Chapter 15, Part 1
Wentworth watched the fire through the ends of the towel flipping around as he dried his hair.
"Sir, your small clothes are laid out along with the black trousers and grey wool coat."
"That will be all. I shall call you up later." Harkness bowed and left.
The sky had clouded and turned an alarming grey not long after his return home from the walk. It would rain later, he was sure of that. Considering the season, this might be the last dry day for some time.
The walk.
The walk to Winthrop had been an interesting use of his time. Several things were made clear: from now on the attentions of Miss Henrietta Musgrove would be directed only towards her cousin, Charles Hayter. Once the pair had returned from Winthrop, she had eyes only for him. She had stayed strictly by his side during the return to Uppercross and there had not been even a hint of interest in Wentworth.
It was for the best, he thought, folding the towel. Miss Henrietta was a sweet young woman, but she never put forth an opinion that was not an echo of an earlier sentiment, and even then she seemed unsure of what she thought. She might be the prettier of the two, but he now recognized she was too mild to suit his taste.
After the day's walk, it was clear the field was narrowing.
As his sister had pointed out, the Musgrove girls were not the only young women in the area; there seemed to be female Hayter cousins by the dozens. But while he was willing to accept a woman a little inferior, he was not willing to take on a woman who must be completely built from the ground up. There was only one woman in the area that would not need any sort of training to be the wife of a naval officer.
Taking the stairs two at a time, Wentworth shrugged into his coat then began the ritual of tugging the shirtsleeves into place. Absently counting the steps across the entryway—five long strides in total—he hurried to the dining room, hastily cramming the overly long ends of his unevenly tied neck cloth into his waistcoat. Catching the footman unawares, he took his seat and placing the napkin in his lap, nodded for his fish to be served.
"We are very glad you could join us, Frederick," Sophy said, smiling.
"I am sorry, Sister. I dozed off."
"Did not Harkness wake you?"
"Yes, he did as a matter of fact," he said taking a drink. The fish was always a bit dry at Kellynch-hall. "But I sent him away with orders not to bother me until I called. The man takes orders beautifully." He had not actually slept before, or after Harkness's wake up call. He'd been contemplating all that had passed during the walk to and back from Winthrop. Particularly whether anyone had noticed what an ass he'd made of himself bounding the fence to see Miss Anne into the Croft's gig.
For a man who wanted no one to know of their past alliance, he seemed to be unable to keep away from the woman and leave her to fend for herself.
"I will speak to Lowell. The man should know better," Sophy said, interrupting his thoughts.
"He should know that I wish him to do as he is told, Sophia. I am a grown man and if I am late it is entirely my fault, not the servant's." The words were harsh, and this was not his home. This came of having no one of his own to order about. "Sister, please, as a favour to me, leave the man alone. I will do better in allowing him to do his job."
"The man is under your control, use him as you see fit." She pointed her fork, "Just see that you come to my table on time."
As usual, the Admiral chose not to insert himself into the domestic affairs of the household, but did comment. "I don't wonder you wanted a bit of rest. After that walk. All-in-all it was above six miles, was it not?"
"I suppose it was. All I can say is that it felt wonderful to rest after I returned home."
"Well, I am glad that you insisted Miss Anne allow us to bring her home. I could tell when we set her down before the Cottage that she was quite exhausted."
"The situation was simple enough. I merely did what anyone else would do."
"Well, no one else did anything, now did they?"
She did not look at him but paused as the footman served her. There was something in her tone he wondered at, but put aside when she continued.
"Anywise, we took great care in bringing her home. And she was very lavish with her thanks for our trouble."
He took great care in mutilating his slab of roasted beef, waiting, but there had evidently been no lavish praise aimed at him.
"The only difficulty in the entire ride was when the Admiral came very close to shocking her with the details of our very short courtship." She winked at her husband and he lifted his glass to her.
The tale was not terribly shocking, now that he was acquainted with the quick and decisive ways of sailors when it came to ordering their personal affairs. But she always enjoyed making reference to it as though it were the scandal of the world. As he recalled, when it was all swirling about the household, he was more interested in returning to sea, rather than hear about the embarrassing details of his sister's romantic entanglement with a "significantly" older man.
"Did you bore her with Edward's outrageous behaviour? How he nearly called out Captain Croft when he found the two of you in the sitting room together. Alone?"
"No," she laughed, "since she does know our brother personally, I decided not to mortify him in her eyes. Who knows, perhaps he will visit one day and I would not wish her to have a picture of our dear brother as a raving madman."
"He was seething, was he not?" Wentworth remembered being alarmed to hear raised voices in the house. There hadn't been any yelling or fighting since the death of his father years before and for a moment, to his shame, the sixteen year-old Frederick was afraid again. Sneaking past the loudest of the squeaking boards in the hallway, he had crawled to an advantageous place behind the railings and eavesdropped. He was amazed that day to see his normally dour brother, dressed all in black, wagging a finger in the face of the Captain Croft, magnificently attired in his blue and gold dress uniform.
The young Frederick had been a midshipman more than long enough to know that a full captain was the most godlike creature on the face of the earth, besides an admiral. And here was his brother, risking life and limb to explain how Captain Croft would never hurt his dearest girl and what grievous tortures awaited him if he had the misfortune to stumble in any way.
Edward's tenacious protection was now very understandable to him.
Even so, he and his sister laughed at their brother's expense. The Admiral did not join them, but said, "The two of you say what you will, though I never went in much for dandling with the ladies, Edward's outburst made me know you meant a great deal to him and that I would see Hell's fire if I so much as made you uncomfortable. Sometimes a man must make a fool of himself to show how much he loves those in his sphere."
Sophia thanked her husband for the warm sentiment. Wentworth was entirely uncomfortable with the idea and what it indicated about him. There was no need to speak and he thanked G-d that the footmen were swarming the table to serve the next course.
As they were deciding to go up for coffee and chess, the butler entered and announced that a Marine was in the library and had an urgent communiqué for the Captain.
"Ha, you lucky dog, Frederick. This is orders, no doubt." The Admiral and his sister both smiled their congratulations.
A palpable sense of relief set in as he rose. This was just what he needed. To be doing something useful would set him free from all the mundane worries that were beginning to choke his days.
As a matter of form he mouthed nonchalant words that he hoped would disguise the excitement rising in him.
The Marine, in his red uniform, stood in bold relief to the ancient elegance of Kellynch-hall's library. It seemed to be the ultimate of ironies; his haunted past was being eclipsed by his burgeoning present. He said a little prayer of thanks that G-d was merciful and taking him back to the life he loved so well.
The Marine saluted smartly and handed him a sealed packet.
Immediately he was struck with the fact that the packet was too light and not nearly thick enough to be official orders. There was not even any string encircling it. And turning it over, the seal was not of the Admiralty.
"These were found in the posting office. It was thought you should have them immediately." The man threw him second precise salute and left when absently dismissed.
Holding the packet, he stared at the seal. It was not the elegant seal pressed deep into the glossy black wax customarily used by Plymouth's Port Admiral, but a thin, sloppy red splash of some inferior secretary in an unimportant office at the port.
Whatever was contained in the packet was definitely not his salvation.
Again crossing the hallway, he told the butler to inform his sister he would be upstairs for the rest of the evening.
Tossing the packet on the table, he lit a cigar and took a seat next to the fire.
Cracking the seal on the packet, he pulled out two letters.
One was from his brother dated just after he left Plymouth. He'd heard from him since then so the letter was of little value. He tossed it on the table to be read later. The next did nearly as much to excite his interest as the notion of receiving orders had.
It was from Harville.
As he read through the letter a third time, he settled on a course of action. Setting the details aside, he took up the letter from his brother.
The address was in his brother's hand so he was surprised to find the opening paragraph in one unfamiliar to him. Introducing herself well, and apologizing for taking up his time, Mrs. Edward Wentworth opened saying she looked forward to his arriving, as did his brother. "He misses you greatly and wishes you to come as soon as possible. He will not ask it any more, fearing you will grow weary, or even angry at his nagging. I have no such scruples and so will take it upon myself to beg. Please come to us at your earliest convenience, Captain. The Rector is very excited at the prospect of your being under his roof again. I too anticipate your coming and am looking very much forward to putting a face to all the stories I have heard. Again, please come when you are free of your obligation to our sister and her husband."
"What a singular woman," he said, scanning her part again. Her hand was compact, without much flourish, but strong and neat. Though the wording possessed a certain charm, between the woman's script and having some knowledge of the sort of lady who marries a religious man, he began to think the letter less an entreaty than a summons.
"If my brother has been telling her stories, she is probably in mortal fear of the sort of family she's got herself into," he said, scratching at the wafer which had kept it closed.
Putting aside his speculations about his new sister, he continued on with Edward's part of the letter.
To begin, the Rector apologized for his wife's familial intervention. "Though she has me dead-to-rights on this. I do wish you to make haste and give your old brother some of your precious time."
The words alone were pettish and bleating, but when read with what he knew to be his brother's occasional dip into sarcasm, they were almost endearing.
"I must tell you, Frederick, I am the most fortunate of men. I had grown very accustomed to the knowledge that my past almost certainly predestined me to dying alone. I may very well yet do so, no one knows the future except God, but I will not live my entire life alone and unloved. I now know love, and know I was but a shadow before my dear Catherine's touch."
The letter closed shortly with another invitation and the desire to be remembered to their sister and brother.
He was puzzled by Edward's reference to his past. His brother never spoke of any part of his life that happened before returning to England the year their parents died. Once he had mentioned sailing to New Holland, and having been in Barbadoes, but nothing more. This was just another facet of his brother that gave him pause.
And regardless of his guessing game about the new Mrs. Wentworth, he wished to give the woman the benefit of the doubt. Edward's letters were the most cheerful they had ever been and there was nothing to thank bar his marriage. No matter what sort of woman she turned out to be, she was making him happy and that was really all that mattered in a marriage.
"I was but a shadow before my dear Catherine's touch…" It was becoming more and more clear that the touch of a woman made all the difference in the life of a man. However, even with no such luxury, Frederick's existence was not in, or of the shadows. His life was as substantial as Gibraltar. No, he was not a shadow, that was the place of someone else altogether.
"…it was her great friend Lady Russell's doing…"
For a moment he could not help despise Lady Russell for making Anne the shadow she had become. It did not seem, at least to him, that the woman had gone so far as to poison her goddaughter against Musgrove, the way she was against the captain now. Before he could stop himself, he was again seeing Anne's face as she protested his forcing her to accept the Croft's offer. It was the briefest of looks, but it spoke volumes. She wanted nothing from him, not relief when being pummeled by her nevvie, and not even a means of travel home when she was near collapse.
No, Musgrove had escaped the lady's interference. Most likely she thought it wise to keep the neighbourhood peace. But that excuse did not truly answer as the young squire possessed everything that was held forth against Wentworth.
The final meeting between him and Anne was a muddle. When he saw the scene in his head, it was all tears on her side and anger on his. Her first argument was for him to succeed in the navy, it was best he be single, and have no worries about supporting a wife and household. It had taken no time to smash such a weak line of reasoning, and, to his shame, as he ground her down, the true reasons came out.
It all came down to connexions, fortune and his very temperament. He had not enough of the first two that would satisfy, and far too much of third. Anne had spoken the words, but he knew others placed them in her mouth.
No, looking at Musgrove, he had more than enough of the fortune and local connexions to satisfy the most fastidious concerns for security, and the man's temperament was just the thing to suit a woman like Lady Russell: just enough push to meet the barest requirements of being a man, but biddable enough to manage easily.
If Charles Musgrove was the perfect match according to Lady Russell's previously stated qualifications, why had she sunk him in Anne's eyes. Was she so cruel as to want the girl to live out her life single, perhaps dependent upon her and her beneficence? Was she already grooming a companion for her old age?
He had to laugh at himself. He was becoming ridiculous in his mental wanderings.
At one time he'd thought the meddlesome harpy had been placed upon the earth to be a thorn planted firmly into his normally sanguine flesh. Now he had a hide like armour and the likes of Lady Russell were barely a noticeable irritant. Age and time were forcing him to see that being at cross-purposes with someone did not necessarily award virtue to one and evil intent to the other. The woman was Anne's godmother and saw everything from that vantage. She saw nothing in him she liked and had told Anne as much. Regardless of the lady's opinion, it has been Anne who made her choice.
But, just now there was no Lady Russell to be seen and though Anne was her own mistress, she still chose to have little to do with him. Their past was obviously nothing to her.
He was reading through the letter a second time when there was a knock at the door. Harkness entered, bearing a tray of spirits.
"Mrs. Croft thought you might care for something as you read, sir." Given leave he poured a glass and handed it to the captain.
"How far is Lyme from Kellynch, Harkness?"
"About fifteen, sixteen miles, I believe."
"Do you know anything about horses, Harkness?"
The man capped the decanter and frowned. "Other than they always smell, no sir, I do not."
Wentworth rose and went to the desk. Dashing off a quick note, he said, "I wish this to go to Crewkherne, and wait for a reply."
That might take above two hours, sir."
"That is quite all right, Harkness. It seems I have nothing but time."
Many men would not have chosen to buy a horse and take the opportunity of a long and unknown ride to familiarize themselves with a newly acquired horse, but Frederick Wentworth was not most men, and he was pretty certain that nearly all things would go his way. Again he was right.
He took it as a good sign when his note was answered double quick, and that the horse-coper in Crewkherne had two horses that fit the captain's stated requirements. He'd told his sister his plans to buy a horse and travel to see his friend, begged a ride to Crewkherne from his brother-in-law and packed his bag in anticipation of the journey.
Coming to an agreement on a horse had been simple enough; he paid the man what he asked. The melancholy of the previous evening had lifted with the sunrise and he was determined that such a trifle as haggling for a horse would not invite it back.
The weather too was cooperating by clearing sometime during the night. The ride to Lyme was sunny, without incident and bordered on tedious so absent was any sort of notable event.
Setting off from Crewkherne later than he cared for, Wentworth decided to push on to Lyme though it was late afternoon and he was sharp set. There would be time for him to refresh himself when he arrived, until the horse began to protest, he would keep on the road.
As the steps of the horse ticked off, and he drew closer to his aim, his thoughts were of the countryside and the beauty thereof. Several large hedges entangled with hazelnut trees reminded him of Miss Louisa's astonished gaping after his flippant rhetoric of the day before. His previous experience of bright, 19-year-old women was obviously exceptional and could not be counted on to help him understand Louisa Musgrove.
Of course she took it seriously, idiot, that's precisely what you like about her. She gives you her undivided attention, and hangs on every word. Just as it should be.
He laughed to himself. This was the sort of thing his brother scolded him for years ago. Edward had seen Frederick's good opinion of himself galloping out of control and warned him to rein it in. He had not. Time had already done some of the work, and, he feared if he were not careful, more time ashore might do it in completely.
Such sinking thoughts could not be born and to banish them, he dismounted and allowed the horse a short graze.
Taking a post under a tree, he removed his gloves and fished in his pocket for a bag of peppermint candy the coper had given him for the horse. "She likes her sweets," he told Wentworth. "You rattle a twist of peps and she'll be at your side in a flash." He found it, and the man was right; the mare was snuffling at his pocket immediately.
"Back you greedy beast," he muttered. In her excitement, she pinned against the tree as he tore open the paper. "D-mn, you're heavy," he said, offering her a sweet as far from him as his arm would allow. Taking one of the candies for himself, he gave her two more and put the others away.
It would take time to get to know her eccentricities. Horses were little different than people, he suspected. It struck him ironic that the mare was not the only female in his sphere he was coming to know better. He could not help considering Miss Louisa, and her somewhat changed manner as they returned to Uppercross.
After seeing Anne away, he had returned to the field and the six remaining walkers had continued on. Again the natural groups formed, but now the conversation between he and Miss Louisa became more personal, more intimate than it had been previous to Miss Anne's leaving. He learnt even more about the immediate Musgrove family and their dealings with the vast Hayter clan and other families in the area.
At first, he was uncomfortable with being drawn into such matters, and when he voiced his concerns to the girl, she laughed and said she was surprised he was not aware of it all by now anyway, considering how much a part of the family he had become over the past short weeks.
It was a claim he could not deny. He spent far more waking hours in the company of the Musgroves than he did his own flesh-and-blood. What a shock it would be when they discovered he was gone from the area without a word. The thought caused a little twinge of guilt, so all encompassing was this relationship becoming.
He determined the horse rested enough and continued on to Lyme. It was not long before his thoughts returned to their previous subject.
Besides the intimate family knowledge being imparted, Miss Louisa's dependency on him for a hand or an arm was becoming more pronounced. Again and again she wished to be jumped down from the top step of stiles, large rocks rolled out and left at the edges of fields, or even risking a fall to climb onto a stone wall and have him hold her hand as she walked its length. Once he had seen a disapproving look cross Hayter's face, but, as her brother said nothing—and wasn't he the most proper person to take offense if there was any to be had—he deemed their activities accepted.
And accepted is certainly how it would be if he were to continue things on their present course. Nothing would be said, the calm waters of this country life would easily drift into marriage. Miss Louisa would obviously not object to it. The family would welcome him as another son. He chuckled when he thought of claiming the spot left vacant by lately lamented Richard Musgrove. The irony of such a thing was too amusing.
Checking his watch, he was happy to know the ride to Lyme was neither extraordinarily long, nor taxing; Setting up house in Uppercross would keep him close to Harville, and the sea. There was no telling how long he might be without a posting. Once thrown ashore, it was not unheard of for a Post Captain to go years before getting another ship. Unless a fever came along and began to thin out the admiral's list, he could be on land for quite a spell.
And when he did go back, escaping to the country for the short periods would be a welcome change. There would be no worries of leaving a wife at the mercy of a lurid, and squalid port city, she would be under the protection of her family, and his family, when he was away. All things considered, an alliance with the Musgroves was most advantageous. There was nothing about marrying Louisa Musgrove that he could see would be a hindrance.
Nothing except Anne.
"…I was but a ghost…"
But Anne was herself little more than a ghost. Each day that passed by, her cool manner towards him made it apparent she had no interest in him. Perhaps she was merely counting the days until she could join her friend at the Lodge and he would be out of her sight. This made all the memories he carried in his mind and heart no better than ghosts as well. The spectre of Anne Elliot had kept him single and alone for too long.
Dropping down a little hill, he decided that when he returned the next day, and rejoined the Musgroves, he would more carefully consider Miss Louisa in light of his future. ***
Chapter fifteen, Part 2 Descending into Lyme was the most challenging aspect of the ride. The mare did not appreciate the cobbles, but responded well to his gentle management of the reins. There was no traffic, foot or wheeled, to speak of, and it seemed he would have his choice of accommodations. Finding that all the inns carried names of an oceanic nature; he chose the one most seafaring; The Binnacle. While tying her up, he was told by the stable boy that he could have nearly any room in the house and that a little haggling might just get it for him at a bargain price. It was well past his customary dinner and he was not after a bargain, but only after a hot bath and little something to pry his stomach off his backbone. "You come just at the end of the season. There's not much on right now, and not many to watch." Despite what the stable boy thought, the innkeeper seemed little interested in trying to squeeze him for a room. But then he had asked that he be placed on the highest floor, so that he might have a view of the sea. "Sure thing, sir," he said, sliding a key to him. "I would like a bit of bread and cheese sent up, along with small beer. And might you have paper and pen?" The keep again obliged him. Folding the note he'd written, he said, "I need this delivered to this address," showing the letter to the keep. "Sorry, sir, but I don't read myself. Tell me the place and I'll see it gets there." He read off the place. "Don't know just the spot, but the boy I send will. But I know it to be close to the oldest part of the pier, not the best of places mind, but you'll know it right off. Just ask around. Most anyone down there could tell ya right where ya need to go. By the way, sir. Will ya be needin' a meal tonight? We serve until nine. Things is a little sparse 'round here and me wife, she takes care of the cookin' and such, needs to know much she should get ready." "Uh, yes, for three in fact. And might I reserve a private dining room, if you have one." "Yeah, I gots a small one. Cozy as you please." The extras were agreed upon and paid for, and then he was able to set his mind to relieving his empty belly. * * * * * It only took asking once and he was directed to Harville's new home. As he made his way off the beaten track to the small row of houses crammed under the decaying pier, he was moved with compassion for his friend. When first they met, Harville was doing quite well and living in a house, small but certainly respectable, on a decent street in Portsmouth. This new place was a great reduction indeed. He knocked and was greeted by a fair, slight young woman drying her hands.
"Captain Wentworth, Ma'am." He was brought into a small room where every bit of open space was occupied. A quick appraisal of the place let it be known that the place had suffered and prospered under the care of previous tenants, depending upon their carpentry skills. It was not hard to recognise pieces of good furniture from better times; they were highly polished and glowed with care. A few things he recognized to be foreign and no doubt from Timothy's many voyages. Crammed into the remaining space were extra bits and bobs that seemed to have not purpose whatsoever. Across the room a small, blond woman, he suspected to be plump with child, rose from a chair in the corner nearest the fire. She had a little blond girl in her arms. "Captain. It is so good of you to visit us." With her greeting, he was reminded how strange Elsa Harville's accent always seemed to him. Her family was Norwegian or Dutch or some such, and while she was born in England, her accent was an odd amalgam of highs and lows and could not be identified as anything common. She let the girl down, and both came to him. As she drew closer, he could not help notice the age just a few months had drawn on her face. Despite this, her smile and words were most genuine. He bowed and she scolded, "You know there is no propriety here, Frederick." It amused him the way she always called him, "Free-rich." He leant down to receive a kiss on the cheek. "I just got Timothy's letter. I fear it went astray and was run aground in Plymouth after I had left." "But it has reached you now. Timotee is resting, and I did not wake him when your note arrived, but I think he's rested enough." She held out her hand for the little girl to follow her up the stairs. "Come Fanny." The little girl was staring at the captain and continued to do so even as she shook her head no. "Fanny, come with Mama." He'd forgotten her name, but now remembered her from their short voyage in the spring. "I think the young lady and I will be all right, Mrs Harville. We are old mates, aren't we Miss Fanny." It was the barest of nods she gave him. "All right, but I shall be back right away." She moved to an open stairway. Just as she took the first step, she turned and said, "Oh, my manners. Please have a seat." "Remember, there is no propriety here," he said. She smiled and left him. He intended to take the seat vacated by Mrs Harville and so moved to the fireplace. The chair's upholstery was familiar, but now shiny and threadbare. The slow decay of his friend's poverty was difficult to see. Why should Harville have been the one to have his leg crippled and his career torn from him, and not Wentworth? Taking a seat, he tried to coax Fanny to him. She continued to stare, but would move no closer. Before long there was a low murmur of voices up the stairs and soon someone was coming down. Expecting Timothy, he rose and said, "I know there was no fair warning, but—" When he looked up, he was looking not into the eyes of his friend Timothy, but those of James Benwick. He could feel again the hurt and anger under which they parted, but he still had perfect understanding, and compassion for his friend. He hoped that Benwick felt the same. "Captain, I'm pleased to see you again." The words were measured and polite. Coming down into the room, he held out his hand and said, "Elsa said you were in town for a visit." There was still an air of suffering about him. He wondered if his coming was not a mistake, and that his presence might not inflict upon his friend the burden of past, painful memories. "I too am glad. I did not expect to see both my good friends on this visit." The handshake began with only prefunction, but as it continued, Benwick's grasp became stronger and more genuine. "It can't be helped." Just then, little Fanny came to Benwick and raised her hands to him. Without hesitation, he took her in his arms. It was odd to see his friend holding a child, particularly as she snuggle herself in the crook of his neck. It was clear both were comfortable with the arrangement. "How is Timothy?" he asked. Benwick looked away. "Not as well as we would like. The infection is always there, never quite leaving his system. He's just gotten over a cold and rests several times a day. It is my responsibility to entertain you until he comes down." The girl from the door entered and he asked that refreshments be brought. "Mrs Harville looks well." Benwick smiled. "Yes, she is as ever. And she proves that Timothy is not always under the weather." The breath required to make the statement no sooner passed his lips than he realised what he'd said. Lightly putting his hand over Fanny's ear, he said, "That was quite unforgivable, Captain. I'm sorry." The comment was completely out of the bounds of good taste, but he was not shocked. "It is forgotten. Just pray Mrs Harville never gets wind of it. Besides, it is good to hear something of your old, wry self manifesting." "Elsa is convinced I shall overcome this. I am not so sure." He did not respond, as he did not wish to aggravate emotions that he was certain were healing, but still obviously tender. "How do you like Lyme?" "It is a scruffy little place that suits us just fine," a voice from above them said. Timothy Harville, with the help of his wife descended the stairs and joined the two men. "Captain," was the call of children's voices that accompanied loud thudding descending the stairs. "Careful, boys," Timothy said holding on to his wife and the railing. In an instant, two small boys stood before him. Again was the stare. "Nearly every other day I hear about your taking them up in the tops. And I have hidden my best telescope as someone took the time to show them how it works." He winked, and then continued down the stairs. "There is never a time this place does not reek of fish, and there is precious little news of the navy here. But, all in all, it will do until better things come along." The boys were mindful of their father's condition and gave him a wide path to his friend. He took Frederick's hand then pulled him close. "I sent the letter and when I heard nothing for so long, I thought you'd probably got a ship and were headed for open water." "No, nothing so exciting. I merely put Laconia in ordinary and then travelled to Somerset to visit Sophy and the Admiral." He enquired after Wentworth's family and was heartened to hear that they were practically in the same neighbourhood together. "Then perhaps we shall see one another often." "Count on it." "You will stay for dinner, Captain." As it was his intention to invite Mr. and Mrs. Harville to dine with him, finding Benwick as a lodger did not change that scheme. To bring one more would mean that the innkeeper's wife would just have to water the soup and boil a few more potatoes. All of which he would no doubt pay dearly for. As he was about to extend the invitation, his wife helped Timothy to a chair. He sat heavily and leant his head back looking extraordinarily tired. It was clear that going out in the night air, much less making his way up to the inn, would be impossible. "I was hoping you would offer, Mrs Harville. I have missed your cooking." The innkeeper's wife would just have to endure three too many plates of roasted beef. "Good. Then I will go and see to things in the kitchen, and the three of you will entertain yourselves." As she left them, she passed by her husband's chair. As she did, she stopped and spoke something to him. Wentworth could not hear it, but he noticed that her hand rested just atop Timothy's, and before she walked on, he took two of her fingers and held them. A little tremour was noticeable. It was nearly nothing as gestures go. But perhaps, in his weakened state, it was the best they could manage. She laughed and patted Harville's shoulder, and left them. Her husband watched her until the door was closed. It was clear that had he not shown up, the evening would have been quiet, but no less meaningful between them. Even with Benwick present, the Harville's were closer than he could remember them in the past. He felt as though he might just as well have spied on them in their bedchamber so strong was his embarrassment. But why? The gesture was almost nothing. "So, what are you up to, now that you are without a ship?" For nearly two hours, the gentlemen traded stories about their new neighbours, neatly fashioned solutions to all the nation's ills, relived the glory days of their youth and saluted the future as something to be anticipated with relish. All the while, the two boys had sat quietly listening or playing with small carved toys. Miss Fanny had taken up a sentry post by Wentworth's knee. Occasionally she leant against him, but always her hand rested on him, now and then patting him. When Mrs. Harville called them into dinner, she directed the children upstairs to their tea and bed. As they moved to the table, he watched the nurse take the children up and felt a little touch of sadness. Never before had he noticed the warmth children brought to a place. Mrs Harville called to him particularly and he was reminded that he was famished and ready to wipe the boards clean. The lanky young girl did her best to serve with grace, but was hard-pressed to carry the steaming dishes and remember which side to serve. Each place at the table seemed to be an entirely new circumstance and the steps had to be relearnt every time. Elsa bore it remarkably well and with just slight tilts of the head, tiny movements of a finger and the occasional click of the tongue saw the course served without any disasters. The soup was thin and followed by a small piece of bony fish, which heralded a beef filet tougher and thinner than the sole of his much-loved, but well-worn Hessians. Two of the side dishes were generous. The first was a bowl of potatoes of intricately shaped pieces, indicating that whoever pared them was a dab hand at avoiding bruises and worms. The second, a brimming bowl of sauerkraut which sat alongside a bowl of bitter greens which barely covered the pattern of a mill wheel and stream and fishing party. The fare was scant and far below the quality of former days. But as he observed the couple, there was never a break in the cheerful conversation to indicate embarrassment, or God forbid, an apology. It was his opinion that in times of degradation, some felt a need to call more attention to the circumstances by begging pardon. All that was accomplished was to bring discomfort and awkwardness to the entire party. But that was not the case with his friends; the conversation never lagged and the small beer flowed freely. The girl brought out a tart that looked to be the heartiest course of the night. It was cut and the plates passed round. Everyone waited for Elsa to have the first bite. The graceful smile froze on her lips and she reached for her cup. After draining it, she said quietly, "Please forgive me, but there has been a little problem with the tart." In an instant her plate and those of the others were whisked away to the kitchen. Timothy covered by passing a decanter of sherry. But the low hum of Elsa's voice could be heard, then a small cry and a slamming door. The door from the kitchen quickly opened and she appeared with a board bearing a small wedge of cheese and some interestingly cut apples. "Mary is a bit overheated at the moment, and it seems that somehow the salt was taken for sugar. We will just have to finish our meal like the French." She raised her brows and growled a little, "ho, ho." The men laughed and Wentworth helped himself to an apple. Despite all it's defects, it was the best meal he had had in weeks. In the past, he would have stayed until the sun rose the next morning, drinking and talking with his friends. But the past was as far from them as the other side of the world this night and relatively early in the evening, Harville was near the breaking point. He insisted on seeing his guest to the door, and was only made easy about the party ending on account of him, when Benwick promised to walk the captain to his inn. "Now I will not feel like such an old maid," he said as the two set off. The cold night air insured they had the streets to themselves, though he suspected that even a warmer night might be just as deserted. Greeting the watchman, Benwick said, "I hope you do not think ill of me for attaching myself to Timothy in this way." "And what way might that be?" "Well, Fanny and I did not marry; I have no claims on her family. Much of the time I feel as though I should be exerting myself more, making myself available for another command. Instead, I remain here, quite out of the way." Knowing precisely how Benwick felt, he considered the agony of grinding upon the rocks, waiting for orders. He could not help laugh at himself and how the arrival of Harville's letter had caused such brief, but intense joy in his own bosom. But self-flagellation was rarely useful, and in Benwick's weakened emotional state, could prove fatal. "I think the times are against you, James. All of us are looking into a very dark glass just now." "I know, I just did not wish you to think me some sort of leech on them. I have done what I can. More to the point, what Timothy would allow. You know how he can be. But your visit has cheered them both more than I have seen for some time." "All men are proud that way. I suspect the reduction has been much more difficult for Mrs Harville. I still remember their pretty little house in Portsmouth. Living under a pier in Lyme is quite a come down." Benwick laughed a little and Wentworth asked the reason. "A few days after I moved in, I stated something to that effect to Elsa. I was trying to be careful not to mention anything of the past, and better times. She sat me down and told me that while Fanny's death was a shocking tragedy, it had taught her a very important lesson." Benwick fell into silence as they walked on. Probably thinking about Fanny. "And that lesson would be?" "Ah, yes, it taught her that each day should be praised for the joy it brings since there is no profit to be had in condemning the past, and worry for the future is fruitless as well. There is no guarantee that there will even be a tomorrow as Fanny's illness proved." He remembered Edward trying to make him understand some such notion when he would speak of the success and riches he would have one day. It had all been wrapped up with platitudes about chicken counting and green grass. When he was in his twenties, all such philosophizing struck him as ridiculous, and deemed it as little more than excuses for failure. He still felt that a man, through exertion and intelligence, made his own end. But he was beginning to see that life was a hard prospect and that circumstances sometimes dictated doing only what was barely possible and not the extraordinary. "I know that it wears on them both. Her especially. But we all manage to go on." He was grateful they reached the door of the Binnacle before he had to make comment. Bidding Benwick goodnight, he affirmed his plan to visit again tomorrow. They shook hands and he watched Benwick disappear around the corner. The inn was quiet, though there were a few tables occupied in the open dining room. The keep noticed his arrival and indicated that he should wait. "You didn't come to dine." The man's expression was very serious. So serious about a missed meal that Wentworth found it amusing. "Uh, no, my plans changed." The man scowled and he wiped the bar. "My wife was more than a little put out, I can tell you." Keeping a look of appropriate severity, he said, "I am sorry for any inconvenience I may have caused her. Any compensation that you think adequate, I shall gladly pay." The man's expression lightened at the prospect of more money for uneaten food. Wentworth added, "Speaking of your good wife, is she still about? I would like a word with her." The man's face was serious again. "Oh, I don't think you want to be talkin' to her. She's still put out with your not showin' up." "Better still. I can make amends and avail myself of her expertise." The man's face turned and he said, "Now, wait there. I don't know what you think, but I run a respectable establishment here." "I meant that I would like to ask your wife to help me. I would like to ask her advice as an innkeeper's wife." "Oh now that's better. There's no one in this town who is more willing to give her advice, whether asked for or not, than my wife." The woman was indeed put out with him. He was not certain she might not reach over the counter and demonstrate to what degree. In spite of this, when he began to share a plan he was revolving, and the part he wished her to play in it, she began to look on him more and more with a friendly eye.
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