by Susan Kaye
Harville laughed. “Leave it to Frederick to give a pleasure trip all the feel of an urgent mission for the Crown. I suppose if they dally, you will have them up on charges?”
Only Musgrove’s horses knew of his earlier grumbling, and he was sure they would be silent. “Certainly not, Captain. You must think me an over-zealous monster.”
“No, merely a man who sees punctuality as a near cousin to constancy. You can’t help yourself; you are faithful to all you serve and in all you do.” A little bow added to the jest.
The group had reformed as they drew nearer the Cobb, and there was a general desire to revisit it before taking their leave of Lyme. Louisa in particular made it clear that one last walk on the Cobb was her fondest wish, and that she would not be satisfied without it. “You must agree, Captain, that one last walk on the Cobb will make our trip to Lyme complete. Do you not?” The sweet, contrite girl of earlier had vanished.
“I doubt a quarter-hour will make much difference, will it Captain?” Charles Musgrove asked. “Even Father’s horses can make that up with no trouble.”
Harville made a show of looking away, but Wentworth caught the smirk on his face. Unless he wished to take up the title of Iron-fisted Monster, he had little choice but to acquiesce. It was agreed they would walk Harville to his door and then return to the Cobb. As they were about to set off, he noticed Anne examining him. Her expression was perplexing, and when she realised he saw it, she turned quickly and walked away with Benwick.
“Thank you for bringing us your friends, Captain,” Harville said. “Mr. Musgrove, Mrs. Musgrove, it was a pleasure meeting you and your family. Please return to us when the weather is warmer.” Harville’s expression indicated he regretted their parting as he bid them farewell.
“We surely will, Captain. And if you are ever in the neighbourhood of Uppercross, you are most welcome. We would be insulted if you did not return the visit,” Musgrove answered.
Wentworth knew all of the promises and invitations to be perfectly genuine; though it was doubtful any of them would ever be drawn upon. It was odd that his Navy life and his life on land should intersect, but it had been done with such ease and cheerfulness that he could not be more pleased about it.
“When you decide to return from the north, come back and reacquaint yourself with the sea,” Harville said as they shook hands.
“Count on it.” Wentworth’s grasp lingered. “Benwick,” he nodded to his other friend, “take care. Write me and keep me apprised. If a letter might help, any good word I can give, I will.”
“Thank you, sir. I shall.”
With all the good-byes finished, the Uppercross party made their way to the Cobb. They stood silently for some time, admiring the sea. Eventually Mrs. Charles complained of the wind, and they made their way towards the steps to the lower Cobb.
Wentworth descended first to receive the ladies. He then noticed Benwick had rejoined them. He saw to Anne and Henrietta; even Mrs. Charles followed without undue ceremony.
“Louisa, go on down, and I shall follow,” Musgrove urged.
“No, Charles, you go on.” She moved aside, letting him pass. “Captain Wentworth will help me down.” Fixing her eyes on him, she said, “Jump me.” Her tone was playful, but he knew the phrase was under-girded with rods of iron. Indeed, she looked at him and smiled as sweetly as anything, but the fact was that the indomitable Louisa had returned.
The wind, even on the lower level, was freshening and the other ladies were pulling their cloaks and pelisses closer to ward it off. Looking about, he decided it would be simpler to give in to her whim than to try to reason with her. Removing his hat, he said, “I really must insist this be the last time, Miss Louisa.” The act was accomplished with no ill effect. He retrieved his hat in preparation to walk.
“Again, please,” she said, making her way back up the steps. The childish behaviour had played out. Any sense of charm or excitement it once elicited was spent. He would not relent and bow to her petulance. A second jump from the steps was completely out of the question.
“Louisa, come back down this minute.” Mrs. Charles’s admonition was both surprising and very welcome. He could only wish Charles Musgrove would add some brotherly authority. He turned away, and allowed Mrs. Charles her say.
“Louisa, stop this. The pavement is hard—”
“Once more. Please, once more. There will be no chance for another, and I do so love the feel.”
“We must be on our way, we haven’t the time for—”
“Oh, please, please Captain. I am determined I will,” Louisa cut Mrs. Charles short.
There was no choice but to relent and be done with it. He stepped back to the place he had caught her before. Remembering his hat, he turned and tossed it onto the pavement. Resentful that it would need a good brushing, he looked up, saying, “You will have to come down several steps—”
She had already jumped.
He heard nothing but his own heart, saw nothing but her fear as she realised he could not possibly catch her. The horror of her expression was heart-piercing. Instantly, everything about the scene slowed. Still he hoped to stop her fall, but even his own response was reduced to a snail’s pace. When he did reach the spot, only her pelisse brushed his hand as she fell, crumpling onto the paving stones.
They all stood motionless, gaping as her bright red pelisse settled gently around her in a heap. “Oh my God!” Wentworth cried, as he went to her side. “Louisa!” Her eyes were closed, and she did not respond to his voice. Gently he shook her and called her name again. “Louisa. Please, Louisa, answer me.” He examined her as much as was proper, moving her pelisse and dress, hoping he would find no hidden blood. Thankfully, there was none, nor any visible injuries, for that matter. Despite these facts, her eyes remained shut. When he leant closer, her warm breath touched his face. There was no sound from her.
“She is dead! She is dead!” Suddenly Mrs. Charles’s voice cut through the eerie silence shrouding him and the girl. There was a scream, and he heard Anne call Benwick’s name.
“Is there no one to help me?” He felt completely undone. His mind might as well be empty for all the good his swirling thoughts could do him. “Please,” he called again.
“Go to him, for heaven’s sake, go to him.” In this moment of chaos, Anne’s voice was sweet relief. “Rub her hands, rub her temples; here are salts—take them, take them.” Her voice conveyed intelligence and authority and helped to subdue the agony swelling in his chest.
Suddenly Musgrove and Benwick flanked him. Each helped to raise her and support her more firmly between them while administering the salts and doing all Anne suggested. He could no longer endure being close to her and moved away. The men drew together, closing the gap he left. Backing away, he crashed into a nearby wall, knocking the breath out of him. This brought him fully into the calamity. “Oh God! Her father and mother!” The realization of the hurt to the Musgrove family burst upon him.
Anne’s voice touched him again. “A surgeon!”
A surgeon! “True, true, a surgeon, this instant.” The timely suggestion might be the saving of him.
“Would it not be better for Captain Benwick?” she aksed. “He knows where a surgeon is to be found.” James looked at Anne and nodded, handing off his share of Louisa’s weight to her brother. He seemed to vanish from the scene. Without much thinking, Wentworth moved back to Louisa and Musgrove.
Charles, crying his sister’s name softly while trying to comfort his other sister, stayed with Louisa even as Mrs. Charles insisted he come to her. Wentworth knelt, taking some of the burden off him. He looked again to Anne, and she did not fail to encourage them all that Louisa would no doubt recover, and that all would be well as soon as the surgeon returned. The words did nothing to lift his hopes, but Wentworth fervently prayed that they might prove true.
Louisa’s bonnet slipped and fell away from her face, and her hair spilled over his hand and swung freely across his knee. The peaceful expression on
her face was chilling. Had he not known better, he would guess her dead.
“Anne, Anne, what is to be done next? What in heaven’s name is to be done next?” Musgrove’s anguished cry for his sister-in-law again drew Wentworth back to the hard cobblestones and the crowd that had formed. His resolve was flagging; nonetheless, he looked to her also, hoping she would supply more answers.
“Had not she better be carried to the inn?” someone asked.
“Yes, I am sure.” Her voice remained steady, and her directions certain. “Carry her gently to the inn.”
Thank God! Anne had not failed him. Her instructions were all he needed. “Yes, yes, to the inn.” Her brother did nothing to stop him as he carefully took Louisa in his arms. “I will carry her myself. Musgrove, take care of the others.”
He was aware of the crowd again and that there seemed to be approval of the action on their part. Laughter was coming from some quarter, and voices were yelling but he could make out no words. All he knew was he must hurry to the inn. The inn would bring regulation to the circumstances, and the surgeon would come and make Louisa whole.
Out of nowhere, Harville’s voice came to him. “God, man, what has happened? We saw James fly. The fellow never moves that fast for anything; so we knew there must be something wrong.”
“She has fallen from the top of the stairs.” Again, Anne supplied the answers. “We are taking her to the inn, and Captain Benwick is to bring a surgeon.”
As the others spoke, Mrs. Harville examined Louisa closely. A look passed between her and her husband. “Bring her to our house. All of you need looking after,” she said, touching Mrs. Charles’s hand. The acknowledgement brought her around and salved the Elliot Pride, damaged by her husband’s neglect.
“It is very generous of you, but we do not wish to impose upon your family,” Anne said. The others added their thanks but raised their own objections. Harville put aside every opposition. Meanwhile, all Wentworth could do was look at Louisa, willing her eyes to open.
“There is nothing more to be said,” Mrs. Harville declared. “Frederick,” she touched his arm to get his attention. “Take her to our house.” Anne moved aside to allow him by. Even in his state, he could not help notice a look pass between her and Mrs. Harville. There was an understanding there. Harville shoo’d them on while he arranged for a boy to run ahead and tell Benwick where they had taken the patient.
They entered the tiny house, which seemed even smaller in light of their crisis. “Hannah,” Mrs. Harville called softly, moving to the back of the house. Turning to Wentworth, she directed him to the stairs. “Come, straight to the back and lay her on my bed.”
He did not slow and began to go up. The narrowness of the stairs made for difficult manoeuvring. Holding her close to his chest was the only way to take care of her head. Her sister followed close behind, and he heard someone call out, “Henrietta, do you think it wise for you to go up?”
Anne’s calm voice added, “Yes, I wonder that you should stay here with Mary.”
“She is my sister, and I will see to her.” The reply was punctuated by a teary-sounding gulp. There was no time to worry who would attend Louisa; the women and the surgeon would decide those incidentals.
“Here. Lay her here,” said Mrs. Harville, indicating the low bed.
Where Anne appeared from, he knew not; but he was grateful that she was at his side. As if she knew his arm was weakening with fatigue, her small hands covered his, lifting, guiding, assisting in laying Louisa in the bed. It felt like forever, but eventually their hands met the pillow.
Anne’s hands slid away leaving the burden in his alone.
“Captain,” she said.
He could not move.
“Frederick,” she whispered. “You must move that we may attend her.”
Turning, he was surprised to find her face mere inches from his own. There was anxiety in her expression, but he saw something he hoped was sympathy as well. Regardless of her feelings for him, there was no joy in seeing what his weakness and folly had produced. Taking his arm, she eased it from under Louisa’s head.
“Louisa,” Henrietta cried loudly. She threw herself between the Captain and Anne. “Louisa,” she cried again. “Look, her eyes. Her eyes are open!” Everyone turned. They were indeed open, but soon closed again. “No, no, Louisa! No, wake up!” She grasped at her sister’s cloak. Her sobbing was pitiful.
“Captain,” Anne said, “might you help her downstairs?”
“Yes, Captain.” Mrs. Harville helped Henrietta to her feet, “I think Miss Anne and I are quite able to see to her sister.” She gently folded Miss Musgrove’s hand around Wentworth’s arm and urged them to the stairs. He supported her down the narrow steps as best he could, and on reaching the bottom, she ran to her brother.
“Captain, you look a fright. Drink this,” said Harville. Handing him a small blue glass, Wentworth drank down the slightly viscous liquid without hesitation. As it burned its way down his throat, he thought it must be brandy, but he could not be sure. “Take a chair,” Harville directed. He took the offered seat, joining the others gathered about the dining table.
“She opened her eyes; she looked directly at us! Do you think she will be all right, Charles?” Henrietta said.
“I…I can’t say, Etta. I have no knowledge of things in the medical line.”
A knock at the door took Harville away for a moment. He returned with a stout, pink-faced man dressed in a red waistcoat, carrying a tattered black bag. Mr. McCracken was introduced as the finest surgeon Lyme had to offer.
“I will be down as soon as I have something useful to tell you.” He looked over the assembled group and gave them a confident nod.
With the arrival of the surgeon, Miss Musgrove began to weep. Wentworth despaired that the group’s hopes were all pinned on a man who looked no more skilled than the average bookkeeper.
“Come and sit by me, dear,” Mrs. Charles said, taking her sister-in-law by the shoulders and moving her to an out-of-the-way seat. He was surprised to find that unaffected kindness was possible in the Elliot family.
It seemed Harville had no more begun reassuring them of McCracken’s qualifications than the man reappeared with a confident look about him. He set his black bag on the table and began putting on his coat. “She has no broken bones, but she took a right smart crack to the skull. I think this case is not so grave as first I imagined. Considering the dire nature of my summons, I thought it would be only a few hours before the end.” At this, Henrietta muffled a sob with her sodden kerchief.
“It’s all right, young lady, the skull is the strongest bone in the body, actually. It can take an amazing amount of pounding without death occurring.”
“When do you expect that she will be back to complete health, sir?” Wentworth asked, anxious to steer the report away from the shocking and back to useful information.
“Well, that is another matter. The skull is quite strong, but the grey stew within can take its own time to settle. And even then, there’s no tellin’ whether things will be completely normal again.”
A little murmur went through the group. It was then he noticed Anne, standing on the bottom stair. She still looked concerned but not nearly as much as when they were above in Mrs. Harville’s room.
The surgeon continued: “But that bein’ said, there’s no reason to think that she won’t recover completely and be as healthy as she ever was. I’ve seen much worse, and the patient was eventually as good as new.” He opened his bag, shuffled things about and closed it. Harville and his wife appeared from the kitchen, thanked him for his time, and saw him to the door. Looking back at the group, the surgeon said, “Leave her where she is, and time will do its work.”
There was no reason to think the man was hedging his opinion. They were strangers, and he had no reason to spare their feelings. At that moment, Wentworth decided to pin his hopes on the surgeon’s statement about her being “as good as new.” By the sound of it, the others did as well. The fi
rst wave of thanksgiving was loud, led mostly by Charles Musgrove. In the midst of the rejoicing, he watched Anne as she embraced each of the Musgroves and accepted the good wishes of the Harville household, including smiles from James Benwick. Rapidly, fatigue overtook Wentworth’s mind and body, and all that was manageable for him was a hushed, but heartfelt, “Thank God.”
After a little time, Harville said, “A toast to the good news, then.”
Musgrove stood and took the glass offered him. “Aye, it is. However, as the man said, she must be left here to heal. I wish that there were some way to remove her to some other place. Even if it were just to the inn—”
Mrs. Harville interrupted. “Certainly not, Mr. Musgrove. I’ll not allow that to be risked. Timotee and I have discussed this and—” she was interrupted by the nursery maid, calling her upstairs. “You tell them what we decided.” Indicating that Anne should accompany her, the two disappeared.
Picking up a decanter, Harville began to refill the cordials, explaining their thoughts as he went about the room. “My wife is an excellent nurse, as is her nursery-maid, who’s been everywhere with us. Anywise, Elsa was pretty certain that Louisa would have to stay put. McCracken tends to be of the mind that one should wait and watch before blundering in. He’s usually right. So, we have taken the liberty of removing some of the decisions from your shoulders and making our own plans. Your sister will stay in our room for the duration, and Benwick will find a bed elsewhere. Now, perhaps by putting the children away in the maids’ room, or swinging a cot somewhere, we could make room for one or two others, if they should wish to stay.”
Musgrove interrupted. “We’ve cut too wide a swath as it stands. Puttin’ a man out of his own bed is the worst I can allow to either of you.” He nodded to Benwick to acknowledge his sacrifice as well. “Perhaps this McCracken can recommend to us a nurse. I want her to have the best no matter what time of the day or night.”
