by Susan Kaye
Wentworth was determined not to allow their meeting the previous day to be his sole impression of the young man. Louisa, and particularly Henrietta, had taken great pains to explain their cousin’s rude behaviour. “He works so hard to improve himself that I fear he pays attention to nothing but work and study,” Henrietta had said.
The man was young and had acted imprudently. Certainly, Wentworth could understand the desire for improvement. From Edward’s descriptions, he knew Hayter had chosen a difficult occupation. The Church was a place where one misstep with the wrong person could demolish any hope of increase. He stepped forward and was about to greet Hayter when the fellow placed himself next to the small table in the chair furthest out of the way and promptly opened a newspaper. It was clear he wished no conversation or anything else the Captain had to offer.
Returning to his post at the window, he listened carefully, hoping to hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs. It was clear the only relief from this awkward company was either to make his excuses and walk out or hold fast and pray a swift completion of the ladies’ business.
He had just put aside his serious consideration of flight and was removing his gloves and coat when the door from an adjoining room opened. Through the opening there appeared a boy a bit shorter than little Charles. And this would be young master Walter. The little man planted his feet solidly and looked very pointedly at Wentworth for a second or two. The door behind him closed by an unseen hand and the Captain could not help but suspect the boy had become a nuisance elsewhere in the house and was being sent off to the only person who could make him behave.
He smiled, and gave the boy a demi-salute, but the child’s expression changed not a whit. Walter looked towards his cousin behind the newsprint curtain, then to the sofa. Deciding that the company of his aunt and brother was the most favourable source of amusement, he charged towards the sofa.
“What is he eating?” the boy asked, even before he reached his aunt.
“Charles has nothing to eat. Besides, you just finished breakfast, Walter.”
Wentworth was somewhat baffled by the child’s unfriendly response since he was usually a favourite with children. While he was not precisely “Uncle” to Harville’s children, they were not in the least hesitant when it came to sitting on him or fingering his gold braid or stretching the bullions on his epaulettes. More than once Mrs. Harville had taken his coat away and returned it with the tiny golden cords put back in fine naval order. Visiting with Harville’s family was a pleasure, though it never failed to remind him that he had no wife and children of his own.
“But he has something there,” Walter said, as he began to pull at his brother.
Anne took the boy’s hands and placed them at his side. “Charles has nothing. But you may play with the blocks or perhaps the little boat.” She reached into the box where the other toys had been placed and took out a little wooden ship with two masts complete with small sails. The boy grabbed it from his aunt and held it out to his brother, but snatched it away before Charles could take it. Then, with no provocation, Walter threw it to the floor.
“Walter. You are being very unkind to your brother.” On her knees, she made her way to the boat and took it up. She glanced at Wentworth, and then went back to the boys.
The child’s obvious lack of enthusiasm for things naval reinforced Wentworth’s dislike. He earnestly hoped he was not so petty as to despise a child merely for bearing the name of a buffoonish grandsire, but he suspected he was burdening the child with the sins of the Baronet.
Just then, the little urchin turned his attentions away from his brother. He first took his aunt’s arm and kept a tight hold of it. When she extracted him, he encircled his arms around her neck. He got away with it for a moment by placing a fat, wet kiss on her cheek. “I love you, Auntie Anne,” he said.
She smiled and replied, “I love you too, Walter, but you must let me go. I can’t tend your brother like this.”
Wentworth, too, smiled. It was easy to see this was precisely the child’s plan. The little beggar was giggling with delight. He knew he’d hit upon a winning strategy to have his brother’s share of his aunt’s attention. She nearly got him away when he then managed to climb onto her back. The child was of a fair size and Wentworth could see that his weight bowed her down.
“Walter, get down this moment. You are extremely troublesome. I am very angry with you.” Reaching back, she tried to grasp a hold of him, but his plump legs bent and flexed just out of her reach.
It was apparent that little Walter Musgrove neither cared about being troublesome nor that he was making his aunt angry. Fortunately, he was too young to purposely intend Anne any harm. Glancing at the cousin, Wentworth saw little activity. The paper was moving, but it seemed there would be no assistance from that quarter. Though it was none of his affair, he was about to intervene when the paper rattled to the table and Hayter said, “Walter, why do you not do as you are bid? Do you not hear your aunt speak? Come to me, Walter—come to Cousin Charles.”
And why do you not take some decisive action to make the little blighter mind? The child was deaf to the voice of his cousin and continued tormenting his aunt. Before giving it any real consideration, Wentworth stepped into the fracas.
At first he thought it would be a simple matter to scoop the child up and take him off to the far side of the room, but when the boy realized what was happening, a struggle began. Sliding his hand under the boy’s belly and gently grasping his shoulder, Wentworth lifted. In all the shifting, his fingers caught in Anne’s apron strings, and to make matters worse, the little squeaker refused to let go of her neck. Disentangling his own fingers, he reached around to Walter’s hands and, with a little prodding, unwrapped them from around her neck. To his dismay, the chubby little fists were sticky. Moreover, he couldn’t help but touch the soft skin of Anne’s face and neck as he worked. A lock of her hair went astray in the tumble. Finally the boy was loose, and he was able to grasp him by the trousers and lift him away.
Walter made a lunge, but Wentworth held him more tightly to his chest. Twisting, he tried to struggle down, but Wentworth’s strong arms trapped him and he quickly surrendered.
He looked over at the sofa where Anne bent over little Charles, speaking to him softly. She seemed unhurt but in need of assistance to stand. Just as he was about to offer his hand, his little captive, still struggling, kicked him. Any aid would have to be left to Hayter, but the curate offered nothing save a mild scolding. “You ought to have minded me, Walter; I told you not to teaze your aunt.”
Wentworth turned his attention to the boy. “You are a naughty one, aren’t you?” The child was not too young to understand that grasping a man’s neck-cloth and giving it a ferocious yank were not to be tolerated. I cannot determine whom you most favour, your puffed-up grandfather or your embarrassment of an uncle. I see them both so clearly.
“Oh, isn’t that wonderful? The Captain is becoming acquainted with little Walter.” Mrs. Charles’s voice carried over all the other sounds in the room. He looked over to see the ladies coming to him and the boy.
“Charles, you are come, too,” Louisa said, noticing the man at the table. Henrietta looked at him and then quickly away.
“Excuse me, Mary,” Anne interrupted, “but you will have to see to little Charles. I must fetch something from my room.” Her expression was indiscernible to Wentworth, and she moved away without looking to the right or left.
Mary glanced back at the boy on the sofa and then took the hand of her youngest son. Quickly letting go, she said, “I am not in the least surprised, Captain, that you are drawn to little Walter. I love my children equally, but I must confess I see much more of the Elliot character and countenance in my youngest.”
A clattering sound drew everyone’s attention to the door. Anne knelt to pick up a wooden toy that blocked her path. There had been no thanks when he rescued her from the child. No words of credit or appreciation had passed her lips, not that he wanted or ex
pected any. But now, as she knelt, her eyes looked nowhere but to him. Her look of gratitude was inescapable. Giving the toy a gentle push, she rose, passed into the next room, and receded into the shadows as she pulled the door closed.
So, this was her life—caring for the children of others while they carried on unencumbered, playing the tune so others might dance. Anne Elliot was bound to her family and those around her by a strong sense of duty and obligation, and as long as she kept to these duties and obligations, she was assured of the good opinion of all in her circle. It was fortunate there was no interest on his part, for he could never persuade her away from her slavish existence. Yes, he was fortunate indeed.
Out of the blue, the boy lunged and cried, “Mama!” distracting him from his thoughts. Glad to be rid of his squirming burden, he said, “Madam, I assure you that I see not only yourself in the boy, but a great deal of his Eliot forbearers.” As he spoke, he hoisted the child over to his mother. She had no choice but to take him, sticky hands and all. Fetching his gloves and coat, Wentworth looked around and was glad all the ladies were occupied and had not paid any heed to his comment. He could not escape the thought that, had she been present, Anne would have understood his allusion perfectly.
Chapter Fourteen
The days settled into a regular pattern of shooting in the morning with one or both of the Musgrove men. After hunting, he would join the family at Uppercross for elevenses; the ladies were always accommodating and quickly came to expect him as though he were one of their own. Eventually he would return to Kellynch and make inquiries, hoping that some mail might have followed him from Plymouth. After a bit of a rest, he would change for dinner and, when not promised to the Musgroves, join his sister and the Admiral for a quiet evening. While he did enjoy the company and sporting pursuits of the country, the unvarying days were wearing; he longed for the activity and excitement of his former life.
Coming down the stairs this morning, he could not help but feel it was a repeat of all the days that had gone before. Though Musgrove had promised him the use of a particularly fine weapon for the day’s hunt, he mused it would have to be a fine weapon indeed to set this day’s shooting apart from the rest.
Breaking his fast, the Captain exchanged a few words with his brother-in-law and began the walk to Uppercross. While there would be no chance encounter with Anne today, the small society of Uppercross had forced their meeting on several previous occasions. There was the morning he came upon her when the shooters returned to the mansion for much-needed refreshment. They found Little Charles, whose health was improving daily, had made the walk from the Cottage to visit with his grandparents. Since his mother was feeling under the weather that morning, his aunt had accompanied him. Her greeting to him was, as usual, proper in every way. Another evening they had dined together at the Great House. Again, her greeting was efficient and brief. It mattered not if their meetings were expected or casual, her duty to him was dispatched with the utmost civility and calm indifference.
The previous morning, Musgrove had indicated more anxiety than usual to be out of the house, promising to meet him at the edge of the village, guns and dogs at the ready. It was a relief to know that today there would be no surprise meeting with Anne and no need to rescue her from the tortures of the enfant terrible, Walter.
As he drew near the Cottage, he could see Musgrove, true to his word, trying to control a young hound he insisted would be a champion one day. The dog put Wentworth more in mind of the man’s unruly brother than a well-trained hunter.
The beast, unfortunately, ruined the hunt; and as the sportsmen returned there was only light conversation. “So what do you think of the Harrington? I prefer it to father’s Beresford; it’s so heavy you have to hit just right or you’ll have nothing left to bring home.” Musgrove walked on a moment and then added, “You seem to do quite well with it.”
“It is a wonderful piece. Its beauty alone is enough to make me like it.” He saw beauty in many things, but when it was present in weapons, he was especially appreciative. He owned several edge weapons that were finely crafted for precision and, in his opinion, as lovely as any jewellery. He could fully appreciate this shotgun’s ivory inlaid stock and engraved barrel. Perhaps when he was settled, he would expand his own collection to include shooting weapons.
“And it’s handsomely crafted, along with the balance of the barrel. She is a prize.”
“Now perhaps you understand why I can be so tight-fisted about her. I’m sorry about the dog. He’s got all the breeding of a first-rater, but he just doesn’t seem to get the hang of fetching back the birds.”
For the third time that morning, Wentworth assured Musgrove he was not disappointed in the least by the dog’s antics. He said nothing about being sick to death of pheasant and the many other winged creatures they had shot and eaten in the last week. “In fact, as the season will be ending soon, I am thinking of buying a horse so that I might go riding. I am no shrewd judge of horseflesh, Charles. I wonder if you might recommend a trustworthy dealer.”
Now that they were in view of the Cottage, Musgrove untied the dog and watched him dash towards his food and water. “Well, there are none here in Uppercross, and the fellow in Monkford is not to be trusted. I would say a man named Hugh Benedict, in Crewkherne, would be your best bet. His grandfather was a Frenchy, but he behaves himself like a proper Englishman.”
Before he could ask whereabouts in Crewkherne Mr. Benedict did his business, Musgrove’s sisters and his wife met the gentlemen. Bringing up the rear came Anne. When asked about their destination, Louisa was vague concerning the locale but replied they were for a long walk and invited the Captain to join them.
Mr. Benedict was forgotten, and Wentworth consulted with Musgrove as to his desire for a walk. When the gentlemen accepted, they returned their hunting gear to the house and the miscreant dog to its kennel. Upon rejoining the party, Wentworth noticed a look from Anne that went from him to each of the young ladies. She was interested in something concerning them, and he was curious to know what it might be.
As they left the village, it was clear that the Musgrove sisters were the guiding force behind the walk and so took the lead. As with most things involving the two, Louisa appeared to be more the leader than her sister. She set the direction and pace and seemed quite content to divide her attention between him and, occasionally, her sister, leaving Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove and Anne to fend for themselves.
The conversation was easy and lively. Once the subjects of the weather, cold nights, clear and sunny days, and shooting were exhausted, the talk turned to the health of those in the neighbourhood, his family in particular.
“And how is the Admiral? Mamma has been concerned about his legs. Your sister says he has been down with the gout,” Henrietta observed.
“I’m not sure it is gout, but he has been well enough to take her out in the gig the last few mornings. He was suffering terribly, but it seems to have passed.”
“Is it true that sailors, who have been at sea for some time, can barely walk on land for days, even weeks?” Louisa made a hasty survey of his legs.
“It can be jarring, reacquainting oneself to dry land. Walking on a constantly shifting wooden deck is much different than the hard, unyielding ground.”
“Then I am surprised you would come on a long walk with us. To walk into the fields and hunt is one thing, but to take a walk with no purpose seems fruitless.”
Louisa was young but clever. She knew very well how to fish for a compliment. And he decided he would rise to her bait. “Ah, but the real purpose it to have good company. Good company is difficult to come by, and that makes any discomfort worthwhile. Besides, I walked miles a day on board my ship. I find it helps to clear the mind.”
“And how can that be? How can you walk for miles when you are so confined?”
“Simple. When a man strides approximately three feet per step, and that is multiplied by the circumference of the quarter deck and the length and breadth of t
he ship, it makes for a great deal of walking in a day.”
There was always more to say about very little, and he was just in the mood to do so as they made their way across the open fields. Narrow paths made staying together as a group impossible. He could not help but notice that Anne was saying nothing but keeping dutifully to her sister and brother-in-law.
Louisa, on the other hand, had many observations of the changing countryside, and the glorious crisp, clear weather. “Although, I do so look forward to the snug evenings when the days are short and much colder. It is really like life, is it not? Time passes more quickly and the outside world grows less and less tempting.”
What she said had truth to it, if one cared to view the world as something that diminished over time. But this was the view of a person who rarely travelled more than a hundred miles in a lifetime. He had travelled thousands in a few short years and hoped to travel many more. The topic of shorter days and cold nights conflicted with his mood just then. He decided a change was in order. “What glorious weather for the Admiral and my sister! They meant to take a long drive this morning. Perhaps, we may hail them from some of these hills. They talked of coming into this side of the country. I wonder whereabouts they will upset today. Oh! It does happen often, I assure you, but my sister makes nothing of it. She would as lieve be tossed out as not.”
“I am sure you do not intend it so, but that seems a harsh thing to say of the Admiral’s skills with a gig,” said Henrietta.
“Ah, you make the most of it, I know,” declared Louisa, “but if it were really so, I should do just the same in her place. 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.”
The sentiment was quite perceptive and full of feeling on her part. While he was fully prepared to poke fun at his sister’s warm-hearted, though potentially injurious constancy to her husband, he could not help but admire it. He could not stop wishing something like it for himself.
