Fair Winds and Homeward Sail: Sophy Croft's Story

by Sherwood Smith

  His place was taken by Mrs. Musgrove, stirred to amazement by the talk of ladies traveling. Sophy was very much amused by this placid, good-natured woman who clearly had not journeyed beyond her own parish boundaries, excepting to Bath. As they spoke further, Sophy reflected that her own life might have followed a similar course as housekeeper for Edward, only to find herself finally superseded by his wife.

  Impatient with a conversation that did not devolve around themselves, the Musgrove girls waited for the first decent pause, and called for dancing, which brought Frederick’s attention back to them.

  Sophy was grieved to see Anne Elliot, daughter of the refined Sir Walter Elliot, go to the instrument as if she were a governess or a lady’s companion expected to earn her bread. The Musgroves appeared to be fond of her, but not enough to give her another thought as Miss Anne sat playing and playing, while silent tears dripped down her face.

  o0o

  Sophy was determined to discover the mystery behind this silent struggle, her brother clearly still angry, the lady as unhappy. Anne Elliot was so gentle-spoken, unlike either of her sisters, that Sophy could not encompass the haughty rejection that the elder Miss Elliot surely would have given him. There was some other cause, some force at work here, and she meant to find it if she could—and somehow alter the situation.

  But easy as it is to resolve such a thing, carrying it out is another matter entirely. At long last the admiral’s gig was delivered, and now, between the garden, the sheep, the house, and the stable, he must learn to drive—and because he and Sophy had been going snacks in everything except actually commanding a ship action, perforce she must take her place beside him.

  A good, thing, too. His delight in tooling about behind a horse was mitigated by the fact that he drove as if manning the tiller of a boat. But a horse was not a boat, and Sophy—who had learnt rowing, but never manned a tiller—frequently found herself taking the reins while the admiral was distracted by birds, one of the tenants waving from his field, or the direction of the wind.

  Divided between her husband and her brother, Sophy felt that she could not give the latter her full attention, the more so because he seemed impatient of her concern.

  He had no interest in driving, when he could ride; he had less interest in their sheep; he took no interest in the tenants, whose houses the admiral delighted in improving, once he had discovered what a neglectful landlord Sir Walter had been.

  It was completely by chance that Sophy was able to see Miss Anne again, after encountering her along with the rest of the young people gathered at the gate leading to the lane below Winthrop.

  At a glance Sophy could see that the party was not united. Miss Harriet and the young Hayter parson stood a little apart, talking earnestly; Mrs. Charles looked cross and her husband impatient; only Miss Louisa chattered incessantly to Frederick, who, when Sophy first caught sight of him, was gazing at the horizon. And Miss Anne walked quietly behind everyone, her shoulders sagging, her face hidden by her bonnet as she watched the ground where she stepped.

  “Pull up, dear,” Sophy said to the admiral, and to the waiting faces, she called, “Surely someone here is in want of a ride.”

  “Not I,” declared Miss Louisa, following Frederick as he stepped into the lane. “I declare I am not in the least tired—I am determined I could walk like this forever.”

  “No, thank you,” Miss Henrietta said, blushing as young Mr. Hayter echoed her.

  Mrs. Charles stepped back, looking affronted. “I am very well, thank you,” she said in languishing tones, as her husband gave a little sigh and closed the gate behind Miss Anne, who had stepped last into the lane, behind everyone else.

  The admiral shook the reins, and the horse bobbed its head and had taken a step or two when Frederick covered the distance in a quick stride, put his hand out to catch the reins, and said, “I believe there is one here of the party who might welcome a chance to save an extra mile.” He spoke no name, nor glanced in her direction, but Sophy understood by his manner whom was meant.

  To test her supposition, she called with real pleasure, “Miss Elliot, I am sure you are tired. Do let us have the pleasure of taking you home. Here is excellent room for three, I assure you. If we were all like you, we might sit four. You must indeed, you must.”

  “Come, Miss Elliot,” the admiral called. “See? I have shifted over, and you are so slight the horse will not notice the extra. He is brisk enough.”

  Sophy saw Miss Elliot’s head lift, her manner uncertain until Frederick, without speaking, put his hand under her elbow. Unresisting she permitted him to guide her the few steps, and he lifted her up.

  She sat, she looked down, the admiral let the reins loose, and the horse was in motion.

  Sophy sat back in delight. At last she had got Miss Anne away from the others. “Did you have a pleasant walk?”

  “Yes, thank you.” The low voice sounded a little breathless, as if Miss Anne were winded.

  “Fine day for a walk, eh?” the admiral said. “We’ve waited these two days, first for the rain to end, and then for the lanes to dry out. At all events, someone else certainly seems to think a fine day for a walk.” He chuckled. “But he might have been equally content to carry an umbrella over his young ladies.”

  “With all the good will in the world,” Sophy said, “I doubt very much that even Frederick can manage to keep three people dry under a single umbrella.” She felt the slender form next to her stiffen at the word ‘Frederick.’

  “He certainly means to have one or other of those two girls, Sophy, but there is no saying which. He has been running after them, too, long enough . . .” and the admiral cheerfully carried on in this manner.

  Though Sophy still could not see past the frame of the bonnet next to her, she could feel Miss Anne’s attention, and she returned an easy answer—a joke—to shift attention away from Frederick.

  The admiral appeared at first to accept the alteration in topic, reminiscing about their own marriage, but hard on that he said, “I wish Frederick would spread a little more canvas, and bring us home one of these young ladies to Kellynch. Then, there would always be company for them. And very nice young ladies they both are. I hardly know one from the other.”

  Sophy said calmly, “Very good humored, unaffected girls, indeed,” without any further flights of enthusiasm. She knew that Frederick, were he to marry either of them, would be sadly bored within a week.

  She passed to compliment the family in general, and then took the reins, as she often had to, guiding the horse past a post the admiral had not noticed; she had to seize them again when they met a dung cart in the lane, as the admiral reminisced about their early days at Yarmouth.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The good weather vanished again, but that did not stop the admiral from going out at dawn to check on the last of the roof and window repairs of renters’ cottages.

  He returned in time for breakfast to find post on the silver platter beside his plate.

  He was not the only one with post.

  Sophy said, “Edward has written, and is beginning to settle in. Frederick, I am to share this with you, and to put a question: when are you to visit?”

  Frederick’s color heightened, but he only shook his head. “I have no excuse to offer except idleness. At least until this arrived.” He indicated his own letter. “I did not know that Harville is settled close by—at Lyme! Further, Benwick is with him. I must ride over to visit.”

  “Aye, that is excellent,” the admiral exclaimed heartily. “That is doing right by them. And you may let me know if they are in want of anything. I would be most happy—you find it out, and say the word. Benwick has had ill luck, but at least he will inherit one day. And as for Miss Harville, well, time heals all. But Harville, with that leg, and the peace—if there is anything I can help him to, it would make me very happy.”

  Frederick nodded, and threw down his napkin. “If I get a start right now, perhaps I will outride the rain.”

/>   There was no saying anything. He would be off. The admiral then sighed, and turned to Sophy. “Well, I was right about Admiral Croft of Kellynch Hall. It seems my sister Delafield deems it necessary for us to grace her wedding up at Minehead, early in December.”

  “You do not wish to go?” Sophy asked.

  “I’d as lief enjoy the last of the good days before winter sets in,” the admiral said. “I am content here so long as we can get out, but I confess, the idea of being snowed in lays me by a lee shore.”

  “Perhaps we may find it less irking than we think,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I will not borrow trouble. Minehead! Pho!” Rain tapped at the window, and he rose. “Frederick would ride. Permit me to take a glimpse at the barometer. I hope he may not run aground . . .”

  The rain did not last long enough to ruin the roads. Sophy decided to call on the Musgroves in hopes of catching Miss Anne again, without all the others by.

  But here she was frustrated of her goal, as she arrived to discover Mrs. Musgrove alone.

  “You are a welcome visitor,” Mrs. Musgrove exclaimed. “Not a soul is here, and I was sadly puzzled what to do with myself, as the girls have gone off to visit dear Dr. Shirley in company with their cousins, and Charles and my husband are seeing to the last of the thatching. Mrs. Charles is laid up with a cold, I believe, though she may discover it has gone off and walk up here, leaving the children with Anne.”

  Sophy said, “Miss Anne is a devoted aunt.”

  “Anne,” Mrs. Musgrove said, “is a devoted sister as well as an excellent aunt. If I were an interfering woman, I might venture to give Mrs. Charles a hint: if she but watched Anne’s way with the boys for a morning, an hour, even, she would manage them better, and without stuffing them with things they ought not to eat. But it is ever so. The young people seldom heed us older folk, though we were all through it.” She sighed, and shook her head. “As for Miss Anne, I must confess when Lady Russell returns to carry her off, we will all miss her sadly.”

  “What is this? Miss Anne is to leave Uppercross?”

  “It was arranged this month at least—she goes to Bath to join her family, though I fear they do not value her half as much as she deserves. Certainly not as much as we do! But Lady Russell is all-important with Anne, and will carry her off. It has always been that way. She was Lady Elliot’s particular friend, you know, and has had the guiding of Anne since she was a girl of fourteen.”

  “I do not believe I have met the lady.”

  “She will no doubt call when she returns to Kellynch, for she has very nice manners, I will say that for her. She is a very fine lady—would have made an excellent countess, rather than the wife of a mere knight, some say.”

  She leaned forward, lowering her voice, though they were completely alone in that great room. “Charles would have preferred Anne, if the truth were known, but we believe Lady Russell prevailed upon her to wait for a better offer. There is some gossip that she had performed that office at least once before, but I do not know the particulars, so it may not even be true.” Mrs. Musgrove sat back. “A very fine lady.”

  Sophy had not been away from England so long that she did not know what was meant by the phrase “a fine lady.” A fine lady would certainly have looked down upon a Frederick Wentworth from her superior rank or wealth.

  She said everything that was appropriate, and when she took her leave, she was quite thoughtful. Had she at last got hold of the explanation?

  She kept her own counsel as the admiral finished up with his renters, and the laying in of fodder. Frederick returned from Lyme, and was off again to Uppercross as if drawn thence by a cable the way they used to tow dismasted ships.

  On his return, he was full of Lyme, Harville, Benwick—and a plan spearheaded by Miss Louisa Musgrove to carry all the young people to Lyme for a visit. The young lady, it seemed, must view the sea, and visit Frederick’s naval friends. She had formed a passion for everything naval.

  Sophy was convinced that Louisa was more entranced by the idea of being in love, and being perceived as interesting, than she was enamored of Frederick, but to this idea, too, she wisely kept silent.

  She took this much comfort: she had no idea that Frederick returned even that superficial regard. He seemed rather to go through the motions, as if his thoughts—and his heart—lay otherwhere.

  And so, one day mid-November, he rode off, promising to return in time for dinner the following day.

  But that was not to be. Frederick did not appear at all, only a hasty note in his hand.

  I write to report that there has been an accident in Lyme, and I the inadvertent cause. I must therefore beg your pardon and remain to do what I can. I write in haste—I scarcely know what words I scrawl. You must put questions to Charles Musgrove on his return. I fear that the squire and his lady must be too concerned in the case for interrogation.

  Frederick

  Days passed, during which either the admiral or Sophy rode over to inquire if they could do anything to help the afflicted family. Slowly bits of truth began to emerge from all the conjecture and exaggeration.

  Sophy said all that ought to be said, and kept to herself her own surmises, such as her first idea, that Louisa Musgrove had hurled herself down in a dramatic effort to secure Frederick. Why else would she insisted upon jumping about like a grasshopper,

  Once the word spread round the neighborhood that Miss Musgrove had recovered her intellects—she was improving apace, though she must not be moved—Sophy acquitted her of so wild a machination. It was in truth uncharacteristic, but she knew the source of her ire: how could any gallant gentleman resist the interesting spectacle of a young lady swooning in a strange place, dependent upon him for succor?

  Every day that Frederick was away Sophy dreaded receiving a note that he was an engaged man—the more because the Musgroves readily spoke of such an expectation, though she took comfort from the tenuousness of speculation. There were no words spoken of promises, moreover nothing from the young lady herself.

  No note came, but neither did Frederick. To the Crofts’ surprise, a servant arrived to procure and carry away his clothes, and the last they heard was that he had departed from Lyme once the physician had pronounced the young lady out of danger.

  A further, more rational account was finally furnished by Mr. Charles Musgrove, who had returned to fetch things needed by his mother. He told his cousins, who in turn spread the word rapidly through the neighborhood: it was Anne Elliott who had done everything needed. She had thought of removal of the patient, of summoning a surgeon, and had consoled the sister and counseled the brother, then returned to aid the shocked parents.

  “What would they do without Anne?” she heard repeated many times, Mrs. Hayter adding with meaning, “The Great House as well as the Cottage will have to learn to do without her, as she will be taken soon to Kellynch by Lady Russell, then off to Bath. Lady Russell, you know—a very fine lady, she must have everything her own way. It has always been so.”

  Sophy kept herself busy as the prediction came to pass, and one morning, as Mrs. Musgrove had foretold, Lady Russell’s carriage was seen coming up the sweep. When the footman handed her down, it became apparent that she had brought a visitor—Miss Anne Elliot.

  The admiral, on spying them through an upstairs window, studied the tall lady who held her skirt away from the raked gravel road as if it was bemired, and who looked about with an air of one facing an unpleasant duty.

  He said with unwonted sobriety, “I like little Miss Anne—like her the best of all those girls, I must confess. They’re preddied up for an admiral’s inspection but you don’t know if they’ll float, whereas she will weather a double-reefed-tops’l gale. No humbug about her.”

  “I am entirely of your mind, my dear,” Sophy said heartily.

  “But this lady, here, I am sure she is a very good woman, but upon my word, she looks just the sort as sets me at sixes and sevens. I am likely to drop a china dish and let fly an oath, or
something shocking, and everything awkward. You will not mind leading the conversation?”

  Sophy kissed him. It had ever been so, with those Sophy privately labeled the Amelia Forshams. But she had learnt to point her guns during the trying days with Mrs. Groton, and so, when the butler conducted the visitors into the best drawing room, Sophy came forward in her most stately manner to greet them, though her special smile was reserved for Miss Anne.

  And she won one in return, a real smile that reached those sparkling dark eyes. Miss Anne had improved immensely; she had regained the bloom of youth. What was this about? If it was entirely due to this lady, Sophy must internally apologize and admit she had been entirely wrong, and take up an entirely new set of opinions.

  She turned her gaze to Lady Russell, who had been eyeing the room. As she sat down, her prim mouth eased slightly in what Sophy guessed was faint approval. The admiral came forward from the fireplace, where he had been standing, to shake hands; his special smile was reserved for Anne, whose sincerity was obvious in her soft, “How do you do?”

  The topic of Lyme must be canvased, until the admiral summed it all up with a joke, “A new sort of way this, for a young fellow to be making love by breaking his mistress’s head, is it not it, Miss Elliot? This is breaking a head and giving a plaister truly!”

  Anne laughed quietly, clearly taking the joke as meant, whereas Lady Russell looked affronted.

  Sophy could not but notice that the lady primmed up whenever Frederick was mentioned. But the most telling moments were the anxious glances Miss Anne darted Lady Russell’s way at the first mentions of ‘Captain Wentworth.’

  No, Sophy thought, she had had it right. Mrs. Musgrove had given her the solution: between Sir Walter and this Lady Russell, Frederick had not had a chance. Miss Anne, at eighteen or nineteen, was too respectful of those who had earliest guided her. That solved the mystery. So the question remained, would they persuade her away from happiness now?

  The admiral then recollected that this had been Miss Anne’s house, and there ensued a little dialogue, he expostulating and she forgiving; when they rose to go, Sophy had made a decision.