Love Suffers Long and is Kind
Chapter 1
The day of the wedding dawned dark and rainy. It had no influence on the participants. The lady and gentleman desired a quiet affair and were not willing that Edward and Catherine should mark the event in any way. No breakfast, no tea, not anything. They wished merely to be joined and to go home. Go to their home. Seeing as how social custom had not been paramount in the whole of the courtship, Edward reasoned that it would be out of place now. He had performed the vows, Catherine and Frederick had witnessed, and it was finished.
After Mr. and Mrs. Junkins had left the church for home, Edward went to his study and closed the door. Sitting in his chair and putting his feet up on the desk, he closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. It was over. The deed was done and both parties seemed very pleased. Perhaps there would be some peace now.
He heard the door open, without opening his eyes, he knew it to be Catherine. She came up behind him and kissed the top of his head. "The post has come." He heard it being placed on the desk. Opening his eyes a very little, he could see that his wife was in a fair way to be surprised. Catherine was leaning over his legs to place the post and in one movement, Edward put his legs down and pulled her into his lap.
"Well, look what has fallen into my lap," he said with mock surprise. He looked at her and smiled contentedly. Pulling her near, he closed his eyes, sitting quietly, he just held her and listened to her heart. If only moments such as this lasted.
"Fell, indeed. If the parish only knew how . . . romantic you are, they would be shocked. Speaking of shocked, did you think that the Junkins' kiss was a bit long?" she said with a small frown.
Edward laughed. "I think they are married now and may kiss as long as they chuse. I was glad to see it. Not being sure at their first meeting if the entire thing would come off at all, a long bride's kiss is a small price to pay." He held her closer.
They sat thus for a long while. The events of the past few days draining away and being replaced with the quiet of themselves. No one and nothing needing their attention. No demands on time or mind.
"You know, as lovely as this is, dinner must still be planned and I must do my accounts and there are things which require attention about the house," she said, not making a move to go.
"That is true. Life goes on. Perhaps we could retire early this evening. How would that be?"
She smiled, "I think that will do nicely." He helped her from his lap. "Now to find Mrs. Graham and plan dinner. Do not forget to sort the post," she said as she left the room.
"Sort the post," he murmured to himself. He began looking through the packets. He found nothing which required his attention directly. All could wait to another time. There was one for Frederick. It looked as though it had ridden outside the entire way. He saw several cancellation marks and thought it must be from a naval friend without a good address. It had finally caught up to him. Edward began to lean back in his chair, when, hearing someone in the hallway, he rose to see if it might be his brother. Seeing that it was, he called, "Frederick! You have a post."
"From whom?" he asked anxiously.
"You are quite able to read for yourself! Actually, I cannot tell--catch!" Edward tossed the letter to his brother. It made a slow arc and landed, face down at his feet.
Frederick's heart began to race and he felt his hand shake from apprehension. He bent and picking up the letter, he turned it, face up. The only portion of the return address that was readable was the marking---Uppercross.
By the cancellations, it had gone far afield of Crown Hill. That explained why it had taken a good deal of time to receive a reply. Breaking the seal, he prayed a small prayer, "God, please. Do not allow my undoing." The mark being Uppercross disturbed him. He did not recognise the hand and there was no foretoken of the author on the outside as it was sealed with a wafer. Standing with the letter open, but for one fold, he hesitated. No doubt, this letter held his future. Uppercross was the place this entanglement had begun, it seemed that it might be the place it was to unravel.
Captain Wentworth,
I write to inform you of my daughter's safe return to us here at Uppercross. She is in good health and spirits of which we are exceedingly glad. Her mother and I feel that it would be fitting to discuss matters concerning your future together. I think the matter more urgent than should be conducted by post and would appreciate your immediate return to the district. We look forward to your arrival with anticipation.
Charles Musgrove, Senior, Esq.
Still holding the letter, Frederick's hands dropped to his sides. His worst fears had come to pass and he would be required to face Mr. Musgrove, in person, at Uppercross. All the talk of dividing himself from Louisa had bolstered a confidence which now left him in an instant. As he looked forward to this visitation, he saw nothing but brown.
From his vantage in the study doorway, Edward could see that the letter held no good news for his brother.
"Read this," Frederick said, thrusting the letter towards Edward.
He took the letter and began to read. It was short and to the point. The point being that his brother should appear at Uppercross to make his intentions known to the family.
Frederick watched his brother's face as he read. Other than a raised brow at points, there was no other hint of feeling.
Edward sighed, this was precisely what he had feared, but now that it was here; the reality of his brother's situation loomed large. He kept to the notion that Mr. Musgrove was a loving father who wanted only the best for his daughter. He could certainly be made to see reason. The only uncertainty in all this commotion was his brother. Edward was not sure that Frederick would hold to what they had discussed. He feared that his brother's strong sense of honour may leave him vulnerable to his own guilt and cause him to make declarations which would tightly ensnare him. Part of the Reverend had a notion that perhaps he should go and deal with Mr. Musgrove. But, he knew that to be impossible. This was Frederick's life and he must be the one to bring a conclusion to this state of affairs.
Edward looked to Frederick, handing the letter back. The expression upon his face was one of resolution, but very grim round the mouth. "I shall leave at sun up." These were his only words as he mounted the stairs to his room. Edward looked towards him as he climbed the stairs, two at a time. "God be with you, my boy," he breathed.
Dinner was a quiet affair that evening. Frederick was obviously preoccupied. Edward was the same. Catherine was silent. She was not certain that a marriage to Miss Musgrove was necessarily a calamity. The outcome of such a thing would depend upon Frederick much more than anyone else. If he would accept her and relinquish his feelings for Miss Elliot, there was hope. But these thoughts she kept strictly to herself.
The evening had been silent; no conversation as most nights. Frederick stayed to himself and Edward allowed it. There was not anything to say which had not been discussed before. It was a disappointing end to a satisfying visit.
The parting the next morning was solemn. At the first gray light, Frederick tried to leave, but Edward had not gone to bed and was in the study when he heard Frederick come down the stairs. "Leaving before sun up, eh?" he said, as his brother went towards the kitchen and the stable.
The voice had startled Frederick, who was pulling on his gloves and not expecting to be found out. "Edward! Have you been lying in wait for me?" He did not slow his pace and continued on. "I thought it best to get as much of the ride out of the way today since I will have to lay out tomorrow."
Edward began to follow him. "I couldn't sleep and so was merely studying. I am glad now that I was awake. Would you have truly slipped away?"
"I think it best to be done with this and I do not think there are any words left to say on the matter." They had arrived at the stable and Frederick had begun to saddle his horse. "I thank you and Catherine for all the hospitality you have shown. Particularly Catherine, I know it has not been easy having me about for so long." Tightening the cinch on the saddle, he continued, "I have left a few guineas freight-money upstairs and would appreciate your sending my trunk on to Kellynch Hall, I reckon to be there for some time." He studiously bridled the horse and began to lead her out.
Before he could mount, Edward took Frederick by the arm and firmly turned him eye to eye, "Remember, you are not responsible for all of this and marrying her is not necessarily the best solution, for either one of you."
"I know what you believe. But I also know that I have responsibility here. I will try and avoid marriage, but I cannot tell you that it may not come. I am hers in honour if she wishes it. Good bye, brother." They embraced. Frederick mounted and trotted round the house to the carriageway without looking back.
The ride from Shropshire had been uneventful. Cold, but uneventful. The road was becoming familiar from all his rides and walks the previous autumn. Uppercross would be just around a long bend in the road. He reined the horse to a stop and sat for a moment. He looked as far as possible down the lane to the place where the curve disappeared. Remembering the lane in fall, it had been alive with bright colours and now that life was gone and the foliage was bare, much like his heart. To follow that path would lead him to his future. He did not look forward to it; he knew down deep that his largest mistake was about to overtake him and that it could very well be with him for the rest of his life. He had stopped much the same way at all the turnoffs to Bath. Several times he had seriously contemplated forgoing Somerset and heading for Bath to find Anne. Each time, his sense of duty had precluded doing such a thing. He had created a situation in Uppercross which must be dealt with, dealt with honourably. He urged his horse on.
From a distance, he could see a bright red pelisse, as he came through the park leading to the Great House, he saw it to be one of the older girls sitting on a stone bench near the house. In a few paces he could see that it was Louisa. The wind was stirring and she sat, trying to keep the pages of a book from blowing closed. She herself finally closed the book and looked up, allowing the wind to blow her hair from her face as she wore no bonnet. Again he stopped his horse and just sat. She looked to be the same as when he had left her, perhaps a trifle thinner and paler, but it was still winter and the sun had not been very favorable this year. As he watched, he noticed that the old house dog, Caper, he thought they had told him, was running up behind her carrying a stick.
The dog ran faster towards the girl and as he rounded the bench, tossed the stick down and began to bark. Louisa was obviously frightened by the dog and started noticeably. The dog continued to bark, wanting her to play, but Louisa drew back, terrified. She stood to leave, but Caper jumped up on her; obviously thinking her now ready to play, he barked more excitedly than before. Louisa hurriedly picked up the stick and tossed it, but not far enough to suit the dog, he stayed at her. She turned and began to run to the house. The dog followed, barking loudly until she was able to enter the house, slamming the door shut behind her.
Good God. She cannot even manage a dog. She must have been dreadfully hurt and I was just not told. But then I did not make myself much available for telling either, he thought as he walked the horse towards the door. A groom quickly came and took her away. They were obviously on the watch for him.
Meanwhile, Louisa was endeavoring to calm herself when Henrietta came to find her crying in the great room.
"Louisa, what is wrong, why do you cry?" she asked, hurrying to her sister.
"Oh! Etta, when shall I stop being so startled by such simple things? I was quietly reading and that beast, Caper, barked at me and now look," she held out her shaking hands for her sister to see, "I am as a leaf in the winds. All he wanted was a stick thrown, but he crept up on me and barked and now I am undone! When will this stop?" she cried. She buried her face in her sister's shoulder. Louisa was relieved it was Henrietta who had found her, all the rest in the household, especially Mama, treated her as if she would never be well again, Etta held no such pity for her and always encouraged and reminded how much better she was.
Louisa had regained her physical strength quickly, but the health of her head was slower in coming. While she had not lost a great deal of her abilities, her nerves were always tight and could be rattled by the smallest things. There were times when she had difficulty keeping to a particular thought and sometimes, even simple words were a chore to recall. The surgeon had been gladdened to find no traces of fits or fainting and had told the Musgroves that they had much to be thankful for in her recovery.
Pulling her sister away from her and looking her in the eye, she said, "You will be all well, very soon. All this is just from coming home and being in this harum-scarum household again. You have improved and will continue to do so. Just lie back and rest a bit, let me have your pelisse to hang for you." Taking Louisa's cloak, she began to turn for the hallway. The both heard the knocker at the same time. Louisa sat as Henrietta stood, both waiting to see who it might be. The one had no expectations and the other hoped for her fiance. Both were shocked to see the servant guide Captain Wentworth past the doors of the great room.
Henrietta turned quickly to Louisa and moved to her sister's side. "What do you suppose he is doing here?"
"I have not an idea, I am sure," Louisa said, puzzled. She had not seen Captain Wentworth since December, when he had left Lyme for Plymouth. Even before his departure, she had not seen much of him. She had been told he had gone on to his brother's in Shropshire, that urgent business had called him away; he had never made any attempt to communicate with her, so all she knew was from the telling of others. His leaving had laid her low for only a short time, the kind attentions from the Harvilles and Captain Benwick had raised her spirits greatly. At one time, she had even fancied that Captain Benwick might like her, but he had seemed to withdraw soon after she thought that. But now, here was Captain Wentworth, in her home, being shown to her father's study by all indications. What might he want?
"Sister! what if he is here to ask for your hand? That would be so exciting!" Henrietta was nearly beside herself with anticipation. "I thought you had heard nothing from him?"
Louisa was more puzzled than excited. She had put him aside weeks ago and now to have him here was perplexing. She did not wish to raise her own hopes, but what else could be the explanation? "No, I have not heard anything from him since Lyme. I had no notion of his coming."
"Surely you are the reason he has come! There can be no other reasonable excuse. He has had much time to think on things and has no doubt heard from his friends in Lyme about how well you are. Now he is come! How wonderful a thing," Henrietta said, excitedly.
"I think it would be best to wait and know for certain before you have me being swept away as a bride," said Louisa with a great deal of doubt.
Her sister took her hands, "Think about it! What else would bring him here? He has certainly not come to ask leave to hunt the grounds! No. I think the Captain is back for much more important things than birds." She smiled slyly as she looked at Louisa.
Louisa kept her own counsel on this point. Of course not, it is not the season for birds.
"Captain Wentworth, sir."
Mr Musgrove looked up from his papers. He was surprised to see the Captain this early in the morning. Wentworth looked as though he had been travelling all day and night and had had no rest. Musgrove had been expecting him for several days and was not encouraged by his taking so long to arrive. Though, he had been hoping and had the servants prepared for a visitor. It did not seem to be a good sign; a man anxious to marry does not take so long when he is extended an invitation to make the match final. But Wentworth's dishevelled look, perhaps, told another tale.
"Mr Musgrove, how are you today?" Frederick said as he extended his hand. He knew that the letter being misdirected put him there late, he was not certain as to how long. His only hope was to explain the situation to Mr Musgrove and presume upon his goodwill. He had risked the wrath of his brother by not laying over Sunday, as he had said he would, again hoping that this would show Mr Musgrove that he was desirous of a good resolution to this circumstance.
"I am very well, Captain Wentworth. You on the other hand look as though you have been riding to beat the devil. Why such a hurry? I did not mean for you to stretch yourself so far to have this matter done with," Mr Musgrove said kindly. No need to have the man ruin himself before the wedding.
The men shook hands and then sat. "Can I get you anything, Captain? You are rather early, have you had breakfast? I can have Cook prepare something." Mr Musgrove wished no more than this all to be taken care of amiably and nothing, to his way of thinking, brought that about better than a stomach full from a good breakfast. Frederick, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to be freed from the situation and, to his way of thinking, being slowed by a heavy meal was the last thing he needed.
"No, thank you, Mr Musgrove. I shall repair to Kellynch when we have concluded here and then will have something, but again, thank you. I wished to explain the reason I am so late in responding to your letter and look in such disarray; your letter was grossly misdirected and just arrived in Shropshire on Friday. Knowing that I could outstrip the post, I left the next morning and have even travelled through Sunday to arrive here in a timely manner." Perhaps if I show him deference in a quick arrival, he will not think me such a rake when I try and convince him that I should not marry his daughter.
Risked Sunday travel to arrive here promptly, that bodes well. "So that is why it has taken so long. I feared something worse. The mails are a fright these days. That is the very reason I wished that we should conduct this civilly, face-to-face. Who knows what evil might have come leaving this to the whims of the post? So, the ride from Shropshire was good? No snow?"
"The ride was cold, but there was no real weather to speak of. Nothing harsh."
There was a silence as each man gathered his thoughts. While both were anxious to have a conclusion of this interview, neither was wanting to begin. A mantel clock chimed the half hour and ticked away. Tea was called for and brought, poured and passed. Mr Musgrove determined that it was he who must begin the conversation.
"I know that these talks are difficult and that no man wishes to be placed in this position." I still remember that nasty badger, Papa Hayter, glarin' down on me when I asked for Sadie's hand. He took such glee in havin' the right to refuse me. The look upon Mr Musgrove's face reflected his memory of his father-in-law. It was not a cordial mien to be sure.
That scowl does not portend of good things I am certain. He no doubt means by, "This position," having to call me back here to make good on raising his daughter's expectations. "No, and an honourable man does not shy away when brought to such a place."
No, by Jove; an honourable man stays to his purpose and stares down the old codger and comes away with the wife he wants! "Yes, quite right. There are times when an honourable man is forced to the most difficult of things to bring about the best for all concerned."
"Yes. It is imperative that the best be done for all concerned," he echoed back to Mr Musgrove. He decided to move to another course; they had quite established what an honourable man was expected to do and what he would do, if he were indeed honourable. "I have just seen your daughter. She looks well." Perhaps I can pry from him her complete condition, he thought.
She looks well, but my Louisa has ever been changed by her tragedy. No more going everywhere as though on the wind, he thought, recalling his daughter and her lively and high-spirited ways. These all seemed to be gone and the new girl was taken over by fretting and nerves. None of the family had ever been given over to such ways and the behaviour was not understood. Musgrove suddenly realised that Wentworth would be expecting him to say something and roused himself to it. "Yes. She does look well. I am afraid though that she is somewhat changed from the young woman you knew here some months ago." He stood and went to the fireplace. Lifting the tails on his coat, he warmed himself. "She is pleasant enough, as before; she is just not as lively and gay." He hoped he had not said too much, it would not do to have the Captain believe her too terribly altered. For the Musgroves there did not seem to be any hope of Louisa returning to what was considered by them to be normal. To them , she would ever be damaged and not quite right ever again.
Just as Musgrove was about to continue, there was a very small knock at the door; it came from the lower half and was followed by a little girl's voice, "Papa, Papa, may I come in?"
The look on Mr Musgrove's face softened markedly. The voice was that of the youngest Musgrove, Arabella. She was nearly five and the pet of the house. Her appearance at Uppercross had livened up the household and had given the elder Musgroves an inordinate amount of joy. With the three oldest married or very near, and the younger boys and girls at school, Mrs Musgrove had been dispirited with no real womanly occupation. (To her mind, the only genuine, womanly occupation being the raising of children.) When they had brought her from Winthrop where she had been staying with their brother Hayter, a light had returned to Mrs Musgrove's eye which had left with the long-petted Master Harry as he had left for school. She had taken refuge in Arabella and when Master Harry had been rusticated back home for 'ungentlemanly conduct,' she had done the only thing expected of a mother, she gathered them both in her ample arms and rejoiced that she now had two children at home to care for. Though this meeting with Captain Wentworth was important, he could not refuse to allow her a moment of his time. He went to the door and opened it to admit his little girl.
The Captain had been aware of a very young child in the Musgrove home, but had never seen her, he had only heard of her. As Musgrove opened the door, he saw a very small girl with curling, reddish blond hair, sweet pink cheeks and a chubby fist holding a book. Mr Musgrove bent and scooped her into his arms; she squealed with delight as he took her to the desk with him. Placing her firmly in his lap as he seated himself, he looked at Captain Wentworth and introduced them, "Captain Wentworth, this is the youngest in our family-circle, our youngest daughter, Arabella. Arabella, I would like you to say hello to Captain Wentworth."
Being in a household with mostly adults had kept Arabella from the shyness that many children exhibit when faced with an introduction of this nature and her imperfect speech was the only circumstance which kept her from being the most well-spoken child in the county. Sliding from Mr Musgrove's lap, she looked straight into the Captain's eyes and said, "I am pleathed to meet you, thir." Then gave him a proper curtsey. There was no way to escape the charm of the youngest Miss Musgrove and putting aside the anxiety of the present circumstances, he rose and bowed properly to her and said how delighted he was to meet her.
Even as she trundled back into Mr Musgrove's lap, it was clear that he had no intentions of allowing her to stay as he quickly put himself to asking why she had come to him. "I want a thtory and there ith no one to read to me," she said, showing him a book of faerie stories.
"I am certain that Henrietta or Louisa could read to you, darling."
"Henrietta ith bithy with her trutheau and Nurth thaid that Louitha can't read to me any more!" The words of the child were emphatic and punctuated by a nodding of the head.
Looking sympathetically into Arabella's disconcerted face, he said, "That is true, but you know why and should not make so much of it. And I am quite busy with the Captain here, so you must be good and go on out." He made no move to put Arabella down, he in fact, held her closer and laid his cheek upon her head. Closing his eyes for a moment, he remembered Louisa when she was four, their resemblance was striking and the recollection could not be helped. "She is the image of Louisa at this age," he said to Wentworth.
Frederick had watched all this unfold, but had been particularly taken when the girl had said that Louisa could no longer read to her. Good God, has she been so damaged that she has lost even that? The guilt he felt grew.
"Arabella! Where have you got off to? Mama needs you!" The one calling was Mrs Musgrove. She came calling for the girl and poking her head in the door saw Arabella with her uncle. "There you are, my poppet! Nurse has your tea and cakes upstairs . . . Captain Wentworth! I had no idea that you had come! How are you?" Mrs Musgrove had turned to see the Captain and entered to greet him properly. After the civilities were done, Mrs Musgrove made clear by her actions that she was to stay and become a part of the discussion.
"I am well, Mrs Musgrove. I was just introduced to youngest member of the family. She is very lovely," he said not knowing else what to say.
"All the girls of this house are lovely, Captain." Turning to her husband, she said, "Are you discussing Louisa?" Her tone was one of anxious interest.
Rising, Mr Musgrove placed Arabella on the floor, with her giving a small hop. "Mrs M., The Captain and I are endeavoring to conclude some business and have been interrupted too often. Now will you take Arabella and read her a story? She is wild for a faerie story." As he spoke, he moved both wife and the girl towards the door. Mrs. Musgrove was not to be put off, now that she knew Captain Wentworth was in her home, she was determined to know his business.
After she shooed Arabella upstairs to the nursery and her tea, Mrs Musgrove said, "Sir, I hope when you have concluded, you will take time to see Louisa and how well she is. It is nearly impossible to see her now and realise that she is the same one that you so inadvertently dropped on the Cobb." Mrs Musgrove's look was one of complete innocence. She had not an idea in her mind as to the evil of her words. But they worked upon Frederick Wentworth with all the force of a hill of rock falling on, and burying him.
He was suddenly pitched back to that day on the Cobb in Lyme. In the weeks following the accident, as he had ridden and walked about the fine countryside of Lyme, he had gone over the events in his mind nearly day and night. All the conversation leading up to the decision to go from the Upper to the Lower Cobb. Which of the ladies had been first down; he and Benwick had passed down first, Benwick being careful to see that Anne was safely down. All those times he had been certain of the exact events. Had he merely remembered himself innocent when the truth was so much different? He could remember jumping Louisa down the first time. He could remember the feel of her hands upon his shoulders and how his hands encircled her waist. It had been easy and from not a great height, but upon landing her to the hard pavement she instantly ran further up the steps to have the thrill repeated. He had tried to reason in the tiny bit of time he was given by her, but to no avail. He had put out his arms to her and she had jumped; his next true memory was of himself looking into Louisa's pallid and lifeless face.
Before that, he had no memory of catching her or for that matter, not catching her. Had he indeed dropped her? He had presumed himself innocent of such a thing, as no one had hinted at it, nor did his own memory accuse him. But what if he was not remembering rightly? In all his years writing reports for the Admiralty of actions and battles at sea, he had always depended upon his own memory. That was not to say there were not times the reports of others gave a differing account, but these could generally be reconciled by differences in locale, occupation and the degree of fear experienced by the teller. If he were indeed guilty of such a thing, there was no possible way to extricate himself from marriage . . .
"Oh God! her father and mother!" These were the words he had cried after Louisa had been raised up and supported by her brother and Captain Benwick. He could still feel the rough, cool stone beneath his hands; the pounding of his own heart in his ears. People were beginning to come round to see what the commotion was about. Benwick had been sent for a surgeon, but even the more sensible of those who remained were suffering from the shock of the events. As he had begun to carry Louisa to the inn, Harville appeared and had insisted that she be taken to their home to await the surgeon. He had done so and Louisa was consigned to the care of Mrs Harville and Anne. He recalled the surgeon telling them that he had seen more desperate cases and that he was not in any way hopeless. The relief and thankfulness had flooded Frederick and when a short calm had overtaken the party, he recalled being overwhelmed by many feelings which had driven him to prayer and reflection.
But now here were her father and mother. While he had prayed fervent and thankful prayers that Louisa had not died, he now knew her to be in such a state that might be considered worse than death. Her head was weak and she could no longer read, what other wrong might there be? The most abominable part of the matter was that he had been wholly responsible. Not only that, he had allowed her to be foolish in perpetuating her heedless behaviour, behaviour that he himself had enjoyed. What had he been thinking in jumping her over stiles, placing his hands around her waist and touching her in such an intimate way? He had not considered what others might think about his actions, much less think about how the girl herself would view them. He had gone against his own judgement in helping her to jump to the ground from those stairs the first time. Had he not tried to reason with her? There had been no real reasoning, it had only been the same teasing and flirting that they had engaged in all those weeks; had he resolutely told her no and made no moves which gave her a false hope of being caught . . . All this tragedy came down to one material point, he felt himself as responsible for that small group of people, as though they all had been on board the Laconia, and he had behaved badly and Louisa now suffered the consequences. He was responsible and there was no changing the facts of the matter. Coming back to the present, he became aware that the Musgroves were having a rather heated exchange.
"Mama! You know very well that Charles said no such thing! He was quite clear that Louisa jumped too quickly and that there was no way for the Captain to stop her. There was no dropping of her, Sadie! Be silent upon this." Mr Musgrove stood to his full height to underscore his point.
Mrs Musgrove looked severely at her husband, this was obviously a hard point between the two of them. It was not clear as to why she had begun the topic, but she was not going to leave it now. "But Mary says differently! If I was to chuse who is the more heedful of this sort of thing, I will take Mary. Charles is more mindful of the how many birds taken or what was for breakfast than things of true importance."
Frederick stood horrified. What if, for once in her wretched life, Mary Musgrove has seen the exact truth? What if I did indeed drop that poor girl? The guilt he had brought with him to Uppercross had grown enormously in the past few moments and was threatening to overtake all common sense. In his mind, he knew that all he could do was put aside any fears of the girl's condition, present or future, and offer for her. He had seen her flee from a simple exchange with the family pet and heard from her young sister's lips that she could no longer read and now, here was the implication of full blame in the matter. He had no choice, his honour required that he offer himself and await her acceptance.
"Louisa, Louisa! I wonder where she might have gone off to." Mr Musgrove had searched most of the house looking for his daughter. Wishing to present her with Captain Wentworth's proposal, he continued on with his hunt. Calling her again as he came around the corner to the side entrance to the great room, he heard Louisa call . . .
"Yes, Papa. I was in here reading." Louisa closed the book she had been struggling with. It had been one which James Benwick had read to her while she recovered in Lyme. It was very philosophical, but had made complete sense when he had read it and they had discussed all the finer points. But now, without his help, it seemed to make no sense. "What do you need, Papa?" she asked.
Closing the doors to the hallway and guiding Louisa to the sofa, they sat and with a delighted look, he began," My dear, the time has come to put aside the things of the past few months. Your future is very bright and now is the time when we must make some plans for it. My dear, I do not know if you were aware, but Captain Wentworth came to see me this morning. Quite early in fact. I had sent him a letter, requesting that he come back to the district so that we might have some things settled." Extending his hand to her, her father said, "Louisa, Captain Wentworth has asked for permission to marry you. I have given my consent and now all that is left is for you to accept him. What do you say, girl?"
Louisa was stunned by the question. While the Captain had shown a marked preference for her in the autumn passed, his attentions of late had been nonexistent. To suddenly show himself, asking to marry her seemed out of place. But, over the past hour, thoughts of him had been stirring in her brain. He was still so well-looking and had that air of the sea. A man of good fortune and manners. She would be foolish to refuse. "I would be proud to accept his proposal, Papa." With these few words, the deed was done.
Mr Musgrove was pleased by the interview with Captain Wentworth and the result of it being the engagement of his daughter to a very eligible man. While there had been some unusual conditions; in some ways strictures really, placed upon it, Mr Musgrove felt them to be nothing that his ingenious wife could not easily meet with, so complete was his faith in her abilities. Captain Wentworth had agreed to appear at a breakfast for the family the next morning where they all would be told of the engagement. Directly after, he would be off to Plymouth where urgent business called him. His diligence speaks well of him, thought Musgrove. To the gentleman, it was a mark of superiority that personal enjoyment would be forfeited for duty.
As Mr Musgrove prepared to write an invitation to his brother Hayter at Winthrop, he came across the letter which had begun the entire series of actions being capped by the engagement. Mr Musgrove opened and reread the letter which had been sent to him some weeks ago. It read:.
Mr Musgrove,
I hope this finds you and your family in health. It is with a great deal of joy that I say your daughter is doing well. The surgeon says he is no longer needed. Captain Benwick is spending much of his time reading and discussing with her. As he helps her to exercise her mind, she seems to improve daily. It is heartening to hear their laughter as they tussle over finer points of view. I have taken this letter upon myself as I feel a responsibility to not only you; you having left Louisa in the care of my wife and me, but also to Captain Benwick. Mr Musgrove, I see a growing closeness between the two of them which I am not certain is advisable. James is a good man, I would not have countenanced the engagement of my sister to him if that were not the case, but he is a man with a heart which is only slowly mending from the death of that good woman. His attachment to your daughter, while certainly genuine, must be tempered with the circumstances. Carefully consider this and if the connexion is to your satisfaction, then I shall keep my peace; however, if you are not comfortable with the match, then I shall have no scruple in using whatever influence I may have with my friend. I only desire the best for all parties concerned.
Capt. Timothy Harville, R.N.
January ___1815
It was in fact this very letter which had prompted corresponding with Captain Wentworth and asking him to come and finally settle matters between the two of them. Folding the letter back and taking it to the fire, he recalled the conversation he had held in this very room with Captain Harville. The conversation which had made clear Captain Benwick's not being truly interested in his daughter.
Tossing the letter into the flames, Mr Musgrove remembered the serious look of Harville the moment they had arrived from Lyme when he and Mrs Harville had brought Louisa home. After seeing the girl settled, he had made a point of coming to her father directly and asking to speak with him. "Please, Mr Musgrove, sir. May I have a word with you? in private if you do not mind." They had stepped into the study and settled in to talk.
" . . . So you can see, sir. No blame can be laid at James Benwick's door. It was solely my doing and if you have any anger on this, it must come to me. I was heedless to write such a letter without consulting my friend of his feelings. It is the fault of my wife and I that he was even in such an awkward arrangement. In those first few days that your daughter needed to be watched over so closely, we took advantage of James' kind nature and by the time she did not need to be cared for in such a way, the household habit was quite established and that left Benwick , as I said before, in a very awkward arrangement. All I can do is to humble myself and apologise to you for possibly raising expectations in your daughter that are unfounded. I am truly sorry, sir." Captain Harville had been as truly sorry as any man that Mr Musgrove had ever seen. Forgiveness had come speedily and with a generous amount of assurance that no real harm was done, that Louisa knew nothing of the letter and would never know of it.
"I must tell you Captain, I admire a man who is able to admit his mistakes with an open face and take what may come. Would that we were all of such a nature," Musgrove had declared with a hearty pat on the back for the young man. Would that we were all of the nature, indeed. thought Musgrove as he watched the last of the letter disappear.
Later, when Louisa and her mother were told of the conditions between Mr Musgrove and the Captain, there was a great commotion.
"But, Charles! It is a wedding, it cannot be got off properly in only a fortnight! And by Common License into the bargain! There must be time to chuse and make the dress and there is the trousseau to gather; she cannot possibly be married in a fortnight! Why was such a thing agreed upon?" wailed Mrs Musgrove. Louisa sat silently, listening to her parents tussle over the matter.
"The Captain was very particular about the time. It was his pointed wish that things be done quickly. He will come for breakfast tomorrow morning and we will make the announcement, and then he shall ride to Plymouth for some days, he has business which calls him there. There is no use in lamenting the haste of it, I have agreed and nothing can be changed. Oh, I have already sent a note round to our brother Hayter, inviting them to the breakfast." He rose from his chair and helped his wife from hers, "Dear, you will have no trouble arranging all this, you are the mistress of the impromptu fete. It will be lovely." With that he kissed her cheek and left to his study to write letters to the more distant family.
Mrs Musgrove began making lists in her mind as to all the things to be done in the next week and a half. "List of guests, food for guests, get rooms ready for the travelling guests, wash all the china and glasses, my it is a lot to think on . . .Alice! We are putting on a wedding!"she called as she left the great room for the kitchen.
Louisa stayed in her seat. This was to be her wedding and her parents were already seeing it as just another fete. She gave a sigh. It was clear that her opinions were not to be consulted. She rose and went to the window.
As she watched tiny sparrows hop across the walkway, Louisa thought about the Captain. He had been so quiet and unsmiling when he had returned for her answer later in the day. Her father had brought them together in the sitting room and told him of her acceptance. There had been no burst of feeling, not even a hint of a smile. In the fall he had been all smiles. All smiles and laughter and jesting. Sometimes serious, but always a smattering of humour. She comforted herself that her brother, Charles was generally a funny man, always given to finding the humour in things; when he was particularly serious, he made no jokes and cut no capers. Perhaps that was the way of men, to be quiet and solemn when they were engaging in important matters. A smile came to her; he had kissed her. It had not been a warm and tender kiss, and he had only come close to her lips, but she owed all that to her father's presence. The Captain was well-born enough to be sensible in her father's presence. All the same, she hoped that their next kiss would be more satisfying. Thinking back to the wedding, she murmured aloud, "Perhaps Mama will talk of the dress later." As she stood, she found herself idly drawing in the fog on the window. "L . . . I . . . W." Louisa Isobel Wentworth It sounded grand. I wonder why I do not feel such?
Dismounting, Frederick began to unfasten his bags from the saddle. As he took the last one off, the horse made a noise which told of her relief. He had been quite merciless on her in the past three days. She had brought him from Shropshire speedily enough and then upon arriving in Somerset, he had given her no rest until now. After his interview with Mr Musgrove, he had left Uppercross and ridden to Winthrop and back, hoping that would be enough time for her father to lay the proposal before Louisa. All during his ride, he had teased himself with ideas of her refusing him, but these had only been games to pass the time. Upon his return to the Mansion, he had been taken to the girl and she had, of course, accepted him. Mr Musgrove had beamed, Louisa had smiled and blushed, he had stood rigid and somber. There had been a shallow attempt at a kiss, he had purposely gone wide of the target. The truth be known, when he had first come to Kellynch, he had liked Louisa, he had preferred her over her sister; it was only in the shadow of Anne that Louisa came short. It was in light of this earlier liking that he did not wish to hurt her. He had made his plans and if they took the shape he desired, things would be settled. They would not be to his exact liking, but they could be endured.
A groom happened recognise him as he rode up and was waiting to take her to the barn. There you old beast, rest yourself, you deserve it, he though as he hoisted the bags to his shoulder.
"Captain Wentworth! I had no idea you were back in the district! The Admiral and Mrs Croft are in Bath at present and there are no plans for them to return in the near future," Harkness said with a great deal of surprise as he opened the door to find the Captain standing, bags in hand, awaiting entry.
Brushing past the man, he barked in a clipped fashion, "I am well aware of the location of my sister and brother, Harkness. I shall take my old rooms." Using his quarterdeck tone of voice, he began the preparations for his next, long campaign. Taking the stairs two at a time, he continued to address the servant, "I will need you to come to my room in one hour to collect some letters I will have for the post. I will require a bath as soon as it can be drawn. I will have whatever the staff is having for dinner tonight. Lastly, I will be leaving early in the morning and will require no breakfast; I will be gone until Thursday next so you needn't deal with me past tonight. Thank you, Harkness." He continued down the long hall to the rooms which were his, he entered and closed the door rather sharply.
"Very good, sir," said Harkness to himself.
Author's NoteI'm sure that as you began this new piece, you recognised the beginning as the last chapter of, 'A Brother is Born for Adversity.' As you read on, you saw that this story has hoisted a few more sails and is taking a new tack. Part of that new tack is introducing you to a writing partner. Her name is Laura Louise and she has the ability to take you from laughter to tears in less than four lines. I know you will enjoy her contributions to the story.
As I have fumbled my way along writing about Frederick's journey back to Anne, one comment that always intrigued me was, "Thank Heavens I know the story and how it ends!" The interesting thing about posting a story on the web is that the reader is at the mercy of the author. For once, you can't skip to the last page and see how it ends, you can't tell whether things are wrapping up by the fact there are so few pages left, and you will never know where this thing was supposed to end.
While I use the term 'author' at times, I prefer to call myself a storyteller. One of the responsibilities of the storyteller is to take the timeless things and make them new; to take old ideas and fit them into new faces, places and situations. Laura and I will do our best to do this. We will endeavor to present you with good storytelling, a good plot and show you that we care a great deal for these characters. The first rule of writing a romance is, "There must be a happy ending." We promise you that.
SusanK & Laura Louise
Chapter 2
Anne was in her bedroom, sitting at her small writing desk by the window, finishing her weekly letter to Mary.
On Saturday evening, we attended a card party at the home of Sir Clifton Farley, where we were introduced to his wife and daughter. Father was very pleased with the invitation, as Sir Clifton is quite an influential leader in Bath society. Elizabeth was at last able to wear her new sapphire gown. She was much admired.
Anne paused, wondering how to continue. Vividly she remembered the stunning good looks of her sister as she wore the lovely gown with the Elliot sapphire and diamond jewelry. Yes, Elizabeth had been very much admired, most pointedly by Sir Clifton. His effusive compliments had scandalized Anne, for not only was he married, but he was probably old enough to be Elizabeth's father! Sir Walter had seen nothing wrong, nor had Elizabeth, who received his attentions with pleasure. This had shocked Anne even more. She chose to leave these reflections out of her letter.
Father and Elizabeth assure me that during the winter season there is almost no society here, but I do not see that this is the case at all. They are very much occupied throughout the week. The spring season should prove to be most eventful.
She paused, remembering that Mary was sensitive and prone to melancholy. News of others' pleasure only made her life at Uppercross seem more confining. Anne decided to add:
Perhaps spring would be a good time for you to come for a visit. Elizabeth has been having the front bedroom redecorated and she will be pleased to have guests.
Anne sighed, remembering the days of debate and discussion between her father and sister on the subject of paint colour and fabric. How she had struggled to keep her composure! Not once was the subject of expense ever brought up. Elizabeth and Sir Walter had been in high spirits, pleased with this and every other aspect of their new life in Bath.
Anne laid down her pen and covered her face with her hands. Elizabeth and Father! To listen to them, one would think we have changed our residence by choice, not by need. If we outspend our income this time, what will we do? We have no money in reserve. What will Elizabeth and I do if . . . A lump came to Anne's throat, a sure sign that panic and anxiety would begin to overwhelm her again. She must not give in! She took a deep breath, pushed the thought of the Debt aside, and picked up her pen to finish the letter.
We are in good health and I trust that you are well also. I am pleased to hear about Louisa's steady recovery and journey home.
Anne signed the letter and sealed it. The journey home. Louisa finally made the journey home. She sighed, got up, and stood gazing out the window. I have made my journey home. I am home. Bath is now my home.
Her bedroom window looked down into a courtyard; a light rain blew against the glass panes. The leaden skies and dreariness outside mirrored the heaviness in Anne's heart. This feeling had been building for days and she could not escape it. How I dislike Bath!
The prospect from her window did nothing to lighten her mood. Row after row of rooftops, in differing shades of grey and black. Smoking chimneys. Barren trees. Everything wet. Anne shut her eyes. I have tried. I must try harder. I must learn to accept this.
She opened her eyes and traced along the glass with her finger. A slight movement caught her attention down in the courtyard. She leaned against the casement to see what it was: a cat. It jumped up onto the wall and then down, making its way stealthily across the paving stones as it searched for shelter. Then it was gone. Anne's thoughts wandered with the cat.
I wonder what sort of life that cat has, with no place to call its own. She wandered over to the fireplace and stood looking into the flames. In my own way, I feel very much like that . . . a stray cat.
I have found places to stay for a while, but not a home. I visit Mary's home, and Lady Russell's home, and . . . Whose home is this? Anne smiled wryly. Of course, this is Elizabeth's home. I am a guest in Elizabeth's home. A guest by need, not by choice. A guest who is welcomed tolerantly, not sincerely . . .
I think I would rather be that cat outside! He can jump over the wall, whereas I . . . Oh!
To continue in this way would never do. She had been spending far too much time fretting about the rather bleak prospects for her future. She began to pace the floor. The thing is, I need to find something to occupy myself . . . and I can think of absolutely nothing!
Now if she were in Kellynch, today she would be visiting the poor widows of the parish, a task which had once been her mother's, and a pleasant one; she had known these women for years. She would be taking with her the basket of food parcels Cook would have already prepared. Well, she could not do that here. However, there were probably plenty of poor widows here who needed visiting; perhaps she should 'tramp 'round' and find some! Her mouth twisted into a little smile. Wouldn't Elizabeth be pleased!
But the idea of 'tramping 'round' sounded encouraging. But where to go? Then she recalled that her supply of writing paper was almost gone. All right, a stroll to the stationer's would answer nicely.
As she hunted for her reticule and gloves, the irony of her decision dawned upon her. Here I am, becoming agitated about expenses . . . and now I decide to go shopping! She rolled her eyes. Is this not The Elliot Way?
Anne opened the doors of her wardrobe vigorously. Well, I will buy cheap stationery! She selected the hat she thought might hold up best in rainy weather and pulled on her heaviest coat.
Anne found herself smiling as she opened the bedroom door. Out I go, to wander, like the cat!
Anne descended the stairs, pulling on her gloves, humming a little as she thought about the freeing prospect of a brisk walk on her own. From out of the dining room came a small rather sharp-faced woman, stylishly dressed in black. She crossed the hall and quickly went out the main door. Anne could hear Elizabeth and Mrs. Clay talking and laughing within. She opened the dining room door and stepped inside.
"Excuse me, Elizabeth, but I am going out. Are there any errands . . . " Anne began. "Oh!" She broke off in surprise. The dining table was littered with fabric samples of every colour, and piles of drawings depicting different dress patterns were scattered everywhere. Anne groaned inwardly. More new clothes! More expense!!
Elizabeth glanced up. "No, thank you, Anne. We are rather occupied this morning with Madame Beauvalet. "Oh, Penelope dear, would you run up and fetch those amber beads we spoke of?" Elizabeth was in a cheerful frame of mind, as she always was when making purchases.
As Mrs. Clay left the room, Anne bent to pick up a sample which had fallen to the floor. It was a pale periwinkle blue silk, labeled Pervenche, one of her favourite spring colours. It would make up into a lovely gown. She quickly put it on the table. "These are beautiful." She hesitated. "But Elizabeth, didn't you just buy several new things several months ago?"
"Oh yes, but these are for the spring season." Elizabeth continued making selections. "Those other gowns and things were for autumn, dear." She spoke to Anne as one would to a dull-witted child. "You see, we must keep up with Fashion now that we live in town. We must not be behind the times."
Anne began again. "But, didn't we . . . I mean, aren't we here in order to live more simply and economize?"
"We are economizing, Anne. Just think! Father has all the income from letting Kellynch Hall, plus what we had before. We can afford a few extras. You worry too much." Elizabeth bent to examine the pattern for a ladies coat.
Anne drew up a chair near her sister and sat down. "But, Elizabeth, have you consid . . . "
Elizabeth straightened up. "Anne, I have had enough of your lectures and strictures about money. Enough, do you hear? We want to move in the first circles here and that means dressing accordingly. You may wear your dowdy old gowns if you must economize, although let me tell you that sometimes I want to sink in embarrassment at your appearance. You may be a pinch penny if you wish. I mean to enjoy myself." She took a deep breath in order to compose her countenance, smiled politely at Anne, and turned back to her fabric samples.
"Elizabeth, I'm sorry, but I've been thinking and . . . "
"Well? Is there more?"
Anne fingered the buttons on her coat sleeve. There was never a good time to speak to Elizabeth about money, but this was one of the few occasions when no one else was present in the room. Anne decided to continue. She took a deep breath and fixed her eyes on Elizabeth's face.
"Well . . . I have been doing some thinking lately. And yes, I am worried. Elizabeth, have you considered what would happen to us if we were no longer to have the income from the Kellynch estate? If Father . . . "
"If Father what?"
"If Father were to . . . die . . . unexpected . . . "
"Anne Elliot! The idea!"
"But have you considered?"
"I have no need to consider anything of the kind! Father is in perfect health. To listen to you one would think he had one foot in the grave!" Elizabeth lifted her head. "Besides, it doesn't matter. Now that we are in a larger society, I don't mean to waste my time. We have already met a number of charming, eligible gentlemen. When I am married . . . " she smiled at the thought, "When I am married, my husband will provide for me. I do mean to marry well."
Anne was silent. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. She must say something, this awful thing which she had begun to suspect, pieced together from stray comments made by Mr. Shepherd last year. Her irritation at her sister melted into pity. Oh Elizabeth, you don't know the worst . . . She spoke quickly.
"I, too, would wish to marry someday . . . but the lack of dowry . . . "
"What lack of dowry? We have no lack of dowry. We have a settlement from Mother which should make us very acceptable to any gentleman."
"Bethie, are you sure?"
Elizabeth frowned at Anne's use of her childhood name. "Of course, I'm sure. I'm not a simpleton, Anne. Mary was given her equal share when she married, which I happen to know was three thousand pounds. We each will have the same."
"Yes, we will divide what is left, but . . . " Anne looked searchingly into Elizabeth's face. How can I make her understand?
Elizabeth looked annoyed. "Exactly what are you saying?"
"Elizabeth, retrenching here to Bath was our last resort. Our very last! Everything else, every other avenue open to Father was exhausted. Even 'borrowing' from the settlement money." Anne swallowed hard and continued. "Mary did have her share of the settlement. But that was some time ago. I have come to suspect that between us we will not have even half as much, maybe much . . . less."
Elizabeth's face paled, then reddened in anger. "Anne Elliot, that is a falsehood! You 'have come to suspect,' indeed! And how dare you accuse me of being . . . "
Footsteps sounded in the entry hall. Elizabeth pursed her lips.
Mrs. Clay entered the room, smilingly holding out the beads. "I'm sorry, but these were difficult to locate. Here you are."
"Thank you." Elizabeth stood up. She picked up a dress card with a grey silk sample attached and tossed it to another section of the table. "There," she looked significantly at Anne. "Since you insist, and in order to show you that I, too, know how to economize, I will not purchase this one."
"Elizabeth, I did not mean . . . "
"You should know that this will present an embarrassing difficulty to me, Anne, since I will need to remove it from the order Madame Beauvalet has already begun writing." She waved her hand at a handwritten list at the other end of the table. "Imagine, an Elliot canceling an order! I hope you are satisfied."
Anne reddened in embarrassment. "But she has just taken that order this morning. Surely . . . "
"Yes, and it will be all over town by this evening, I imagine. Madame Beauvalet has one of the busiest tongues in town."
"I wonder that you would patronize such a woman if that is the case," Anne said quietly.
"Because," Elizabeth countered, "she is the most talented dressmaker in Bath. Everyone who is anyone goes to her. Except you."
Yes, indeed, thought Anne, except me.
Elizabeth tossed her head and resumed her seat. "Don't mind Anne, Penelope. She has been in a vile mood these past few days and is intent on spoiling my morning. Well, it won't work."
"Oh, Miss Anne," soothed Mrs Clay. "Madame Beauvalet's creations are absolutely delightful. They are finer than anything I will ever own."
Elizabeth's face brightened. She thought for a moment, and then she spoke. "Do you know, I have just had an idea. Yes, how perfect! An inspiration! According to Anne, she gave a meaningful look, "I am not to overspend on clothes for myself. However, I think, Penelope, that I will have that grey silk made up for you, instead. Then it will be a gift, and not for me at all! There!" Elizabeth smiled triumphantly.
"Oh, Miss Elliot!" Breathed Mrs. Clay.
Anne regarded her sister in shocked silence. A gift!? But we will have to pay . . . She gave up. How could she make her sister see the truth when she deliberately chose to ignore it? She stood, managing to murmur, "If you have no errands for me, I will wish you a good morning, then."
"Yes, Penelope, it will be just perfect! I absolutely insist." Elizabeth watched Anne out of the corner of her eyes. Seeing that she was preparing to leave, Elizabeth fired her parting shot.
"Do you know, Anne, I believe that Mama was right." She smiled awfully. "It is more blessed to give than receive."
(Chapter 3)
The dining room door shut; Anne was left alone in the entry hall, blinking back tears of anger and humiliation. How could Elizabeth mock their mother so? Her advice had been kindly given, meant for the good of her daughters, whereas Elizabeth had spoken those words out of pure spite! Poor Mother! If she could see us now, how ashamed she would be!
Anne crossed the entry hall to the drawing room door, pausing before entering to compose herself. Common courtesy required that she ask her father if he had any errands for her; she sighed in resignation as she opened the door. I hope there are none involving making purchases -- or giving 'gifts'.
But her much longed-for 'escape' had to wait upon Sir Walter's absorption with his own concerns. He was in an anxious frame of mind this morning and kept his patient daughter at least a half-hour longer than necessary as he talked on. Finally, he finished and dismissed her with a careless wave. Selecting the largest umbrella from their collection, she strode to the front door and opened it herself, without the aid of the butler. She was free!
The skies were still gray and overcast, but the rain had dwindled and a light wind had begun to blow. Anne felt her spirits lighten as she headed down the deserted street. The cold, damp air was a welcome change from the stuffy, overheated drawing room and her father's disapproving frown.
"This bonnet? Why yes, Father. It is raining and none of the others I have ..."
"My dear! You are hardly fit to be seen! If you should encounter one of our acquaintances during your walk! You may well have some consideration for my social standing here. That might be proper for your visit to Mary, but here it can do nothing but appear positively ... frumpy!"
"But isn't this the one you brought back from London for ..."
"Two years ago, yes!"
"But it exactly matches the color of my coat and ... "
"Which is passe, my dear, passe! That shade of gray went out several seasons ago! So you must go walking while it rains? Humph! Mind that you keep your head down; perhaps you will not be recognized!""Anne, surely you aren't going out to do your shopping wearing that!"
Anne lifted her face rebelliously, enjoying the feel of the tiny droplets as they stung her cheeks. The wind billowed her 'unfashionable' coat behind her as she walked briskly down the deserted street. No, Father. I shall not be recognized, for I have very few acquaintances in Bath, and none at all in this neighborhood.
What she found herself missing, oddly enough, was the bustling activity of Uppercross. She and Lady Russell had chuckled over Mrs. Musgrove's label of 'quiet cheerfulness' to such a busy, energetic household, but Anne found herself longing for it on a day like today. How refreshing was the laughter-filled, talkative hospitality of the Musgroves, with no standing upon ceremony. Such a contrast to her own family home!
"Excuse me, Father, but I thought Mr. Shepherd had arranged the financing in such a way that you ..."
"Shepherd! Shepherd? What has this to do with Shepherd? No, no it's Lucas, Sir William Lucas! I have just had his letter this morning informing me that he will be visiting Bath within the next several days and would like to stay here, with us."
"Oh! But the redecoration proj .."
"Exactly so! Those shiftless workmen tell me that the front bedroom will not be completed until one week from today and not a moment sooner, no matter what the price!"
"Did you ... offer them more ... money ... Father?"
"Why, naturally, my dear! We must entertain our guest properly, after all! The room must be finished when we have need of it, but how?""No, no, my dear, there is nothing you can do for me today. Unless of course you can turn the calendar backward or forward! I am in such a quandary! I do not know what to do, for the situation cannot be amended; I am quite undone!"
Why, Naturally! Anne crossed the street at the corner, eying a standing puddle of water. She felt an almost overmastering urge to stomp in it and shout in frustration, as would a small child in a fit of temper.Naturally everything must be of the best! Naturally we must maintain our dignity, to live in accordance with our rank and consequence! She ground her teeth but left the puddle undisturbed. Naturally! We cheat those we cannot pay and we lie to everyone around us by living a life we cannot afford! We come to Bath to retrench, and what do we do but take a house in one of the finest areas in town and begin redecorating it! A house that is not our own!
She swallowed hard, a little shocked by intensity of her angry feelings. What is wrong with me today? I am so emotional! All my worst nightmares seem to be coming true! Her sense of dread had been building since she had come to Bath; now her thoughts began to accuse her. It is your own fault, you know! You thought you could escape this, and you did for nearly four months. You told yourself all that time that this retrenching idea would work. But leopards don't change their spots; you came home to find nothing has been really solved. The cause of the problem has never admitted his fault, nor is he like to.
And now this house. Anne shook her head in disbelief. Before moving to Bath, how her father would have ridiculed those who had lived so, without an estate or the prestige of being a resident landholder. But now he characterized this house as a dignified situation, quite proper for a man of consequence, in fact, quite the most superior house in all of Camden Place. Oh, Naturally! But if anything goes wrong this time, all we will have left is our precious 'consequence'!
Another family's living situation came to mind: the Harvilles and their small, rented house near the foot of that ancient pier in Lyme. It was so tiny, barely adequate for their needs, and in a most unimpressive, awkward location. Yet Captain Harville had had the wisdom to choose quarters in keeping with his very modest fortune. The frank honesty of their unpretentious style of life had amazed her, for they were such kind, generous people. Anne's face flushed as she remembered their spontaneous hospitality, sincerely desiring to host all of Captain Wentworth's friends for dinner without a thought for the inconvenience or expense! In our home, we issue invitations in keeping with social reciprocity, making sure the guests are worth the trouble and expense of entertaining. Her father's words still sounded in her ears.
"Is Sir Lucas an old acquaintance, Father? Perhaps he will be understan ..."
"Oh, yes, yes. Elizabeth will remember him, for we have known him anytime these past ten years during our visits to town. He comes during the Season; we usually meet up with him at St. James. A very well-mannered, jovial, agreeable sort of man, though not so agreeable to look at! Hah! His appearance is rather like, well, like a teakettle, don't you know! It's an old joke with us; I twit him about it every year! A shiny, bald head (that's the knob), a protruding stomach ( the kettle), and spindly little legs beneath! Hah! And it so happens that his face is a rather pinkish, copper-color! But he is a worthy man, a gentleman of some little rank, but he does have a tidy estate in Hertfordshire. No sons of marriageable age, unfortunately!"
"But how came he to ask for an invitation, Father? That seems a little presum..."
"Oh, no, no, my dear! Not presumptuous! I have always held out an open invitation to him to come to Kellynch, whenever we were not occupied with something else. He had our card stating our change in residence, and wrote asking to stay on his way through Bath, why, it must be several months ago. Of course, I was certain that the room would be finished in time, so I wrote back that he was welcome to come any time, at his convenience. And the front room would have been completed if there were not so many ridiculous delays, for which I hold those workmen entirely responsible!""Of course, my dear, we cannot consider the expense of a thing like this, for the room must be exactly right, Sir Lucas or no. I just wish it could be exactly right by the time he arrives, that is all."
The 'ridiculous delays,' Anne knew, were caused by her father's indecisiveness: the paint color had been changed three separate times, then eliminated altogether as a scheme of sky and clouds was proposed for the largest wall, with the rest of the room painted in an entirely new color; the latter task was the one in process now. And Sir Walter continued to have fits of inspiration, much to the delight of Elizabeth and Mrs. Clay, and to the consternation of Anne.
As things now stood, the remaining wall was to have instead a tromp d'oeil mural of a Grecian landscape and temple, for which a prominent local artist had already been paid a sizable retaining fee. Since that portion of the work had not yet begun, it was anyone's guess as to exactly what type of scene would end up on that wall. The final choice would be dictated by the latest whim of fashion, of course, and would cause her father much time and agitation. Anne rolled her eyes at the thought. Right now Chinese landscapes were popular, as were things Egyptian (aside from the little awkwardness of this interest being stimulated by Napoleon, whom it was not quite the thing to admire). Fitting out this room was a serious decision, as were all matters concerning Sir Walter's conduct with members of Polite Society.
"Yes, my dear, but you know full well that decently entertaining guests is a matter of great importance. Hospitality is a very serious undertaking, for nothing speaks more clearly of one's rank and consequence than being able to host one's guests adequately, with proper formality. Our circumstances have already been humbled enough, I believe -- although I do appreciate your concern, my dear! As well as any little sacrifices you are able to make in reducing expenses.
Anne's steps slowed as she considered her father's comment, so typical of his self-absorbed vanity, yet spoken in such a kindly tone of voice. Her jaw tightened and she clenched the handle of the umbrella tightly. So it is I who must reduce my lifestyle, to live in a humbled manner! I must always give way , I ... " Her angry thoughts were interrupted by the raucous cry of a gull wheeling closely overhead; this caused her to glance up. The beauty of that bird soaring gracefully in free flight caught at her heart and she stopped to gaze at it. She had not watched the sea birds since she had been in Lyme.
Lyme. Lyme brought with it more memories of the Harvilles. Well, perhaps if we are brought to the place where we must live in an even more reduced way it would not be so bad; although I cannot imagine Father living in that house by the pier! How his 'consequence' would suffer! She thought some more about the Harvilles. They were not unhappy to live in such a way; but then, they had known long separation, and deprivation, and the fear which accompanied Captain Harville's serious injury and uncertain future. Anne looked to the ground now and began to make her way down Milsom street. And the Harvilles have known what it is to lose a beloved sister, as I have lost my own dear mother so long ago. She had reached the shops, but she had no interest in the goods displayed in the windows. I suppose the Harvilles are happy because they are thankful to be together, they are grateful for what they have, instead of being miserable about what they do not! They are forced to trust in Providence completely.
And so am I! Anne's eyes welled up at the realization of her complete helplessness to change her situation. But the Harvilles have each other! Whereas I have no one ... I continue to live as I always have, quiet and confined, but I am more alone that ever, especially here in Bath! Even among my own family, I am alone. This was a lowering thought.
The wind had dropped; now it begun raining in earnest. She put up her umbrella and stood listening to the patter of the raindrops on the fabric. Dear God, please! I would so like ... She fingered the smooth wooden handle of the umbrella as she tried to decide exactly what she was praying for. She did not know. What would I like? A home of my very own? She felt her throat tighten. This would likely never happen. Or perhaps just to live among people who are glad to have me with them, who enjoy my company. Or ... simply to have a friend, a good friend ... to talk to, to go places with (like this errand today), and to laugh with. Oh, yes, all of these! But most of all, a friend! The tears which had filled her eyes now were spilling down her cheeks. Anne bowed her head as she searched for her handkerchief; thankful that the rain would hide them.
After a few moments she resumed her walk down Milsom street. Her destination was very near now and she needed to pull herself together. Well, I do have friends. I suppose I shall have to live with Lady Russell, then, even if we do not always agree. Lady Russell had very firm opinions and no real sense of humor; Anne was reluctant to live entirely with her. Or Mary. But Mary did not share her interests, had no conversation beyond trivial everyday matters, and tended to shift the load of her family responsibilities onto her sister. Or maybe I should ... run away and join the navy! Anne smiled to herself as she wiped away her tears. As if I could! Besides, that would be worse than anything! Trapped on a ship with a bunch of barbaric, horrid men! She thought some more.Or perhaps I should join a convent! She winced a little at that. Trapped in a building among a bunch of scrupulously correct, silent women! And besides, I am not Catholic. Humor was not helping today. Whatever am I to do? I'm in such a state that I cannot even think of something to pray for! What a dreadful, miserable day this is!
Before her was the door to the Stationer's; the bell tinkled cheerfully as she opened it. Well, at least I shall do one productive thing: I can buy that cheap writing paper!
Anne wandered home later that morning in considerably better spirits than when she had left. She had been able to make her purchase at the Stationer's without any delay and had stopped at several other shops nearby, doing a little browsing to wile away the time; there was no particular reason to go home. Once there, she knew would either spend the time by herself in her room, or in the drawing room, sitting quietly while the others conversed over and around her, behaving as they usually did -- as though she were not present. Either way she would be alone; it was much more pleasant to spend the time in these shops.
On a whim, and because of the inclement weather at that moment, she had stepped in to the chocolatier's and had enjoyed a delicious chocolate drink. While there, she had purchased a small box of chocolates to take with her, and had even gone so far as to open it and eat a few on the way home. This was the height of ill-breeding, but she didn't care, not today. And anyway, the streets were completely deserted. Poor Father, now I am truly unfit to be seen! If anyone comes near, I shall be mindful of his consequence and keep my head well down! She spent a few minutes considering which would be the more rude: to snub a passing acquaintance or to offend her father's sensibilities. But the streets remained empty, she was seen by no one.
Well, she thought as she munched another chocolate, there are some advantages to being alone: when one has a box of chocolates, one needn't share any! Anne knew in her heart that she would much rather have someone along to share them with, but to guard herself from further melancholy, she reveled in the pleasures of solitary gluttony. Perhaps I shall eat the entire box myself! Anne had never done such a thing; she felt rather like a gleeful, greedy child. Oh well! ' La-de-da', as Elizabeth would say! She hummed a little tune and twirled the umbrella as she walked, sending droplets spinning around her.
Ho-hum, almost home. She rounded the corner onto Camden Place, and began to study her new neighborhood, something else she had never done before. There were many trees here, all bare, of course, and Anne occupied herself with trying to determine the kind of each of them. She especially loved flowering trees, and she hoped there would be some here. 'Friendship is a flowering tree.' Anne recalled the quote, accurately, she hoped. Coleridge, she thought, and very true. Now which kind of tree would represent the type of friend I would like to have? A cherry -- no, an apple tree. She smiled as she pictured a large, spreading tree, laden with beautiful, pink-tinged blooms. Apple trees flower a little later than the others, but their blossoms have a heavenly color and scent. The pale green leaves that accompany them are delightful too. And the fruit of that tree is nourishing to the body, and is delicious to eat. Apples store well for a long time, even into the winter. Yes, I should like an apple-tree friend ... but ... what in the world?
Anne had been so intent with her daydreaming that she had not glanced in the direction of her house. Now she did -- and saw two carriages waiting in front. Oh no! Was there a party she had forgotten about? Some important guests who had been invited for luncheon without her knowledge? She hurried up the street, her pleasant reverie forgotten.
One of the carriages was a sturdy, barouche-type used for travel. It was greatly mud-spattered; several heavy trunks were strapped to the top; its four horses were steaming. There appeared to be a crest of some type on the door, half covered by the dirt. Merciful heavens! Sir William Lucas has arrived early!
The other seemed rather familiar to Anne and she squinted through the rain in order to see better. My goodness! Could it be? It was! Mr. Musgrove's traveling carriage! What can have happened to bring him here! This carriage also bore the marks of travel; obviously it had come directly from Uppercross. How very odd. The Musgroves would first establish themselves at a hotel before they would make a social call here. Unless ... Fear clutched at Anne's heart, although she couldn't identify why she would respond this way. She collapsed the umbrella, stuffed the small box of chocolates into her coat pocket, and began to run, arriving at the front door as a group of footmen emerged to bring in the first of the trunks.
She pushed past them and rushed into the drawing room, breathless and wet. Her father and a balding, portly gentlemen were seated before the fire, enjoying a glass of wine together. Mr. Musgrove was nowhere to be seen.
"Father!" She panted. "Father, what has happened? Why is the Musgrove's carriage here?! Where is Mr. Musgrove?"
Elizabeth cast a withering look across the room at her sister. Anne swallowed, her cheeks began to grow hot with embarrassment. What a sight she must be, windblown and panic-stricken, and terribly rude. "Excuse me, please! But I am I mistaken? Isn't that Mr. Musgrove's traveling ..."
"Ah, Anne! You have returned, and at just at the right moment, too!" Her father beamed at her, as he and the other gentlemen rose in greeting. She blanched. Why should he respond in such a friendly way to her ill-mannered entrance? "Allow me to introduce my very good friend Sir William Lucas, who is come to visit our humble home!" Sir Lucas made her a very courteous bow; he seemed a most pleasant, kindly man.
"Well now, Anne, let me take your coat and bonnet and you may sit with us for a few moments while you warm yourself." Sir Walter cheerfully divested her of these articles himself, handing them to a waiting footman. "We are about to take our luncheon in here, before the fire; isn't that a comfortable, cozy notion for such a dreary, stormy day?" He courteously held out a chair for her.
What was this? Her father hated impromptu dining! Then Anne remembered that Elizabeth's dressmaker had made the dining room a shambles, a thing which normally would have incensed Sir Walter greatly, due to the presence of an important guest -- but not today. Indeed, nothing could exceed her father's affability!
"Well, my dear," he began, "it seems you are to leave us again for a spell." He removed a folded paper which was resting on the mantelpiece and handed it to her. "This has just arrived for you." Anne took it, mystified. She could swear that her father's eyes were twinkling, but how could that be? And what did he mean about leaving? She opened the letter.
You will wonder to receive this from me, but the need is very pressing. All is in an uproar here and my nerves are in shreds. Please send Anne to me right away. The Musgroves have kindly sent their carriage for her with this letter. She must make haste to come right away, this very afternoon, as the carriage is urgently required by morning. Truly, Father, the need is vital! There is such a to-do here, the like of which I have never seen! I feel feverish even as I write this!
Your Loving Daughter,Dear Father,
Mary M.
Mary! Anne looked up at her father in amazement. Something truly terrible must have happened at Uppercross, but what? Mary's letter said nothing. Sir Walter laid his hand on his daughter's shoulder.
"As you can see, my dear, you must leave us, at once, right away! Oh, it's probably nothing of importance, " he soothed. "Perhaps something has gone wrong on the farm -- chickens molting in the hayseed, or children with the croup, or measles, or some such thing. You know Mary; she takes fright at such trivialities! You run along, now. I have had your trunks brought up to your room, and Elise is waiting to assist you with your packing." He gave her a small pat. "You may write and tell us all about it once the crisis has passed. And you needn't worry about hurrying back, dear. Take as long as you need. There's a good girl."
Anne sat motionless for a moment, blinking up at her father in disbelief as she digested the contents of Mary's letter. I am going to Uppercross? I am going right away? But I ... She studied Sir Walter's face; his smile was no longer one of welcome, it was one of polite dismissal. It would be pointless to voice an objection. She rose, and said her farewells as the door opened to admit those serving the luncheon. She looked longingly at the trays bearing the covered dishes, for the food smelled delicious and she was famished. But it made no difference; no invitation had been issued and she did not want to press for one. The cheerful conversation which accompanies a pleasant meal swelled behind her as she left the room; then the door shut.
Anne found herself in the entry hall once more, her thoughts in a whirl. She was roused from them by a polite cough. Seated in a chair, awkwardly holding his hat on his lap, was an older man, one of the Musgrove's servants. His homespun clothing looked out of place here, his expression was one of acute discomfort. He rose and pulled his forelock in greeting.
"G'mornin' to ye, Miss Anne. Soon's ye be ready, we'll go. Missus Charles wants ye awful bad, ma'am! An' th' rain's closin' in, it'll be hard goin'." He bowed a little and took his seat again, still holding his rather crushed, weather-beaten hat. Black crepe was wound around its crown.
"Yes, ah, Rodgers, isn't it? Thank you. I won't be long." Anne began to mount the stairs, frowning a little. At least there would be no problem deciding what to pack; she had just arrived several weeks ago.
Upstairs there was a great deal of activity, all centered around her own room. Several maids were in the process of stripping her bed, her personal articles had been removed from the shelves and desk; these were being placed in an open drawer in the bureau. Extra fuel had been brought in for the fire, the windows were being wiped clean. Her trunk stood open in the corner and Elise had already completed most of the packing.
Several other trunks were stacked in the corner; these were unfamiliar to her, and they were wet. They belonged to ... Anne pursed her lips in comprehension. Why of course: Sir William Lucas. Father is pleased because his friend will be able to use my bedroom while I'm gone. How convenient for him. She reached into the open bureau drawer, retrieved several books, and tossed them into the trunk. Mechanically she began to select the remaining items she needed for her stay at Uppercross. Elise came into the room bringing an arrangement of hothouse flowers for the bedside table.
"You needn't worry about hurrying back, dear. Take as long as you need." Anne winced at her father's careless words. Even after all these years, she had not grown completely hardened to the pain of such treatment. She was still as nothing to him, unless she was useful in furthering his concerns.
Now she had to chose the gowns. She sorted through those hanging in the wardrobe, handing the ones she wanted to Elise. Yes, no, no, yes, yes. She needed nothing fine for a stay at Mary's, other than an impromptu dinner or dance, nothing of note happened there, much to Mary's annoyance. Yes, yes, no -- wait. Anne's hand froze as she fingered the last one: her stiff, black silk, usually reserved for funerals. Funerals? Oh dear God, no! Not that! Rodgers had black crepe on his hat! Anne began to tremble as she pulled the black gown from the wardrobe. Louisa? Dear God, not Louisa! She has just made the journey home, was it ... too much for her?
She quickly instructed Elise to pack the hats and shoes which she usually wore with the gowns she had selected. She grabbed a stack of handkerchiefs from her top drawer, tossed them in the trunk and headed downstairs again. There was absolutely not a moment to lose. Anne left the bedroom without a backward glance.
**********'
Continued in Part 2
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