2

The sweet, putrid smell of the hood was nearly overpowering. It was of a very coarse weave that scratched wherever it touched. This made the itching where it was tied at the neck particularly excruciating. There was little Anne could do as her hands were tied as well. She endeavoured not think neither of the physical discomfort, nor the uses it had been put to in its past. If the hood was not enough of a trial, though she sat in a hard chair, with her eyes blinded, the sway of the ship made her sick to her stomach.

There were the usual sounds above on the deck, muffled further through the hood. She heard voices as well, but could not say how many or from where they came.

A sudden sharp noise made her jump. She suspected it was inside the room with her, but had no way of truly knowing. The man, who had brought her to the room, had told her to stay put. Soon after that, the door had soon slammed, but she could not be certain he had really left her. She supposed that most of their actions were to inspire fear. The tactic had worked wonderfully.

Anne decided to risk trying to remove the hood. The attempt failed miserably when no matter how she struggled, she could not reach the knot with her bound hands.

Her worst fear was that no one would come to her aid and that she might die in the hood.

The thought began to consume her, and work on her imagination. Breathing was suddenly difficult and her hands begin to shake. She stood and tried to orient herself.

"And where do you think you are going?" The door slammed hard once again.
The deep voice startled her and she brushed against the chair, startling her. She put out her hands; sure she was falling. Strong hands took her by the waist, helped her straighten, and then placed in the chair. The man now stood directly in front of her. His feet were on either side of hers. His legs touched hers.

"Stand up."

The agony of the hood was now only surpassed by thoughts of what awaited her at its removal. Her breath quickened and her hands began to shake even more. He was too close to allow her to stand comfortably, but there was nothing she could do but comply. She stood.

Anne held her bound hands up between them, but still, there was no escaping the warmth of his body pressing against her. "Please, sir, please remove this hood. I can't breathe--please." She despised the panic she heard in her voice, and she knew she must look ridiculous as her hands fumble about, heedless of the consequences.

His hands took possession of hers in an instant. The grasp was hard at first and then slackened. There was a little tug and the rope that bound her fell free. His larger hands held her by the wrists. He did nothing for a moment. The torture built when he pulled her even closer. She tried to jerk away only to stumble against the chair. He pulled her slowly back to himself before she could even sway.

He then reached behind her. His hand moved down her back and stopped at her waist. The movement of the ship still affected her and she had no choice but to lean against him.

After an uncertain period, his hand went to the cord and started to untie the hood. He took his time. He paused and she felt his hand reach under the hood and touch the collar of her dress.

He released her hands, but she did not move. His arms were now around her as he began to pull the hood loose; his fingers grazed her neck. The hood rose slowly over her head.

She closed her eyes and gulped in the cool air. For a moment she praised God for her freedom.

He cleared his throat. There was nothing to be done but look at her captor.

When she opened her eyes, even the dim light of the single candle was overwhelming and hurt her eyes. She looked straight ahead to see only a black silk scarf around a man's neck. She raised her eyes.

"Frederick." The joy and relief were irresistible. She felt a smile come to her lips. "Thank God, you have come to rescue us."

The shock of seeing him made her stumble against the chair. The legs screeched against the wooden floor.

He caught her and held her close.

When days earlier, Harville and Wentworth began hunting their prey, they had observed the Baron's Bride first from land and then the sea. In a day's time, they were on the water and scrutinising the captain and the crew's skill. Immediately upon seeing Anne Elliot, he had recognised her petite, demure shape. The baronet had been unmistakeable as well in his ostentatious purple cape and tall beaver hat. By the way the man tottered while attempting to promenade, Wentworth suspected he wore fashionable shoes rather than good solid boots that would give him purchase on slippery wooden deck. The sister was dressed with the same eye towards vanity in a thin, deep blue, and very elegant cape that matched a feathery hat. He was amused that the hat was battered beyond repair by the cold wind in just a few moments. She too skidded about as though an unpractised child skating on a millpond. When Anne had joined them, thought attired in a sensible heavy wool pelisse and boots, he'd never once thought her to be the maid as he'd told Harville. From that moment on, he knew their mission was in jeopardy. Not only was the scheme from the outset quite literally an explosive and dangerous business, but now, added to it was an insidious anger that he had laboured to conquer for over two years.

When Anne Elliot had turned him away two years previous, Frederick Wentworth had been determined to prove himself to her and to the world. As they had quickly grown acquainted, she had nodded and smiled whenever he opened his heart to her, and shared his plans to "use this excellent brain that God has given me to gain wealth and position as an officer of the navy."

On being applied to by Wentworth, Sir Walter had not denied consent, but did act astonished that such an idea could spring into the young man's mind. If they did make such a ridiculous blunder of marrying, the pair would have no financial support. "This union is unsupportable, and that the union did not even deserve the notice of the family. "There will be nothing gained by conniving and grasping at an attachment with the good name of Elliot, sir," had been the baronet's parting comment.

The whole exchange had angered Wentworth to be sure, but he was equally amused that the silly old fop had thought the approval of the locals, along with the old and elegant money of the Elliots had any attraction for him. Why would it? Wentworth fully intended to create his very own, very large, golden pile with a ship he was positive would be his soon. There was no need of support from Sir Walter Elliot. Therefore, the idea that he wanted Anne for such a trifling thing as alliance was too laughable to even discuss with her.

When told generally of her father's disinterest, Anne had made all the right noises and consoled him with honeyed words, and pronouncements aplenty of her love for him. She had told him that her father's disapproval meant nothing to her, and that their love would eventually be rewarded. It had only taken a few days for the tune to change.

She came to a few days later. The explanation was she was pale and weary from lack of sleep and appetite. There were tears at the ready to give emphasis to the laments of familial disapproval. (This state of affairs seemed to him to be no more relevant now, days later, than it had been earlier in the week.) Before he could say as much, feigning heartache and grief he suspected, she said she must break the engagement.

"You doubt me."

"No, Frederick. It is not that."

"Then why do you break the engagement?"

"What else can I do? Without Father's consent, we cannot marry."

"Your father did not withhold his consent. He merely stated that he did not like it, and that he would do nothing for us in the way of support. I shall do what is necessary for our support."

"I know that. I have faith that apart from of the impropriety of the match--"

"Impropriety. What is there improper here?" He did not allow her to finish. "Oh I see, the impropriety is that the son of a merchant--and not a very successful merchant at that--would be spoiling the exalted bloodlines of the Elliot family if he were to join with one of the daughters." Her pause was so brief as to almost be no pause at all, but it was enough. "I see how it is. The uniform shows well enough at the dinners and parties, but don't examine him too closely. He's too rough and lacks the refinement necessary for Miss Anne Elliot of Kellynch Hall."

She cried her tears and sounded convincing enough in her denials. When she took his hand and kissed it, claiming he could not be more wrong about her feelings, she almost changed his mind. Almost. "You allowed me to go to far and now you see this as your opportunity to disentangle yourself. And to do it with no blame for yourself. It is all Sir Walter's fault, and none for dear little Annie."

"No, Frederick, it is not like that. It is not! Please see it from my side." She held his hand to her cheek and sobbed.

He pulled it slowly away. "It is just like that. You have a right to refuse me, Miss Anne, but you haven't the right to make me like it."

In two days, he was away from Somersetshire.

The hurt and anger of that summer rekindled afresh seeing her first through his glass, and then sprang to a full blaze when having to deal with her stupid and repellent father.

He had tarried below deck after leaving Sir Walter. No matter how she had treated him, she was of the weaker sex and he took a little time to steady himself before meeting her again. When he had dismissed the guard and looked upon her, his anger had not disappeared, but was dealt a serious blow when he realised she was now bound, blind, and completely helpless. And all by his command.

His hand trembled as he raised the hood to uncover her face. He was relieved that her deep brown eyes were closed when she was exposed. There was quiet instant for him to gaze. Her face was dusty face from the hood. Her cheeks were ruddy and her chestnut hair was a mare's nest tumbling over her shoulders.

It was over when she opened her eyes. The burst of recognition surprised him. Not that she would not know him, but the expression of happiness at seeing him seemed to be genuine, and in no way contrived.

The moment was pure felicity on his part. As for the overall circumstance, it made what must follow more difficult, but every bit as necessary as if she had been a stranger to him.

Still, he relished the feel of her sweet frame in his arms. He had not forgotten the pleasure he had previously taken in her embraces. He only wished it could go on indefinitely.

She raised her head, still smiling. "I saw no navy ship, only the smugglers." She laid her head on his soiled neck cloth for a moment. While it was still possible, he allowed himself to touch her hair, and refresh the memory of the feel of her willingly pressed against him. He knew in a short time all these little delights would vanish.

She steeped back and looked up.

"You are the last person I would have expected to see--" Her look of joy began to fade. She stepped farther away, staring not at his face, but at the black silk scarf around his neck.

She was beginning to suspect the truth of matter. "No, my ship was a little ways off. We needed to make a sudden appearance. Anne, I must ask you some questions." He hoped the simplicity of the lie would draw her mind away from the direction it was heading. He motioned for her to take a seat.

Whether he had made a mistake concerning her belief about the scarf, or that she would rather be diverted for reasons of her own, she would cooperate and sat down. "Where are my father and Elizabeth?"

It did her credit that she took the time ask about the absurd pair. "They are being well looked after. You will join them when we have finished." He hated the notion that he would have to send her away.

"Commander Wentworth, what do you need of me? I know nothing about ships and sailing, as you know." She looked down to her hands. They had gotten dirty in the scuffling. She folded them in her lap.

"No, I need no information about the ship, per se, but I do wish to know how you and your family came to be aboard the Bride. And I am 'Captain Wentworth' now." She smiled and nodded at the information. He was just made into the rank, and it was quite wrenching that a uniform, with its one golden epaulette perched on his left shoulder, was not require on this particular voyage.

"We are bound for Dublin for Christmas. A distant cousin extended the invitation. There was a falling out some time ago, around the time of my mother's death, but it has obviously been mended." She sighed and shifted in the chair.

"Your father, he does not know the owner of the ship?"

"No. It was my father's man of business, his lawyer Mr John Shepherd who arranged everything. He told father he knew of a ship that was always crossing over to Ireland, and that he could get us passage quickly, and--quite--economically."

Wentworth made a note of John Shepherd. It was only one of many names he had come to think might be important to their task. It was interesting, and he thought very unusual that a country lawyer would know of a regular packet for Ireland. "From where did you set sail?"

She frowned and seemed to expect that each new question would be personal rather than interrogative. "We travelled to a small place called Burnham on Sea, boarded the ship and then anchored in Minehead for the night. We stopped several places along the way. I suppose that is why the passage is so reasonable. It was not promised to be a swift journey. But it has been interesting to see the workings of the ship--"

"I'm sure. Who did you say was your cousin in Dublin?" Anne was growing frustrated by his rudeness.

"We are to be met at the dock in the morning by a carriage sent by the Dowager Viscountess Dalrymple. Her husband, the Viscount, was a cousin to my father. He died several years ago--"

It irritated Wentworth that she took great care to speak the woman's full title, as if to remind him she was well-connected while he was not. "Yes, you said already it was about the time your mother passed away." Anne shrank back immediately at his rebuke. Her retreat reminded him the death of her mother was a tragedy from which she had never fully recovered.

She gathered herself and spoke. "I heard someone say something about smugglers when I was above. Surely you do not suspect that my family, the Viscountess no less, could be involved in smuggling." The expression of astonishment on her face was lovely.

He forgave the precision of her remarks about the woman's rank. Clearly, Anne meant no conceit, merely an unmistakable grasp of the circumstances. He laughed for the first time. "No, no, to be sure, I have no idea that someone as exalted as a viscountess is involved in the movement of contraband."

Anne's expression lightened and she joined him in the joke.

Part Three

Posted on: 2009-04-11

The smile on his face was like that of the past. It could be summer again when they would walk the grounds of a fine old estate, admiring the gardens as he made witty, and sometimes scathing observations of the guests assembled. It could be, but for the chaos above their heads, the hood, and the black kerchief around his neck. "When did you decide that your duty to the Crown, and to your country was of no value?" To realise he was so changed pained her greatly. It broke her heart to give such knowledge voice.

It took a moment for Anne's question to penetrate. When it did, his eyes immediately shifted from the tender hazel she remembered, to the colour of a bare wood, frosted over in the early winter. The change in him shocked Anne nearly as much as the calm in her own voice.

Fear suddenly won over reason and good breeding. "You are not here to rescue us…" Her hand flailed, groping for the chair.

He did not touch her, but pulled the chair within her reach. "I'm sorry I had to do this to you. I have no choice." His voice was barely audible.

Through the shock and rage, she studied this black-hearted smuggler who put her family in jeopardy. Rather than freedom for herself and them, all she wanted was for him to take in her his arms and kiss her deeply.

Perhaps he felt the same and rather than give in, he turned and walked to a bank of windows.

She followed him. She dared to touch his sleeve. "You are not a thief."

He moved a step away. "I was not getting rich in the Navy. This afforded me more--opportunities." He finally turned.

His hair was in dirty and in disarray, he had not shaved in some time. It did not matter for he was as handsome as ever to her. Lamentably, he was beginning to look upon her with the same anger that had surrounded him when he left her last. "When I left Somerset all those years ago, I possessed supreme confidence that my duty to the service that would give me everything I wanted. But over time, I have re-examined my naïve loyalty, and found it … absurd." He looked away from her.

The young man she who won her heart in 1806 was obviously dead. He had been dazzling in his blue and gold uniform, straight, tall and more handsome than any other man. This new man was shabby, filthy, and clothed in nothing more than rags. The only bit of clothes that looked decent was the heavy cloak he wore. Against it, the black silk scarf around his neck stood out markedly, and spoke volumes. It represented a man fallen from his former glory. All honour was now gone. Frederick Wentworth was merely a outlaw and liar.

There were shouts above. He listened but was not alarmed by them. She was about to speak when the door opened. A man entered and Anne recognised his coat as belonging to the man who had been with Wentworth on the prow of the other ship. She thought it odd that he had the manners to acknowledge her as he approached Frederick. "The frigate, Abraham draws near." The stranger looked back at her.

Wentworth's expression hardened further. He seemed to study her, but she realised that his eyes had merely come to rest on her as he considered this new intelligence. "Get the documents. Take them and yourself to one of the small boats."

"Aye, Captain." He ignored her this time as he passed out to the companionway. Wentworth stared at the door for a moment and then came to her. "Remain here--bolt the door in fact. The Abraham is a King's ship. They will see you all safely to Dublin." A cannon fired close by. The Bride answered with the roar of two shots. The violent shaking of the older ship threw Anne into the chair, and then to the floor. Instantly he was kneeling beside, helping her to her feet.

The confusion of men's shouts and screams replaced the thunder of the cannon. The pounding of running feet intensified above. He made no sign that he noticed any of it. He took her gently by the shoulders. "Remember, stay down here. Please." His grip on her tightened. Anne could feel his eyes examining every inch of her face. She wanted to believe he had something more to say, or something he wanted to do for her, but he soon released her, turned, and disappeared.

To obey him would likely assure her own safety, and eventually satisfy her need to know about the safety of her sister and father. Again, the roar of the cannon was just above her. She covered her ears, and began to panic. To leave the room foolhardy. The voices and unknown noises grew more severe. She ran out the door and up the companionway to find Frederick.

It was completely dark but bedlam nonetheless reigned. Precious few lanterns swayed wildly from their anchors; men running here and there carried several others. A mist had risen she thought at first. She realised by the smell, it was smoke from the cannons. No matter what it was, everything took on a dull, subdued quality because of it. She stood still and attempted to focus her eyes. The acrid air made it difficult. She was able to make out a much larger ship alongside the Bride. It must be the Abraham. Uniformed men were jumping from the railing of the taller, higher ship, onto their smaller one. She looked about and saw Frederick going over the side just feet from where she stood. A popping sound commenced and the lanterns each went dark. A dull popping commenced. It was a mystery as to what it was, but she knew she could not stay where she was.

She groped her way along. Splinters stabbed her fingers and palms. The railing disappeared under her hand and she fell forward. Before she fell, she caught herself. That was when she saw Frederick and his partner in a little boat, preparing to row away.

"Frederick." His name had come to her without her even thinking.

He raised the lantern. His tender look returned. "Go back, Annie." The boat dipped and he was thrown a little off balance. "Go back below. You'll be shot."

She was seized with fear at the warning. It was merely feet back to the companionway, but now, knowing there was shooting; her only escape might as well have been miles away. "I can't. I can't see anything. All is dark." Her only hope was for him to take her back down.

"We've got to get out of here, Captain. If Harvey Fitzwilliam takes us, the whole plot is bust." The man took a seat and grabbed an oar.

Frederick looked back up. He looked her in the eye. He would not return to help her she knew that. He was bent on his own escape.

As Frederick Wentworth did not choose to see her safely back below, away from the danger on deck, fate seemed bent on taking a hand that night.

The sound of his name in her strangled, panicked voice would haunt him forever. Soon, the sickening sound was completely demolished by the sound of something splashing in the water.

He opened the doors of the lantern fully and raised it to see her head slip under right the dark surface of the water next to the ship. If she flailed about, she might hit her head, or even be trapped as she rose. He dropped the lantern and pulled off his cloak. He could hear the oars clatter to the bottom of the boat. Timothy grabbed the lantern, their only source of light, and held it up for him. "Make it quick, Captain. We can't be caught." He dove in. The freezing water shocked him momentarily. He pulled himself back to the task by again demanding that God should keep Anne safe.

"Annie," he called quietly. "Annie." She broke through the dark surface, thrashing and gasping. He caught her hand and quickly turned her to face away. "I have you--"

She screamed his name. He put his hand over her mouth. "You must be quiet." He struggled to kick hard enough to keep them afloat. "Trust me. I will get you in the boat." He removed his hand and she gulped in deep breaths. "Quietly, dear," he cooed in her ear. As soon as he touched the side of the small boat, Timothy reached down and grabbed her by the shoulder. Wentworth made his way around to face her. He groped to find her waist. The fabric of her dress slipped, but he finally got a sound grip on her. "Take her up, Tim."

Harville pulled her up and over the side. Wentworth clung to the side, watching. "Get her covered." He was soon in the boat alongside her. She was already shivering violently. He buttoned his boat cloak at her neck, tucked the folds of heavy wool around her himself, and saw her as comfortable between the thwarts of the boat as possible. The boat dipped with the waves coming from the ships. The motion, along with a stiffening breeze, plastered his wet shirt against him. He could not stop the violent shaking that began to overtake him. He moved to the oars. Timothy was already in position. They began to pull together.

They smoothly moved out of the broadening arch of light slopping over the side of the ship. Thus far, they were not discovered. He began to hope their escape would come off without incident.

His heart went out to Anne. She was sitting at his feet, staring off into the darkness. And though completely enveloped by the massive cloak, her teeth chattered and she visibly shook. "Why in God's name did you jump?" The words came out in little batches, and with a tone more sharp than he intended.

She looked up. It took her a moment to focus. He wondered if she had been injured.
"I did not jump. I was pushed, or someone crashed into me. I did not mean to fall in." She sobbed and hid her face in the cloak.

Of course she had not jumped. Anne Elliot was a young woman whose only bit of disobedience that night was in leaving the room. Her fall into the water was nothing more than a dreadful accident, for Anne was a woman who usually did precisely as she was told. She would obey, even if her actions brought grief and heartbreak to herself and others.

Harville held up the lantern. The light made a pathetic effort to pierce the darkness. He rose from his place on the boat's gunwale and began to walk inland.

"Are you sure it's around here, Harville?" Wentworth rubbed his arms hard to ward off the cold and keep from shivering.

"Sure as I am able to be with this infernal light. Look, the smuggler's hole he showed me is just up behind those rocks." They climbed a small hill and looked about. "Here it is." He knelt and pushed aside a board covering an iron ring anchored in a wooden hatch. He looked quickly over his shoulder. "Are you certain that you should keep her with you?" Harville handed the lantern to Wentworth, brushed aside sand from the handle, and revealed the hide. He took back the lantern and examined the hole.

Wentworth joined Harville. "Do you fear for her virtue?" He leant farther into the hole to measure its size. He also looked to see if animals had used, or might still be using it for a den. He mostly hoped to find it contained useful to him.

Harville handed him the lantern. "Perhaps I am too cold, but, no. Besides, the girl's virtue is none of my concern. I am concerned that with this stick thrown into the wheels, you will be distracted." Both men sat upright.

He ignored his friends statement. "You'll have no trouble finding another place, out of this weather?"

Harville smiled. "No. You did well sending me off to reconnoitre this part of the shoreline. I found a couple of other hidey-holes a little farther up the way. We'll meet at the Lock and Key the day after tomorrow."

"Terrible way to spend Christmas." They rose and started back down the little hill.

"Yes, well, I've managed to be away for the past three, why would this one be different? For glory and nobility, eh?" Harville went straight to the boat. "Miss?" He touched the captain's coat and shook it a little. "Miss, we've arrived."

"I shall see to Miss Elliot." Wentworth jumped the side of the boat, barely moving it. He crouched near Anne and tried to get out of the wind. "Annie. I need you to get up. We've got to walk just a little way."

She looked up. The light from the lantern cast terrible shadows across her face. "I can't move."

Harville and Wentworth exchanged glances. It was unspoken between them, but each knew she must move to warm her limbs. "You must. It's our only chance. We can't stay out in this weather." He reached out, guessing where all her parts were, and stood, bringing her up with him. "Help her out, Tim." The two men lifted her out and got her standing on the rocks.

He put his arm around her waist. "Lead us on, Harville." They staggered away from the shore.

Part 4

Posted on: 2009-05-05

Even with Frederick's help--he was practically carrying her--each step was a torment. Both of them were unsteady as they lurched and slipped their way up what seemed to be a mountain of hard, sharp stones, punctuated by the occasional stretch of loose sand. Anne's attention was required for each step. So much so, she could not attend to the bantering of the two men and their voices were lost in the sound of the waves and her own laboured breathing.

They halted suddenly. She was grateful for the rest. Frederick's arm was about her waist and shook as much as his voice. "Finally."

Harville lifted the lantern and gestured with his hand. "Your accommodations for the night." They stood at the edge of a hole about four feet deep.

She felt him sigh rather than heard it. "I thought the only hole in the ground I'd ever go into was a grave." Anne knew she ought to be alarmed by the prospect of sleeping in little more than a hole in the ground, but her aching body refused to allow her to more than stare into the pit.

"Just be glad Providence saw fit not to put any of us in a grave tonight, Captain." Harville bent and looked around. "Did you see anything besides this bale of wool?"

Frederick saw Anne seated on the edge and jumped in. He took the lantern and crouched. "I saw--these." He held up another lantern and a wine bottle. "G-give us a light." Using some dried grass they managed to feed enough of a flame to light the second lantern. "Help Miss Elliot and then be on your way."

Harville did little; it was Frederick who lifted her down. "Is there anything else?"

"There is little, but another bottle of spirits, and a couple of empty crates."

"We've made it just in time." Harville lifted the hatch, ready to close it. "The wind's picking up."

Wentworth crouched and pulled Anne down to a crouch. "Close us in then. Remember. Day after tomorrow at the Keystone."

"And you're buying, Captain." Harville laughed a little and then closed the hatch.

"What is this place?" Anne was just realising she was out of the weather.

"It's a hide. They're dug out to give us a place to secrete a haul. Most of the time boats make signals and are met on the beach by those living nearby, but if the weather is too dirty, like it is tonight, we leave the goods in a hide like this." He looked around and found a place to hang the lantern. A burst of wind screamed overhead. She could feel a breeze across her cheek. He shivered. "We've got to get settled for the night." Anne could see no place for them to lie down and sleep.

He crawled by her and pushed a bale of wool, wrapped in coarse cloth, towards one corner of the hole. There." He tested his handiwork. "This should keep off any wind that leaks in." The idea of cool air sent a chill through her.

She crawled to him. "Where will we sleep?" He had removed his coat and was now unbuttoning his waistcoat. She dreaded what more he might remove. "What do you think you are you doing?

He easily slipped out of his waistcoat, and arranged it and the coat on the bale. "The cold and wet naturally draw all the warmth from the body. The sooner we get out of our wet clothes, the better." He now struggled to loosen the knot in his neck cloth. "You will be wonderfully surprised how well that tiny flame will warm this small space." It finally joined the other things. He did not remove his shirt, or anything else, to her great relief.

His next move was to seat himself and remove his boots and stockings. "You should remove yours as well. It is amazing how cold, wet feet make you miserable." She sat back so that he would not catch her in the mouth with his elbow. "My boots will not likely be dry by morning, but your small shoes should easily be." He held out his hand. "I'll put them closer to the lantern."

She said nothing, but rearranged the skirt of her dress over her feet.

Frederick scowled and moved close. His fingers brushed her ankle as he took the hem of her skirt and lifted it. "Where are your shoes?" He looked up and his scowl deepened as he awaited her answer.

She wanted to pull her cold feet back out of his view. His tone and gaze accused her of being a careless child. "I lost them when I fell in." She expected an exasperated sigh, or to hear him click his tongue at her sloppiness.

Instead of a scolding, the scowl disappeared. "Of course they did." He said it more to himself as he took her left foot in his large hands and rubbed at the spots of mud around her ankle and the soiled sole. He pulled his hand away, looked at it, and then with a jerk turned her foot awkwardly.

This surprised and angered her, but before she could speak, he put her foot down gently and looked at the sole of the other. He then crawled to his clothing.

Anne looked at her feet. Large spots of blood-soaked stocking overlapped to cover most of both soles. She felt suddenly ill and panicked. She looked to see was Frederick was about.

He was examining the interior of his waistcoat; tossing it aside, he picked up his coat and did the same. She saw him smile a little and then heard the sound of ripping fabric as he began to tear out the lining. After a bit of a struggle to pull out the lining of the sleeves, he glanced around, leaned back, reaching for something near the bale of wool. With the bottle of wine in hand, he returned to her side.

"You must remove your stocking." He was ripping the sleeves from the rest of the coat's lining.

Anne untied the stockings and pushed them down, he removed them and took the ribbons that had held them up. "These will do very nicely." He put everything aside, poured some wine in his hand, and began to clean the wounds. The wine stung a great deal but she did everything in her power to keep still. He took one of the stockings and began to wipe her foot, carefully daubing at the wound. "Fortunately, the stockings kept the worst of that sand out, but the wounds are still filthy." Again, this was more to himself than to her. He next took the sleeve lining and began to wrap it around her foot.

"Why did you keep quiet? I would have carried you rather than make you walk up those cruel rocks. I thought you had shoes." He finished by tying the ribbon around the sleeve. When he released her foot, she pulled it back.

She put out her other foot. "Of course you did not do it on purpose. No caring person would do that to another. To be honest, I did not even notice they were gone. I was just so cold." She pulled his great coat closer at the thought of the water.

Anne cried out and drew her foot away suddenly. "I'm sorry, it hurt very much." Of her own accord, she put her foot back in his hand. "So, you have experienced both great heat and cold?" She grimaced as he continued.

He looked more closely at her left foot. She'd likely stepped on a shard of a shell and gotten deeper cuts on it than the other. "Oh yes. When I was first at sea, I was here on the Irish coast for a time. Though--" he looked up, "I never took a swim in the winter." She smiled at this. "I have seen men so cold they did not know they've been desperately injured. Not until they see the blood--" He looked away and resumed his work.

"You must think me ridiculous. I did not go into the water on purpose, I swear it."

"Of course you did not. No rational creature willingly jumps into the Irish Sea at Christmastime. And you, above all things, are a rational creature." He finished tying the ribbon around her foot and studies it for a moment.

She was so small and delicate. He'd forgotten that. Everything he'd done this evening took advantage of her inferior size and frailer nature. The ribbons were blue and uncannily matched the lining of his coat. The frayed ends were tied to prevent the advance. Had things gone differently, she might have been lost to the sea that night. Had Providence chosen such a course, he wasn't sure that he'd not have given up and gone to the bottom with her.

The thought disturbed him greatly. Over the past two years, he'd entertained anger, bitterness, jealousy, and glimpses of relief at not having the Baronet for a father-in-law, but he'd never given a thought to self-murder. The shock of seeing her again, the violent interruption of his plan for the Baron's Bride, her being forced into his care, and now, their close proximity was playing havoc with his normally sanguine temperament and good judgement. He was completely knackered and knew she was likely more so. He released her foot. "We should settle in for the night."

He edged into the space past her. The walls were rough and as he leant against in various places, yet found none comfortable. A small, somewhat smooth section was reluctantly chosen. "Take off my coat." He sat up and reached towards her to unbutton it, but saw that his hands were shaking. He stopped.

She looked confused, but began to unbutton the coat as she was told.

"Hand it over."

She removed the coat and handed it to him. He arranged the coat to cover them. When he looked up to summon her, she was removing her outer clothes.

"What do you think you are doing?"

She was struggling to remove a close-fitting jacket. "What you said about the cold and our clothing made a great deal of sense. This spencer is unfashionably thick and will take some time to dry. The ship was cold and I always wore this. Father was quite put out with me. 'I am very tired of seeing it, Anne,' he said." She was finally free and spread it on the bale along with his things.

He couldn't help but smile. For a moment, they sat perfectly still, looking at one another. There was nothing left for them to do but make the final sleeping arrangements. He held out a hand to her. "Now you."

His intentions were clear. "I hardly think that the two of us sleeping one next to the other is anything approaching appropriate, Captain." Perhaps appealing to his past honour would make him see sense.

Frederick looked at her for a moment. He had the advantage; she knelt before him in her wet dress, icy errant breezes inveigling their way under the wooden lid of the hide causing her entire frame to tense with cold. "With those wet clothes, I hardly think you will survive otherwise." He held out his hand again.

The hope of being warm was most persuasive. The thought of being so close to him again was enticing, but frightening as well. "I will not."

He pulled back his hand, tossed away the coat, and placed himself next to her. "If you'll let me pass, you may go lay down. I'll cover you." His eyes were unreadable in the gloom.

"Then you will be cold. We are both wet." She would not be intimidated and continued to meet what she was certain was his severe gaze.

"True. Nevertheless, there is only one cloak. Either we both use it, or you alone use it. You make the choice." Frederick turned at a sound outside. The lantern was struggling to give off more than just a flicker of light, and his stern face was colder than the wind. He was serious that he would remain exposed in order for her to be warm.

Anne shook her head. "Go back. I shall join you."

He nodded to her and struggled back. "We shall be warm in no time. As I said, the candle will put off a surprising amount of heat." He arranged the coat and himself and offered her his hand.

It was suddenly all too much. Just seeing him again so unexpectedly would have been sickening enough, but to see him in his now corrupted state was an even worse shock. Then, to be thrust into the midst of his crimes, and now expected to depend upon him for warmth, and sleep with him in this place that was little more than an animal's den, was the last straw.

Before Anne knew what was happening, he pulled her to him and held her tightly. "Don't make too much of this." He shifted to accommodate her.

She now shifted. "You need not hold me so closely. I've nowhere to run." A breeze touched her back.

He adjusted the coat. Warmth replaced the chill air. "Not that you could. There is nothing nefarious in this, but the closer we are, the warmer we will be." There was more adjusting. Soon they were quiet.

The wind continued to blow above them. The space was warming and the scent of the earth was growing almost pleasant. He now and then chaffed her arms to warm her more quickly. She endeavoured to remain awake and keep as much dignity as possible by not allowing herself to relax.

Even with such precautions, she occasionally let go--though quickly resuming her posture of caution--and grew warm at his touch.

"Really Anne, you are taut as a bow string. Please, relax, or neither of us will ever sleep." He did not sound angry, merely a little out of sorts. "If it eases your mind, let me assure you that I am not in the least pleased to have you back in my arms." He said this in almost a whisper.

He could be serious, or he could be teasing her. Or he could be telling her something she longed to hear. The weariness forced her to allow her muscles to ease. Though it annoyed her greatly, she enjoyed melting into his grasp. The sound of the wind soon disappeared and was replaced by the rhythm of his breathing and the steady tattoo of his heart. It was not long before she began to drift off, and regardless of how he might genuinely feel, she was happy to be in his arms once again.

Part 5

Posted on: 2009-05-22

Wentworth woke to the sound of persistent scratching. Looking around, he remembered the hide, and how the carefully laid plans to recover the Baron's Bride had gone all arsy-versy when he discovered Anne Elliot--

A soft moan met his ears and a slight weight shifted about his chest. "What is that noise?" Anne's breath caressed his throat as she whispered.

He liked the way she clutched his shirt, but endeavoured to give his answer the proper gravity to match her concern. "It is a fox, or a dog. They have caught the scent of--" He didn't think it wise to mention her wounds and the blood. "--us. They think we have food." He stroked her arm. "They can't get in, the door is far to heavy."

She said nothing in reply, and soon her breathing was regular and shallow.

The harsh wind still lashed at the entry, and he considered the time. His amazingly accurate inner clock assured him it was still nighttime. His elbow shrieked with pain. None of that mattered. Anne was in his arms and he was warm. He felt around to see that she was still covered. After she'd fallen to sleep, he'd pulled her onto his lap, like a child, and now he was sore and cramped because of it. He shifted her a little and straightened his arm. There was no choice but to let it rest across her waist. There was no choice but to enjoy the intimacy of their predicament.

He woke again, not sure how much time had gone by and noticed the wind was easing. Thankfully, the pain in his elbow had ceased. He rested his head against the bale of wool. For a moment, he thought himself an idiot for not cutting the cords and opening it, giving them a more comfortable, and no doubt warmer place to sleep. As he thought of the more comfortable circumstances, his imagination soon wandered down dangerous roads. Along with comfort, there would still be their enforced closeness, and his enjoyment of it. He knew himself well enough that with no impediments of pain or discomfort, there would have been no barriers to his desire.

Anne shifted. Her small, sharp elbow dug into his ribs. He gasped as quietly as possible and reconsidered the dangers of his previous thoughts.

Anne opened her eyes but immediately closed them against the harsh shaft of light that filled the hide. Her head ached along with all her joints, and she was still as cold as when they climbed into the miserable hole. She gradually opened her eyes, and saw that Frederick was looking outside. "Is the fox gone?"

He looked at her, but was still deep in thought. "Yes, it is. They're only on the prowl at night." He lowered the hatch, but pulled close a stone to keep it from closing entirely. He had completely dressed; waistcoat, coat, neck cloth, and boots. He held out her spencer to her. She took it, but the idea of putting on the garment was overwhelming.

Frederick moved close. Thankfully, he blocked the sun from her eyes. He smiled, and to her annoyance, looked well rested. "The sun is well up and the dew long gone. For all the heaving and blowing, there was no rain last night." He patted the coat vaguely. "I've no more linings with which to dress your feet, so I kept these for you." He held up his own stockings. "I thought we could put them over the dressings. They will help to keep your feet a bit warm."

Anne took them and held them along with the jacket. "I don't believe I have the strength to walk." Her feet ached more than her head or her joints. "I do not feel well at all."

He scowled for an instant, and then leaning forward, pressed his lips to her forehead. His skin was cool, and his chin was coarse with his unshaved beard. She remained still, unsure what he was about, for unbidden affection was hardly to be expected under the circumstances.

Frederick sat back, thinking. They stared at one another for a moment. "That is how my mother would check for fever."

She was shocked at his casualness. Without warning, she burst out laughing.

"What is so funny?"

She could not stop laughing try as she might. Eventually she mastered herself. "Did you ever use that method to check for fever in your crewmen?" She put her hand over her mouth and laughed some more.

For a mere instant, Frederick looked disgusted. Just as quickly the look changed to amusement. "Hardly. That was the province of the ship's surgeon. I cannot vouch for his methods." He was still amazingly close, and he stared with an intensity she had not known since his departure from Somerset.

The moment was sweet and Anne was taken back to a summer garden in the year '06. The damp, dank hide was gone and the smell of roses was everywhere. Frederick's brother, the curate, had introduced them early in the summer season. Over the course of the next month, she had made a point of engaging in conversation with him whenever they met. Her limited knowledge of the wider world made her wonder at his stories of life at sea. They were just the perfect blend of explanations of life aboard ship, wry observations his fellow officers and the men who served under him, and the battles and engagements which had brought him the notice of his superiors. The stories allowed her to know him intimately. Even with other young ladies hanging on his every word, she fancied he told them with such energy and wit just for her.

Summer was passing and with each social engagement that brought them together, it was more and more clear to the natives that the lieutenant had made his choice. Anne did not even recognise herself as the victor until one evening she noticed him entering the garden of Pooles. He was one of many guests invited to their weekly rout, and while young ladies unreservedly offered him their company as he crossed the lawn, he offered up just enough politeness to keep him in their good graces, but nothing more. When he spotted her, he came straight to her and began to tell her about his brother and a set-to he had with a neighbour. The story itself was mundane, but his telling of it was bewitching.

As he continued, Anne knew herself to be in love with him.

His intensity of spirit and enjoyment of the simplicities of life, were captivating. Everything he deigned to touch in her small, cloistered world, took on a brightness that was at once unfamiliar, enchanting, and a little bit frightening to her. And here they were again, in a tiny world that was only large enough for the two of them.

Suddenly, Anne was again exhausted and nothing seemed funny or even pleasant.

"You are not very feverish, but you are a bit warm."

She pulled the coat close. "I am cold, and I am very thirsty."

He nodded and reached into the coat, pulling a small bag from an interior pocket. "You likely swallowed a lot of water last night. All that salt is working on you." He handed her a round, flat, lightly browned bun. It was stiff, and very light. "It's a ship's biscuit."

She handed it back immediately. "I remember you telling me about these. They are always infested with weevils, you said." Merely touching it made her queasy.

Frederick laughed. "It was fresh Tuesday. It's had no chance to become infested, I assure you." She took it back and took a hesitant bite.

She chewed and scowled. "It has absolutely no flavour." She examined it closely despite his assurances.

"May I?" He broke off a small bite for himself. "It is astonishing that something made from good, wholesome, English corn, flavourful in practically any other application, can be stripped completely of any sort of character. It is quite a miracle, I think."

His cheeriness and good humour would have won her over any other time. But, this morning, it was a little tiresome. She wished fervently she could feel differently. She offered him the last of the biscuit.

He took it and ate it up. "As soon as I find some fresh water, it is yours."

She began to put on the spencer, but his heavy coat got in the way. The cramped quarters worked against her, and her weak limbs made the chore nearly impossible. He drew nearer and guided her hands and arms in the proper places, and then pulled it closed and buttoned it for her. He then pushed up the hatch, stood, and offered her a hand.

She held tightly as she willed herself to rise. "I still don't think I can walk." Her feet smarted when her full weight was on them, and her legs ached all the more.

Without warning, he lifted her onto the ledge of the hide. "I never expected you to walk. I will carry you." He leaned on the ledge, his hands on either side of her. He did not move.

The wind was light, the air smelled fresh and strongly of the nearby sea. The chill and scent were refreshing after their night in such close quarters. "You cannot do that." She looked about, and said, "I see nothing of civilisation, what if it is a great distance to help?"

He scoffed. "You are light as a pin--I would be surprised if you are more than nine, nine-and-a-half stone." He handed her the coat and jumped out of the pit in one smooth motion.

She took his hand and struggled to her feet. "How can you know such a thing?" He too was looking around, most likely calculating what direction they should walk.

He was resolved and pointed towards the north. "You have been laying on me all night. I have had considerable time to make estimations."

Initially, the idea that he'd given her much thought at all was pleasing, and annoying. However, before she could give her annoyance voice, while remaining silent on the pleasurable aspects of it, he offered up the coat. "On it goes."

She began to comply, and then stopped herself. "You should wear the coat. It is after all yours."

"Yes, but you are not up to a long walk," he said, as he took her hand and placed it in the sleeve. "I will be carrying you. And though you are very light, even a light load, after time, is an effort. I shall be warm enough thanks to you." He continued to put her in the garment.

His point was very sensible and completely unassailable. To have her own sentiments handed back to her with such ease reminded her how capable he was in presenting the rightness of his thinking. She silently surrendered as he buttoned the coat. In a moment, he picked her up with such grace and ease that perhaps he was right about her weighing so little.

At first, she encircled his neck and endeavoured to take some of her weight off his arms, but she was too tired and soon had to allow him to be a hero. At present, she was asleep. The sleep was good for her, and put off the misery of thirst and hunger. Her dozy state was also to his liking as she did not gasp when his footing slipped on the stones that made up the shingle. While he missed her company, journeying by foot was simpler this way.

He too was getting terribly thirsty and stopped to examine the countryside for any signs of fresh water, or habitation.

Relief came when he noticed a curl of smoke against the dark backdrop of stunted trees and rocks.

He could not see precisely from where the smoke rose, so estimation was tricky. His arms ached, but he dared not put her down lest she wake. He took a deep breath, concentrated on the roar of the sea, and headed to the smoke.

As he approached a stand of trees--the smoke seemed to be coming right from the centre of them--Wentworth heard a low barking voice as he drew closer to the source. It gave him hope of a respite.

In a few minutes, he heard some remarkably loud and abundant cursing from little distance ahead. There was no telling precisely what the sharp voices meant--considering the mission to find and apprehend smugglers on which he found himself--he considered avoiding the place all together. All the same, their need for water, and hope of a place to rest for a while was more important than perhaps offending her sensibilities with what would most likely turn out to be nothing more than crude society born of isolation.

The trees thinned considerably and he could see the source of the noise. In front of badly neglected cottage, a bent, ancient man was directing a tall, powerfully built younger man in chopping wood. It seemed the younger man was not so talented in the chore. Wentworth watched for a few minutes to gain his bearings of the area and the men, It was almost comical the way each time the younger man tried to strike the upright stick of wood, it skittered away. Occasionally, it struck the old man in the shins. When that happened, he certainly didn't thank the youth, but gave him a thoroughgoing tongue lashing in Gaelic.

Wentworth recognised the language thanks to a dear Irish friend of many shared commissions. On their first voyage together, the friend showed his frustration with Wentworth's ignorance of the life by cursing him out in a foreign tongue. It was soon learnt the tongue was Gaelic, and after winning a bet, Wentworth demanded to be taught enough of the language to hold his own. To his credit, while the captain would never be mistaken as a native, he could find food, drink, female company, and even respectably outfit a ship in spoken or written Gaelic. Again, taking into account the likelihood that these men were smugglers, or were connected to that crime in some way, it might serve him well if these fellows thought him to be a poor fellow Irishman forced to live in England, and sail her cruel waters in order to earn his daily bread.

Bold as a tomcat, Wentworth entered the clearing around the house. He saw a rough bench near the door and made for it. As he settled Anne, he took stock of the yard and the cottage. The small house lived up to, and surpassed his first impression of gross neglect. There were numerous jumbled piles of split wood leaning against the walls of the cottage and about the yard. There was more than enough to keep the place like an oven for the entire winter, or, enough wood to fuel very bright signal fires whenever necessary. The man also had a penchant for buckets. Most were broken and rotting away into the sandy soil. Others were upright and perhaps still contained whatever they were meant to hold. None looked new, or cared for in any way. Wentworth could examine no more without raising suspicions, so he took a seat next to Anne. The bench screeched, waggling a bit. He prayed it would not toss them into a heap on the ground if it broke apart.

The woodcutters had stopped their enterprise and were watching the couple closely. They said nothing but stared intently. It was then the captain noticed the younger man had almost freakishly large hands. The handle of the axe looked like a spindly stick in his grasp. The old fellow was the most weathered man of any Wentworth had ever encountered. Both were deeply suspicious of their sudden company, and for a moment, he regretted bringing Anne into what could very well be a deeply dangerous circumstance.

Nevertheless, Anne was rousing a bit and it was too late to retreat. She pulled the coat closer and then nodded to the men. She did not notice their lack of manners, or was too exhausted to say so, sighed and leant against his shoulder.

If he could beg some water, and perhaps a scrap of bread, they would be on their way. He now felt his decision was terribly wrong. If he played as innocent as a lamb, and presented themselves as poor travellers, perhaps he could get them out without a mishap. "Would you have some water? My friend is in great need." He salted his request with what he hoped would be enough of an accent to gain a little trust.

The old man drew a dirty kerchief from his coat pocket and blew his nose, but made no move to answer the plea. The younger man shifted from one foot to the other, looking now and then to the older man. Neither did any more to assist them.

Wentworth was about to ask again, when the old man called: "Aine." Wentworth had not noticed any noise inside the cottage, but now there was the sound of several pairs of feet. The door to the cottage creaked open, and a woman emerged from the shadows. He first noticed she was rather tall, and very large with child. The man pointed to the bench.

She turned to them and smiled.

Part Six

Posted on: 2009-06-04

From Part 5: Wentworth was about to ask again, when the old man called: "Aine." Wentworth had not noticed any noise inside the cottage, but now there was the sound of several pairs of feet. The door to the cottage creaked open, and a woman emerged from the shadows. He first noticed she was rather tall, and very large with child. The man pointed to the bench.

She turned to them and smiled.

Wentworth was shocked. The woman was the most beautiful he had ever seen.

She greeted them, and then went to the woodcutting pair.

Despite her condition, the woman moved with grace and a sort of languid ease. Her hair was wonderfully thick auburn, and straining to break free of the combs that held it in check. Lovely green eyes competed for supremacy with rosy cheeks, and a nose lightly dusted with pale freckles. This woman was no poor drudge, the likes of which one would expect to find attached to either of these rustic characters. In Gaelic, she asked the old man who the visitors were and he replied in less-than-flattering terms they were English strangers come to leech off him. The younger man laughed and let the axe swing down from his shoulder. As recompense for his derision, the heavy axe head bashed the splitting block, and bouncing back to clout him in the leg. The old man finally found something amusing.

Wentworth found his bearings and directed his statement to the woman. "My friend and I need some water."

"It looks as if you need more than water." Aine responded in English and then moved towards the door. To someone inside, she gestured and said, "Shoo, you two peepers." He heard children giggling and light steps fading away. "Bring her in the house." Aine disappeared inside.

Wentworth was about to rise and see to Anne when the old man called to Aine, and began a fine Gaelic tirade. The old man had a limp and had to struggle to drag one leg as he went to the cottage. The younger man looked at Anne and Wentworth and decided it was better to watch the spectacle unfolding in the cottage. He slammed the door, causing a fine shower of dust from the eaves to fall on Anne.

She did not seem to notice. She leant her head against the house and sighed. "All this over a cup of water. I thought the Irish were a very hospitable people." Anne straightened and looked down at herself. With more energy than she had shown the whole morning, she brushed the sleeves of the coat and smoothed her dress. Now and again, she glanced to the door. The heated voices drifting out were embarrassing. "I can just imagine what these sort of people say to one another."

Anne said this with perfect seriousness, without a hint of sarcasm or disdain. Laughter was Wentworth's first instinct. This he subdued immediately. His next thought was that, very likely, her understanding of the sort of people with whom they were dealing was a mere abstraction, based on nothing more real then sensationalised accounts of the plight of the poor, and observations made on market days when she was forced to mingle with "these sorts." Her sheltered life at Kellynch Hall made her ignorant of the true depth of struggle, sorrow, and fear that life meted out to much of the world. He was truly thankful that she was so unburdened with the truth, and free to be so naive, for he, on the other hand, knew many aspects of their life all too well.

He was also glad that while this dear girl may comprehend the argument that raged within was all about the two of them landed on the doorstep, she would have absolutely no knowledge of the sorts of words they were using, and would be horrified if he told her. These observations were just the sort of differences between them that made their earlier break up understandable.

Rather than answer her, he rose and began to look about the cottage. As expected, there were a few more rotting buckets here and there. Around the side of the house, he found someone had been making wattle. There was a low stool, on the sunny side of the house, where they sat to split and weave twigs and branches from nearby bushes. Bladed tools lay discarded in the grass. There was also a bucket of water with a dipper sitting close at hand. The water looked uncontaminated. He ladled some out and smelt of it. He was surprised, and relieved, it was not fetid as he might expect by the look of the place. He brought some to Anne. "They may not be all that hospitable, but I have found some water. If we drink fast, we may be gone by the time they finish rowing." She smiled at this. "I'll hold the cup, you drink."

She touched the rim of the dipper and the handle, near his hand, to guide it. Her eyes closed at the touch of the cold water. She swallowed and said, "It is wonderful. Here, you have some." She offered it with a smile.

He took a little, leaving her the remaining. "It is good. Either we are both so dry we will drink anything, or there is a spring nearby that supplies them." He offered her the rest, which she took, and then he went for more. Just on the other side of the water bucket, he noticed a scrap of leather laying on the ground. He nearly dismissed it as more trash, but as he looked away, he saw clearly the outline of a fair-sized square. It occurred to him that this would be the perfect location for a hide, surrounded as it was by the unassuming landscape. He itched to look inside, for it was not overgrown and might be in use just now. If there was an opportunity, he would make a search, but at the moment it was more important to see to Anne. As he was dipping out more water, he heard the door bang open. He looked around the corner and saw the three step out.

The younger man went back to the woodpile, while the older man paused before the bench. He stabbed the air, pointing at Anne, snapping at Aine, "You see, that cur left her here. Send her off--"

Wentworth dropped the dipper, which clattered to the ground, drawing their attention. He got between the man and Anne. "I've not left her, and all we wish is some water--" He prayed his long-neglected Gaelic was understandable.

"--which you found! And stole!" The old man jabbed him in the chest. Wentworth looked down and saw that water had splashed his waistcoat.

"Tomas! The water comes from the sky, for heaven's sake. Moreover, the woman is obviously ill. Leave her be." Aine spoke English this time. She sidestepped Wentworth, and said to Anne, "Miss, I hope to help you." She then laid her hand on Anne's forehead. He observed there was a thin band of gold on her ring finger. Aine turned to him and asked that he bring her in the house.

When the old man realised what was coming about, he said in heavily accented English, "Stray dogs bite, Aine." Wentworth hesitated to take Anne even deeper into the oppressive and perhaps volatile situation.

Aine turned to the man. "You are truly poor when you cannot show the slightest bit of Christian charity, Tomas. Our bread comes from the hand of others. The lest we can do is give it freely." She motioned them to follow.

Wentworth knelt before Anne. "I think this is our best hope right now, but if you wish it, we will move on."

Anne's eyes pleaded for relief, but she said nothing. Wentworth knew she was too exhausted and confused to add her thoughts. She needed him to settle on a course of action and take care of her. He took her in his arms and picked her up. It was surly a trick of his mind that she felt even lighter than she had earlier. As he passed into the darkness of the interior, he could hear Tomas mutter some colourful Gaelic profanities. He then punctuated them by spitting.

The cottage was one large room, and Aine pointed to a bed in the farthest corner. "Put her here, and we will see to her." He scanned the room for others and saw two small, stick-thin girls standing by a table. Wentworth followed Aine's instructions and gently placed Anne on the bed. He knelt and began to unbutton the coat.

Aine was by his side. "I see no ring, sir." He glanced up. Her expression had lost its lightness. "If you are not her husband, you have no business doing this."

He took his hands away. "No, we are not married. But we are good friends and I have been helping her--"

"There is no need of that now. The girls and I shall care for Miss--"

"Elliot. Her name is Anne Elliot."

Aine rose, taking his arm as he helped her. "Miss Elliot is in capable hands, Mr--"

"Wentworth. Captain Frederick Wentworth."

"A man of the sea?"

"Yes, I am a sailor."

"So are most of my family. We shall all get on splendidly. Now, you go out and use what I think is your considerable charm on Tomas. As you heard, he is not fond of strangers." She smiled and called the girls to her.

This woman was truly amazing. Her beauty aside, her manners demonstrated she was not born to this sort of life. She, in fact, by her speech, might be closer to knowing of Anne's way of life than he. The strangeness of the circumstance and contrary nature of those involved was growing more pronounced with each passing episode.

Wentworth did as Aine instructed him. And while he came to an understanding with Tomas, he did not truly win him over. But, the peace held through the day, and as he now sat overseeing the fire, he hoped that his efforts paid off with Anne's full recovery.

She was finally warm. Delightfully so in fact. The sheets of the bed she occupied were soft and smelled freshly laundered. She was not certain why such mundane things as warmth and clean sheets would make her feel so cheerful, but they did. There was also the sound of a fire and the scent of cheese toasting. Her stomach protested its emptiness. Even with all of this, she had no strong urge to move or investigate her surroundings. To remain quiet and comfortable was enough.

The sound of metal clattering onto stone and a hushed male voice swearing a mild oath rouse her curiosity enough that she opened her eyes. A bright blaze drew her attention and she turned her head to see Frederick Wentworth, shirt collar standing wide open, staring at her. He stood frozen, a knife in one hand and a slab of cheese--melting cheese--in the other. Neither of them spoke until a crown-sized gob of the cheese oozed off the slab and landed on the top of his bare foot. Again he swore.

He was attending to his foot when she asked, "What are you doing here?" His presence was most welcome, but quite unexpected after a two-year absence. As she waited for a reply, she looked about and realised she did not even know where "here" was, and that his answer was more significant than she originally thought.

The fire cast an orange light, which caused his puzzled look to take on a sinister sort of glow. He put down the knife and the cheese, and moved carefully toward her. The two of them might as well have been the only man and woman in the world, for outside the fire's light was nothing but pitch-blackness.

He was by her side, but she felt his unease as he looked away to the other side of the room. When he turned back, he smiled. "How are you feeling?"

Anne still had no idea where they were, but his manner made her feel safe. "Well enough. I am tired though, very tired. What is this place? And what are you doing here?" His lack of an answer did not disturb her as it might have years ago.

"We are staying in the cottage of Tomas and Aine." His expression was troubled. "Do you not remember the Baron's Bride?"

She thought for a moment. The words sounded familiar, but held no special meaning, nothing which begged her to concentrate and remember fully. "Vaguely. Who is she?"

Wentworth was about to speak, but chose to go back to the fire and melt again the cheese, spreading it on some bread he'd left near the fire. When he returned, he helped her sit up and gave her the bread. "You must be hungry." He cut small chunks of cheese and ate them as he watched her.

The toasted cheese was delicious. "This is the best thing I've had to eat in ages." She almost didn't care where they were, or who Tomas and Aine might be. They were comfortable and snug in this tiny cottage--with each bite of the cheese bread, she remembered about the ship and sailing to Ireland with her father and sister. There had been a chase and a battle. She remembered his coming to her.

It was disappointing to remember the outside the cottage. With the memories, came the knowledge of his fall from grace.

"You remember it all, do you not?"

"You always were perceptive."

"I have to be."

She looked at him and noticed something smudged on his cheek. The desire to reach out and touch him was strong, but one she resisted. "Why is there a smear of white on you cheek?" She then noticed there was white on his hands, his pants and speckling his shirt.

Wentworth smiled and glanced down. "It seems our host has built another room onto this cottage and needed help to finish the interior walls. I am painting and plastering in exchange for our generous accommodations."

"And what do you know of painting and plastering?"

"All sailors know how to paint. When there is nothing else to do, a good coat of paint will keep a crew marvellously employed for an afternoon." She had finished the toast, and he offered her piece of raw cheese. "As for the plastering, Tomas is pleasantly surprised that I am not a complete booby at it. So, perhaps my fortune should be sought at the end of a trowel."

Anne smiled and thought that while such a shift in careers would do nothing to elevate Frederick in the eyes of her father, but it would certainly be more desirable than smuggling. "Well, thank you for working to keep us sheltered. I now remember that last night was very uncomfortable." She wanted to add only because of the cold and not in any way the company, but she thought it best not to delve too deeply into the matter.

It was then she realised Frederick was looking at her in an odd way. It made her uncomfortable and she was about to ask what was the matter when he spoke. "Keeping you safe was my only desire then, as it is now." He looked away and then moved back to the fire. "How are your feet? Are they still sore from the cuts?"

She was happy to find that she'd completely forgotten about her painful feet. When she reached down she found they were no longer wrapped, and when she touched each one, she could feel the sores, but they caused her no pain. "They are practically healed. I do remember Aine putting and unguent on them. It burned like fire for quite some time. She gave me a draught of what I thought was wine, but now I realise it was something else, as it had a pungent aftertaste of mint."

"That drink must be why you slept through the day. In fact, so that you did not miss the Christmas Eve feast, Aine has postponed it until tomorrow. Her nieces were extraordinarily disappointed when Cavan took them home." He was spreading more cheese on a slice of bread.

"Are those girls his granddaughters?"

Frederick glanced her way. "No, they are Cavan's girls. He is Aine brother."

"But he is so old."

Wentworth paused for a moment. "Ah, no, the old man is Tomas and he is married to Aine."

Anne was certainly used to the notion of much older man marrying younger woman, but this pairing seemed quite wrong somehow. While she seemed to remember the younger man was not particularly bright, she did remember that the man Tomas was mean and vulgar, and that Aine was very beautiful.

Aine was very kind to her when she helped her get into bed, and then to tend to her. Anne thought that such beauty deserved something better than a vile old man. Quite unbidden, she remembered that Aine was with child. The thought of Tomas as a father was revolting.

Frederick fetched a cup of water. "I know it is off-putting, the thought of him, but he is grudgingly allowing us to stay under his roof. Such as it is."

She took the cup and drank again of the wonderful water. "Yes, he is. That is something." When she gave him the cup, her fingers brushed his. And he did not pull away. "Where are you sleeping?"

He gestured towards the hearth. "There. I said I would feed the fire through the night. Tomas informed me that would use too much wood. The old codger and I argued for some time, but I was eventually allowed to go out and cut a decent supply for the night." She looked and saw his handiwork, a great pile of wood just to the left of the hearth.

She also saw no bed for him. "But you have noting to sleep on. Or any covering."

He lifted the arm of his great coat, spread on the bed. "You need it more. Besides, Tomas reasoned that were I too much at ease, I would neglect my task. He pointed out the cold will awaken me and I will not fail to do my duty." He laughed a little.

"Tomas is a very hard man."

"You do not know the half of it, Anne."

Part 7

Posted on: 2009-12-02

The door slammed and the women returned to work. A moment passed and then Aine spoke. "You say that you and Wentworth have not been together but a few days. I find it miraculous."

Anne attempted to assuage her curiosity about Aine's observations by cleaning up around all the serving dishes, crocks, and boxes scattered about. The task did nothing to ease her mind. "And what is miraculous about us being together such a short time?"

She looked up from her work, brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, and smiled wide. "Because, he is very much in love with you, silly."

Anne was shocked at Aine's frankness. She tried to find words with which to respond, but there were none to be had.

"A man may have lustful thoughts about practically any woman. It shows in the eyes. But true love--which shines quite brightly in the Captain's lovely brown eyes--is an emotion born only of time and thought."

The words sounded so well in her ears. The thought that Frederick might genuinely love her still, so much so that a stranger could see it, was astonishing. However, if that were the case, why did she not see it, or sense it in some way? Her cautious nature caused her to step back from the high emotion of optimism and settle back on the safer ground of rationality.

"I doubt that Frederick--the Captain sees me as anything more than a burden."

"Why-a-burden?" Aine kneading bread dough punctuated each word. "It is clear to me when he looks upon your face, he sees not a burden, but a woman of great worth."

It would be so easy, so enjoyable to run headlong into belief that Aine was right about Frederick's feelings. For all of what seemed to be insight, the woman did not know either of them and to make such a claim was as much a guess about them both as it was a proclamation of true understanding. "The Captain is merely doing his duty." It hurt to say it, but to hope for more was to face the possibility of utter disappointment. She picked up some spoons and took them to a bowl of hot water on the far end of the table.

"He may well be doing only his duty, but please do not toy with me and try to make me believe that the two of you have known one another for only a few days."

She began to pick up various items in need of cleaning as she returned to Aine. "You are correct. We have known one another for some time. It was over two years this past autumn. We met when he came to visit his family in the area where I live."

Aine smiled. "And where is that?" She had finished with the bread, and was now clearing up the table.

"Somerset."

"Is that near Plymouth or Portsmouth?"

"My home is nowhere near either. We are a fair bit away from the sea."

"But he is a sailor."

"Yes, he was in the navy at the time. He was visiting his brother just after return to England after a great battle in the West Indies." She folded a cloth and saw not the task, but remembered only her first look of him in his uniform.

"I assumed when he introduced himself, he meant that he was the captain of his own fishing boat, or something of that nature. I did not suspect him to be an officer in the King's navy." She turned to wipe the table. "We must ready the dishes and such for dinner now."

"Yes. Well, he was not a full captain when I met him; he was but a commander then. It is new--the elevation to captain--but I think he is no longer in the service."

"What makes you think this? Why did he not remain in the navy? Time are hard and an income of any size is very desirable."

Seeing him in his role of smuggler was painful and she wished she had not told the woman anything. "He wished a change of occupation."

Her only response was a low, gentle murmur. "Time to get the pudding in the pot." To Anne she said, "You two never thought to marry?"

"My family did not view it as a suitable match."

"Ah, families can be the cause of so much heartache, can they not?"

"Yes, yes they can. So, in answer to your first question, we are not together, other than his being forced to travel with me."

Aine laughed and finished tying the cloth around the pudding. She looked at Anne as she passed to the hearth and a pot of boiling water. "I can see in your face that you do not believe me, but I still believe you are…." She lowered the pudding into the water, making sure the wooden spoon, which held the bag, was secure on the pot's rim. After she ensured the other dishes were progressing to her satisfaction, she returned to the table. "I don't mean to pry, and I wasn't casting aspersions; heaven knows I should be the last to say anything about the affairs of others; but any fool can see the man is in love with you."

Though Anne was coming to think in many ways Aine was a very clever woman, she doubted she knew her or Frederick all that well.

In a neat twist of irony, it was left to Wentworth to say grace over the Christmas meal. Tomas made it clear he felt not the slightest need to thank any man or god for food he provided. "Would you, Captain? I think we must prove to Miss Anne we are not savages," Aine said. Before the prayer was finished, Cavan entered the house and took a seat next to the woman. With this new arrangement, the table was more unbalanced than before. Aine, Tomas, and now Cavan were the seated on the one side. On the other, Anne and Frederick were bookended by the two little girls. For young children, the girls took up a great deal of space on the bench; so much so that he and Anne were shoulder-to-shoulder. There was so little room that their plates not only touched, but rested one on the other.

Unlike a fashionable dinner, the platters were passed with everyone having as much of each dish as they liked. Tomas took from every dish as it passed by him, though he did not lift more than a fork. The little girls spoke to one another in Gaelic behind their backs, while the adults, except Tomas, spoke English. The conversation was about mostly about the new room. And though they all spoke of it as a great boon to the household, Wentworth was still never certain if it was to be occupied by Cavan. Though they all seemed to speak feely, he was never precisely sure who Cavan and the girls were in relation to Tomas and Aine. Who would occupy the room, or that it would be occupied at all remained a mystery. It mattered not. All he cared about was how well Anne looked after a good night's rest.

"Tomas says the room should be done this evenin'. That means you're leavin' in the morning?" Cavan ended his question by poking a heaping spoon of potatoes into his mouth. A large gobbet clung to the corner of his mouth. Anne took pity on him and cleared her throat while dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. Cavan took no notice.

Wentworth took a drink of his ale. Tomas had grudgingly brought it out when coaxed by Aine. He looked towards Cavan, but took care to avoid the potatoes. "Yes, I think we will be on our way tomorrow. And very grateful that you took us in." He nodded to Tomas--who was engaged in the brutal sawing of a slice of beef--and then to Aine. It was to her he was most grateful, for she took care of Anne's feet in particular; the most worrisome and dangerous aspect of the journey thus far.

"Yes, thank you all for your hospitality. And, thank you for the shoes, Aine. I have never had such a delightful colour. I shall treasure them."

"You are welcome, Miss Anne. Cavan, tell them what we've decided." Aine wiped away the gobbet and gave his mouth a general tidying in what seemed to Wentworth to be a rather tender gesture. Again he thought these strange people. The sooner he got Anne away from this place, the more at ease he would feel.

For a moment, there seemed to be a disagreement. Cavan and Aine spoke very low, with glances towards Anne and Wentworth. Tomas merely grunted now and then. Aine eventually smiled, and said, "You may have the use of Cavan's little pony cart. It will be an easy ride into Dublin in it. And it will keep the shoes from harm."

This was a stroke of good fortune indeed! Wentworth had gotten from Tomas that they were approximately four miles from Dublin, and the use of the cart would get them there with no difficulty. He would be able to take Anne to her cousin's house, return the cart, and then go to the rendezvous point where Harville would hopefully still be waiting.

With all the needs of the next day seen to, Wentworth settled down to enjoy the rest of the meal. When it was time for the Christmas pudding, he braced himself and was determined to eat it with good cheer and a smile. Aine gave him a knowing look when she placed a slice on his plate. Cavan did not care for any--too many bloody nuts and such--and the little girls were off to play already. Aine was extraordinarily generous with the hard sauce. Everyone was poised for their first bite when Tomas squawked and spit a large gob of it across the table.

He cursed in Gaelic, and continued to spit little bits of the pudding all over the table covering.

Wentworth glanced at Anne. She looked horrified and sat with a spoonful halted mid bite.

Aside from Tomas's violent antic, Aine's reaction was the strangest of them all. She sat unmoving, watching Tomas, smiling faintly.

Tomas paused his spitting and cursing to ask who made the pudding.

"Miss Anne did, sir." Aine sounded genuinely shocked.

The old man made a gross noise, slammed his napkin to the table, and left the cottage.

Wentworth glanced at Anne. Her head was bowed, her cheeks crimson. She was biting her lower lip, and she still held the spoon.

Cavan laughed. Aine herself giggled as she looked to the younger man. "I think Tomas did not appreciate the addition of the entire kidney to the Christmas pudding, Miss Anne. As for you, Cavan, I think you should know better than to laugh at the foibles of a guest."

Anne looked up and watched Cavan leave the table. She looked to Aine for a long moment and then she turned to Wentworth. "I am sorry. I know nothing about this sort of thing." Her cheeks were redder still, and her expression was the embodiment of anguish.

His heart bled for her. He glanced at Aine. She still looked at Anne. Her smile never changed.

Wentworth had been appreciative of Aine and her intervention with Tomas, and her helpfulness with Anne. This sly enjoyment of Anne's embarrassment was uncharacteristic with her previous behaviour. However, it did not shock him that she seemed to take pleasure in another woman's humiliation. He realised he had sketched her character in accordance with the surroundings. He again suspected she did not belong in this place. He knew little of how ordinary women treated one another. It was clear Aine was not an ordinary woman.

She had put down the spoon, and was now gathering the dishes and utensils about her. She paused in her task to look directly at Aine. "I am sorry I have ruined the meal, Aine. And after you have been so kind to us." It was obvious that Anne was no ordinary woman either.

Aine's expression varied little and she made no attempt to comfort her guest.

Wentworth laughed. Both women looked at him, both very surprised.

"And here I thought the pudding was just being made in the style of Liverpool."

Anne looked confused, while Aine raised a brow. "You are not serious, sir." She glanced at Anne and then back to Wentworth. "I cannot believe that in Liverpool they eat Christmas pudding with the entire kidney in it."

Anne still had nothing to say, but studied him intently. "I am very serious. They are mostly poor in that city and there is no reason to waste a bit of good food." Anne's expression eased some. She looked away when she realised he now watched her. To Aine he said, "I find it a bit exotic, but I think those Liverpoolians are onto something." To prove his point, he took a huge bite and concocted an expression as brimming with delight as was humanly possible.

Aine studied Wentworth for a moment, and then looked towards Anne. There was a shade of annoyance to her expression, he thought, but it passed quickly and she soon rose to begin clearing the table.

Part 8

Posted on: 2009-12-09

Tomas was mumbling as he rose from the table. The faint growl receded as he left the room. Wentworth remained to finish his wine. He said nothing but stared at the door for a moment. Cavan appeared and went into the unfinished room. Soon, Wentworth's name filled the house, followed by a string of invectives. He rose from his seat slowly and smiled at Anne. "It is wonderful to be so universally loved." He made a noise with his tongue and left them. Anne attempted to converse with Aine but she was not receptive and answers to Anne's comments were short. They did their work in silence.

The day went on quietly with the only sound of the scraping trowel, brushes being dipped into paint, and Tomas's swearing. Every quarter hour a lovely chime sounded from the clock on the mantle. Aine found small household tasks to busy her hand. She offered nothing to Anne. "You are our guest and must not be put upon." There was little to occupy Anne other than listening to the clock's soothing tick and watching the golden pendulum swing.

It was a relief, well after dark, to be called into the new room.

They all gathered to bestow the proper compliments on the workmanship and beauty of the space. "It is all thanks to our new friend, Captain Wentworth. I do not think Tomas could have finished without you. We will see each stroke of the plastering and think of your helping hands." Aine had placed herself next to him, and touched his arm as she complimented him. Her smile was most beguiling and Frederick seemed to receive it with pleasure.

Anne turned away to further examine the workmanship of the room. To her untrained eye, Frederick's work did look respectable. His willingness to undertake a task so foreign to him was a lesson worth learning. She came to an unfinished place in the wall, a nook the size of a small closet, next to the hearth and asked what it was for.

Aine joined her at the alcove. "It is to be used later. It will be used to store all of those troublesome things that accumulate about the house that just seem to get in the way." She touched one of the edges, smiled at Anne and then went to join the rest.

It seemed to Anne an odd place to store things for the house, but it was not her place to judge how another woman arranged her home. She turned to join the others just as Aine placed a kiss on Tomas's cheek. Anne was repulsed by the kind gesture. This strong reaction surprised her for, certainly, what passed between these people in the way of affection was none of her concern.

The overt effusive warmth brought the old man to the limits of his goodwill. With a great deal of sputtering--but no swearing--he practically shoved the women out. Again, Anne's attempts at conversation with Aine were rebuffed. The girls were taken up to Aine's bed, while Cavan, Tomas, and Frederick's voices murmured late into the night talking. Anne tuned over and over in her little bed. At first she strained to hear the men's conversation. When this proved impossible, she endeavoured to look forward to returning to her family. All she succeeded in doing was tiring herself further, and deciding that the night she shared with Frederick in the hide was not so bad after all.

The men had stayed so late in the new room that Anne fell asleep before Frederick came to his place by the fire. In the morning, he was not there, though the fire was blazing away.

Cavan and the girls were absent for breakfast, and other than Tomas's observation of how being rid of two hungry mouths would be a relief, the morning was amiable. As they were leaving, Aine saw to Anne's comfort with a bonnet and pelisse and a small packet of food. "Just a bit of a reminder of your time here at the cottage." She did not look at Anne, but only Frederick.

As the cart jostled them, Anne savoured the short bits of closeness they had shared throughout their impromptu adventure. She particularly enjoyed recounting their conversation after she awakened that first night. It was a shame that Tomas had made them miss a second. They were well away from the cottage and Frederick had still said nothing. She reckoned that their friendly interlude was over and he was back to thinking of his smuggling. It saddened her, but she changed her mind when a sudden jog of the cart sent her flying and a strong hand pulled her back and set her right against him.

"You can't get away that easily, Annie." She looked up to see him smiling in a very sly way. He was unshaven when they met on the ship, and was even worse now. His hair had seen no comb for as many days. She had not thought it possible, but he now, at a glance, looked more the vicious smuggler than at first. But she knew him, and knew there was no viciousness in him. In fact, he looked more endearing then ever. In an instant she realised as dishevelled as he looked, she must be far worse.

She looked away and touched the bonnet Aine had given her as they left. It was frankly a very ugly bonnet, but it covered her head. She despaired there was nothing to be done to improve the dingy brown, rough wool pelisse that was far too big for her. Anne decided these gifts were Aine's way of rewarding her for spoiling the Christmas pudding. She ventured to comment, "If escape is no use, I shall stay put." She felt sufficiently clever then to put aside thoughts of her appearance for a time.

They rattled on for not too far before Frederick leant back, rested an arm behind her, and relaxed his hold on the reins. Anne noticed his hands were bare and that there were still tiny flecks of whitewash on them. "What did our hostess give us as a reminder of our lovely visit to the cottage?" He did not look her way, but kept his eyes on the road.

As she untied the string and opened the parcel, she said, "While this was a nice gesture, we are not so far from Dublin that we need provisioning, do we?" She opened the wool cloth that bound the packet to see several smaller parcels wrapped in cheesecloth. There, prominently placed, was a note. Across the note, in a feminine hand, was the word, "Frederick."

She was tempted to keep the note to herself, but quickly regained herself. What was it to her if Aine was so forward as to send him a note? Anne suspected Aine knew she would be the one to open the packet and find the message. It was likely a more formal mode of thanks for helping finish the room. It was likely innocent and Anne's fears and suspicions were wasted.

"What is it?" He pulled the horse to a halt.

She started. She hid the inner packet from his view and pretended to study the contents. "Aine has sent us a few bits of things left over from the dinner yesterday." She paused, reluctant to touch the ordinary paper.

This is childish, she thought. I am a grown woman, and he is a grown man. He has shown he no longer has any partiality to me, and he should be given every opportunity to know of this woman's feelings. She knew this too was a childish notion, but she would do what was right. She handed him the note. "This is from Aine."

He looked surprised, but pleased. He took it, sniffed it, and put it in his pocket. "Walk on," was all he said.

Anne was dying inside, wanting to know more, but how to inquire without being overly prying. "I don't imagine that a woman living on this lonely strip of coastline would have much opportunity to have any fine perfume." She studied the smaller packets of food in the bundle.

"Apparently not. Aine's note smells of beef." He laughed a little at the joke.

"I wonder that she did not send up some of my Christmas pudding."

The easy smile disappeared and Frederick sat straight in the seat. The topic was obviously not to his liking.

He glanced her way for an instant and still said nothing. She was about to continue when he said, "I don't know a lot about most women, but I know about her kind. She is the sort of woman you wishes to be the only woman around. You were a threat to her."

"Me? How silly."

"She was very kind to begin with, but I imagine something happened, something was said that changed everything."

Anne considered this. It was true. Once Aine's suspicions about her and Frederick's past were confirmed, her demeanour was noticeably tinged with annoyance.

"Well, what was it?" Frederick looked at her, waiting for her to tell him what had caused the change in Aine. Anne could not tell him, of course.

He saved her having to obfuscate. "Keep it to yourself then. Whatever it was, she has made it clear she did not like it. It is just as well, she is the sort to avoid."

His cryptic statement was followed quickly by, "What did you think of our hosts?" His expression remained serious and while the question was odd, but she assumed it had something to do with his change in mood.

"I think they were very kind to take in strangers. Particularly one as needy as me."

"Yes, it was. And to feed us such a grand meal, that was more than hospitable I think."

"It was very good. Aside from the pudding. I have to thank you for your comments. You lied very convincingly with that story about Liverpool Pudding."

"Yes, it was a rather good one."

"Why did you do that?"

"Aine was cruel to you. I am always put off by those who enjoy themselves at someone else's expense."

"She did not like your manoeuvre."

"And why should I care?"

"She is very pretty. And pretty women seem to have men's natural sympathy."

He laughed quietly, as though she amused him somehow. "That is true, but please remember that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and that, oft times, beauty is only hiding desperate wickedness." The statement was harsh and cold and a little surprising. While she knew he spoke of Aine, she knew he would, perhaps, apply the same reasoning to her sister, Elizabeth. "What did you think of the table Aine set?"

Again, such an unexpected question caught her off her guard. He obviously wished to leave the question of Aine's behaviour behind them. She thought for a moment about the table and the food that was served. Before she could answer, he asked, "What did you think of the beef?"

"It was very tasty. Well-cooked I thought."

He smiled and leant close. "I meant, what did you think of them having beef at all. Cattle do not do well anywhere near the shore but sheep are another matter. And believe me, when you are poor, if you scrape up enough to have a celebration at all, the feast would centre on mutton."

What he said she knew to be true. She thought to mention that they had a saddle of mutton on Christmas as well, but thought better as it was only one of several meats on the table. Any comparison was best left unsaid. "I was surprised at the quantity, and now that you mention, the quality of the food. The wines were all excellent vintages and Aine had spices in abundance."

"What of the tableware?"

Anne grew warm. "I must tell you, I was curious about all of it and did take a peek at the china. It is French."

"French you say."

"Yes, a very fine pattern. And the silver was from ________ in London. It is not cheap and I am surprised that Tomas would be so generous a man when it came to things of the household like that." The blue kid slippers she wore also came to mind. "What did you think of the table?"

He glanced her way. "I too think it was very fine, but I don't have any experience of fine china."

She was pleased she could help him. "The crystal was very fine as well. I was quite surprised that Aine allowed the little girls to use any of it."

"Thank you. I thought it was all rather out of place; I needed and expert eye to confirm my suspicions.

Anne laughed. "I am no authority, sir. But, I do know the feel of fine glass when I hold it."

He made no reply. She noticed he was looping and unlooping a length of the thin leather reins. After a while he suddenly said, "Is it important about the table. As for Tomas's generosity, I have discovered that he and Aine are not married and that everything in the cottage is Aine's."

This news was almost more unsettling than the idea of them being married. "But he lives with her. They sleep in the same …"

"As far as I can tell."

"He is the father of her child?"

He laughed again. "That is a question I did not feel I could ask." He shifted in the seat and she swore he was now closer than before. "When I spoke with him late in the night, he hinted at many things. If I want to know more, when I bring the cart back, I may stay and learn from him."

"And will you?"

"I think I have no choice."

Anne desperately wished to ask why he felt so, but his brow knitted itself and his mouth set hard again. Their time of polite conversation was ended.

Part 9

Posted on: 2009-12-16

It was not long before Anne noticed more people on the road. Some were walking alone or in groups of two or three. Occasionally, parties were driving large farm wagons. These were usually filled with hay. Passengers took full advantage of the warmth it provided. More often, other vehicles on the road were small carts much like theirs. Sooner than she liked, they were entering the outskirts of Dublin. She marvelled at the bustle of carts, carriages, people and animals clogging the streets. She also marvelled that Frederick was not in the lest bothered by the change from country quiet to city commotion.

Anne remembered the address from her cousin's letters and Frederick asked a passer-by. "That was obviously wrong," he said when the directions took them into a section of town completely unsuitable for the residence of a viscountess. They were soon set right and making their way through streets lined with rows of elegant row houses. "I would have expected your cousin to have a grand mansion." Frederick was making conversation while a cart of chickens and a groom, attached to a highly polished barouche, sorted themselves out.

"They do. My father was somewhat disappointed when the invitation was for town and not the estate. He assumed they wintered in the country."

"Ah," was all he said."Lady Dalrymple said it was small, but adequate."

He made no sort of response this time.

The groom and the man with the chickens made vile gestures at one another and each went on his way. The stream of traffic began to flow again. They passed a row of houses capped by one that took up double the space. "That would be your cousin's home," he pointed out. Anne looked back quickly and saw that it not only took up the space of two houses, but also had a large fence circling the side. It was a very fine and more than adequate to Anne's way of thinking.

The end of their time together was coming quickly and she wished to speak to him just a little more. "Would it be better to go in through the front door, or should I go in the back way?"

He looked her over, smiling. "Not to be rude, Anne, but I do not believe you could get through the front door no matter who you claimed to be."

She looked down. It was true. There was not a footman in all of England--or Ireland--who cared for his job, who would allow such a frowsy thing inside his master's house. "I see your point. There will be a benefit to me using the rear entrance."

"That is?"

"With the usual tradesmen and such, no one will likely notice you leaving me off."

"Clever girl." He turned into the alleyway. "You would make a good spy, Anne." He was smiling at her as he halted the cart.

"Or smuggler."

His brow furrowed. "No, never that." He looked towards the house.

There was a heavyset woman looking over greens offered by a gaunt man with a garish plaid shawl about his shoulders. There were two other young women plucking chickens. They sat on a bench against a metal railing surrounding what would be a stairway to the cellar. There were no other servants to be seen in the back courtyard. A wagon promising fresh and wholesome meats was parked with a man unloading a side of beef from it. Frederick handed her down and she waited until another, younger man, hauled down a crate and started to go inside. "Thank you for watching over me, Frederick." She offered her hand. There was much more she wished to say, but fear again kept her silent.

He took it with both of his. "It was my pleasure, Annie." Neither wore gloves and his hand was very cold. He held hers for some time. "You had best go while he's still inside." He leaned closer and touched her cheek. "Don't let them bully you." She reluctantly let go of him. "Off with you now."

He did not wait for a reply, but mounted the cart and tapped the little horse to move along. She watched for a moment, but soon crossed the alley to the house. Had she watched longer, there was a great possibility she might embarrass herself by chasing him down. She walked through the courtyard to the door. There was no one nearby so she went inside by herself.

The heavy woman entered right behind her and asked who she thought she was. "My name is Anne Elliot. My father is the Sir Walter Elliot. He and my sister are staying with our cousin, Lady Dalrymple."

The woman looked confused for a moment, and then narrowed her eyes. "I don't know what your trick is missy, but the baronet's only daughter is right safe upstairs. She grabbed Anne by the arm and began to pull her along. "But we'll get to the bottom of this scheme. Mrs Tong!"

Frederick slowed and then halted. He saw she had crossed the alley and watched her going into the house. He willed her to look in his direction just once more. She did not. The door began to close when the heavyset woman followed her. The door closed for good.

The hot, moist heat of the kitchen was most welcome. The atmosphere was chaos. A harsh woman's voice called for more pigeons. "Her ladyship has invited another for dinner to even out the table." Anne had given little consideration to how her disappearance would affect her family, or their hostess.

She and the woman halted before a tall, angular woman in black. "Look what I found, Ma'am." The heavy woman pressed in behind Anne.

There you are." The woman glared at her. As she studied Anne's clothing, her mouth set in a hard line. "You got no water or comb where you live?" The woman poked at her cheek and then lifted up the cloak. "What's this mess? You was told to wear black if you was to work upstairs." The woman began to pull Anne along as she called for "Mary."

"No, Mrs Tong, this ain't the new girl. This one claims to be on of Sir Walter Elliot's daughters." Honeyed derision dripped from her voice.

Mrs Tong stopped and Anne was pressed between her and the heavy one. The woman faced her and studied her more closely.

"You're an ugly, nasty liar. Sir Walter's eldest daughter was the only one to make the trip."

The heavyset woman shoved Anne with her shoulder and sneered when Anne looked her way. She turned back to Mrs Tong. "But I am Anne Elliot. My sister is Miss Elizabeth Elliot and my father--"

Tong grabbed her arm and turned to back to the door. "Shut your mouth, liar." The woman pushed her out the door, into the path of the meat man. Anne stumbled against him. The door to the house slammed shut. The curtain whipped aside and the heavyset woman stuck out her tongue and then disappeared.

"This house is the worst on the route." The meat man puffed his cheeks and hefted a huge cut of meat in his arms. Anne opened the door for him. "Thank you, Miss." He paused. "Count yourself lucky they didn't take you on." He nodded his head and went inside.
Anne stood for an instant when she thought of Frederick. She ran to the alleyway in hopes that he was not yet out of sight. She scrutinized the traffic but did not see his tall frame in any of the little carts about the way.

There was nothing to do but go to the front door.

Part 10

Posted on: 2009-12-30

The alleyway was suddenly empty. No tradesmen were evident. The serving girls and their chickens had disappeared. The only living things in the space were Anne and the horse pulling the meat wagon. She looked to the open gate leading to the street. A great many people passed on the other side. It seemed preferable to be out on the street.

She stayed close to the stonewall as she followed the sidewalk around to the end of the block. The sidewalk felt crowded. Everyone stared as they passed by her. The rough wool of the pelisse brushed against her hand and reminded her how she must look to those who had been able to take some care with their appearance that morning. On market days in Uppercross, there were many people about, and they all looked at her, and even greeted her. There was an amazing difference between home and now. She knew practically all of those others by name. But here on a respectable street in Dublin, she felt abandoned and vulnerable to everyone. The only comfort she had was of the dark grey stone wall.

From nowhere, the harsh voice of Mrs Tong filled her mind. "You are an ugly, nasty liar. Sir Walter's eldest daughter was the only one to make the trip." Anne stopped and rested her head against one of the stones. She had read the letter her father received from Lady Dalrymple, stating she looked forward to meeting him and his daughters again. Their cousin was expecting both Elizabeth and Anne. But the woman had said only one had made the trip. Several explanations must be possible, but only one seemed to serve at the moment: Sir Walter had not told Lady Dalrymple of the events that took place on Baron's Bride. He had not told her anything to do with Anne's disappearance. Her father was not looking for her. Her heart began to pound and she felt light-headed. The only person in all of Ireland who cared about her was gone.

"May I assist you, Miss?" A man with a florid round face and moustache touched his hat and peered at her.

He was a little shorter than she, and his soft voice assured her. "Thank you, sir. I think I--"

He touched her shoulder. She resisted the urge to shrug it away. In her present predicament, she could little afford to give offence. "You look to be out of your element, my dear." He moved closer, reaching to take her hand.

Her mother had always said that quality was obvious, and it heartened her that despite her appearance, the man saw her truly. "Thank you again, sir. I would appreciate--"

The man took her arm suddenly and they started to cross the street, away from Lady Dalrymple's home. "Come this way, girlie. I got a room just up the street."

His intention was obvious, even as her quality was being ignored. She set her feet and the fine blue kid slippers skidded on the cobbles. "No. I will not come with you." In her head, her voice sounded shrill and piercing. She pushed against him and tried to get back to the sidewalk. The man pulled harder and she was sliding across the street even as she struggled.

She was beginning to lose her balance when someone took hold of her. "Let her go, Munson!" Whoever her rescuer was worked Munson's hand from her wrist and gave him a push. He fell and slid a bit, tumbling in front of a carriage turning the corner. The man was sprawled in the street, gaping at the driver. The driver pulled his horse to a stop just short of running over the man. Munson half-rose from the cobbles and scuttled like a crab out of the way. Meantime, her knight led her out of the street.

"Gad, girl, you're havin' a terrible sort of day." She pulled her bonnet out of her eyes and looked directly into the wide, anxious face of the meat man. He shouted to someone nearby. A young, ungainly man joined them. "This is my son, James. You go and chase him a good long way off. He's always hangin' out here, making trouble." The boy touched his hat and left them. "Are you all right, miss?" He stepped back and looked her over in a respectful manner.

Anne jerked her hand from his and stared at him. She was suddenly hot and wished to be away from everyone. People were beginning to gather round them. "What's she been up to?" someone asked. The meat man explained about the foul man, Munson.

"Did he hurt you, Ma'am? Munson's a devil he is." The man's boy joined them and assured his father than the man was well away from the area. "Head back to the cart before it's stripped down to the bones. Where do you belong, Miss?"

Though, by all accounts, her sister and father were just inside the house, the only face Anne Elliot wished to see was that of Frederick. She cleared her throat and began to walk to the door. People were losing interest in the scuffle and were beginning to move on. "Here. I am staying here."

The man made a clicking sound with his tongue as he followed her. "I thought they threw you out. Besides, you oughtn't be seen in the front. They won't like it inside."

"My father is here. I must get inside." The kid slippers were not enough to protect her foot from a large stone in her path. The pain reminded her of a better place. "My cousin lives here."

The man, still following, said, "Begging pardon, Miss, but you don't look like you belong--"

"I belong here, sir!" Anne spun around to face him.

Her good-hearted rescuer stepped back. He touched his hat. "I can see you are upset, Miss. And I believe you when you say you belong here. But, and no offence intended, you don't look like they will welcome you upstairs." He touched his hat again and left her to save his wagon from the street.

Anne watched him drive away. Again, she was alone. "--you don't look like they will welcome you upstairs." She leant against the wall again. It was true. While she had the courage at the moment to knock on the door, and even enough to say her name, she had not one thing on her person which would identify her as anything but the ugly liar from Mrs Tong's accusation. Her father had seen to it that no one was on the look out for her.

Posted on: 2010-01-06

She remained well out of sight of the door. There was nothing to do but consider and watch. Very soon, a weathered but otherwise fine carriage pulled up before the door. A groom carefully picked his way off the top and tapped on the house door with his whip. The door opened and the groom began to speak with whomever answered. Anne envied both of the parties for life was blissfully uncomplicated when you belonged somewhere.

As she wrestled with her deepening melancholy, the groom broke away and ran to the carriage. He wrenched the door open and did his obeisance. A small woman with fox skin cloak emerged from the house. Following her was Elizabeth, and after her came her father.

The woman with the cloak was undoubtedly their cousin, the viscountess. An enormous hood concealed her face making it impossible for Anne to see her and form any meaningful opinion. The woman was perhaps more sickly than her known age would indicate. She was taking a great deal of time mounting the carriage and this put her sister and father to waiting.

They did not speak. Elizabeth's faultless manners served her well as she stood with perfect posture, looking straight ahead. Her father, on the other hand, could not remain still. Elizabeth was able to ignore his fidgets until he tapped his walking stick against a bronze planter and it rang out in the chill air. Elizabeth did not look his way, but did frown.

Anne's best opportunity was within her grasp, and to her great relief, Sir Walter glanced her way. She saw recognition in his eyes.

Everything wicked and hurtful that had happened in the past few days was nothing for he saw her and she would be taken in. She felt herself smile and her body begin to move of its own volition.

Elizabeth was now disappearing into the carriage and her father's glance grew cold. He turned, took hold of his hat and proceeded to follow his eldest daughter.

"Father! Father!" Anne hastened to them.

He was leaving her! She called again. This time, he paused, his shoulders sagged, and he straightened, and turned to her.

Anne continued apace. Elizabeth's face now appeared alongside their father's. They looked directly at her.

Elizabeth's expression was that of studied disdain. There was, Anne thought, a hint of surprise in her eyes. Her father's expression of chilly contempt brought her to a halt.

Anne and Sir Walter stood staring at one another. Everything about him was flawless. The elegant beaver perched on his head was tilted just so. The overcoat fit perfectly through the shoulders and waist. The perfect weight wool had been expertly dyed to the season's most fashionable colour. The length was exactly right to show her father's well-formed calves clad in stockings of the snowiest white. The picture was finished with expertly buffed pumps on his feet complete with genuine silver buckles just large enough to be stylish. The baronet was the epitome of the perfect gentleman. It was his cold, lifeless eyes that betrayed him as being less than a perfect father.

Elizabeth and the smaller woman had joined them on the sidewalk. The baronet said to the woman: "You see, it is as I said. My younger daughter is not only stubborn, but rebellious as well. She has endangered herself to go against my express wishes and come here." To his daughter he said, "Even if she feels no duty to her father, I do know mine. Anne, you will be pleased to meet our cousin, the Viscountess, Lady Dalrymple." The ladies exchanged greetings with Anne acutely aware of her dire appearance.

Lady Dalrymple smiled. However, it was full of pity for Anne's father and not for Anne's comfort. She looked to Sir Walter. "Please, do not be troubled. The unexpected arrival of your second daughter will not disrupt the household overly much. We will mange." She touched his arm and turned to enter the carriage.

Sir Walter looked to the carriage and then to Anne. She thought there might be a shred of love in him and that he was considering remaining. He looked to Elizabeth. "Stay with your sister; you will not be missed at the dinner." He stepped up to enter the carriage, but turned. "We will discuss this tomorrow, Anne." He disappeared and the carriage lurched away.

A chill breeze blew and Anne felt suddenly cold to her soul. A footman cleared his throat, drawing their attention to the open door. Elizabeth snatched her arm. "You have wrecked everything, thank you very much!" She thrust Anne inside.

As Elizabeth led Anne through Lady Dalrymple's house, she wondered how her father reacted to it. Everything was just slightly out of sorts and haphazard. The colours of the curtains were too bright, elements of architecture were too large for their context, and what bits of furniture she could see were left over from a by-gone age and more than looking their age. She knew her father's exacting standards would be violated by the absence of a dignified order.

"You may leave me." Anne dismissed the maid sent to help her. At first, she hurried through he bath, but the hot water surrounding her began to pull the tension and fear from her body. She was finally warm through, and clean after days of only feeble attempts at cleanliness. The idea that she would sleep in a decent bed tonight and wake to her customary life was at first luxurious. As she soaked, all that became insignificant. Now, when she compared the comforts and the company of her family to Frederick, she would far rather have his company in any dirty cottage, with even old Tomas in residence rather than be where she was.

She rested her cheek against the edge of the copper tub and wondered just where Frederick was at precisely that moment. Surely, he is back to the cottage by now. If that were the case, he would be on foot by now, making his way over the cold and rocky shore south to the meeting place. If he was anything like her, the approach of evening would bring with it hunger. He had every confidence that Harville would be waiting still at the designated inn. One way or another, she prayed that he would be fed, warm, and sheltered soon.

She reluctantly finished the bath and prepared for bed. She had no expectation that she would be required downstairs for the rest of the evening. Her nightclothes were fetched and she was dressed. As the clean cotton flannel warmed against her skin, she felt a pang of guilt that she was safe, and that Frederick was, perhaps, still on the edge of things.

Anne took a seat at Elizabeth's dressing table and the maid began to comb out her hair. There had been no opportunity for Elizabeth to speak until now, and she did not fail to take it. "When we return to Kellynch, you should reprimand your maid, Anne. She packed you nothing but mended rags. The one on your back was the least offensive gown I could find."

The maid just then pulled her hair and Anne yelped involuntarily. To Elizabeth, she said, "What does the condition of my under garments matter? They are clean and presentable enough for just myself." Anne and her sister never saw eye-to-eye on what she was coming to consider trivial matters.

Nothing about Anne's interior life had much changed after Frederick's departure. For quite some time she had fully expected another young man to come along and enliven her heart and mind, sparking within her the same feelings of excitement, anticipation, and adventure that Frederick Wentworth had. However, this had not happened. In fact, this spring, she had noticed small things about herself shifting. This was particularly true after, unbeknownst to her family or friends, she turned down a respectable proposal offered by a young man from Uppercross.

Charles Musgrove was a kind and generous young fellow. He was not handsome or remarkable in any way, but he was of solid character, good family, and was genuinely kind to her. Her refusal could be put down to sheer astonishment. His proposal was awkwardly put, and she assumed it was nearly as much a surprise to him as it was to her. After she had, as gently as possible, refused him, she took some time to walk and to think about what she had done. Even after a time of quiet reflection, she realised she felt neither regret, nor the desire to repeat such and self-conscious occasion with any other man. Something had grown cold in her and it was then she had begun to take an odd sort of pride in her little denials of pleasure. It had started with turning down her favourite food in a meal when it was offered. Anne was also stinting about her personal needs. As long as her behaviour went unnoticed, she felt safe, but having these little things so obvious even Elizabeth could see was nerve wracking.

She was startled to notice Elizabeth had taken the opportunity of her being trapped beneath the comb to stand over her. "How you could present yourself to our noble cousin when you are so disdainful of your appearance is beyond me. Honestly, Anne, you are becoming a frump, and now I see it is from the skin out." She stalked off to take a chair by the fire. "I was frankly embarrassed when the maid opened your cases to unpack them."

Her sister was right of course, but hearing it out loud left Anne surprisingly untouched. What did touch her was the invasion of her privacy. She turned to Elizabeth. "Why did you take it upon yourself to unpack my cases? You brought two trunks of your own. You could not possibly have needed anything in mine."

Elizabeth hesitated. She rose and went to the window. "Because, it was thought all the cases and trucks were mine. It would have looked ridiculous if I had not unpacked all of them." She grew quiet and intent upon looking out the window, and away from her sister.

The maid finished and was dismissed. Anne rose and put on her robe. "I suppose it has been a great burden to bear since Father told the viscountess that I did not make the journey at all, and that I am a reprobate child who would dare to come across the channel on my own."

"What else was he to say when you went off with that pirate? How were we to present ourselves to Lady Dalrymple? 'You see, Cousin, Anne chose to leave us for the company of a masked bandit of the sea.'"

"I did not leave you and father, and I did not go off of my own accord. What would have been wrong with telling her the truth?"

"What precisely is the truth, sister? We were told that when you were taken from us you allowed yourself to be locked in a room with that horrible man with the disgusting black kerchief. When we were released, we were told you were seen rowing off with him and his colleague. I hope he was at least handsome." She finally took a seat at the dressing table. Her posture remained erect, which suited her angry state.

Anne thought to say he was indeed handsome, but instead, said, "I did not go willingly. I fell overboard and nearly drowned. I could not be returned to the ship. If it were not for Frederick risking his own life to pull me from the water himself, I would have died." Just speaking of it brought back the feeling of the frigid water closing over her head, and the wet clothes, the fetid smell of the hide, and all the rest.

Elizabeth's brow shot up and her posture, if it was possible, became more erect than before. "Frederick! That man was Frederick Wentworth?" Her natural grace never faltered as she rose from the chair and approached Anne. "No wonder you went with him. You have been mooning over that wretched sailor for two years now." She was close enough that Anne could smell her sweet, floral perfume. She was almost certain she could feel the heat of her rage as well.

Elizabeth turned away suddenly. "I can only pray that no one at home will find out about you and a proven libertine cavorting in the wilds of Ireland together."

Anne could not endure her taunts. "No such thing happened! He took care of me. I was injured and he cared for my wounds. He was a perfect gentleman the entire time." She could feel her fingernails biting into the flesh of her hands. "We stayed in a cottage with a family who gave us aide and shelter in exchange for Frederick's helping with painting and plastering." The lie about the family slipped out so easily, Anne wondered at her own integrity.

Elizabeth turned on her. "Plastering and painting! Is the story he told you to tell? And why would he bother as he has obviously tired of you and left you off here, besmirched. You might as well have run off and married him two years ago, Anne. The gossip would have died down by now, and there would not be any danger of scandal to your sisters reputations." She left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Part 11

Posted on: 2010-01-13

When the viscountess returned from her engagement, a smaller room, in another part of the house was arranged for Anne. Her trunks were brought from Elizabeth's rooms and she was left to arrange herself as she wished. She spent the rest of the evening strictly alone. On the following day, when she would have expected that her father would call for her, he did not. The only person Anne saw was the maid who brought her meals. The girl did not speak English, and while the food was very good, she grew tired of fried cutlets and potatoes for every meal.

On the third day, just as the small clock by her bed sounded ten o'clock, there was knock at the door. The breakfast dishes had been cleared away, and it was too early for luncheon. This gave Anne hope that her exile was drawing to an end. She found Elizabeth and a footman standing before her. "You are required downstairs. There is an officer of the Navy wishing to ask you some questions." It was impossible to read Elizabeth's expression, but her voice quavered a bit. Something was upsetting the quiet of the Dalrymple household, and Anne was being summoned into the thick of it.

It would do no good to ask Elizabeth any questions as they went downstairs. By the time they reached the stairway, her silence made it clear she was in no humour to speak. The only sound as they approached the sitting room was the click, click, click of Elizabeth's hard-soled slippers.

The footman opened the door to her father already occupied with a young, good-looking man in a fine blue and gold uniform. The young man watched her father with an expression she knew all too well: feigned concentration.

Sir Walter was in what Anne recognised to be his Pontificator's Pose. He had chosen to place one hand on the mantle, between two very red, very garish chinoiserie vases. (She wondered that his highly refined sense of taste would allow him to remain so close to such bad imitations.) The other hand was placed in his coat pocket, with the thumb out so as not to look as though he was actually using the pocket.

Elizabeth motioned Anne to enter ahead of her. It did not bode well that Elizabeth refused her customary precedence. They entered the room and the young man rose in acknowledgement. Her father nodded but did not introduce them, or slow his address. Though Elizabeth had entered after her, somehow she managed to take the seat farthest from everyone. Anne was forced to take a seat closer to the others than she cared for.

"As I was saying, the Navy is said to be of a vital, national interest, but I have always been shocked at the lack of standards and judgement shown concerning its manning." Anne had heard this speech before and knew where it was leading. Nevertheless, she was shocked that he would have the nerve to speak so to a man actually in service to the Crown. She looked at the officer to see his reaction, and then noticed another, less decorated man standing off to the side, holding a notebook. He at first looked bored, but at second look, he was quelling a smile. It was clear her father had said something amusing before their arrival.

Sir Walter paused and the young man saw this as his cue. "I can understand, sir, your concerns. The press does indeed bring us men who are not very skilled, but to hoist a sail and swab a deck, not much in the way of intelligence is required. However, we do take into service a fair number of skilled men and they more than justify-"

The Baronet sighed deeply and bowed his head. "No, lieutenant." He looked up, pausing for affect, and then changed his stance. "In my experience, great intelligence is not needed in most avenues of life. It is the look of them to which I object, sir. I have seen the average sailor and I am appalled. Such lowly fellows are ambassadors to the world for the Crown and they are a frightful lot to gaze upon." He stopped for a moment to brush his cuff. "Even the officers are dreadful; scarecrows in most cases." He paused for another moment. His expression shifted to a more open mien. "Of course you are an exception to this, and I have known one or two other officers who are not too unsightly-"

Anne knew it pained him to say this, as Frederick Wentworth was assuredly one of those "not too unsightly" officers.

Her father paused in his speech and the young man took this opportunity to speak. "Am I to take your meaning to be that you think the men who serve in the Navy should be more good-looking?" Anne could hear in the man's voice a struggle between believing her father was serious with this absurd opinion, or that her father was trifling with him.

Sir Walter cleared his throat. "As I was about to say, the Navy is, in essence, a fleet of ambassadors of the Crown, and I do think it important that our finest looking representatives should be-"

"Sir, I am amazed at your-"

The door opened and Lady Dalrymple entered. "My dear Daniel, it is a pleasure to see you. It has been an age." She held out her hand to the young man. To the others, she said, "Daniel is the son of old friends from the north. We used to spend summers at Grass Manor, the family seat."

The young man turned upon her entrance and now bowed as one raised to perfectly execute the courtesy. It was confirmed to Anne that their acquaintance was more than casual when he took her hand and kissed it. "Ma'am. It has been an age. I was at school when last you visited Grass Manor. However, Mother speaks of you all the time. She will be pleased when I write and inform her I have had an opportunity to see you again."

Lady Dalrymple's expression was one of great fondness. Anne looked to her father, who was frowning at the pair. Elizabeth had the appearance of a cat looking to dart away at the first opportunity.

"I see you have met a cousin of my late husband. Sir Walter Elliot and his daughters are visiting from England for the holidays." She took a seat and indicated that the others should do the same. She called for tea as well. "I heard voices as I approached. What have you all been discussing with such enthusiasm?"

Daniel looked at Sir Walter and smiled. To Lady Dalrymple, he said, "Your cousin and I have been discussing the Navy." He glanced again at the Baronet. "He has some rather unorthodox views, to say the least."

The tea arrived and as it was being poured, the viscountess stated, "I must say Sir Walter, if there is anyone from whom you would gain a solid knowledge of the Navy, it would be Lieutenant Daniel MacMurphy. His father is certain he shall be First Lord of the Navy one day."

MacMurphy laughed. "The Admiral is showing his parental pride in that statement, and is far too optimistic. The chances of an openly Irish officer taking that post is nil, I'm afraid. But, the sea is my calling and I do look rather well in the uniform." He and the viscountess laughed together. Anne saw much to like in the young man's self-deprecation and joined in the laughter. Her father and Elizabeth were separate, dismal pictures sitting out of the way.

"What brings you to visit an old family friend, dear Daniel?"

He straightened and put down his cup. "To tell the truth, Lady Dalrymple, I've not come for a visit actually. I have come to ask some questions particularly of ..."

"Miss Anne Elliot," the second man said. He had looked up her name in his little notebook.

"It is our hope that she will be able to assist in capturing a brazen smuggler who tried to take command of the ... Baron's Bride, the ship she and her family were aboard when they sailed to Ireland."

Lady Dalrymple smiled with sympathy at Sir Walter. Then to MacMurphy she said, "There is some mistake. Miss Anne did not sail with the rest of the family that day. She arrived some days later. And I assure you, there has been no mention of smugglers on either voyage."

The second man stepped forward, handing the notebook to the Lieutenant. "This from the ship's manifest: Two officers, twelve regular seamen, 3 passengers. I see listed here the names of Sir Walter Elliot of Somerset, Miss Elizabeth Elliot, and Miss Anne Elliot. Is this not correct, sir?"

Sir Walter did not respond immediately, but did look up and seemed was surprised that everyone was looking his way. MacMurphy repeated the question and Lady Dalrymple added, "Yes, Sir Walter, we would all like to know if this is correct."

He stood. "If it is my daughter you must speak with, here she is." He started to the door.

Lieutenant MacMurphy rose as well. "Sir, I am sure your daughters will be more comfortable if you remain." It was clear by the set of his jaw this was not a point of propriety, and that the Baronet's staying was not in any way a suggestion.

Sir Walter turned and tugged at his cuff. "Very well. But I cannot allow such a trifle to take up your time, dear lady." He smiled and nodded to the viscountess. "I am sure you have much more pressing-"

"I have nothing pressing, Sir Walter. Please, be seated so the Lieutenant may continue."

Her father knew his lie was exposed. He now could not avoid being humiliated before his daughters, and more importantly, before a woman whose good opinion he had taken months to cultivate. Anne was sad for a moment that she would be a part of it, but there was no choice for her. She must tell the truth.

Her father returned to his seat and the Lieutenant was back in charge of the situation. "So that we are clear, you are Miss Anne Elliot, are you not?" He indicated Elizabeth.

Though she was fearful, Elizabeth was not one to be mistaken for her younger sister.

"No." Her spine became as straight as a ramrod. "I am Miss Elizabeth Elliot. Anne is my younger sister. I am curious as to why you care to question her and not me."

MacMurphy looked from Elizabeth to Anne and then back again. "Beg pardon, Ma'am. I mistook you for your sister as you entered last. And because, Miss Elizabeth Elliot, the captain of the ship was questioned, and told officers that when he was taken to the hold, he heard the instigator of the boarding talking to a cohort, a cove named Harville, that he was to take the maid to another room and lock her there until he could speak to her. Later, the 'maid' was identified as Miss Anne Elliot. Unless you have something pertinent about this man, I have no questions for you, Miss Elizabeth Elliot." Anne breathed a sigh of relief when Elizabeth remained silent, turned ever so slightly, and looked into the fire. She would not give Frederick away, and neither would Anne if she could possibly avoid it.

"Now, Miss Anne, is this manifest correct."

"Yes."

"The only passengers on Baron's Bride were members of your family. You were wrongly identified as the maid."

"Yes."

The Lieutenant glanced at the notebook. "Were you separated from your family and taken to another part of the ship?"

"Yes, I was."

"Was the man who entered the room, Frederick Wentworth?"

Sir Walter turned to Anne, red faced, jaws moving but saying nothing. Elizabeth was shrinking farther into the back of her seat. The Baronet rose. "Does this mean that filthy pirate was Wentworth?" His expression was as hard as the one given to the footman who had broken a saucer clearing away tea the previous week. Anne supposed her father equated both as personal affronts to be raged over and the results endured. "And you went off with him, putting the name of Elliot in jeopardy for that lowborn sponger-"

Anne rose as well. "As I told Elizabeth, he saved my life when I fell overboard-"

Sir Walter turned on his other daughter. "You knew it was that contemptible man and you said nothing to me-"

Elizabeth was now up and ready to defend herself. "Father, I only found out when she returned-"

"QUIET YOU LUBBERS!" Everyone turned to the lieutenant's assistant.

MacMurphy apologised to Lady Dalrymple. "Mr Foley was boatswain on my last cruise. That marvellous voice comes in handy, as you can see." He then smiled to the Elliots as he handed the notebook to his assistant. "If you will all please be seated again, we may continue."

"I shall not belabour the point, I think it is clear from the reaction of all the parties that the man was Wentworth. How precisely do you all know the man, Miss Anne?"

Anne glanced at her sister and father. Both looked more interested in other parts of the room than in the questioning. "My family has known him for a while. He came to Somerset some two years ago."

"So, you all have a social connection with Wentworth"

The Baronet stiffened and turned a shade redder at this suggestion. Elizabeth too took umbrage but merely cleared her throat. "Yes," was all Anne thought prudent to say.

"Did you know the man was Wentworth when he entered the room?

She was bound to tell the truth, but the truth at this point was more complicated than Mr MacMurphy indicated. "No, I did not."

The Lieutenant looked bemused. "It has been established that you did know the man. Was he so altered that you did not recognise him?"

"No. But I was bound and my eyes were covered." He father looked disinterested still. Elizabeth's expression signalled shock.

"So, you were treated as a prisoner and not a confederate?"

It was Lady Dalrymple who objected to this. "Surely, Daniel, you do not think a young woman of such a good family would be a party to this despicable action." Anne was sure that her exalted cousin was less concerned with salvaging Anne's good reputation than she was concerned with being even slightly connected to a proven criminal.

MacMurphy nodded to the lady. "You would be surprised, Ma'am, at the despicable things ladies, uh, females, get themselves up to these days." He turned back to Anne. "But, eventually, you did see his face?"

To know she was suspect now made establishing the truth more an imperative than ever. "Yes, he eventually freed me." The memory of those first few moments of freedom and recognition washed over her, but then made her sad almost immediately.

"What did the two of you speak of, Miss Anne?"

"He asked if I knew the owner of the ship, which I did not. And he asked from whom we obtained passage."

Before the Lieutenant could ask anything further, Sir Walter stood. "All the travelling arrangements were made through my solicitor, John Shepherd of Crewkherne. He was rather insistent that we should take this particular ship. If you have any questions pertaining to the ship, he is your man." Sir Walter regained his seat, looking quite assured that if anyone was in league with a smuggler, it was John Shepherd of Crewkherne.

At this, MacMurphy paused and glanced at Foley, who was writing furiously. The man finally caught up and nodded to his superior. "Did Wentworth ask anything else?"

"He asked what our business was in Ireland. I said we were on our way to Dublin to visit our cousin."

"And did you name your cousin?"

"Yes, I did."

The Viscountess was visibly shaken at this. "Did he, at any time, admit to boarding the ship for the purpose of smuggling?"

"I was not getting rich in the Navy. This afforded me more-opportunities." His statement did not precisely use the word, but it was an admission of sorts. The question was: if she told this to the Lieutenant, was she sealing Frederick's fate as a criminal in the eyes of the Navy? Anne reasoned that was already done. "Yes, he did."

As to punctuate the sentence, a long case clock struck the eleventh hour. All in the room started at its loud, discordant peal. Anne's nerves were completely worn by the time the last, harsh note sounded.

Everyone seemed grateful that MacMurphy took a moment to collect his thoughts.

"Miss Anne, you claimed earlier that you fell overboard, and your cousin has said that you arrived some days after your family. Your father says you went off with Wentworth. Where were you and what were you doing in those intervening days?"

The room grew more silent than she thought possible. All the looks were frightful and suspicious. There was nothing to be done but tell the truth. However, she did shorten the story by leaving out their staying the first night, alone, together in the hide. All listened, some with amusement and others with revulsion, as she told about the cottage, Aine and Tomas, Frederick's working in exchange for their keep, the feast the day after Christmas-here too she abbreviated the story to exclude her disastrous Christmas pudding-and their eventual arrival in Dublin in the borrowed pony cart. "Frederick ... Captain Wentworth put me down, at my insistence, in the alleyway in the late morning."

MacMurphy again took his time preparing. "So, by your own admission, this man you know to be a thief kept you away from your family for days, and when he finally did release you, brought you to the home of your very prominent and very wealthy cousin? Am I correct?"

The man had deliberately portrayed Frederick as the worst sort of criminal and man possible. What was worse, he had easily done it with all the information she had so willingly given him.

A thoughtful MacMurphy took the notebook from Foley and slapped his hand with it. "I wish to thank you all and bid you all a good day." He turned to lady Dalrymple. "My lady, I hope I may send the Admiral and Mother your best."

A frowning Viscountess rose and took his arm. "You certainly may. I will see you out."

Everyone, at once, seemed to mill about the room. Anne remained in her seat, sick that her attempts to tell the truth had been perverted into the wickedest of lies.

Sir Walter disentangled himself from his Elizabeth. "Lieutenant MacMurphy, are there not more things you wish to know about the ship? My daughter and I may be of further service in answering any questions to aid your valiant prosecution of this blackguard."

Anne was dismayed, but not surprised, that her father would further ingratiate himself to the officer by offering up more, and perhaps spurious information about the ship and the man he loathed. She rose, not knowing how she might defend Frederick without handing the authorities additional evidence to be further twisted to prove his guilt. It was not necessary. Before MacMurphy reached the door, he turned.

The Lieutenant did not like her father, that was clear enough, and the insinuation that he would need Sir Walter's assistance was more than enough. "Sir, I have found out all I need, but allow me to enlighten you to some things. Your ship's passage was so cheap because the Baron's Bride itself was being used to smuggle gunpowder stolen from the Royal Dockyards in Liverpool. It was stuffed to the gunwales with it and you are damn lucky the captain of the Abraham--the ship that intervened--knew this and was shooting only warning shots for fear if hitting the magazine and blowing you all to kingdom come. Further, it is very likely that your friend, Wentworth, was not after the Bride for herself, but the stolen gunpowder. This is why he so quickly abandoned the effort when the shooting started. Why he took your daughter hostage is unclear, and whether your solicitor knew about the smuggling and the like is worth further investigation as well. As for your assistance, thank you but there is nothing more for me to learn from you."

He again took the lady's arm to leave, but this time it was Lady Dalrymple who had something more to say. "If it is questions you desire, Sir Walter, be assured, I have several plaguing me at the moment." She turned and they left the room.

The door closed and the nuisance clock struck the quarter hour. Its shorter, off-key song was an ideal prelude to Sir Walter's explosive resumption of his harangue against Elizabeth's betrayal. She in turn mounted a vigorous defence. Anne hadn't the stomach to enter into the fray, and knew to do so would only give her father and sister a common adversary on which to turn. She eyed the closed door. Without a backwards glance, she left the room.

The Lieutenant and Lady Dalrymple were conversing easily as he donned his overcoat and scarf. "I assure you, Ma'am, Wentworth is not the sort to break into your home to harm you. He is a coward at heart and stays to sea where he uses the skills he learnt in the service to steal and flee with as little effort as possible." He went on to assure her that he would indeed remember her to his mother.

Anne put down the loathing she felt for the young man and approached. "Lieutenant MacMurphy, may I have a word with you." Her tone was meek and as respectful as it possibly could be to the man who had just spent an hour speaking despicable things about Frederick's character.

He was ready to dismiss her when his expression changed. He excused himself from Lady Dalrymple. "I don't know what else there is to say, Miss Anne."

"I have known Frederick Wentworth for several years now, and I feel, in my heart, that he is no smuggler, no matter how things look to you." She glanced at Mr Foley and he looked away, busying himself with his gloves.

The Lieutenant continued to button his overcoat. "Miss, I see that you are genuinely concerned for this man. And I assure you that I take no enjoyment in tracking him down." He glanced towards the viscountess. He took out his woollen gloves. "I do not broadcast this, but I served for a very short while with then Commander Wentworth. I gained great respect for him, not only as an officer, but also as a man of honour. To be placed in this position gives me no pleasure. However, the Navy is not terribly concerned with either of our feelings. All that matters at this juncture are his actions. And his actions are unquestionably, criminal. In spite of my feelings on the matter, I shall take what knowledge I have gained here and bring him to justice." He bid her a good day.

As he turned away, Anne caught his arm. "What will happen if you find him?"

"When I find Wentworth, he will be taken to a prison and go before a Court Martial board. With the evidence given, I am confident he will be found guilty. This will strip him of his rank, and while it is possible he could be transported, I feel it more likely he will be hanged." MacMurphy paused, his expression a mirror of what Anne felt, and then he walked away.

To no one but herself, she said, "But is that justice?"

Later, Anne silently crossed the entryway, having waited some time for the footman to leave his post so that she might leave the house.