by Susan Kaye
“…their character is beyond reproach and their friendliness is unmatched by any others. Their brotherliness is stronger than blood. They are upright and open as no other men in the world. I believe sailors have more worth than any other set of men in England and that only they know how to truly live. I do not think I shall ever be able to respect or love a man not a part of them.”
The statement was breathless and eager, and he knew that, at this moment, she meant every word. Though her judgment was naïve and based on little experience of sailors, he could not help admiring her zeal. Beside him, Musgrove snorted. Giving him a sharper look than was intended, Musgrove said, “Sorry, no offence intended. It’s just that all her high-blown talk of sailors is a bit ludicrous. After all, ‘Poor Richard’ was a sailor.” They were approaching the inn. Musgrove moved ahead of the ladies so he might open the door for them. There was more to Charles Musgrove than met the eye.
~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~
The food was adequate in quality and plentiful in quantity. The service was prompt and respectful. The keep’s wife deferred to him in all matters and saw to their every need. There were several apologies for the quietness of Lyme at this time of year. Regardless, nothing could dampen the cheer of the party.
When the meal was finished, the others went to their rooms to make ready for Harville’s promised visit. Wentworth had little to do to prepare for his friend and found himself alone with Anne. A serving boy took away the last of the dishes, having wiped the table and refreshed the candles. When he left the room, Wentworth moved closer to her and asked, “And how do you find Lyme, Miss Anne?”
His question made her look thoughtful. As she considered, her countenance lightened and she replied, “I think it is a beautiful place. A winter here might be a hardship in some ways, but in others, it would be a very great pleasure. The scenery is lovely and the sea…” She hesitated and looked the merest of seconds at him. “The sea is beautiful anytime, I suspect.”
This was an opinion he took much pleasure in hearing. He was about to ask her opinion of his friends when it seemed the room filled with Musgroves returning from their various errands. Louisa entered and looked around the room. Spotting him, she approached and took the seat next to him. Anxious to have her share of the conversation, she asked what was so important that they both looked so serious.
He’d not realized their expressions were out of the ordinary. Would others notice them and question their exchange? Shifting in his seat, he said, “We were merely discussing Lyme and its charms.” Turning to Anne, he asked, “And the Harvilles—how do you find them?” Her eyes answered first. In them was expressed genuine affection for his friends.
“I thought they were wonderful,” Louisa interjected, “and so brave to be unashamed of their poverty before strangers. I cannot imagine what I would do if I had so little and were faced with the opinions of so many. Oh, here is Captain Harville,” she said, smiling and rising. “And he has brought poor Captain Benwick as well.” Her look and tone were less than enthusiastic. In spite of this observation, she smoothed her gown and hurried to the door.
Wentworth watched her greet the gentlemen, and while he perceived Louisa too capricious at times, she seemed to have taken her own pronouncements concerning sailors to heart. By playing hostess, she was doing all she could to show it in every possible way. Speaking briefly to Harville and Benwick, she pointed to him and Anne.
Benwick shook his head and pointed towards the other end of the table. Louisa’s plans were becoming clear; she laughed, shook her head, then took his arm and brought him to Wentworth.
“Captain Benwick did not wish to interrupt you two, but I assured him that Anne would much prefer his company to yours, Captain.”
He was taken aback by what was surely a muddled phrase on her part. “And precisely why would Captain Benwick’s company be preferable to mine, Miss Louisa?”
Urging Benwick to take the seat next to Anne, she replied, “Well, all those books at the Harvilles’ are his, and Anne is a great reader. I am sure they have ever so much in common. I don’t believe I have heard you say a word about books or reading since being in our acquaintance, Captain.”
Benwick did as Louisa bid and took the seat. His expression was hesitant and Wentworth thought to save them all the embarrassment of the situation.
“My reading habits, or lack of them, are nothing to the point. I am sure that the Commander and Miss Anne would be more comfortable joining the rest of us at the other table.”
“Pardon, sir, but for my part I think I would much prefer the quiet of this corner,” Benwick offered. “I know that Timothy is not in the least sympathetic to the discussion of poetry, and I am sure no one else will care to discuss it either.” He smiled at Anne and then Wentworth.
“You needn’t concern yourself about us, sir. We shall do quite well here.” Anne smiled and made it clear she was comfortable with things as they stood.
“See, everyone is settled. Let us join the others.” Louisa tugged at his arm. He nodded to Anne and Benwick and left them.
As they approached seats at the larger table, Louisa leant close and said, “He is so morose; he draws the life out of any room he is in. I am determined to have fun this evening, and I think Anne is the perfect one to entertain him and keep him out of the way.” The comment itself was shocking, even more so as she had shown a great deal of sympathy for Benwick’s misfortunes earlier. He took his seat and watched her smile as she joined the company, absolutely unconscious of how unfeeling her statement was and how cold it left him.
Eventually, however, his vexation was overruled by the good company and his own natural cheerfulness. The ladies and Musgrove pressed Harville and him for stories of their former days. Each took turns sharing anecdotes of foreign ports, curious mates with whom they had served, and the good times and bad that left them changed forever. Their audience was alternately breathless, awaiting the resolution of tense and dangerous circumstances, or caught up in helpless laughter. When he was not the storyteller, Wentworth had a difficult time keeping to the conversation. His eyes drifted away from the faces of his Uppercross companions, and his mind drifted to the two at the small table in the corner.
It appeared, at first, that the conversation between Anne and Benwick was a bit awkward; she spoke more than he. Her manner was gentle and her countenance mild, non-threatening, undemanding. On both sides there were occasional smiles, but never anything approaching laughter. He could see Benwick warm to her ministrations, and soon, losing his reserve, the Commander looked most glad to be positioned as he was.
Bowing to Harville’s prowess as a narrator, Wentworth waved off his next turn and continued to watch the couple over his pint. It pained him to notice that neither of them wasted a look in the direction of the more animated table. Even at a distance, he could feel the perfect perception growing between them. There was a mutual understanding drawing them closer together. It was difficult to watch Anne listening intently, encouraging Benwick to reveal himself and his grief to her. Years earlier, then-Commander Wentworth, too, had revealed himself. However, his revelations had been of grand future plans and assurances of successes to come once he gained a ship. It was clear the conversation between Anne and his friend was not all Benwick’s; she was revealing herself to him as well. To Wentworth’s consternation, he could think of no single hope or dream Anne Elliot had shared with him in all the time they spent together. He could not think of a single time he had asked; all their confidences had been centred on his prospects in one way or another.
As much as he wished to resent Benwick, he could not stir up the feeling. Knowing how utterly broken-hearted he was left by the loss of Fanny Harville, Wentworth deemed the man to be safe from any affection that might be aroused by Anne’s kindness. Such was his one cold comfort in the whole evening.
Harville called to his friend that they must be going soon. Benwick waved an acknowledgement, but, to Wentworth’s dismay, instead of rising to leave her, took out a pe
ncil and small notebook and began to write. More precisely, Anne spoke and Benwick wrote. Once she pointed to the page. He crossed something out and wrote some more. The only thing the Captain could think was that they intended to exchange correspondence. Surely the Anne Elliot, who in the past was acutely mindful of propriety, would not now throw modesty to the wind and accept letters from a strange man. Of course she would not! There had to be another explanation. Unable to bring one to mind, he cursed his assumption that Benwick’s broken heart was safe.
~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~
The next morning, Wentworth dressed while it was still dark. Standing before the window, he watched the sea, the pier, and the shingle appear with the rising sun. Small boats were pushing out to sea for a day’s fishing. They joined boats that had gone out earlier under the cover of darkness. He would miss the sea when they left for home, but this time leave-taking could not come soon enough. Abandoning the window, he took a seat on the bed and eventually lay down.
“…he absolutely draws all the life from any room he enters…” Much of his night had been spent thinking on Louisa’s interaction with his friends. He knew Harville liked her open ways and quick opinions, but he was still shocked by the girl’s lack of compassion. She had seemed genuinely interested and eager to meet Benwick after hearing of his misfortune. That had either been a misreading on his part or, to be fair, in her youth and exuberance she was incapable of comprehending the depths of the man’s grief and pain. It still did not excuse her attitude. This visit had proven his doubts about Louisa’s substance and that taking himself off to his brother’s for a time was the most prudent course. Despite Louisa’s manoeuvring, Benwick had not seemed to mind being passed off to Anne’s care. In fact, the more he thought about the pair of them, the more troubling it became that neither had seemed to notice being purposely separated from the rest of the party.
The church clock struck a decent hour, and he decided to go down and see who else might have risen. The one undesirable feature of the uppermost floor was the squeaking boards and stairs. On his previous visit, it had been amusing to find various combinations of floorboards or treads which did not make noise enough to raise the dead. On this visit, on this particular morning, he was not in any mood for games. He supposed himself lucky that Mrs. Charles had not cajoled a room alongside him. He was the sole occupant of the top floor. He tried another combination of stairs as he descended, but it did not matter what he did; they all squeaked alarmingly.
Reaching the lower floor, he approached Anne’s door, slowed and listened. He stood motionless for a moment and then scolded himself for being a fool just as the door flew open and he nearly walked into Louisa.
“Good morning, Captain. It is very kind of you to come for us.”
It had certainly not been his intention, but to straighten out the misunderstanding would be extraordinarily rude. “Providence is everywhere.” The statement was rather ridiculous on its face, and the idea of blaming God for what, on his part, was an untimely meeting, was surely close to blasphemy. Without commenting, she nodded and disappeared for a moment, returning with her pelisse and bonnet.
Quickly pulling the door shut, she said, “Henrietta is not ready just yet. She will join us later.” Taking his arm, she assumed the place she now claimed as her own. They had made their way to the edge of the shingle. “Shall we go down here?” she asked.
“Will not the others be about and breakfast near serving?” They had retraced all the previous haunts on the Cobb, and now she wished to go down to the beach. He would not mind but he suspected that afterwards there would be complaints about sore feet and sand in her shoes—not strident complaints, merely things said in passing that had begun to grate on his nerves.
“I am sure we have time,” she said, with just a hint of a pout. “Besides, you never told me the sea was so beautiful in the morning.”
He offered her a hand to come down the steps. He looked into her eyes and beheld a hint of smugness he’d never acknowledged before. It was clear that, either by art or natural understanding, she was rapidly and precisely coming to know just how to manipulate him.
She came down only a step or two when she stopped. “Jump me,” she said, smiling, as she looked him in the eye.
“I think not, Miss Louisa. It is too high. The stones are uneven and make getting a firm footing impossible.” He raised his extended hand a bit higher and set his mouth in a firmer line.
“I shall not trot down like a sheep. I like to jump.”
Docility was not a trait he would attach to her. “I have already explained about the footing, and you are far too high. It would not do to have you fall.”
“I think you very much underestimate your own strength, Frederick. I believe I could jump from the highest point and you would have no trouble in catching me.”
For a brief moment he panicked that she might try it. But she stood still, smiling and watching him.
He castigated himself with the realization that he had no one to blame but himself for this situation. It started with the stiles and she’d taken it to these ridiculous heights. He knew his adjournment to Shropshire was coming almost too late.
“Please, Miss Louisa, come down now.” The scene was becoming an embarrassment, for there were a few walkers out; and he did not wish to continue with their test of wills.
Without looking away, she sidestepped down a few of the stairs. “Frederick, it would please me very much if you would call me Louisa.”
The game was no longer about jumping down the steps, but their becoming more intimate. He considered walking away; her pettish behaviour was far too annoying at this point, and a couple was standing at the top of the stairs, wishing to come down.
“Please, Louisa.” He disliked being blackmailed, but it seemed to be the only choice to bring about her compliance.
Hopping down several more steps, she was a mere five steps from the bottom. “I shall never fear as long as your strong arms are there to catch me.” Taking his hand, she leant a bit forward and hopped into his arms. “See,” she said, “you can do anything.” He said nothing as he lowered her to the ground.
It could hardly have been called a jump, but that was not the point. She made no move to separate herself from him and stood oddly poised.
Good God, she expects a kiss!
Were this another time, years ago, there would have been no hesitation. In fact, he had not hesitated and could even be called a thief, having stolen a kiss from another young woman. His pause spoke volumes and confirmed the rightness of his decision. He cleared his throat and stepped back. Laughing, she turned away and headed down the shingle. Wentworth looked around, fearing the waiting couple had noticed her antic. To his relief, they had moved on and there was no one in immediate sight.
They walked the shingle for a brief time and he had been right about Louisa’s complaints. They made their way back up to the firmer footing of the Cobb. In the distance he saw two female figures and guessed them to be Henrietta and Anne. He thanked God they were a quarter of an hour late in taking their walk.
Suddenly Louisa said, “I know Henrietta is having a wonderful time, but I am not certain about Anne.”
“And why might you think this?” he asked.
“She has had so little to say for herself and is always attaching herself to Captain Benwick. Not that they do not seem very suited.”
It was her machinations that had thrown the pair together. It was a clever trick of the mind that she now viewed Anne as “attaching herself” to his friend. Were she to actually engage Benwick in conversation, she would see that, aside from his grief, he was a fine, intelligent man.
Pleasantries were exchanged, and Louisa said, “The Captain insisted I accompany him on his morning walk.”
Henrietta’s smile widened while Anne looked away from the pair and off to the sea behind them. A gust of wind nearly unsettled his hat and caused all the ladies to pull close their cloaks.
“We came to walk until breakfast. Perhap
s it is ready and we should go back,” Henrietta said, looking to her companion.
“Perhaps you should,” Louisa agreed. “I have some things I must get in town. We can meet you at the inn.” She gave Wentworth a look that said “we” meant just the two of them.
“We shall go with you, Louisa. We are in no hurry, are we Anne?”
Anne looked from Henrietta to him, then away. “No, we are at your disposal, Louisa.” Perhaps he misread her expression, but he was certain he saw again a hint of amusement on Anne’s face. He watched her as she turned to walk with Miss Musgrove and was gratified to see the wisp of a smirk bloom into a full-on smile.
Ah, there you are! His suspicions were confirmed, and she was still as much as ever his clever Anne of old.
Coming to the stairs leaving the shingle, he noticed a gentleman at the top who stepped aside to allow the group to pass. The man touched his hat to both Henrietta and Louisa. When Wentworth drew even with him, prepared to acknowledge him, the fellow’s eyes were already looking past, taking in the one who followed.
Turning, he saw that by Anne’s expression she knew she was being watched, not only by the stranger, but himself as well. It was impossible to ignore how the sea had brought to life her normally pale cheek and the whole of her pretty face.
Smiling modestly, she nodded to the fellow as she passed. Well, well, that man certainly is struck with you, and I cannot disagree; for at this moment, I see something like Anne Elliot again. It was good to see her more like her old self, but Wentworth could not shake the thought that a gentleman in mourning, for the man had worn a black armband, should not be quite so open in his appreciation of a strange woman.
As they passed the shops, Louisa seemed undecided as to what she needed until they came to a store with a window full of fabric and ribbons. “This is where I wish to go,” she said, waiting for him to assist her.
They could see the shop was crowded. Henrietta had already entered, while Anne demurred and walked on to a bookstall next door. “I think I shall stay out here and wait,” he said, holding the door for Louisa.
