Beginning, Previous Section, Section IV, Next Section
Posted on Tuesday, 4 September 2007
Anne escaped having to give Miss Harville any details about her past, because Mrs Croft spoke. "Does your entire family know, Miss Elliot? Or have you also been keeping your sister in the dark?"
"Oh, I must suffer now," said Mr Wentworth humorously.
Anne knew of what they spoke: the engagement. Yes, Mr Wentworth had kept it from his sister, but that had been in keeping with their brother's wishes, she would think. Mrs Croft had not been left out of the secret on purpose. "I have two sisters. One was at school at the time and she was never told about it." She wondered if Mr Wentworth had come because his brother was ill. He must have. Did he think his brother was dying? He was too cheerful for that. It was his nature to be calm, but he was not sad.
After he was settled in his chair, introduced to everybody and their purpose, Mr Wentworth could ask more particulars about his brother. "Is he getting any better?"
"I have had good reports from Miss Elliot," said Mrs Croft.
Anne was embarrassed at what was about to follow. Her role would be explained and all would stare. She did not even have any real reports to share, certainly none that were reliable. All she would be able to do was blush.
Mr Wentworth replied something surprising, however. "You were always reputed to be very capable."
At this praise she cast down her eyes and she felt very hopeless. Frederick's relatives were so welcoming and accepting that it was tempting to trust that it would all come right, but that was too easy. It would not happen that way.
Mrs Croft rose and announced that she needed a turn about the room to relieve her restless legs. She beckoned Anne and gave her her arm. "Your dinner is not important."
"Oh." She did not think she ought to take that literally, but how she ought to take it instead she did not know.
"You see," the lady said as she took Anne towards the windows. "I am not at all confident about my little one."
Anne did not think she meant Frederick.
Mrs Croft obviously expected her meaning to be clear. "I am delighted, I feel perfectly fine, but rationally I know it is not as easy for me as it is for some other women."
Mrs Croft's fears and doubts were not so different from her own and Anne sought to reassure her in return. "If the fault lies with the admiral, you have nothing more to fear now."
Mrs Croft looked interested. "With him? I had not considered that."
"I know a farmer who bought a useless bull once." The comparison could work, if only to prove that sometimes the male of the species was at fault. It was perhaps not very kind to Admiral Croft, but that could not be helped.
Her companion indeed spluttered at the thought of the admiral being a useless bull, but she took no offence. "But he is very sweet and I would rather have him than fifteen children with another man."
"You will have one with him."
"And how could you fail to have Frederick?"
Her spirits sank again. "I hurt him. He was angry." He had been too angry to come back. If he had not done so then, why should he do it now?
"I have better hopes for you than for myself," Mrs Croft said softly, patting her hand. "Let us sit down again."
Fanny ran after Miss Elliot when she returned upstairs. The poor girl had barely finished her dinner and already she left to go back to her nursing tasks. They had not even spoken in private yet, had they? "Wait. Talk to me. The others will want to talk about babies!"
"You may have one next year."
"La!" She was not yet interested. "In that case next year is early enough to start talking about them. Are you going straight to Frederick?"
"That was my intention."
"I admire you," Fanny said warmly after she had decided that Miss Elliot was simply dutiful and not avoiding company. She was also purposeful rather than unkind. "To forsake good company for his sake."
"It is indeed good company, but I should not allow myself to become too attached to them. I may never see them after Frederick recovers." Her voice was calm, but began to tremble a bit towards the end of her speech.
"How can you talk so?" Fanny cried. "He would be a great fool to let you go. And he is not a fool. Besides, I should take you under my wing and let Jimmy find you a good captain. Let us see how Frederick takes that! He will want you back before the banns are read. Or an admiral? Do you think them too old? Admiral Croft is about forty." She looked at Miss Elliot appraisingly and calculated whether something like that would do for her.
"Forty?"
"Oh, yes. Sophia once told me so when I spoke of him as old. I thought they were both fifty at least." She knew how to draw reactions from her audience.
Miss Elliot looked shocked. "Was she angry?"
"No, though she did not believe my excuse that I thought fifty came before forty."
Now the girl laughed. "But more seriously, I must decline your offer of a good captain as long as Frederick lives."
"He will. You are here now." There was no doubt in Fanny's mind.
Frederick was indeed still alive. Polly said she had not heard a word and Anne sent her to the kitchens to eat and to bring up something for the patient when she was done.
Tomorrow she would ask the admiral to shave him again, she thought as she stroked his cheek. Then she set to work. When Polly returned she was just depositing dirty laundry outside the door.
"I hope he will not spill his soup, madam, for the house is running out of clean sheets," said Polly.
"They may have stains, as long as they are properly washed," Anne said with a shrug. "I have money to buy new ones, too."
Edward wished to know all the particulars when the ladies had left them. "I had not expected Miss Elliot here. She is that, is she not? Not Mrs Wentworth?"
"Only to the surgeon."
"I beg your pardon?"
"We have had to tell the surgeon that she was Mrs Wentworth." Admiral Croft spoke as if this was a perfectly ordinary thing to do.
Edward was silent for a few moments. "Was that an attempt to protect her reputation?" If so, he would almost say with certainty that it had failed. He lived in a small town too.
"Of course." The admiral looked smug.
Given his brother-in-law's innocence, he did not yet want to enlighten him. Perhaps more information was required. "Why did she come here to endanger it?"
"She is in love with Frederick. Fanny was so kind as to write her that he was ill. I believe."
"Madness." Edward shook his head. He did not understand how Fanny had come to know, but that was not important. "What did he say?"
The admiral coughed. "He does not know. The ladies fear for his reaction, but he is not a fool. A man should haul in an excellent nurse instantly. What say you, Harville?"
Captain Harville, who had been listening quietly, smiled. "They come in useful."
"I know what you expect me to say," Edward said slowly. They would be expecting disapproval and frowns and more of those things. "But you have the wrong impression of the clergy."
"I know they are human," the admiral said readily. "But most do not own it."
He was forced to make an observation they would expect him to make. "Most sailors are all too human."
"We, however, are nice."
He would not enter a discussion of that, so he merely nodded his assent and returned to important matters. "Is he truly doing any better?"
"She wants it and she fears it, the poor thing. I believe so. She has no problems making him do her bidding when she wants to wash him."
Edward pulled a face. He would not have the obvious reaction drawn from him again, but he did suppose it was rather inevitable. "But an innocent girl…"
"Your sister was an innocent girl. Miss Elliot has too much sangfroid to be pitied."
When Anne managed to sleep through the night without waking, she began to suspect there was some real improvement in Frederick's condition. He seemed calmer and more at ease, though not awake. She felt his forehead, but it no longer burned. It was still hot, but she believed she discerned a difference.
Silently she said her thanks, but she did not know how to proceed now. Relief and anxiety fought for prominence. She held his hand -- it might be the last time he allowed it. It was not enough. She wanted more than simply his hand, but his heart and mind were out of reach.
She should tell Mrs Croft about his improvement as soon as possible -- after she had had her time with him, of course.
"I do not think I should be there when he…" Anne said hesitantly.
"It is such good news."
"But…" Anne wondered if she had even heard her last words. She had just told Mrs Croft that her brother was improving, news that had been received with great joy. It was understandable that any communication about herself should be overshadowed by it, yet the matter was of great importance to her. She did not want to sit here and see Frederick notice her. Somehow she felt he should be recovered first.
Mrs Croft had heard her after all. "I understand you. Do you think it safe for me to take over?"
She did not know when the danger would have passed entirely. "Perhaps the admiral…" He had not minded taking over for half an hour here and there. There was not much more time now until it was no longer necessary at all.
"He must. But leave Frederick to wake in a dignified manner. Remove all the extra cloths and whatever you have been using."
"Yes," Anne promised. She tidied the room and then left with a heavy heart. Her own room felt cold. She had hardly been here, but now it must be her refuge from where she must not venture until someone had informed Frederick that she was here.
She must ask herself how she wanted to proceed. There was no doubt that she would be allowed to stay until she wanted to leave and having come this far, she was loath to go. Suppose Frederick wished to throw himself into her arms, but only if she was still around?
She must not be so silly, she told herself.
Frederick woke and felt disoriented. He remembered falling ill, but not much after that. It must be a while since then, however, which was odd. He was never ill for long and he never had such an unreliable memory afterwards. He would ask about it if someone came to see him. Better yet, he would get out of bed. But when he tried, his legs would not bear his weight and he fell inelegantly, sliding from the bed to the floor.
Perhaps he had best pretend he was still too unwell to get up until he had practised enough to stand and walk properly, he thought in annoyance. It was mortifying to discover his weakness and he did not want anyone else to find out.
Did everything else still function? He checked.
Sophia was too busy to look at Frederick directly. She wanted to and she was on her way, but she came across little Mary wandering the halls on her own. After ten minutes an anxious Fiona appeared and the two women agreed that Mary was a naughty little girl to have escaped.
"How is Frederick?" Fiona asked.
"I am just on my way to see him. He is doing better."
"I am glad. We should have been sad to lose a dear friend. Frederick better and Jimmy returned! And Miss Elliot?"
"She is happy, but afraid for his reaction when he finds out. If he does."
"Someone will tell him."
"Yes." Sophia supposed the task would fall to her. She could not imagine anyone else doing it well. "She is a nice girl. I do not want him to be angry with her. Just think of what she risked by coming here!"
"I waited for a few months, you know," said Fiona. "Though he did warn me it might be ten years before he came. Oh, how afraid I was! For him and for myself. I was not allowed near any sailors, but it had happened on a day that one of the maids was ill."
"What happened?" Sophia asked suspiciously. She often received the impression that Fiona voiced only half of her thoughts, which sometimes led to incomprehensible stories.
"Oh, Sophia! My seeing Thomas, of course."
"You did not say. Why were you not allowed near him?"
"My father's logic," Fiona said with a shrug. "When Thomas returned my father was not even angry. But what about her father?"
"Her father is nothing," Sophia believed. She still did not quite follow Fiona's father's logic when it came to sailors, but it seemed Fiona did not either and so she did not ask any further. "It is Frederick who worries me."
"His pride and his memory -- but he remembers the good as well as the bad."
"That he does," his sister agreed hopefully. "And the good must have been considerably good, if her behaviour is any indication. But I do not know how to tell him." She ought to wait until a good moment presented itself, but then he would undoubtedly be angry that she had kept it from him for so long.
"Do not let me do it."
"Never."
"Is it my accent?"
"No, you are about the worst explainer in the world."
Posted on Friday, 7 September 2007
Although she had wanted to go directly, Sophia had put off going to see Frederick for an entire day and she was proud of her restraint. James had been to see him, but to her dismay he had quickly left, saying the boy was fine. While she liked hearing that he was fine, she did not trust it until she had seen it with her own eyes. After a day of sending in her husband and seeing him exit almost instantly -- or so it felt to her -- she finally dared to go in herself.
Miss Elliot had been keeping to her room, only venturing out for meals and shrinking in her chair whenever somebody entered the room. This was worrisome and Sophia did not think that either party would benefit from an unexpected encounter. She was glad Frederick was still keeping to his room as well.
Frederick was not awake when she went to see him and she was at first disappointed after all the favourable reports, but he soon opened his eyes. After suffering his sister's effusions, which she knew he found embarrassing, he was ready for more serious conversation.
"You do not know who was here," he said. "Or what a feverish mind may imagine. It may be embarrassing, but it has been bothering me enough to ask. Was there ever a surgeon?"
"There was." She did not understand why this had bothered him, unless it was because he could not trust his memory.
He looked a little surprised. "Ah well. That was not such a strange thing for my mind to have imagined, though my image of the surgeon may well differ from the real one. And a woman he called Mrs Wentworth? I am not married, am I?"
"You are not."
"I thought as much. She seemed, however, very real and she looked very much like --" But then he stopped.
"Like whom?" she asked as if she did not already know.
"Someone," Frederick said evasively. "But the power of the mind is strong, because that cannot be. Mrs Wentworth was a vision of loveliness. Her hands were deliciously cool and her voice was warm. Just as it should be."
Sophia stared at these descriptions and the warmth with which they were uttered.
"I wonder why I conjured her up." He frowned. "Because she was not real. Yet she did some very real things." Thinking of those real things brought a look of horror to his face. "Did somebody really wash me?"
"Well, you were out for more than a fortnight…" He ought to be able to draw conclusions from that himself. Of course someone had washed him.
He hid his face in his hands. "I see."
"What do you see?"
"The vision. I thought she was there, but she was not. It was someone else and --" He still looked horrified.
Sophia looked anxious. "What do you mean?"
"I invented her to reduce the horror of the situation. It was not the vision; it was you or Fiona. Please do not speak of it any more." He almost hid himself under the covers.
"James washed you." That was not a lie. He had done so before Miss Elliot had arrived, as Frederick might remember. She did not know when he had stopped noticing things.
"Even in a feverish state I can tell the difference between a man and a woman. It was a woman."
"But why is it so horrible to be washed by a woman?"
"Not any woman! You or Fiona!" To him it was obvious how horrible that was.
"Would you prefer a stranger?" She raised her eyebrows. It was evident that he had enjoyed the vision's attentions and perhaps it was indeed rather upsetting that in retrospect the vision had been his sister and not a beloved -- or so he thought. She gave him an affectionate look.
He looked pained in return. "The vision was not a stranger."
"Oh, she has done it before?"
"No! I do not know. Not to me. But she was very good at it, so she must have some experience -- because it was you or Fiona and you must be doing it all the time."
Sophia decided not to explain how infrequently James was ill and how little she really had to do on such occasions -- of course what he made her do was something entirely different. "Is care from an experienced nurse not to be preferred over care from some lovely vision?"
"You are not to see me in such circumstances," he said with an angry frown. "I do not care that it was necessary. It does not lessen my horror and mortification at being seen one bit!"
"I know, I know," she soothed and could not resist a teasing remark. "I thought that being a sailor --"
"We are at sea," he snapped. "Imagining it is mostly as close as we get."
She chuckled at his vexed tone. "But let us talk about whom you would have liked to take care of you instead. Who was your vision?"
His face clouded over even more. "No. And you are not to speak of this conversation to anyone. It is bad enough that I had to be washed, but it is even worse that I had visions."
"And that you enjoyed the vision." That, she supposed, was the worst of it all. He had enjoyed it and thought of her as Mrs Wentworth because the surgeon had called her thus and then it turned out to be his sister. It was horrible indeed.
"I did not."
"Oh, of course," his sister said sweetly. "Cool hands and warm voices are very horrible. Or is it hearing that you imagined a Mrs Wentworth that now sends the inveterate bachelor into hysterics?"
He glared. "Do not tease me or I may still die."
"Fiona and I were not with the surgeon. We are with child, you know, and someone said we should not be in the sickroom." She smiled and stood up. She could not take it any further. He was confused and should be given some time to recover his mind. If she said any more now, he would lose it completely.
After his sister had left, Frederick dwelt some more on the vision. She had looked so real and although Sophia had not really ridiculed him, he knew she had no sympathy for such intangible matters. He had never taken visions seriously himself either. What did it mean that he had had them now? Of her, no less?
He had dreamt of her before -- something he had always resented, notably the less than honourable settings of the dreams -- but it had always been disjointed and there had always been an element of the unreal. There was none of that now.
Of course had she been his wife he would have felt less embarrassed about her taking care of him, but the vision was not his wife, whatever his memory might say with regard to the scene with the surgeon. That his memory was so unreliable and gapped was another source of vexation. Whatever else they had done, Sophia had said that Fiona and she had not been with the surgeon, but he remembered someone. Or had he gone completely crazy?
Were visions conscious of what they did? How had she known what to do? He had not known and he had therefore not been able to create the scenes. Something must have guided her. Was she an angel? He felt a feverish shudder at the thought that Anne might be dead.
It made some sense, although it was still unacceptable to his rational mind. She had come to make his passing go as smoothly as possible -- because she was the only one who could. But he had not passed. This realisation gave him pause. Anne the angel had come and he had stayed behind. If she had the powers one would suppose an angel to have, why had she failed her task?
He sighed and took care of some earthly business first. The heavenly nonsense could wait.
Fanny had taken Jimmy to Longbourn as soon as she was at liberty to remember the Bennets. Any new face was welcome there, though he would have had a warmer reception had he been unattached and more outgoing. He was in comparative luck, however, for only Elizabeth and Jane were present -- and a girl reading a book, but she was not attending to their conversation.
"Is he not darling?" Fanny whispered to Elizabeth and Jane.
Jane, as she usually did, merely smiled, but Elizabeth in fact had an opinion. "One would not jilt him for Mr Collins."
"And is Anne not darling either?"
Because Anne seemed to have locked herself into her room with a pile of books, Fanny had asked her to come and surprisingly she had complied, although walking so many miles had fatigued her. Fanny's euphoria still prevented her from getting tired, but she had graciously offered Jimmy's arm to Anne.
Anne had so far been silent and although she was still not very much inclined to speak, she blushed violently at such praise. She had come because she had known an outing was good for her, but she had not wanted to be the subject of the conversation. Walking with two lovers had suited her very well.
"Oh, you are!" Fanny said with a nudge.
"Indeed," added Elizabeth. "My mother has mentioned you so often that she will regret having gone to Meryton with Mr Collins."
"Her regret cannot be my fault alone."
Fanny was delighted. "La! You wittily abuse Mr Collins without ever having seen him. You and Frederick are perfectly suited."
She was shocked. "Does he abuse people?"
"We always know exactly whom he dislikes." Fanny narrowed her eyes. He had never mentioned Anne. "So he does not dislike you."
"I was not worth mentioning," was Anne's modest reply.
"Too darling for words."
Fanny would share Anne's concerns if she considered them the least bit realistic, but she did not. Regrettably she was not Frederick's sister. She would not have allowed Anne to leave the sickroom as Sophia had and she would also not have left Frederick in the dark about Anne's presence. It was clear that nobody had informed him, for he had not stirred from his room and he had not shouted.
Now Mr Wentworth had come and sister and brother could solve it together, although Fanny did not know whether Sophia trusted Edward's opinion as much as her own. She giggled at how he was sometimes treated. "We have a clergyman of our own in the house now, by the way."
"No!" Elizabeth cried. "Who?"
"Mr Wentworth, Captain Wentworth's brother. He travelled here with his wife, presumably because Frederick was on the brink of death."
"Oh! That must be the Mrs Wentworth who has been confusing the village."
"Confusing the village?" Fanny wondered. "She has not yet left the house. How did she manage?"
"The surgeon spoke of a Mrs Wentworth and my aunt and my mother assumed that she was with child --"
"She is," Fanny could nod.
"-- and that she had come here to marry the captain to make her child legitimate. They wondered who could have married them, but now that I hear you have a clergyman in the house, it all fits."
"Like a square block through a round hole," Fanny said solemnly with another nod.
"It will be enough for my mother. Though why was his sister-in-law in the sickroom?"
Anne had paled. "I was. But I am not with child and perhaps now the village will --"
"Are you certain?" Fanny interrupted. "Because you did spend a great deal of time with him undisturbed."
"Fanny," Jimmy chided. He had let the girls chatter so far, but now he felt he must interfere.
"Is that not what the village will think?" she said defensively. "And I should certainly be with child if I had been in such a position."
"Fanny, please do not talk such nonsense," he said with a deep blush.
Mary Bennet closed her book loudly and left the room with an annoyed glance at them. Elizabeth giggled. "Oh dear. My sister thinks we are all very immoral and depraved. We are not to wonder where children come from. They are an overnight blessing. Or more likely a burden, in her opinion."
"I should like to talk to your sister," said Fanny, but Jimmy pulled her back by her skirts.
Anne had been wondering about the gossip in the village. Evidently they now knew of a Mrs Wentworth who had been with the patient and some believed she was carrying a child. Such a misconception might eventually be cleared up by the arrival of Mr Wentworth and his pregnant wife, but that still left the matter of Frederick's wife clouded in mystery. "What do I do now?"
Fanny shot one last dark glance at the door behind which the judgemental Mary Bennet had disappeared. "I think you must make sure your father does not find out. I say, Anne. You did not come here because of the reason Mrs Bennet supposes, did you? Because that would be a real shocker."
"I am sorry. I did not. I last saw him eight years ago and I have never heard of it taking so long."
The other girls looked shocked, but Jimmy choked.
"Oh," Anne said a little bashfully. Such playful company was making her a little unguarded in her comments. She had intended to voice a serious argument. "I did not mean -- I was speaking of theoretical possibilities, you know."
"The admiral was right about you," said Jimmy.
"Does he think I am a…" She looked afraid. "I am not."
"He implied you would not behave like a shocked, innocent girl."
"Because he thinks I am not?" Anne was still afraid.
"I rather think he thinks you would be more practical and honest than that. Now Mrs Croft, apparently, was an innocent girl."
"Oh, do tell," Fanny said eagerly. "Because she is the opposite now. And how is it not honest to be shocked?"
"You must ask him."
"Why was I discussed?" Anne was not sure she could be relieved yet.
"Er…Mr Wentworth had some reservations about your tending to his brother, I believe. But he did not say much about it and the admiral did not say much in return."
"Could we speak of something else?" she requested.
Posted on Monday, 10 September 2007
Anne was not spared the acquaintance of Mr Collins. Mrs Bennet returned from Meryton with him and her two youngest daughters just as the party from Netherfield were about to leave. She did not think he was quite so bad as the other girls had made him out to be, nor was Mrs Bennet. Her own family also left much to be desired in good sense now and then.
She was glad when Mrs Bennet focused on her father. "He is not here," she was happy to say, but she wondered why nobody in the village had seen her father's carriage leave again the next morning. She supposed the coachman had not had to ask the way again.
Mr Collins had been all bows and smiles, but then he spoke. "My noble patroness, Lady Catherine De Bourgh, also has a daughter named Anne." He orated pompously about the beauty and elegance of the bearers of that fine name. Apparently there was much to praise and for no other reason than that they were both named Anne.
Anne was lost for words. Perhaps her first impression had been too generous.
"I concur wholeheartedly, Mr Collins," Fanny said enthusiastically.
Anne wondered if she was going to try and make Frederick jealous by setting Mr Collins on her trail. If so, she must have a word with Fanny. The plan would fail -- Anne would lock herself into her room -- but it would be vexing enough that there was such a plan.
"Do you ever write poetry?" Fanny asked Mr Collins.
"A man in my profession prefers more solid and edifying reading material," Mr Collins said with a solemn air after his initial look of distaste. "Such as --"
"Oh," said Fanny, cutting him off in case he wished to come up with a list of titles. She had no interest in boring texts. "I thought, given your poetic praise of the Annes, that you might have a sort of talent." No sensible person would ever have found any reason to say that to him, she supposed, for he looked amazed and not a little flattered.
"Perhaps," Anne interrupted her in turn. She was afraid to hear him recommend texts she had found useful over the years. Some had been edifying and she should hate to share a taste with Mr Collins. If he had been boring but sensible, it would not have been such a problem. "We should start walking back if we want to be home before darkness."
"But are there not --" Fanny said and then she fell silent with a sheepish look. "I have never been out in the country."
"I have."
"I know. At dawn. Also at night?"
"Not for the same purposes. For family engagements only." She wondered why she kept revealing too much.
"You said you would find me an admiral, not a parson!" Anne burst out when they had left Longbourn. She was not particularly affected, not yet, although she did not think Fanny would take it much further.
Fanny only giggled.
"But what about Wentworth?" Jimmy asked. He had been told Miss Elliot had come for Wentworth and he did not understand any talk about other men for her.
"He may need a little jealousy to drive him into Anne's arms."
He had some advice for her if that was her plan. "Then make it a seaman, not an admiral. He may respect the latter and his claims and leave him be."
Fanny could be equally silly. "Does the parson not rank below the lowest seaman for being a landsman?"
"True," Jimmy conceded. "But I advise you not to play with his feelings too much. He will not like it." About certain subjects Wentworth did not like being teased. This might be one of them.
"Perhaps Anne also needs some incentive to drive her into Frederick's arms. What better incentive than Mr Collins?" Fanny said airily.
Anne shook her head. "I need no incentive. The matter is in his hands, not mine. I am sure he has spoken to his sister."
"She will not have told him anything, or he would have left his room already."
"He may be avoiding me."
"He would never stay in his room like a coward."
Only she would, Anne acknowledged. It was all so very difficult. She was grateful to Fanny for having taken her out. It had been a much-needed diversion and although she had been very busy in the past week, even with the window wide open, walking in the open air was pleasantly different. Nevertheless she would be returning to the same situation as before they had walked out, unless Frederick had found out about her in the meantime.
The anticipation and fear were the most difficult parts. She thought she would be able to face him, whatever he would say, but the uncertainty was wearing her out. It had been easier when he had been ill, surprisingly, because there had not been an immediate threat then. Now, he might find out any second.
Frederick had dragged himself towards the window because there was not much else to which he could drag himself. He felt he walked worse than Mary Harville, but he nevertheless had to try. Lying in bed made him feel edgy and helpless and he was not.
He paused to catch his breath, but something outside took his breath away again instantly.
"Frederick!" an ethereal voice called.
The park at Netherfield, despite its name, had no particular style, which meant there were trees everywhere obstructing his view. The figure of a woman darted through the trees in the fading light. He caught glimpses of everything but her face, yet the picture looked familiar. She was his vision.
Just when he realised that, she disappeared and she did not come back, not for the next half hour at least. He waited all that while, eager for another glimpse of her dark cloak and long hair trailing down her back, but there was nothing.
Then he gave up, deciding he must not yet have recovered completely. There was no reason why Anne Elliot should be running through the park here calling for him -- with her hair down, no less. There was no reason except his ill health and fallible memory. He had best not ask anybody about this vision, not even Sophia. She would give him a compassionate look and deny it, of course.
First everyone must speak about Anne and then he must see her everywhere. What did it mean?
He had not been wrong, for Anne had indeed been running through the park. Returning from Longbourn, they had happened upon Lucy and Freddy playing and they had joined in. She had taken care not to venture to the side of the house where Frederick had his room, but the house was large and outside she could not precisely tell where everything was inside. And then Freddy had run off.
Freddy and she returned to the house with a large detour. She was exhausted, first from the walk to Longbourn and then from running after Freddy, who had turned it into a chasing game. He had especially liked the circuitous route through the shrubbery.
She felt her hair, but her ribbon had gone missing. Somewhere she had felt a pull on her hair, but she had not stopped. She would look for it tomorrow, if she could remember where she had run. It was a treasured ribbon, given to her long ago. She wanted it back, but it was too dark now.
Admiral Croft had been sent to the patient with his dinner plate because his wife feared she might say too much. It served her right that she now heard nothing. A Frederick who had not been able to speak for a fortnight had much to say, he discovered.
"I have been thinking," Frederick said, idly pricking at his food with his fork. His appetite was returning, but not quite re-established. "The peace turns every man onto his wife for entertainment."
"Is that so? I have always had my wife with me for entertainment, peace or no peace."
"But she was never -- look at all the pregnant women in this house. Is that not a consequence of the peace? Their husbands had nothing more exciting to do. I am not sure what to think of that."
The admiral laughed in spite of the stupidity of such reasoning. "For two women it may be a consequence. Not for the third."
"The third? Fanny?" Frederick's eyes grew wide. "What happened during my illness?"
"Did Sophia forget to tell you that your brother has come? Or did she assume I did so?" He looked vague. "She must have. In any case, your brother is here, with his wife. She is expecting as well. Fanny did not make any announcements, but of course she would not dare."
Frederick's plate nearly slid off the bed in his agitation. "My brother? You have kept from me that my brother is here? Has he not asked to see me?"
Edward had asked that, but he had not pressed now that the danger seemed to have passed. Perhaps he had known about his brother's pride. "He said he would wait until you were well enough."
"I am well enough! Send him up directly."
"You could also go downstairs yourself," the admiral suggested. He suspected that this was not yet possible. Frederick had also not left his bed to eat at his table, but he had remained in it, as if he could not walk.
"No. Not yet."
"Why not? Not quite well enough for that?" He did not expect an honest admission.
"Perhaps. Why did my brother come?"
"Because you were in a bad condition. You were nearly dead. Of course he came here."
"Why did I not die?"
"Good care, perhaps," the admiral said after a little hesitation.He had best not mention Miss Elliot. It was bad enough that Edward's arrival had been kept from Frederick. And there was also Benwick, but that was safe to reveal. "Your brother was not the only one who arrived in your absence. So did Benwick, though he came for Fanny and not for you."
"Benwick. She will be happy. Everyone happy. Do you believe in visions?"
"The products of a creative imagination?"
"I thought as much," Frederick sighed. "I am not speaking of the imagination, but of real visions. The ones one has when one is nearly dying."
"Of laughter?"
"No, of an illness," Frederick snapped.
"Do not tell Sophia, but I have never nearly died of an illness. She treats me very nicely if I seem to, however, so do not tell her. I have no idea what you are talking about. Visions," he said with a frown. "What kind? Of what?"
"Forget I mentioned them. I want to see Edward and Benwick as soon as possible."
"Yes, Captain," the admiral said dutifully in response to his tone. If Frederick had ever been dying, that moment was not going to return any time soon. He was glad. "Together? Separately?"
"Separately."
"And Mrs Edward?"
He seemed to have forgotten about her. "I do not know her. What is she like?"
The admiral did not yet know that well himself. "The idea behind meeting her is that you would get to know her."
"Not yet. Not in here. She would not get to know me properly in a sickbed."
"On the contrary." Admiral Croft laughed. "All the qualities you usually keep hidden are surfacing here."
Posted on Thursday, 13 September 2007
Edward Wentworth was sent upstairs without delay and he obeyed. Anne was slightly worried. Frederick could well come downstairs at any time. He seemed to have recovered well enough if he could issue such orders. "Would you bring him down without notifying me?" she asked the admiral bashfully. She would rather not have a confrontation in public. They might feel more comfortable in private.
"Do you see these tablecloths?" Admiral Croft answered, patting the table. "They are especially in use for you. They are long enough to hide anyone under the table from view."
With a startled expression she contemplated sliding under the table if Frederick approached. She wondered if she was desperate enough. The admiral could not be speaking in earnest, but when she studied him she observed some wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that could not wholly be ascribed to having lived out of doors.
"We should be better off under the tables!" Fanny cried. "For then we could overhear what they have to say."
"James, Fanny," Mrs Croft reprimanded. "Do behave."
The admiral obeyed, for he turned towards Mrs Wentworth, who had been left behind with people she did not really know and who was looking a little shy. "He does want to meet you, but not until his feet are as quick as his tongue and his grumpy mood has passed."
"I understand," she said softly.
"He is a bad patient. Tell me, Sophy, am I bad as a patient?"
"Not as bad as Frederick," she conceded. "But you have never been very ill."
He protested against that and they spent some time good-naturedly bickering over his illnesses. Anne listened in amusement. She would side with Mrs Croft if she was asked, because it did not sound as if the admiral had ever been very ill. He thought otherwise and he tried his hardest to make his wife agree. It was pleasant to sit here with them. It would be pleasant to spend a lot of time with them, as a sister would.
She wondered about Frederick's grumpy mood. It had something to do with not being quick on his feet, she assumed. He would not like being slow and weak. It was not like him. And he would not meet Mrs Wentworth in such a state. Anne pitied her a little, although it looked as if she really did understand. Perhaps Mr Wentworth was similar.
Edward cautiously entered his brother's room. He was relieved to find Frederick awake.
"Why did you not come earlier?" Frederick cried. "I am locked up in here and no one wants to see me."
"I heard you have only been on the road to recovery since yesterday or so and that before then you could not even have spoken to anybody." He did not say that Sophia had discouraged him. She had wanted to keep them from revealing the secret to Frederick for as long as possible, at least until she had by devious means discerned what his feelings were on the subject. How Frederick was to reveal his feelings on a subject that was not to be broached, Edward did not understand. He supposed he was not as devious and skilled as Sophia.
"Surely you had wanted to look into the room at least to see that I was alive?"
There was a trifle too much uncertainty in that question and Edward sighed. "Sophia's reports were very thorough and her concern was equally admirable."
"Yes, she is admirable, but it must also be understood that I am very lonely here all by myself! I want to be visited by family."
"Only family? Is that why you would not see my wife?"
"Are you offended? I meant no slight. I am merely not well enough to receive her. I should prefer to make a better impression than I can make at present." Frederick looked a little worried that Mrs Wentworth might be feeling slighted. "You must tell her so. Is she nice?"
"No, she has the most despicable character imagineable," Edward replied. "That is why I married her."
His brother stared.
"Your sense of humour, Frederick."
"Why is everyone teasing me?" he groaned. "I have just returned from the brink of death and I deserve better."
"Perhaps we express our affection by it."
Frederick scowled, though he looked a little less chagrined after that. "But you have a nice wife then?"
"I do. And did Sophia tell you I am going to be a father?" Sophia had so much on her mind that he could not be certain of it. It might not have been important to her, but it was to him. He was exceedingly proud of the accomplishment.
"My congratulations, Edward. Was it a consequence of the peace?"
"No, of being married, I daresay." Edward raised his eyebrows. What did the peace have to do with it? It had not affected him in the least.
"But I hope you do not only think your wife nice because she is expecting."
"She is expecting because she is nice." He wondered if he could say such a thing, but apparently he could -- he had already said it.
Mr Wentworth returned to the others with a grin. "He is eager to be well. All this lying in bed does not agree with him. His recovery is too slow to his taste."
Anne had flinched and ducked behind the admiral when someone entered the room. She was hardly aware of having done so until Mrs Wentworth whispered at her.
"What is wrong with Edward?"
"No, no, it is Captain Wentworth I fear."
"Ah. Nobody explained the situation to me precisely."
Anne explained it to her to the best of her abilities. Mrs Wentworth's comments were sympathetic and sensible. Mr Wentworth had done well. She kept her story brief and then inquired what Mr Wentworth had done after leaving Somersetshire. This kept them occupied until bedtime. Mrs Wentworth had not been a person to ask and Mr Wentworth not a person to tell her about his brother's history. The young woman had nevertheless been interested in a brother-in-law she had never seen, but about whose successful career she had heard far more than about his personal life.
"Perhaps, like Edward, he had no life," were her last words. Anne had liked them.
Naturally Mrs Wentworth had also dwelt on the conversation. She even mentioned it to her husband. "She asked about you. Did you never consider marrying her?"
He smiled. She needed not fear for that. "I thought highly of her as a sister."
"Do you still?"
"If she has not changed -- and why should she -- she is still what he needs."
"I said that perhaps like you he has not had a life outside his profession," she said a little uncertainly.
He laughed now. "Why did you have to tell her that? It was my secret."
Frederick decided to leave the house in the morning when he woke. He would go where he had seen the vision run and look for signs that she had really been there, which he did not expect to find. Visions did not leave traces.
He ran into Harville at one of the back doors. "Out for a walk?" he asked in surprise. His friend did not walk well enough, he had thought. He had expected to conduct his little search all by himself.
"I was wrestled out of bed," Harville said wryly. "One moment you are asleep and the next there are three children separating you from your wife. They were sorry to see me go, but my night was over."
They left the house and Frederick directed their steps towards the trees. "Are you real?" he suddenly asked.
Harville looked a little bemused. "As real as you would like me to be."
"Are you not a figment of my imagination? I realise you are talking, but you might be responding with answers I created." He might be imagining his friend as well as the conversation with him. That was worrisome, for nothing was real in such a case and he was completely alone. And if he was alone, what was he doing here?
"Surely you could create better ones?"
"But what if none of this is real? If none of this exists outside my mind? You seem to be there, but really you are not. My mind created you and everything you say. My mind created everything it sees."
"What about my mind? Or do I not exist outside your imagination?"
"That is the crux of the matter. Perhaps you have no experiences that do not involve me." Perhaps if he turned away Harville would cease being. He would fade into nothing and re-emerge when needed.
Harville scratched his head. "The three children in my bed were not really there? Why did you not come to tell me that before I left the bed? I could have stayed then."
Frederick gave him a long stare. "I could be imagining your having experiences with your children. I could be imagining your having a life of your own."
"Let us sit down at that table over there," Harville pointed with his walking stick. "Two pints of ale for our convenience on the table too."
This confused Frederick. "Table? Where?"
"Between those trees there." He pointed again. "Come. And a buxom serving girl for your benefit as well."
"You are jesting." He did not even like buxom serving girls, yet Harville was speaking with the utmost seriousness. The man ought to know him better than that.
"Are you not? Did you imagine yourself ill as well?"
"I must have." He was not certain about it. He had felt ill and if he had been imagining it, it would not have felt that bad. He would have had some compassion for himself.
"Why?"
"I do not like being ill, so it must have been for my own good."
"Precious little good has come from it. You seem to have lost your mind. Now I understand your sister's reticence," Harville mused.
His sister's reticence? He did not know what was meant by that. What was she supposed to have said? "What? Why?"
"In this frame of mind you would very likely stare and contradict her. The truth would not enter your mind."
"My mind is the truth."
"Some of us seem to have different truths. Have you seen my table yet?"
"No." He had not seen the table because there was none. Harville was ridiculing him, an old friend. It was rather disagreeable. He was struggling with the truth and reality and he was only being ridiculed.
"There. That is what I mean. I have a different truth."
"Are you sure you were not shot in the head as well?" Frederick inquired crossly and then he saw something hanging from a twig that stopped him in his tracks. "Oh!"
Harville observed it with interest. "A ribbon."
He dared not touch it yet, notably because Harville saw it as well. It probably meant that it was really there. "But of course you would see the ribbon. My mind is telling you to."
"Take it down. Lucy might like it. Come to think of it, it might even be hers. She is forever losing them."
"No, it is --" He stopped. "It is -- is it real?"
Harville pulled it down. "It is. A good quality blue ribbon, but old. A little frayed at the edges. Why are you quivering at a ribbon?"
Frederick suddenly looked pale. "Damn it. I need your table. And something stronger than ale."
The ribbon was real. A real woman had walked here. He recognised the ribbon, too. He had bought it once. He had bought it for Anne Elliot. Although there must be thousands of ribbons like this one, it was no coincidence that he found it here, where he had seen her. She had walked here and lost it. It had got stuck on a branch and her hair had come loose. He had seen her like that. It all fit.
Anne was real. She was here, somewhere, although he could not begin to guess why she had come or what she was doing. Had she been Mrs Wentworth to the surgeon?
"That you do," Harville agreed. "You are insane enough for me to allow it at this early hour. Let us walk back."
Posted on Sunday, 16 September 2007
"She is here," said Frederick when he had swallowed the contents of the glass Harville had poured for him. It was the only conclusion he could logically draw. He wondered why he had not drawn it before, because nothing else was remotely logical. Why had he reversed the matter? Instead of thinking he had seen her, so she was here, he had thought she could not be here, so he could not have seen her. It was no wonder that Harville thought he was insane. If he could have such illogical thoughts, perhaps he was.
He was capable of thinking more clearly now. "Why is she here? Where is she?"
"Who is she? Just to be clear on that."
"Anne Elliot. You will not know her." He did not think he had ever mentioned her name to his friend. He had spoken of the episode in general only.
"Unless she is indeed here."
Frederick put down his glass with a bang. "Is she?"
"There is a Miss Elliot here," Harville replied after a moment. Mrs Croft and her protective concern for Wentworth's feelings be damned. He deserved to know before he lost his mind completely.
"Pour me another," Frederick ordered. "What is she doing here?"
"Fanny sent for her."
"Fanny!" He could recall Fanny's interest in his engagement before he fell ill, but he did not think he had told her enough. He had told her about an engagement, but he had not mentioned Anne Elliot, as far as he knew. "And she is Miss Elliot?" He remembered assuming she would be married by now. If there was a Miss Elliot here, she was not married. Not married. Why not? It had been eight years.
"Yes."
An unmarried Anne Elliot, who had come here after eight years because Fanny had written. Edward had come because he had been very ill, but would Anne care? And precisely why did she care? "Why did she come?"
"You had best ask her that." Harville leant back. He could not answer these questions and contemplated joining all the little Harvilles in what had once been his bed.
"Take me to her," Frederick decided. He did not want to spend another minute speculating. He had exhausted his mind long enough with thoughts about his visions.
"She will be in bed," Harville said warningly.
"Did she nurse me?"
"Yes."
"Then her being in bed is of no consequence. Take me to her." He needed to know why she had done so and why she had been allowed to do so. Instantly.
"No."
"I shall find her myself." He got up, determined. It could not be very difficult to find her. He would simply look into every room.
Harville did not move. He called after his friend, however. "If you chance to find Fanny and Jimmy together, do not tell me about it."
Frederick was not interested in Fanny and Jimmy, together or separate. He hoped he would not find them together, or he might nevertheless be expected to care.
Anne had been with him. She had always been so proper. How the proper Anne had managed to wash him in spite of that, he did not know. He had fleeting memories of it, however, and it really seemed to have been Anne and not someone else. Sophia had said it was James, but he did not know why she had lied. If even Harville knew that Anne was here, so must his sister and she had deliberately kept it from him.
After checking a few rooms, he found Anne's. Harville needed not have been worried -- Fanny and Jimmy were the only ones who had been sleeping alone, except for Anne. He now understood why Harville had got up and why Sophia was still in bed, all things he ought to forget given this far more important matter. He had not even wanted to delay seeing Anne by questioning his sister.
Frederick poked a hesitant finger in her ribs. It met with resistance. She was indeed real, although he ran his hand over her figure to be even more certain. "What are you doing here?" he asked when he realised his touch had woken her.
"Captain Wentworth?" she asked sleepily.
"No!" Such formality was ridiculous, considering what she had done.
"Admiral Wentworth?" was the hesitant reaction.
She was really not trying to tease him, although he seemed to think otherwise. Calling him Frederick would be presumptuous and so she did not. What was he doing here by her bed? She raised herself on one elbow, but it was too dark to see his face. This was the confrontation she had dreaded and she knew she had been right in thinking she should not waste so much time imagining it beforehand -- this was nothing she could have thought of.
"What are you doing here?" he repeated.
Because he was impossible to read, she was cautious. "Here in my bed or here in this house?"
"I can imagine what you would be doing in your bed," he nearly snapped. "In this house! What?"
Anne deduced he was more impatient for her answer than angry. It relieved her a little. "Miss Harville wrote to me. She wrote -- if you make some light you can read her letter for yourself."
He fumbled a bit, but soon there was enough light by which to read the letter. He seemed to read it a few times. "I am not aware of having done that."
By that she supposed he meant uttering her name. She could study him now. He looked better, almost well, and he was dressed as if he had been out already. He inspired other feelings in her than before and she struggled to answer with composure. "I did not hear you do it," she assured him.
While that was a relief, there was more to be worried about. "What did I do?"
His aggressive impatience had waned and although she supposed he was still curious why she was here, he no longer seemed to want a direct answer. He was more concerned about not knowing what he had done when he had not been able to control himself. She could easily answer him about that. "You slept."
"You washed me."
"Did you notice?" In retrospect she was perhaps not surprised. The admiral had already indicated that Frederick reacted differently to him. He must have noticed a little bit in spite of everything. Not enough, she would say, or he would have spoken up if he had been able.
"Vaguely," he admitted. "But you had done it before! You had no delicacy at all."
"Delicacy. In a matter of life and death," Anne said a little contemptuously. She did not see how she could have refused to help him. "You were dirty and you smelled."
He flinched.
"I could have left you as you were, but I am not sure that would have been very healthy. Had you wanted me to sit wringing my hands till somebody came? They would never have allowed me to remain there. Do not remind me of it. It was a duty and I took no pleasure in studying you." Frederick seemed to be at a loss, she noted. There was still no trace of anger, only of embarrassment. She was reassured by it.
"I found your ribbon," he said, pulling it from his pocket.
"Thank you," she said shyly when her hand touched his upon receiving the ribbon. "I lost it yesterday when I ran after Freddy."
"Freddy!" He had forgotten that she had called his name. It had not been him, then, but Frederick Harville she had been calling. "Was he running from you? Why?"
"Does not everyone?" She bit her lip after speaking. That had slipped out so easily and it was untrue. She had broken her engagement to Frederick first before he had run. She had been to blame.
Fortunately he did not take that any further. "I am not sure I could have washed you had our situations been reversed. How did you do it?"
"I started at the face and then I worked from clean to dirty."
"But you ought not have been familiar with the male --" He stopped when she chuckled. His expression became angrier. "You have no right to laugh."
Anne coloured. "And you have no right to question my familiarity with -- with Walter and Charles and my failure to faint upon seeing you."
"Walter and Charles?" Frederick inquired through clenched teeth. "On the contrary -- I have every right. Does this explain your lack of delicacy?"
She knew she must not ruin it, but he was being too presumptuous. "I was gentle and that should matter most."
"Walter and Charles?" he demanded.
She gave in. "They are two and three years old and my sister's children. My sister, when she feels unwell, often lets me take care of them."
Frederick glared at her and left the room. Anne sank back in the pillow and wondered if she had ruined it after all. She did not know how else she should have handled it, though. It was very complicated to navigate through Frederick's mortification and anger -- and now, jealousy. Perhaps he would come to his senses if he reflected on their conversation.
Anne Elliot was the most unreliable minx he had ever encountered, Frederick fumed. Not only had she most cruelly abandoned him eight years ago, but she had turned into a completely different, utterly shameless and indelicate creature now. She undressed men without giving it any thought, as if she did it every day. She embraced impropriety with zeal and took pleasure in making him jealous.
How had it come to that? He conjured up the image of how she had been in the past. Apart from being weak and easy to persuade by the wrong kind of people, she had been full of good qualities. Where were those now? What would the old Anne have done? Such a proper and dutiful girl would have refused to sit by his bed. She would have met him outside at dawn, but not inside. No, she had known what was right.
A nagging voice told him he had not been seriously ill then and her arguments for tending to him had been rather convincing. The old Anne would also not have sat idly by while he -- he flinched again in mortification -- soiled himself, but she would have called for somebody. This new Anne took action herself.
Frederick reviewed the new, action-taking Anne who discarded any delicate feelings when duty demanded it. Disregarding her reasons for coming here, she had employed her time here well. If he was honest, he could understand why his sister had let her stay. Cleaning him up was not the most enviable of tasks, he would say. That Anne had wanted to take it upon herself would have been considered a blessing.
Perhaps he could be grateful to her. She had taken good care of him and without complaints. He would have preferred not to have been humbled by her again, but perhaps this had not at all been like a rejection.
He might feel some grudging respect for the new, improper Anne. She was honest rather than improper, perhaps. Walter and Charles had been very proper experiences, it seemed, and he had only run off -- again, he realised -- because he had felt foolish for having thought them something else.
Now he was stuck, of course, for how could he go back? He never liked admitting a mistake, even if this was not really a mistake.
While Frederick was morosely studying his shoes as he sat on the stairs, there was some commotion near the front doors. He was not interested in deliveries, but after a moment he realised it was commotion at the front entrance, not the back. It must be a visitor, who was undoubtedly being told that nobody was up and who did not appear to accept that. Who could be so rude? Frederick was already toying with the idea of rescuing the poor footman, but when the caller raised his voice and announced his importance, he knew beyond a doubt that he must.
"I am Sir Walter Elliot! Where is my daughter?" said the voice. "She stole my carriage!"
Yes, he should definitely descend and confront the man. He walked down and saw the look of relief on the servant's face when he came into view. He gave him a nod. The situation would be handled. The footman hurried off instantly, though he undoubtedly remained nearby.
Frederick's dislike of Sir Walter Elliot had never disappeared. Never would he forget the man's cold indifference and disapproval. It would be a pleasure to put the man in his place. It struck him briefly that it must have been worse for Anne, something that had never occurred to him before. She had in fact merely been the messenger of that final, damning communication. Her father had had the final say. Frederick acknowledged his unjust condemnation of Anne, but her father deserved no kindness, the pompous fool.
"Sir Walter," he said with a cold and civil bow.
"My daughter! She stole my carriage."
"Your daughter stole your carriage, sir?" Frederick inquired. "And what business is this of ours? Your carriage is not here." As he spoke, he marvelled at this new Anne, this creature who stole carriages and washed men. He should not; he did not approve in general, but perhaps because he knew her better, he did. It was a little confusing, but definitely intriguing. Bless Anne. He had been shocked by her, but this was all very good.
"But my daughter is. Are you Admiral Croft?" Sir Walter squinted.
Too vain for spectacles, Frederick assumed. "I am not."
"Who is he? Another obscure man risen to undue distinction in the Navy? Where is my daughter?" he repeated.
"What is her name?"
"Miss Anne Elliot."
"Oh, that is my wife," Frederick said matter-of-factly. He did not know who was the most shocked: he or Sir Walter.
Posted on Wednesday, 19 September 2007
"Your wife?" Sir Walter was incredulous. "And what of Admiral Croft?"
"He is not my wife." Evidently it only mattered whom Anne had married, not that she had married at all. Frederick had no qualms about not giving serious answers. He also needed to think how to extricate himself from this situation. Given the mood he was in he was likely to entangle himself only further.
Sir Walter turned red at this utter lack of respect.
"He has a wife of his own." Frederick wondered why he expected the admiral to have something to do with Anne. Who had told him about the admiral? How had he known where to go? "Why did your daughter steal your carriage? Did you not want to lend it to her?"
Sir Walter's colour heightened even more upon being accused instead of Anne. "She did not ask! Instead she took it. It returned home accompanied by a note from some admiral announcing he would take good care of her."
Frederick could not help laughing, though James, if he had truly written it like that, ought to have known that others did not always think like him. In fact, most others did not. Their sort of good care would be different from his, especially where young ladies were concerned. "Did you not trust him?"
"Young man!" the baronet exploded. "It is clear I could not, if she is married."
"Are daughters not a burden one is glad to be rid of?"
"My daughters shall not marry simply anybody."
"I am not simply anybody." Not anymore. He could be proud of who he was and what he had achieved. It had all been his own doing, compared to a baronet who had merely inherited a title and a house. His lips curled up in contempt for people who thought they deserved respect when they had done nothing to earn it.
"Where is my daughter?"
"In my care, as my wife." He smiled pleasantly as he said so. How easy it was to lie!
"And who are you?"Sir Walter inquired, full of suspicion.
Frederick knew his appearance was in his favour -- tall, handsome and well-dressed. He was impressive, even if he was recovering from a serious illness. "Your new son-in-law," he said with a tantalisingly wicked grin. It served the man right for refusing to recognise him. That was something he did not quite understand. Eight years ago they had met repeatedly. Either Sir Walter refused to acknowledge that, or he had never paid any attention. Either thing was strange.
"I order you to desist from this disrespectful talk, young man."
Not yet. He would almost forget his still slightly feverish feeling like this. Sir Walter could try what he liked to put on an air of authority, but he would not succeed. He would not be able to stop Anne from marrying this time -- if Anne wanted to be married. It was a sobering thought. She might simply enjoy nursing half-dead men, although marriage could never be worse than cleaning them up.
Did he want to marry her? He would ask himself that later. First he must deal with Sir Walter Elliot. It was easy to postpone the question. "What have you come to do? Get your daughter back?"
"It is clear that this was a matter of deception and coercion. Where is she?"
She was upstairs in her bed without any idea of being married to him. What would she say? Perhaps she would never find out, though he supposed he could not send Sir Walter out of the house directly. A good son-in-law could not and he was pretending to be good, was he not?
"Perhaps, Sir Walter, you would care to step into the parlour?" Frederick said invitingly. It would have pained him to say anything friendly at all if he had not had a purpose. It was not a friendly purpose, however. He was most certainly out to annoy the man.
Sir Walter, provided with a glass of something that was far too strong for the hour of the day, felt he was being treated slightly better.
"What had you planned to do with your daughter if you found her?" Frederick inquired. He poured himself a glass of water. It would not do to become inebriated; he already felt lightheaded from what he had drunk earlier. It had not been much, but his illness and the early hour conspired against him.
"I am going to take her home, of course. Suppose it became known that a daughter of Sir Walter Elliot's were here in the house of an obscure admiral's!" Sir Walter shuddered in horror.
"Admirals are never very obscure because there are not very many of them. One must watch out for captains. There are far too many of those," Frederick informed him in a pleasant tone. He did not feel quite as pleasant, for it sounded as if only Sir Walter suffered and not the poor young woman. He supposed, at least, that no young woman would willingly enter the house of an obscure man. "To be snared by a mere captain is certainly a very obscure fate for a baronet's daughter -- or does she have a price?" Anne would not, but her father might.
"A price?"
"There are wealthy captains, you know. With a great fortune in prize money. They might make your daughter a good husband. The admiral might well be useful in throwing your daughter in the way of some such gentlemen."
"Sailors are not gentlemen," the baronet wished to point out.
"Who cares, if they are rich?" Frederick reasoned with a smile. He was a gentleman and he looked like one; he even had the money to continue looking like one. "Besides, if you had had a younger brother, Sir Walter, he might have distinguished himself in the Navy." He thought he recalled that the man did not have any younger brothers, but at the time he had not really cared to find out who the man's heir was.
Sir Walter contemplated this with a look of horror. A brother, in the Navy!
"Or would he have lived off an allowance you gave him?" He doubted that, considering that the man had not even wanted to give his own daughter any money.
"No, no."
"Thus it is very likely that a younger brother of yours would have become an admiral, especially given that he would have been older than Admiral Croft. Mr Elliot the parson? Mr Elliot the colonel? Does Admiral Elliot not sound infinitely better?"
"But," said Sir Walter with a confused air, "you said Anne was already married -- and not to an admiral, because you are not Admiral Croft."
He had indeed strayed from his initial message and he was surprised that Sir Walter had noticed. "I may be another admiral."
"Do not tease me so, young man. Admirals are old and weatherbeaten." It was clear that he knew that for a fact and would not be contradicted.
"Very well. I am a rich captain, young and handsome."
"And you are married to Anne?" Sir Walter looked doubtful of what his reaction ought to be. "How rich are you?"
"I am rich in good qualities."
"The more you say, the more I am convinced you are in fact Admiral Croft's valet or some other such insignificant fellow."
Frederick laughed at that ridiculous comment. "I can assure you that I am not Admiral Croft's valet. Nor am I an insignificant fellow. Let us return to the subject of your daughter. Why did she come here?"
"If she married you, I expect I ought to call it eloping. She went here to elope with you." Sir Walter pulled a pair of spectacles from his pocket and gave him a good scrutiny. "I say, you are not that fellow, are you?"
"Which fellow?"
"The insignificant fellow she wished to marry long ago."
"I have never been an insignificant fellow. Why did your daughter not marry him?" Frederick refilled the baronet's glass. If one did not need anything from the man, it was in fact amusing to lead him on. This time he needed nothing from him. He was in a position of perfect independence.
"How could you ask?" Sir Walter said with a contemptuous snort. "An insignificant fellow? Marry my daughter?"
"Were the objections not personal then? It was merely his lack of fortune and connections?" he pressed. The same objections could not be used against him again. He was curious if he was more desirable now.
He had always sworn he would not beg for Anne, but perhaps he had always said so because of the fear he would be rejected again. Today he felt very certain he was not going to be rejected. Anne had come here for him. He had not asked her outright -- he would still not ask -- and she had not said anything outright either. He was only dependent on Anne, if he wished to marry her, not on her father. But did he want to marry Anne?
"Goodness, do you think I cared to remember?" Sir Walter took an indifferent sip.
"Well, your memory might come in as useful as your spectacles if you believe me to be the same man."
"I do not see how two different men could be pursuing Anne," said Sir Walter in disbelief. "Anne!"
Anne had wondered what she might do, but she was determined not to speak to anyone else about the interlude. She was curious who had told him she was here, but at this early hour she settled for getting dressed. It took her a while. Frederick had not seen her at her most favourable after this long time and she was more anxious about her appearance than she would customarily be.
He had looked very well himself, no longer a boyish man, but a handsome man. With his eyes open this was all a little more apparent. The expressions in them were half the attraction and she regretted that it had been too dark to see very much of his eyes.
Frederick had saved her the trouble of having to go out to look for her ribbon, which she did not mind. It was growing colder and it looked to be chilly outside, not that she would have gone just yet. He seemed to be a little favourably inclined towards her, given that he had returned her ribbon, although it could as easily have been a pretext for coming to see her.
He had not asked much, but he had nevertheless been jealous. Why did he think he had any right to be jealous? She was interested in knowing whether he still felt that way after hearing he was jealous of two babies. He would probably not tell her. It had been unkind of her, perhaps, not to let him know directly. She was uneasy about it, but it had not been the easiest subject to discuss. It might even be easier to wash a man than to speak of doing so, to the man in question especially.
She had no idea where Frederick had gone and what he might be thinking, but she was hungry. First she would eat and then she would decide on a course of action -- or pursuit, more likely. She made her way to the breakfast room, which was ready in spite of there not yet being anyone ready for it at this hour. At least nobody had been the day before. She did not mind eating alone. At home it happened more often than not at breakfast and today especially she was too caught up in her thoughts to have much attention to spare for polite conversation.
There were voices coming from the room, however, animated and cheerful voices. When she pushed open the door, she halted in surprise.
Frederick, who had become hungry, had managed to take Sir Walter into the breakfast room. The display of foods, while not as grand and elaborate as at Kellynch, had met with his approval and he had sat down. He had partaken of his favourite dish and soon felt very much reconciled to his new son-in-law. Here, in the better light of the breakfast room, it was a very handsome young man indeed. He wore good clothes and one should not be ashamed to be seen with him.
The matter of Anne had gone quite ignored -- until she entered the room and gave them a most unbecoming open-mouthed look.
"Do close your mouth, Anne," Sir Walter said sternly. "I hear you are married."
Anne could only stare.
"But you are in remarkably good looks. What do you have to say for yourself?"
She had very little to say for herself. Perhaps he ought to be questioning Frederick and not her. She knew nothing of what had been discussed and she looked uncertain. Frederick's expression gave her no hints. It was completely blank. "Have you been to Meryton, sir?" It was the only thing she could think of.
Sir Walter looked perturbed. "Meryton? Where is Meryton? Why?"
"The people of Meryton think I am married."
"And why should they not think so?" her father reasoned. "I hope you have not told them whose daughter you are, for they would surely have questioned my absence."
"No," she answered in confusion. Frederick was still looking blank. Why had she been thinking highly of his expressions? "Given what they think, Papa, I am sure they understand perfectly that you were absent."
"What do they think?" Frederick cut in.
"I c-c-cannot say." She felt the full force of his no longer blank stare. He wanted to know, but she was not going to tell him. "Will somebody not tell me what you are doing here, Papa?" And why he was having an amiable breakfast conversation with the man who ought to consider himself his worst enemy on dry land?
"I am breakfasting with your husband here," Sir Walter told her. "He has informed me of your scandalous conduct, Anne. However, I am in a forgiving mood, because these small sausages are delightful. Just small enough to give one a good taste and not too big to cause any weight gains. Delightful. I have just ordered some trousers, you see."
"Then there is nothing more for me to say?" Anne wondered. She wanted to ask about her scandalous conduct, but not in front of her father.