Captain Wentworth's Diary

by Amanda Grange

  As Sophia spoke of her life at sea, I was pleased to see that Mrs Musgrove’s tears had dried, and that she was absorbed in the conversation.

  ‘But were you not frightened at sea?’ asked Mrs Musgrove.

  ‘Not a bit of it. When I was separated from Benjamin, I lived in perpetual fright, not knowing when I should hear from him next; but as long as we could be together, nothing ever ailed me,’ she said.

  Mrs Musgrove heartily agreed with this sentiment, saying, ‘Yes, indeed, oh yes! I am quite of your opinion, Mrs Croft, there is nothing so bad as a separation, for Mr Musgrove always attends the assizes, and I am so glad when they are over, and he is safe back again.’

  I caught Anne smiling at this, and I was reminded of the way our minds had always run together. It seemed as though they still did, on occasion, for we were both amused at the idea of Mr Musgrove being in as much danger when attending the assizes as Admiral Croft when he was sailing the North Sea!

  ‘Mama, let us have some dancing,’ said Miss Musgrove, growing tired of a conversation in which she had no part, and, still in high spirits, being eager for some exercise.

  ‘Oh, yes, we must!’ said Miss Hayter.

  ‘I was just about to suggest it myself,’ said Miss Louisa.

  ‘What an excellent idea,’ said Mrs Musgrove. ‘And, see, we have Anne to play for us, and no one ever plays better, for I am sure her fingers fly over the keys!’

  I was taken aback at this, for Anne had been relegated to the pianoforte without a by-your-leave.

  ‘Does Miss Elliot never dance?’ I asked Miss Louisa, troubled, as she claimed me for her partner.

  ‘Oh, no! never; she has quite given up dancing. She had rather play. She is never tired of playing,’ came the quick reply.

  I did not believe it, for Anne had always loved to dance, and I was torn between a desire to defend her and to say she must have her share of the dancing, and exasperation that in all this time she had not learnt how to defend herself. Overlooked when her father and sister had gone to London without her; overlooked now, when her friends danced; but if she had had a little more spirit, a little more strength of character, she, too, could have had her share of the entertainments.

  I danced twice with each of the Musgrove girls, and twice with each of the Hayter girls, and it was impossible not to be cheered by their enjoyment, though somehow it was not as cheering as it should have been, for I was ever conscious of Anne at the pianoforte.

  At last the dancing came to an end. Anne left her seat and went over to the sofa to join Mrs Musgrove, and I went over to the instrument and tried to pick out an air for Miss Musgrove. I had got no further than the first line, however, when Anne returned, and saying, ‘I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat,’ I relinquished it.

  I hoped to see some spark of the former Anne, some light in her eye, but there was nothing.

  ‘No, not at all,’ she said, drawing back.

  And that was all I said to her. But although I continued to talk to the Miss Musgroves and the Miss Hayters, now and then sharing a word with Charles Musgrove or Charles Hayter, all the time I was conscious only of Anne: Anne talking low to Mr Musgrove, Anne moving over to the table, Anne taking a seat next to Miss Hayter.

  Anne, always Anne.

  Wednesday 26 October

  I had been at home so little this week that Benjamin feigned astonishment to find me in the drawing-room just before dinner.

  ‘What, not going to Uppercross?’ he asked.

  ‘I am not there every day, you know!’ I replied.

  ‘As near as makes no difference! I cannot say I blame you. The Musgrove girls are very pretty, and the Miss Hayters are almost as well-looking. And none of them is averse to being wooed by a captain home from the sea. Or do you go there for the pleasure of Mr and Mrs Musgrove’s company?’ he asked.

  ‘But of course! They are most agreeable people.’

  Sophia smiled, then said, ‘And when are you going into Shropshire? The Musgroves are not the only agreeable people in England, you know. Your brother is very agreeable, too. He is longing to introduce you to his new wife.’

  ‘A country parson cannot hope to compete with the joys of a house full of young women, even if he has a wife!’ said Benjamin jovially. ‘Frederick has been spoiled by the flattery of those girls.’

  I cried out against it, but he is right, I am very fond of their society. They never tire of hearing about the naval battles I have passed through, or my life on board ship, or my promotion, or the ports I have visited. And in return, they never tire of telling me about their friends, their family, their neighbours, their gowns and bonnets. And when all has been said, there is dancing and music to occupy us in a most enjoyable way.

  ‘Come, Frederick, tell us, have you still not decided between them?’ asked Benjamin teasingly.

  ‘I am in no hurry,’ I said.

  ‘Miss Musgrove is the prettiest,’ said Benjamin, ‘and I like the eldest Miss Hayter, but I think I like Miss Louisa more. She is as spirited a girl as I ever hope to meet.’

  ‘When you have finished finding Frederick a wife, perhaps you would turn your attention to encouraging him to visit his brother. You should not neglect Edward,’ said Sophia to me. ‘He wants you to meet his wife, you know, for she is a very fine young lady, and you promised him a visit.’

  ‘Never fear, I will go and see him before very long, but for now, I will have to take her virtues on credit.’

  ‘He wants to show you the house, too,’ said Benjamin. ‘You are not the only one who has been lucky in your advancement.’

  ‘No, indeed, he has been fortunate to achieve his own living, particularly such a good one,’ said Sophia.

  ‘Ay, it is not easy to find preferment in the church,’ I said, ‘far less easy than in the Navy, where a man’s battles will speak for him. Even with some interest it is difficult. I was speaking to Charles Hayter about it only yesterday. You know Charles Hayter? He is brother to the Miss Hayters, and cousin to the Miss Musgroves. He lives with his family at Winthrop, just over the hill from Uppercross.’

  ‘Yes, we have met him,’ said Sophia.

  ‘He has a curacy, but it is six miles distant. Fortunately, residency is not required, so he lives with his father at Winthrop. There was talk last night of his getting the curacy of Uppercross, a very good thing, for it would mean only a two mile journey to attend to his duties instead of his current six-mile trip.’

  ‘You must talk to Edward about it when you visit him,’ said Sophia. ‘I will be writing to him tomorrow. Shall I give him notice of your arrival?’

  ‘Tell him, if it is convenient for him, I will call in a fortnight,’ I said.

  She was pleased, and we went into dinner.

  Thursday 27 October

  This morning when I went to visit the Miss Musgroves I found them from home. Mrs Musgrove assured me they had gone to the Cottage to see their nephew so I followed them, but when I was shown into the drawing-room I was taken aback to find Anne there instead. She was quite alone, apart from the little invalid Charles, who was lying on the sofa.

  ‘I thought the Miss Musgroves would be here,’ I said, walking over to the window to rid myself of my sudden agitation. ‘Mrs Musgrove told me I should find them here.’

  ‘They are upstairs with my sister. They will be down in a few moments, I dare say,’ she replied.

  She did not seem comfortable; no more was I; but fortunately the child called to her and we were able to escape our embarrassment, she by kneeling down by the sofa to tend to Charles, and I by remaining at the window.

  I did not know what to say. Were we destined to treat each other coldly, because of what had passed between us? Could we not put it behind us and be civil, at least? I almost suggested it, but such a tide of feeling rose within me at the thought of mentioning the past, or even alluding to it, that I remained silent.

  A fourth person then arrived, but not one to make matters easier, for it was Charles Hayter. He d
id not seem pleased to see me, and I wondered whether he and Anne were friends, or more than friends, for if they were, then it would explain his attitude towards me. I glanced towards Anne, but there was no sudden smile on her lips, no joyous welcome, and I dismissed such notions. Anne invited him to sit down and wait for the others, and accordingly, he took a seat.

  I wanted to make up to him for my coolness on his arrival and so I went over to him, preparing to make a remark about the weather, but he was apparently not disposed for conversation, because he took up the newspaper and buried his head behind it.

  And so we sat, not talking, until there was a distraction in the way of a very small boy, who ran into the room.

  ‘Ah, Walter,’ said Hayter, glancing up once from his newspaper before burying his face once again.

  Walter, a stout young man of some two years old, ran over to his brother. As he was of an age to tease his brother rather than to be of any help, however, Anne endeavoured to keep him away, but he was in the mood for attention, and as soon as her back was turned, he made a nuisance of himself by climbing onto it. As she was busy with Charles, she could not rid herself of him, but could only tell him to get down.

  Her orders to him were in vain.

  She contrived to push him away, but the boy had the greater pleasure in climbing onto her back again.

  Hayter looked up from his paper and said, ‘Walter! Leave your aunt in peace,’ but Walter paid him no heed.

  Seeing a need for action, I lifted the boy from her back and carried him away to the other side of the room, where I entertained him so that he could not return to plague her.

  I received no thanks from her; indeed I looked for none, but I felt a mixture of emotions at having rendered her a service. I should be angry with her for betraying me. I was angry with her. And yet I felt a bittersweet pleasure at being able to help her when she needed it.

  The atmosphere was strained, and it remained so until Mary and the two Musgrove girls found us. Anne immediately quit the room. Then there was the exchange of civilities, after which Hayter and I escorted the young ladies back to the Great House.

  The atmosphere on our walk was not a happy one. Miss Musgrove seemed out of spirits and Hayter seemed to be angry, so I declined their invitation to go in.

  Once back at Kellynch Hall my steps turned towards the river and I strode along, lost in thought. Why had Anne ignored me? And why had she left the room as soon as she had been able to relinquish her care of little Charles to his mother? Did she really dislike me so much? If I had been the one who had wronged her, I could have understood her manner, but she had wronged me. Could it be that she had resented me for speaking so harshly to Lady Russell?

  I pondered the subject until I caught sight of Sophia’s chaise bowling along the drive, and I returned to the Hall in a dissatisfied state of mind. I could not understand Anne’s behaviour. But perhaps it had nothing to do with me. Perhaps she had been late for a visit, delayed by the need to look after Charles, and had had to hurry out as soon as she could leave the boy.

  That seemed more likely, for she had spoken barely two words to me since I returned, and she probably never thought of me at all.

  NOVEMBER

  Tuesday 1 November

  Sophia had a letter from Edward this morning, saying he would be away next week, but inviting me to visit him on the 19th. I wrote back and confirmed the arrangement. I am looking forward to meeting his wife and to seeing him again.

  Saturday 5 November

  Charles Musgrove and I had arranged to spend the morning together and I set out for Uppercross Cottage in good spirits, for it was a beautiful morning with the copper leaves shining in the autumn sunshine. As I drew near the Cottage, however, my steps began to drag, for I did not want to find myself in another embarrassing situation. I need not have worried because I found Musgrove out of doors, ready and waiting for me. Our sport was good for the first half hour, but no sooner had we really begun to enjoy ourselves than we had to return, for the young dog with us was not fully trained and had spoiled our sport.

  When we returned to the Cottage, we found that the Miss Musgroves were about to set out on a long walk, accompanied by Mary.

  ‘Come with us!’ Louisa pleaded.

  ‘We do not want to spoil your exercise,’ I said.

  She laughed at the idea, and cajoled and entreated, until Charles and I gave in, and we all set out together. I walked ahead, with Henrietta on one arm and Louisa on the other, and Anne fell behind with Mary and Charles.

  We soon came to a stile and, as it was rather high, Charles helped both Anne and Mary down. It was left to me to help Henrietta, and then Louisa. As she was the smallest of the party, she had to jump, and I caught her round the waist to assist her when she landed. She found the experience so delightful that she climbed back onto the stile and then did it again. We all laughed, and when we reached the next stile, nothing would do for her but that I should jump her down again.

  We spoke of generalities and then I mentioned that my sister and her husband had gone on a long drive. As we walked on together, I told Louisa about their habit of overturning, saying, ‘But my sister indulges her husband, and does not mind.’

  ‘I should do just the same in her place,’ said Louisa gaily. ‘If I loved a man as she loves the admiral, I would always be with him, nothing should ever separate us, and I would rather be overturned by him than driven safely by anybody else.’

  ‘Really?’ I said with a laugh, catching her tone. ‘I honour you!’

  But as we fell silent to negotiate a steep hill, I thought over what she had said, that she would not let anything part her and her husband. She was a resolute young woman, one with plenty of strength, and the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that she would not let anyone tell her what to do. I glanced at Anne and then looked away, though why I should still feel so strongly about something that happened eight years ago I could not imagine.

  We reached the top of the hill and below us we could see the Winthrop estate. As we were so near, Charles Musgrove professed his intention of calling at the farm and paying his respects to his aunt. Mary declared she could not walk so far and, after some conferring, it was at last arranged that Miss Musgrove should go with him whilst the rest of us would stay behind.

  We sat down to wait. Mary was fractious, and Louisa soon asked me if I would help her glean some nuts. I agreed. We made a good beginning, for there were plenty of nuts to be had. We went up and down the hedgerows and, as we did so, I learned that there was an understanding between Henrietta and Charles Hayter.

  At once I understood why he had been annoyed to find me at Uppercross Cottage, and why he had not spoken to me: he had seen in me a rival for his lady’s affections. It seemed that my presence had made an estrangement between them, and that Henrietta had intended to call upon him to set things to rights, but had almost changed her mind when Mary had declared herself too tired to go.

  ‘What! Would I be turned back from doing a thing that I had determined to do, and that I knew to be right, by the airs and interference of such a person, or of any person, I may say?’ she asked. ‘No, I have no idea of being so easily persuaded. When I have made up my mind, I have made it. And Henrietta seemed entirely to have made up hers to call at Winthrop today; and yet, she was as near giving it up out of nonsensical complaisance!’

  ‘She would have turned back, then, but for you?’

  ‘She would, indeed. I am almost ashamed to say it.’

  ‘Happy for her, to have such a mind as yours at hand! Your sister is an amiable creature; but yours is the character of decision and firmness, I see. Let those who would be happy be firm. If Louisa Musgrove would be beautiful and happy in her November of life, she will cherish all her present powers of mind.’