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Chapter 14
Before we begin, I have to tell you that the only reason my name is on this and the next three chapters is to keep continuity in the archives. These next chapters were written entirely by Laura Louise and after reading them, I think you will see where the talent really lies in this collaboration! ~~SusanK
'Love suffereth long and is kind.' And I am! I am doing this! Anne took a deep breath and plunged back into the crowd. All around her the guests were assembled for Mrs. Musgrove's bountiful Wedding Breakfast; once again the Great House was full of smiling, chattering family members. Anne smiled and chatted, too. She smiled at the Musgroves, and the Stickleweeds, and at every one of the Hayters. She made small talk and listened politely, nodding or shaking her head at all the appropriate points in each conversation. 'Love vaunteth not itself; love is not puffed up.' I shall be kind.
And she helped: she wrapped shawls around the shoulders of old ladies who were unable to manage it, she tied shoes and hair ribbons for children, she held babies, she located misplaced toys for toddlers, she gave simple directions to the temporary hired help. 'Love does not behave itself unseemly, love seeketh not its own'. With single-minded determination, forged from many years' practice, she faced each new challenge with firm resolve. I shall be generous, I shall be helpful, I shall be unselfish.
For the most part, this approach had been very successful; she had not felt the overwhelming awkwardness she had expected. The size and exuberance of the crowd helped; she was able to keep herself occupied and separated from all members of the wedding party; never once did she look in their direction. 'Love envieth not.' I will not be jealous. Her heart was numb toward Frederick Wentworth; for Anne, who had felt so much, for so long a time, this alone was a reason for rejoicing.
As the time neared for the customary giving of congratulatory speeches and toasts, she withdrew from the crowd a little in order to consider her options. She could remain hidden at the back of the crowded room; after all, this has not been nearly as bad as she had expected. But she could find no compelling reason to subject herself to hearing more words which would only bring pain. Deciding that it would be best to be ranked with the cowards than to push her courage too far, she joined a group of young mothers in one of the back parlors.
But after thirty minutes of making polite conversation with strangers, Anne knew she was reaching her point of exhaustion, and quietly excused herself. An hour's solitude, to collect and order her thoughts, was what she sought, but she found nowhere to go. Every room at the Great House was occupied by someone: napping children, nursing mothers, old ladies resting, and the like. She knew Uppercross Cottage would be similarly full, even her own room had been spoken for ahead of time as a retreat for an elderly relative.
This left the outdoors, which was not an altogether unwelcome alternative. She found her cloak among the many others in the cloakroom, and wrapped it securely around herself as she headed for the main door. Although sunny, it was rather cold, but not too cold for the brisk walk she had in mind. The heavy oaken door closed behind her and she headed down the stone stairs to the garden. She stepped aside to let a gentlemen pass, and as she did, he stopped and smiled in recognition. "Good morning, Miss Anne! It is a pleasure to see you again after all these years."
There had been no opportunity to greet Miss Elliot the evening before, but he had determined that she should not think ill of him and by his kindness, perhaps any ill-feelings towards Frederick would be softened.
Anne murmured a polite greeting, wondering who this gentleman was, as there was something familiar about him: a tallish, dark man, with graying hair and a beard, and an open, friendly expression. She thought she had seen him the evening before. He noticed her perplexity and grinned. "Have I changed so much? Edward Wentworth." She must not have noticed me at all last night, there is no surprise in that! he thought.
"Why Reverend Wentworth! How very good to see you!" Anne was surprised and delighted to greet her former curate and she impulsively put out her hand; before she could draw it back he had taken it in both of his. She smiled up at him. "Your sister has told us that you are lately married, and have a parish of your own. I wish you happy, with all my heart."
"Thank you. And I you, Miss Anne." Looking into her eyes, the Reverend could see that she was being kindly polite, but noticing her outercloak, he knew that she must be desiring an escape. Edward wished to acknowledge her feelings in some way, but to do so openly would be a mortification he would not wish on such a good woman. "I must say, this has been quite an event, I think it has been a trying time for all involved. Especially to those most closely concerned with the bride and groom."
His dark eyes looked directly into hers; there was a great deal of comprehension in them. Anne's composure faltered and she dropped her gaze. Edward Wentworth remembers! She let go of his hands; her smile was a little wobbly now. "Perhaps you have heard, my family has removed to Bath, permanently, it appears. It has been pleasant to be here, to visit some of my old haunts again. You must enjoy seeing so many of your acquaintance at Uppercross." Anne's courage was quickly deserting her; she must escape from this man's kind eyes. "But I must not detain you, Reverend Wentworth; I am sure you are wanted indoors. Please, give my regards to your family. Good day." She hurried off into the garden, leaving him standing on the steps gazing after her.
He had allowed her to pass with nothing further from him. He had no words of comfort for her, just as he had no words of comfort for his brother.
Edward Wentworth! Why did he look at me so? Her poise had been badly shaken, it was fortunate that she had met him on the way out to the garden. Just beyond the now-barren rose arbor, she left the paving stones for a narrow footpath into the shrubbery. Her destination was some distance from Uppercross Hall, perhaps a half-mile or so. An old bench, which long ago had been deemed too shabby for use in the formal garden, had been placed in a secluded spot in the hedgerow; it was the perfect place for private thinking.
The festive nature of the celebration had kept everyone else indoors, she heard and saw no one, the bench was unoccupied. The long walk had warmed her and had helped her recover her tranquillity. Anne sat quietly for some time, drinking in the simple sounds of the countryside she had so missed in Bath. Spring was still a way off, but the small signs of its approach were here for those who knew what to look for.
And it was cold; small patches of frost lingered in the shaded areas near the bench. Anne smiled at her absentmindedness; in her hurry to leave the Great House she had forgotten to put on her gloves. She did so now, finding them in the pocket of her cloak. She had also brought with her the small Bible, this she laid beside her on the bench, shaking her head a little as she did so. All of my memories of the wedding ceremony center on the leather cover of this book, for I do not believe I ever took my eyes from it, even once! When it came time for the vows to be recited, Anne had closed her eyes and repeated her text: 'Love suffereth long and is kind.' The Wentworths she did not look at, which is why she had been so surprised to see Edward Wentworth. She hadn't known he had been in Uppercross at all. What a kind man! He was sincerely sorry for me.
Ah well, it is all over now, and I have survived it. She smoothed her gloves as she thought. Except that I must accustom myself to calling her 'Mrs. Wentworth'... but that can be learned. She rubbed her hands to warm them. Oh botheration, that button! One of her gloves had lost a button, she had found it and had put it in the pocket of her cloak for safekeeping; she now began to hunt for it. Her hand closed instead on a folded sheet of paper, which she pulled out and began to examine. What is this? Some sort of note ... I can barely read it ... 'To A' Her brows knit in perplexity; her heart began to pound as she opened it and read the words written there. The letter began without salutation or preamble:
I have loved none but you. Unjust I may have been, weak and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. What I do today is from duty and honor; I alone will suffer the consequences for my foolish, unguarded behavior. I cannot bear the thought that you shall likewise be so unhappy. If you, for any reason, have held yourself back on my account, please know that I regret and honor your sacrifice so lovingly made for me. When you have opportunity to love another, my sincere wish is that you will give your heart as completely to him as I know you have to me.
There was no signature. There was no need for one.
In another part of the hedgerow, James Benwick stood musing over the very unsatisfying events of the day. He had left the Wedding Breakfast not long after the toasts; there was much to puzzle over and he could not think two thoughts together in such a noisy gathering.
This entire visit to Uppercross had gone so very differently than he had expected. For one thing, he had barely thought of Fanny at all, even during the ceremony in the chapel. Instead his thoughts had been taken up with his friend the Captain, so formal and reserved, gravely taking Louisa's hand as he recited the vows. In his place I would have looked like a smiling fool, barely able to contain my joy! My wedding day, the day Fanny and I had waited so long for, would have been a day of unrestrained delight, but for him ... I do not understand it.
Benwick buried his hands in the pockets of his greatcoat and trudged down the path through the hedgerow. Harville and I have barely spoken to him this entire time! I had so looked forward to spending at least one evening in conversation together, as we used to do. In a few hours we'll be leaving for home ... God only knows when we'll see him again.
He heaved a sigh. I have not spent much time with Harville, for that matter. Hang it, here I am deserting him again, although this time he is in rather good hands. James smiled to himself as he thought about his friend. When he had left the breakfast, Harville had been conversing in quite a friendly way with Admiral George Croft. This was a very good political connection for him to have made as far as his career was concerned (should he be called back into active service), although he would not have pursued the Admiral's company for that reason. No, like most men of the Navy, Croft was most comfortable amongst his own, and had sought Harville by his own initiative.
And I, what have I done with my time here? His smile twisted. I have spent it becoming better acquainted with a very interesting young woman, of all things! I must look like a complete idiot to Harville; I'll probably get a well-deserved earful on the way home!
And when I get home, there is that business concerning Great Aunt Agatha's will and Milton's latest letter. Bah! Benwick shoved this thought aside; this was no place to wrangle about knotty legal problems. The path had brought him through some fine country; he paused where it came out into a clearing in order to take in the view. As was his habit, he spent some time searching for the right words to describe such a beautiful winter day. Captain Benwick was somewhat of a nature lover and at different times had tried his hand at expressing himself through poetry on the subject, although he was never very satisfied with his efforts. He could not come up with anything inspirational today either, although the scene before him surely provided the material for it.
I suppose the last poems I have written were to Fanny. He had likewise felt his words to be inadequate, but since they concerned his tenderest feelings for her (being written and sent to her while away at sea), they quite naturally had been lovingly and enthusiastically received. Fanny. Why have I not thought more, felt more, about her these past days? He winced a little at this; he had avoided thinking much about it. Have I loved her less because I now feel so much less pain? Am I disloyal to her because I am beginning to accept that she is gone? Other thoughts began to follow, all disquieting. Has my grief become so much a habit now? Something to hide in?
He bent down and scooped up a handful of stones, tossing them one by one into the meadow before him as he thought. My future is now so vastly different than I had anticipated. Do I dare to think of ever being happy again? I thought I could not live without her, and yet I am. These past few days I have laughed and joked and have actually forgotten. He worked his way down to the last stone; as he raised his hand to throw it, he checked himself. What was that? His eyes narrowed in concentration; he had heard something other than the chattering birds in the hedgerow. A child.
During the seven-odd months he had lived with the Harvilles, Captain Benwick had become reacquainted with the habits and foibles of young children. He genuinely liked the little Harvilles. He was not inclined to boisterous play, as was their father, yet he had earned for himself the title of Uncle Benwick, their favorite story-reader. And once his soft heart and always-available lap had been found out, his quiet solitude was often interrupted by Ellie or Tommy, wanting to pour out complaints into his ear or needing hurt feelings soothed.
What Benwick now heard, or thought he heard, was a child crying in the hedgerow. He chucked the rock and made his way down the path toward the sound. The cold weather, coupled with the remote location (not being near any house), made it a matter of some urgency. Probably one of the wedding guest's children has wandered off and is now lost. I am glad I happened along this way. He increased his pace, examining the bushes on both sides of the path as he went. The hedgerow was denser here; he drew nearer and nearer to the sound, indeed, it was now quite close by.
As he rounded the bend in the path, he readied himself to call out a friendly greeting. But the words died on his lips; he stopped abruptly in his tracks. He had found the source of the crying, but the 'child' was the very last person he ever expected to see. For here, slumped face down on a bench, was Anne Elliot, sobbing as though her heart were broken.
Dear God, what has happened? Is she injured? "Miss El ..." he began, awkwardly, wondering what to do. I would never have interrupted her privacy, except that I thought ... but it is so cold! I should go away, but ... how can I just leave her here? Gingerly he approached, calling her name softly; there was no response. As her sobs continued, he became more alarmed; all too well he recognized the cries of a heart in anguish.
Carefully he sat down on the end of the bench and reached over to gently put his hand on her shoulder. "Miss Elliot." Anne looked up at that; startled and shamefaced to be discovered by anyone. When she saw who it was, she covered her face with her hands and gave a small moan.
"Miss Elliot, are you hurt? What has happened?" She pulled herself up into a sitting position and turned her face away from him, still shaking with sobs. "May I help you?" He picked up her Bible and slid over on the bench until he was sitting beside her. "What is wrong? Please tell me." He put one of his large, folded handkerchiefs into her hands.
"I ... have ... an awful ... headache ..."
"I see." he said gently. "And, I think," he spoke slowly, "perhaps ... an ache in your heart, as well?"
"Oh Captain Benwick!" Anne turned her tear-streaked face toward his. "He ... he ... loved me ... all those years ... but he ..." She could say no more, overcome once again by her grief. She hung her head and caught sight of the book in Captain Benwick's hand. The words she had repeated over and over during the ceremony came unbidden to her lips. "Love ... suffereth long ... and is kind ..." Her tears began again.
'Love suffereth long ...' that's a scripture text. Has she suffered in love? Poor, dear girl! She is absolutely heartbroken! I ... Benwick sat helplessly beside her, his own eyes filling with tears of sympathy. What can I do? He knew well the cardinal rule among gentlemen for dealing with weeping females: never, ever, allow one of them to cling to your person. He couldn't explain what he did next, except that in his mind's eye he saw not Miss Anne but five-year-old Ellie Harville there on that bench. He slid over even closer to her, put both of his arms around her thin frame, and held her securely in a bear hug. Frederick Wentworth had done the same for him, when he brought the news about Fanny. It had comforted him far more than any words could have done.
Anne resisted a little, struggling to collect the remaining shreds of her dignity and to remove herself from his proximity. But she had not reckoned with the authority that James Benwick's own grief had given him: he would not let her go. "No, no, Miss Anne. You need to cry; go ahead and let the tears come. Trust me. I know about these things." He was silent for a few moments. "You have been holding this inside for a long time, have you not?" She nodded; his words had torn at her very soul. Years of hurt and disappointment found expression in a fresh wave of sobs, he held her as one would a small child, patting her shoulder and rocking her a little.
As he waited for her storm of grief to subside, Captain Benwick discovered he was facing another problem: the cold weather. Her pale pink dress was lovely, but thin, and her cloak was, too. She would not be ready to face the others for a long while; how could he keep her warm until she was? I can only think of one way to accomplish this, but she will hate me for it. Ah well .... Benwick took a deep breath, gathered his resolve, and pulled her now resistless, weeping form onto his lap, closing the front of his heavy wool greatcoat around them both. Anne put her head on his shoulder and heaved a great sigh. Neither spoke for quite some time. At last he broke the silence, speaking in his quiet, unhurried way.
"Do you know, sometimes it helps to talk about these things." Anne buried her face in his collar and said nothing. "You listened to me run on at Lyme and it helped so very much. It was a great relief to say some of the things which had been bottled up inside for so long." He patted her a little, then pulled a fresh handkerchief out of his greatcoat pocket and handed it to her. "Go ahead. Tell your old friend Benwick all about it, if you like."
Anne dabbed at her eyes with his handkerchief and carefully thought this over. He did confide in me, didn't he? And I didn't mind, or think ill of him. 'A great relief' he said. Perhaps ... She took a long, shaking breath. "Well, all right. I have never told anyone this. I ... I will use no names. Indeed, you would have difficulty ... verifying ... this, for almost no one knows of it."
She paused to order her thoughts, and then began her story. "Eight year years ago ... or perhaps a little longer ... I met ... a man whom I ... whom I came to ... deeply love with all my heart ... and he loved me in the same way. As Fanny Harville was to you, I think."
"Then he must have been a very remarkable man, Miss Elliot."
"Oh yes! Truly that! He was, in reality, everything I had ever dreamed of in a man! Handsome, and spirited, and brilliant, and ... and funny! He was someone I could ... this may sound odd to you ... but he was someone I could talk to."
"Ah yes. I comprehend that perfectly, Miss Elliot! It was just the same with Fanny and me." Anne could not see his face but she could hear the smile in his voice. Encouraged to find such an understanding listener, she was emboldened to go on.
"And we did! We talked for hours at a time, about, oh! everything, for so many of our opinions were in agreement! It was early summer, and we rambled all through the countryside around Kellynch and Monksford together, laughing and taking such delight in one another's company! I had never experienced this before ..."
"A kindred spirit."
"Yes!" Anne's words came tumbling out. "That's exactly right! A kindred spirit. My father and elder sister were traveling for a month or more, I cannot remember where, and Mary was away at school, so my, um, my Love and I spent most of our time this way. Now that you have been at Kellynch, Captain, you can see that we are in a rather isolated location with a very small society. There were only a few parties and dances that summer, to which we were both invited, for he was very popular -- he had only come into the neighborhood recently, to visit his brother -- and because he had not had the opportunity to apply to my father, we were careful to conduct ourselves within the bounds of propriety -- no more than two dances together, that sort of thing."
"Ah yes. But to the careful observer, perhaps not so disinterested in one another as you wished to appear?"
"Perhaps. Yes, very probably!" Her smile broke out for a moment. "But you see, no one knew about, or even suspected, our engagement! For engaged we were: very early on he had proposed, and I had accepted him. But ... when my father did come home ..." It now became more difficult to continue. Captain Benwick helped her.
"He did not approve?"
Anne nodded. "My father ... he was, oh, so cold! So offended at the thought of such an alliance! You see, my ... Love ... had no fortune, no connections, nothing to recommend himself but his own abilities, which were considerable, for he is a very capable, resourceful man! But he had every confidence of rising quickly in his career, which he later did, but at that time he had ... a position promised but ... nothing certain."
"And your father refused."
"No, not exactly. But he would not do anything for us, he would not support us in any way." Anne's throat became tight, her voice dropped to a whisper. "My rightful inheritance ... from my own dear mother ... would not be given me; he intimated that upon our marriage I would be ... cut off ... from the family. This I could have borne, but ..." A stray tear ran down her cheek. "I'm sorry, Captain Benwick, I ..."
"No, Miss Elliot, do not talk anymore. You have every reason in the world to cry."
But the relief in finally telling someone was too great. Anne dried her eyes and continued, speaking in a husky voice. "I went to a friend of our family for advice. She was my mother's dearest, closest friend, and had stood in the place of my mother since her death. She had always had my best interests at heart, more than anyone, for she had no child and I had been as a daughter to her! I was certain she would understand! I ... well, her husband had been a Colonel in the army, you see, and I thought that she would be the proper person to advise me."
"Your fiance was in the King's service?"
Anne nodded and wiped her eyes. "But her opinion was no different than my father's! In some ways, it was worse! She did not like him, she thought him headstrong and ... and heedless!" her voice broke in a sob, "she thought his character was flawed, and that at nineteen I was throwing myself away to accept him! She so feared a life of dependence and degradation for me! She felt that the engagement was wrong ... indiscreet and improper ... and her opinion never changed! She was so gentle and ... tender, even, when she spoke to me over those weeks, but ... she ... deprecated ... the connection in every light! The one I had depended upon to support me!" Anne could not continue.
"And so ... did you ... break your engagement?" Captain Benwick asked gently. Anne nodded and dissolved into tears, burying her face in his collar. "Oh Miss Elliot, I am so sorry! What a dreadful choice to be faced with, at only nineteen!"
"Not because I did not love him, Captain Benwick, but because I did!" Anne burst out. "I was afraid that it would seriously hamper him to have a wife to support so early in his career! I gave him up, yes, but for his own good! I did not want to be a weight around his neck, I did not want to be the one to hold him back! But he ... "
"I suspect he did not see it in quite that light."
She shook her head. "No ... indeed, he did not! He ... he was so terribly angry! He thought himself ill-used by me, that I had not truly loved him, that I had deserted him! I know it had that appearance, but he would not hear me! I ... I have always had trouble finding words ... especially when someone is angry with me! My father sometimes rants on at me like that ..."
"And so, along with everything else, you had to suffer his ... disapproval?" Benwick asked, rather grimly.
"Please do not hate him for it! To someone with his decided, confident temperament I could only appear weak and timid! He could not endure that I had given him up to oblige others!" Anne's face was white, her eyes stared unblinkingly before her. "I ... was a ... disappointment to him, my ... character ... was shown to be flawed, feeble!"
She hung her head. "I hurt him deeply, I know that now. In his eyes I had been disloyal and had gone back on my word. He thought it intolerable that I had been persuaded to give him up, that I had yielded to the opinion of others instead of believing ... and trusting ... in him. He left the country immediately afterward and I never saw him again."
"Oh, Miss Elliot, I ..."
Anne continued speaking. "Until this past November." Her face was deathly pale. "He came back. He came back ... and completely ignored me." A tear slid silently down her cheek, then another, and another. She did not bother to check them. "When he had to speak to me, he was coldly formal. And then ..."
For the first time, Anne lifted her face and turned to look directly at him, working herself into something like a passion. "Oh Captain Benwick! You should thank God that Fanny died! She died loving you! You did not have to live to see another take your place as first in her heart! For that is what he did! He courted another! And I had to sit by, silent and polite, listening to him make fine speeches to her! Watching as he walked with her; hearing him flatter her! He, whom I loved with all my heart! And then today ... " She covered her face with her hands.
"Have you have seen him, today?" Captain Benwick demanded. "At the wedding?" His voice sank to whisper. "Is that why you were crying when I found you?"
"Yes. He is married now." Anne raised her head and took a deep breath. "And I have accepted it. Indeed, it is a great relief to me that it is over."
"Is it? Forgive me, but ... have you been completely honest with yourself on this point?"
Anne considered his words, twisting his handkerchief between her fingers. "No, I suppose not," she admitted. " I am so confused! I am so hurt and ... and angry! I feel ... betrayed, for he said nothing of his true feelings for me, all these years! He treated me so coldly in November! How could he do so, if he still loved me?"
Captain Benwick frowned, all at sea. This made no sense. "I do not understand. What 'true feelings' do you mean? He had none."
"Oh dear!" she groaned. "I was not going to show you this, but ... today, as I was sitting on this bench, quite composed of mind, I found this in my pocket." She pulled out the letter and handed it to him without further comment.
He took it and unfolded it very slowly. So great was his sympathy for her that he was a little afraid to see what it said. This letter, apparently, was the cause of her distress. When he finished reading, his face was as pale as hers.
"Dear God in Heaven. Frederick Wentworth."
Anne gasped; her eyes met his in an anguished glance. "Yes. Wentworth." He smiled sadly at her reaction; he could barely speak. "I recognize the writing, you see. I was his First Officer for three years; I know his hand as well as my own." He heaved a great sigh. "Wentworth ... and ... Louisa ... and ... November ... and the accident at Lyme." He closed his eyes and tightened his hold on her; Anne clung to him as a child would cling to a parent. "Dear merciful God" he murmured; " what a tragic ... circumstance. You are ... all ... my friends. And all ... unhappy."
"Surely not all ... not Louisa!"
"Even Louisa. Wentworth does not love her. He says here that he married her out of duty, but I doubt she knows it. What will be her feelings when she finds he does not care for her?"
"Oh." Anne closed her eyes wearily and laid her head back down on his shoulder. "I had not thought of that." Her strength was spent; there were no more tears left. "Yes," she whispered; "poor Louisa. She loves him, too. May God help us all."
Benwick's mind was bursting with unasked questions and observations, for now he saw the reason behind his friend's formal, stoic behavior these past days: all the pieces of the puzzle fit. But there was nothing he could say which would not bring her more pain. She said nothing; he kept silent. After a while, Anne's breathing became more shallow and rhythmic. He turned his head to look at her. She had fallen asleep from grief and exhaustion.
James shifted his position a little, wondering how much time he had spent sitting on this bench, hidden away in the hedgerow. Not that it matters! How many hundreds of hours have I crouched or stood in some awkward or uncomfortable position, waiting for orders? To sit holding this poor, sweet girl is no trouble at all. Harville will just have to wait.
He looked over at Anne again. The hood of her cloak had fallen back; he studied the waves of her hair, so attractively adorned with satin flowers; his eyes followed the path of the pink ribbon woven through her curls. Fanny had never worn a fragrant gardenia in her hair as Miss Elliot did; he wished now that she had.
Poor Miss Elliot. What a gentle, noble little soul! It is no wonder Frederick loves her! If he compared all women to this one, I can well understand why he was never captivated by any other. And she has honored me with her confidence, with a story she has told no one else.
He pulled his greatcoat more tightly around them both. She seemed to be keeping warm enough; there was no need to wake her. He gave her shoulder a little pat. Sleep on, dear girl. Sleep and forget. You will hate me when you wake up, but I am glad I was here for you when you needed a friend.
Chapter 15
Anne woke up very gradually, so gradually that she did not realize that she had been asleep for nearly half an hour. Her torrent of emotional pain had passed; she felt nothing but the sensation of being warm and protected. Strong arms held her firmly and comfortingly; bringing to mind long-forgotten memories of a time when she was very small. Her father's coat had felt the same against her cheek: scratchy and very slightly cigar-scented. Anne kept her eyes shut, willing time to stand still. She heaved a shuddering sigh and leaned into the embrace; it tightened slightly.
Cautiously she opened her eyes just the tiniest bit; what was she seeing? A brownish overcoat, and showing from beneath it, the dark blue fabric of an officer's dress uniform with its white lapels, brass buttons, and gold braid. Anne reached over to finger one of the lapels. I have always liked these uniforms, so distinguished and handsome. And these beautiful, shiny buttons! She sighed in contentment, studying the row of brass buttons through half-shut eyes; the uniform sighed in return. What a very comfortable uniform; it gives hugs! She snuggled a little closer and closed her eyes once more, smiling just a little as she stroked the cloth. I do believe this lovely coat is alive, for I can feel it breathing. This thought was pleasant, but perplexing. How can a uniform be ... breathing? I ... Where am I? She opened her eyes, blinking in confusion.
All at once she came fully awake. Her head was resting on a man's shoulder; a man who was a naval officer. His greatcoat was wrapped around her, and so were his arms; in fact, she was sitting on his lap, leaning against his chest. Hope surged through her heart, for only one man would hold her thus. Frederick! You have come for me! She clung to him, burying her face in his collar, whispering his name with a little sob.
"Miss Elliot?" The voice was not Frederick's.
Good God! How...? Who ...? Anne sat bolt upright, pulling herself away from him. She blushed to the roots of her hair as she recognized who it was who held her.
"Captain Benwick!" she gasped, stammering awkwardly. "How did I ...? I am so sorry! But what am I ..." Of course this is not Frederick! Frederick is married! This is dreadful! I am so embarrassed, I want to die! Whatever must he think of me?
Captain Benwick looked over at her briefly, then resumed his contemplation of the bushes comprising the hedgerow. "Are you feeling better now, Miss Elliot?" His tone was kind, but decidedly un-loverlike. His shifted his hold a little, but did not release her.
"Yes. No! I ... I mean ... I am sitting ... I ... Why am I ... sitting on ... your lap?
Captain Benwick looked a little uncomfortable at this, but kept his eyes fixed elsewhere as he spoke. " I, ahem, beg your pardon, Miss Elliot. I took the liberty of making a rather desperate choice, because it is so very cold. You were in no condition to return to the party, and there was nowhere else which would be private, without, ah, prying eyes, and awkward questions. Your cloak is too thin for such weather and you needed to be kept warm." He glanced over at her rather shyly. "I did the best I could under the circumstances. I am very sorry."
" I ... thank you, but I ..." Anne's voice trailed out. What could she say?
"When you are ready, we will walk back to the cottage. There is no hurry."
She groaned and hid her face in her gloved hands. "Oh Captain Benwick, I do not know what to say to you! I am so embarrassed!"
"Are you? Whatever for? I am not!" Anne looked up at that; she found herself to be gazing directly into his eyes. "Miss Elliot, consider for a moment to whom you are speaking," he murmured softly. "When first we met in Lyme, I believe I was the one crying into my soup and you comforted me!" He raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. "I believe we are now even, wouldn't you say?"
Anne blinked, digesting this. We are now even? She looked back at Captain Benwick, but he had resumed his study of the hedgerow. Presently he began to speak.
"In your list of suggested readings was a very helpful essay, based around a scriptural text, do you remember? I had learnt that one by heart as a boy, but had forgotten it. Let me see, how does it go? Ah,' ... that we may be able to comfort them which are in any trouble, by the comfort wherewith we ourselves are comforted by God.'" His eyes met hers once again. "Do you see?"
"Oh." This was clearly unanswerable. "Thank you, Captain ... but I think we are not at all 'even'." She smiled weakly. "I am greatly in your debt!" She buried her head in her hands once again. What a horribly awkward circumstance! If Mary had caught me weeping and had found that letter ... or Charles ... Charles! "Oh," Anne groaned, raising her head, "I do not want to think about what would happen if Charles were to find us this way!"
"Musgrove?" Captain Benwick snorted contemptuously. "Miss Elliot, please do not give Charles Musgrove, or his crude accusations, a second thought. He will not trouble us." He smiled at her as if sharing a secret. "You may not have noticed," he pulled back the left half of his overcoat, "I am armed today, and am entirely at your service." His smile twisted a little. "Shall I run him through?"
Anne stared at the silver hilt of his dress sword in amazement. "Could you? Is that real?"
"Of course I could, quite easily! And yes, it is real."
"Oh!" She looked at him rather uncertainly. He is surely joking, isn't he? "Ah ... I have always assumed that dress swords were not weapons, but were worn as decoration, in order to, um, strut one's consequence! I beg your pardon. Is it very sharp?"
Captain Benwick was not at all offended; in fact, he was rather pleased by her interest. She had forgotten her embarrassment and was beginning to regain her composure; he decided that almost any diversion was a good thing. "Indeed it is! I would be happy to show you, but first you will need to ... sit over here beside me."
Anne moved off his lap; he removed his greatcoat and placed it around her shoulders, heedless to her objections. "No, no, Miss Elliot. I am quite warmly dressed. Now then." The sword rang a little as he removed it from its scabbard, the highly polished blade glittered in the pale winter sunshine. Captain Benwick carefully laid it across his knees, placing the hilt toward Anne. "This type of sword is known as a sabre, Miss Elliot. It has one sharp edge, here. You may pick it up if you wish, but please bear in mind that it is a weapon."
"All right." Anne removed the glove from her right hand, cautiously reached out, and touched the handle. "I have never done this before. Do I hold it here?"
"Yes, at the haft."
She lifted it for only a moment. "It is heavy! But it is rather beautiful, if a sword may be called that!" She fingered the sword knot, with its elegant tassel, which hung from the hilt.
"It is, isn't it? This is the one I use to 'strut my consequence,' at occasions such as this," he grinned. "I bought it when I was posted into the Grappler last year, with some of my prize money. The standard sword I use for, shall we say, 'everyday business' is not nearly as attractive."
"'Everyday business'?" She frowned at the term. "Do you mean 'running someone through'? You haven't actually killed someone yourself, have you?" The question slipped out before Anne could stop it.. "I mean ..."
He regarded her quietly for a moment. "Never a loyal subject of the King, Miss Elliot." Anne swallowed, staring in horrified fascination at the bright steel blade lying on his lap. "And never anyone with this particular sword. But," he added, more cheerfully, "there's a first time for everything! Shall I go find Charles Musgrove?"
"Captain Benwick, no!" She could not help smiling. "I cannot allow you to chase after Charles!" She bit her bottom lip, considering. "What do you suppose he would do?"
" Run like ... Hades, Miss Elliot!" Benwick muttered, chuckling. "Most definitely."
Anne had no choice but to laugh; it was too ridiculous! But her mind was still taken up with the sword, a weapon which could cut a man to pieces! Without thinking she reached out to feel its sharpness with her bare hand.
Captain Benwick saw her intent and caught it back. "Ah, not that way, Miss Anne! Let me show you how. Now where is that ... oh yes. In the pocket of my greatcoat is your letter. If you will just tap the edge of the paper to this part of the blade, like so ..." he demonstrated the motion with his hand.
The letter -- Frederick's letter! Anne found it in the pocket and drew it out slowly, almost reluctantly. Taking a deep breath, she unfolded it and did as Captain Benwick instructed. The blade sliced effortlessly through the paper, making a cut several inches long at the bottom of the page. Benwick smiled at her astonishment. "Charles Musgrove will probably tell you something about an unloaded gun not being a gun at all. The same is true for a dull sabre!" He stood to replace the sword in its scabbard. "Shall we walk a little?"
"Yes, I would like that." Anne quickly stuffed the letter into the pocket of her cloak. She did not want to begin thinking about Frederick Wentworth again; it was safer to talk to Captain Benwick. "Dear me, I must look a sight! My hair ... Mary's flowers!" She stared at a few of the satin rosebuds which had fallen to the ground.
"I see nothing amiss, but your sister might. Perhaps you might wear the hood of your cloak? Oh, and I believe this is yours." Captain Benwick handed her the Bible which had been lying on the bench beside him. When she was ready, he made sure his greatcoat was secured across her shoulders and politely offered his arm. Anne took it gratefully and they began walking slowly along the path. To keep her thoughts from straying into dangerous territory, she quickly picked up the conversation where they had left off.
"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at how easily your blade cut that paper, Captain. Charles told us that one of your jobs on the Laconia was to make sure the swords were sharp, so ..." She broke off as she saw an odd expression cross Benwick's face.
"That I did what? Sharpened swords? That wasn't my responsi ..." His eyes narrowed. "Just a minute! What else did Charles tell you I did?" he asked, rather grimly.
"Well, he told us many different things about the Navy, in general, and that you, um ...." she looked at him hesitantly. "That is, after the fighting was over, you would ..."
Captain Benwick's lips twitched a little. "Go on."
"You counted up the ..." This was too gruesome to repeat, but she found herself biting back a giggle. "You counted ..."
Captain Benwick finished for her, carefully enunciating every word. "That I counted up the dead men's heads and stacked them neatly in a pile?" She nodded. "Oh lord!" He threw back his head and laughed. "Hang that Musgrove! Of all the windbags! I think I shall have to call him out after all!" He looked over at his companion. "I'm sorry Miss Elliot! Charles Musgrove's tongue is hinged in the middle! I didn't mean that piece of information to get back to you; it is not at all accurate! I was attempting to pay him out for teasing you the way he did, about a forced marriage. Harville and I filled him full of grisly Navy tales, some of which were rather embellished, like that one!"
"You ... did?" Anne stared at him in pleasure and surprise. "Oh ... why ... thank you!" These two men had come to her defense, men who were not even her own friends! No one had ever done such a thing for her before. They had actually punished Charles! Indeed, he deserved it, but she thought she should explain. "I'm relieved to know you didn't actually stack up the, ah, the ... well!" Anne smiled awkwardly. "But I hope you and Captain Harville didn't treat Charles too badly. He is an old friend, Captain, as well as my brother. I don't mind his teasing very much, not nearly as much as Mary does. He has joked about finding me a husband for years. It really doesn't bother me anymore."
"Humph! That attitude does you credit, Miss Elliot, and you handled him very well Thursday night. I suppose I am a bit old fashioned in my notions," he grumbled, "but I think a man shouldn't twit a woman about such a thing, 'old friend' or no. If he's so eager to find you a husband, why didn't he just propose to you in the first place and be done with it!"
This remark was met with dead silence.
Captain Benwick was instantly aware that he had made a major misstep. He looked penetratingly at Anne as she walked beside him; her face was flushed, her eyes were downcast and the cheerful demeanor he had worked so hard to encourage was gone. They walked along without speaking for a few minutes; he wondering how to apologize for this unguarded, awkward remark; she wondering how to regain her composure and continue with what had been a very enjoyable conversation. Finally, he broke the silence.
"Please forgive me, Miss Elliot. It seems that nearly everything I have said or done today has had dreadful results for you! I had no idea that this was how things stood." Benwick bit his lip, casting a sideways look at Anne. "He, ah, thought that Mary would do as well, didn't he?" Poor Charles! What a tragic mistake!
Anne winced at his perceptiveness. Somehow, in the course of one morning, this quiet, unassuming man had learned so much! And all about Frederick! I told him everything! Her throat tightened, another wave of shame and embarrassment threatened to overcome her. She walked on, eyes focused on the path. "Captain Benwick, whatever must you think of me? Charles ... and Frederick ... I ..."
"If you mean by 'think of you' that I blame you in any way, no, I do not. There is enough blame, and unhappiness, and pain to go around between you without me putting my oar in." He looked over at her. "Is this a subject you wish to discuss further, Miss Elliot? I have been working very hard to avoid it, but if you would like, we can pursue it."
"Oh, no! No, I don't want to think one thought about that horrid letter! Except that, would it be wrong ... would it be so very bad if I ... well, you see, when I think about that letter now, I find that I am not hurt or sad as much as I am angry. Is that wrong?"
Captain Benwick thought for a moment. "No ... I think not. To be honest, I am a little angry myself, for a few of the sentiments written there would have been better left unsaid! But the letter was kindly meant, and we must remember that. And later, as you begin to forgive him, the anger and the pain will slowly fade away, and you will be left with his kindness. Or such is my experience; I don't mean to preach at you."
"No, no that is very helpful. I thank you." She sighed. "But I must also forgive myself! I am so humiliated by how I behaved today! Like an utter fool!"
"Now that we can do something about right now." He stopped in the middle of the path and turned to face her. "Miss Elliot," he said, smiling, " I propose that we make a pact, you and I! I will agree to forget all about your perfectly natural and understandable behavior today (which you term 'humiliating') and you will please forget my weepy-eyed, foolish melancholy at Lyme."
"Which was perfectly natural and understandable," she added.
He grinned. "Very well, accepted with the addendum! We both agree to forget the bad behavior of the other and henceforth we shall not refer to it in thought, word, or deed, unless we mutually agree to do so." He put out his gloved hand. "Do we have a deal?"
She placed her hand in his. "Yes, indeed! I wholeheartedly agree."
"Good!" He shook her hand firmly, then offered her his arm again in order to continue walking. "And now, have you any objection if I choose the next topic for our conversation?"
"None at all, Captain Benwick. Indeed, I would be most grateful if you would."
"Ah! That is the correct answer! Well, I wish you will tell me, with as much detail as you like, all about your family estate and its history. For it has been a fascinating place to stay and I am frustrated to be leaving so soon, having learned so little."
Not unnaturally, this was a very pleasant subject for Anne. Captain Benwick launched right in, peppering her with questions about Kellynch Hall: its age, origin, size, architectural style, the dates different wings had been added, and about some of the people whose portraits he had seen hanging in the gallery. His descriptions of these (for he did not know any names, and so had to rely on odd facial features, props, or clothing) were very amusing, and they walked slowly along the path, quite pleased to be in company together.
But as they neared Uppercross Cottage, during a discussion of the outlandish customs of chivalry and honor held by some, Benwick noticed that Anne's attention had wandered; she began answering him very much at random, and at last fell silent. He walked along beside her without speaking. It was not difficult to guess where her thoughts had drifted. Such a letter! Frederick, my friend, you are a complete idiot! You have wounded two lovely young women! If you are twice as miserable as you make out to be, it will be less than you deserve!
Perhaps, he stole a look at Anne; her face was pale and sad, if I had known how things really stood between Frederick and Miss Anne, I would have given more serious consideration to ... Benwick sighed and directed his eyes toward the hedgerow on his side of the pathway. But no, it would not have been fair to her. Louisa Musgrove had admired him, she had been grateful for his attentions to her, but he knew this was because she was injured and helpless. He had reasoned it out very carefully, for he had been attracted to her, what man would not have been? She was so lovely and vulnerable; her manner toward him had been completely open and trusting. Louisa Musgrove could easily have been persuaded to believe herself in love with me. But when she recovered ...
Benwick sighed again. He was under no illusions, his eleven years in the social circles of the Navy had taught him that he was not the type of man that women gave a moment's thought to. Fanny Harville had been the lone exception, a complete surprise. High spirited, joyous talking Louisa would certainly come to regret taking him as husband. I would be a profound disappointment to any woman who has loved Frederick! He smiled a little sadly and glanced over at Anne, still lost in her thoughts. Poor Miss Anne. What a dismal state of affairs! I wonder what will become of her now? Will she ever find love again? Will I ...
"He felt he was doing the honorable thing, in marrying Louisa." Anne interrupted his melancholy musings, speaking her thought aloud. "That is ... commendable, to do one's duty, even though it violates the wishes of one's own heart." She lifted her eyes from the pathway to look at Captain Benwick. "Isn't it?"
"It is, Miss Anne," he replied quietly.
"I mean, I can admire that in him, even if I do not understand why."
Benwick nodded silently; his heart was wrung to see Anne's pathetic attempt to defend the man who had hurt her so. She loved him in spite of his failings; that was love indeed.
"I am afraid I have violated our agreement, by talking about this subject again," she confessed. "I am sorry."
"We agreed not to condemn ourselves by remembering our bad behavior, Miss Anne, nothing more. Please continue, if you wish."
"If I wish, yes," she stared down at the ground again; their pace had slowed, now it halted altogether. "What I wish ... is to understand why he did it. Do you suppose he felt responsible for Louisa's accident?"
Captain Benwick hesitated, frowning as he considered how to answer. "Frederick wrote that he had behaved foolishly and unguardedly," he replied, choosing his words carefully. "I think he meant his obvious preference for Louisa, which you had seen yourself; his singling her out. It was rather pointed; even the Harvilles considered them to have some sort of an ...understanding between them." The fact that Frederick had flatly denied an engagement he kept to himself.
"But if he loved me all the while, then why would he ...?" She raised her eyes to meet Benwick's.
" I believe it is a case of a man coming to know the true condition of his heart ... too late." he said gently.
"Oh." Anne's voice was small and sad. She looked back at the pathway and took a step, intending to resume walking back to the cottage. It was quite nearby, its dark form could be seen through the barren branches of the trees ahead of them.
"Miss Anne," Captain Benwick caught her arm and held her back, speaking with warmth and intensity, "before we return to the party and to the ... world of propriety and manners ... there is something I would like to ask you, something that I have been thinking about these past days."
He looked directly into her eyes. "Is there any hope for us? For love?"
Anne's eyes widened. Was this some sort of a declaration?
He saw her dismay and hastily corrected himself. "No, no, not for us, I mean for each of us, individually: for you, for me, ... and for Frederick. We are young; we may well have many years ahead of us. Can we ever find love again? Or ... have we had our one chance at true intimacy with another and now ... there is nothing left?
She stared at him, struggling with the implication of his words. There is nothing left?
Captain Benwick continued, "Can the human heart ever learn to love again? Intimately, profoundly, deeply ... the way you and I have known it? To find another ... how did I put it earlier ... kindred spirit. Could we find that?"
Anne found herself with nothing to say.
"The poets tell us no. There is much written about the anguish and mourning over the loss of true love. The surviving lover wishing to die and join the other, casting himself (or herself) on the beloved one's grave, weeping, wishing to kiss the beloved's 'clay-cold lips,' or else pining away, with nothing to look forword to but lifelong loneliness!" He smiled slightly. "I know, I have read them all, or very nearly so. And you were very right to warn me about the danger, Miss Anne! For there is nothing that I can find to give us hope of loving that way again."
He sighed and looked up at the barren trees ahead of them. "But ... I am coming to understand that while poetry is a wonderful vehicle for describing the passions of the human heart, it is quite unreliable in prescribing what it is that we should do about our despair. And so I wonder, is this all? Or is there more?"
He looked over at Anne, his dark eyes full of compassion. "I am sorry Miss Anne. I do not have an answer for this question; I do not expect to have one from you. You have more than enough to deal with, without me adding to it. But it is something worth pondering about; whether either of us may dare to dream of being happy again."
"I do so want that," Anne whispered.
"And I. And I have been thinking. Perhaps it is not completely impossible. You see, I did not always love Fanny, not at first. I knew her only as Harville's younger sister. And then one evening we began to talk and ... it was magic! Do you suppose that can ever happen again?"
"I hope so, Captain Benwick."
"I do too, Miss Anne. So perhaps we should do just that ... dare to hope for love someday. It will not be the same as it was before, not at first. And it may come from an unexpected source, but ..." His attention was reclaimed by the sound of voices, "Oh ... uh ... good afternoon." He nodded politely to a knot of gentlemen who passed them as they made their way down the path. "Civilization," he murmured to Anne, taking a deep breath; "and the world of propriety. Well! Shall we go on? I believe I am finished with my rantings and can converse more normally now."
"Oh, yes, of course," Anne replied, as they resumed their walk. "Conversing normally ... that is, about nothing in particular." She smiled wryly. "Have we ever done that, you and I?"
"No, I suppose we have not," he smiled at the irony of her observation. "It is only the tragic and heart-rending for us! We seem to prefer the deep water! But we should make the effort, you know." He cleared his throat. "So tell me, Miss Elliot, " he said, with mock affability; "how have you enjoyed your visit here at Uppercross?"
"Very well, I thank you, sir," she countered, "we have had remarkably fine weather these past few days."
He chuckled a little at her quip. She was quite a young woman, this Miss Anne Elliot. To look at her beautiful face, her small frame, and gentle, retiring ways, one would never guess at the hidden strength of character within. It was no wonder that she had caught ... and held, the heart of Frederick Wentworth.
Within a few moments they had reached the paving stones which led to the front door, it was nearly time to say good bye. Captain Benwick wondered how to do this; he found he was very sorry to leave her, even after such a trying morning. "Miss Anne, we sailors are not very good at ..."
"Captain Benwick, I have been wearing your coat this entire time!" she interrupted. "You must be nearly frozen! Would you like to come in and sit by the fire awhile?"
"Ah, do you know, I would like that," he said, rather bashfully. "I am rather cold. And we may continue practicing our 'normal' conversation while we warm ourselves." They turned and walked up to the front entrance together. "Let me see, it is now my turn to think of nothing to say. How is this? Ahem! 'And what do you find to occupy yourself within Uppercross, Miss Elliot?'"
Anne opened the door. " 'I read .... poetry,' Captain Benwick. But not during this visit! Let me tell you about what I have been ..." The heavy door swung closed behind them and shut out the cold of that short winter's day, which had been the longest day of Anne's life. But it was not over, not yet.