She accompanied the ladies downstairs, saying, “I trust you will not take it amiss that we are unable to return this most welcome call, but we are leaving almost immediately for a wedding of one of the admiral’s relations, and I am given to understand that you will soon depart for Bath.”
“That is correct,” Lady Russell said, summoning Anne with a glance.
In the exchanges of farewells, this would be the moment for polite greetings to be requested in passing to the absent Frederick. But Lady Russell seemed to recollect no such person in existence, and walked with smiling assurance toward her carriage.
Miss Anne lingered a step, her lips parted—then she darted a glance toward her preceptress, and she said softly, “Pray convey my best greetings to your family.”
She could not bring herself to a name, but Sophy took her meaning just the same, and smiled her readiness to comply. Miss Anne bobbed her head in a little curtsey and her answering smile dimmed as she, too, climbed into the carriage.
As they drove away, the admiral tucked Sophy’s arm under his. “That went off pretty well, don’t you think it? Mind, I’ve been less frightened carrying on against a French first rate that had the wind, but I think it went off well.”
“It did,” Sophy said decidedly. “And now we must prepare for our journeys.”
“Journeys?”
“Yes. We have the wedding, in course, but you have said you mislike the idea of being mired here in winter snows. Therefore I suggest we spend a few weeks in Bath.”
“Bath!” the admiral exclaimed, as if she had suggested a tour to the Antipodes. “Not to drink the waters!”
“Pho, pho. Leave that to the real invalids. You may give it out that you are gouty if you feel some excuse is needed, but I promise, I shall not coax you to go near the waters so vividly depicted by Mr. Smollett.”
The admiral eyed her. “Sophy, what are you about?”
“Do you need to know, my dearest? Or would you be more comfortable visiting with our acquaintances in the place? The newspapers report that Bath is full of the navy.”
“And Frederick?” the admiral asked, chuckling.
“Why,” Sophy said, “I do not believe he would enjoy being mired here over winter any more than we. We shall write to him at Edward’s, in case he wants a room.”
The admiral laughed out loud. “That is a capital notion, my dear, capital. Very well, then, it shall be as old Pearson used to tell us back in Bermuda, remember that? More people die of medicines that of diseases, and the only way to real health was vigorous motion. How he railed on. Well, we shall take his advice then, and walk about Bath. How is that?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Mr. Shepherd was happy to act for them, finding excellent lodgings in Gay Street.
Once they reached Bath, the admiral must be doing, and on their very first walk encountered no fewer than six naval acquaintances—one of those being the wretched Admiral Brand, whom they would as lief never seen again.
But Admiral Brand kept a prudent distance. If truth be told, he was not popular there, but then he had never been popular, his principal society being confined to his brother, an admiral of the yellow, which meant he would never command again, much less advance. It was an admiralty by courtesy only, due to seniority.
The others were happy encounters, just as it always had been at the Cape, or Gib, or the West Indies and East.
Talk, laughter, speculation about what France might be at next—the successor to Boney—and asking after other acquaintance. At the end of the first day, the admiral said, “This was a very good notion of yours, my dear.”
“We shall see if you feel that way after we call in Camden Place. You know it will be expected.”
“Pshaw! Let Sir Walter play the great man, and come to us first. That will give him something to talk about besides his boot maker and his new coat. He will come, and strut about like the old coxcomb he is, giving us orders how to get on, and then he will go away again.”
Sophy laughed, though when the visit of state was paid, she reflected after that the admiral had been surprisingly acute. He might not comprehend the ways of young women, but men he knew surpassing well.
It was good to see Miss Anne, though Sophy was sorry to observe her looking subdued again. Not just subdued, but earnest, as if she wished to convey some meaning, or some question, without trusting to words. Perhaps there had been something in the letter they had carried to her from her sister? But what could Mrs. Charles have to say to any point?
Sophy was confident that this reticence, at least, was due to the leadening influence that Miss Elizabeth Elliot exerted over any company. Oh, to get Miss Anne aboard a ship, where they could talk frankly! She had never forgotten the sheer relief of Lady Bickerton’s calm wise words, and had subsequently had many such exchanges with women on ship or on shore in sight of ships.
And it is not just the naval situation of sudden death, she reflected as she and the admiral set out for a long walk on a fine day later that week. Women had borne most of the burden of nursing for ages—even fine ladies must know something of the sickroom. Or perhaps the Lady Russells and Amelia Forshams insulated themselves with servants, and rooms and rooms of elaborate decoration, as if they might divorce themselves from such details . . .
She had not realized she had been walking fast until she became aware that her irritation with fine ladies had manifested into a physical irritation, centered around one foot. By the time they reached Gay Street, the irritation had become excruciating.
As soon as they got inside, the admiral helped Sophy pull off the new shoe that she had bought specifically for the Bath pavements. “Well, that was a lesson in vanity,” she said ruefully. “My only thought was how odd it would look, tripping about Bath in my old country shoes. So I bought these fine new ones. What a mistake!”
“And fine they are, Sophy, fine they are. And no mistake. Take a caulk for a day or two, then we’ll tack around the harbor a bit. Break ’em in before attempting another long cruise.”
“An excellent idea,” Sophy said with a sigh. “Oh, that I had thought of it first.”
“Bide tight. I’ll go check on the post and order us a dinner, and we’ll sit here snug beside the fire, just the two of us, while you put that foot up on the fender.”
He returned a short time later, and sat down beside her. Most of the post could be laid aside, but then he exclaimed, “This is Frederick’s fist!”
“Open it, my dear,” she said, without stopping to ask whom it was directed to.
He slit the seal and spread the sheet, sitting close so that they might both read it.
As always, the letter was short. Frederick apologized for the length of time that post had chased him about from Lyme to Plymouth to Shropshire, and then:
It was not only your most welcome letter that was unaccountably delayed due to my movements. I also heard from Harville, with nothing short of astonishing News: it seems that Benwick and Louisa Musgrove are to marry.
A fine match say I. Her liveliness is just what Benwick needs to conquer his Melancholia, and I trust they will be very happy together.
Edward will probably write to you, so I will not reiterate news from Shropshire . . .
The admiral put the letter down, and shook his head. “And this is what comes about of shilly-shallying. Why did he not speak to the girl before flying off to Plymouth? Quick’s the word and fast the action, as we say in the navy, and Frederick knows that. What?”
To his surprise, Sophy had burst out laughing.
o0o
He was thinking about that circumstance the next day, it being fine.
Sophy had insisted he take his walk, as it gave him so much pleasure when he encountered old friends. He left, obedient to her wishes, but he thought about these odd circumstances as he stood before a printshop window in Milsom Street.
Sophy knew something, that much was clear. Or rather, she had her heart set on something. He also knew he could coax it out of her,
but he thought it was better to wait. She would speak up in her own time, and in her own way.
The admiral was content to have it so. He knew he was inclined to blurt out whatever he was thinking. That served well on the quarterdeck of a first rate under fire, but was less so when it came to capering about in the minuet of social expectations.
So Frederick was not to marry either of those Musgrove girls after all! He discovered he was glad of it, if for no other reason than that left a chance for his own particular favorite, though he knew that must be absurd.
For one thing, he had heard from Lady Russell that Miss Anne was intended by her family for this soft-spoken cousin Elliot who had been recently bereaved. Well, if so, he must do the handsome thing and offer to relinquish Kellynch if they were in want of it, but he had to shake his head.
Miss Anne was too good to throw away on that pattern-card of a fellow, but what did he know about such things? At least now he understood why she was not already married. He could not believe all the young men in the neighborhood of Kellynch were a parcel of slow-tops. Surely they could see that she had quality that trumped the rest, merry as they were, and she was pretty to look at, too—
He turned his head at a quiet step, and to his surprise, there she was! “Ha! Is it you?”
Happy to see her, he exerted himself to be pleasant—and she fell in beside him with all the ease of a Sophy, if rather more pianissimo. But he liked her for all that.
He walked with her all the way to Camden Place, declined an invitation to accompany her inside—he felt he’d done his duty by the others—and made his way back down again.
When he reached Gay Street, he retailed everything to Sophy, adding, “I told her the news about that Miss Musgrove and Benwick, but she did not exhibit the least surprise. She might have known it already, I expect. But I was circumspect. I said nothing about Frederick beyond, we ought to get him to Bath.”
“Excellent,” Sophy exclaimed fondly.
The admiral put his hands behind his back and walked about the room as he had been used on his quarterdeck. “I make no claims to perspicacity, but I would not make that mistake, and I know there is never any use in trying to put people together. Worse than driving cats, and I swore off it, as you know. But I wish your brother, who pegs the rigging of a disguised privateer hull down on the horizon, would look about him more closely. He could not pick a better, were he court every young lady in Bath, I am convinced.”
“Come here and kiss me,” Sophy declared. “I feel just the same.”
o0o
Frederick arrived the day after she sent a letter in answer to his. Not that she saw anything of him. He was gone all the day and evening, she knew not where. But she was content. She suspected a purpose, and had hopes as to what it was.
Sophy could walk again when Frederick related over breakfast the delightful news that Captain Harville was in Bath, having traveled with the Musgroves. They were staying at the White Hart. And he finished with a look of consciousness that prompted her to say, “Well, then, I must call.”
The admiral spoke up. “Sophy, I would go with you, but I promised to meet Baldwin and O’Rourke, and you know this evening we promised to look in at Camden—”
“No, no, you must go. Your friends would be vastly disappointed, were you not there.”
“I will accompany you,” Frederick said immediately, with such intensity that Sophy suspected the crisis had come.
Yet as they walked down to Bath Street, and then skirted the busy thoroughfare full of coaches, Frederick talked of Plymouth, of Edward and his bride, of everything except his purpose in Bath. Sophy listened, and smiled, and posed no questions.
They arrived just ahead of a band of rain, and found the entire company gathered—except Miss Anne Elliot. However, Mrs. Charles and Miss Henrietta had scarcely spoken a greeting to Mrs. Croft before the latter said, “We are off. No, no, I do not mind the rain—see, it is beginning to clear over there, it was only a drop or two. And it is scarcely a step to the linen draper’s. But mind, mother, when Anne comes, you are to keep her here until our return!”
Sophy heard Frederick’s indrawn breath, and could not prevent a smile, but she turned that to good account as she was welcomed by Mrs. Musgrove.
“Yes, here we are, buying bride-clothes,” Mrs. Musgrove said, with a sense of happy importance. “Scarcely three months ago no one talked of marriage, and now both my girls are wild to wed. Well, well, they say it’s the modern age to blame. Do you know how it came about?”
Sophy said a few words about letters, but they were not heeded: Mrs. Musgrove wanted to be talking, to tell it all her own way about Mr. Hayter and Henrietta, and Louisa and Mr. Benwick. So Sophy sat nearby, and composed herself to listen, while she positioned her chair so that she could see the entire room.
Frederick had gone straight to Harville, who stood in the window, looking down at the comers and goers under the dripping eaves. When at last there was a stir at the door, and Miss Anne Elliot arrived, after the bows and the curtseys, Frederick announced that he would write Harville’s letter.
What letter? Sophy possessed her impatience, as she watched Miss Anne occupy herself alone. What was he about, all but ignoring her, when they could be speaking?
“At any rate, said I,” Mrs. Musgrove wound up after a long exchange, “it will be better than a long engagement.”
Sophy thought she might have an opportunity to throw in something encouraging here. “That is precisely what I was going to observe . . .” She went on, but without any idea of either Anne or Frederick hearing her well-intentioned words.
They talked at cross-purposes for a short time—Mrs. Musgrove engrossed quite properly with her daughters, whose example must serve for all, and Sophy’s words meant for only two in the room.
The result? Frederick went on writing, as if he sat in his cabin alone aboard his ship, and Miss Anne fell into conversation with Harville, whose countenance was pensive as he stood at the window.
And so it went for a time, Mrs. Musgrove comfortably talking without the least awareness of anybody else, Frederick writing, and the two by the window in earnest conversation, until the former came to the end of her long recitation, then sighed. “I expect I ought to do find out what those girls have done. Wiser heads still have their uses!”
Mrs. Croft sighed inwardly. She had been foolish to expect any change, just because she desired it. And there was this dreadful party at the Elliots’ that they must get ready for.
“Here, Frederick, you and I part company, I believe,” she said—in part to recall him to his surroundings, though without much hope. “I am going home, and you have an engagement with your friend.” And because she could not prevent herself from a last attempt, she said in Miss Anne’s direction, to recall Frederick to her quiet presence, “Tonight we may have the pleasure of all meeting again, at your party. We had your sister’s card yesterday, and I understood Frederick had a card too, though I did not see it—and you are disengaged, Frederick, are you not, as well as ourselves?”
“Yes,” he said, folding up his letter, and speaking in haste, almost randomly.
Sophy sighed again, said everything polite, and took her leave.
o0o
When she emerged from her dressing room in her new gown, it was to find Frederick and the admiral standing together. They each had a glass of wine in hand. At the sound of her step they turned, Frederick with the unshadowed smile of his boyhood.
Sophy halted in the doorway, her heart nearly stopped.
“Sophy, come hear the news,” the admiral cried. “You will like this!”
And Frederick said simply, “Anne Elliot has agreed to become my wife.”
Sophy flew to him, and cast herself in his arms, heedless of the expensive gown her mantua-maker had delivered the day previous. “When? How? Do tell me everything, Frederick.”
Frederick set her back, peering into her face. “I know it might seem sudden. I take it you have no reservations? Warn
ings? Counsel and advice?”
“Would you listen if I did?” she countered, laughing, and thumbing the spring of tears from her eyes. “Oh, Frederic, you could not bring me happier news. The admiral and I were agreeing that of all our new acquaintance, Miss Elliot is quite our favorite.”
“Anne,” he said quickly. “Miss Elliot is—someone else entirely.”
“Anne, then,” Sophy said. “She will not long retain the name Elliot, and before we leave to attend their party, permit me to observe: the sooner the better.”
“Aye,” Admiral Croft said, laughing heartily. “I endorse that, the sooner the better. And here I am, the slow-top after all, thinking it was that cousin Elliot all the time, ha ha! Never was I more glad to be wrong!”
Sophy observed a tightening of Frederick’s mouth, and a satiric glance of his eye, and reflected that more had been going on that she had been aware. As well it was all ended well, she reflected, and to turn the subject, enjoined the gentleman to another toast to the happy couple.
There was no time for more. At the elegant, cheerless gathering in Camden Place, there was no opportunity for private speech. It was clear that Anne’s family had yet to hear her news. They were, as usual, clustered around the insufferably dull Lady Dalrymple, hanging upon her every word as if she were possessed of wit and brilliance instead of mere rank.
Sophy could imagine the reasons for Miss Anne’s reticence, but that prevented her from saying the words she longed to, and she contented herself with a smile whenever Anne turned her way—and smiled the more to see the happy smile that mirrored her own joy.
Anne, in her happiness, was more than pretty, she was quite beautiful. More than one appeared to notice; the handsome Mr. Elliot certainly did, but Anne did not appear to see him, and when she and Frederick were glimpsed together in a corner half-screened by hothouse ferns, Sophy rejoiced to see her brother’s broad smile. For a very long eight years, it had seemed he’d forgotten how.
Fair Winds and Homeward Sail: Sophy Croft's Story Page 17
