Chapter 1
Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who,
for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage;
there he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a
distressed one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and
respect, by contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents;
there any unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs
changed naturally into pity and contempt as he turned over
the almost endless creations of the last century; and there,
if every other leaf were powerless, he could read his own history
with an interest which never failed. This was the page at which
the favorite volume always opened:
"ELLIOT OF KELLYNCH HALL.
"Walter Elliot, born March 1, 1760, married, July 15, 1784, Elizabeth,
daughter of James Stevenson, Esq. of South Park, in the county of
Gloucester, by which lady (who died 1800) he has issue Elizabeth,
born June 1, 1785; Anne, born August 9, 1787; a still-born son,
November 5, 1789; Mary, born November 20, 1791."
Precisely such had the paragraph originally stood from the printer's
hands;
but Sir Walter had improved it by adding, for the information of
himself and his family, these words, after the date of Mary's birth--
"Married, December 16, 1810, Charles, son and heir of Charles
Musgrove, Esq. of Uppercross, in the county of Somerset,"
and by inserting most accurately the day of the month on which
he had lost his wife.
Then followed the history and rise of the ancient and respectable family,
in the usual terms; how it had been first settled in Cheshire;
how mentioned in Dugdale, serving the office of high sheriff,
representing a borough in three successive parliaments,
exertions of loyalty, and dignity of baronet, in the first year
of Charles II, with all the Marys and Elizabeths they had married;
forming altogether two handsome duodecimo pages, and concluding with
the arms and motto:--"Principal seat, Kellynch Hall, in the county
of Somerset," and Sir Walter's handwriting again in this finale:--
"Heir presumptive, William Walter Elliot, Esq., great grandson of
the second Sir Walter."
Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter Elliot's character;
vanity of person and of situation. He had been remarkably handsome
in his youth; and, at fifty-four, was still a very fine man.
Few women could think more of their personal appearance than he did,
nor could the valet of any new made lord be more delighted with
the place he held in society. He considered the blessing of beauty
as inferior only to the blessing of a baronetcy; and the Sir Walter
Elliot,
who united these gifts, was the constant object of his warmest respect
and devotion.
His good looks and his rank had one fair claim on his attachment;
since to them he must have owed a wife of very superior character
to any thing deserved by his own. Lady Elliot had been an excellent
woman,
sensible and amiable; whose judgement and conduct, if they might be
pardoned the youthful infatuation which made her Lady Elliot,
had never required indulgence afterwards.--She had humoured,
or softened, or concealed his failings, and promoted his real
respectability for seventeen years; and though not the very happiest
being in the world herself, had found enough in her duties, her friends,
and her children, to attach her to life, and make it no matter of
indifference to her when she was called on to quit them.
--Three girls, the two eldest sixteen and fourteen, was an awful legacy
for a mother to bequeath, an awful charge rather, to confide to
the authority and guidance of a conceited, silly father.
She had, however, one very intimate friend, a sensible, deserving woman,
who had been brought, by strong attachment to herself, to settle
close by her, in the village of Kellynch; and on her kindness and advice,
Lady Elliot mainly relied for the best help and maintenance of
the good principles and instruction which she had been anxiously
giving her daughters.
This friend, and Sir Walter, did not marry, whatever might have been
anticipated on that head by their acquaintance. Thirteen years
had passed away since Lady Elliot's death, and they were still
near neighbours and intimate friends, and one remained a widower,
the other a widow.
That Lady Russell, of steady age and character, and extremely
well provided for, should have no thought of a second marriage,
needs no apology to the public, which is rather apt to be unreasonably
discontented when a woman does marry again, than when she does not;
but Sir Walter's continuing in singleness requires explanation.
Be it known then, that Sir Walter, like a good father, (having met with
one or two private disappointments in very unreasonable applications),
prided himself on remaining single for his dear daughters' sake.
For one daughter, his eldest, he would really have given up any thing,
which he had not been very much tempted to do. Elizabeth had succeeded,
at sixteen, to all that was possible, of her mother's rights
and consequence; and being very handsome, and very like himself,
her influence had always been great, and they had gone on together
most happily. His two other children were of very inferior value.
Mary had acquired a little artificial importance, by becoming
Mrs Charles Musgrove; but Anne, with an elegance of mind and sweetness
of character, which must have placed her high with any people
of real understanding, was nobody with either father or sister;
her word had no weight, her convenience was always to give way--
she was only Anne.
To Lady Russell, indeed, she was a most dear and highly valued
god-daughter, favourite, and friend. Lady Russell loved them all;
but it was only in Anne that she could fancy the mother to revive again.
A few years before, Anne Elliot had been a very pretty girl,
but her bloom had vanished early; and as even in its height,
her father had found little to admire in her, (so totally different
were her delicate features and mild dark eyes from his own),
there could be nothing in them, now that she was faded and thin,
to excite his esteem. He had never indulged much hope, he had now none,
of ever reading her name in any other page of his favourite work.
All equality of alliance must rest with Elizabeth, for Mary had merely
connected herself with an old country family of respectability and
large fortune, and had therefore given all the honour and received none:
Elizabeth would, one day or other, marry suitably.
It sometimes happens that a woman is handsomer at twenty-nine than
she was ten years before; and, generally speaking, if there has been
neither ill health nor anxiety, it is a time of life at which scarcely
any
charm is lost. It was so with Elizabeth, still the same handsome
Miss Elliot that she had begun to be thirteen years ago, and Sir Walter
might be excused, therefore, in forgetting her age, or, at least,
be deemed only half a fool, for thinking himself and Elizabeth
as blooming as ever, amidst the wreck of the good looks of everybody
else;
for he could plainly see how old all the rest of his family and
acquaintance were growing. Anne haggard, Mary coarse, every face
in the neighbourhood worsting, and the rapid increase of the crow's
foot
about Lady Russell's temples had long been a distress to him.
Elizabeth did not quite equal her father in personal contentment.
Thirteen years had seen her mistress of Kellynch Hall, presiding and
directing with a self-possession and decision which could never have
given
the idea of her being younger than she was. For thirteen years
had
she been doing the honours, and laying down the domestic law at home,
and leading the way to the chaise and four, and walking immediately
after
Lady Russell out of all the drawing-rooms and dining-rooms in the country.
Thirteen winters' revolving frosts had seen her opening every ball
of credit which a scanty neighbourhood afforded, and thirteen springs
shewn their blossoms, as she travelled up to London with her father,
for a few weeks' annual enjoyment of the great world. She had
the remembrance of all this, she had the consciousness of being
nine-and-twenty to give her some regrets and some apprehensions;
she was fully satisfied of being still quite as handsome as ever,
but she felt her approach to the years of danger, and would have rejoiced
to be certain of being properly solicited by baronet-blood within
the next twelvemonth or two. Then might she again take up
the book of books with as much enjoyment as in her early youth,
but now she liked it not. Always to be presented with the date
of
her own birth and see no marriage follow but that of a youngest sister,
made the book an evil; and more than once, when her father had left
it
open on the table near her, had she closed it, with averted eyes,
and pushed it away.
She had had a disappointment, moreover, which that book,
and especially the history of her own family, must ever present
the remembrance of. The heir presumptive, the very William Walter
Elliot, Esq., whose rights had been so generously supported
by her father, had disappointed her.
She had, while a very young girl, as soon as she had known him to be,
in the event of her having no brother, the future baronet,
meant to marry him, and her father had always meant that she should.
He had not been known to them as a boy; but soon after Lady Elliot's
death,
Sir Walter had sought the acquaintance, and though his overtures
had not been met with any warmth, he had persevered in seeking it,
making allowance for the modest drawing-back of youth; and, in one of
their spring excursions to London, when Elizabeth was in her first bloom,
Mr Elliot had been forced into the introduction.
He was at that time a very young man, just engaged in the study of the
law;
and Elizabeth found him extremely agreeable, and every plan in his favour
was confirmed. He was invited to Kellynch Hall; he was talked
of
and expected all the rest of the year; but he never came.
The following spring he was seen again in town, found equally agreeable,
again encouraged, invited, and expected, and again he did not come;
and the next tidings were that he was married. Instead of pushing
his fortune in the line marked out for the heir of the house of Elliot,
he had purchased independence by uniting himself to a rich woman
of inferior birth.
Sir Walter has resented it. As the head of the house, he felt
that
he ought to have been consulted, especially after taking the young man
so publicly by the hand; "For they must have been seen together,"
he observed, "once at Tattersal's, and twice in the lobby of
the House of Commons." His disapprobation was expressed,
but apparently very little regarded. Mr Elliot had attempted no
apology,
and shewn himself as unsolicitous of being longer noticed by the family,
as Sir Walter considered him unworthy of it: all acquaintance
between
them had ceased.
This very awkward history of Mr Elliot was still, after an interval
of several years, felt with anger by Elizabeth, who had liked the man
for himself, and still more for being her father's heir, and whose
strong family pride could see only in him a proper match for Sir Walter
Elliot's eldest daughter. There was not a baronet from A to Z
whom
her feelings could have so willingly acknowledged as an equal.
Yet so miserably had he conducted himself, that though she was
at this present time (the summer of 1814) wearing black ribbons
for his wife, she could not admit him to be worth thinking of again.
The disgrace of his first marriage might, perhaps, as there was
no reason to suppose it perpetuated by offspring, have been got over,
had he not done worse; but he had, as by the accustomary intervention
of kind friends, they had been informed, spoken most disrespectfully
of them all, most slightingly and contemptuously of the very blood
he belonged to, and the honours which were hereafter to be his own.
This could not be pardoned.
Such were Elizabeth Elliot's sentiments and sensations; such the cares
to alloy, the agitations to vary, the sameness and the elegance,
the prosperity and the nothingness of her scene of life;
such the feelings to give interest to a long, uneventful residence
in one country circle, to fill the vacancies which there were no habits
of utility abroad, no talents or accomplishments for home, to occupy.
But now, another occupation and solicitude of mind was beginning to
be
added to these. Her father was growing distressed for money.
She knew, that when he now took up the Baronetage, it was to drive
the heavy bills of his tradespeople, and the unwelcome hints of
Mr Shepherd, his agent, from his thoughts. The Kellynch property
was good,
but not equal to Sir Walter's apprehension of the state required
in its possessor. While Lady Elliot lived, there had been method,
moderation, and economy, which had just kept him within his income;
but with her had died all such right-mindedness, and from that period
he had been constantly exceeding it. It had not been possible
for him to spend less; he had done nothing but what Sir Walter Elliot
was imperiously called on to do; but blameless as he was, he was
not only growing dreadfully in debt, but was hearing of it so often,
that it became vain to attempt concealing it longer, even partially,
from his daughter. He had given her some hints of it the last
spring
in town; he had gone so far even as to say, "Can we retrench?
Does it occur to you that there is any one article in which
we can retrench?" and Elizabeth, to do her justice, had, in the first
ardour of female alarm, set seriously to think what could be done,
and had finally proposed these two branches of economy, to cut off
some unnecessary charities, and to refrain from new furnishing
the drawing-room; to which expedients she afterwards added
the happy thought of their taking no present down to Anne,
as had been the usual yearly custom. But these measures,
however good in themselves, were insufficient for the real extent
of the evil, the whole of which Sir Walter found himself obliged
to confess to her soon afterwards. Elizabeth had nothing to propose
of deeper efficacy. She felt herself ill-used and unfortunate,
as did her father; and they were neither of them able to devise
any means of lessening their expenses without compromising their dignity,
or relinquishing their comforts in a way not to be borne.
There was only a small part of his estate that Sir Walter could dispose
of;
but had every acre been alienable, it would have made no difference.
He had condescended to mortgage as far as he had the power,
but he would never condescend to sell. No; he would never disgrace
his name so far. The Kellynch estate should be transmitted whole
and entire, as he had received it.
Their two confidential friends, Mr Shepherd, who lived in
the neighbouring market town, and Lady Russell, were called to advise
them;
and both father and daughter seemed to expect that something should
be
struck out by one or the other to remove their embarrassments
and reduce their expenditure, without involving the loss of
any indulgence of taste or pride.
Chapter 2
Mr Shepherd, a civil, cautious lawyer, who, whatever might be his hold
or his views on Sir Walter, would rather have the disagreeable
prompted by anybody else, excused himself from offering the slightest
hint,
and only begged leave to recommend an implicit reference to
the excellent judgement of Lady Russell, from whose known good sense
he fully expected to have just such resolute measures advised as
he meant to see finally adopted.
Lady Russell was most anxiously zealous on the subject, and gave it
much serious consideration. She was a woman rather of sound than
of
quick abilities, whose difficulties in coming to any decision
in this instance were great, from the opposition of two leading principles.
She was of strict integrity herself, with a delicate sense of honour;
but she was as desirous of saving Sir Walter's feelings, as solicitous
for the credit of the family, as aristocratic in her ideas of what
was due to them, as anybody of sense and honesty could well be.
She was a benevolent, charitable, good woman, and capable of
strong attachments, most correct in her conduct, strict in her notions
of decorum, and with manners that were held a standard of good-breeding.
She had a cultivated mind, and was, generally speaking,
rational and consistent; but she had prejudices on the side of ancestry;
she had a value for rank and consequence, which blinded her a little
to the faults of those who possessed them. Herself the widow of
only a knight, she gave the dignity of a baronet all its due;
and Sir Walter, independent of his claims as an old acquaintance,
an attentive neighbour, an obliging landlord, the husband of her
very dear friend, the father of Anne and her sisters, was,
as being Sir Walter, in her apprehension, entitled to a great deal
of compassion and consideration under his present difficulties.
They must retrench; that did not admit of a doubt. But she was
very anxious to have it done with the least possible pain to him
and Elizabeth. She drew up plans of economy, she made exact calculations,
and she did what nobody else thought of doing: she consulted Anne,
who never seemed considered by the others as having any interest
in the question. She consulted, and in a degree was influenced by her
in marking out the scheme of retrenchment which was at last submitted
to Sir Walter. Every emendation of Anne's had been on the side of
honesty against importance. She wanted more vigorous measures,
a more complete reformation, a quicker release from debt,
a much higher tone of indifference for everything but justice and equity.
"If we can persuade your father to all this," said Lady Russell,
looking over her paper, "much may be done. If he will adopt
these regulations, in seven years he will be clear; and I hope
we may be able to convince him and Elizabeth, that Kellynch Hall has
a respectability in itself which cannot be affected by these reductions;
and that the true dignity of Sir Walter Elliot will be very far from
lessened in the eyes of sensible people, by acting like a man of principle.
What will he be doing, in fact, but what very many of our first families
have done, or ought to do? There will be nothing singular in his
case;
and it is singularity which often makes the worst part of our suffering,
as it always does of our conduct. I have great hope of prevailing.
We must be serious and decided; for after all, the person who
has contracted debts must pay them; and though a great deal is due to
the feelings of the gentleman, and the head of a house, like your father,
there is still more due to the character of an honest man."
This was the principle on which Anne wanted her father to be proceeding,
his friends to be urging him. She considered it as an act
of indispensable duty to clear away the claims of creditors with
all the expedition which the most comprehensive retrenchments
could secure, and saw no dignity in anything short of it.
She wanted it to be prescribed, and felt as a duty. She rated
Lady Russell's influence highly; and as to the severe degree
of self-denial which her own conscience prompted, she believed
there might be little more difficulty in persuading them to a complete,
than to half a reformation. Her knowledge of her father
and Elizabeth inclined her to think that the sacrifice of one pair
of horses would be hardly less painful than of both, and so on,
through the whole list of Lady Russell's too gentle reductions.
How Anne's more rigid requisitions might have been taken
is of little consequence. Lady Russell's had no success at all:
could not be put up with, were not to be borne. "What! every comfort
of life knocked off! Journeys, London, servants, horses, table--
contractions and restrictions every where! To live no longer
with the decencies even of a private gentleman! No, he would sooner
quit Kellynch Hall at once, than remain in it on such disgraceful terms."
"Quit Kellynch Hall." The hint was immediately taken up by Mr
Shepherd,
whose interest was involved in the reality of Sir Walter's retrenching,
and who was perfectly persuaded that nothing would be done without
a change of abode. "Since the idea had been started in the very
quarter
which ought to dictate, he had no scruple," he said, "in confessing
his judgement to be entirely on that side. It did not appear to
him
that Sir Walter could materially alter his style of living in a house
which had such a character of hospitality and ancient dignity to support.
In any other place Sir Walter might judge for himself; and would
be looked up to, as regulating the modes of life in whatever way
he might choose to model his household."
Sir Walter would quit Kellynch Hall; and after a very few days more
of doubt and indecision, the great question of whither he should go
was settled, and the first outline of this important change made out.
There had been three alternatives, London, Bath, or another house
in the country. All Anne's wishes had been for the latter.
A small house in their own neighbourhood, where they might still have
Lady Russell's society, still be near Mary, and still have the pleasure
of sometimes seeing the lawns and groves of Kellynch, was the object
of her ambition. But the usual fate of Anne attended her,
in having something very opposite from her inclination fixed on.
She disliked Bath, and did not think it agreed with her;
and Bath was to be her home.
Sir Walter had at first thought more of London; but Mr Shepherd felt
that he could not be trusted in London, and had been skillful enough
to dissuade him from it, and make Bath preferred. It was a much
safer
place for a gentleman in his predicament: he might there be important
at comparatively little expense. Two material advantages of Bath
over London had of course been given all their weight: its more
convenient
distance from Kellynch, only fifty miles, and Lady Russell's spending
some part of every winter there; and to the very great satisfaction
of Lady Russell, whose first views on the projected change had been
for Bath, Sir Walter and Elizabeth were induced to believe that
they should lose neither consequence nor enjoyment by settling there.
Lady Russell felt obliged to oppose her dear Anne's known wishes.
It would be too much to expect Sir Walter to descend into a small house
in his own neighbourhood. Anne herself would have found
the mortifications of it more than she foresaw, and to Sir Walter's
feelings they must have been dreadful. And with regard to Anne's
dislike of Bath, she considered it as a prejudice and mistake arising,
first, from the circumstance of her having been three years
at school there, after her mother's death; and secondly,
from her happening to be not in perfectly good spirits the only winter
which she had afterwards spent there with herself.
Lady Russell was fond of Bath, in short, and disposed to think
it must suit them all; and as to her young friend's health,
by passing all the warm months with her at Kellynch Lodge,
every danger would be avoided; and it was in fact, a change which must
do both health and spirits good. Anne had been too little from
home,
too little seen. Her spirits were not high. A larger society
would improve them. She wanted her to be more known.
The undesirableness of any other house in the same neighbourhood
for Sir Walter was certainly much strengthened by one part,
and a very material part of the scheme, which had been happily
engrafted on the beginning. He was not only to quit his home,
but to see it in the hands of others; a trial of fortitude,
which stronger heads than Sir Walter's have found too much.
Kellynch Hall was to be let. This, however, was a profound secret,
not to be breathed beyond their own circle.
Sir Walter could not have borne the degradation of being known
to design letting his house. Mr Shepherd had once mentioned the
word
"advertise," but never dared approach it again. Sir Walter spurned
the idea of its being offered in any manner; forbad the slightest hint
being dropped of his having such an intention; and it was only on
the supposition of his being spontaneously solicited by some most
unexceptionable applicant, on his own terms, and as a great favour,
that he would let it at all.
How quick come the reasons for approving what we like! Lady Russell
had
another excellent one at hand, for being extremely glad that Sir Walter
and his family were to remove from the country. Elizabeth had
been
lately forming an intimacy, which she wished to see interrupted.
It was with the daughter of Mr Shepherd, who had returned,
after an unprosperous marriage, to her father's house, with
the additional burden of two children. She was a clever young
woman,
who understood the art of pleasing--the art of pleasing, at least,
at Kellynch Hall; and who had made herself so acceptable to Miss Elliot,
as to have been already staying there more than once, in spite of all
that Lady Russell, who thought it a friendship quite out of place,
could hint of caution and reserve.
Lady Russell, indeed, had scarcely any influence with Elizabeth,
and seemed to love her, rather because she would love her,
than because Elizabeth deserved it. She had never received from
her more
than outward attention, nothing beyond the observances of complaisance;
had never succeeded in any point which she wanted to carry,
against previous inclination. She had been repeatedly very earnest
in trying to get Anne included in the visit to London, sensibly open
to all the injustice and all the discredit of the selfish arrangements
which shut her out, and on many lesser occasions had endeavoured
to give Elizabeth the advantage of her own better judgement and experience;
but always in vain: Elizabeth would go her own way; and never
had she
pursued it in more decided opposition to Lady Russell than in
this selection of Mrs Clay; turning from the society of so deserving
a sister, to bestow her affection and confidence on one who ought
to have been nothing to her but the object of distant civility.
From situation, Mrs Clay was, in Lady Russell's estimate, a very unequal,
and in her character she believed a very dangerous companion;
and a removal that would leave Mrs Clay behind, and bring a choice
of more suitable intimates within Miss Elliot's reach, was therefore
an object of first-rate importance.
Chapter 3
"I must take leave to observe, Sir Walter," said Mr Shepherd
one morning at Kellynch Hall, as he laid down the newspaper,
"that the present juncture is much in our favour. This peace will
be turning all our rich naval officers ashore. They will be
all wanting a home. Could not be a better time, Sir Walter,
for having a choice of tenants, very responsible tenants.
Many a noble fortune has been made during the war. If a rich admiral
were to come in our way, Sir Walter--"
"He would be a very lucky man, Shepherd," replied Sir Walter;
"that's all I have to remark. A prize indeed would Kellynch Hall
be to him; rather the greatest prize of all, let him have taken
ever so many before; hey, Shepherd?"
Mr Shepherd laughed, as he knew he must, at this wit, and then added--
"I presume to observe, Sir Walter, that, in the way of business,
gentlemen of the navy are well to deal with. I have had a little
knowledge
of their methods of doing business; and I am free to confess that they
have very liberal notions, and are as likely to make desirable tenants
as any set of people one should meet with. Therefore, Sir Walter,
what I would take leave to suggest is, that if in consequence of
any rumours getting abroad of your intention; which must be contemplated
as a possible thing, because we know how difficult it is to keep
the actions and designs of one part of the world from the notice
and curiosity of the other; consequence has its tax; I, John Shepherd,
might conceal any family-matters that I chose, for nobody would think
it
worth their while to observe me; but Sir Walter Elliot has eyes upon
him
which it may be very difficult to elude; and therefore, thus much
I venture upon, that it will not greatly surprise me if,
with all our caution, some rumour of the truth should get abroad;
in the supposition of which, as I was going to observe, since applications
will unquestionably follow, I should think any from our wealthy
naval commanders particularly worth attending to; and beg leave to add,
that two hours will bring me over at any time, to save you
the trouble of replying."
Sir Walter only nodded. But soon afterwards, rising and pacing
the room,
he observed sarcastically--
"There are few among the gentlemen of the navy, I imagine, who would
not be surprised to find themselves in a house of this description."
"They would look around them, no doubt, and bless their good fortune,"
said Mrs Clay, for Mrs Clay was present: her father had driven
her over,
nothing being of so much use to Mrs Clay's health as a drive to Kellynch:
"but I quite agree with my father in thinking a sailor might be
a very desirable tenant. I have known a good deal of the profession;
and besides their liberality, they are so neat and careful
in all their ways! These valuable pictures of yours, Sir Walter,
if you chose to leave them, would be perfectly safe. Everything
in
and about the house would be taken such excellent care of!
The gardens and shrubberies would be kept in almost as high order
as they are now. You need not be afraid, Miss Elliot, of your
own
sweet flower gardens being neglected."
"As to all that," rejoined Sir Walter coolly, "supposing I were induced
to let my house, I have by no means made up my mind as to the privileges
to be annexed to it. I am not particularly disposed to favour
a tenant.
The park would be open to him of course, and few navy officers,
or men of any other description, can have had such a range;
but what restrictions I might impose on the use of the pleasure-grounds,
is another thing. I am not fond of the idea of my shrubberies
being
always approachable; and I should recommend Miss Elliot to be on her
guard
with respect to her flower garden. I am very little disposed
to grant a tenant of Kellynch Hall any extraordinary favour,
I assure you, be he sailor or soldier."
After a short pause, Mr Shepherd presumed to say--
"In all these cases, there are established usages which
make everything plain and easy between landlord and tenant.
Your interest, Sir Walter, is in pretty safe hands. Depend upon
me
for taking care that no tenant has more than his just rights.
I venture to hint, that Sir Walter Elliot cannot be half so jealous
for his own, as John Shepherd will be for him."
Here Anne spoke--
"The navy, I think, who have done so much for us, have at least
an equal claim with any other set of men, for all the comforts and
all the privileges which any home can give. Sailors work hard
enough
for their comforts, we must all allow."
"Very true, very true. What Miss Anne says, is very true,"
was Mr Shepherd's rejoinder, and "Oh! certainly," was his daughter's;
but Sir Walter's remark was, soon afterwards--
"The profession has its utility, but I should be sorry to see
any friend of mine belonging to it."
"Indeed!" was the reply, and with a look of surprise.
"Yes; it is in two points offensive to me; I have two strong grounds
of objection to it. First, as being the means of bringing persons
of obscure birth into undue distinction, and raising men to honours
which their fathers and grandfathers never dreamt of; and secondly,
as it cuts up a man's youth and vigour most horribly; a sailor grows
old
sooner than any other man. I have observed it all my life.
A man is in greater danger in the navy of being insulted by the rise
of one whose father, his father might have disdained to speak to,
and of becoming prematurely an object of disgust himself, than in
any other line. One day last spring, in town, I was in company
with two men, striking instances of what I am talking of;
Lord St Ives, whose father we all know to have been a country curate,
without bread to eat; I was to give place to Lord St Ives,
and a certain Admiral Baldwin, the most deplorable-looking personage
you can imagine; his face the colour of mahogany, rough and rugged
to the last degree; all lines and wrinkles, nine grey hairs of a side,
and nothing but a dab of powder at top. `In the name of heaven,
who is that old fellow?' said I to a friend of mine who was standing
near,
(Sir Basil Morley). `Old fellow!' cried Sir Basil, `it is Admiral
Baldwin.
What do you take his age to be?' `Sixty,' said I, `or perhaps
sixty-two.'
`Forty,' replied Sir Basil, `forty, and no more.' Picture to yourselves
my amazement; I shall not easily forget Admiral Baldwin.
I never saw quite so wretched an example of what a sea-faring life can
do;
but to a degree, I know it is the same with them all: they are
all
knocked about, and exposed to every climate, and every weather,
till they are not fit to be seen. It is a pity they are not knocked
on the head at once, before they reach Admiral Baldwin's age."
"Nay, Sir Walter," cried Mrs Clay, "this is being severe indeed.
Have a little mercy on the poor men. We are not all born to be
handsome.
The sea is no beautifier, certainly; sailors do grow old betimes;
I have observed it; they soon lose the look of youth. But then,
is not it the same with many other professions, perhaps most other?
Soldiers, in active service, are not at all better off: and even
in
the quieter professions, there is a toil and a labour of the mind,
if not of the body, which seldom leaves a man's looks to the natural
effect of time. The lawyer plods, quite care-worn; the physician
is up at all hours, and travelling in all weather; and even
the clergyman--" she stopt a moment to consider what might
do for the clergyman;--"and even the clergyman, you know is obliged
to go into infected rooms, and expose his health and looks to
all the injury of a poisonous atmosphere. In fact, as I have
long been convinced, though every profession is necessary and honourable
in its turn, it is only the lot of those who are not obliged to follow
any,
who can live in a regular way, in the country, choosing their own hours,
following their own pursuits, and living on their own property,
without the torment of trying for more; it is only their lot, I say,
to hold the blessings of health and a good appearance to the utmost:
I know no other set of men but what lose something of their personableness
when they cease to be quite young."
It seemed as if Mr Shepherd, in this anxiety to bespeak
Sir Walter's good will towards a naval officer as tenant,
had been gifted with foresight; for the very first application
for the house was from an Admiral Croft, with whom he shortly afterwards
fell into company in attending the quarter sessions at Taunton; and
indeed,
he had received a hint of the Admiral from a London correspondent.
By the report which he hastened over to Kellynch to make,
Admiral Croft was a native of Somersetshire, who having acquired
a very handsome fortune, was wishing to settle in his own country,
and had come down to Taunton in order to look at some advertised places
in that immediate neighbourhood, which, however, had not suited him;
that accidentally hearing--(it was just as he had foretold,
Mr Shepherd observed, Sir Walter's concerns could not be kept a secret,)--
accidentally hearing of the possibility of Kellynch Hall being to let,
and understanding his (Mr Shepherd's) connection with the owner,
he had introduced himself to him in order to make particular inquiries,
and had, in the course of a pretty long conference, expressed as strong
an inclination for the place as a man who knew it only by description
could feel; and given Mr Shepherd, in his explicit account of himself,
every proof of his being a most responsible, eligible tenant.
"And who is Admiral Croft?" was Sir Walter's cold suspicious inquiry.
Mr Shepherd answered for his being of a gentleman's family,
and mentioned a place; and Anne, after the little pause which followed,
added--
"He is a rear admiral of the white. He was in the Trafalgar action,
and has been in the East Indies since; he was stationed there,
I believe, several years."
"Then I take it for granted," observed Sir Walter, "that his face
is about as orange as the cuffs and capes of my livery."
Mr Shepherd hastened to assure him, that Admiral Croft was a very hale,
hearty, well-looking man, a little weather-beaten, to be sure,
but not much, and quite the gentleman in all his notions and behaviour;
not likely to make the smallest difficulty about terms, only wanted
a comfortable home, and to get into it as soon as possible;
knew he must pay for his convenience; knew what rent a ready-furnished
house of that consequence might fetch; should not have been surprised
if Sir Walter had asked more; had inquired about the manor;
would be glad of the deputation, certainly, but made no great point
of it;
said he sometimes took out a gun, but never killed; quite the gentleman.
Mr Shepherd was eloquent on the subject; pointing out all
the circumstances of the Admiral's family, which made him
peculiarly desirable as a tenant. He was a married man,
and without children; the very state to be wished for. A house
was
never taken good care of, Mr Shepherd observed, without a lady:
he did not know, whether furniture might not be in danger of suffering
as much where there was no lady, as where there were many children.
A lady, without a family, was the very best preserver of furniture
in the world. He had seen Mrs Croft, too; she was at Taunton
with the admiral, and had been present almost all the time they were
talking the matter over.
"And a very well-spoken, genteel, shrewd lady, she seemed to be,"
continued he; "asked more questions about the house, and terms,
and taxes, than the Admiral himself, and seemed more conversant
with business; and moreover, Sir Walter, I found she was not quite
unconnected in this country, any more than her husband; that is to say,
she is sister to a gentleman who did live amongst us once;
she told me so herself: sister to the gentleman who lived
a few years back at Monkford. Bless me! what was his name?
At this moment I cannot recollect his name, though I have heard it so
lately.
Penelope, my dear, can you help me to the name of the gentleman
who lived at Monkford: Mrs Croft's brother?"
But Mrs Clay was talking so eagerly with Miss Elliot, that she did not
hear the appeal.
"I have no conception whom you can mean, Shepherd; I remember
no gentleman resident at Monkford since the time of old Governor Trent."
"Bless me! how very odd! I shall forget my own name soon, I suppose.
A name that I am so very well acquainted with; knew the gentleman
so well by sight; seen him a hundred times; came to consult me once,
I remember, about a trespass of one of his neighbours; farmer's man
breaking into his orchard; wall torn down; apples stolen;
caught in the fact; and afterwards, contrary to my judgement,
submitted to an amicable compromise. Very odd indeed!"
After waiting another moment--
"You mean Mr Wentworth, I suppose?" said Anne.
Mr Shepherd was all gratitude.
"Wentworth was the very name! Mr Wentworth was the very man.
He had the curacy of Monkford, you know, Sir Walter, some time back,
for two or three years. Came there about the year ---5, I take
it.
You remember him, I am sure."
"Wentworth? Oh! ay,--Mr Wentworth, the curate of Monkford.
You misled me by the term gentleman. I thought you were speaking
of
some man of property: Mr Wentworth was nobody, I remember;
quite unconnected; nothing to do with the Strafford family.
One wonders how the names of many of our nobility become so common."
As Mr Shepherd perceived that this connexion of the Crofts did them
no service with Sir Walter, he mentioned it no more; returning,
with all his zeal, to dwell on the circumstances more indisputably
in their favour; their age, and number, and fortune; the high idea
they had formed of Kellynch Hall, and extreme solicitude for
the advantage of renting it; making it appear as if they ranked
nothing beyond the happiness of being the tenants of Sir Walter Elliot:
an extraordinary taste, certainly, could they have been supposed in
the secret of Sir Walter's estimate of the dues of a tenant.
It succeeded, however; and though Sir Walter must ever look with
an evil eye on anyone intending to inhabit that house, and think them
infinitely too well off in being permitted to rent it on the highest
terms,
he was talked into allowing Mr Shepherd to proceed in the treaty,
and authorising him to wait on Admiral Croft, who still remained
at Taunton, and fix a day for the house being seen.
Sir Walter was not very wise; but still he had experience enough
of the world to feel, that a more unobjectionable tenant,
in all essentials, than Admiral Croft bid fair to be, could hardly offer.
So far went his understanding; and his vanity supplied a little
additional soothing, in the Admiral's situation in life, which was just
high enough, and not too high. "I have let my house to Admiral
Croft,"
would sound extremely well; very much better than to any mere Mr--;
a Mr (save, perhaps, some half dozen in the nation,) always needs
a note of explanation. An admiral speaks his own consequence,
and, at the same time, can never make a baronet look small.
In all their dealings and intercourse, Sir Walter Elliot must ever
have the precedence.
Nothing could be done without a reference to Elizabeth:
but her inclination was growing so strong for a removal,
that she was happy to have it fixed and expedited by a tenant at hand;
and not a word to suspend decision was uttered by her.
Mr Shepherd was completely empowered to act; and no sooner had
such an end been reached, than Anne, who had been a most attentive listener
to the whole, left the room, to seek the comfort of cool air for her
flushed cheeks; and as she walked along a favourite grove, said,
with a gentle sigh, "A few months more, and he, perhaps,
may be walking here.
Chapter 4
He was not Mr Wentworth, the former curate of Monkford,
however suspicious appearances may be, but a Captain Frederick Wentworth,
his brother, who being made commander in consequence of the action
off St Domingo, and not immediately employed, had come into Somersetshire,
in the summer of 1806; and having no parent living, found a home
for half a year at Monkford. He was, at that time, a remarkably
fine
young man, with a great deal of intelligence, spirit, and brilliancy;
and Anne an extremely pretty girl, with gentleness, modesty, taste,
and feeling. Half the sum of attraction, on either side, might
have
been enough, for he had nothing to do, and she had hardly anybody to
love;
but the encounter of such lavish recommendations could not fail.
They were gradually acquainted, and when acquainted, rapidly and
deeply in love. It would be difficult to say which had seen
highest perfection in the other, or which had been the happiest:
she, in receiving his declarations and proposals, or he in
having them accepted.
A short period of exquisite felicity followed, and but a short one.
Troubles soon arose. Sir Walter, on being applied to, without
actually
withholding his consent, or saying it should never be, gave it all
the negative of great astonishment, great coldness, great silence,
and a professed resolution of doing nothing for his daughter.
He thought it a very degrading alliance; and Lady Russell, though with
more tempered and pardonable pride, received it as a most unfortunate
one.
Anne Elliot, with all her claims of birth, beauty, and mind,
to throw herself away at nineteen; involve herself at nineteen
in an engagement with a young man, who had nothing but himself
to recommend him, and no hopes of attaining affluence, but in the chances
of a most uncertain profession, and no connexions to secure
even his farther rise in the profession, would be, indeed, a throwing
away,
which she grieved to think of! Anne Elliot, so young; known to
so few,
to be snatched off by a stranger without alliance or fortune;
or rather sunk by him into a state of most wearing, anxious,
youth-killing dependence! It must not be, if by any fair interference
of friendship, any representations from one who had almost a mother's
love,
and mother's rights, it would be prevented.
Captain Wentworth had no fortune. He had been lucky in his profession;
but spending freely, what had come freely, had realized nothing.
But he was confident that he should soon be rich: full of life
and ardour,
he knew that he should soon have a ship, and soon be on a station
that would lead to everything he wanted. He had always been lucky;
he knew he knew he should be so still. Such confidence, powerful
in its own warmth, and bewitching in the wit which often expressed it,
must have been enough for Anne; but Lady Russell saw it very differently.
His sanguine temper, and fearlessness of mind, operated very differently
on her. She saw in it but an aggravation of the evil. It
only added
a dangerous character to himself. He was brilliant, he was headstrong.
Lady Russell had little taste for wit, and of anything approaching to
imprudence a horror. She deprecated the connexion in every light.
Such opposition, as these feelings produced, was more than
Anne could combat. Young and gentle as she was, it might yet
have been possible to withstand her father's ill-will,
though unsoftened by one kind word or look on the part of her sister;
but Lady Russell, whom she had always loved and relied on, could not,
with such steadiness of opinion, and such tenderness of manner,
be continually advising her in vain. She was persuaded to believe
the engagement a wrong thing: indiscreet, improper, hardly capable
of success, and not deserving it. But it was not a merely selfish
caution,
under which she acted, in putting an end to it. Had she not
imagined herself consulting his good, even more than her own,
she could hardly have given him up. The belief of being prudent,
and self-denying, principally for his advantage, was her chief consolation,
under the misery of a parting, a final parting; and every consolation
was required, for she had to encounter all the additional pain of opinions,
on his side, totally unconvinced and unbending, and of his feeling himself
ill used by so forced a relinquishment. He had left the country
in consequence.
A few months had seen the beginning and the end of their acquaintance;
but not with a few months ended Anne's share of suffering from it.
Her attachment and regrets had, for a long time, clouded every
enjoyment of youth, and an early loss of bloom and spirits
had been their lasting effect.
More than seven years were gone since this little history
of sorrowful interest had reached its close; and time had
softened down much, perhaps nearly all of peculiar attachment to him,
but she had been too dependent on time alone; no aid had been given
in change of place (except in one visit to Bath soon after the rupture),
or in any novelty or enlargement of society. No one had ever
come within the Kellynch circle, who could bear a comparison with
Frederick Wentworth, as he stood in her memory. No second attachment,
the only thoroughly natural, happy, and sufficient cure,
at her time of life, had been possible to the nice tone of her mind,
the fastidiousness of her taste, in the small limits of the society
around them. She had been solicited, when about two-and-twenty,
to change her name, by the young man, who not long afterwards found
a more willing mind in her younger sister; and Lady Russell had
lamented her refusal; for Charles Musgrove was the eldest son of a man,
whose landed property and general importance were second in that country,
only to Sir Walter's, and of good character and appearance;
and however Lady Russell might have asked yet for something more,
while Anne was nineteen, she would have rejoiced to see her at twenty-two
so respectably removed from the partialities and injustice of
her father's house, and settled so permanently near herself.
But in this case, Anne had left nothing for advice to do;
and though Lady Russell, as satisfied as ever with her own discretion,
never wished the past undone, she began now to have the anxiety
which borders on hopelessness for Anne's being tempted, by some man
of talents and independence, to enter a state for which she held her
to be peculiarly fitted by her warm affections and domestic habits.
They knew not each other's opinion, either its constancy or its change,
on the one leading point of Anne's conduct, for the subject was never
alluded to; but Anne, at seven-and-twenty, thought very differently
from what she had been made to think at nineteen. She did not
blame
Lady Russell, she did not blame herself for having been guided by her;
but she felt that were any young person, in similar circumstances,
to apply to her for counsel, they would never receive any of such
certain immediate wretchedness, such uncertain future good.
She was persuaded that under every disadvantage of disapprobation at
home,
and every anxiety attending his profession, all their probable fears,
delays, and disappointments, she should yet have been a happier woman
in maintaining the engagement, than she had been in the sacrifice of
it;
and this, she fully believed, had the usual share, had even more than
the usual share of all such solicitudes and suspense been theirs,
without reference to the actual results of their case, which,
as it happened, would have bestowed earlier prosperity than
could be reasonably calculated on. All his sanguine expectations,
all his confidence had been justified. His genius and ardour
had seemed to foresee and to command his prosperous path.
He had, very soon after their engagement ceased, got employ:
and all that he had told her would follow, had taken place.
He had distinguished himself, and early gained the other step in rank,
and must now, by successive captures, have made a handsome fortune.
She had only navy lists and newspapers for her authority,
but she could not doubt his being rich; and, in favour of his constancy,
she had no reason to believe him married.
How eloquent could Anne Elliot have been! how eloquent, at least,
were her wishes on the side of early warm attachment, and a cheerful
confidence in futurity, against that over-anxious caution which
seems to insult exertion and distrust Providence! She had been
forced
into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older:
the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.
With all these circumstances, recollections and feelings,
she could not hear that Captain Wentworth's sister was likely
to live at Kellynch without a revival of former pain; and many a stroll,
and many a sigh, were necessary to dispel the agitation of the idea.
She often told herself it was folly, before she could harden her nerves
sufficiently to feel the continual discussion of the Crofts
and their business no evil. She was assisted, however, by that
perfect indifference and apparent unconsciousness, among the only three
of her own friends in the secret of the past, which seemed almost to
deny
any recollection of it. She could do justice to the superiority
of Lady Russell's motives in this, over those of her father and Elizabeth;
she could honour all the better feelings of her calmness;
but the general air of oblivion among them was highly important
from whatever it sprung; and in the event of Admiral Croft's really
taking Kellynch Hall, she rejoiced anew over the conviction which
had always been most grateful to her, of the past being known to
those three only among her connexions, by whom no syllable,
she believed, would ever be whispered, and in the trust that among his,
the brother only with whom he had been residing, had received
any information of their short-lived engagement. That brother
had been
long removed from the country and being a sensible man, and, moreover,
a single man at the time, she had a fond dependence on no human creature's
having heard of it from him.
The sister, Mrs Croft, had then been out of England, accompanying
her husband on a foreign station, and her own sister, Mary,
had been at school while it all occurred; and never admitted by
the pride of some, and the delicacy of others, to the smallest knowledge
of it afterwards.
With these supports, she hoped that the acquaintance between herself
and the Crofts, which, with Lady Russell, still resident in Kellynch,
and Mary fixed only three miles off, must be anticipated,
need not involve any particular awkwardness.
Chapter 5
On the morning appointed for Admiral and Mrs Croft's seeing Kellynch
Hall,
Anne found it most natural to take her almost daily walk to Lady Russell's,
and keep out of the way till all was over; when she found it most natural
to be sorry that she had missed the opportunity of seeing them.
This meeting of the two parties proved highly satisfactory,
and decided the whole business at once. Each lady was previously
well disposed for an agreement, and saw nothing, therefore,
but good manners in the other; and with regard to the gentlemen,
there was such an hearty good humour, such an open, trusting liberality
on the Admiral's side, as could not but influence Sir Walter,
who had besides been flattered into his very best and most polished
behaviour by Mr Shepherd's assurances of his being known, by report,
to the Admiral, as a model of good breeding.
The house and grounds, and furniture, were approved, the Crofts
were approved, terms, time, every thing, and every body, was right;
and Mr Shepherd's clerks were set to work, without there having been
a single preliminary difference to modify of all that
"This indenture sheweth."
Sir Walter, without hesitation, declared the Admiral to be
the best-looking sailor he had ever met with, and went so far as to
say,
that if his own man might have had the arranging of his hair,
he should not be ashamed of being seen with him any where;
and the Admiral, with sympathetic cordiality, observed to his wife
as they drove back through the park, "I thought we should soon
come to a deal, my dear, in spite of what they told us at Taunton.
The Baronet will never set the Thames on fire, but there seems to be
no harm in him." reciprocal compliments, which would have been
esteemed about equal.
The Crofts were to have possession at Michaelmas; and as Sir Walter
proposed removing to Bath in the course of the preceding month,
there was no time to be lost in making every dependent arrangement.
Lady Russell, convinced that Anne would not be allowed to be of any
use,
or any importance, in the choice of the house which they were
going to secure, was very unwilling to have her hurried away so soon,
and wanted to make it possible for her to stay behind till she might
convey her to Bath herself after Christmas; but having engagements
of her own which must take her from Kellynch for several weeks,
she was unable to give the full invitation she wished, and Anne
though dreading the possible heats of September in all the white glare
of Bath, and grieving to forego all the influence so sweet and so sad
of the autumnal months in the country, did not think that,
everything considered, she wished to remain. It would be most
right,
and most wise, and, therefore must involve least suffering
to go with the others.
Something occurred, however, to give her a different duty.
Mary, often a little unwell, and always thinking a great deal
of her own complaints, and always in the habit of claiming Anne
when anything was the matter, was indisposed; and foreseeing
that she should not have a day's health all the autumn, entreated,
or rather required her, for it was hardly entreaty, to come to
Uppercross Cottage, and bear her company as long as she should want
her,
instead of going to Bath.
"I cannot possibly do without Anne," was Mary's reasoning;
and Elizabeth's reply was, "Then I am sure Anne had better stay,
for nobody will want her in Bath."
To be claimed as a good, though in an improper style, is at least
better than being rejected as no good at all; and Anne, glad to
be thought of some use, glad to have anything marked out as a duty,
and certainly not sorry to have the scene of it in the country,
and her own dear country, readily agreed to stay.
This invitation of Mary's removed all Lady Russell's difficulties,
and it was consequently soon settled that Anne should not go to Bath
till Lady Russell took her, and that all the intervening time
should be divided between Uppercross Cottage and Kellynch Lodge.
So far all was perfectly right; but Lady Russell was almost startled
by the wrong of one part of the Kellynch Hall plan, when it burst on
her,
which was, Mrs Clay's being engaged to go to Bath with Sir Walter
and Elizabeth, as a most important and valuable assistant to the latter
in all the business before her. Lady Russell was extremely sorry
that such a measure should have been resorted to at all, wondered,
grieved, and feared; and the affront it contained to Anne,
in Mrs Clay's being of so much use, while Anne could be of none,
was a very sore aggravation.
Anne herself was become hardened to such affronts; but she felt
the imprudence of the arrangement quite as keenly as Lady Russell.
With a great deal of quiet observation, and a knowledge,
which she often wished less, of her father's character, she was
sensible that results the most serious to his family from the intimacy
were more than possible. She did not imagine that her father
had at present an idea of the kind. Mrs Clay had freckles,
and a projecting tooth, and a clumsy wrist, which he was continually
making severe remarks upon, in her absence; but she was young,
and certainly altogether well-looking, and possessed, in an acute mind
and assiduous pleasing manners, infinitely more dangerous attractions
than any merely personal might have been. Anne was so impressed
by the degree of their danger, that she could not excuse herself
from trying to make it perceptible to her sister. She had little
hope
of success; but Elizabeth, who in the event of such a reverse would
be
so much more to be pitied than herself, should never, she thought,
have reason to reproach her for giving no warning.
She spoke, and seemed only to offend. Elizabeth could not conceive
how such an absurd suspicion should occur to her, and indignantly
answered for each party's perfectly knowing their situation.
"Mrs Clay," said she, warmly, "never forgets who she is;
and as I am rather better acquainted with her sentiments than you can
be,
I can assure you, that upon the subject of marriage they are
particularly nice, and that she reprobates all inequality of condition
and rank more strongly than most people. And as to my father,
I really should not have thought that he, who has kept himself single
so long for our sakes, need be suspected now. If Mrs Clay were
a very beautiful woman, I grant you, it might be wrong to have her
so much with me; not that anything in the world, I am sure,
would induce my father to make a degrading match, but he might
be rendered unhappy. But poor Mrs Clay who, with all her merits,
can never have been reckoned tolerably pretty, I really think poor
Mrs Clay may be staying here in perfect safety. One would imagine
you had never heard my father speak of her personal misfortunes,
though I know you must fifty times. That tooth of her's
and those freckles. Freckles do not disgust me so very much
as they do him. I have known a face not materially disfigured
by a few,
but he abominates them. You must have heard him notice
Mrs Clay's freckles."
"There is hardly any personal defect," replied Anne,
"which an agreeable manner might not gradually reconcile one to."
"I think very differently," answered Elizabeth, shortly;
"an agreeable manner may set off handsome features, but can never
alter plain ones. However, at any rate, as I have a great deal
more
at stake on this point than anybody else can have, I think it
rather unnecessary in you to be advising me."
Anne had done; glad that it was over, and not absolutely hopeless
of doing good. Elizabeth, though resenting the suspicion,
might yet be made observant by it.
The last office of the four carriage-horses was to draw Sir Walter,
Miss Elliot, and Mrs Clay to Bath. The party drove off
in very good spirits; Sir Walter prepared with condescending bows
for all the afflicted tenantry and cottagers who might have had a hint
to show themselves, and Anne walked up at the same time,
in a sort of desolate tranquility, to the Lodge, where she was to spend
the first week.
Her friend was not in better spirits than herself. Lady Russell felt
this
break-up of the family exceedingly. Their respectability was
as dear to her as her own, and a daily intercourse had become
precious by habit. It was painful to look upon their deserted
grounds,
and still worse to anticipate the new hands they were to fall into;
and to escape the solitariness and the melancholy of so altered a village,
and be out of the way when Admiral and Mrs Croft first arrived,
she had determined to make her own absence from home begin
when she must give up Anne. Accordingly their removal was made
together,
and Anne was set down at Uppercross Cottage, in the first stage
of Lady Russell's journey.
Uppercross was a moderate-sized village, which a few years back
had been completely in the old English style, containing only
two houses superior in appearance to those of the yeomen and labourers;
the mansion of the squire, with its high walls, great gates, and old
trees,
substantial and unmodernized, and the compact, tight parsonage,
enclosed in its own neat garden, with a vine and a pear-tree
trained round its casements; but upon the marriage of the young 'squire,
it had received the improvement of a farm-house elevated into a cottage,
for his residence, and Uppercross Cottage, with its veranda,
French windows, and other prettiness, was quite as likely to catch
the traveller's eye as the more consistent and considerable aspect
and premises of the Great House, about a quarter of a mile farther on.
Here Anne had often been staying. She knew the ways of Uppercross
as well as those of Kellynch. The two families were so continually
meeting,
so much in the habit of running in and out of each other's house
at all hours, that it was rather a surprise to her to find Mary alone;
but being alone, her being unwell and out of spirits was almost
a matter of course. Though better endowed than the elder sister,
Mary had not Anne's understanding nor temper. While well, and
happy,
and properly attended to, she had great good humour and excellent spirits;
but any indisposition sunk her completely. She had no resources
for solitude; and inheriting a considerable share of the Elliot
self-importance, was very prone to add to every other distress
that of fancying herself neglected and ill-used. In person, she
was
inferior to both sisters, and had, even in her bloom, only reached
the dignity of being "a fine girl." She was now lying on the faded
sofa
of the pretty little drawing-room, the once elegant furniture of which
had been gradually growing shabby, under the influence of four summers
and two children; and, on Anne's appearing, greeted her with--
"So, you are come at last! I began to think I should never see
you.
I am so ill I can hardly speak. I have not seen a creature
the whole morning!"
"I am sorry to find you unwell," replied Anne. "You sent me
such a good account of yourself on Thursday!"
"Yes, I made the best of it; I always do: but I was very far from
well
at the time; and I do not think I ever was so ill in my life
as I have been all this morning: very unfit to be left alone,
I am sure.
Suppose I were to be seized of a sudden in some dreadful way,
and not able to ring the bell! So, Lady Russell would not get
out.
I do not think she has been in this house three times this summer."
Anne said what was proper, and enquired after her husband.
"Oh! Charles is out shooting. I have not seen him since seven
o'clock.
He would go, though I told him how ill I was. He said he should
not
stay out long; but he has never come back, and now it is almost one.
I assure you, I have not seen a soul this whole long morning."
"You have had your little boys with you?"
"Yes, as long as I could bear their noise; but they are so unmanageable
that they do me more harm than good. Little Charles does not mind
a word I say, and Walter is growing quite as bad."
"Well, you will soon be better now," replied Anne, cheerfully.
"You know I always cure you when I come. How are your neighbours
at the Great House?"
"I can give you no account of them. I have not seen one of them
to-day,
except Mr Musgrove, who just stopped and spoke through the window,
but without getting off his horse; and though I told him how ill I was,
not one of them have been near me. It did not happen to suit
the Miss Musgroves, I suppose, and they never put themselves
out of their way."
"You will see them yet, perhaps, before the morning is gone.
It is early."
"I never want them, I assure you. They talk and laugh a great
deal
too much for me. Oh! Anne, I am so very unwell! It was quite
unkind
of you not to come on Thursday."
"My dear Mary, recollect what a comfortable account you sent me of yourself!
You wrote in the cheerfullest manner, and said you were perfectly well,
and in no hurry for me; and that being the case, you must be aware
that my wish would be to remain with Lady Russell to the last:
and besides what I felt on her account, I have really been so busy,
have had so much to do, that I could not very conveniently have
left Kellynch sooner."
"Dear me! what can you possibly have to do?"
"A great many things, I assure you. More than I can recollect
in a moment; but I can tell you some. I have been making
a duplicate of the catalogue of my father's books and pictures.
I have been several times in the garden with Mackenzie,
trying to understand, and make him understand, which of Elizabeth's
plants
are for Lady Russell. I have had all my own little concerns
to arrange, books and music to divide, and all my trunks to repack,
from not having understood in time what was intended as to the waggons:
and one thing I have had to do, Mary, of a more trying nature:
going to almost every house in the parish, as a sort of take-leave.
I was told that they wished it. But all these things took up
a great deal of time."
"Oh! well!" and after a moment's pause, "but you have never asked me
one word about our dinner at the Pooles yesterday."
"Did you go then? I have made no enquiries, because I concluded
you must have been obliged to give up the party."
"Oh yes! I went. I was very well yesterday; nothing at all
the matter with me till this morning. It would have been strange
if I had not gone."
"I am very glad you were well enough, and I hope you had a pleasant
party."
"Nothing remarkable. One always knows beforehand what the dinner
will be,
and who will be there; and it is so very uncomfortable not having
a carriage of one's own. Mr and Mrs Musgrove took me, and we were
so crowded! They are both so very large, and take up so much room;
and Mr Musgrove always sits forward. So, there was I, crowded
into
the back seat with Henrietta and Louise; and I think it very likely
that my illness to-day may be owing to it."
A little further perseverance in patience and forced cheerfulness
on Anne's side produced nearly a cure on Mary's. She could soon
sit upright on the sofa, and began to hope she might be able
to leave it by dinner-time. Then, forgetting to think of it,
she was at the other end of the room, beautifying a nosegay;
then, she ate her cold meat; and then she was well enough
to propose a little walk.
"Where shall we go?" said she, when they were ready. "I suppose
you will not like to call at the Great House before they have
been to see you?"
"I have not the smallest objection on that account," replied Anne.
"I should never think of standing on such ceremony with people I know
so well as Mrs and the Miss Musgroves."
"Oh! but they ought to call upon you as soon as possible.
They ought to feel what is due to you as my sister. However,
we may as well go and sit with them a little while, and when we
have that over, we can enjoy our walk."
Anne had always thought such a style of intercourse highly imprudent;
but she had ceased to endeavour to check it, from believing that,
though there were on each side continual subjects of offence,
neither family could now do without it. To the Great House accordingly
they went, to sit the full half hour in the old-fashioned square parlour,
with a small carpet and shining floor, to which the present
daughters of the house were gradually giving the proper air of confusion
by a grand piano-forte and a harp, flower-stands and little tables
placed in every direction. Oh! could the originals of the portraits
against the wainscot, could the gentlemen in brown velvet and
the ladies in blue satin have seen what was going on, have been conscious
of such an overthrow of all order and neatness! The portraits
themselves
seemed to be staring in astonishment.
The Musgroves, like their houses, were in a state of alteration,
perhaps of improvement. The father and mother were in the old
English style, and the young people in the new. Mr and Mrs Musgrove
were a very good sort of people; friendly and hospitable,
not much educated, and not at all elegant. Their children had
more modern minds and manners. There was a numerous family;
but the only two grown up, excepting Charles, were Henrietta and Louisa,
young ladies of nineteen and twenty, who had brought from school at
Exeter
all the usual stock of accomplishments, and were now like thousands
of other young ladies, living to be fashionable, happy, and merry.
Their dress had every advantage, their faces were rather pretty,
their spirits extremely good, their manner unembarrassed and pleasant;
they were of consequence at home, and favourites abroad.
Anne always contemplated them as some of the happiest creatures
of her acquaintance; but still, saved as we all are, by some
comfortable feeling of superiority from wishing for the possibility
of exchange, she would not have given up her own more elegant
and cultivated mind for all their enjoyments; and envied them nothing
but that seemingly perfect good understanding and agreement together,
that good-humoured mutual affection, of which she had known
so little herself with either of her sisters.
They were received with great cordiality. Nothing seemed amiss
on the side of the Great House family, which was generally,
as Anne very well knew, the least to blame. The half hour was
chatted away pleasantly enough; and she was not at all surprised
at the end of it, to have their walking party joined by both
the Miss Musgroves, at Mary's particular invitation.
Chapter 6
Anne had not wanted this visit to Uppercross, to learn that a removal
from one set of people to another, though at a distance of only three
miles,
will often include a total change of conversation, opinion, and idea.
She had never been staying there before, without being struck by it,
or without wishing that other Elliots could have her advantage
in seeing how unknown, or unconsidered there, were the affairs
which at Kellynch Hall were treated as of such general publicity
and pervading interest; yet, with all this experience, she believed
she must now submit to feel that another lesson, in the art of knowing
our own nothingness beyond our own circle, was become necessary for
her;
for certainly, coming as she did, with a heart full of the subject
which had been completely occupying both houses in Kellynch for many
weeks,
she had expected rather more curiosity and sympathy than she found
in the separate but very similar remark of Mr and Mrs Musgrove:
"So, Miss Anne, Sir Walter and your sister are gone; and what part of
Bath
do you think they will settle in?" and this, without much
waiting for an answer; or in the young ladies' addition of,
"I hope we shall be in Bath in the winter; but remember, papa,
if we do go, we must be in a good situation: none of your
Queen Squares for us!" or in the anxious supplement from Mary, of--
"Upon my word, I shall be pretty well off, when you are all gone away
to be happy at Bath!"
She could only resolve to avoid such self-delusion in future,
and think with heightened gratitude of the extraordinary blessing
of having one such truly sympathising friend as Lady Russell.
The Mr Musgroves had their own game to guard, and to destroy,
their own horses, dogs, and newspapers to engage them, and the females
were fully occupied in all the other common subjects of housekeeping,
neighbours, dress, dancing, and music. She acknowledged it to
be
very fitting, that every little social commonwealth should dictate
its own matters of discourse; and hoped, ere long, to become
a not unworthy member of the one she was now transplanted into.
With the prospect of spending at least two months at Uppercross,
it was highly incumbent on her to clothe her imagination, her memory,
and all her ideas in as much of Uppercross as possible.
She had no dread of these two months. Mary was not so repulsive
and unsisterly as Elizabeth, nor so inaccessible to all influence of
hers;
neither was there anything among the other component parts
of the cottage inimical to comfort. She was always on friendly
terms
with her brother-in-law; and in the children, who loved her nearly as
well,
and respected her a great deal more than their mother, she had
an object of interest, amusement, and wholesome exertion.
Charles Musgrove was civil and agreeable; in sense and temper he was
undoubtedly superior to his wife, but not of powers, or conversation,
or grace, to make the past, as they were connected together,
at all a dangerous contemplation; though, at the same time,
Anne could believe, with Lady Russell, that a more equal match
might have greatly improved him; and that a woman of real understanding
might have given more consequence to his character, and more usefulness,
rationality, and elegance to his habits and pursuits. As it was,
he did nothing with much zeal, but sport; and his time was otherwise
trifled away, without benefit from books or anything else.
He had very good spirits, which never seemed much affected by
his wife's occasional lowness, bore with her unreasonableness
sometimes to Anne's admiration, and upon the whole, though there was
very often a little disagreement (in which she had sometimes more share
than she wished, being appealed to by both parties), they might pass
for a happy couple. They were always perfectly agreed in the want
of more money, and a strong inclination for a handsome present
from his father; but here, as on most topics, he had the superiority,
for while Mary thought it a great shame that such a present was not
made,
he always contended for his father's having many other uses for his
money,
and a right to spend it as he liked.
As to the management of their children, his theory was much better
than his wife's, and his practice not so bad. "I could manage
them
very well, if it were not for Mary's interference," was what
Anne often heard him say, and had a good deal of faith in;
but when listening in turn to Mary's reproach of "Charles spoils
the children so that I cannot get them into any order," she never had
the smallest temptation to say, "Very true."
One of the least agreeable circumstances of her residence there
was her being treated with too much confidence by all parties,
and being too much in the secret of the complaints of each house.
Known to have some influence with her sister, she was continually requested,
or at least receiving hints to exert it, beyond what was practicable.
"I wish you could persuade Mary not to be always fancying herself ill,"
was Charles's language; and, in an unhappy mood, thus spoke Mary:
"I do believe if Charles were to see me dying, he would not think
there was anything the matter with me. I am sure, Anne, if you
would,
you might persuade him that I really am very ill--a great deal worse
than I ever own."
Mary's declaration was, "I hate sending the children to the Great House,
though their grandmamma is always wanting to see them, for she humours
and indulges them to such a degree, and gives them so much trash
and sweet things, that they are sure to come back sick and cross
for the rest of the day." And Mrs Musgrove took the first opportunity
of being alone with Anne, to say, "Oh! Miss Anne, I cannot help wishing
Mrs Charles had a little of your method with those children.
They are quite different creatures with you! But to be sure,
in general they are so spoilt! It is a pity you cannot put your
sister
in the way of managing them. They are as fine healthy children
as ever were seen, poor little dears! without partiality;
but Mrs Charles knows no more how they should be treated--!
Bless me! how troublesome they are sometimes. I assure you, Miss
Anne,
it prevents my wishing to see them at our house so often as
I otherwise should. I believe Mrs Charles is not quite pleased
with my not inviting them oftener; but you know it is very bad
to have children with one that one is obligated to be checking
every moment; "don't do this," and "don't do that;" or that one
can
only keep in tolerable order by more cake than is good for them."
She had this communication, moreover, from Mary. "Mrs Musgrove
thinks
all her servants so steady, that it would be high treason
to call it in question; but I am sure, without exaggeration,
that her upper house-maid and laundry-maid, instead of being
in their business, are gadding about the village, all day long.
I meet them wherever I go; and I declare, I never go twice into my nursery
without seeing something of them. If Jemima were not the trustiest,
steadiest creature in the world, it would be enough to spoil her;
for she tells me, they are always tempting her to take a walk with them."
And on Mrs Musgrove's side, it was, "I make a rule of never interfering
in any of my daughter-in-law's concerns, for I know it would not do;
but I shall tell you, Miss Anne, because you may be able to set things
to rights, that I have no very good opinion of Mrs Charles's nursery-maid:
I hear strange stories of her; she is always upon the gad; and from
my own knowledge, I can declare, she is such a fine-dressing lady,
that she is enough to ruin any servants she comes near.
Mrs Charles quite swears by her, I know; but I just give you this hint,
that you may be upon the watch; because, if you see anything amiss,
you need not be afraid of mentioning it."
Again, it was Mary's complaint, that Mrs Musgrove was very apt
not to give her the precedence that was her due, when they dined
at the Great House with other families; and she did not see any reason
why she was to be considered so much at home as to lose her place.
And one day when Anne was walking with only the Musgroves, one of them
after talking of rank, people of rank, and jealousy of rank, said,
"I have no scruple of observing to you, how nonsensical some persons
are
about their place, because all the world knows how easy and indifferent
you are about it; but I wish anybody could give Mary a hint that
it would be a great deal better if she were not so very tenacious,
especially if she would not be always putting herself forward to take
place of mamma. Nobody doubts her right to have precedence of
mamma,
but it would be more becoming in her not to be always insisting on it.
It is not that mamma cares about it the least in the world,
but I know it is taken notice of by many persons."
How was Anne to set all these matters to rights? She could do
little more
than listen patiently, soften every grievance, and excuse each
to the other; give them all hints of the forbearance necessary
between such near neighbours, and make those hints broadest
which were meant for her sister's benefit.
In all other respects, her visit began and proceeded very well.
Her own spirits improved by change of place and subject,
by being removed three miles from Kellynch; Mary's ailments lessened
by having a constant companion, and their daily intercourse
with the other family, since there was neither superior affection,
confidence, nor employment in the cottage, to be interrupted by it,
was rather an advantage. It was certainly carried nearly as far
as possible,
for they met every morning, and hardly ever spent an evening asunder;
but she believed they should not have done so well without the sight
of Mr and Mrs Musgrove's respectable forms in the usual places,
or without the talking, laughing, and singing of their daughters.
She played a great deal better than either of the Miss Musgroves,
but having no voice, no knowledge of the harp, and no fond parents,
to sit by and fancy themselves delighted, her performance was
little thought of, only out of civility, or to refresh the others,
as she was well aware. She knew that when she played she was
giving pleasure only to herself; but this was no new sensation.
Excepting one short period of her life, she had never, since the age
of fourteen, never since the loss of her dear mother, know the happiness
of being listened to, or encouraged by any just appreciation or real
taste.
In music she had been always used to feel alone in the world;
and Mr and Mrs Musgrove's fond partiality for their own daughters'
performance, and total indifference to any other person's,
gave her much more pleasure for their sakes, than mortification
for her own.
The party at the Great House was sometimes increased by other company.
The neighbourhood was not large, but the Musgroves were visited
by everybody, and had more dinner-parties, and more callers,
more visitors by invitation and by chance, than any other family.
There were more completely popular.
The girls were wild for dancing; and the evenings ended, occasionally,
in an unpremeditated little ball. There was a family of cousins
within a walk of Uppercross, in less affluent circumstances,
who depended on the Musgroves for all their pleasures: they would
come
at any time, and help play at anything, or dance anywhere; and Anne,
very much preferring the office of musician to a more active post,
played country dances to them by the hour together; a kindness which
always recommended her musical powers to the notice of Mr and Mrs Musgrove
more than anything else, and often drew this compliment;--
"Well done, Miss Anne! very well done indeed! Lord bless me!
how those little fingers of yours fly about!"
So passed the first three weeks. Michaelmas came; and now Anne's
heart
must be in Kellynch again. A beloved home made over to others;
all the precious rooms and furniture, groves, and prospects,
beginning to own other eyes and other limbs! She could not
think of much else on the 29th of September; and she had this
sympathetic touch in the evening from Mary, who, on having occasion
to note down the day of the month, exclaimed, "Dear me, is not this
the day the Crofts were to come to Kellynch? I am glad I did not
think of it before. How low it makes me!"
The Crofts took possession with true naval alertness, and were
to be visited. Mary deplored the necessity for herself.
"Nobody knew how much she should suffer. She should put it off
as long as she could;" but was not easy till she had talked Charles
into driving her over on an early day, and was in a very animated,
comfortable state of imaginary agitation, when she came back.
Anne had very sincerely rejoiced in there being no means of her going.
She wished, however to see the Crofts, and was glad to be within
when the visit was returned. They came: the master of the
house
was not at home, but the two sisters were together; and as it chanced
that Mrs Croft fell to the share of Anne, while the Admiral sat by Mary,
and made himself very agreeable by his good-humoured notice
of her little boys, she was well able to watch for a likeness,
and if it failed her in the features, to catch it in the voice,
or in the turn of sentiment and expression.
Mrs Croft, though neither tall nor fat, had a squareness,
uprightness, and vigour of form, which gave importance to her person.
She had bright dark eyes, good teeth, and altogether an agreeable face;
though her reddened and weather-beaten complexion, the consequence
of her having been almost as much at sea as her husband, made her seem
to
have lived some years longer in the world than her real eight-and-thirty.
Her manners were open, easy, and decided, like one who had
no distrust of herself, and no doubts of what to do; without any
approach to coarseness, however, or any want of good humour.
Anne gave her credit, indeed, for feelings of great consideration
towards herself, in all that related to Kellynch, and it pleased her:
especially, as she had satisfied herself in the very first half minute,
in the instant even of introduction, that there was not the smallest
symptom of any knowledge or suspicion on Mrs Croft's side, to give a
bias
of any sort. She was quite easy on that head, and consequently
full of strength and courage, till for a moment electrified by
Mrs Croft's suddenly saying,--
"It was you, and not your sister, I find, that my brother had
the pleasure of being acquainted with, when he was in this country."
Anne hoped she had outlived the age of blushing; but the age of emotion
she certainly had not.
"Perhaps you may not have heard that he is married?" added Mrs Croft.
She could now answer as she ought; and was happy to feel,
when Mrs Croft's next words explained it to be Mr Wentworth
of whom she spoke, that she had said nothing which might not do
for either brother. She immediately felt how reasonable it was,
that Mrs Croft should be thinking and speaking of Edward,
and not of Frederick; and with shame at her own forgetfulness
applied herself to the knowledge of their former neighbour's
present state with proper interest.
The rest was all tranquillity; till, just as they were moving,
she heard the Admiral say to Mary--
"We are expecting a brother of Mrs Croft's here soon; I dare say
you know him by name."
He was cut short by the eager attacks of the little boys,
clinging to him like an old friend, and declaring he should not go;
and being too much engrossed by proposals of carrying them away
in his coat pockets, &c., to have another moment for finishing
or recollecting what he had begun, Anne was left to persuade herself,
as well as she could, that the same brother must still be in question.
She could not, however, reach such a degree of certainty,
as not to be anxious to hear whether anything had been said on the subject
at the other house, where the Crofts had previously been calling.
The folks of the Great House were to spend the evening of this day
at the Cottage; and it being now too late in the year for such visits
to be made on foot, the coach was beginning to be listened for,
when the youngest Miss Musgrove walked in. That she was coming
to apologize, and that they should have to spend the evening by themselves,
was the first black idea; and Mary was quite ready to be affronted,
when Louisa made all right by saying, that she only came on foot,
to leave more room for the harp, which was bringing in the carriage.
"And I will tell you our reason," she added, "and all about it.
I am come on to give you notice, that papa and mamma are
out of spirits this evening, especially mamma; she is thinking so much
of poor Richard! And we agreed it would be best to have the harp,
for it seems to amuse her more than the piano-forte. I will tell
you
why she is out of spirits. When the Crofts called this morning,
(they called here afterwards, did not they?), they happened to say,
that her brother, Captain Wentworth, is just returned to England,
or paid off, or something, and is coming to see them almost directly;
and most unluckily it came into mamma's head, when they were gone,
that Wentworth, or something very like it, was the name of
poor Richard's captain at one time; I do not know when or where,
but a great while before he died, poor fellow! And upon looking
over
his letters and things, she found it was so, and is perfectly sure
that this must be the very man, and her head is quite full of it,
and of poor Richard! So we must be as merry as we can, that she
may not
be dwelling upon such gloomy things."
The real circumstances of this pathetic piece of family history were,
that the Musgroves had had the ill fortune of a very troublesome,
hopeless son; and the good fortune to lose him before he reached
his twentieth year; that he had been sent to sea because he was stupid
and unmanageable on shore; that he had been very little cared for
at any time by his family, though quite as much as he deserved;
seldom heard of, and scarcely at all regretted, when the intelligence
of his death abroad had worked its way to Uppercross, two years before.
He had, in fact, though his sisters were now doing all they could for
him,
by calling him "poor Richard," been nothing better than a thick-headed,
unfeeling, unprofitable Dick Musgrove, who had never done anything
to entitle himself to more than the abbreviation of his name,
living or dead.
He had been several years at sea, and had, in the course of those removals
to which all midshipmen are liable, and especially such midshipmen
as every captain wishes to get rid of, been six months on board
Captain Frederick Wentworth's frigate, the Laconia; and from the Laconia
he had, under the influence of his captain, written the only two letters
which his father and mother had ever received from him during the whole
of his absence; that is to say, the only two disinterested letters;
all the rest had been mere applications for money.
In each letter he had spoken well of his captain; but yet,
so little were they in the habit of attending to such matters,
so unobservant and incurious were they as to the names of men or ships,
that it had made scarcely any impression at the time; and that Mrs Musgrove
should have been suddenly struck, this very day, with a recollection
of the name of Wentworth, as connected with her son, seemed one of those
extraordinary bursts of mind which do sometimes occur.
She had gone to her letters, and found it all as she supposed;
and the re-perusal of these letters, after so long an interval,
her poor son gone for ever, and all the strength of his faults forgotten,
had affected her spirits exceedingly, and thrown her into
greater grief for him than she had know on first hearing of his death.
Mr Musgrove was, in a lesser degree, affected likewise; and when
they reached the cottage, they were evidently in want, first,
of being listened to anew on this subject, and afterwards,
of all the relief which cheerful companions could give them.
To hear them talking so much of Captain Wentworth, repeating his name
so often, puzzling over past years, and at last ascertaining that it
might,
that it probably would, turn out to be the very same Captain Wentworth
whom they recollected meeting, once or twice, after their coming back
from Clifton--a very fine young man--but they could not say whether
it was seven or eight years ago, was a new sort of trial to Anne's nerves.
She found, however, that it was one to which she must inure herself.
Since he actually was expected in the country, she must teach herself
to be insensible on such points. And not only did it appear that
he was expected, and speedily, but the Musgroves, in their warm gratitude
for the kindness he had shewn poor Dick, and very high respect
for his character, stamped as it was by poor Dick's having been
six months under his care, and mentioning him in strong,
though not perfectly well-spelt praise, as "a fine dashing felow,
only two perticular about the schoolmaster," were bent on
introducing themselves, and seeking his acquaintance, as soon as
they could hear of his arrival.
The resolution of doing so helped to form the comfort of their evening.
Chapter 7
A very few days more, and Captain Wentworth was known to be at Kellynch,
and Mr Musgrove had called on him, and come back warm in his praise,
and he was engaged with the Crofts to dine at Uppercross,
by the end of another week. It had been a great disappointment
to Mr Musgrove to find that no earlier day could be fixed,
so impatient was he to shew his gratitude, by seeing Captain Wentworth
under his own roof, and welcoming him to all that was strongest
and best in his cellars. But a week must pass; only a week,
in Anne's reckoning, and then, she supposed, they must meet;
and soon she began to wish that she could feel secure even for a week.
Captain Wentworth made a very early return to Mr Musgrove's civility,
and she was all but calling there in the same half hour.
She and Mary were actually setting forward for the Great House,
where, as she afterwards learnt, they must inevitably have found him,
when they were stopped by the eldest boy's being at that moment
brought home in consequence of a bad fall. The child's situation
put the visit entirely aside; but she could not hear of her escape
with indifference, even in the midst of the serious anxiety
which they afterwards felt on his account.
His collar-bone was found to be dislocated, and such injury
received in the back, as roused the most alarming ideas.
It was an afternoon of distress, and Anne had every thing to do at once;
the apothecary to send for, the father to have pursued and informed,
the mother to support and keep from hysterics, the servants to control,
the youngest child to banish, and the poor suffering one to attend
and soothe; besides sending, as soon as she recollected it,
proper notice to the other house, which brought her an accession
rather of frightened, enquiring companions, than of very useful assistants.
Her brother's return was the first comfort; he could take best care
of his wife; and the second blessing was the arrival of the apothecary.
Till he came and had examined the child, their apprehensions were
the worse for being vague; they suspected great injury, but knew not
where;
but now the collar-bone was soon replaced, and though Mr Robinson
felt and felt, and rubbed, and looked grave, and spoke low words
both to the father and the aunt, still they were all to hope the best,
and to be able to part and eat their dinner in tolerable ease of mind;
and then it was, just before they parted, that the two young aunts
were able so far to digress from their nephew's state, as to give
the information of Captain Wentworth's visit; staying five minutes behind
their father and mother, to endeavour to express how perfectly delighted
they were with him, how much handsomer, how infinitely more agreeable
they thought him than any individual among their male acquaintance,
who had been at all a favourite before. How glad they had been
to hear papa invite him to stay dinner, how sorry when he said
it was quite out of his power, and how glad again when he had promised
in reply to papa and mamma's farther pressing invitations to come
and dine with them on the morrow--actually on the morrow;
and he had promised it in so pleasant a manner, as if he felt
all the motive of their attention just as he ought. And in short,
he had looked and said everything with such exquisite grace,
that they could assure them all, their heads were both turned by him;
and off they ran, quite as full of glee as of love, and apparently
more full of Captain Wentworth than of little Charles.
The same story and the same raptures were repeated, when the two girls
came
with their father, through the gloom of the evening, to make enquiries;
and Mr Musgrove, no longer under the first uneasiness about his heir,
could add his confirmation and praise, and hope there would be now
no occasion for putting Captain Wentworth off, and only be sorry to
think
that the cottage party, probably, would not like to leave the little
boy,
to give him the meeting. "Oh no; as to leaving the little boy,"
both father and mother were in much too strong and recent alarm
to bear the thought; and Anne, in the joy of the escape,
could not help adding her warm protestations to theirs.
Charles Musgrove, indeed, afterwards, shewed more of inclination;
"the child was going on so well, and he wished so much to be introduced
to Captain Wentworth, that, perhaps, he might join them in the evening;
he would not dine from home, but he might walk in for half an hour."
But in this he was eagerly opposed by his wife, with "Oh! no, indeed,
Charles, I cannot bear to have you go away. Only think if anything
should happen?"
The child had a good night, and was going on well the next day.
It must be a work of time to ascertain that no injury had been
done to the spine; but Mr Robinson found nothing to increase alarm,
and Charles Musgrove began, consequently, to feel no necessity
for longer confinement. The child was to be kept in bed and amused
as quietly as possible; but what was there for a father to do?
This was quite a female case, and it would be highly absurd in him,
who could be of no use at home, to shut himself up. His father
very much wished him to meet Captain Wentworth, and there being
no sufficient reason against it, he ought to go; and it ended in his
making a bold, public declaration, when he came in from shooting,
of his meaning to dress directly, and dine at the other house.
"Nothing can be going on better than the child," said he;
"so I told my father, just now, that I would come, and he thought me
quite right. Your sister being with you, my love, I have no scruple
at all.
You would not like to leave him yourself, but you see I can be of no
use.
Anne will send for me if anything is the matter."
Husbands and wives generally understand when opposition will be vain.
Mary knew, from Charles's manner of speaking, that he was
quite determined on going, and that it would be of no use to teaze him.
She said nothing, therefore, till he was out of the room,
but as soon as there was only Anne to hear--
"So you and I are to be left to shift by ourselves, with this
poor sick child; and not a creature coming near us all the evening!
I knew how it would be. This is always my luck. If there
is
anything disagreeable going on men are always sure to get out of it,
and Charles is as bad as any of them. Very unfeeling! I
must say
it is very unfeeling of him to be running away from his poor little
boy.
Talks of his being going on so well! How does he know that he
is
going on well, or that there may not be a sudden change half an hour
hence?
I did not think Charles would have been so unfeeling. So here
he is to
go away and enjoy himself, and because I am the poor mother,
I am not to be allowed to stir; and yet, I am sure, I am more unfit
than anybody else to be about the child. My being the mother
is the very reason why my feelings should not be tried. I am not
at all
equal to it. You saw how hysterical I was yesterday."
"But that was only the effect of the suddenness of your alarm--
of the shock. You will not be hysterical again. I dare say
we shall have
nothing to distress us. I perfectly understand Mr Robinson's directions,
and have no fears; and indeed, Mary, I cannot wonder at your husband.
Nursing does not belong to a man; it is not his province.
A sick child is always the mother's property: her own feelings
generally make it so."
"I hope I am as fond of my child as any mother, but I do not know
that I am of any more use in the sick-room than Charles,
for I cannot be always scolding and teazing the poor child when it is
ill;
and you saw, this morning, that if I told him to keep quiet,
he was sure to begin kicking about. I have not nerves
for the sort of thing."
"But, could you be comfortable yourself, to be spending
the whole evening away from the poor boy?"
"Yes; you see his papa can, and why should not I? Jemima is so
careful;
and she could send us word every hour how he was. I really think
Charles might as well have told his father we would all come.
I am not more alarmed about little Charles now than he is.
I was dreadfully alarmed yesterday, but the case is very different to-day."
"Well, if you do not think it too late to give notice for yourself,
suppose you were to go, as well as your husband. Leave little
Charles
to my care. Mr and Mrs Musgrove cannot think it wrong while I
remain
with him."
"Are you serious?" cried Mary, her eyes brightening. "Dear me!
that's a very good thought, very good, indeed. To be sure,
I may just as well go as not, for I am of no use at home--am I?
and it only harasses me. You, who have not a mother's feelings,
are a great deal the properest person. You can make little Charles
do anything; he always minds you at a word. It will be a great
deal better
than leaving him only with Jemima. Oh! I shall certainly go;
I am sure I ought if I can, quite as much as Charles, for they want
me
excessively to be acquainted with Captain Wentworth, and I know
you do not mind being left alone. An excellent thought of yours,
indeed, Anne. I will go and tell Charles, and get ready directly.
You can send for us, you know, at a moment's notice, if anything
is the matter; but I dare say there will be nothing to alarm you.
I should not go, you may be sure, if I did not feel quite at ease
about my dear child."
The next moment she was tapping at her husband's dressing-room door,
and as Anne followed her up stairs, she was in time for
the whole conversation, which began with Mary's saying,
in a tone of great exultation--
"I mean to go with you, Charles, for I am of no more use at home
than you are. If I were to shut myself up for ever with the child,
I should not be able to persuade him to do anything he did not like.
Anne will stay; Anne undertakes to stay at home and take care of him.
It is Anne's own proposal, and so I shall go with you, which will be
a great deal better, for I have not dined at the other house since Tuesday."
"This is very kind of Anne," was her husband's answer, "and I should
be
very glad to have you go; but it seems rather hard that she should be
left at home by herself, to nurse our sick child."
Anne was now at hand to take up her own cause, and the sincerity
of her manner being soon sufficient to convince him, where conviction
was at least very agreeable, he had no farther scruples as to her being
left to dine alone, though he still wanted her to join them in the evening,
when the child might be at rest for the night, and kindly urged her
to let him come and fetch her, but she was quite unpersuadable;
and this being the case, she had ere long the pleasure of seeing them
set off together in high spirits. They were gone, she hoped,
to be happy, however oddly constructed such happiness might seem;
as for herself, she was left with as many sensations of comfort,
as were, perhaps, ever likely to be hers. She knew herself to
be
of the first utility to the child; and what was it to her
if Frederick Wentworth were only half a mile distant, making himself
agreeable to others?
She would have liked to know how he felt as to a meeting.
Perhaps indifferent, if indifference could exist under such circumstances.
He must be either indifferent or unwilling. Had he wished
ever to see her again, he need not have waited till this time;
he would have done what she could not but believe that in his place
she should have done long ago, when events had been early giving him
the independence which alone had been wanting.
Her brother and sister came back delighted with their new acquaintance,
and their visit in general. There had been music, singing,
talking, laughing, all that was most agreeable; charming manners
in Captain Wentworth, no shyness or reserve; they seemed all
to know each other perfectly, and he was coming the very next morning
to shoot with Charles. He was to come to breakfast, but not at
the Cottage,
though that had been proposed at first; but then he had been pressed
to come to the Great House instead, and he seemed afraid of being
in Mrs Charles Musgrove's way, on account of the child, and therefore,
somehow, they hardly knew how, it ended in Charles's being to meet him
to breakfast at his father's.
Anne understood it. He wished to avoid seeing her. He had
inquired
after her, she found, slightly, as might suit a former slight acquaintance,
seeming to acknowledge such as she had acknowledged, actuated, perhaps,
by the same view of escaping introduction when they were to meet.
The morning hours of the Cottage were always later than those
of the other house, and on the morrow the difference was so great
that Mary and Anne were not more than beginning breakfast when
Charles came in to say that they were just setting off, that he was
come for his dogs, that his sisters were following with Captain Wentworth;
his sisters meaning to visit Mary and the child, and Captain Wentworth
proposing also to wait on her for a few minutes if not inconvenient;
and though Charles had answered for the child's being in no such state
as could make it inconvenient, Captain Wentworth would not be satisfied
without his running on to give notice.
Mary, very much gratified by this attention, was delighted to receive
him,
while a thousand feelings rushed on Anne, of which this was
the most consoling, that it would soon be over. And it was soon
over.
In two minutes after Charles's preparation, the others appeared;
they were in the drawing-room. Her eye half met Captain Wentworth's,
a bow, a curtsey passed; she heard his voice; he talked to Mary,
said all that was right, said something to the Miss Musgroves,
enough to mark an easy footing; the room seemed full, full of persons
and voices, but a few minutes ended it. Charles shewed himself
at the window, all was ready, their visitor had bowed and was gone,
the Miss Musgroves were gone too, suddenly resolving to walk
to the end of the village with the sportsmen: the room was cleared,
and Anne might finish her breakfast as she could.
"It is over! it is over!" she repeated to herself again and again,
in nervous gratitude. "The worst is over!"
Mary talked, but she could not attend. She had seen him.
They had met. They had been once more in the same room.
Soon, however, she began to reason with herself, and try to be feeling
less.
Eight years, almost eight years had passed, since all had been given
up.
How absurd to be resuming the agitation which such an interval
had banished into distance and indistinctness! What might not
eight years do? Events of every description, changes, alienations,
removals--all, all must be comprised in it, and oblivion of the past--
how natural, how certain too! It included nearly a third part
of her own life.
Alas! with all her reasoning, she found, that to retentive feelings
eight years may be little more than nothing.
Now, how were his sentiments to be read? Was this like
wishing to avoid her? And the next moment she was hating herself
for the folly which asked the question.
On one other question which perhaps her utmost wisdom
might not have prevented, she was soon spared all suspense;
for, after the Miss Musgroves had returned and finished their visit
at the Cottage she had this spontaneous information from Mary: --
"Captain Wentworth is not very gallant by you, Anne, though he was
so attentive to me. Henrietta asked him what he thought of you,
when they went away, and he said, `You were so altered he should not
have known you again.'"
Mary had no feelings to make her respect her sister's in a common way,
but she was perfectly unsuspicious of being inflicting any peculiar
wound.
"Altered beyond his knowledge." Anne fully submitted, in silent,
deep mortification. Doubtless it was so, and she could take no
revenge,
for he was not altered, or not for the worse. She had already
acknowledged it to herself, and she could not think differently,
let him think of her as he would. No: the years which had
destroyed
her youth and bloom had only given him a more glowing, manly,
open look, in no respect lessening his personal advantages.
She had seen the same Frederick Wentworth.
"So altered that he should not have known her again!" These were
words
which could not but dwell with her. Yet she soon began to rejoice
that she had heard them. They were of sobering tendency;
they allayed agitation; they composed, and consequently must
make her happier.
Frederick Wentworth had used such words, or something like them,
but without an idea that they would be carried round to her.
He had thought her wretchedly altered, and in the first moment of appeal,
had spoken as he felt. He had not forgiven Anne Elliot.
She had used him ill, deserted and disappointed him; and worse,
she had shewn a feebleness of character in doing so, which his own decided,
confident temper could not endure. She had given him up to oblige
others.
It had been the effect of over-persuasion. It had been
weakness and timidity.
He had been most warmly attached to her, and had never seen a woman
since
whom he thought her equal; but, except from some natural sensation
of curiosity, he had no desire of meeting her again. Her power
with him
was gone for ever.
It was now his object to marry. He was rich, and being turned
on shore,
fully intended to settle as soon as he could be properly tempted;
actually looking round, ready to fall in love with all the speed
which a clear head and a quick taste could allow. He had a heart
for either of the Miss Musgroves, if they could catch it; a heart,
in short, for any pleasing young woman who came in his way,
excepting Anne Elliot. This was his only secret exception,
when he said to his sister, in answer to her suppositions:--
"Yes, here I am, Sophia, quite ready to make a foolish match.
Anybody between fifteen and thirty may have me for asking.
A little beauty, and a few smiles, and a few compliments to the navy,
and I am a lost man. Should not this be enough for a sailor,
who has had no society among women to make him nice?"
He said it, she knew, to be contradicted. His bright proud eye
spoke the conviction that he was nice; and Anne Elliot was
not out of his thoughts, when he more seriously described
the woman he should wish to meet with. "A strong mind,
with sweetness of manner," made the first and the last of the description.
"That is the woman I want," said he. "Something a little inferior
I shall of course put up with, but it must not be much. If I am
a fool,
I shall be a fool indeed, for I have thought on the subject
more than most men."
Chapter 8
From this time Captain Wentworth and Anne Elliot were repeatedly
in the same circle. They were soon dining in company together
at Mr Musgrove's, for the little boy's state could no longer
supply his aunt with a pretence for absenting herself; and this was
but the beginning of other dinings and other meetings.
Whether former feelings were to be renewed must be brought to the proof;
former times must undoubtedly be brought to the recollection of each;
they could not but be reverted to; the year of their engagement
could not but be named by him, in the little narratives or descriptions
which conversation called forth. His profession qualified him,
his disposition lead him, to talk; and "That was in the year six;"
"That happened before I went to sea in the year six," occurred
in the course of the first evening they spent together:
and though his voice did not falter, and though she had no reason
to suppose his eye wandering towards her while he spoke,
Anne felt the utter impossibility, from her knowledge of his mind,
that he could be unvisited by remembrance any more than herself.
There must be the same immediate association of thought,
though she was very far from conceiving it to be of equal pain.
They had no conversation together, no intercourse but what
the commonest civility required. Once so much to each other!
Now nothing! There had been a time, when of all the large party
now filling the drawing-room at Uppercross, they would have found it
most difficult to cease to speak to one another. With the exception,
perhaps, of Admiral and Mrs Croft, who seemed particularly attached
and happy, (Anne could allow no other exceptions even among
the married couples), there could have been no two hearts so open,
no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison, no countenances so beloved.
Now they were as strangers; nay, worse than strangers, for they could
never become acquainted. It was a perpetual estrangement.
When he talked, she heard the same voice, and discerned the same mind.
There was a very general ignorance of all naval matters throughout the
party;
and he was very much questioned, and especially by the two Miss Musgroves,
who seemed hardly to have any eyes but for him, as to the manner
of living on board, daily regulations, food, hours, &c., and their
surprise
at his accounts, at learning the degree of accommodation and arrangement
which was practicable, drew from him some pleasant ridicule,
which reminded Anne of the early days when she too had been ignorant,
and she too had been accused of supposing sailors to be living on board
without anything to eat, or any cook to dress it if there were,
or any servant to wait, or any knife and fork to use.
From thus listening and thinking, she was roused by a whisper
of Mrs Musgrove's who, overcome by fond regrets, could not help saying--
"Ah! Miss Anne, if it had pleased Heaven to spare my poor son,
I dare say he would have been just such another by this time."
Anne suppressed a smile, and listened kindly, while Mrs Musgrove
relieved her heart a little more; and for a few minutes, therefore,
could not keep pace with the conversation of the others.
When she could let her attention take its natural course again,
she found the Miss Musgroves just fetching the Navy List
(their own navy list, the first that had ever been at Uppercross),
and sitting down together to pore over it, with the professed view
of finding out the ships that Captain Wentworth had commanded.
"Your first was the Asp, I remember; we will look for the Asp."
"You will not find her there. Quite worn out and broken up.
I was the last man who commanded her. Hardly fit for service then.
Reported fit for home service for a year or two, and so I was sent off
to the West Indies."
The girls looked all amazement.
"The Admiralty," he continued, "entertain themselves now and then,
with sending a few hundred men to sea, in a ship not fit to be employed.
But they have a great many to provide for; and among the thousands
that may just as well go to the bottom as not, it is impossible
for them to distinguish the very set who may be least missed."
"Phoo! phoo!" cried the Admiral, "what stuff these young fellows talk!
Never was a better sloop than the Asp in her day. For an old built
sloop,
you would not see her equal. Lucky fellow to get her! He
knows there
must have been twenty better men than himself applying for her
at the same time. Lucky fellow to get anything so soon,
with no more interest than his."
"I felt my luck, Admiral, I assure you;" replied Captain Wentworth,
seriously. "I was as well satisfied with my appointment as you
can desire.
It was a great object with me at that time to be at sea;
a very great object, I wanted to be doing something."
"To be sure you did. What should a young fellow like you do ashore
for half a year together? If a man had not a wife, he soon wants
to be afloat again."
"But, Captain Wentworth," cried Louisa, "how vexed you must have been
when you came to the Asp, to see what an old thing they had given you."
"I knew pretty well what she was before that day;" said he, smiling.
"I had no more discoveries to make than you would have as to
the fashion and strength of any old pelisse, which you had seen
lent about among half your acquaintance ever since you could remember,
and which at last, on some very wet day, is lent to yourself.
Ah! she was a dear old Asp to me. She did all that I wanted.
I knew she would. I knew that we should either go to the bottom
together,
or that she would be the making of me; and I never had two days
of foul weather all the time I was at sea in her; and after
taking privateers enough to be very entertaining, I had the good luck
in my passage home the next autumn, to fall in with the very French
frigate
I wanted. I brought her into Plymouth; and here another instance
of luck.
We had not been six hours in the Sound, when a gale came on,
which lasted four days and nights, and which would have done for
poor old Asp in half the time; our touch with the Great Nation
not having much improved our condition. Four-and-twenty hours
later,
and I should only have been a gallant Captain Wentworth,
in a small paragraph at one corner of the newspapers; and being lost
in only a sloop, nobody would have thought about me." Anne's shudderings
were to herself alone; but the Miss Musgroves could be as open
as they were sincere, in their exclamations of pity and horror.
"And so then, I suppose," said Mrs Musgrove, in a low voice,
as if thinking aloud, "so then he went away to the Laconia, and there
he met with our poor boy. Charles, my dear," (beckoning him to her),
"do ask Captain Wentworth where it was he first met with your poor brother.
I always forgot."
"It was at Gibraltar, mother, I know. Dick had been left ill at
Gibraltar,
with a recommendation from his former captain to Captain Wentworth."
"Oh! but, Charles, tell Captain Wentworth, he need not be afraid
of mentioning poor Dick before me, for it would be rather a pleasure
to hear him talked of by such a good friend."
Charles, being somewhat more mindful of the probabilities of the case,
only nodded in reply, and walked away.
The girls were now hunting for the Laconia; and Captain Wentworth
could not deny himself the pleasure of taking the precious volume
into his own hands to save them the trouble, and once more read aloud
the little statement of her name and rate, and present
non-commissioned class, observing over it that she too had been
one of the best friends man ever had.
"Ah! those were pleasant days when I had the Laconia! How fast
I
made money in her. A friend of mine and I had such a lovely cruise
together off the Western Islands. Poor Harville, sister!
You know how much he wanted money: worse than myself. He
had a wife.
Excellent fellow. I shall never forget his happiness. He
felt it all,
so much for her sake. I wished for him again the next summer,
when I had still the same luck in the Mediterranean."
"And I am sure, Sir." said Mrs Musgrove, "it was a lucky day for us,
when you were put captain into that ship. We shall never forget
what you did."
Her feelings made her speak low; and Captain Wentworth,
hearing only in part, and probably not having Dick Musgrove at all
near his thoughts, looked rather in suspense, and as if waiting for
more.
"My brother," whispered one of the girls; "mamma is thinking
of poor Richard."
"Poor dear fellow!" continued Mrs Musgrove; "he was grown so steady,
and such an excellent correspondent, while he was under your care!
Ah! it would have been a happy thing, if he had never left you.
I assure you, Captain Wentworth, we are very sorry he ever left you."
There was a momentary expression in Captain Wentworth's face at this
speech,
a certain glance of his bright eye, and curl of his handsome mouth,
which convinced Anne, that instead of sharing in Mrs Musgrove's kind
wishes,
as to her son, he had probably been at some pains to get rid of him;
but it was too transient an indulgence of self-amusement to be detected
by any who understood him less than herself; in another moment
he was perfectly collected and serious, and almost instantly afterwards
coming up to the sofa, on which she and Mrs Musgrove were sitting,
took a place by the latter, and entered into conversation with her,
in a low voice, about her son, doing it with so much sympathy
and natural grace, as shewed the kindest consideration for all
that was real and unabsurd in the parent's feelings.
They were actually on the same sofa, for Mrs Musgrove had
most readily made room for him; they were divided only by Mrs Musgrove.
It was no insignificant barrier, indeed. Mrs Musgrove was of
a comfortable, substantial size, infinitely more fitted by nature
to express good cheer and good humour, than tenderness and sentiment;
and while the agitations of Anne's slender form, and pensive face,
may be considered as very completely screened, Captain Wentworth
should be allowed some credit for the self-command with which
he attended to her large fat sighings over the destiny of a son,
whom alive nobody had cared for.
Personal size and mental sorrow have certainly no necessary proportions.
A large bulky figure has as good a right to be in deep affliction,
as the most graceful set of limbs in the world. But, fair or not
fair,
there are unbecoming conjunctions, which reason will patronize in vain--
which taste cannot tolerate--which ridicule will seize.
The Admiral, after taking two or three refreshing turns about the room
with his hands behind him, being called to order by his wife,
now came up to Captain Wentworth, and without any observation
of what he might be interrupting, thinking only of his own thoughts,
began with--
"If you had been a week later at Lisbon, last spring, Frederick,
you would have been asked to give a passage to Lady Mary Grierson
and her daughters."
"Should I? I am glad I was not a week later then."
The Admiral abused him for his want of gallantry. He defended
himself;
though professing that he would never willingly admit any ladies
on board a ship of his, excepting for a ball, or a visit,
which a few hours might comprehend.
"But, if I know myself," said he, "this is from no want of gallantry
towards them. It is rather from feeling how impossible it is,
with all one's efforts, and all one's sacrifices, to make
the accommodations on board such as women ought to have.
There can be no want of gallantry, Admiral, in rating the claims of
women
to every personal comfort high, and this is what I do. I hate
to hear
of women on board, or to see them on board; and no ship under my command
shall ever convey a family of ladies anywhere, if I can help it."
This brought his sister upon him.
"Oh! Frederick! But I cannot believe it of you. --All idle refinement!
--Women may be as comfortable on board, as in the best house in England.
I believe I have lived as much on board as most women, and I know
nothing superior to the accommodations of a man-of-war. I declare
I have not a comfort or an indulgence about me, even at Kellynch Hall,"
(with a kind bow to Anne), "beyond what I always had in most of
the ships I have lived in; and they have been five altogether."
"Nothing to the purpose," replied her brother. "You were living
with your husband, and were the only woman on board."
"But you, yourself, brought Mrs Harville, her sister, her cousin,
and three children, round from Portsmouth to Plymouth. Where was
this
superfine, extraordinary sort of gallantry of yours then?"
"All merged in my friendship, Sophia. I would assist any
brother officer's wife that I could, and I would bring anything
of Harville's from the world's end, if he wanted it. But do not
imagine
that I did not feel it an evil in itself."
"Depend upon it, they were all perfectly comfortable."
"I might not like them the better for that perhaps. Such a number
of women and children have no right to be comfortable on board."
"My dear Frederick, you are talking quite idly. Pray, what would
become of us poor sailors' wives, who often want to be conveyed to
one port or another, after our husbands, if everybody had your feelings?"
"My feelings, you see, did not prevent my taking Mrs Harville
and all her family to Plymouth."
"But I hate to hear you talking so like a fine gentleman,
and as if women were all fine ladies, instead of rational creatures.
We none of us expect to be in smooth water all our days."
"Ah! my dear," said the Admiral, "when he had got a wife,
he will sing a different tune. When he is married, if we have
the good luck to live to another war, we shall see him do as you and
I,
and a great many others, have done. We shall have him very thankful
to anybody that will bring him his wife."
"Ay, that we shall."
"Now I have done," cried Captain Wentworth. "When once married
people begin to attack me with,--`Oh! you will think very differently,
when you are married.' I can only say, `No, I shall not;' and
then
they say again, `Yes, you will,' and there is an end of it."
He got up and moved away.
"What a great traveller you must have been, ma'am!" said Mrs Musgrove
to Mrs Croft.
"Pretty well, ma'am in the fifteen years of my marriage;
though many women have done more. I have crossed the Atlantic
four times, and have been once to the East Indies, and back again,
and only once; besides being in different places about home:
Cork, and Lisbon, and Gibraltar. But I never went beyond the Streights,
and never was in the West Indies. We do not call Bermuda or Bahama,
you know, the West Indies."
Mrs Musgrove had not a word to say in dissent; she could not accuse
herself
of having ever called them anything in the whole course of her life.
"And I do assure you, ma'am," pursued Mrs Croft, "that nothing can exceed
the accommodations of a man-of-war; I speak, you know, of the higher
rates.
When you come to a frigate, of course, you are more confined;
though any reasonable woman may be perfectly happy in one of them;
and I can safely say, that the happiest part of my life has been spent
on board a ship. While we were together, you know, there was nothing
to be feared. Thank God! I have always been blessed with
excellent health, and no climate disagrees with me. A little disordered
always the first twenty-four hours of going to sea, but never knew
what sickness was afterwards. The only time I ever really suffered
in body or mind, the only time that I ever fancied myself unwell,
or had any ideas of danger, was the winter that I passed by myself at
Deal,
when the Admiral (Captain Croft then) was in the North Seas.
I lived in perpetual fright at that time, and had all manner of
imaginary complaints from not knowing what to do with myself,
or when I should hear from him next; but as long as we could be together,
nothing ever ailed me, and I never met with the smallest inconvenience."
"Aye, to be sure. Yes, indeed, oh yes! I am quite of your
opinion,
Mrs Croft," was Mrs Musgrove's hearty answer. "There is nothing
so bad
as a separation. I am quite of your opinion. I know what
it is,
for Mr Musgrove always attends the assizes, and I am so glad when
they are over, and he is safe back again."
The evening ended with dancing. On its being proposed,
Anne offered her services, as usual; and though her eyes would sometimes
fill with tears as she sat at the instrument, she was extremely glad
to be employed, and desired nothing in return but to be unobserved.
It was a merry, joyous party, and no one seemed in higher spirits
than Captain Wentworth. She felt that he had every thing to elevate
him which general attention and deference, and especially the attention
of all the young women, could do. The Miss Hayters, the females
of the family of cousins already mentioned, were apparently admitted
to the honour of being in love with him; and as for Henrietta and Louisa,
they both seemed so entirely occupied by him, that nothing but
the continued appearance of the most perfect good-will between themselves
could have made it credible that they were not decided rivals.
If he were a little spoilt by such universal, such eager admiration,
who could wonder?
These were some of the thoughts which occupied Anne, while her fingers
were mechanically at work, proceeding for half an hour together,
equally without error, and without consciousness. Once she felt
that he was looking at herself, observing her altered features,
perhaps, trying to trace in them the ruins of the face which had once
charmed him; and once she knew that he must have spoken of her;
she was hardly aware of it, till she heard the answer; but then she
was
sure of his having asked his partner whether Miss Elliot never danced?
The answer was, "Oh, no; never; she has quite given up dancing.
She had rather play. She is never tired of playing." Once,
too,
he spoke to her. She had left the instrument on the dancing being
over,
and he had sat down to try to make out an air which he wished
to give the Miss Musgroves an idea of. Unintentionally she returned
to that part of the room; he saw her, and, instantly rising,
said, with studied politeness--
"I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat;" and though she immediately
drew back with a decided negative, he was not to be induced
to sit down again.
Anne did not wish for more of such looks and speeches.
His cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than anything.
Chapter 9
Captain Wentworth was come to Kellynch as to a home, to stay
as long as he liked, being as thoroughly the object of
the Admiral's fraternal kindness as of his wife's. He had intended,
on first arriving, to proceed very soon into Shropshire,
and visit the brother settled in that country, but the attractions
of Uppercross induced him to put this off. There was so much
of friendliness, and of flattery, and of everything most bewitching
in his reception there; the old were so hospitable, the young so agreeable,
that he could not but resolve to remain where he was, and take all
the charms and perfections of Edward's wife upon credit a little longer.
It was soon Uppercross with him almost every day. The Musgroves
could hardly be more ready to invite than he to come, particularly
in the morning, when he had no companion at home, for the Admiral
and Mrs Croft were generally out of doors together, interesting themselves
in their new possessions, their grass, and their sheep, and dawdling
about
in a way not endurable to a third person, or driving out in a gig,
lately added to their establishment.
Hitherto there had been but one opinion of Captain Wentworth
among the Musgroves and their dependencies. It was unvarying,
warm admiration everywhere; but this intimate footing was not more
than established, when a certain Charles Hayter returned among them,
to be a good deal disturbed by it, and to think Captain Wentworth
very much in the way.
Charles Hayter was the eldest of all the cousins, and a very amiable,
pleasing young man, between whom and Henrietta there had been
a considerable appearance of attachment previous to Captain Wentworth's
introduction. He was in orders; and having a curacy in the neighbourhood,
where residence was not required, lived at his father's house,
only two miles from Uppercross. A short absence from home
had left his fair one unguarded by his attentions at this critical period,
and when he came back he had the pain of finding very altered manners,
and of seeing Captain Wentworth.
Mrs Musgrove and Mrs Hayter were sisters. They had each had money,
but their marriages had made a material difference in
their degree of consequence. Mr Hayter had some property of his
own,
but it was insignificant compared with Mr Musgrove's; and while
the Musgroves were in the first class of society in the country,
the young Hayters would, from their parents' inferior, retired,
and unpolished way of living, and their own defective education,
have been hardly in any class at all, but for their connexion
with Uppercross, this eldest son of course excepted, who had chosen
to be a scholar and a gentleman, and who was very superior
in cultivation and manners to all the rest.
The two families had always been on excellent terms, there being no
pride
on one side, and no envy on the other, and only such a consciousness
of superiority in the Miss Musgroves, as made them pleased
to improve their cousins. Charles's attentions to Henrietta
had been observed by her father and mother without any disapprobation.
"It would not be a great match for her; but if Henrietta liked him,"--
and Henrietta did seem to like him.
Henrietta fully thought so herself, before Captain Wentworth came;
but from that time Cousin Charles had been very much forgotten.
Which of the two sisters was preferred by Captain Wentworth was
as yet quite doubtful, as far as Anne's observation reached.
Henrietta was perhaps the prettiest, Louisa had the higher spirits;
and she knew not now, whether the more gentle or the more lively character
were most likely to attract him.
Mr and Mrs Musgrove, either from seeing little, or from
an entire confidence in the discretion of both their daughters,
and of all the young men who came near them, seemed to leave everything
to take its chance. There was not the smallest appearance of solicitude
or remark about them in the Mansion-house; but it was different
at the Cottage: the young couple there were more disposed
to speculate and wonder; and Captain Wentworth had not been above
four or five times in the Miss Musgroves' company, and Charles Hayter
had but just reappeared, when Anne had to listen to the opinions
of her brother and sister, as to which was the one liked best.
Charles gave it for Louisa, Mary for Henrietta, but quite agreeing
that to have him marry either could be extremely delightful.
Charles "had never seen a pleasanter man in his life; and from what
he had once heard Captain Wentworth himself say, was very sure that
he had not made less than twenty thousand pounds by the war.
Here was a fortune at once; besides which, there would be the chance
of what might be done in any future war; and he was sure Captain Wentworth
was as likely a man to distinguish himself as any officer in the navy.
Oh! it would be a capital match for either of his sisters."
"Upon my word it would," replied Mary. "Dear me! If he should
rise to any very great honours! If he should ever be made a baronet!
`Lady Wentworth' sounds very well. That would be a noble thing,
indeed, for Henrietta! She would take place of me then, and Henrietta
would not dislike that. Sir Frederick and Lady Wentworth!
It would be but a new creation, however, and I never think much
of your new creations."
It suited Mary best to think Henrietta the one preferred
on the very account of Charles Hayter, whose pretensions she wished
to see put an end to. She looked down very decidedly upon the
Hayters,
and thought it would be quite a misfortune to have the existing connection
between the families renewed--very sad for herself and her children.
"You know," said she, "I cannot think him at all a fit match for Henrietta;
and considering the alliances which the Musgroves have made,
she has no right to throw herself away. I do not think any young
woman
has a right to make a choice that may be disagreeable and inconvenient
to the principal part of her family, and be giving bad connections
to those who have not been used to them. And, pray, who is Charles
Hayter?
Nothing but a country curate. A most improper match for Miss Musgrove
of Uppercross.
Her husband, however, would not agree with her here; for besides having
a regard for his cousin, Charles Hayter was an eldest son,
and he saw things as an eldest son himself.
"Now you are taking nonsense, Mary," was therefore his answer.
"It would not be a great match for Henrietta, but Charles has
a very fair chance, through the Spicers, of getting something from
the Bishop in the course of a year or two; and you will please to remember,
that he is the eldest son; whenever my uncle dies, he steps into very
pretty property. The estate at Winthrop is not less than
two hundred and fifty acres, besides the farm near Taunton,
which is some of the best land in the country. I grant you,
that any of them but Charles would be a very shocking match for Henrietta,
and indeed it could not be; he is the only one that could be possible;
but he is a very good-natured, good sort of a fellow; and whenever Winthrop
comes into his hands, he will make a different sort of place of it,
and live in a very different sort of way; and with that property,
he will never be a contemptible man--good, freehold property.
No, no;
Henrietta might do worse than marry Charles Hayter; and if she has him,
and Louisa can get Captain Wentworth, I shall be very well satisfied."
"Charles may say what he pleases," cried Mary to Anne, as soon as
he was out of the room, "but it would be shocking to have Henrietta
marry Charles Hayter; a very bad thing for her, and still worse
for me; and therefore it is very much to be wished that Captain Wentworth
may soon put him quite out of her head, and I have very little doubt
that he has. She took hardly any notice of Charles Hayter yesterday.
I wish you had been there to see her behaviour. And as to
Captain Wentworth's liking Louisa as well as Henrietta, it is nonsense
to say so; for he certainly does like Henrietta a great deal the best.
But Charles is so positive! I wish you had been with us yesterday,
for then you might have decided between us; and I am sure you
would have thought as I did, unless you had been determined
to give it against me.
A dinner at Mr Musgrove's had been the occasion when all these things
should have been seen by Anne; but she had staid at home,
under the mixed plea of a headache of her own, and some return
of indisposition in little Charles. She had thought only of avoiding
Captain Wentworth; but an escape from being appealed to as umpire
was now added to the advantages of a quiet evening.
As to Captain Wentworth's views, she deemed it of more consequence
that he should know his own mind early enough not to be endangering
the happiness of either sister, or impeaching his own honour,
than that he should prefer Henrietta to Louisa, or Louisa to Henrietta.
Either of them would, in all probability, make him an affectionate,
good-humoured wife. With regard to Charles Hayter, she had delicacy
which must be pained by any lightness of conduct in a well-meaning
young woman, and a heart to sympathize in any of the sufferings
it occasioned; but if Henrietta found herself mistaken in the nature
of her feelings, the alternation could not be understood too soon.
Charles Hayter had met with much to disquiet and mortify him
in his cousin's behaviour. She had too old a regard for him
to be so wholly estranged as might in two meetings extinguish
every past hope, and leave him nothing to do but to keep away
from Uppercross: but there was such a change as became very alarming,
when such a man as Captain Wentworth was to be regarded as
the probable cause. He had been absent only two Sundays,
and when they parted, had left her interested, even to the height
of his wishes, in his prospect of soon quitting his present curacy,
and obtaining that of Uppercross instead. It had then seemed the
object
nearest her heart, that Dr Shirley, the rector, who for more than
forty years had been zealously discharging all the duties of his office,
but was now growing too infirm for many of them, should be quite fixed
on engaging a curate; should make his curacy quite as good
as he could afford, and should give Charles Hayter the promise of it.
The advantage of his having to come only to Uppercross, instead of going
six miles another way; of his having, in every respect, a better curacy;
of his belonging to their dear Dr Shirley, and of dear, good Dr Shirley's
being relieved from the duty which he could no longer get through
without most injurious fatigue, had been a great deal, even to Louisa,
but had been almost everything to Henrietta. When he came back,
alas!
the zeal of the business was gone by. Louisa could not listen
at all
to his account of a conversation which he had just held with Dr Shirley:
she was at a window, looking out for Captain Wentworth; and even Henrietta
had at best only a divided attention to give, and seemed to have forgotten
all the former doubt and solicitude of the negotiation.
"Well, I am very glad indeed: but I always thought you would have
it;
I always thought you sure. It did not appear to me that--in short,
you know, Dr Shirley must have a curate, and you had secured his promise.
Is he coming, Louisa?"
One morning, very soon after the dinner at the Musgroves,
at which Anne had not been present, Captain Wentworth walked into
the drawing-room at the Cottage, where were only herself and the little
invalid Charles, who was lying on the sofa.
The surprise of finding himself almost alone with Anne Elliot,
deprived his manners of their usual composure: he started,
and could only say, "I thought the Miss Musgroves had been here:
Mrs Musgrove told me I should find them here," before he walked
to the window to recollect himself, and feel how he ought to behave.
"They are up stairs with my sister: they will be down in a few
moments,
I dare say," had been Anne's reply, in all the confusion that was natural;
and if the child had not called her to come and do something for him,
she would have been out of the room the next moment, and released
Captain Wentworth as well as herself.
He continued at the window; and after calmly and politely saying,
"I hope the little boy is better," was silent.
She was obliged to kneel down by the sofa, and remain there
to satisfy her patient; and thus they continued a few minutes,
when, to her very great satisfaction, she heard some other person
crossing the little vestibule. She hoped, on turning her head,
to see the master of the house; but it proved to be one
much less calculated for making matters easy--Charles Hayter,
probably not at all better pleased by the sight of Captain Wentworth
than Captain Wentworth had been by the sight of Anne.
She only attempted to say, "How do you do? Will you not sit down?
The others will be here presently."
Captain Wentworth, however, came from his window, apparently
not ill-disposed for conversation; but Charles Hayter soon put an end
to his attempts by seating himself near the table, and taking up
the newspaper; and Captain Wentworth returned to his window.
Another minute brought another addition. The younger boy,
a remarkable stout, forward child, of two years old, having got the
door
opened for him by some one without, made his determined appearance
among them, and went straight to the sofa to see what was going on,
and put in his claim to anything good that might be giving away.
There being nothing to eat, he could only have some play;
and as his aunt would not let him tease his sick brother,
he began to fasten himself upon her, as she knelt, in such a way that,
busy as she was about Charles, she could not shake him off.
She spoke to him, ordered, entreated, and insisted in vain.
Once she did contrive to push him away, but the boy had
the greater pleasure in getting upon her back again directly.
"Walter," said she, "get down this moment. You are extremely troublesome.
I am very angry with you."
"Walter," cried Charles Hayter, "why do you not do as you are bid?
Do not you hear your aunt speak? Come to me, Walter, come to
cousin Charles."
But not a bit did Walter stir.
In another moment, however, she found herself in the state of
being released from him; some one was taking him from her,
though he had bent down her head so much, that his little sturdy hands
were unfastened from around her neck, and he was resolutely borne away,
before she knew that Captain Wentworth had done it.
Her sensations on the discovery made her perfectly speechless.
She could not even thank him. She could only hang over little
Charles,
with most disordered feelings. His kindness in stepping forward
to her relief, the manner, the silence in which it had passed,
the little particulars of the circumstance, with the conviction soon
forced on her by the noise he was studiously making with the child,
that he meant to avoid hearing her thanks, and rather sought
to testify that her conversation was the last of his wants,
produced such a confusion of varying, but very painful agitation,
as she could not recover from, till enabled by the entrance of Mary
and the Miss Musgroves to make over her little patient to their cares,
and leave the room. She could not stay. It might have been
an opportunity of watching the loves and jealousies of the four--
they were now altogether; but she could stay for none of it.
It was evident that Charles Hayter was not well inclined towards
Captain Wentworth. She had a strong impression of his having said,
in a vext tone of voice, after Captain Wentworth's interference,
"You ought to have minded me, Walter; I told you not to teaze your aunt;"
and could comprehend his regretting that Captain Wentworth should do
what he ought to have done himself. But neither Charles Hayter's
feelings,
nor anybody's feelings, could interest her, till she had a little better
arranged her own. She was ashamed of herself, quite ashamed
of being so nervous, so overcome by such a trifle; but so it was,
and it required a long application of solitude and reflection
to recover her.
Chapter 10
Other opportunities of making her observations could not fail to occur.
Anne had soon been in company with all the four together often enough
to have an opinion, though too wise to acknowledge as much at home,
where she knew it would have satisfied neither husband nor wife;
for while she considered Louisa to be rather the favourite,
she could not but think, as far as she might dare to judge from memory
and experience, that Captain Wentworth was not in love with either.
They were more in love with him; yet there it was not love.
It was a little fever of admiration; but it might, probably must,
end in love with some. Charles Hayter seemed aware of being slighted,
and yet Henrietta had sometimes the air of being divided between them.
Anne longed for the power of representing to them all what they were
about,
and of pointing out some of the evils they were exposing themselves
to.
She did not attribute guile to any. It was the highest satisfaction
to her to believe Captain Wentworth not in the least aware
of the pain he was occasioning. There was no triumph, no pitiful
triumph
in his manner. He had, probably, never heard, and never thought
of
any claims of Charles Hayter. He was only wrong in accepting
the attentions (for accepting must be the word) of two young women at
once.
After a short struggle, however, Charles Hayter seemed to quit the field.
Three days had passed without his coming once to Uppercross;
a most decided change. He had even refused one regular invitation
to dinner;
and having been found on the occasion by Mr Musgrove with some large
books
before him, Mr and Mrs Musgrove were sure all could not be right,
and talked, with grave faces, of his studying himself to death.
It was Mary's hope and belief that he had received a positive dismissal
from Henrietta, and her husband lived under the constant dependence
of seeing him to-morrow. Anne could only feel that Charles Hayter
was wise.
One morning, about this time Charles Musgrove and Captain Wentworth
being gone a-shooting together, as the sisters in the Cottage
were sitting quietly at work, they were visited at the window
by the sisters from the Mansion-house.
It was a very fine November day, and the Miss Musgroves came
through the little grounds, and stopped for no other purpose than to
say,
that they were going to take a long walk, and therefore concluded
Mary could not like to go with them; and when Mary immediately replied,
with some jealousy at not being supposed a good walker, "Oh, yes,
I should like to join you very much, I am very fond of a long walk;"
Anne felt persuaded, by the looks of the two girls, that it was precisely
what they did not wish, and admired again the sort of necessity
which the family habits seemed to produce, of everything being
to be communicated, and everything being to be done together,
however undesired and inconvenient. She tried to dissuade Mary
from going,
but in vain; and that being the case, thought it best to accept
the Miss Musgroves' much more cordial invitation to herself to go likewise,
as she might be useful in turning back with her sister, and lessening
the interference in any plan of their own.
"I cannot imagine why they should suppose I should not like a long walk,"
said Mary, as she went up stairs. "Everybody is always supposing
that I am not a good walker; and yet they would not have been pleased,
if we had refused to join them. When people come in this manner
on purpose to ask us, how can one say no?"
Just as they were setting off, the gentlemen returned. They had
taken out
a young dog, who had spoilt their sport, and sent them back early.
Their time and strength, and spirits, were, therefore, exactly ready
for this walk, and they entered into it with pleasure. Could Anne
have foreseen such a junction, she would have staid at home; but,
from some feelings of interest and curiosity, she fancied now that it
was
too late to retract, and the whole six set forward together
in the direction chosen by the Miss Musgroves, who evidently
considered the walk as under their guidance.
Anne's object was, not to be in the way of anybody; and where
the narrow paths across the fields made many separations necessary,
to keep with her brother and sister. Her pleasure in the walk
must arise from the exercise and the day, from the view of
the last smiles of the year upon the tawny leaves, and withered hedges,
and from repeating to herself some few of the thousand poetical
descriptions extant of autumn, that season of peculiar and
inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness,
that season which had drawn from every poet, worthy of being read,
some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling.
She occupied her mind as much as possible in such like musings
and quotations; but it was not possible, that when within reach
of Captain Wentworth's conversation with either of the Miss Musgroves,
she should not try to hear it; yet she caught little very remarkable.
It was mere lively chat, such as any young persons, on an intimate footing,
might fall into. He was more engaged with Louisa than with Henrietta.
Louisa certainly put more forward for his notice than her sister.
This distinction appeared to increase, and there was one speech
of Louisa's which struck her. After one of the many praises of
the day,
which were continually bursting forth, Captain Wentworth added: --
"What glorious weather for the Admiral and my sister! They meant
to take
a long drive this morning; perhaps we may hail them from
some of these hills. They talked of coming into this side of the
country.
I wonder whereabouts they will upset to-day. Oh! it does happen
very often, I assure you; but my sister makes nothing of it;
she would as lieve be tossed out as not."
"Ah! You make the most of it, I know," cried Louisa, "but if it were
really so, I should do just the same in her place. If I loved
a man,
as she loves the Admiral, I would always be with him, nothing should
ever
separate us, and I would rather be overturned by him, than driven safely
by anybody else."
It was spoken with enthusiasm.
"Had you?" cried he, catching the same tone; "I honour you!"
And there was silence between them for a little while.
Anne could not immediately fall into a quotation again. The sweet
scenes
of autumn were for a while put by, unless some tender sonnet,
fraught with the apt analogy of the declining year, with declining
happiness, and the images of youth and hope, and spring, all gone together,
blessed her memory. She roused herself to say, as they struck
by order
into another path, "Is not this one of the ways to Winthrop?"
But nobody heard, or, at least, nobody answered her.
Winthrop, however, or its environs--for young men are, sometimes
to be met with, strolling about near home--was their destination;
and after another half mile of gradual ascent through large enclosures,
where the ploughs at work, and the fresh made path spoke the farmer
counteracting the sweets of poetical despondence, and meaning
to have spring again, they gained the summit of the most considerable
hill,
which parted Uppercross and Winthrop, and soon commanded a full view
of the latter, at the foot of the hill on the other side.
Winthrop, without beauty and without dignity, was stretched before them
an indifferent house, standing low, and hemmed in by the barns and
buildings of a farm-yard.
Mary exclaimed, "Bless me! here is Winthrop. I declare I had no
idea!
Well now, I think we had better turn back; I am excessively tired."
Henrietta, conscious and ashamed, and seeing no cousin Charles
walking along any path, or leaning against any gate, was ready
to do as Mary wished; but "No!" said Charles Musgrove, and "No, no!"
cried Louisa more eagerly, and taking her sister aside, seemed to be
arguing the matter warmly.
Charles, in the meanwhile, was very decidedly declaring his resolution
of calling on his aunt, now that he was so near; and very evidently,
though more fearfully, trying to induce his wife to go too.
But this was one of the points on which the lady shewed her strength;
and when he recommended the advantage of resting herself a quarter
of an hour at Winthrop, as she felt so tired, she resolutely answered,
"Oh! no, indeed! walking up that hill again would do her more harm
than any sitting down could do her good;" and, in short,
her look and manner declared, that go she would not.
After a little succession of these sort of debates and consultations,
it was settled between Charles and his two sisters, that he
and Henrietta should just run down for a few minutes, to see their aunt
and cousins, while the rest of the party waited for them at the top
of the hill. Louisa seemed the principal arranger of the plan;
and, as she went a little way with them, down the hill, still talking
to Henrietta, Mary took the opportunity of looking scornfully around
her,
and saying to Captain Wentworth--
"It is very unpleasant, having such connexions! But, I assure
you,
I have never been in the house above twice in my life."
She received no other answer, than an artificial, assenting smile,
followed by a contemptuous glance, as he turned away, which Anne
perfectly knew the meaning of.
The brow of the hill, where they remained, was a cheerful spot:
Louisa returned; and Mary, finding a comfortable seat for herself
on the step of a stile, was very well satisfied so long as the others
all stood about her; but when Louisa drew Captain Wentworth away,
to try for a gleaning of nuts in an adjoining hedge-row,
and they were gone by degrees quite out of sight and sound,
Mary was happy no longer; she quarrelled with her own seat,
was sure Louisa had got a much better somewhere, and nothing could
prevent her from going to look for a better also. She turned through
the same gate, but could not see them. Anne found a nice seat
for her, on a dry sunny bank, under the hedge-row, in which
she had no doubt of their still being, in some spot or other.
Mary sat down for a moment, but it would not do; she was sure Louisa
had found a better seat somewhere else, and she would go on
till she overtook her.
Anne, really tired herself, was glad to sit down; and she very soon
heard
Captain Wentworth and Louisa in the hedge-row, behind her, as if
making their way back along the rough, wild sort of channel, down the
centre. They were speaking as they drew near. Louisa's voice
was
the first distinguished. She seemed to be in the middle of some
eager speech. What Anne first heard was--
"And so, I made her go. I could not bear that she should be frightened
from the visit by such nonsense. What! would I be turned back
from
doing a thing that I had determined to do, and that I knew to be right,
by the airs and interference of such a person, or of any person I may
say?
No, I have no idea of being so easily persuaded. When I have
made up my mind, I have made it; and Henrietta seemed entirely
to have made up hers to call at Winthrop to-day; and yet, she was as
near
giving it up, out of nonsensical complaisance!"
"She would have turned back then, but for you?"
"She would indeed. I am almost ashamed to say it."
"Happy for her, to have such a mind as yours at hand! After the
hints
you gave just now, which did but confirm my own observations,
the last time I was in company with him, I need not affect
to have no comprehension of what is going on. I see that more
than
a mere dutiful morning visit to your aunt was in question;
and woe betide him, and her too, when it comes to things of consequence,
when they are placed in circumstances requiring fortitude and
strength of mind, if she have not resolution enough to resist
idle interference in such a trifle as this. Your sister is
an amiable creature; but yours is the character of decision and firmness,
I see. If you value her conduct or happiness, infuse as much
of your own spirit into her as you can. But this, no doubt,
you have been always doing. It is the worst evil of too yielding
and indecisive a character, that no influence over it can be depended
on.
You are never sure of a good impression being durable; everybody
may sway it. Let those who would be happy be firm. Here
is a nut,"
said he, catching one down from an upper bough. "to exemplify:
a beautiful glossy nut, which, blessed with original strength,
has outlived all the storms of autumn. Not a puncture, not
a weak spot anywhere. This nut," he continued, with playful solemnity,
"while so many of his brethren have fallen and been trodden under foot,
is still in possession of all the happiness that a hazel nut can be
supposed capable of." Then returning to his former earnest tone--
"My first wish for all whom I am interested in, is that they should
be firm.
If Louisa Musgrove would be beautiful and happy in her November of life,
she will cherish all her present powers of mind."
He had done, and was unanswered. It would have surprised Anne
if Louisa
could have readily answered such a speech: words of such interest,
spoken with such serious warmth! She could imagine what Louisa
was feeling.
For herself, she feared to move, lest she should be seen.
While she remained, a bush of low rambling holly protected her,
and they were moving on. Before they were beyond her hearing,
however, Louisa spoke again.
"Mary is good-natured enough in many respects," said she;
"but she does sometimes provoke me excessively, by her nonsense
and pride-- the Elliot pride. She has a great deal too much
of the Elliot pride. We do so wish that Charles had married Anne
instead.
I suppose you know he wanted to marry Anne?"
After a moment's pause, Captain Wentworth said--
"Do you mean that she refused him?"
"Oh! yes; certainly."
"When did that happen?"
"I do not exactly know, for Henrietta and I were at school at the time;
but I believe about a year before he married Mary. I wish she
had
accepted him. We should all have liked her a great deal better;
and papa and mamma always think it was her great friend
Lady Russell's doing, that she did not. They think Charles
might not be learned and bookish enough to please Lady Russell,
and that therefore, she persuaded Anne to refuse him."
The sounds were retreating, and Anne distinguished no more.
Her own emotions still kept her fixed. She had much to recover
from,
before she could move. The listener's proverbial fate was
not absolutely hers; she had heard no evil of herself, but she had heard
a great deal of very painful import. She saw how her own character
was considered by Captain Wentworth, and there had been just that degree
of feeling and curiosity about her in his manner which must give her
extreme agitation.
As soon as she could, she went after Mary, and having found,
and walked back with her to their former station, by the stile,
felt some comfort in their whole party being immediately afterwards
collected, and once more in motion together. Her spirits wanted
the solitude and silence which only numbers could give.
Charles and Henrietta returned, bringing, as may be conjectured,
Charles Hayter with them. The minutiae of the business Anne
could not attempt to understand; even Captain Wentworth did not seem
admitted to perfect confidence here; but that there had been a withdrawing
on the gentleman's side, and a relenting on the lady's, and that they
were now very glad to be together again, did not admit a doubt.
Henrietta looked a little ashamed, but very well pleased;--
Charles Hayter exceedingly happy: and they were devoted to each
other
almost from the first instant of their all setting forward for Uppercross.
Everything now marked out Louisa for Captain Wentworth;
nothing could be plainer; and where many divisions were necessary,
or even where they were not, they walked side by side nearly as much
as the other two. In a long strip of meadow land, where there
was
ample space for all, they were thus divided, forming three distinct
parties;
and to that party of the three which boasted least animation,
and least complaisance, Anne necessarily belonged. She joined
Charles
and Mary, and was tired enough to be very glad of Charles's other arm;
but Charles, though in very good humour with her, was out of temper
with his wife. Mary had shewn herself disobliging to him,
and was now to reap the consequence, which consequence was
his dropping her arm almost every moment to cut off the heads
of some nettles in the hedge with his switch; and when Mary began
to complain of it, and lament her being ill-used, according to custom,
in being on the hedge side, while Anne was never incommoded on the other,
he dropped the arms of both to hunt after a weasel which he had
a momentary glance of, and they could hardly get him along at all.
This long meadow bordered a lane, which their footpath, at the end of
it
was to cross, and when the party had all reached the gate of exit,
the carriage advancing in the same direction, which had been
some time heard, was just coming up, and proved to be Admiral Croft's
gig.
He and his wife had taken their intended drive, and were returning home.
Upon hearing how long a walk the young people had engaged in,
they kindly offered a seat to any lady who might be particularly tired;
it would save her a full mile, and they were going through Uppercross.
The invitation was general, and generally declined. The Miss Musgroves
were not at all tired, and Mary was either offended, by not being asked
before any of the others, or what Louisa called the Elliot pride
could not endure to make a third in a one horse chaise.
The walking party had crossed the lane, and were surmounting an
opposite stile, and the Admiral was putting his horse in motion again,
when Captain Wentworth cleared the hedge in a moment to say something
to his sister. The something might be guessed by its effects.
"Miss Elliot, I am sure you are tired," cried Mrs Croft.
"Do let us have the pleasure of taking you home. Here is excellent
room
for three, I assure you. If we were all like you, I believe we
might
sit four. You must, indeed, you must."
Anne was still in the lane; and though instinctively beginning to decline,
she was not allowed to proceed. The Admiral's kind urgency
came in support of his wife's; they would not be refused;
they compressed themselves into the smallest possible space
to leave her a corner, and Captain Wentworth, without saying a word,
turned to her, and quietly obliged her to be assisted into the carriage.
Yes; he had done it. She was in the carriage, and felt that he
had
placed her there, that his will and his hands had done it,
that she owed it to his perception of her fatigue, and his resolution
to give her rest. She was very much affected by the view of
his disposition towards her, which all these things made apparent.
This little circumstance seemed the completion of all that had gone
before.
She understood him. He could not forgive her, but he could not
be unfeeling. Though condemning her for the past, and considering
it
with high and unjust resentment, though perfectly careless of her,
and though becoming attached to another, still he could not see her
suffer,
without the desire of giving her relief. It was a remainder
of former sentiment; it was an impulse of pure, though unacknowledged
friendship; it was a proof of his own warm and amiable heart,
which she could not contemplate without emotions so compounded
of pleasure and pain, that she knew not which prevailed.
Her answers to the kindness and the remarks of her companions
were at first unconsciously given. They had travelled half their
way
along the rough lane, before she was quite awake to what they said.
She then found them talking of "Frederick."
"He certainly means to have one or other of those two girls, Sophy,"
said the Admiral; "but there is no saying which. He has been
running after them, too, long enough, one would think, to make up his
mind.
Ay, this comes of the peace. If it were war now, he would have
settled it long ago. We sailors, Miss Elliot, cannot afford to
make
long courtships in time of war. How many days was it, my dear,
between the first time of my seeing you and our sitting down together
in our lodgings at North Yarmouth?"
"We had better not talk about it, my dear," replied Mrs Croft, pleasantly;
"for if Miss Elliot were to hear how soon we came to an understanding,
she would never be persuaded that we could be happy together.
I had known you by character, however, long before."
"Well, and I had heard of you as a very pretty girl, and what were we
to wait for besides? I do not like having such things so long
in hand.
I wish Frederick would spread a little more canvass, and bring us home
one of these young ladies to Kellynch. Then there would always
be company for them. And very nice young ladies they both are;
I hardly know one from the other."
"Very good humoured, unaffected girls, indeed," said Mrs Croft,
in a tone of calmer praise, such as made Anne suspect that
her keener powers might not consider either of them as quite worthy
of her brother; "and a very respectable family. One could not
be
connected with better people. My dear Admiral, that post!
we shall certainly take that post."
But by coolly giving the reins a better direction herself they happily
passed the danger; and by once afterwards judiciously putting out
her hand they neither fell into a rut, nor ran foul of a dung-cart;
and Anne, with some amusement at their style of driving,
which she imagined no bad representation of the general guidance
of their affairs, found herself safely deposited by them at the Cottage.
Chapter 11
The time now approached for Lady Russell's return: the day was
even fixed;
and Anne, being engaged to join her as soon as she was resettled,
was looking forward to an early removal to Kellynch, and beginning
to think how her own comfort was likely to be affected by it.
It would place her in the same village with Captain Wentworth,
within half a mile of him; they would have to frequent the same church,
and there must be intercourse between the two families.
This was against her; but on the other hand, he spent so much of his
time
at Uppercross, that in removing thence she might be considered rather
as leaving him behind, than as going towards him; and, upon the whole,
she believed she must, on this interesting question, be the gainer,
almost as certainly as in her change of domestic society,
in leaving poor Mary for Lady Russell.
She wished it might be possible for her to avoid ever seeing
Captain Wentworth at the Hall: those rooms had witnessed
former meetings which would be brought too painfully before her;
but she was yet more anxious for the possibility of Lady Russell and
Captain Wentworth never meeting anywhere. They did not like each
other,
and no renewal of acquaintance now could do any good; and were Lady
Russell
to see them together, she might think that he had too much self-possession,
and she too little.
These points formed her chief solicitude in anticipating
her removal from Uppercross, where she felt she had been stationed
quite long enough. Her usefulness to little Charles would always
give some sweetness to the memory of her two months' visit there,
but he was gaining strength apace, and she had nothing else to stay
for.
The conclusion of her visit, however, was diversified in a way
which she had not at all imagined. Captain Wentworth, after being
unseen
and unheard of at Uppercross for two whole days, appeared again among
them
to justify himself by a relation of what had kept him away.
A letter from his friend, Captain Harville, having found him out at
last,
had brought intelligence of Captain Harville's being settled
with his family at Lyme for the winter; of their being therefore,
quite unknowingly, within twenty miles of each other. Captain
Harville
had never been in good health since a severe wound which he received
two years before, and Captain Wentworth's anxiety to see him
had determined him to go immediately to Lyme. He had been there
for four-and-twenty hours. His acquittal was complete,
his friendship warmly honoured, a lively interest excited for his friend,
and his description of the fine country about Lyme so feelingly attended
to
by the party, that an earnest desire to see Lyme themselves,
and a project for going thither was the consequence.
The young people were all wild to see Lyme. Captain Wentworth
talked
of going there again himself, it was only seventeen miles from Uppercross;
though November, the weather was by no means bad; and, in short,
Louisa, who was the most eager of the eager, having formed
the resolution to go, and besides the pleasure of doing as she liked,
being now armed with the idea of merit in maintaining her own way,
bore down all the wishes of her father and mother for putting it off
till summer; and to Lyme they were to go--Charles, Mary, Anne, Henrietta,
Louisa, and Captain Wentworth.
The first heedless scheme had been to go in the morning and return at
night;
but to this Mr Musgrove, for the sake of his horses, would not consent;
and when it came to be rationally considered, a day in
the middle of November would not leave much time for seeing a new place,
after deducting seven hours, as the nature of the country required,
for going and returning. They were, consequently, to stay the
night there,
and not to be expected back till the next day's dinner. This was
felt
to be a considerable amendment; and though they all met at the Great
House
at rather an early breakfast hour, and set off very punctually,
it was so much past noon before the two carriages, Mr Musgrove's coach
containing the four ladies, and Charles's curricle, in which
he drove Captain Wentworth, were descending the long hill into Lyme,
and entering upon the still steeper street of the town itself,
that it was very evident they would not have more than time
for looking about them, before the light and warmth of the day were
gone.
After securing accommodations, and ordering a dinner at one of the inns,
the next thing to be done was unquestionably to walk directly
down to the sea. They were come too late in the year for any amusement
or variety which Lyme, as a public place, might offer. The rooms
were shut up, the lodgers almost all gone, scarcely any family
but of the residents left; and, as there is nothing to admire
in the buildings themselves, the remarkable situation of the town,
the principal street almost hurrying into the water, the walk to the
Cobb,
skirting round the pleasant little bay, which, in the season,
is animated with bathing machines and company; the Cobb itself,
its old wonders and new improvements, with the very beautiful
line of cliffs stretching out to the east of the town, are what
the stranger's eye will seek; and a very strange stranger it must be,
who does not see charms in the immediate environs of Lyme,
to make him wish to know it better. The scenes in its neighbourhood,
Charmouth, with its high grounds and extensive sweeps of country,
and still more, its sweet, retired bay, backed by dark cliffs,
where fragments of low rock among the sands, make it the happiest spot
for watching the flow of the tide, for sitting in unwearied contemplation;
the woody varieties of the cheerful village of Up Lyme; and, above all,
Pinny, with its green chasms between romantic rocks, where
the scattered forest trees and orchards of luxuriant growth,
declare that many a generation must have passed away since the first
partial falling of the cliff prepared the ground for such a state,
where a scene so wonderful and so lovely is exhibited, as may
more than equal any of the resembling scenes of the far-famed
Isle of Wight: these places must be visited, and visited again,
to make the worth of Lyme understood.
The party from Uppercross passing down by the now deserted
and melancholy looking rooms, and still descending, soon found themselves
on the sea-shore; and lingering only, as all must linger and gaze
on a first return to the sea, who ever deserved to look on it at all,
proceeded towards the Cobb, equally their object in itself
and on Captain Wentworth's account: for in a small house,
near the foot of an old pier of unknown date, were the Harvilles settled.
Captain Wentworth turned in to call on his friend; the others walked
on,
and he was to join them on the Cobb.
They were by no means tired of wondering and admiring; and not even
Louisa
seemed to feel that they had parted with Captain Wentworth long,
when they saw him coming after them, with three companions,
all well known already, by description, to be Captain and Mrs Harville,
and a Captain Benwick, who was staying with them.
Captain Benwick had some time ago been first lieutenant of the Laconia;
and the account which Captain Wentworth had given of him,
on his return from Lyme before, his warm praise of him as
an excellent young man and an officer, whom he had always valued highly,
which must have stamped him well in the esteem of every listener,
had been followed by a little history of his private life,
which rendered him perfectly interesting in the eyes of all the ladies.
He had been engaged to Captain Harville's sister, and was now
mourning her loss. They had been a year or two waiting for fortune
and promotion. Fortune came, his prize-money as lieutenant being
great;
promotion, too, came at last; but Fanny Harville did not live to know
it.
She had died the preceding summer while he was at sea. Captain
Wentworth
believed it impossible for man to be more attached to woman
than poor Benwick had been to Fanny Harville, or to be more deeply
afflicted under the dreadful change. He considered his disposition
as of the sort which must suffer heavily, uniting very strong feelings
with quiet, serious, and retiring manners, and a decided taste for reading,
and sedentary pursuits. To finish the interest of the story,
the friendship between him and the Harvilles seemed, if possible,
augmented by the event which closed all their views of alliance,
and Captain Benwick was now living with them entirely. Captain
Harville
had taken his present house for half a year; his taste, and his health,
and his fortune, all directing him to a residence inexpensive,
and by the sea; and the grandeur of the country, and the retirement
of Lyme in the winter, appeared exactly adapted to Captain Benwick's
state of mind. The sympathy and good-will excited towards Captain
Benwick
was very great.
"And yet," said Anne to herself, as they now moved forward
to meet the party, "he has not, perhaps, a more sorrowing heart
than I have. I cannot believe his prospects so blighted for ever.
He is younger than I am; younger in feeling, if not in fact;
younger as a man. He will rally again, and be happy with another."
They all met, and were introduced. Captain Harville was a tall,
dark man, with a sensible, benevolent countenance; a little lame;
and from strong features and want of health, looking much older
than Captain Wentworth. Captain Benwick looked, and was,
the youngest of the three, and, compared with either of them,
a little man. He had a pleasing face and a melancholy air,
just as he ought to have, and drew back from conversation.
Captain Harville, though not equalling Captain Wentworth in manners,
was a perfect gentleman, unaffected, warm, and obliging.
Mrs Harville, a degree less polished than her husband, seemed, however,
to have the same good feelings; and nothing could be more pleasant
than their desire of considering the whole party as friends of their
own,
because the friends of Captain Wentworth, or more kindly hospitable
than their entreaties for their all promising to dine with them.
The dinner, already ordered at the inn, was at last, though unwillingly,
accepted as a excuse; but they seemed almost hurt that Captain Wentworth
should have brought any such party to Lyme, without considering it
as a thing of course that they should dine with them.
There was so much attachment to Captain Wentworth in all this,
and such a bewitching charm in a degree of hospitality so uncommon,
so unlike the usual style of give-and-take invitations, and dinners
of formality and display, that Anne felt her spirits not likely to be
benefited by an increasing acquaintance among his brother-officers.
"These would have been all my friends," was her thought;
and she had to struggle against a great tendency to lowness.
On quitting the Cobb, they all went in-doors with their new friends,
and found rooms so small as none but those who invite from the heart
could think capable of accommodating so many. Anne had
a moment's astonishment on the subject herself; but it was soon lost
in the pleasanter feelings which sprang from the sight of all
the ingenious contrivances and nice arrangements of Captain Harville,
to turn the actual space to the best account, to supply the deficiencies
of lodging-house furniture, and defend the windows and doors
against the winter storms to be expected. The varieties in
the fitting-up of the rooms, where the common necessaries
provided by the owner, in the common indifferent plight,
were contrasted with some few articles of a rare species of wood,
excellently worked up, and with something curious and valuable
from all the distant countries Captain Harville had visited,
were more than amusing to Anne; connected as it all was with his profession,
the fruit of its labours, the effect of its influence on his habits,
the picture of repose and domestic happiness it presented,
made it to her a something more, or less, than gratification.
Captain Harville was no reader; but he had contrived
excellent accommodations, and fashioned very pretty shelves,
for a tolerable collection of well-bound volumes, the property of
Captain Benwick. His lameness prevented him from taking much exercise;
but a mind of usefulness and ingenuity seemed to furnish him with
constant employment within. He drew, he varnished, he carpentered,
he glued; he made toys for the children; he fashioned new netting-needles
and pins with improvements; and if everything else was done,
sat down to his large fishing-net at one corner of the room.
Anne thought she left great happiness behind her when they
quitted the house; and Louisa, by whom she found herself walking,
burst forth into raptures of admiration and delight on the character
of the navy; their friendliness, their brotherliness, their openness,
their uprightness; protesting that she was convinced of sailors having
more worth and warmth than any other set of men in England;
that they only knew how to live, and they only deserved to be
respected and loved.
They went back to dress and dine; and so well had the scheme
answered already, that nothing was found amiss; though its being
"so entirely out of season," and the "no thoroughfare of Lyme,"
and the "no expectation of company," had brought many apologies
from the heads of the inn.
Anne found herself by this time growing so much more hardened
to being in Captain Wentworth's company than she had at first imagined
could ever be, that the sitting down to the same table with him now,
and the interchange of the common civilities attending on it
(they never got beyond), was become a mere nothing.
The nights were too dark for the ladies to meet again till the morrow,
but Captain Harville had promised them a visit in the evening;
and he came, bringing his friend also, which was more than
had been expected, it having been agreed that Captain Benwick
had all the appearance of being oppressed by the presence of
so many strangers. He ventured among them again, however,
though his spirits certainly did not seem fit for the mirth
of the party in general.
While Captains Wentworth and Harville led the talk on one side of the
room,
and by recurring to former days, supplied anecdotes in abundance
to occupy and entertain the others, it fell to Anne's lot to be placed
rather apart with Captain Benwick; and a very good impulse
of her nature obliged her to begin an acquaintance with him.
He was shy, and disposed to abstraction; but the engaging mildness of
her countenance, and gentleness of her manners, soon had their effect;
and Anne was well repaid the first trouble of exertion.
He was evidently a young man of considerable taste in reading,
though principally in poetry; and besides the persuasion of having
given him at least an evening's indulgence in the discussion of subjects,
which his usual companions had probably no concern in, she had the hope
of being of real use to him in some suggestions as to the duty and
benefit of struggling against affliction, which had naturally grown
out
of their conversation. For, though shy, he did not seem reserved;
it had rather the appearance of feelings glad to burst their
usual restraints; and having talked of poetry, the richness of
the present age, and gone through a brief comparison of opinion
as to the first-rate poets, trying to ascertain whether Marmion
or The Lady of the Lake were to be preferred, and how ranked the Giaour
and The Bride of Abydos; and moreover, how the Giaour was to be pronounced,
he showed himself so intimately acquainted with all the tenderest songs
of the one poet, and all the impassioned descriptions of hopeless agony
of the other; he repeated, with such tremulous feeling, the various
lines
which imaged a broken heart, or a mind destroyed by wretchedness,
and looked so entirely as if he meant to be understood,
that she ventured to hope he did not always read only poetry,
and to say, that she thought it was the misfortune of poetry to be
seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoyed it completely;
and that the strong feelings which alone could estimate it truly
were the very feelings which ought to taste it but sparingly.
His looks shewing him not pained, but pleased with this allusion
to his situation, she was emboldened to go on; and feeling in herself
the right of seniority of mind, she ventured to recommend
a larger allowance of prose in his daily study; and on being requested
to particularize, mentioned such works of our best moralists,
such collections of the finest letters, such memoirs of characters
of worth and suffering, as occurred to her at the moment
as calculated to rouse and fortify the mind by the highest precepts,
and the strongest examples of moral and religious endurances.
Captain Benwick listened attentively, and seemed grateful for
the interest implied; and though with a shake of the head,
and sighs which declared his little faith in the efficacy of any books
on grief like his, noted down the names of those she recommended,
and promised to procure and read them.
When the evening was over, Anne could not but be amused at the idea
of her coming to Lyme to preach patience and resignation to a young
man
whom she had never seen before; nor could she help fearing,
on more serious reflection, that, like many other great moralists
and preachers, she had been eloquent on a point in which her own conduct
would ill bear examination.
Chapter 12
Anne and Henrietta, finding themselves the earliest of the party
the next morning, agreed to stroll down to the sea before breakfast.
They went to the sands, to watch the flowing of the tide,
which a fine south-easterly breeze was bringing in with all the grandeur
which so flat a shore admitted. They praised the morning;
gloried in the sea; sympathized in the delight of the fresh-feeling
breeze--and were silent; till Henrietta suddenly began again with--
"Oh! yes,--I am quite convinced that, with very few exceptions,
the sea-air always does good. There can be no doubt of its having
been
of the greatest service to Dr Shirley, after his illness,
last spring twelve-month. He declares himself, that coming to
Lyme
for a month, did him more good than all the medicine he took;
and, that being by the sea, always makes him feel young again.
Now, I cannot help thinking it a pity that he does not live
entirely by the sea. I do think he had better leave Uppercross
entirely,
and fix at Lyme. Do not you, Anne? Do not you agree with
me,
that it is the best thing he could do, both for himself and Mrs Shirley?
She has cousins here, you know, and many acquaintance, which would
make it cheerful for her, and I am sure she would be glad
to get to a place where she could have medical attendance at hand,
in case of his having another seizure. Indeed I think it quite
melancholy
to have such excellent people as Dr and Mrs Shirley, who have been
doing good all their lives, wearing out their last days in a place
like Uppercross, where, excepting our family, they seem shut out
from all the world. I wish his friends would propose it to him.
I really think they ought. And, as to procuring a dispensation,
there could be no difficulty at his time of life, and with his character.
My only doubt is, whether anything could persuade him to leave his parish.
He is so very strict and scrupulous in his notions; over-scrupulous
I must say. Do not you think, Anne, it is being over-scrupulous?
Do not you think it is quite a mistaken point of conscience,
when a clergyman sacrifices his health for the sake of duties,
which may be just as well performed by another person? And at
Lyme too,
only seventeen miles off, he would be near enough to hear,
if people thought there was anything to complain of."
Anne smiled more than once to herself during this speech,
and entered into the subject, as ready to do good by entering into
the feelings of a young lady as of a young man, though here it was good
of a lower standard, for what could be offered but general acquiescence?
She said all that was reasonable and proper on the business;
felt the claims of Dr Shirley to repose as she ought; saw how very
desirable it was that he should have some active, respectable young
man,
as a resident curate, and was even courteous enough to hint at
the advantage of such resident curate's being married.
"I wish," said Henrietta, very well pleased with her companion,
"I wish Lady Russell lived at Uppercross, and were intimate
with Dr Shirley. I have always heard of Lady Russell as a woman
of
the greatest influence with everybody! I always look upon her
as able
to persuade a person to anything! I am afraid of her, as I have
told you before, quite afraid of her, because she is so very clever;
but I respect her amazingly, and wish we had such a neighbour
at Uppercross."
Anne was amused by Henrietta's manner of being grateful,
and amused also that the course of events and the new interests
of Henrietta's views should have placed her friend at all in favour
with any of the Musgrove family; she had only time, however,
for a general answer, and a wish that such another woman
were at Uppercross, before all subjects suddenly ceased,
on seeing Louisa and Captain Wentworth coming towards them.
They came also for a stroll till breakfast was likely to be ready;
but Louisa recollecting, immediately afterwards that she had something
to procure at a shop, invited them all to go back with her into the
town.
They were all at her disposal.
When they came to the steps, leading upwards from the beach, a gentleman,
at the same moment preparing to come down, politely drew back,
and stopped to give them way. They ascended and passed him;
and as they passed, Anne's face caught his eye, and he looked at her
with a degree of earnest admiration, which she could not be insensible
of.
She was looking remarkably well; her very regular, very pretty features,
having the bloom and freshness of youth restored by the fine wind
which had been blowing on her complexion, and by the animation of eye
which it had also produced. It was evident that the gentleman,
(completely a gentleman in manner) admired her exceedingly.
Captain Wentworth looked round at her instantly in a way which
shewed his noticing of it. He gave her a momentary glance,
a glance of brightness, which seemed to say, "That man is struck with
you,
and even I, at this moment, see something like Anne Elliot again."
After attending Louisa through her business, and loitering about
a little longer, they returned to the inn; and Anne, in passing afterwards
quickly from her own chamber to their dining-room, had nearly run against
the very same gentleman, as he came out of an adjoining apartment.
She had before conjectured him to be a stranger like themselves,
and determined that a well-looking groom, who was strolling about
near the two inns as they came back, should be his servant.
Both master and man being in mourning assisted the idea.
It was now proved that he belonged to the same inn as themselves;
and this second meeting, short as it was, also proved again
by the gentleman's looks, that he thought hers very lovely,
and by the readiness and propriety of his apologies, that he was
a man of exceedingly good manners. He seemed about thirty,
and though not handsome, had an agreeable person. Anne felt that
she should like to know who he was.
They had nearly done breakfast, when the sound of a carriage,
(almost the first they had heard since entering Lyme) drew half the
party
to the window. It was a gentleman's carriage, a curricle,
but only coming round from the stable-yard to the front door;
somebody must be going away. It was driven by a servant in mourning.
The word curricle made Charles Musgrove jump up that he might
compare it with his own; the servant in mourning roused Anne's curiosity,
and the whole six were collected to look, by the time the owner
of the curricle was to be seen issuing from the door amidst the bows
and civilities of the household, and taking his seat, to drive off.
"Ah!" cried Captain Wentworth, instantly, and with half a glance at
Anne,
"it is the very man we passed."
The Miss Musgroves agreed to it; and having all kindly watched him
as far up the hill as they could, they returned to the breakfast table.
The waiter came into the room soon afterwards.
"Pray," said Captain Wentworth, immediately, "can you tell us the name
of the gentleman who is just gone away?"
"Yes, Sir, a Mr Elliot, a gentleman of large fortune, came in last night
from Sidmouth. Dare say you heard the carriage, sir, while you
were
at dinner; and going on now for Crewkherne, in his way to Bath
and London."
"Elliot!" Many had looked on each other, and many had repeated
the name,
before all this had been got through, even by the smart rapidity
of a waiter.
"Bless me!" cried Mary; "it must be our cousin; it must be our Mr Elliot,
it must, indeed! Charles, Anne, must not it? In mourning,
you see,
just as our Mr Elliot must be. How very extraordinary!
In the very same inn with us! Anne, must not it be our Mr Elliot?
my father's next heir? Pray sir," turning to the waiter,
"did not you hear, did not his servant say whether he belonged
to the Kellynch family?"
"No, ma'am, he did not mention no particular family; but he said
his master was a very rich gentleman, and would be a baronight some
day."
"There! you see!" cried Mary in an ecstasy, "just as I said!
Heir to Sir Walter Elliot! I was sure that would come out,
if it was so. Depend upon it, that is a circumstance which his
servants
take care to publish, wherever he goes. But, Anne, only conceive
how extraordinary! I wish I had looked at him more. I wish
we had
been aware in time, who it was, that he might have been introduced to
us.
What a pity that we should not have been introduced to each other!
Do you think he had the Elliot countenance? I hardly looked at
him,
I was looking at the horses; but I think he had something
of the Elliot countenance, I wonder the arms did not strike me!
Oh! the great-coat was hanging over the panel, and hid the arms,
so it did; otherwise, I am sure, I should have observed them,
and the livery too; if the servant had not been in mourning,
one should have known him by the livery."
"Putting all these very extraordinary circumstances together,"
said Captain Wentworth, "we must consider it to be the arrangement
of Providence, that you should not be introduced to your cousin."
When she could command Mary's attention, Anne quietly tried
to convince her that their father and Mr Elliot had not, for many years,
been on such terms as to make the power of attempting an introduction
at all desirable.
At the same time, however, it was a secret gratification to herself
to have seen her cousin, and to know that the future owner of Kellynch
was undoubtedly a gentleman, and had an air of good sense.
She would not, upon any account, mention her having met with him
the second time; luckily Mary did not much attend to their having
passed close by him in their earlier walk, but she would have felt
quite ill-used by Anne's having actually run against him in the passage,
and received his very polite excuses, while she had never been
near him at all; no, that cousinly little interview must remain
a perfect secret.
"Of course," said Mary, "you will mention our seeing Mr Elliot,
the next time you write to Bath. I think my father certainly
ought to hear of it; do mention all about him."
Anne avoided a direct reply, but it was just the circumstance
which she considered as not merely unnecessary to be communicated,
but as what ought to be suppressed. The offence which had been
given
her father, many years back, she knew; Elizabeth's particular share
in it
she suspected; and that Mr Elliot's idea always produced irritation
in both
was beyond a doubt. Mary never wrote to Bath herself; all the
toil
of keeping up a slow and unsatisfactory correspondence with Elizabeth
fell on Anne.
Breakfast had not been long over, when they were joined by Captain
and Mrs Harville and Captain Benwick; with whom they had appointed
to take their last walk about Lyme. They ought to be setting off
for Uppercross by one, and in the mean while were to be all together,
and out of doors as long as they could.
Anne found Captain Benwick getting near her, as soon as they were all
fairly in the street. Their conversation the preceding evening
did not disincline him to seek her again; and they walked together
some time, talking as before of Mr Scott and Lord Byron,
and still as unable as before, and as unable as any other two readers,
to think exactly alike of the merits of either, till something
occasioned an almost general change amongst their party, and instead
of
Captain Benwick, she had Captain Harville by her side.
"Miss Elliot," said he, speaking rather low, "you have done a good deed
in making that poor fellow talk so much. I wish he could have
such company oftener. It is bad for him, I know, to be shut up
as he is;
but what can we do? We cannot part."
"No," said Anne, "that I can easily believe to be impossible;
but in time, perhaps--we know what time does in every case of affliction,
and you must remember, Captain Harville, that your friend
may yet be called a young mourner--only last summer, I understand."
"Ay, true enough," (with a deep sigh) "only June."
"And not known to him, perhaps, so soon."
"Not till the first week of August, when he came home from the Cape,
just made into the Grappler. I was at Plymouth dreading to hear
of him;
he sent in letters, but the Grappler was under orders for Portsmouth.
There the news must follow him, but who was to tell it? not I.
I would as soon have been run up to the yard-arm. Nobody could
do it,
but that good fellow" (pointing to Captain Wentworth.) "The Laconia
had come into Plymouth the week before; no danger of her
being sent to sea again. He stood his chance for the rest;
wrote up for leave of absence, but without waiting the return,
travelled night and day till he got to Portsmouth, rowed off
to the Grappler that instant, and never left the poor fellow for a week.
That's what he did, and nobody else could have saved poor James.
You may think, Miss Elliot, whether he is dear to us!"
Anne did think on the question with perfect decision, and said as much
in reply as her own feeling could accomplish, or as his seemed
able to bear, for he was too much affected to renew the subject,
and when he spoke again, it was of something totally different.
Mrs Harville's giving it as her opinion that her husband would have
quite walking enough by the time he reached home, determined the direction
of all the party in what was to be their last walk; they would
accompany them to their door, and then return and set off themselves.
By all their calculations there was just time for this; but as they
drew
near the Cobb, there was such a general wish to walk along it once more,
all were so inclined, and Louisa soon grew so determined,
that the difference of a quarter of an hour, it was found,
would be no difference at all; so with all the kind leave-taking,
and all the kind interchange of invitations and promises which
may be imagined, they parted from Captain and Mrs Harville
at their own door, and still accompanied by Captain Benwick,
who seemed to cling to them to the last, proceeded to make
the proper adieus to the Cobb.
Anne found Captain Benwick again drawing near her. Lord Byron's
"dark blue seas" could not fail of being brought forward by
their present view, and she gladly gave him all her attention as long
as
attention was possible. It was soon drawn, perforce another way.
There was too much wind to make the high part of the new Cobb pleasant
for the ladies, and they agreed to get down the steps to the lower,
and all were contented to pass quietly and carefully down the steep
flight,
excepting Louisa; she must be jumped down them by Captain Wentworth.
In all their walks, he had had to jump her from the stiles;
the sensation was delightful to her. The hardness of the pavement
for her feet, made him less willing upon the present occasion;
he did it, however. She was safely down, and instantly,
to show her enjoyment, ran up the steps to be jumped down again.
He advised her against it, thought the jar too great; but no,
he reasoned and talked in vain, she smiled and said, "I am determined
I will:" he put out his hands; she was too precipitate by half a second,
she fell on the pavement on the Lower Cobb, and was taken up lifeless!
There was no wound, no blood, no visible bruise; but her eyes were closed,
she breathed not, her face was like death. The horror of the moment
to all who stood around!
Captain Wentworth, who had caught her up, knelt with her in his arms,
looking on her with a face as pallid as her own, in an agony of silence.
"She is dead! she is dead!" screamed Mary, catching hold of her
husband, and contributing with his own horror to make him immoveable;
and in another moment, Henrietta, sinking under the conviction, lost
her senses too, and would have fallen on the steps, but for Captain
Benwick and Anne, who caught and supported her between them.
"Is there no one to help me?" were the first words which
burst from Captain Wentworth, in a tone of despair, and as if
all his own strength were gone.
"Go to him, go to him," cried Anne, "for heaven's sake go to him.
I can support her myself. Leave me, and go to him. Rub her
hands,
rub her temples; here are salts; take them, take them."
Captain Benwick obeyed, and Charles at the same moment,
disengaging himself from his wife, they were both with him;
and Louisa was raised up and supported more firmly between them,
and everything was done that Anne had prompted, but in vain;
while Captain Wentworth, staggering against the wall for his support,
exclaimed in the bitterest agony--
"Oh God! her father and mother!"
"A surgeon!" said Anne.
He caught the word; it seemed to rouse him at once, and saying only--
"True, true, a surgeon this instant," was darting away,
when Anne eagerly suggested--
"Captain Benwick, would not it be better for Captain Benwick?
He knows where a surgeon is to be found."
Every one capable of thinking felt the advantage of the idea,
and in a moment (it was all done in rapid moments) Captain Benwick had
resigned the poor corpse-like figure entirely to the brother's
care,
and was off for the town with the utmost rapidity.
As to the wretched party left behind, it could scarcely be said
which of the three, who were completely rational, was suffering most:
Captain Wentworth, Anne, or Charles, who, really a very affectionate
brother, hung over Louisa with sobs of grief, and could only turn his
eyes
from one sister, to see the other in a state as insensible,
or to witness the hysterical agitations of his wife, calling on him
for help which he could not give.
Anne, attending with all the strength and zeal, and thought,
which instinct supplied, to Henrietta, still tried, at intervals,
to suggest comfort to the others, tried to quiet Mary, to animate Charles,
to assuage the feelings of Captain Wentworth. Both seemed to look
to her
for directions.
"Anne, Anne," cried Charles, "What is to be done next?
What, in heaven's name, is to be done next?"
Captain Wentworth's eyes were also turned towards her.
"Had not she better be carried to the inn? Yes, I am sure:
carry her gently to the inn."
"Yes, yes, to the inn," repeated Captain Wentworth, comparatively
collected, and eager to be doing something. "I will carry her
myself.
Musgrove, take care of the others."
By this time the report of the accident had spread among the workmen
and boatmen about the Cobb, and many were collected near them,
to be useful if wanted, at any rate, to enjoy the sight of
a dead young lady, nay, two dead young ladies, for it proved twice as
fine
as the first report. To some of the best-looking of these good
people
Henrietta was consigned, for, though partially revived,
she was quite helpless; and in this manner, Anne walking by her side,
and Charles attending to his wife, they set forward, treading back
with feelings unutterable, the ground, which so lately, so very lately,
and so light of heart, they had passed along.
They were not off the Cobb, before the Harvilles met them.
Captain Benwick had been seen flying by their house, with a countenance
which showed something to be wrong; and they had set off immediately,
informed and directed as they passed, towards the spot.
Shocked as Captain Harville was, he brought senses and nerves
that could be instantly useful; and a look between him and his wife
decided what was to be done. She must be taken to their house;
all must go to their house; and await the surgeon's arrival there.
They would not listen to scruples: he was obeyed; they were all
beneath his roof; and while Louisa, under Mrs Harville's direction,
was conveyed up stairs, and given possession of her own bed,
assistance, cordials, restoratives were supplied by her husband
to all who needed them.
Louisa had once opened her eyes, but soon closed them again,
without apparent consciousness. This had been a proof of life,
however, of service to her sister; and Henrietta, though perfectly
incapable of being in the same room with Louisa, was kept,
by the agitation of hope and fear, from a return of her own insensibility.
Mary, too, was growing calmer.
The surgeon was with them almost before it had seemed possible.
They were sick with horror, while he examined; but he was not hopeless.
The head had received a severe contusion, but he had seen greater injuries
recovered from: he was by no means hopeless; he spoke cheerfully.
That he did not regard it as a desperate case, that he did not say
a few hours must end it, was at first felt, beyond the hope of most;
and the ecstasy of such a reprieve, the rejoicing, deep and silent,
after a few fervent ejaculations of gratitude to Heaven had been offered,
may be conceived.
The tone, the look, with which "Thank God!" was uttered
by Captain Wentworth, Anne was sure could never be forgotten by her;
nor the sight of him afterwards, as he sat near a table, leaning over
it
with folded arms and face concealed, as if overpowered by
the various feelings of his soul, and trying by prayer and reflection
to calm them.
Louisa's limbs had escaped. There was no injury but to the head.
It now became necessary for the party to consider what was best to be
done,
as to their general situation. They were now able to speak to
each other
and consult. That Louisa must remain where she was, however distressing
to her friends to be involving the Harvilles in such trouble,
did not admit a doubt. Her removal was impossible. The Harvilles
silenced all scruples; and, as much as they could, all gratitude.
They had looked forward and arranged everything before the others
began to reflect. Captain Benwick must give up his room to them,
and get another bed elsewhere; and the whole was settled.
They were only concerned that the house could accommodate no more;
and yet perhaps, by "putting the children away in the maid's room,
or swinging a cot somewhere," they could hardly bear to think of not
finding room for two or three besides, supposing they might wish to
stay;
though, with regard to any attendance on Miss Musgrove, there need not
be
the least uneasiness in leaving her to Mrs Harville's care entirely.
Mrs Harville was a very experienced nurse, and her nursery-maid,
who had lived with her long, and gone about with her everywhere,
was just such another. Between these two, she could want
no possible attendance by day or night. And all this was said
with a truth and sincerity of feeling irresistible.
Charles, Henrietta, and Captain Wentworth were the three in consultation,
and for a little while it was only an interchange of perplexity and
terror.
"Uppercross, the necessity of some one's going to Uppercross;
the news to be conveyed; how it could be broken to Mr and Mrs Musgrove;
the lateness of the morning; an hour already gone since they
ought to have been off; the impossibility of being in tolerable time."
At first, they were capable of nothing more to the purpose
than such exclamations; but, after a while, Captain Wentworth,
exerting himself, said--
"We must be decided, and without the loss of another minute.
Every minute is valuable. Some one must resolve on being off
for Uppercross instantly. Musgrove, either you or I must go."
Charles agreed, but declared his resolution of not going away.
He would be as little incumbrance as possible to Captain and Mrs Harville;
but as to leaving his sister in such a state, he neither ought, nor
would.
So far it was decided; and Henrietta at first declared the same.
She, however, was soon persuaded to think differently. The usefulness
of her staying! She who had not been able to remain in Louisa's
room,
or to look at her, without sufferings which made her worse than helpless!
She was forced to acknowledge that she could do no good,
yet was still unwilling to be away, till, touched by the thought
of her father and mother, she gave it up; she consented,
she was anxious to be at home.
The plan had reached this point, when Anne, coming quietly
down from Louisa's room, could not but hear what followed,
for the parlour door was open.
"Then it is settled, Musgrove," cried Captain Wentworth,
"that you stay, and that I take care of your sister home.
But as to the rest, as to the others, if one stays to assist Mrs Harville,
I think it need be only one. Mrs Charles Musgrove will, of course,
wish to get back to her children; but if Anne will stay, no one so proper,
so capable as Anne."
She paused a moment to recover from the emotion of hearing herself
so spoken of. The other two warmly agreed with what he said,
and she then appeared.
"You will stay, I am sure; you will stay and nurse her;" cried he,
turning to her and speaking with a glow, and yet a gentleness,
which seemed almost restoring the past. She coloured deeply,
and he recollected himself and moved away. She expressed herself
most willing, ready, happy to remain. "It was what she had been
thinking of, and wishing to be allowed to do. A bed on the floor
in Louisa's room would be sufficient for her, if Mrs Harville
would but think so."
One thing more, and all seemed arranged. Though it was rather
desirable
that Mr and Mrs Musgrove should be previously alarmed by some
share of delay; yet the time required by the Uppercross horses
to take them back, would be a dreadful extension of suspense;
and Captain Wentworth proposed, and Charles Musgrove agreed,
that it would be much better for him to take a chaise from the inn,
and leave Mr Musgrove's carriage and horses to be sent home
the next morning early, when there would be the farther advantage
of sending an account of Louisa's night.
Captain Wentworth now hurried off to get everything ready on his part,
and to be soon followed by the two ladies. When the plan was
made known to Mary, however, there was an end of all peace in it.
She was so wretched and so vehement, complained so much of injustice
in being expected to go away instead of Anne; Anne, who was
nothing to Louisa, while she was her sister, and had the best right
to stay in Henrietta's stead! Why was not she to be as useful
as Anne?
And to go home without Charles, too, without her husband!
No, it was too unkind. And in short, she said more than her husband
could long withstand, and as none of the others could oppose
when he gave way, there was no help for it; the change of Mary for Anne
was inevitable.
Anne had never submitted more reluctantly to the jealous
and ill-judging claims of Mary; but so it must be, and they set off
for the town, Charles taking care of his sister, and Captain Benwick
attending to her. She gave a moment's recollection, as they hurried
along,
to the little circumstances which the same spots had witnessed
earlier in the morning. There she had listened to Henrietta's
schemes
for Dr Shirley's leaving Uppercross; farther on, she had
first seen Mr Elliot; a moment seemed all that could now be given
to any one but Louisa, or those who were wrapt up in her welfare.
Captain Benwick was most considerately attentive to her; and,
united as they all seemed by the distress of the day, she felt
an increasing degree of good-will towards him, and a pleasure even
in thinking that it might, perhaps, be the occasion of continuing
their acquaintance.
Captain Wentworth was on the watch for them, and a chaise and four in
waiting,
stationed for their convenience in the lowest part of the street;
but his evident surprise and vexation at the substitution of one sister
for the other, the change in his countenance, the astonishment,
the expressions begun and suppressed, with which Charles was listened
to,
made but a mortifying reception of Anne; or must at least convince her
that she was valued only as she could be useful to Louisa.
She endeavoured to be composed, and to be just. Without emulating
the feelings of an Emma towards her Henry, she would have
attended on Louisa with a zeal above the common claims of regard,
for his sake; and she hoped he would not long be so unjust
as to suppose she would shrink unnecessarily from the office of a friend.
In the mean while she was in the carriage. He had handed them
both in,
and placed himself between them; and in this manner, under these
circumstances, full of astonishment and emotion to Anne, she quitted
Lyme.
How the long stage would pass; how it was to affect their manners;
what was to be their sort of intercourse, she could not foresee.
It was all quite natural, however. He was devoted to Henrietta;
always turning towards her; and when he spoke at all, always with the
view
of supporting her hopes and raising her spirits. In general,
his voice and manner were studiously calm. To spare Henrietta
from agitation seemed the governing principle. Once only,
when she had been grieving over the last ill-judged, ill-fated
walk to the Cobb, bitterly lamenting that it ever had been thought of,
he burst forth, as if wholly overcome--
"Don't talk of it, don't talk of it," he cried. "Oh God! that
I had
not given way to her at the fatal moment! Had I done as I ought!
But so eager and so resolute! Dear, sweet Louisa!"
Anne wondered whether it ever occurred to him now, to question the justness
of his own previous opinion as to the universal felicity and advantage
of firmness of character; and whether it might not strike him that,
like all other qualities of the mind, it should have its proportions
and limits. She thought it could scarcely escape him to feel
that a persuadable temper might sometimes be as much in favour of happiness
as a very resolute character.
They got on fast. Anne was astonished to recognise the same hills
and the same objects so soon. Their actual speed, heightened by
some dread of the conclusion, made the road appear but half as long
as on the day before. It was growing quite dusk, however,
before they were in the neighbourhood of Uppercross, and there had been
total silence among them for some time, Henrietta leaning back
in the corner, with a shawl over her face, giving the hope of her
having cried herself to sleep; when, as they were going up their last
hill,
Anne found herself all at once addressed by Captain Wentworth.
In a low, cautious voice, he said: --
"I have been considering what we had best do. She must not
appear at first. She could not stand it. I have been thinking
whether
you had not better remain in the carriage with her, while I go in
and break it to Mr and Mrs Musgrove. Do you think this is a good
plan?"
She did: he was satisfied, and said no more. But the remembrance
of the appeal remained a pleasure to her, as a proof of friendship,
and of deference for her judgement, a great pleasure; and when it became
a sort of parting proof, its value did not lessen.
When the distressing communication at Uppercross was over,
and he had seen the father and mother quite as composed as could be
hoped,
and the daughter all the better for being with them, he announced
his intention of returning in the same carriage to Lyme;
and when the horses were baited, he was off.
(End of volume one.)
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