do. "I have become quite accustomed to the fact that I am not as honourable as I had thought myself to be, but the die is cast and I am going forward with this. I must, there is nothing left for me to do. Even if I end this now . . . I will never have what I truly wish and so I may as well preserve what is left of my reputation. I am sorry you do not approve, but this is the only way left to me." Sliding his arms into his blue coat, straightening shoulders and pulling the ruffled cuffs of his shirt clear, he busied himself in ignoring his brother.
"Come on over here, James, and I'll show you how we go about catching our prey. Easy as taking candy from a baby!" He led the way around the corner, to the nesting area. "In goes the hand, see," Harville reached in among the birds' nests and felt around; "and I think I've got one! Squeeze a little firmly -- and -- out comes a bird!" There was some agitated cooing and flapping, but Harville triumphantly held up a pigeon.
"Aaack!" He dropped it and it flew off, wheeling through the sky. The remaining pigeons had panicked; they now left the nesting area in an explosion of flapping and squawking. "Ouch! Aaack!" Harville batted the birds away. "Curse these bloody birds!!" he sputtered. Hundreds of feathers choked the air, along with the scolding sounds of the outraged birds. "D_mmed bird pecked me!"
James Benwick gave a shout of laughter as he watched his friend flail his arms. A few moments later, still chuckling, he bent down and found a broken piece of slate from the rooftop floor. Quietly he scooped something up on it.
Meanwhile, Harville had made his way over to the parapet wall and was leaning on it, watching the pigeons soar over the nearby fields. "Get back here, you dratted birds," he muttered, nursing his wounded hand. "Some of you go in the privy and the rest go in a pie!"
"I say, Timothy, here's another one!" Benwick laughingly held the slate tile under his friend's nose.
"Aaack! James! That one's dead!"
Harville grimaced and shoved Benwick's arm away. The bird slid off the slate and dropped over the side of the wall. Both men gasped and leaned over to watch it fall the three floors down. It seemed a long time before they heard the 'splat' on the pavement below. By then both were howling with laughter.
"Oh lord!" Harville gasped. "Do you suppose anyone saw that? We're right above the bedrooms!"
"Uh, no. It's a bit early in the year for bird watching!" Benwick managed. "A little nippy out here, uh, not good for birds. Cold'll get 'em every time, see?" He gestured to the pavement. "Stone dead. What a shame."
"No, James, you idiot!" Harville chuckled. "Not bird watchers! I mean that Watkins person! Don't want to run afoul of her!"
"Uh, well, she told us not to throw rocks!" Benwick giggled.
"Aw, we're not throwing rocks, Watkins, we're throwing birds!" Harville practiced, barely able to speak. "Dead, smelly ones!" He scratched his head, grinning quizzically at his friend. "So now what do we do? Leave it down there? Wait 'til Croft steps on it?"
"We'll never be invited back if we do!"
"We'll never be invited back anyway, you know!"
"True. Let me see. In most instances one buries a corpse," Benwick mused, "so the vultures don't get to it, so ..."
Harville began to snicker again. "Oh lord, if that don't beat all! The perfect touch for the Wentworth's wedding: vultures!"
"I'll go find the gardener to bury..."
"No, no James!" The lack of sleep and anxiety over Frederick Wentworth's odd behavior had taken their toll on Captain Harville; his overtaxed nerves found relief in hilarity. "We have plenty of buryin' material here! Look!" He scooped up an armful of old leaves and nuts and heaved them over the side, near the spot where the bird had dropped. The leaves took a long time to drift to the bottom. Many fell wide of the mark.
Captain Benwick was doubled over in a fit of laughter. "Timothy, that's not work ..."
"Sure it is, James!" Harville howled. "We just need more!" He sent several additional armloads down onto the pavement, in rapid succession. "See?"
"No, no, you're way off target, man! We need to use better aim. Like this!" Benwick giggled, and began to drop the walnuts individually. These came much closer; some bounced off the dead body.
From below came a rasping, scraping sound; someone was opening a window! Still laughing, Harville and Benwick flattened themselves against the wall, exchanging agonized looks.
As Edward stood watching Frederick, he noticed something falling outside the window; walking over to see what it might be, he observed it to be leaves and debris, obviously from the roof. It fell as though buckets of the stuff were being hoisted over the side of the house. "What an odd time to clean the roof. And a rather sloppy way of doing it. The task must be huge, I wonder that they would choose now, it will be dark in an hour or two." Turning the latch on the window, he tried to open it, but finding the hinges rusted over and the casing swollen, it would not open but a few inches without forcing; he closed it, and said, "Well, it seems to have stopped." Frederick had not listened and so made no comment.
Edward looked at Frederick, seeing that his collar was folded under, he went over to straighten it. After doing so, he patted his brother's shoulder. Frederick looked up and their eyes met in the mirror. They stood pondering their reflections. The differences were glaring. One tall and handsome in the blue and gold of the Royal Navy, the other a bit shorter, beginning to grey and sombre in a habitual dark suit. Both looked tired and careworn, each knew themselves to be subject to situations over which they held little sway. Both just wished the other to be happy. "We look like old, beaten carpet, you and I." Frederick said flatly.
Edward looked at Frederick and could see that though the situation had worn him to the quick, he was still able to jest . . . that he was finding refuge in the only thing left to him, his wit. Looking back to their reflections, he said, "Well . . . at least you are not threadbare."
Frederick smiled crookedly, "No, not threadbare. And not even that old." He arched his brow at his brother.
Edward caught his meaning and countered, "No, but age has an amazing way of over taking you . . . it comes as a great surprise one day. And as for not being threadbare, that is true, but I would suggest that you remove that fine coat when you go downstairs . . . so it don't get blood all over it."
With a frown and a shocked, "Why?" Frederick looked puzzled.
"Because you have a sister that is after your hide, my boy."
Frederick's eyes widened, "Good G-d . . . Sophia! I was to speak with her last night when I had arrived home . . . but the Marine had come with my orders and Harkness had secreted him up here. I . . . I signed for them and then took them to my room. I sat on the bed after reading them and must have fallen right to sleep!" Turning to face Edward straight on, "I haven't even been down today . . . she must be breathing fire by now!"
Giving his brother a clap on the shoulder, Edward said, "Better you than me! Ah! you're her baby, she'll not hurt you too badly. But in all seriousness, you do need to speak with her. I put her off with some things to think on, but I would imagine that she still has some very choice words waiting for you."
"Well, then I should go down and get this over with." Glancing at the bed where his presentation sword lay waiting to complete his costume, he said, "I think I'll leave that to put on later." He smiled weakly to Edward, who, putting his hand to Frederick's back said, "I can assure you, brother, through all of this you shall live and not die. This is truly not unto death. Though, our sister may make it seem as such."
"Most assuredly, brother. Most assuredly."
Benwick and Harville scurried down the rickety stairs as quietly as they could. All the while, Timothy clacked on at James for extinguishing the lamp, cursing the darkness and the cob-webs. Upon arriving at the bottom of the stairs, they realised that in their haste, they had forgotten to remove the spyglass. After a short exchange where the time was consulted, they determined that they would creep up later and replace it. Gingerly they closed the access door behind them, and walked as calmly and innocently as they could down the long hall.
"Gentlemen! I must say, I am a bit surprised that the two of you are not preparing for the dinner this evening; you are both, usually so faithful to duty."
Benwick and Harville stopped and glanced at one another when they recognised the Captain's voice. Both drew up to full height and took a deep breath as they turned to greet their friend. There stood Frederick in his full dress uniform. The blue and gold resplendent in the sunlight coming in through high windows which lined the hallway. There was another gentleman with him, the clergyman. It took a moment, but Harville recognised him to indeed be the Captain's brother, a rector now as he recalled.
As the two stood in such a rigid fashion, the Captain took a few steps closer and peered at them both. He raised his brow and a look of interest came to his otherwise pale and drawn face. Reaching toward Benwick's shoulder, he drew back a feather and held it before his friends' faces. "There are others . . . on each of you. Care to explain?"
Before either could say anything, the Captain removed one snowy white dress glove and reaching up, began to brush leaf debris, dust, and more feathers from Harville's coat. The Captains glanced at one another with scowls. There was a snicker from the clergyman. With that and what the Captain had said, the fellows knew that they must look quite a sight.
"Not really, sir. Well . . . there is nothing that cannot be rectified," Benwick said hesitantly.
Harville relaxed a little and said, "Frederick, James and I got carried away with some foolishness on the roof, there was no real harm done and we were headed out to clear things away downstairs. We truly meant no harm. A long night and boredom, you know um . . . I think we exemplify the notion of idle hands being the Devil's workshop. You know um . . . to prevent trouble . . . always keep a sailor busy."
Frederick clapped Timothy on the arm, "I'm sorry gentlemen, I have been a terrible host and a worse friend. I did not mean for things to be as they are, the party and all . . . I had hoped to have time to talk . . . time to be together. Again, I'm sorry," he looked at each with a look of apology, then remembering Edward, he brought him forward. "I have forgotten myself again. May I introduce my brother, Edward Wentworth. Harville, you remember when we stayed with him years ago? James Benwick, my brother, the Reverend Wentworth."
All the civilities done and hands shaken round, a momentary silence was interrupted by Harkness informing the Reverend that his room was prepared and waiting for him.
"Thank you, Harkness. Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I must freshen up before this evening's entertainment." Turning to his brother, he said, "I'll be with you in spirit, my boy." He smiled and left with Harkness.
Anne sat on Mary's bed as she waited for her sister. The workbasket she balanced on her lap, with her free hand she held her letter. It was from Elizabeth, a rarity indeed. Anne sighed as she read it over again. It was short, and began with courteous well-wishing and vapid pleasantries. Elizabeth came down to business in the second part.
Anne, I am in somewhat of a quandary as to the location of my garnet necklace and earrings. I know I have not worn them for some time, but today I noticed that they were missing and I have been unable to find them in any of my jewelry cases. I am hoping that you have borrowed them, dear, and will return them when you come home.
Anne re-folded the letter and sighed as she placed it in her pocket. She had no knowledge of any of Elizabeth's jewelry, missing or otherwise. She had borrowed from Elizabeth before, years ago, and not found her to be a gracious lender ... not any more than Mary, now that she came to think on it.
"Mary," Anne called, trying once again to get her sister's attention. "I'm sorry to bother you, but ..."
"Yes, yes, I am coming, as soon as I locate my pearl necklet. It will be just the thing to wear with my yellow gown." Mary was cheerfully bustling around in her dressing room, the unpleasant breakfast conversation forgotten. "And, let's see, my best shoes, and the new silk stockings, and ..." She glanced over at her sister.
"What was it you wanted, Anne, dear?"
"About Little Charles' shirt, Mary. You promised to do the work on the buttonholes ..."
Mary blinked. "Ah, which shirt is that? Oh, the new one, for the wedding. Well, just leave the workbasket on my chair in the parlor and I will finish it later," she said absently; "after I return from the Great House. Henrietta was saying something about rearranging the rooms for the dinner tonight and I thought she might appreciate some advice."
Anne raised an eyebrow but made no comment. She should have guessed that this is how it would be. Mary was eager to be included in all the activities involving the wedding, and would not think of her son's shirt until tomorrow morning when it would be needed. Wishing her sister a good afternoon, Anne left Mary's room, descended the stairs, and made her way down the hall to the parlor.
Before the cottage had been renovated and added on to (upon the occasion of Charles' marriage), this small room had been used as a parlor, and hence came its name. But over time it had degenerated into being merely a workroom. By the light of day its shabby, mismatched furniture, the ever-present basket of mending, and boxes of handicraft supplies stacked in various places bore testimony of this. But last night, illuminated only by the fire and a branch of candles, this room had been somehow transformed into a cozy, welcoming place.
Last night. Anne hesitated in the open doorway, remembering. Charles was standing just there, laughing at me in that odious way of his, making that beastly accusation! And Captain Harville, Anne smiled to herself; Captain Harville was such a likable fellow, he was over there, leaning on his cane, making wisecracks about the library and the privy! And Captain Benwick, her eyes traveled over to the two chairs, still placed before the fireplace, he and I were sitting there, talking for all that time! How could it have been two hours? It seemed only a few moments! A flush crept into her cheeks as she considered the impropriety of her actions, something she did not dare admit to Charles last night. Oh dear, those chairs are placed rather close together are they not? And from this vantage point, perhaps it could look ... just a little ... scandalous. She shook her head, still smiling. No, I will not make excuses for Charles and his horrid comments! He is abominable!
She crossed the threshold and wandered over to sit in the chair she had occupied last night; the workbasket she placed on the seat of Captain Benwick's chair. Captain Benwick. What a very interesting person to converse with. What made him so? Anne pondered this for some time. He was quiet, but not at all reserved, or unintelligent; he was quick to catch her train of thought. And he was observant, indeed, there seemed to be no end to the questions he could ask. Best of all, he was kind; once he had caught her doubling back on a previously expressed opinion, but he had been amused, not critical. He merely laughed and accused me of 'tergiversation' ... which is quite ridiculous! What a very nice friend!
She caught herself here. Yes, but he is Frederick Wentworth's friend, not mine, as is Captain Harville. And if it were not for the wedding, neither would have come to visit me. This was a lowering thought, as was another, which had first occurred at Lyme: Had I married Frederick, these men would have been my friends as well. Had I married Frederick ...
She picked up the workbasket again, hunting up the buttons, thread, and needle. The shirt had already been marked, now she decided to begin working industriously in an effort to drive that nagging question from her mind. What if I had married him? The needle trembled in her fingers as she threaded it, for the thought persisted. Had we married, I probably would be sewing a shirt like this for my own little son. This brought tears to her eyes; she closed them and laid down the needle. My days would be spent managing our household and caring for our children! He would be home from the sea now, we would all be together, and happy, and .... No!! Anne thrust the shirt back in the workbasket and nearly flung it onto the chair. I cannot think this way! I have children to love: my own nephews! Why am I now thinking of him? I thought I was done with this!
Irritated at herself, she stalked out of the parlor and began to mount the stairs, looking for something other than sewing to distract her wayward thoughts. As she reached the landing, she heard the voice of Jemima, scolding one of the boys. What a very good idea! I need company ... someone to liven things up, and keep me busy. And he needs to get outdoors and run about and shout, instead of being shut up in there and nagged at! A few minutes later, she descended again, holding the hand of Little Charles, who eagerly hopped and jumped his way down each stair. They put on their hats and coats and went out the door hand in hand, ready to explore the path through the hedgerow.
" ... and then, Aunt Anne, you can say the one about the burning tiger. Mama says there is no such thing, but I told her there was; you said so!"
"The burning ... what? Ah!" Anne smiled in recognition. "Very good, Little Charles! You remember! I daresay your mama has forgotten; I will remind her. Shall we say the first part together, then?"
Tyger! Tyger! Burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
Little Charles kept up with Anne's recitation as best the could. "I whist we could see a tiger today, in the fowrest! Do you think so? Or a bear! And I can show you the twee where I bwoke my bone ..."
Anne smiled as she listened to his happy prattle. Yes, indeed. I do need someone to cheer me up. I have been too much alone.
*The text of these orders was taken from the book, "Master and Commander," by Patrick O'Brian.
*Poem from Songs of Experience The Tyger by William Blake, 1789