by Susan Kaye
“Yes, it was a girl. A lady.” He was surprised he answered with such frankness, but he saw no harm in telling someone who hadn’t any interest in the matter at all. “I was very unkind to her. Giving me this was a kindness I did not deserve.”
“Like the ladies on the streets who buy me sweets. One gave me an umbrella once. It got ruined in the wind though.” The boy’s innocence was touching. Unfortunately, it would not be long before he discovered more about those ladies that might taint his naive opinion. “My sister was like that.” This last was said very quietly.
“Was she?” As Wentworth remembered, his sister was dead.
“She was nice. She kept the butler from hitting me so much.”
“You two worked in a big house?”
“Yeah. It was Reverend Thornton’s father’s house. He yelled a lot.”
“The reverend?”
“No, his father. Jane told me to run away; so I did.”
It would seem the boy had figured out that the fewer ties to his past, the simpler it was to create a future and so had lied about having a living relation. He wondered if his parents, too, were the victims of an urchin’s expediency. “Do you know if she is still there?”
“I think so.” He shifted to face the Captain straight on. “That is why I followed you. I know a boy on a ship does not make much, but if there is prize...and if I become an officer, I could give her a home.” His face showed perfect faith in his simple plan.
Frederick sat up. “A very worthy ambition, sir. I only wish I could see the future so clearly and with such hope.” A knock at the door interrupted the gentlemen’s philosophising.
Both turned to see Edward. Frederick immediately wondered how long his brother had been at the door. He invited Edward to enter. His stomach clinched when he noticed the Rector bore letters. “These are for you.” Edward looked at the address. “This is from Harville in Lyme. And the other is from...a...C. Musgrove, Uppercross, Somersetshire.” He handed them over. “Is Harville well? I always liked him.”
“He does well enough.” Frederick made no effort to inform Edward of Harville’s health, shattered career, or anything that might entice his brother to remain. Edward grasped the situation and turned to leave. He then turned back. “Come to me later, Frederick. We need to talk.” To George he said, “And we shall talk now.” The boy swallowed hard and went with the Rector.
Frederick stared at the letters, dreading the contents of each. Bad news could be put off. Good news would free him of all his anxieties, and he could celebrate his continued good fortune. His skills of divination were quite poor. There was no hint of news of one kind or the other. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his clasp knife, and cut through the wafer sealing the first letter.
Captain,
We were happy to hear from you and hope all is well with your brother and new sister. You will be glad to know that Miss Louisa is making great strides daily. She is up for several hours a day and walks with Benwick both morning and evening. He is impressed that she is regaining her strength so quickly. Elsa is vigilant that the girl does not overtax herself. Life in the house has calmed a bit now that Charles and Mrs. Musgrove have decamped back to Uppercross. It looks as though the balance of the family will be leaving in time to meet the rest of their children for Christmas. Mr. Musgrove, in particular, is anxious to get back to his own home and hearth permanently. We older gentlemen like our homely comforts. I hesitate to mention your returning to Lyme, but I think as soon as you have had your fill of Mr. Wentworth’s piety, you may wish to return and re-establish yourself. There are pressing matters that require your attendance.
Frederick rose, dropped the letter on the bed, and went to the fireplace. Matters that require my attendance. Rather than think precisely about those matters, he busied himself with the fire. The hearth was warm but the rest of the uncarpeted floor was too cool for him to remain barefooted. After he pulled on his boots, he picked up Musgrove’s letter.
Captain Wentworth,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. All of us, save Louisa, of course, are the same. By the time you receive this letter, my wife and I will have returned to Uppercross. Before leaving Lyme, Father is anxious that I write and bring you current about my dear sister’s condition. She was just beginning to sit up and is somewhat more clear-headed but is still exceedingly weak. She has no capacity for noise or confusion. Few are allowed in to see her, except Mother, Mrs. Harville and the nurse, although Benwick and his poetry are pressed into service with some frequency when she’s agitated. The surgeon fears that her slow recovery indicates more damage than was first thought. Mrs. Harville has declared there is no telling when we might bring her home, but she has assured us that she will not mind if it takes up to half a year. Their hospitality will remain constant. They have truly been the saving of us.
Every line offered its own evil interpretation. It was clear by the dates that each letter had travelled its own tortured path, and that explained the deviation in reports. Louisa had progressed considerably since Musgrove’s letter. Mr. Musgrove’s anxiety that Wentworth know of Louisa’s condition was growing as well. Undoubtedly, this was the matter about which Harville spoke. All involved understood the Captain’s duties to the girl and were determined that he should not forget them either. The blame now grew heavier with the knowledge that the surgeon’s initial diagnosis was overly optimistic, and each of the letters strengthened the understanding that the girl’s health and the responsibility for her care were Frederick’s. To shirk those duties was to damage his already battered sense of honour.
The Musgroves might present themselves as simple country folk, but he was sure the old man cagey enough to know when he had the advantage. Wentworth was trapped by the expectations of the Musgrove family and by his own sense of responsibility. He must and would do what was necessary to make things right for Louisa Musgrove. He folded the letters and put them in his breast pocket. Before he left the room, he folded Anne’s blanket and put it out of sight.
Chapter Six
The evening was quiet and convivial. Everyone gathered in the sitting room as usual. There was not much conversation except about church matters, which left Frederick free to read Edward’s copy of the Naval Chronicles. There was no information volunteered about George and what had transpired between him and the Rector, and Wentworth didn’t care to ask just yet.
Mrs. Wentworth had been sewing. Out of the blue she rose, said, “I nearly forgot,” and left them.
“A letter from Sophia.” Edward told Frederick.
There seemed no respite from the reminders of things he’d rather forget. “I put it on Edward’s desk thinking it would remind him to give it to you.” She handed it to him and went back to her sewing.
Wentworth read it anxiously, searching for any indication that the intricate web of country gossip was marrying him off to Miss Louisa. He read it through and was relieved that Sophia’s main reason for the letter seemed to be to make comment upon the return to Uppercross of the younger Musgrove couple.
...for an excursion that ended so badly, I must say that Mrs. Charles Musgrove was a good soldier and made the best of it. We were treated to a lengthy recounting of all the sights she managed to see, the entertainments she partook to refresh her mind, and the large number of books she read while attending so faithfully to her sister’s every need. I was surprised that a small coastal town, practically deserted for the winter, had so much to offer the visitor. Perhaps she came home to rest herself, but I suppose you would know better than I whether she was help or hindrance, Frederick.
The rest assured him that Miss Anne had little to say about the unfortunate events directly but seemed pleased that he had taken such trouble to bring the note to her from Lyme. “And she seemed especially pleased that you made us aware of her great exertions, even to volunteering to remain with Miss Musgrove.” The rest was to mention that Miss Anne was also glad to see the changes they had made about the Hall. He folded the letter and
returned it to his brother. One thing stood out: there was no mention of Benwick in the neighbourhood, and Harville had mentioned his twice daily walks with the man. So, the much anticipated trip to Uppercross had not come off. The reasons were not important.
Edward tucked it in his pocket. “You were in Lyme, then.” No doubt, he was remembering the other letters. Thankfully, he seemed not to notice the reference to Anne.
Frederick knew he must now take particular care. His brother might be a happy man, but his curiosity was not so dulled by marital bliss that he would not begin to make out that Frederick was not being completely open. Perhaps he already was aware. “Yes, the fellow who sent the letter—Charles Musgrove—his wife and his sisters accompanied me there to visit Harville and his family.”
Edward considered a moment but was interrupted by Catherine. “It is unfortunate her sister fell ill.” Her tone was casual, and she did not look up from her sewing.
Frederick took no comfort in this. “She had an accident. She took a bad fall.” Catherine now looked up, her curiosity roused. “But, she is recovering well from what Harville has told me.” His sister-in-law murmured thanks for that. Unfortunately, Edward was giving it all some intense thought.
After Mrs. Wentworth retired—Edward going up with her for evening prayers and the like—Frederick went to his brother’s study as he had been ordered.
Edward joined him and took a seat before the fire. He gazed into it and then turned to Frederick directly. “I heard your conversation with Mr. Tuggins.”
“I wondered.” The house was small, and it was only a matter of time before his private affairs became known.
Edward shook his head and sat back in the chair. “I am more disgusted than I can say. Catherine and I discussed it, and she thinks I must do all I can to make this up to the boy and his sister.” His fingers tapped the arm of the chair in a rhythmic tattoo. “It is no wonder the clergy are mistrusted and bring such shame on the Church.” He stared into the fire and chewed thoughtfully on his thumbnail.
Frederick was relieved. It seemed his confession to George had occurred before Edward’s arrival. “Yes, it is a disgrace that anyone would treat vulnerable children so badly.”
“When I spoke with him, he was able to tell me the name of the father, though I shall write to this Reverend Thornton straightaway. It can’t possibly be that he is ignorant of what goes on in his father’s house. He obviously oversees it and is therefore responsible. But then again...”
“And what of George’s interruption earlier?” He might as well get all troubles pertaining to the boy out of the way.
Edward smiled a little. “He did nothing wrong. We were merely having tea in here. The boy came in, saw us, and flew out of the room. I think he’s become oversensitive.” Edward rose and fetched glasses and the decanter. “I told him there was nothing wrong in entering the study, but that all of us must be courteous and knock from now on.” He handed him a glass.
The wine was murky in the firelight. Frederick held up a hand. “I think I should retire—”
Edward offered the glass again. “We’re not finished here.” He held the glass. “I also heard you speak to George about Anne.”
The Captain took the wine, tasted it, and swallowed though it was very nearly the dregs. He watched Edward return to his seat and waited for the next salvo.
Edward took a drink. “Catherine says all of us have secrets. Allowing things into the light is freeing. What is the burden she sees in you?”
The Captain was startled that the conversation shifted so suddenly.
“You know some of it. You said you think I still care for Anne Elliot. You are right. I still love her very much.” As Edward had said, it felt good to allow some things into the light. If only he had acknowledged such feelings earlier, so much anxiety and pain could have been spared.
“As you’ve said nothing about this until now, I have to assume the lady is in the dark.”
“You are right again. Unfortunately, I have only come to understand myself in the last few weeks.”
“And why are you not making arrangements to see her and let her know your mind?” It was clear Edward had been observing him and thinking about what little there was to observe. “Does this have anything to do with your trip to Lyme?”
“That is part of it. Though I think most of the damage was done well before Lyme.” Frederick leant back and rested his head against the chair.
“Damage?”
He frowned without looking at his brother. Frederick felt suddenly like a child again, having to admit to mischief. He continued to hide himself. “When I first heard from our sister, I misunderstood something she said and thought Anne was married. I believed myself safe until I was in the midst of her family. I immediately realised my mistake.” He paused, now perfectly understanding what tack he’d taken with her. “An officer I knew told me that the way to punish another officer, someone you felt was inferior and needed a lesson, was not to degrade them or harass them in any way. The best way to make them know your displeasure is to hold them at a distance. This works particularly well if you have been close.” He looked at his brother. “If you truly wish to wound someone, ignore them. Act as if the past intimacy is nothing, that it is forgotten completely. So, I did that.”
The first salvo of shame was launched. It would not be long before Edward insisted on the second.
Edward frowned and bit his lip as he meditated on the words. “That is brilliant.” He sighed. “It is the most despicable, soul-crushing scheme I’ve ever heard, but it is brilliant.”
He bristled at Edward’s sketch of his behaviour, but it was accurate and very well deserved. “There is more.” The fire popped and a bit of it crumbled through the grate.
Edward’s chair creaked as he moved. “More?” He rose and went to the tray.
The tone was enough that Frederick did not dare to look. “I may have obligated myself to someone else. The young woman in Lyme.”
“Miss Musgrove.”
“Yes, I behaved badly—”
“Just how badly?”
“I am not quite a reprobate—I have not spent my time meddling with young girls. I paid her too much attention, was too much with the family. My behaviour could easily invite romantic speculations.” He could not rise to defend himself more. Even as he spoke of Louisa Musgrove, Anne’s face reminded him of all the opportunities he had missed.
“I see.” There was silence while Edward thought. “You said you may have obliged yourself. What makes you uncertain? Surely, the family has made their views known.”
Suddenly, Frederick realised how ridiculous it all sounded that he was completely dependent upon the mistaken opinion of Harville and his wife. Musgrove had seemed to say the family had expectations, but nothing had been expressed outright. His plan of separation may have done all he hoped, but he had no sure way of knowing. Edward was going to have much to say about this.
And he did.
After Frederick outlined what had occurred in Lyme and how he had left things, Edward asked for more details. He now knew as much about the fiasco as anyone. “So, you are hoping to hear from Harville, and then you will do whatever you must.”
“Honour demands it.”
“Honour is a harsh taskmaster.”
“What are we without it?”
“Happier sometimes.”
“Are you advising me to shirk my duty if I am expected to marry her?”
“No, certainly not! I will say that if it comes to that, you can be happy with her.”
“Does that really matter?”
“I think it would matter to your wife...and eventually to your children.”
Children. The word made his stomach twist. He had hoped bringing his troubles to light would make them easier to bear. It would seem, the more his brother spoke, the heavier the burden became. “How could I be happy with a woman I do not love?”
“By putting away all thoughts of the one you do love.”
E
dward was being sympathetic, and Frederick knew this advice was a hard thing to give. It was clear the Rector in no wise wished for his brother to give up concerning Anne unless it was absolutely necessary. Frederick looked away, back to the fire.
Edward cleared his throat. “You need to have some faith, Brother.”
It seemed a preposterous statement. “Religion will save me?”
“No, I mean that when we are caught up in our pride and so certain we know what Providence has for us, we can change. The circumstances can change as well.”
“Yes, yes...as with you and Catherine.” He could not bear to hear of their triumphant tale of love over expediency again.
“I hadn’t thought of that, but what you say is true.” There was a pause. “I was thinking more along the lines of my return to England.”
Frederick studied his brother. During this visit there had been more genuine exchanges than the Captain could ever remember. It was all so strange, and at another time, when his own affairs were more certain, it would have been refreshing. But now he knew too much about too many people and knew that the truth always tainted even the most carefully weighed opinion. Besides that, there were things about him and his career that he wished no one knew: judgements he had made that he would change if such a possibility presented itself, words he had spoken in haste that he wanted back, actions towards people he cared deeply for that proved quite the opposite. “What have you done? What makes you think you understand my situation?” This was the crux of it; Edward’s behaviour intimated that he was guilty of something.
Edward was still silent and staring into the fire when Frederick rose to pour them each another glass of wine. He handed it to Edward. “Now, tell me what this is about. I am tired of all our secrets and manoeuvres.” He took his seat and waited.
