Part 13

Posted on: 2010-01-27

Chapter 5

Anne stepped out the door to a dull, heavy sky. She hadn't the faintest idea where she would go, but she knew she had to escape the house at once. The thought of meeting with the viscountess and her questions was most disagreeable. However, to meet with Elizabeth's disdain, or her father's cold, and vulgar assumptions was the worst of all.

She was thankful she had taken the ragged cloak and bonnet Aine had given her. If she'd not paid attention, they would likely have been taken from Elizabeth's room and burnt. Their downtrodden look allowed Anne to be no one in particular as she made her way along the street.

Hasty passers-by were hurrying, attempting to get out of the drizzling rain. A couple walking towards her obviously moved aside to avoid passing by too closely. This reminded her there were limits to where she would be accepted dressed as she was, and having no money, she was limited still more. A brisk walk would not go wrong she thought, and she paused to wait for a carriage to pass before crossing the street.

A hand on her shocked her. She froze. A picture of Mr Munson's leering face came immediately to mind. "You look no worse for wear having taken shelter in that hide," a low, deep voice said. She relaxed and had every expectation of finding Frederick by her side.

She turned and was sorely disappointed.

The man named Harville noted her regret. "My dear wife looks at me the same way when I come home from a voyage not loaded down with prize money and jewels." The carriage passed and he took her arm as they crossed. "You look as though you could use some tea, Miss Elliot. Or something stronger perhaps depending on your tastes."

She shocked herself by going alone without hesitation.

Commander Harville was placing their order in a small teashop her father and sister would deem too low for an Elliot to consider. Anne sat with her ungloved hands in her lap, wishing for all the world she had thought to bring her reticule. It held nothing of great value or interest, only a phial of salts and the keys to a side door at Kellynch Lodge. It's only purpose would have been to make her look busy as she casually or enthusiastically ransacked it. As it was, she felt everyone was staring at the poor raggedy girl accompanied by the poor raggedy looking man.

"Here we are." Harville took the seat next to her as the girl laid the table with tea and a plate of buns. "It's not much, but it will tide us over for a while." He was not shy. He took a bun and began to slather it with butter and jam. His manners were slipshod at best, but Anne liked him. His connection with Frederick, criminal though it may be, made her sympathetic to him. That aside, he was genuine, and she did not feel the need to hold herself apart with a wall of respectability. She took a bun from its plate and began to spread it neatly it with butter and jam.

"--so I met him after the ship had been given to another for the second time. For the life of me, I cannot understand why the Navy keeps dangling that same ship before the Captain's nose and then jerking it away. Laconia is a very fine ship and she needs a fine officer at her helm."

"Perhaps they do not consider Frederick suitable to the task."

Harville paused and looked at her with a faint smile on his lips. He spread another bun with butter. "No, you could think that if it happens once. Either they think you unprofessional and change their tack, or they find an exalted nephew or son-in-law needs to be kept busy. No, if it happens twice, there is a puppet master involved. Someone is toying with the Captain and that's a fact."

If Frederick had indeed cast off all morality for the life of a smuggler, this would likely be the cause. His self-confidence had always been towering and she was sure he would see this as premeditated harassment; a scheme formulated to keep him from his fondest desire. He was fully intelligent enough to exact his revenge by using his formidable skills to harass them in return. This was likely the case, if, he was indeed smuggling.

Harville stuffed the last of the bun in his mouth and washed it down with the last of his tea. He tried the pot and found it empty. "I am a beggarly fellow, Miss. I have spent all I had on this feast and now we are at the end of it. I'm sure you're used to much better."

It was refreshing to have such a cheerful companion. The man's self-deprecation was filled with such honesty and lack of embarrassment. It was impossible to be embarrassed by or disappointed with him. "I am used to lavish tea accompanied by very dreadful company, sir. So, I assure you that to have a modest tea and wonderful company is a treat." The man actually blushed! He jiggled his cup so it scraped in the saucer. Anne Elliot had never, in her life, embarrassed a man. She found she enjoyed it.

It was clear she had confused the man horribly and it was her unpleasant responsibility to bring things back to the essentials. "Now that you have seen to my bodily needs, sir, I wish you to relieve my mind. How is Frederick?"

The swiftness with which Harville changed from awkwardness to worry was astonishing. "I had hoped he was here, in Dublin. With you." They stared at one another as the shop business clattered on around them.

It now was Harville who brought them to the essentials. "I have been here since early this morning. Your visit from Lieutenant MacMurphy had me a bit concerned. Now that I know Frederick is nowhere to be found, I am plain worried."

"You have been spying on me."

"In a manner of speaking, yes. I remembered the name Dalrymple from the ship and found the house last night when I arrived in town."

"How did you know that house in particular was our cousin's house?"

"Miss Anne, there is not much that can't be discovered with a few well phrased questions." Considering her experience of that morning, she had to agree.

"And a bit of monetary inducement?"

He glanced at the leavings of their feast. "Yes, that too. I spent nearly my last farthing at the Keystone waiting at for Frederick. After spending my very last on inducements here, I know that you arrived at the house the morning before yesterday. Which explains his missing me the first three days, but now he's two days longer missing. I am curious, what took the two of you so long to travel from our landing point on the beach and Dublin?"

He must have asked many well-phrased questions to know precisely when she had arrived and that the Navy was at the home of the viscountess. It was his current question, which disturbed her. "It was my doing. I fell ill. We were offered shelter with a family in return for Frederick's help."

Harville's expression lightened. "And what was this help?"

"An older man was finishing a room he'd added on to their cottage and he asked that Frederick would help him to paint and plaster." He was smiling wider as she explained. She suspected he would have something snide to say about Frederick's skills as a carpenter.

"Painting he is very familiar with. And I'm sure he was an expert with the plastering by the end of the first hour. He's like that you know. One of those insufferable people who are able to pick up the fine points of practically anything with great ease, while the rest of us fumble and make a dismal hash of it all. Really annoying it can be." He gathered some of the crumbs from the buns on his finger and ate them.

Anne smiled. "You are right. I was shown the room and it did look skilfully done. That being the case, I'm not sure why the old man--his name was Tomas--was always sniping at Frederick."

Harville leant back. "No one likes a show-off." He leant forward. "Not that the Captain is a peacock really, but he is glad for you to … quietly admire his accomplishments. And they are many." His smile faded. "Please think, did he say anything about going anywhere before meeting me?"

"No, he said nothing about his plans after letting me down at my cousin's. I assumed he would meet with you as planned. Particularly as he was past the appointed time."

"Well then, I have no choice but to follow the path he likely took back to the cottage." He looked at Anne. "I am reluctant to leave such good company, Miss Anne, but if you will please tell me how to get to this cottage, I can be on my way." He pulled a watch from his pocket and looked at the time.

The thought of being alone once more was disheartening. The thought of being ignorant of Frederick's whereabouts was unacceptable. "I am sorry, Mr Harville, but I really can't say where it was. I don't remember."

Harville examined her for a moment. A gentleman passing stumbled into the Commander's chair and apologised. When all the falderal was finished, Harville resumed the examination. Finally, he said, "You are a clever woman, Miss Anne, else the Captain would not be so interested in you. I am not certain you are truly unaware of the location of the cottage, or whether you are manoeuvring me into taking you with me."

Anne was delighted that the man was so intelligent, but she did not like the waste of time it would take to convince him to take her with him. " I was not paying attention as we went. It is off the main road and there were lots of little turns and such in the path leading away. It is not like telling you how to get to the grocer on the high street, sir." She waited for him to yield.

He rose suddenly, pushing his chair in the way of a matron passing. She glared and he apologised. "I must find transport for us." He took his hat from the table and left her.

Again, she wished for her purse. A girl came and removed the teapot and plates. "We could really use the table, dear." She leant down close so that others could not hear. She likely felt badly making Anne move on and go back into the cold dampness.

Once outside, Anne stood away from the door so she'd not be shoo'd away. As luck would have it, a soft breeze was beginning to stiffen into wind. Thinking to keep herself warm, and to have a view of Commander Harville when he returned, Anne began to walk up the street. It was not long before she saw him, driving a rather unwieldy farm wagon. It was a larger version of the pony cart in which she'd arrived. On closer inspection when he drew up to the kerb, she saw it filled with loose hay. All she could hope was that there were no mice taking refuge in its depths.

He dismounted and handed her up. Anne situated herself, and said, "You are very quick. I expected it to take some time as you have no money."

"Walk on. Dublin is full of men of the sea, Miss, and men of the sea are glad to help one another out when needed. Besides, as you might have observed, the horse is not much to look at and the cart itself is appallingly old, but they will do the trick for our purposes." He brought the cart to a pause to allow a woman and several children to cross. A hostile call from behind brought only a glance back and a laconical wave on his part. "Do you recall which way you came into town?"

Anne thought she should remember something so simple as that. It then began to eat at her that she might not remember the way at all. "We turned right off the main street, into the alleyway behind the house. I'm afraid that's all I remember."

Harville thought, but did not seem in any way perturbed. He made a few turns through other alleyways and streets packed with businesses and people. Soon they were driving out of Dublin on a road that seemed to Anne to be familiar. She was impressed with his abilities to navigate, and she said as much. "Thank you, Miss. It's what they pay me for. When they pay me." They rode on for a while, each quiet and thinking their own thoughts.

It had been some time before they spoke again. "It would be a shame if it turns out you and Fred--the Captain missed one another as you walked to Dublin."

"Ah, no chance of that." He turned to look back. "We made a survey of the area. There is too much at stake for blunders like that." His hand slipped into his coat for just an instant. "We agreed ahead of time the routes we would take. I did not miss him. I am persuaded that once he returned to it, he never left the cottage."

She grew cold. "And why do you think this?" In her mind, she had imagined him returning the horse and cart and going on to meeting Harville. This new idea disturbed her greatly.

He shifted in his seat and leant forward on his knees. "I don't like the sound of any of it. Miss Anne, nearly every man, woman, and child living along the coast are up to their necks in the smuggling business. Those not actively taking goods from ships are quite amenable to striking signal fires to aide those who are. They also do not hesitate to go down to the water to unload for those coming ashore. The ground about their homes is riddled with hides so that they might keep the goods out of sight until they can be moved. The idea that people would, out of the goodness of their hearts, offer strangers shelter is… suspicious."

Harville's expression was distressing. Moreover, with Harville's observation, the memory of the conversation she and Frederick had about Aine's fine dishes and silver took on a new and ominous meaning. She told Harville what they had discussed and described some of the other incongruities of the cottage. The Commander listened, asking a few questions now and then. Nothing was said for some time.

Anne was discouraged. When she had come earlier in the week, Frederick's presence was a great distraction, and now, without him, the road was nondescript fields on one side, and substantial, wild hedges on the other. She had no notion of how long they had been journeying, and was about to admit to the commander she was lost. Before she spoke, she noticed several small birds gathered on a pile of stones piled just to the side of a path that cut through the bushes.

It was not her practice normally to look for signs. Nevertheless, the road spread out like a hard grey ribbon before them and there was no telling if they would come across another path any time soon. The industrious birds might very well be pecking on the marker telling them in the direction they should go. "This may be it, sir."

He pulled the cart to a stop. "Maybe be. You are not certain."

"Not really." She couldn't look at him and admit this.

He said nothing. The birds scattered and the wagon groaned as he veered off the main road onto a path cut into a patch of bare bushes. The spindly branches reached out and made the ride less than pleasant. This annoyance seemed familiar, but Anne wondered if this was more from hope than fact.

She started to again apologise for what was perhaps a wild goose chase, when he put his finger to his lips. He pulled the horse to a stop and looked back at the road. A man riding a large brown horse passed by the entrance. He did not look down the path. They were safe and the man seemed completely ignorant of the path and them.

Harville sat thinking. Anne was afraid to speak. He jumped down from the wagon and walked the path towards the road. He stopped short and listened. He returned and mounted the wagon. "We are being followed," he said quietly. "I will wager that riding that fine bay mare was our friend, MacMurphy. Several fellows have passed along after. I suspect they are Marines in disguise."

"You know the lieutenant?" Anne too looked to the road.

"Only by sight. And reputation. He's a clever boy, and if his father has his way, he'll be First Lord one day."

"By his own admission he will never be."

"Smart lad. He's right about that. But he's not right in any bad opinion he may hold of the Captain." Harville continued to sit and occasionally look back down the path. "I'm sure he's seen us and is just waiting to make his move." He flicked the reins. "I'll find a place to turn around. We can't lead the Navy to the Captain. Besides, when it starts to pour, you should not be out." The cart jerked to start.

They rode on for some time, far enough that when she looked back she could no longer see the road. They had still found no place wide enough to turn the wagon and Anne touched Harville's arm. "I understand what you were trying to tell me about the people around here, and how dangerous they can be. If Frederick is at the cottage, and things are as desperate as you fear, would it not be good to have … reinforcements?" She hated the idea that Frederick could be in such dire straits that the help of those commissioned with his capture was necessary. However, she could easily believe that Tomas and Cavan were either actively smuggling, or were playing an essential part in the web of accomplices Harville had described. She said a little prayer that Aine, her baby, and Cavan's little girls were out of harm's way.

He pulled the wagon to a stop and said nothing. They sat for some time as Harville evidently weighed the alternatives. Anne pulled the cloak close against the amplifying wind. After a few minutes, Harville handed her the reins and jumped from the wagon. "If I don't return soon, walk up to the road and head back to town. I'll keep a watch out for you." He touched his hat and started up the path.

If Harville did not return, to expect her to walk back to Dublin, unescorted, was foolhardy. The dangers to a woman alone abounded. In addition, what could it possibly mean that he would keep a watch out for her? Suddenly, Anne understood and manoeuvred her way down from the seat. She walked quickly at first, but tiny drops of rain warned her that it was not quickly enough. She picked up her skirt and ran.

As she came around a small bend in the path, and saw him. "Commander Harville." He turned and waited for her. She spoke though out of breath. "Let me go and summon the lieutenant." She took a few deep breaths.

He steadied her. "You're in this far enough as it is. No sense in MacMurphy thinking you're one of the gang."

"But you suspect he will take you captive, leaving me. And Frederick."

"I'm sure he's got a writ with my name on it. I know I'm not much to look at, but I'd make a tidy trophy for him to fetch back in hopes I would peach on my friend. He knows we've been in this together, and have my own uses." He again reached into his coat pocket, handling something therein. "Besides, there is nothing saying he may not be looking for you and would be quite happy to take you in his custody. Leaving me and the Captain."

Anne felt up to the task now. "I am not one of those he is commissioned to seize. Besides, in just the same way you were watching me, it seems clear he has been watching the both of us. He knows we are up to something. Moreover, if he would be satisfied with you as a tidy trophy, me meeting him at the road will likely raise his curiosity and entice him down this path. As you said, I am in so far now, I may as well go farther still?" The thought of being "one of the gang," was not unappealing as the situation unfolded.

Harville smiled. "You get him to me. I am sure I can persuade him to follow the rest of the way." He turned and headed to the wagon.

Part 14

Anne started for the road. There were several things she might say to pique the lieutenant's interest, but nothing sounded terribly convincing. She was also consumed with doubts about the direction they were going. Would she be able to lead the men and wagon to the cottage, or was this a fruitless endeavour? Her shoes slipped on the sand covered path, jarring her teeth. She slowed a bit and concentrated on her steps. In due time, she had faith; solutions for the other troubles would come.

She stopped just a few feet short of the road. Once she made herself known by stepping onto the roadway, events would be set in motion that could never be undone. For good or for evil, I shall do my part in finding Frederick, she thought as she stepped around the scraggly, bare bushes. But no one resembling Lieutenant MacMurphy was to be seen.

"Ahoy, Miss Anne Elliot!"

The familiar voice startled Anne and she turned towards it without thinking. The lieutenant urged his horse closer. He and his fine bay stood immediately before her, looking down at her. "Out for a bit of an invigorating walk are you?" A gust of wind punctuated his question.

She held her cloak close. "Come, sir, let us not play games. I am no more out for a bit of a walk than you are out for a bit of a ride."

Another gust of wind through the bushes sent a small flight of birds into the air, upsetting the horse. MacMurphy wound the reins around his hand, and wrestled the horse into submission. When he was in control, he smiled and leant on the pommel of his saddle. "Suppose I were to tell you that I have come to take you back to town?" He felt close enough to reach out and touch her.

She looked into his eyes but his casual nature made it impossible to judge whether he was serious or playing a game with her. The time was short and they had no time for amusing exchanges. In addition, there was no time for some sort of misguided, valiant rescue. "I doubt that very much. I suspect we have both come looking for the same thing."

The mist was beginning to turn into a light spray. "You have nothing to say about me taking you back to town." He glanced up to the sky and back to her. "Which might not be a bad idea." He raised a brow. The horse suddenly took several high steps. "You…" MacMurphy said gaining control again. He looked back to Anne. "You and this brute have much in common, Miss Anne Elliot."

"And what would that be?"

"You are both quite tenacious, I think."

His attempts to be ingratiating suddenly exhausted Anne. The last days had been more gruelling than she realised. She looked up to MacMurphy. "I am nothing of the sort. In the past few days, I have endured many things I could never have dreamt except in nightmares. At this moment, all I care about is finding my friend." To call Frederick Wentworth her friend was to purposely give the lieutenant the wrong idea. However, there was really no other word to describe their relationship that would not give false impressions to the man, and perhaps, to herself.

He straightened and turned his attention to the horse. It nickered and he spoke quietly to it. Again, he straightened and stared at her for a moment. "Your answer indicates you will not cooperate. And to that I have to say there is nothing stopping me you know. Once I see you safely back with your family, I can return later and search this entire area more thoroughly."

His insistence on this line of conversation was exasperating and she was done with it. "I refuse to go back." She turned to leave.

Before Anne knew what was happening, MacMurphy was off his horse, standing immediately before her. His smile never wavered. In his grey eyes she saw a sort of mirth, but deeper there was an iron resolve to have his own way. She had seen this expression before in shades of hazel. "Miss Anne Elliot, there is nothing to prevent me from calling the men accompanying me, putting you in that saddle, and taking you back to Dublin. Nothing. At. All."

He raised his hand and in almost an instant six men--one of them being Mr Foley--were standing in two tidy rows before them. "As you can see, I too am more than able to serve up an ultimatum." He stepped back, and bowed to her. When he rose, he said, "But, fortunately, I am persuaded this little walk may be profitable for us both, Miss Anne Elliot." He made another signal to the men and they parted. He reached around her, took the reins of his horse, and started down the path. He turned back. "Will you join me, Ma'am?"

The situation was now in the hands of MacMurphy. He had taken over with an ease that took her breath away. She had no choice but to join him.

His long stride made keeping up difficult, but Anne was determined to keep silent and manage as best she could. When she again slipped on the sandy path, he noticed and offered his arm. She reluctantly accepted. His offer almost guaranteed she would not make a fool of herself by falling, but his discernment annoyed her. They proceeded and he slowed his pace. Once they were in unison, he said, "I suspect your father is completely ignorant of what you are up to."

Anne could not decide if it was the man's accuracy or his impertinence that irritated her most. She remained silent hoping to stifle his conversation. "You are obviously indifferent to your family's objections to Wentworth," he said. It was clear he was not one to take a hint. "Your risking the approbation of your of your father, in particular, makes me think you are more than friends with the Frederick Wentworth."

There was much more than shallow cleverness to Lieutenant MacMurphy. Aside from his good manners, there was his grasp of her family situation. In all, it was the man's uncanny ability to comprehend her feelings for Frederick made Anne the most uncomfortable. Instead of speaking and risking giving him more information, she listened to the wind, the heavy footfall of the horse, and the muffled sound of the men walking on the sandy track.

In the past, silence had not stopped him speculating. Anne knew if she did not answer soon she would have to endure more of his painfully accurate inferences. She decided to give him a little of the truth. "The Captain and I were close once. He was a commander then."

"I thought as much. Your father's explosion at the mention of his name was a dead give away that there was more than an acquaintance between him and the family."

Anne felt the blood drain from her face. How could she keep the exact nature of the relationship private? Fearing MacMurphy might see her reaction, she looked off into the brush along the path. "As you heard," she said, "he did not approve. Though, it took my godmother to persuade me to end the relationship completely."

"Ah," was all he said.

She immediately knew that she'd given more history than was safe. Thankfully, his response offered no more conjecture, and invited nothing more from her. She looked at the clouds. They were less sullen than when she had set out, and it seemed the wind was lessening.

At last he broke the silence. "Perhaps you can help me understand godmothers," This change in the conversation's tack was jarring, but welcome. "Are they chosen particularly for their interfering nature, or is it a quality that comes after years of practise?" Anne noticed that MacMurphy took care that neither she nor his horse caught a foot on a large stone jutting into the pathway.

Again, she wondered if he was serious or not. It was possible he was making conversation meant to be clever and to fill the silence, or it might be he was genuinely interested in her opinion. She looked at him and he too was studying the scenery. "I don't know," she said. "A little of both might answer." This sort of conversation between them was too easy and light to be part of his investigation she decided. In another time, under different circumstances, she would have enjoyed the company of Lieutenant Daniel MacMurphy very much.

"I was a bit chagrined when mine referred to me as 'dear' this morning. It is embarrassing that even when she knows I am on official business, she takes it upon herself to at least hint at our connection."

Anne had not noticed at the time, but she understood that a woman like Lady Dalrymple could be grating for a man endeavouring to climb high in his profession. "You can be grateful she did not pinch your cheeks and tell embarrassing stories of your childhood," Anne said.

He laughed. "True. Does yours do that."

"Not really. She merely reminds me of all my missteps in life."

"Ah, a joy I'm sure. When I was first put in the Navy, I was an arrogant little midshipman. Once, when she made a very public fuss over me, I took it upon myself to express my incandescent displeasure. She took it quietly, but it did hurt her. I understood later that she was only expressing her pride in me. They only want the best for us, I suppose."

His observation was one she had made herself concerning Lady Russell and her intervention. When they came around the little bend, Harville was in view, leaning against the wagon. Fortunately, there would be no reason for her and the Lieutenant to trade any more family stories.

MacMurphy stopped. He did not release her hand that she might advance. "Now that we have met up with your friend, I must ask, Miss Anne Elliot, why should I believe this is not an ambush? How can I be certain you and the Commander there are not planning harm to me and my men?"

His question erased all the pleasant banter of the past moments. However, it was a fair question considering what Commander Harville had said about those involved in the smuggling trade. She turned and looked him fully, eye-to-eye. "As you said, I am more than an acquaintance with Captain Wentworth. I think … the Commander and I think he may be in danger."

"So, you need me and my men in case something goes terribly wrong."

"Yes."

He motioned Foley to join him. "Please stay here until I call for you, Miss Anne Elliot." He nodded to the man and they moved on towards Harville. MacMurphy stopped and quickly leaned close to her. "If Wentworth does not kneel down and kiss your hand for rescuing him from whatever mischief he's gotten himself into, slap him. Very hard." He turned away before she could speak.

She watched as Harville came forward and met the men. The Commander's guarded manner exhibited none of the openness of his meeting with Anne. That was not unexpected, she reasoned. There was nothing to fear from a lone woman, and one he knew to be connected to his friend at that. In just a few minutes it was clear there was little trust between the two men and that their introduction was quickly sinking into outright hostility.

Anne took a step, intending to mediate between them, but a hand stopped her. "The lieutenant said to stay put, Ma'am." She turned to look and the man removed his hand from her arm.

"MacMurphy!" It was Harville's voice. Anne turned back to see that the lieutenant was walking away from the Commander, but had stopped when called. Harville removed a small book from his pocket and held it out.

The Lieutenant nodded to Foley, who took the book and handed it over to MacMurphy. He opened it, took a few moments to glance over its contents. He handed it to Foley for his inspection. They conferred and MacMurphy almost instantly looked to Anne, and motioned her to join them. Foley pocketed the book as she drew near. "We are moving out to find this cottage you spoke of, Miss Anne. Your friend here has convinced me that it will be more than worth our while."

Harville was instantly by her side He escorted her to the wagon, and saw her seated. He climbed up beside her, and as he straightened the reins, under his breath, said, "He's going to kill me."

She was about to ask what he meant when MacMurphy joined them. "No monkey business, Commander, you are in my custody now." He touched his hat and nodded to Anne. "Yes, you are." With that, he knocked on the side of the wagon's seat and walked away to rejoin his men.

Harville slapped the reins and the horse pulled against his load. "Aye," he called back. "I expected as much." To her, he said, "If the Captain were not such a good friend to me, I would wish we do not find him."

Thoughts of Frederick helpless and alone filled her mind. "Why is that?" Anne asked, a little fearfully.

"Because," Harville murmured, "I just gave away everything we've worked so hard to attain."

Anne thought it ironic that he had used what was likely his own disguise in such a careless manner. She looked to the left and to the right. There was nothing distinctive about any of their surroundings and it was useless to continue the obfuscation. "One moment, I think so; the next, not so much." Exasperated, she pushed a large, scraggly branch out of her face. As she tried to keep it from striking the Commander, the wagon hit a rut and bounced. There was no stopping the forward momentum and they broke into a clearing.

In the clearing stood a small, nondescript cottage. "This is it," she declared. Impulsively, she stood. She grabbed the back of the seat to keep from falling as she said, "I remember when Frederick carried me to into the yard, two men were chopping wood."

Scattered around the enclosure were large sections of tree trunks and large, gnarled limbs. The drag marks around them were not fresh, likely having seen several seasons of rain. There was little evidence of any industry other than from necessity. Many hearth-sized pieces lay rotting into the soft green grass.

MacMurphy came alongside the wagon. "Miss Anne, please wait." He dismounted and started towards the cottage.

Anne ignored his order. "Please help me, Commander."

"I think he's right on this."

She gave him such a look that he complied. She made her way around obstacles in the yard as they went to the cottage, but stopped short of the doorway. "He put me here, on this bench. And he brought me water from around there." She pointed to the side of the house.

MacMurphy turned when he heard her voice. "What I said earlier about your similarities to my horse still applies, Miss Anne." He nodded for a man to go around the side of the house.

Foley did so and soon returned, smiling. "There's a bucket catchin' rain water. Someone's been weaving wattle back here. Holds with the story about plasterin'. Best thing, Sir, there's a hide. Empty, not used for an age, but a hide none the less."

The Lieutenant signalled the men to search the area. He joined Anne and Harville before the door of the cottage. "It's uninhabited I believe. The windows are covered. But, we've been making enough noise out here to waken the dead and considering the suspicious nature of these people, someone would have come out to see what's up." He walked to the door and pushed it open. He looked back. "It seems we needn't worry about interrupting anyone." He walked in.

Anne was glad for Harville's arm as they walked slowly through the door.

As they entered into the darkness, she thought of the room's past warmth and the days she shared with Frederick. There was none of that now. Though the door had been ajar, the smell of the place was rank with the smells of tobacco, food, and sweat.

There was no longer any order to the place. Scattered around an overturned cupboard were several of the work bowls and utensils she had used to help prepare the Christmas dinner. Several others were broken, their pieces scattered amongst the fine linens Aine had used on the table. As they came more fully into the room, she realised the floor was littered with hard and soft bits. She chose not to look down. The table itself was bare of any cloth or napkins, but was strewn with dishes and glasses; a few broken; and serving dishes. Many still held bits of dried food.

"This is all a few days old. Funny that the rats haven't gotten to it." Anne jumped when MacMurphy pushed a plate and it upset a glass of beer. The initial shattering of the glass shot through the empty place like a hammer's blow.

"The place wasn't so dark before." She said it to herself with no expectation that anyone was listening to her.

A tapping noise drew their attention to MacMurphy. "The windows are shuttered on the inside, to keep anyone from sneaking a look." He flipped the latch and pushed the shutters open. The sudden burst of light exposed more chaos than first thought.

MacMurphy stepped away from the window and noticed the stairs to the loft. He motioned two men to go up. A bare branch vigorously rapped on the window, startling all three of them. "A lot could happen inside a place like this." The lieutenant looked around some more.

Anne thought it heartless, as he knew she hoped to find Frederick, or some clue to his whereabouts. "Do you say this to frighten me?"

He looked apologetic. "No, Miss, I say it to warn you. To prepare us all." He walked to the mantle and looked at the clock. It had run down. "The place is full of smuggled goods. The fine china--oh, the silver is missing--the crystal, this clock is London made. Some of the fabrics are foreign and costly. Did you notice this during your time here, Miss Anne?"

"I did. Captain Wentworth and I discussed this on our way to Dublin."

"Speaking of him, I see no traces of his ever being here."

"Maybe this will tell us something." Harville was standing at the entry of the new room.

Anne and MacMurphy joined him. The room was smashed up terribly. Several jagged holes in the plaster stood in sharp relief to the white paint. A chair was broken and the pieces spread over the floor. The rough-hewn wood mingled with a man's coat, pants, and stockings. She recognised them instantly.

Anne shrugged by the men and picked up a black kerchief tied in a large knot. "These things are Frederick's, aren't they Commander?"

Harville and MacMurphy crossed the threshold and joined her. Harville reached for kerchief, but Anne held it back. "Aye, we wore black. Sailors don't care for black all that much. Unless it's the colour signifying their ship." He turned to MacMurphy and they began to speak. Anne turned away and looked over the room.

She recalled Frederick showing her the space. Now that she'd spoken to Harville, she understood his desire for admiration. This was the work of his hands, ruined by the hands of others. She was greatly disturbed by his clothing; on closer view, everything was torn and completely ruined. They were stained as well. She set her mind to finding him and not speculating any further about that.

The soldiers seemed to have multiplied and it seemed they were everywhere, stamping, and searching, but all they accomplished was to disturb the tomblike atmosphere. She gradually realised the MacMurphy and Harville's voices were growing louder, making it difficult to concentrate.

MacMurphy was ready to quit the place saying there was no sense wasting more time at the cottage. He was determined to return to Dublin. Harville was for pushing onto the inn where they had planned to meet.

Neither was right, of that she was sure. The cottage was the key to finding Frederick. She turned away and examined the mantle. There were two tankards set on it, as were a trowel and paintbrush. It was then she realised there was no longer a gaping space destined to become a closet. The continuous white wall now joined the mantle. The room was now complete.

Frederick had completed the room.

Anne clutched the kerchief and felt a chill engulf her. "I know where he is," she called to them. "The woman living here said they would make a closet in which to store troublesome household things. I thought it strange at the time." She looked from one to the other.

The men went to the mantle. "I am afraid I can't believe that, Miss Anne. It is too…"

"Barbaric," Harville finished the thought. "But listen." He tapped lower and lower on the all. "There is something in there."

Harville was feeling the wall with his palm of his hand. "I am no expert, but this paint is fresh. As there's been no fire, it's still a bit damp. And see here," he pointed. "This joint is badly finished. Someone did this in a hurry, Lieutenant."

MacMurphy's expression was thoughtful, as Anne had come to know it. "You there," he ordered. "Break down this wall!"

Harville stood back with Anne as the soldiers began to beat the wall to pieces. "Take some care, fellows!" MacMurphy said. "He's navy but we want him in one piece." He looked to Anne and Harville. "Perhaps, Miss Anne Elliot, you should step into the other room."

"Ho, there somethin' here!"

The plaster was coming away in great bits now. Anne was horrified to see her dear Frederick, bound, nearly naked, and unconscious, slumped in the bottom of the wall. Anne stayed out of the way until his head lolled to one side and she saw his battered face. She wrenched away from Harville and went to him.

She knew there were men around her, lifting him gently out of his prison, but she saw none of them. It was only a few steps to a clear place where he might be laid, but in those few seconds, she had her cloak off for a covering. In her nervousness, she unknotted his kerchief and now called for water. His face was a mass of dried blood and bruises. She was loath to put the filthy thing on him, but daubed at them anyway. She heard the Lieutenant call for a basin of water and blankets.

The men murmured amongst themselves. Anne heard their words of pity and dread, but she would not allow herself to accept them. She vowed she would not cry before them as she knelt over Frederick's unmoving frame. Nothing she did brought a response. Hope and despair mingled in her prayers. Her lips touched his. "Please, God, please." She held her own breath, waiting to feel the slightest touch of his.

Part 15

Posted on: 2010-03-10

From the last post: The men murmured amongst themselves. Anne heard their words of pity and dread, but she would not allow herself to accept them. She vowed she would not cry before them as she knelt over Frederick's unmoving frame. Nothing she did brought a response. Hope and despair mingled in her prayers. Her lips touched his. "Please, God, please." She held her own breath, waiting to feel the slightest touch of his.

Anne closed her eyes. Frederick's skin was cold. His beard chaffed her cheek. She could feel movement around her as someone covered Frederick and tucked the blankets underneath him. A basin of water clanged out of tune when it was set beside her. She made no effort to use it. MacMurphy ordered men to prepare the wagon to receive the captain. Anne thought his tone lacked the energy of their earlier exchanges. He was preparing to recover a body, not bring home the wounded.

Frederick's lips moved slightly.

She said nothing and waited for more. Nothing. She wondered if she'd imagined it.

His lips moved again, his warm breath touched her lips.

"He breathes," she whispered. No one had noticed.

He then coughed and opened his eyes for an instant. At that, everyone began to move. There was shouting, unintentional jostling, and the sound of feet running.

Frederick looked directly into her eyes but there was no recognition. Instantly, they closed.

"Frederick!" She touched his still cold cheeks and cried his name again. A strong hand took her arm and helped her to her feet. "We must get him in the wagon and make for town, Miss Anne." She looked first into Lieutenant MacMurphy's eyes, and then down at his arm. He was taking her away from Frederick. It would of course be for her own good.

Something brushed her skirts. Foley and another large man were placing Frederick on a dirty mattress, to bear him to the wagon she supposed. She had no choice but to be separated from him. Without thinking further, she took the Lieutenant's arm.

She stopped and watched as they hoisted Frederick into the back of the wagon. She broke free from MacMurphy, "Please be careful." She gripped the side of the wagon wishing she had the strength to do it herself. Harville was in the wagon overseeing the process and assured her he would care for the Captain as he would his own child.

When Frederick was settled, MacMurphy said, "Let me see you seated and we can be off."

Anne turned away. "No, Lieutenant, I will ride with Frederick." She asked that Harville would assist her into the wagon.

Harville knelt and leant close to her. "Miss, I think it would be best that you ride in the seat. I'll tend him." He paused and glance at Wentworth. "He's in pretty rough shape." He then glanced at MacMurphy.

She looked to each of them. "I know he may not even survive the trip. If he does not, I should be with him." Instead of looking to them, she looked at Frederick's bare foot. She was able to reach the blanket and cover him. By acknowledging her worst fear, she revealed her greatest desire as well.

The gentlemen said nothing. Harville held out a hand and MacMurphy lifted her.

The journey was dreadful. She thanked God Frederick was unconscious as the old wagon rocked so much it made it difficult to remain kneeling and not fall on him. Between the rutted road and lack of springs, every rock and dip jolted them with great energy.

As they made their way along, the misty rain became a drizzle. Anne hunched over Frederick and held her cloak over his face. Every few minutes she would raise it for cool, fresh air. Their closeness brought delightful warmth, but the smells of mouldy hay and sweat sickened her. She glanced to the front of the wagon and was grateful the Commander was occupied with driving. The only one who could view them was MacMurphy, but he seemed to be politely ignoring the wagon altogether.

Anne settled back under cloak. She was grateful that in the dim light she could not clearly see his battered face. This did nothing to reduce the memories of what she had seen earlier. His brown hair was matted with dried blood. One side of his face; from his forehead, down past his eye, and including his cheek; was a massive bruise. Both his upper and lower lips were bloodied. She dreaded seeing what other injuries he might have sustained.

She admonished herself to think on other, better things and to leave the unknown to the future. If he would again open his eyes, she was sure he would recognise her. It was her hope that his knowing she was caring for him would encourage him to live. It was a foolish thought, for she knew he would not give over to death gently in or out of her presence. The dirty dishes strewn about the table indicated there had been many against him. She knew by his injuries, seen and unseen, that the struggle over the past days had been great.

Again, she pushed aside the morbid thoughts and tried to think on pleasanter things.

"I remember that summer. It did not rain, not once. It was good for the haying that year. Do you remember the smell of the fresh cut grass? You had never smelt it before. After you told me so many things of your life at sea, it meant a great deal that I could teach you something for once."

The prattle was ridiculous. It was doubtful that he would remember the scent of hay from that summer, or care a pin's worth about how freshly cut grass smelt on a hot summer evening. In the circumstance, Anne didn't either. All she cared about was that they were together now. It seemed important that she would use this scrap of time to speak her heart without regard to the presence of the men, Frederick's injuries, or her own reluctance.

She lifted the cloak for a good long breath of cool air. She shifted round so that she was closer to his face. "I still love you, Frederick. I once thought that I would surely go on to love someone else. Recently, a nice young man, a very eligible man proposed. He would even have been acceptable in the eyes of my family. Without any thought, I refused him. That is when I realised I still love you."

There was no response from Frederick; nothing to indicate that he heard her confession. Her words now were for herself as much as for him. "Our love is not the sort that will allow for a normal life even when we are apart. I suspect you have found that it prevents one from loving again even if you wish to." She thought about Charles Musgrove. "He seemed to take my rejection well, but I've been told he was hurt." Anne paused. "I don't want you to think I am vain, but he is very kind and deserves a wife who will love him properly. Not one disinterested in every man save one."

Of course, Anne had never spoken of her love for Frederick aloud. Since her refusing Musgrove, she had thought of little else. It had been her hope that travelling to Dublin would be a pleasant diversion. The irony of the trip bringing them together once more, and now, giving her an opportunity to declare her heart was not lost on her. "You know, Captain, if this was a sentimental novel, you would now awaken, having heard all I've said and, we would be reconciled with joy and tender kisses."

He did not move. He made no sound. This was not a novel, and there would be no kisses, and joy was very far off.

Anne's eyes stung and she wished intensely to give into the tears. However, she could not allow herself such luxury. She was revolving a plan to see to his care personally. This meant planning her strategy and her arguments to counter the objections.

There was no knowing how long she plotted. It was a surprise when the wagon jolted and stopped. She pulled back the cloak and looked around. They were in the alleyway behind Lady Dalrymple's house. A servant girl became frightened by the number of armed men and ran into the house, slamming the door. The curtains in all the kitchen windows began to move.

The lieutenant rode up alongside the wagon and then dismounted. "I thought it best that we come in this way. There is no reason to further upset my godmother." He came to the back of the wagon and offered a hand.

Anne allowed him to lift her down. "Where are you taking Frederick?"

"There is no hospital that I would trust, so I shall see that he is taken to an inn and cared for by a local surgeon."

"Lieutenant MacMurphy, I have a request of you."

He had been removing his gloves, and now took them in one hand and tapped the side of his leg. He was clearly eager to be off. Her appeal made him smiled. "And how may I serve you, Miss Anne Elliot?"

"I wish for you to go inside and speak with Lady Dalrymple, asking if I might nurse Captain Wentworth here, in her house." She had counted on his being eager to be of use. It was unfair to use his sympathy for her, but such a large favour would oblige her deeply to him. They were, at this point, equally mixed in their motives. The events of the last few days taught her that life's circumstances were rarely about purity, but a blend of untidy desires that occasionally produced something noble.

MacMurphy's brows raised and his eyes widened. "That is quite a request, Miss Anne." He stepped back and took care to straighten the reins of his horse's bridle.

"It is quite a lot to ask, but I want to know that he is being cared for in the best possible manner. I want to care for him myself."

A faint smile played on MacMurphy's lips. "I am not surprised by this. But, I have to say, Miss Elliot, I cannot guarantee that my godmother will be eager to extend a good deed of this magnitude." He removed his hat and scratched his head. "She is a kind woman, to an extent. But taking in a wounded man not of the family…"

He wished her to beg. She would if she must. "You are quite capable of persuading her, I think. Please try."

Commander Harville joined them. "I'll join you, Lieutenant. I may not be Irish, but blarney is a specialty of mine." He smiled at Anne and awaited MacMurphy's reply.

MacMurphy handed the reins to one of his men. "I shall go in and speak with Lady Dalrymple. I will appreciate your assistance, Commander, I am sure." He touched his hat to her. Anne was certain she heard the faint whinnying of a horse as he passed by.

The book slipped from her fingers, bringing Anne fully awake. "Sorry to startle you. I didn't want it to fall." The voice was familiar and when she opened her eyes, Frederick knelt before her. His blue and gold uniform shone even in the dim light of the sick room. He was holding out her book to her.

Her hands shook as she took it and her voice cracked as she said, "Thank you so much."

Such a vapid response was ridiculous. She should throw the book and launch herself into his arms. He was alive! She was about to ask from where the uniform had come when she realised it was Lieutenant MacMurphy who had rescued her book. Her disappointment was severe and she could not feign otherwise. "Oh, Lieutenant MacMurphy, thank you."

He noticed her change of expression and stood. "Glad to be of service." He turned towards Wentworth. "How is our patient today?" MacMurphy had come for a short visit each of the three days since their being situated in the makeshift sickroom. It was now the third full day since the rescue and she told him there was no change in Frederick's condition. "Well, that is quite rude of the man. As I said, when he does awaken, tell him that a gentleman does not keep a beautiful woman waiting."

MacMurphy was always saying such things. She knew he wished to compliment her, but could not properly do so. He also wished to keep up her spirits and give her hope that Frederick would indeed awaken. Over the days the levity had been welcome. It helped lighten the troubling load of Frederick's remaining unconscious. Unfortunately, today, the kindness meant to ease her mind was beginning to fail.

"…though injured, I doubt I could resist the company of one so dedicated as you, Miss Anne."

The Lieutenant's kindness was drifting dangerously away from sympathy and into the realm of fawning. Fortunately for her, an answer was unnecessary as Timothy Harville entered the room, bearing a small tray. She would no longer have to engage the lieutenant in clever banter by herself. "I brought you a cup of tea." Harville nodded to MacMurphy and placed the tray on the table besides the chaise.

The Commander outranked the Lieutenant and as such was not under any obligation to treat the young man with the anything more than the barest civility. The two men's mutual respect for Frederick, and a desire to see him well, had brought them to a truce. Anne knew Harville was grateful for the help rendered in rescuing his friend, and was endeavouring to create a calm atmosphere particularly in the sick room. It was a lovely gesture on both their parts. She suspected though, that when Frederick was recovered, even for her sake, none of them would be so well-mannered.

He straightened and held out a plate to Anne. "The cook also sent a few of these small raisin cakes. She is convinced that her fresh-baked cakes will have a powerful curative affect on the Captain." He glanced toward MacMurphy. "Though, I have my suspicions about them."

The sickroom was kept dim purposely so when Frederick opened his eyes, he would not meet with a harsh light. However, this made seeing even a short distance difficult. The single candle Anne burned to read by barely illuminated the Commander's face.

She took one from the plate. "Then perhaps you should have one and see that they are fit to eat."

He smiled and did so. "Always better to err on the side of caution." He took a bite and finished it in another. Anne was amused how much the man could eat. He was the perfect companion for her vigil by Frederick's bedside. Harville acted as she imagined an older brother might, always hungry, always jesting, and like MacMurphy, always ready to give support when her spirits flagged.

They stood together in the gloom looking towards the bed. It was Harville who broke the silence. "You look tired again today, Miss Anne. I thought we agreed that you would sleep in a real bed last night."

"No, Commander, you were of the opinion that I should. I agreed to nothing."

MacMurphy cleared his throat. It sounded distinctly like a horse. Anne did not look at him, but smiled behind her hand.

Harville said, "That is a very bad habit, MacMurphy."

The two looked around the room while Harville merely looked confused. He received no enlightenment and so continued. "Will you promise me to sleep in a real bed tonight and get someone else to watch over him?" He looked at the unconscious Frederick for a moment. "He's not going anywhere. He'll be here when you get up in the morning."

Here was a large, unused attic room that was the resting place of many discarded items from the household. It had no windows of course, but did boast a tiny hearth. The bed was placed before it and the chaise, where Anne had slept the past three nights, was just a few feet from the foot of it. The room was neither spacious nor pretty but it served them well and allowed Anne all she wished: to be away from the household, and see wholly to Frederick's care.

She too looked to Frederick lying pale and quiet. The white bandage covering half his face shone in a pale light. Sleeping on the chaise, close to him, was far preferable to sleeping on the finest bed in the house. She smiled at Harville. "I will promise you nothing, Sir. He will awaken eventually and I intend to be here by his side." She left them and folded the coverlet she'd been using. "He had another nightmare earlier." She held the soft wool blanket and worried a snag.

Harville crossed his arms and looked troubled. "He's going to have those, but once he's awake, he'll learn to put them aside and live with them in a bit of peace." He glanced at MacMurphy again. "Miss Anne, you are extraordinarily loyal. And…"

"Tenacious," MacMurphy added.

Harville brightened. "Yes, that's a way to put it. My low breeding was thinking more along the lines of stubborn, but I think 'tenacious' does nicely."

Anne tossed the cover on the arm of the chaise. She was tired, and their combined antics too were wearing on her nerves. "So, Lieutenant MacMurphy, I am sure your godmother is enjoying these daily visits." It was a rather cruel diversion; the young man was forced to visit with lady Dalrymple each day when he would visit the sick room and Anne knew he enjoyed the adjunct duty less and less as time went on.

"Yes, she has. But, alas, today is the last for some time. I leave for London."

Harville made an odd sound like he was clearing his throat. He cast an angry eye towards the lieutenant and went to the fire. He jabbed a few sticks of wood amidst the already burning coals.

MacMurphy too made a noise in his throat. "You knew this was going to be the result, Commander."

"Yes, I did." He rose and faced the lieutenant. "But, we are the ones who risked the most for that information." He paused and looked the Captain. "Him more than me. And now you will be the one who takes the credit." A real gentleman could do it."

Anne stepped between them though they were not close. "Please, gentlemen, be quiet. For Frederick's sake." She looked at one and then the other.

MacMurphy turned to leave but changed his mind. "You knew the minute you handed over the notebook that it was over for you two. Besides, without approval of any superiors this escapade of yours looked like treason, and would have been treated as such. My father being so well connected, and lending his name to the scheme lends it legitimacy. If it were not for my superintending, the two of you would very well be hanged." He took hold of the door handle. He turned and nodded to Anne. "If he is not awake when I return, I will insist that other provisions are made for his care, Miss Anne." He nodded once to Harville, "Sir," And left.

The fire snapped in the room and Lieutenant MacMurphy's footsteps faded down the hallway.

"He takes entirely too much on himself." Harville knelt before the fire and began to worry it with a small iron poker.

Anne sat on the chaise. "I agree, but he does have a point."

Harville jabbed at the fire and it broke apart, but stayed in the hearth. "He glared and then said, "I know. We knew when we started it was a risk. But, we thought it was a risk worth taking, and now I see it will end with glory for the lieutenant and a few lines in a report complimenting us for our assistance. It's not right."

A noise came from the direction of the bed.

Anne rose and joined Harville at Frederick's side. "Was that him?" she asked.

Harville shrugged. "I'm not sure."

They heard the sound again, but Frederick didn't move.

Anne came closer and took his hand. "It must be him." She touched his uncovered cheek. "Frederick."

His uncovered eye opened. "Thirsty," was all he said.

Part 16

Posted on: 2010-03-27

The first thing Frederick became sensible of was voices. There were several of them, but he could not recognise the individual speakers. As they came to him, one made itself clearer: the woman. He realised some things had changed, for he was now blissfully warm. For the first time since Cavan took his clothes, he could imagine himself almost comfortable. Perhaps he was dead. That seemed unlikely. His brother, the curate, had lectured him that Heaven was full of light. There was no light to be had for everything about him was still pitch black. Add to that, a torturous thirst. From his brother, again, there had been much talk of fountains in heaven. If this were Heaven, he must find one soon.

Frederick decided this could not be Heaven, as he could not move. In Heaven you could move, or so he assumed. He tried to call out but no sound would come.

Without warning, a wave of pain crashed over him and made him sick to his stomach. His head pounded and all his limbs throbbed to the beat of his heart. Though it was fruitless--he was crammed into the wall--he struggled to move. He would try anything to alleviate the intense misery.

His head moved a bit and a new, searing hot pain shot though his skull and down his neck and spine. He couldn't help but whimper. It was then he realised he was not crouched in the wall any longer, but was laying flat. His feet moved. Again pain shot through him and he moaned.

"Was that him?" It was the woman.

"I'm not sure." Wentworth did not recognise this man. Odder still was that both spoke English.

The voices were closer now. There was no wall between them. He must be careful. Of course the woman was Aine, and she would be livid that she'd not killed him. He must remain still as a corpse so as not let her know he lived.

The pain in his head was too much and another moan escaped. He cursed his weakness.

A soft hand took one of his and stroked his fingertips. "It must be him." Now that they knew he lived, he prayed to God that any fresh cruelties inflicted would kill him quickly. He was too weak to hold out under anymore of their torment. A speedy death would deprive them of further sordid pleasure. There was an odd sort of satisfaction to this morbid thought

There was shifting to his left side. He clinched his teeth and tried not to wince. He willed himself to be still.

There was further shifting, more pain, and another soft hand on his cheek. "Frederick."

The voice was Anne's.

Or was it? Did he dare open his eyes? What if this was another of the hideous dreams that had been his companions in the wall? Most were vivid memories of the beatings. When they ended, the exhaustion and despair was pure pleasure compared to the others. Less frequently the dreams were brilliant with thoughts of Anne. These came usually as innocent memories of their engagement. A few were passionate reworkings of their night together in the hide. Each of the dreams were painful in their own way, but it was the last that left him whimpering in both mind and body as it dissolved into the darkness.

If he were to surrender to this new, pleasurable diversion, it would be crushing when it proved untrue.

He had no choice; pain and thirst drove him to risk a look.

Frederick opened his eyes, remembering immediately how the right one was injured and useless. He was in a very dimly lit room, but Anne was indeed present. He tried to raise his hands to touch her face. His left arm was held tight against his body. The other was bandaged so that only his fingertips were free. Again his voice failed him. It angered him that his injuries kept him from taking her in his arms. There was nothing he could do but croak a sickening, "thirsty" as a greeting to her.

"Get me that glass, please, Commander." Her hand left his cheek. He feared the dream was ending. Even the promise of water was less a disappointment than the possibility she would vanish.

"Here you are." Anne put the glass to his lips and pain tore through his mouth. Involuntarily, his head twisted away causing his head, neck, and shoulders to burn like fire.

"Oh, Lord, I'm sorry, Frederick … I didn't realise your mouth was so …" She shifted, making the rest of his body shake. "There must be--with the tea you brought, Commander, there is a spoon with the cup."

The metal spoon was eased between his lips, and the cool water teased his parched skin. A few drops dribbled into his mouth and onto his tongue. This was truly heaven. More heavenly were the drops that made their way down his desiccated throat. At first, he choked, but Anne knew her craft. She lightly touched his cheek. "Slowly, Frederick. I'll not give you much to begin. Just let the water rest in your mouth for a moment."

She rationed the drops so he did not gag. Her hand remained on his bruised face and he savoured the sweet relief of both the water and her touch.

Anne had paid strict attention to her task throughout, but now the glass was nearly empty and she sat back. Their eyes met.

Frederick knew he was handsome and suddenly he was ashamed of how ugly and enfeebled he must look to her. There wasn't a bit of him that hadn't sustained kicking, slapping, punching, or biting. He resisted moving his head and so looked away only as far as his good eye could travel.

As if she read his mind, she asked, "The surgeon is optimistic that most of your injuries will heal in just a few weeks. Are you in much pain?"

He looked back. Fortunately he found nothing he suspected was pity. "A little bit." He cringed. His voice had cracked and he sounded for all the world like a pathetic old fuss wheedling for scraps of attention. "I must be a wreck." This too sounded like begging but it gave her a way to tell him the damages up front.

"You are." A comrade in arms! It was heartening to know Harville was about. "But you look no worse than after a long shore leave in Gibraltar." Timothy could always be counted on to add a glossy touch of humour to an otherwise dire circumstance.

Frederick knew he smiled because his cheeks hurt. He couldn't take his eyes from Anne's face. He asked, "How bad off am I, really?"

She glanced at Harville and then put another few drops of water on his tongue. "The surgeon lost count of ribs that are broken or bruised so he bound them all. Your left arm is not broken, but he suspects it was wrenched from the socket and he wants it immobile for a few days. Your eye…" She paused and stirred the water. "Your eye is damaged, but he is not sure if it is enough that you will lose your sight. He wants it covered so it is not strained. And your right hand has…" She paused and slowly stirred the water again.

"Severe burns. I know. It was the burns that got me to tell some of the code I used."

"They have your book then?" Harville knelt by the bed. He frowned

Frederick could move enough to see his friend's concerned expression. "Yes, they found it right off. And they got enough of the code that I am sure they've pieced together the rest of it." Not for the first time he now regretted the whole vainglorious scheme. His pride and overweening confidence seduced him into committing an act he felt sure would gain him the attention of his superiors. Pulling Harville into it made the glaring failure even worse.

As things stood, he'd gotten nothing but a beating for his troubles and it he was uncertain whether the Admiralty would rightly view their efforts. He put aside the possibility of a contrary view. "But you look as though you have your own bad news."

Anne rose and moved a chair close to the bed. Harville objected. "He needs tending."

"I have the laudanum to prepare. It will dull all the pain." The two exchanged a puzzling look.

Harville took the chair. "I surrendered my book as well."

He recounted his first meeting with Miss Anne, her refusal to be left in Dublin, and their subsequent trip into the country. "She is a stubborn one, Captain." He gave her a glance as she busied herself by the hearth. "We were followed by a lieutenant named MacMurphy. He had some Marines at his disposal and so we made a deal: my information for his assistance in finding you." Harville's tight jaw and grim look told of his displeasure with the whole business.

"Don't look so cheerless, friend. You may have lost the information, but you did rescue me." His friend's customary sanguine temper was absent and this made Wentworth suspect there was more to the story. It would come eventually.

"Yes, thanks to Miss Anne. She guided us to the cottage. It was she who showed us where they'd stashed you. Then, as if that was not enough, she manoeuvred MacMurphy into convincing his god mother to allow you to stay in her home--"

"Commander, please--"

"And she does nothing but tend to you. I doubt she's left this room for nearly four days because of you."

Anne had turned away to the hearth.

It was then Frederick realised that she might have been a witness to his rescue, all of the embarrassing and repulsive aspects of the rescue. The affair, while humiliating for him, would be more so to Anne. She was not raised to witness the harsh side of life. To be faced with the incident on the ship and their night together in the hide was more than enough. But now, to have the place they had shared a bit of happiness become a place of degradation would be a hurtful blow. The only chance he had to lessen the effects of it all was to make light of the humiliating scene and pass it off as nothing. If she did not suspect it's harm to him, they could very likely put it behind them. "I imagine it was rather a surprise when I came bursting out of that wall."

Anne turned and studied him. The dim light cast shadows on her face and he now could see she was worn out. To know it was because of him was touching, and humbling. It also angered him. He was fortunate to have Harville present. He understood natively what Wentworth was about. "Well, Captain, to be quite honest, there was very little in the way of bursting. If was more like a dribble to tell it truthfully." He chuckled behind his hand.

Frederick endured the pain of a smile. Leave it to Tim to nudge a happy face on a corpse.

He glanced at Anne. She did not smile. She stared at the glass in her hand.

"I am put in my place then. Go on, Commander, tell me more about my rescuer."

"We were just told a bit ago that the little sneak is off to White Hall to deliver his report to the Navy and then go prancing over to the Board of Customs. There will the raising of glasses, and patting and praising all around. Though, we are not forgotten, or so he assures me. He is firm that we are mentioned in his report and that he has seen to it our actions will not be taken as traitorous. He has an admiral father and swears we are quite safe under his wings of exalted position in White Hall."

Anne had approached Harville and held out a plate to him. He took out his frustrations on what looked to be a small cake.

Wentworth understood well Harville's anger. If he were not bloodied and broken, he would likely be at least as furious. However, great pain and injuries forced him to be a temporary philosopher. "I have a cold crumb of comfort, Tim. As we speak, I am certain that new hides are being dug and the dirt used to fill the old. Pits for signal fires are being erased and new ones being laid in more secluded parts of the shore they've avoided until now. I would guess that even though it is terrible bad luck, the names on small boats are being painted over, and they are being renamed. Thanks to you and me, neither side has the advantage now. We are all back at the beginning of an even more perilous game." He laid back and sighed.

Harville rose. "So, it was all a waste of time."

Anne took his seat. "Take some of this," she said. "The surgeon left instructions that if it is too strong or weak, he will adjust the dose when he comes again." The water again was cool and soothing, but it also had an odd tang followed by a bitter taste. He was as grateful for the water as he was the medicine.

She finished the dose and set the glass aside. He was grateful that she remained close enough so that he could look at her.

"Who knows what our efforts may bring us, Commander. Besides, we always said the one weak spot in the plan was our actions being interpreted as mutinous. It would seem that our little lieutenant and his fine, gold-laden papa have solved that problem for us."

A tiny chime sounded. Harville took out a repeater watch--a gift from his wife in better times--and checked the hour. He rose as he snapped the case closed. "I must be off, Miss. Don't let him bully you." He smiled at Wentworth. "Just give that left arm a little tap," he touched it "and he will fall right into line."

Anne had taken Harville seriously and reached out to stop him from hurting her charge.

Wentworth held back laughing. "She doesn't have brothers, Timothy, she doesn't understand how mischievous boys behave."

"I understand teasing, I just do not understand the two of you." She had gotten between the bed and Harville. "And be assured, Commander, he will not bully me." She smiled at them both.

Harville bid them good evening and left the room.

"Where is he going?" Frederick asked.

"He needed work and so found a fellow at the docks who pays him to stand watch on his boat through the night. It's being refitted and he's had trouble with thieves." She went about her business tidying and such around the hearth and the bed.

Watching her was a pleasure that made him forget the pain. He was warm and as comfortable as he could expect to be considering the circumstances. And while the room they occupied was plain and common--most likely the home of servants at one time--while they were in it, they were safe and cosy from the intrusions of the world outside. He was mildly curious as to the details of Anne's manoeuvring; he hadn't the energy to question her about it. The ceiling above the bed was badly painted.

He noticed Anne's voice for the first time. It was a merging of hushed, restful tones, much like a lullaby. Or perhaps more like a hymn, as she could be credited with a good measure of his salvation. He strained to understand what she was saying, but found it difficult to concentrate, and so turned his attention to her dress. It was Turkey red with great white blotches. They might be flowers. The white patches swayed around the bed. She was so pretty as she moved. He was certain Anne was angel sent to save him. She was approaching the bed, smiling. His only wish was that he felt more like himself, and was not trussed up like a goose to a spit.

"Frederick, I have something I think you will enjoy."

That sounded promising.

Post 17

Posted on: 2010-04-05

Frederick Wentworth's head was throbbing. He struggled to turn over, but could not.

"He's not talking no more," Cavan whined to somebody, probably Aine. Frederick was unclear how long he had been in the hands of the smugglers. They beat him senseless often enough that time had little meaning for him.

He opened his eyes enough to see Aine raise her hand to silence Cavan. She approached the chair to which he was bound and walked around it. He felt rather than saw her stop behind him. For an instant, he pitied the child she carried. Finally she spoke. "He's trifling now, we know all we need about their scheme." She then turned to the six men that made up her pack of hooligans. "I think it is time to consider how to rid ourselves of this burden." She grasped his hair and gently, almost playfully, shook his head. From her pranksome tone sprang a hideous, carnival-like atmosphere, where the brutes freely voiced their opinions on how to dispose of Frederick Wentworth. Aine called them to silence and told them her decision. Wentworth listened helplessly as she described, in lurid detail, her plan.

The fun had carried through trussing him and stuffing him into the cavity of the wall. Aine had, of course, left the work to the men, but when the captain was wedged in good and tight, she came close. "I gave you a chance to throw in with us, Frederick. It is a pity that we lose the use of a man as sharp and charming as you." She pinched his cheek, hard. He tried to pull away, but she persisted and took immense pleasure in aggravating the cuts and bruises. With a wave of her hand, she signalled for Cavan and Tomas to began the work of plastering the wall.

He had no choice but to admit defeat. Even if he were not bound, he was too battered and exhausted to fight them all again. Occasionally, he glanced her way. The enthusiasm in her eyes was disgusting.

He felt caged as they tied the wattle in place in preparation for the plaster. The harsh scraping of the plaster on the trowels assured his prison would grow inch-by-inch. Frederick struggled to ignore his pain, and the surroundings by turning away and resting against the interior wall. The cottage had the feel of a slaughterhouse, and the hole in the wall, that of a coffin.

Mindful that his life was fast approaching its end, Frederick could not help brooding over his missed opportunities with Anne. In the autumn, after the ship's books on the sinking of the Asp were closed, he was pleased to find his share of the prize money to be more than two thousand pounds. It was this windfall, and the natural elation boosted by a highly successful cruise, which convinced Wentworth that Anne Elliot would undoubtedly welcome a friendly letter. In just a few attempts with pen and paper, he realised that short two years at sea translated to nearly a lifetime away from the woman he loved. Each successive letter conjured more doubts about her affections for him, his fitness as a suitor, and the sinking fear that she was by now married. His abandoning the venture in favour of the scheme with Harville was now seen to be stupid. And having her in his arms just a few days ago, and doing nothing to let her know his feelings was the worst disappointment of all. There was nothing to be done to right the wrongs, so he comforted himself with recently lovely memories to relieve the pain.

As he savoured the pleasant diversion, something sharp jabbed his throbbing side. He turned to see Aine gazing at him through the tangle of the wattle. "There are several of the fellows who think we should burn this place to the ground." The malevolence in her eyes astonished him. This woman would torment him until he was dead and beyond her reach.

He straightened slowly. He was too shattered to rise to her baiting, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing him stooped and beaten. "But, I imagine that only your opinion counts."

Her lips curved into a exultant smile. He suspected she took this as an admission of her superiority over him. "You understand this all very well. I knew you were clever. Yes, they wish a bonfire, but I have stopped that nonsense."

Wentworth's shoulders sagged in relief. "So," he said, " there is a limit to your evil." He prayed she could not see that the stress of remaining upright caused him to tremble.

She narrowed her eyes, and Wentworth had the uneasy feeling he'd pushed too far and that she'd changed her mind. "No, you are just fortunate that we will need this place in the future," she said at last. "Firing it does not serve my purposes. And doing this," she gestured to the wall, "it seems to satisfy them. If I let them do anything else, it would create too much mess. No, making you a permanent part of the cottage saves us time and labour, Frederick. No need to dirty our hands with a corpse. Once your stink is gone, all evidence of your being in this place and in the world is done. We and the Navy will be poorer for it, but you made your choice." Again she smiled.

Wentworth's flesh crawled to look on her. How had he ever thought her beautiful?

Aine nodded and a trowel loaded with plaster began to scrap against the wattle. Her lovely green eyes dissolved into darkness as he was sealed in. All Frederick could feel was the terror of what was to come. The loathsome knot confused his mind and he slumped forward, giving in to the rising tide of unconsciousness.

And then, unaccountably, he was free from the wall. The surroundings felt familiar, as though he belonged. Another time he'd awakened in a small room, warm and resting in a comfortable bed. There had been water, too, and pain, but he was able to move freely. By some miracle, or trick of the mind, he was there again. He hadn't the strength to move, but it was enough to know that he was free.

In that other time, someone had given him water from a spoon. Once again he could feel the joy of such a simple thing. He had to know who it was that saved him. Summoning his strength, Wentworth forced himself to look upon his deliverer. The face before him was Anne's.

The memory was sweet: Anne had slowly and gently revived him with water.

Wentworth lay back against the pillow, overcome. What sweet madness was this? It was impossible! How had Anne found him? How had she come to guess about the wall? And what of Aine …

A sudden, more dreadful fear took hold, subduing even the pain. It might have been a dream--but it was more likely that he and Anne were still in the cottage. He must warn her before Cavan and the others discovered her presence.

"Anne." He struggled to call out. There was no sound. Nothing was true and right. He cursed what might have been a dream that tricked his mind into feeling comfort and ease. His panic regarding Anne's safety grew.

If she were close she might hear him call to her. "Anne, you must run." His throat burned like fire and the sound was more like an animal's growl than a man's voice.

He leaned back then felt a draught on his cheek. Aine had returned, waving a bit of black cloth before his eyes. "I have been considering whether a gag is in order." What irony, it was a scrap from his own ruined kerchief.

Wentworth's breath came in gasps. Where was Anne? He thanked God for the wattle separating him from Aine, but almost immediately was stunned to feel her caress the back of his head. Aine's hand was small enough to snake between the slender twigs so that she could touch him. He clinched his teeth to suppress the thought of being gagged. There was no safety from her; were she to try, there was no stopping her shoving the cloth in his mouth.

"But, I have decided to let you call out all you like. When no one hears, and no one answers, the disappointment will remind you of me." Wentworth was determined to hold her gaze as long as possible; he would not submit to her.

Frederick felt a tiny thrill of victory when Aine looked down for a moment. It was short-lived. "There is one other thing I think you should know." Aine smiled and touched his cheek again. "That young woman you brought here does not think much of you. She told me how extraordinarily relieved she was when her family rescued her from an engagement to you. The being the case, I will sleep well knowing I am not making her a widow."

Wentworth was sure she lied, Anne was too private a person to reveal so much to a stranger, but the ghastly words sprouted like weeds almost immediately.

Before he could think to long, she pulled him close, and kissing him. He thought he should feel more revolted by the act, but what was one more horror amongst so many? She withdrew, jabbed his cheek one last time, and smiled as Cavan helped her to her feet. "Finish your work," she told him. Her skirt swayed lazily as she walked away.

Seeing her go was a relief, at least he could now rest his head.

At various times during his imprisonment, Wentworth was sure he'd heard voices. The captain didn't care if they belonged to the gang, he had screamed until he was sick. At least he had a voice left. If Anne would hear and heed his warning, she could escape. "Annie," he cried out, "leave here now."

There was a scraping sound to his left. He feared most that rats would creep into the wall. Perhaps it had come to pass.

The darkness was still as heavy as before, but he could now smell roses, and vinegar, and meat cooking.

"It's all right, Frederick. All is well." He could only hope it was Anne.

"Wherever you were, go back there, please," he whispered. He was out of breath and exhausted. He wanted to show her the way out--he could see it clearly in his mind--but he couldn't speak plainly, he couldn't move. They were done for.

"Open your eyes, Frederick." He thought it was Anne. A cool, damp cloth touched his forehead. The woman was calm but firm in her direction. He did as she bid.

It was Anne. She was smiling. Her deep brown hair fell about her shoulders in the most remarkable way. In her eyes there was no fear, only kindness. She spoke again but he could hear nothing.

She obviously didn't see the danger. He struggled to speak and could only hope she would understand him.

Anne continued to smile. "No, you don't understand." Her sweet voice now rang in his ears. "We are safe here."

He struggled to touch her cheek. She smiled wide at this. She was still calm, still smiling. Obviously, she had no inkling of their danger. He struggled to rise, hoping once more to take her and leave the cottage. Blinding pain wrung the air from his lungs. He still managed, "We must get out before they return."

The smile dimmed and she took his face in her hands. "Frederick, look about, there is no danger her." She shifted and was close enough for her hair to brush against his face and brush against his nose. "It was all a bad dream. It only seems that I left you. We were talking and suddenly, you were asleep. It is the work of the laudanum."

He looked around. His view was constricted, and then he remembered his wounded eye. There was a crackling hearth with a chair and small table before it. On the table were a cup and saucer, and a hairbrush. It was a homey scene, not one of violence. He grasped they were nowhere near the cottage. There was no pressing danger. He was free to breath.

Frederick's body relaxed and he felt as though he was being swallowed up in the softness of the bedding. The pounding in his chest was loud in his ears and thrummed through his limbs. His hands, even the one bound to his chest, hurt as the energy of the nightmare dissipated. He moved his feet and legs. The coarse sheets gave further testimony to his safety.

He closed his eyes. Sweat prickled his forehead. He was beginning to feel cooler. A shiver went through him. He felt like an ass.

Anne hadn't moved when he opened his eyes again. She was gently pressing a damp cloth to his neck, opening his nightshirt to swab his chest. To have her touch him was a joy and he did not care that it chilled him. He then realised he was gripping her wrist in his good hand. He eased off, but she made no move to escape him.

"You must think me an idiot. I'm acting like a silly child." His voice was barely above a whisper.

The smile disappeared. She put aside the cloth and touched his forehead. "You are no child, Frederick." She loosened his grasp and took his hand in hers. "Silly children dream of monsters that do not exist. You are dreaming of genuine cruelties." She paused and then touched his bandaged eye. "That you are not mad is testimony to your character, and courage as a man." She then buttoned the nightshirt nearly closed, and then laid her hand on his chest. Her hand warmed him as they stared at one another. She seemed to be daring him to disbelieve her. Taking his hand again, she said, "I suspect these dreams will trouble us for sometime, but we shall face them down together."

Through the dim light, he was touched to see that Anne deeply blushed with emotion. Her open brown eyes proclaimed her sincerity and dedication to the task. He wanted to ask if her support was for the duration of his recovery or for a lifetime. To protest either answer would show his greedy heart. No matter which she meant, he was not convinced that facing down these demons was possible. Her expression said it was, and this was precisely what he wanted, and needed, to hear.

As if to say, "Look at me," his stomach gurgled and broke the spell.

Anne smiled, patted his hand. "Well, it seems you are hungry." She leant out of his view.

"I don't feel so." In truth, even the thought of chewing exhausted him.

She straightened. "Your stomach says different. I think we must obey it." As she rose, her fingers slipped over his hand and his lingered over the sleeve of her dress. "I have a pot of beef tea here--" she said

A profound calm settled over him as he watched Anne take the few steps to the hearth, the deep brown curtain of her hair swaying with each step. She turned and spoke to him. He did not hear her words, but watched still as she began to pull her hair back. She turned away to search for something on the mantle. Out of the blue, she turned back to look at him.

No matter what might pass between them in the future, he would always remember the beauty of her face and form against the warm firelight. He wished her to leave her hair free, but she likely wanted it out of the way as she worked. As he thought this, there was something in her look he did not understand. An agreeable feeling of peace and intimacy passed between them. Still looking at him, Anne let her hair fall. She then turned and resumed preparing his food.