Saturday
Saturday was the day that I discovered love does indeed have the power to drive men to greatness or folly. I had always thought that men who spouted notions of great deeds in the name of love; slaying of beasts, conquests and crusades were a bit daft. I was also of the opinion that those who told of great desire and longing that compelled men to the foolish were most likely weak and surely not in control of their senses. Saturday was the day I found I had been wrong. While I experienced nothing of greatness, I nevertheless found the other to be quite true. Love makes a man a pawn to his emotions.

The morning had dawned dry but cloudy. There had been the promise of rain and before the morning meal was finished, the promise was kept in the form of a near downpour.

“I hope this does not continue long or we must put off the Tillotson’s for the day,” Sophy said looking toward the window and the driving rain. She and the Admiral were engaged to spend the day with a couple they had met at the magic show from the previous afternoon. I thought to myself that it was amusing this new acquaintance of theirs’ should appear to them at a magic show. After I had thought on it again, I kept to myself as it was not all that droll.

“Oh no, my dear. A little rain will not keep us bound to the house. We are made of better stuff than would demand staying in doors,” the Admiral said finishing his coffee.

Sophy smiled to the Admiral. “It is good to know that you have lost none of the venturesome nature which caught my eye in the first place, darling.”

Had things been better for me with Anne, I might have appreciated this touching bit of sentiment; as it was, it had all the appeal of chewing sand.

Turning to me, Sophy said, “My dear, you know that you are more than welcome to join us today. The Tillotsons assured us they would enjoy having you come.”

“Yes, Frederick, their granddaughter is with them from Leeds.” He leaned in closer, “Perhaps a new acquaintance might make your time with us pass more . . . agreeably.” I was not certain, but I think he gave me a sly wink. I smiled and gave another refusal. I determined that if asked again I would surrender and go. But, fortune took pity on me and that was the last offer.

The conversation again turned to the rain. “Well, I suppose we could take a hire, but it is such a short distance, it would seem a waste,” said my sister. I smiled as I thought that she and the Admiral leased Kellynch Hall, quite a lavish pile of stone and that this townhouse was no hovel, but yet she thought it wasteful to take a hired conveyance. I determined that it was most likely prudence of this sort which allowed for a fuller life in other areas.

Later, the rain had not stopped, though the Crofts’ had decided their stratagem. Umbrellas to _____Street. There were good sidewalks to _____Street. Then, if the water stood too deep in their way, a hire would be summoned. I smiled as I thought how most of this was more a lark than practicality at work. I surmised that the Crofts’ needed to be back at sea.

With my sister and the Admiral away for the day, I was left, again, with an empty house. I nearly envied the staff. They seemed to have occupations aplenty. They bustled and fussed about the entire place. I began to notice some missing faces and then realised that these must have had Saturday as a holiday. Regardless, they had occupation aplenty, I had none.

I am ashamed to admit that boredom drove me to a bit of larceny. As I scavenged the library for the last time, I noticed the Admiral’s desk. Why Admiral Croft kept a desk was a mystery. As far as I could ascertain, my sister did all the accounts, not only household. She had the business understanding in this family, all my brother-in-law did was sign when and where he was told. That was quite to his liking. He preferred making his decisions at sea and on land, “Give the lady her lead,” was his philosophy. Anywise, the desk was sitting with the center drawer ajar. I determined to look only as long as it took to find some sort of amusement. There actually was not much in it. A few receipts, one for a hat which would have nearly bought the lamented hire outright. A tourist’s guide to sights and businesses in Bath, “ Mr. J. Thorpe’s Exhaustive, Exclusive and Exciting Guide to Bath.” In very fine print it read, “I am the only guide you will ever need.” On that point, I had my doubts, but I allowed Mr. Thorpe to think what he would. It was a complimentary copy. This explained why it was in the Crofts’ possession at all. They were, by nature, explorers, and would never stoop to a guide. “Getting lost is half the sport, Frederick!” the Admiral had told me many times before. But, this gratuitous copy could be given to someone and if it did not make its way home, there was no loss. I discovered two decks of cards. These were to be counted as the amusement I searched and so closed the desk.

Having spent much time below deck in my early career, I had forgotten more solitaire forms than most ever knew. That morning, I believe I tried all of them. After two solid hours of play, I had exactly six wins. This was disconcerting in the extreme. It was tedious enough being bored and housebound by the rain, but to lose game after game to the deck was the height of indignity.

I turned my attention to building a house of cards. It was not until I had completely surrendered the endeavor that I realised how metaphorical the entire scheme was in comparison with my life. I never coaxed the structure higher than three levels. Each time, as nearly the last card was being placed, it would topple. After the final time, sitting with the last card poised in my hand, I determined that there must be something I could do with the cards which did not require much skill or thought.

Having come to the end of all my solitary amusement ploys, I placed the hat Dr. Abernathy had given me against the wall and then, sat myself in a chair five and a quarter pace from that. I sailed the cards towards the hat, one by one. I thought that having placed it next to the wall, I was in a fair way to have a few ricochet in if nothing else. After I had exhausted the decks--twice, I never had more than thirteen cards to show for my effort. There had been more skill or thought required than I imagined. From childhood, I knew that crime did not pay and ransacking the Admiral’s desk for these cards certainly proved that old maxim.

This was when things became dangerous. As I watched the raindrops chase one another down the windowpane, I became disgusted that I had allowed myself to be so easily put off my undertaking. I had been thwarted in Molland’s by the presence of, “Mr. Elliot.” The previous day, I had seen Anne, knew her to be well and out. I now knew approximately where she lived, but had done nothing to further myself with her. I determined that I would take action and do something. I had not come to Bath to pitch cards in my hat or divert myself with the tassel above my bed. Action was called for and I would act.

Just at that moment, a maid had entered the room to stoke the fire. I was endeavoring to stir myself into a fervor for battle when I realised that there was another in the room. I turned in time to see the maid as she picked up my hat from its resting place near the wall. I had gathered and replaced the cards, but then had gone to the window to watch the rain. The girl looked at me with an amused sort of expression. Taking one card from the hat, she held it up and asked, “Your hat, sir. What would you like done with it?” with a tone just short of a laugh.

In a second, a plan formed. As I discovered, much to my chagrin, not a good plan, but a plan nonetheless. I took myself confidently to the desk and removed Mr. Thorpe’s Guide to Bath. I had little faith in his guidance, but it made me appear to the maid as a man who knew what he was about. With much feigned confidence, I strode to the girl, received my hat and said, as I went to the door, “I do not know when I shall return. Please, tell my sister not to wait dinner.” Putting on my coat and taking my umbrella, I went out.

My plan had gained detail as I had descended the steps and prepared to depart the house. As I found myself upon the street, I wondered in which direction I might find Empress Schtarbök’s.

After I had wandered nearly three-quarters of an hour, I found the infernal tea shop. I believe that my first mistake came when I consulted Mr. Thorpe’s Guide for the location of Camden Place. Either, in my absence from the sea, I had forgotten how to navigate by map or this man was an idiot. I was inclined to think the latter.

Having found the Empress’s tea shop, I entered and found a table. Apparently, others were of the Crofts’ opinion of the establishment. A table was not difficult to come by. I seated myself and took out the guide again. While I had determined the map to be suspect, I decided that I had no choice but to put some faith in the list of businesses. In particular, tea rooms. For some reason, I felt that since I had met Anne in Molland’s on my first day out, perhaps I could tempt fate into allowing another meeting in the same way. Though not familiar with manoeuvers on land, I felt they could little differ from those on the sea. Have your objective in sight, plot your position and proceed to take it. My objective was every tea house in a four square block area of . . . where? In my haste to quit the house, I had neglected to determine the address of Anne’s home. It would have, no doubt, meant plundering another desk or two, but what was a bit more piracy? I had ordered tea upon entering the shop and realising this flaw in my battle plan, I took a drink, hoping to bring some enlightenment to myself. Good G-d! This place shall be closed in a week! I have had wretched tea, but this is by far the worst! I was not enlightened, but did realise that if Empress Schtarbök was as close to Anne’s as my sister seemed to indicate, I would merely use her as the center of my vicinity.

I always knew that we British were a bit obsessive about tea. Once the stuff had come from Asia, there was no stopping the habit, but I was shocked to find that in my mere four square block’s, Mr. Thorpe listed fifteen shops which had tea as either the main attraction or offered it in the course of other delicacies. I began to doubt my plan. I doubted that I had either the time, or the fortitude to visit each shop in hopes of finding Anne. As I had learned in my years captaining the Laconia, when conditions and circumstances change, strategy must change to fit. I knew that my plan must be amended. Since there was no possibility of my locating and looking in each tea shop; since they were evidently so plentiful; I determined that my next course of action would be to walk the entirety of Camden Place and at the very least, ascertain in which house Anne was residing.

As I was to discover, this plan was nearly as ill-fated as the first. While Thorpe had not located Camden Place with much accuracy, he had been correct in its length. Later, I consulted the guide, and I had found it described as one of “the loveliest thoroughfares in Bath,” but also nearly the longest. To make matters worse, I was very nearly in its center, that meant, if I wished to cover it all, I would traverse half, twice. The second plan was beginning to go the way of the first. Looking to my watch, I saw that I had nearly four hours of daylight left, that would afford me the time needed to walk all this distance. I hoped.

I gathered myself to leave the shop, and I saw that it had begun to rain. I congratulated myself on having snagged my umbrella upon my exiting the house. I bent to retrieve it from the place I had leant it and found it to be gone. Since I did not find it with me at the table, I thought that I might have placed it in the public stand, next to the door. While it was not distinguished by colour nor handle, there were none resembling it in the stand. The only conclusion I was able to come to was, that one of the fine citizenry of Bath, in the words of Admiral McGillvary, had pinched it. While they would leave me six dozen, unattended, meringues and madeleines; my umbrella, placed next to me, they took. I should have known that this was a portend of things to come.

As I stepped out the door into the rain, I hoped that Dr. Abernathy’s hat had the stamina to endure the downpour. I headed up the street and crossed over to Camden Place. I began to proceed west.

When I had sojourned to Plymouth, other than Henry Stanton, I had met no one I knew. Of course, Shropshire held no old acquaintances. But Bath--Bath was another matter. It seemed that every man I had served either under, over, or beside sauntered down Camden Place on that Saturday afternoon. After I had totted six, I left off tallying. It became too difficult to keep my bearings, watch for some indication of the Elliot residence, and recollect all the old mates I seemed to have found.

To make matters worse, it seemed that out of the corner of my eye, I constantly glimpsed Anne. A hat here or a dress there. Small stature women who resembled her overran Bath that day. Each time I spied one of these ladies, my heart leaped and when I had ascertained that each was not her, it became necessary to steady myself once more. The folly of a man in love knows no bounds. With all the failure I had met with in the previous days, I came to dread the thought of where I might be in a seven day.

Abernathy’s hat stood the weather very well, but I began to chill from being out so long. I had gone to the end of the street to the west and returned. I was past the place I had begun and so was in new territory. My meeting with old mates had slowed considerably also, for which I was grateful. Evening approached quickly. The rain had gone from occasional showers to a steady mizzle. I determined to stay at my task for another half hour and then head home. Just then, I noticed a hire pull to the kerb. It held no interest for me, until I noticed the man who alighted was none other than Mr. Elliot. He did not dash to the door of the townhouse, in the front of which he had stopped. It became clear he was awaiting another in the carriage. Could Anne be with him? I held my breath, I was not certain which of the possibilities I desired. If she was with him, that would be nearly as hurtful as the episode in Molland’s. If she were not, this adventure would have to be called a triumphant defeat. I would not have put myself closer to her, but I would have most likely found the Elliot home.

Mr. Elliot leaned into the carriage, obviously to help someone out. I stopped to watch. It was a young lady, dark cloak and gloves. She stepped out and turned her face slightly towards me--it was Miss Elizabeth Elliot. Quickly coming after her was Sir Walter. As I had hoped, I had found the Elliot residence.

They entered the building and I roused myself from the sight, and began to push on home. I rejoiced that my soaking for the day had produced results. After congratulating myself with a great deal of vigor, a thought came to me. Suppose that Mr. Elliot, Miss Elliot and Sir Walter were merely arriving at the home of someone else? My great endeavor sunk into nothing more than a long, futile and sodden hike about Bath.

Chapter 7, Monday
After my fruitless wanderings of the previous day, I had returned to the house. I had found that the Crofts were not yet home and that I had time to change and become presentable before their arrival. When returning the guide to its original resting place, I noticed that the brandy decanter had been refilled from the evening before. I decided to take it with me and warm up a bit. Having learned in Plymouth that lately, even a simple soak was nigh on impossible to achieve, I went to my room, decanter and glass in hand.

Having poured myself a bracing shot, I had it down. I then changed into something less saturated. As I changed, I thought about my rather unproductive day and wondered whether this entire journey had been ill-fated from the start. I soon recognised this to be an age-old response which manifested in the heat of a losing battle. Had I been at sea, the natural impetus of the fight would soon be flooding me and the doubts would leave, to be replaced by resolve. It had happened in all the conflicts in which I had taken part. Natural doubt overtaken by natural stimulation. I had begun to think that love was by no means natural.

Having had another shot, I took the decanter back to the library and sat. I reckoned that Sophy and the Admiral would be home soon. I had hoped the Tillotsons and their granddaughter were not disappointed by my absence. The Admiral’s rather pointed display, made me wonder if a betrothal had not, already been arranged. I had to laugh out loud at the situation.

There I sat, having been released from a snare of my own making, free to pursue the true object of my affections. In doing just that, I seemed only able to stand and natter on about the weather when I was in her presence, if I could locate her at all. All my sensibilities and judgement were in a wreck. All I was able to think, was that God had little pity for men in love. That was my own private conflict. From the outward, I supposed I looked to be the same dolt who had declared himself in want of a wife and my sister was still engaged in that crusade. Until I had a resolution of some sort, I would be bombarded from the inward and the outward.

It was not long before Sophia and the Admiral returned home. The rain had intensified and there was much ado about coats and umbrellas and such. My sister went directly to their rooms to change, while the Admiral came in and joined me. The warming properties of the brandy had drawn him also.

“Well, Frederick. What did you do to occupy yourself?” he asked as he poured.

I had stood upon his entering and had gone to the window as I replied, “There was not much to occupy myself indoors, sir. I took a brief walk and returned home. A very uneventful day.” I felt a twinge, most of what I had said was true.

“You most likely had more enjoyment in a drenching walk than you would have had coming with us. The Tillotsons are nice enough, but that granddaughter . . . I have never met such a disagreeable individual in a skirt in all my life. She’d a had ya prayin’ for an excuse to abandon the ship.” I watched, with amusement, as the Admiral took a quick shot of the brandy. The granddaughter must have been quite a woman to have driven Croft to the bottle. I ceased to trouble myself about not attending. “But the day was not a total loss. We met with a mutual acquaintance of ours.” He looked to me with a wide smile.

“A mutual acquaintance of ours?” I asked. I could not think of anyone whom we both knew, that they might meet up with, who would elicit such a bright look, except . . .

“One the way home, we met Miss Anne Elliot. She was returning from Lady Russell’s by a most peculiar route and we nearly fell into one another! What do you think of that?” Croft asked with a great deal of enthusiasm. Anne was a particular favorite of his and I knew he must have enjoyed the coincidence. As for me, the desire to open the window and cast myself out was quite strong.

“So, you met with Miss Anne, did you?” I measured each word and was grateful that my sister was not in the room, for she most surely would have noticed my tightened demeanor. “How is she? Did she look well?” I asked.

“She looked very well” He lowered his voice in a conspiratorial tone, “Do not tell Sophy I said so, but the lamps had just been lit and Miss Anne was a vision in such soft light.” He poured himself another brandy, this one a bit more moderate than the last and continued, “In fact, we had the pleasure of escorting her to her door at Camden Place.”

I was certain that the Admiral did not notice the sound of my forehead as it met with the window frame. I was much too stunned to be anything but amazed. Had I only endured a day of idle chatter and an unpleasant granddaughter, I would have had the extreme pleasure of escorting Anne home. I determined that the trade would have been more than even.

At that moment, Sophy made her entrance.“Do stand straight, Frederick. Your posture is becoming alarming, dear,” she said, patting me on the back as she passed to go the Admiral’s side. They chatted in low voices as he poured her a glass of brandy. She then turned to me and said, “Did the Admiral tell you of our felicitous meeting with Miss Anne? It is always welcome when we chance upon her. We walked with her home, we did not wish her to be on her own at this time of evening.”

A thousand thoughts came to me at once. --Miss Anne was a vision in the lamplight. Perhaps I should stay to my sister’s side since Sophy is able to chance upon her more than I. --we did not wish her to be on her own this time of evening. I had not turned, but did reply, “Yes, the Admiral said that you all had met. How nice for you.” The irony of this was just too much.

“Just as we were leaving her to the door, that cousin of Miss Anne’s, what is his name?” Sophia asked.

“Mr. Elliot, I believe,” I said.

“Yes! Of course! How foolish of me to forget. That Mr. Elliot fellow was taking his leave. I am not certain I care much for him. He made such a show of the fact he had just arrived with Miss Elliot and Sir Walter, but finding that Miss Anne was not to home, he decided to leave. Then, how lovely it was to find her just returning and that now he would stay. Such fawning! I hope that Miss Anne is not taken in by it.”

I had not only missed an opportunity to escort her home, judging by the time between our arrivals, I had missed her and the Crofts by no more than three-quarters of an hour. I am certain that Dr. Abernathy’s hat would have held up that much longer.

It was all I could do to muddle through the rest of the evening. I am not certain what I ate at dinner and as for anything I might have said after, while we sat and talked, that remains a mystery. I had retired at a normal hour. I determined that if I continued to withdraw early each evening, my sister would be calling a doctor before long. As it was, I was able to leave the room without her feeling for a fever.

Lying there, feeling the sun of a bright Sunday morning, I could not help but remember the irony of the last evening and think about the state of things as they were.

I came back to Sophy’s lament from the evening before. No, Anne would never be taken in by such a person as Mr. Elliot, but she might see the practicality of such a match, or be persuaded to see it. Some time in the future, Mr. Elliot would be the Baronet and she would be the mistress of Kellynch Hall were she to wed him. Eight years and a half ago, I asked her to give up everything to marry me. I had offered nothing but myself and a belief in my abilities. Could I ask her to give up everything again?

There was a knocking at the door. “Frederick?” Sophy called quietly. “Frederick?”

I suppose that just lying there-- silently, was a bit of the coward’s way, but the idea of attending church was more than I was able to bear just then. If I had been in better humour, I would merely have told her I had no wish to accompany her and the Admiral, and taken the consequences. I was certain that the resulting disagreement would have done neither of us well. It was better to just lie quietly and pretend to be asleep.

She gave up rather easily. No matter, I had no wish to go or to have a discussion on the state of my soul with my sister. I had been so long with Edward, and him living above the store as it were, must have more than evened my ledger on church attendance. I supposed it would have been rather hypocritical of me to attend and only pray that I was able to make amends with Anne. Mm . . .

Anne. After I had treated her so harshly, how could I have the temerity ask her to give up such an eligible and proper match, which would, one day, take her back to the home she loved? I had asked once, and left to herself, she very well might have gone through with the marriage. She would have left her home and family for me. I would have risked nothing and gained everything. I have more to offer now, but is it right to ask again, still risking very little? And is what I have to offer superior to a title and Kellynch Hall? I had overreached myself in asking the first time, was I merely repeating the mistake?

Edward said that if I truly loved her, I would rejoice for her even if she were married to someone else; someone who made her happy; regardless of how that happiness might come. I could not rid myself of the question, How much do I love this woman?

Chapter 8, Monday

My boy,

How goes the battle? I am praying that you are able to accomplish things quickly, I know how you loathe waiting. There has not been anything of interest happen since your departure. Though, I did disclose to Joshua where you had gone and what you were about. He smiled a great deal and said to tell you, "Love endures all things." I had not realised you and he were Bible scholars. I have no more to tell, except to inform you that, that nag of yours eats at an alarming rate. I am not certain five pounds will cover feeding her for more that a week or two! Again, I hope you are making progress and that joyous news will be coming our way soon. My prayers are with you. Catherine sends her love. She has written the Crofts a large, purse choking letter which should arrive near this one. I am certain my sister will be enthralled.
Edward

Even as I read the letter I was delighted and piqued at the same time. I knew the part which pertained to my horse was all in jest, but it nettled me nonetheless. And I was provoked that he had told Joshua of my purpose for traveling to Bath. I felt angered, yet at the same time, knew it to be absurd. I owed it to the fact that the entirety of Sunday had been taken up with my ruminations about Anne and whether or not I could go measure for measure with Mr. Elliot. There was no satisfactory answer to the question, so another day had been lost to a wasteful pursuit.

Thankfully, I had something to occupy myself that day. I had accepted an invitation to Admiral McGillvary's for the day and intended to put such bothersome thoughts aside for a time. I was glad to find, that for part of the day at least, it was not very difficult to do.

I had not been familiar with the address. Upon my arrival, I knew why, 200 Upper Belsom Park was rather more exclusive and rarified than any other addresses I had been near. It encompassed half the block. The other half was a literal park. As we had sailed together on the Borthwick, I knew Patrick's people to be of money, I just had not known how much.

I was taken into a receiving room which was large and intimidating. The furnishings were most likely older than the realm. I had known that his family had an estate eight miles outside Bath. A reward to some long dead ancestor for loyalty in some local conflict no doubt. He had never mentioned a house in town, until my meeting with him in Molland's. And quite a house it was.

The Admiral had always been rather careless about his family's position. His success in the Navy had not come from them, he had worked his way through the ranks just as I. I could not understand why a man with such resources would brook so many difficulties, but it had been important to him that his family had no part in that aspect of his life. He told me that since his father's death the previous spring, he was responsible for the family's holdings, but with the rumours about Napoleon and a possible call back weighting heavily upon his mind, he contemplated leaving service. He had seemed a bit melancholy at the prospect, but his daughter was a deeper concern. Her mother had died over two years ago, nearly three. He had been at sea and after Claire McGillvary passed away, there had only been servants and schools. Miss McGillvary was a well looking young woman and I suspect that Patrick was of an attitude to keep her innocent as well.

A bustling outside the door alerted me to the Admiral's arrival. "Frederick, I am sorry I was not here to greet you. Some crisis or other is always pulling me hither and yon. This is the life of a gentleman," Patrick said greeting me warmly as we shook hands. As I looked at him, in this room and in a suit, out of his uniform, I could see that he was a gentleman. Something that I had recently become acutely aware, I was not.

"That is quite all right. I was just admiring the room here. You have some rather interesting family pieces, Admiral."

He smiled and said, "I told you, no 'Admiral'. We shall suppose we are back in the midshipmen's berth on the Borthwick and you and I are those two blockheads who spent most of their time endeavoring to keep from the getting killed. Just Paddy and Frederick again, eh?" he said, offering me a cigar. I refused. I continued to study the room.

"Certainly, though this is no below deck berth and I will wager the food is much better also," I said, glad the old days were still a part of us.

"You are right, this is a bit more elegant than below deck on the Borth, but I am not certain about the food. The cook is French. Jean Claude Bucket. He was born here, but for some perverse reason, he enjoys plaguing everyone with his rather superior air, insists that his family name is to be pronounced as though he were a nosegay of violets or something."

The pronunciation of the man's name had been done with much exaggeration, particularly on the last. At this sort of cheek, Patrick rolled his eyes. He did not suffer fools lightly, but those who were impertinent as well were a definite vexation. He continued, "As it was explained to me, he is a fixture in the house because of my father's will. So until the fellow drops dead or one of the other servants rids me of him, he is here to stay. Look closely before you eat, he is not averse to cooking anything he can lay a cleaver to."

I decided that the subject of the chef and his name was best left alone, I thought I would give Patrick a nudge in another direction. "This from a man whose ancestors ate that oat and onion concoction cooked in a sheep's gut? I would think the new and inventive would be quite to your liking." I said this, knowing full well that Patrick was as proud of his Irish ancestry as he was his red hair and that this would bring a tart response. Which it did.

"Now, now, Frederick, you know good and well that haggis rot is the Scot's doing and I will not hear my people of Erin insulted. You are merely jealous, you know that if I could ever think of anything that you Brits do that is worth lauding, I would, but you all are so blasted tedious. There's nothing to speak of."

We both laughed. We had begun our friendship with insults and they had continued a part of its fabric. Of course, in the beginning, the insults had been real; but after we had been forced to share a cot in the brig for two nights, we decided that we had best make peace. The peace had lasted over nine years and I was glad for it.

A man came to inform us that dinner was served. "Well then, we had best begin this repast. If I know Jean Claude, this will take some time."

The dining room was pleasant. For a formal dining room, it was not imposing as the receiving area had been. A wall of glass facing the park and lighter woodwork gave the room an open and inviting feel. A lovely room in which to enjoy a good meal.

The first course was a rather elaborate affair of a squab with some meat amalgam stuffed inside it. I did not ask what that might be. It was over the fish course that I learnt something which interested me very much, but also alarmed.

"Well, I have some news of a mutual acquaintance of ours," Patrick said with a hinting tone. My first thought was, that if the mutual acquaintance was Anne, and he had been presented an opportunity to walk her to her door, I would impale myself upon my knife and fork and be done with this whole maddening business. But he had not been introduced to her and it was very soon apparent that Anne was not the acquaintance.

"Oh? And who might this connection be? Anyone that we have enjoyed some sport with?" I asked as I took my first bite of fish. It was rather interesting, good, but not the usual.

Patrick took a bite and putting down his fork, touched his napkin to his mouth and smiled. "No, not anyone we would likely sport with, unless your taste in mates has amended quite a lot over the years. What have you heard concerning Henry Stanton of late?" After the question, he resumed with his fish. Other than Stanton's general reputation as an excellent tactician and all round reprobate, I was not aware that Patrick would have had any knowledge of him; certainly not enough to connect me to Stanton or connect himself.

My own dealings with Stanton had never been agreeable. In the six months I had been forced to keep him, not one exchange had gone by without rancor. As the tactician on the Laconia, he had been exceptional. I owed a certain amount of my personal fortune to the reprehensible pagan, but in his personal conduct, for depravity, the man had no equal.

"I had the misfortune of meeting with him in Plymouth, in . . . November I believe. It was a rather unpleasant exchange, but I left to my brother's shortly after. He said he was visiting a sister. Other than that, I have no knowledge of his dealings lately," I said endeavoring to keep the malice from my tone. Patrick need not be aware how repugnant the man and the meeting had been.

"By what I know, I imagine that there will be no love lost when I inform you that Mr. Stanton has gone and got himself murdered," Patrick said this with a coolness and a sedate tone, which had I not known him, would have been shocking. Murder is shocking, no matter how worthy the victim.

I put down my glass and just sat. I had seen the man, alive and presumably well, not six months previous and it was odd to think that he no longer existed in this life. Though I was hard pressed to feel much grief at what must assuredly be his present locale.

Then the questions came. It was obvious that Patrick had some intelligence and I was anxious for him to share it with me. Where did all this take place? When did it happen? How did he discover the news? Most importantly, how did he come to know Stanton and that I had connection to him? All the queries poured out, nearly at once.

"The last is the simplest. After he left you, he was aboard the Pilot, correct?"

I decided not to say that he had not left my command, but had been taken from under my authority before I could bring charges for murder against him. The irony of how he had died was not at all lost on me. "Yes, I was told he went to the Pilot, Captain Churchill, I think." By this time, we had both forgotten the fish.

"Well, Churchill endured him for nearly a year before his presence almost brought on mutiny. In an evening with a fine bottle of scotch, he and I agreed to cast lots for our most discordant boys. I got the worst of it, owing to the fact that I do enjoy a good scotch. Anywise, Stanton was one of the collection. Though, with his skill, I was able to rid myself of him in exactly twenty-two days." The look in Patrick's eye said that how this was accomplished was most likely unethical or immoral, or both. "But, in that twenty-two days, I became acquainted with a side of Frederick Wentworth I had not known existed."

This was an enigmatical statement and I merely sat and awaited elaboration.

Patrick looked at me for a moment, and said, "I see you are more serious about this than I had thought you would. I shall move a bit more quickly then. Stanton had not been in the officer's wardroom more than half-an-hour before the gents were being regaled with what a rotten and treacherous bas . . . , sorry. What a bad captain you were." He stopped and thought a moment, then continued, "Frederick, much of the reason I rid myself of him was that very thing. Because I knew you and that none of what he said could be true. I am not a prig, if men of an equal rank wish to gossip and lie on one another, far be it from me to stop them, but, when they begin to reproach their betters, that I cannot sanction. For whatever cause, Henry Stanton hated you, my friend, and he was not quiet about it. What in G-d's name did you do to the blighter?"

I had never told anyone of superior rank anything about what had happen off Gibraltar. I had been ordered not to firstly, and secondly, I have enough respect for rank that the embarrassment of my own admiral was not something which I desired. There seemed no danger now; Patrick was a friend and other than Harville, Benwick and myself, all the other participants were now dead.

Patrick poured me more wine and I began. "Nearly five-and-a-half years ago, the Laconia was part of a large escort off Gibraltar. Part of the contingency was my Admiral, Admiral Partridge. While not a part of the escort, he was to conduct manoeuvers off the coast and hence had sailed out with us. The Laconia had just finished putting in and was standing down for some minor rigging work. I allowed myself and some of the officers ashore for the night. Stanton was one of them. I was with two of my other officers, we had just finished dining on some awful local concoction and were making our way back to the ship." I stopped and took a drink to collect myself. Meeting with Stanton in Plymouth had been distasteful, but not nearly as this. I had not put my mind to the whole business for quite some time. I had never seen a woman dead, especially one so young. I pulled myself from the sight in my mind and continued, "The three of us were passing an alleyway. There were noises coming from inside. At first we paid no attention; the noises were of a struggle and a sound like grunting or grumbling. We stood a moment thinking that it was most likely a trollop and some fellow. But there was something about the sound that made us turn back and inquire." I downed the rest of the glass and held it out for another fill. The thought returned that murder is always shocking. Taking another drink, I went on, "It was nigh on dark, but there was some light coming from the other end of the way. When we called out, the noises ceased, but a form could be seen. It was indistinguishable, so we moved closer. One of my men carried a sidearm, on shore, as a matter of course and he drew it. The closer we came, it became clear it was a man dragging a body. It was Stanton and the body was a young girl he had strangled." It had always amazed me how giving sound to thought made the thought so much more than it been in the mind alone. The beautiful becomes more so and the same for the horrible as well.

Patrick sat quietly. I was not sure whether the tale had appalled him or he was merely allowing me an opportunity to collect myself. After the initial telling, I felt very little. Perhaps too much time had passed for my sensibilities to be overtaken by it any longer. I had been too long at sea and war. But still, she was awfully young.

The entrance of servants bringing the dessert course roused us both. I am not certain that either of us could tell what the meat course had been. "This is the one course in which my fine Frog chef is not suspect. His desserts are always edible," said Patrick, trying to lighten the ponderous mood of the room. The fine, edible dessert had no taste to me. "So, since Churchill had the pleasure of his service and I also, I assume that nothing ever came of his crime?"

"No. We got him back to the ship, but only at the end of a pistol. I had informed a local authority, and had always assumed that they had gone to the Admiral and things were taken care of. Within hours, my admiral was collecting him from my brig and instructing me to keep silent on the matter. I never knew why Admiral Partridge took him and laid him on Churchill's back. Then Partridge died a year or so later and in my mind most of the matter was closed. But, it angered me enough that I came very close to selling out and leaving the Navy over the whole mess," I changed to water as the wine had begun to make me dull.

"I still see no cause for his animosity towards you. He had no hesitation in abolishing your good name. Why might that be, my friend?" He asked as he finished his dessert.

I pushed my nearly full plate aside. Leaning back in the chair, I myself wondered why I had been such an object to him. "While in Plymouth, he told me that he felt ill-used in the whole business. I suppose my tossing him in the brig was some sort of insult. He had told me it was, 'a good time, a little amusement.' Perhaps he thought some poor girl from a small village was not worth all the commotion."

"Most men are not too concerned with whores, other than the obvious."

His assumption angered me, "I do not know that she was a prostitute. There was no investigation into the matter and so as far as I am concerned, she was merely a young girl that he killed. What she may have done for money is not material to justice." As I spoke the words, I was surprised at the high moral tone it held. Fleetingly I saw Edward's face. I realised thought how much he had influenced me over the years.

"Mm . . . sorry. I meant nothing by it. Anywise, Stanton is dead and in a potter's field in Bristol," Patrick said. He looked as though he regretted bringing the topic to the fore.

"He was in Bristol?" That bit of news alarmed me.

"Yes, a friend of mine has retired to the place and sent me news of it. He was aboard the Beechick while I had the miserable wretch, he thought I might be interested."

Stanton having been in Bristol was troublesome. I had lied to him about Harville dying and said that his wife had gone to Bristol to live with her mother. I wondered if he had been searching for her. "Did he have people there? Anyone come forward as being connected?"

"No, in fact, he would not have been in Plymouth visiting family either. He was orphaned young and came from a workhouse at fourteen I believe. Bounced around the merchants for a few years and then was pressed. His tactical talents were discovered and he was promoted along. I am sorry I brought up the whole thing. Seems that there was more to circumstances than I imagined," he said, an apology written on his countenance.

"Quite all right. No one, except my mates and Stanton knew until now. Are they certain it was him?" I was not sure as to why I asked the question. I suppose that I did not trust Stanton to do anything in the usual manner--even be killed.

"Heavens Frederick, of course it was him. All his papers said so. There was no money or valuables, but the article said that all his papers were genuine. If you had any anxieties about him, this should bring you relief, eh?"

It actually did. I had not realised how much Stanton had preyed upon my mind. I did feel some measure of release upon hearing this news. Not a great deal, but some.

The dishes had long been cleared and we had stayed to the table, much as was our habit on the Borthwick, we had stayed true to our supposing. Patrick rising brought me from my thoughts.

"Shall we repair to a more comfortable room? There is a small sitting room with a fine view of the park. We shall endeavor to shake the cloud of this conversation." He left the room and I followed. Patrick walked quickly no matter what the occasion. At one time, I had imagined him at his wedding, hurrying the new Mrs. McGillvary at a harried dash out to an awaiting carriage.

The sitting room was lovely. It was very modern in its appointments in contrast to the receiving room. Two large windows accounted for the open feel and bright character of the room. This was undoubtedly where the family, as small as it was, spent the majority of their time. A needlework frame with a work in progress stood near a chair in a window corner. A small spinet, with music in the stand was nearby. The chair that was obviously Patrick's stood by the other window. I knew it to be his because of all the books stacked about and a pipe lying on top of the nearest heap.

Patrick moved a large atlas from a chair which was the match to his and offered me a seat. "This is the one room in the house that goes untouched by the staff. I must have some place where I can put something down and know it will not be moved. Sit. Anything to drink?"

"No, I am not much for it today. The wine was more than enough."

Patrick went to the window and stood, presumably looking to the park. He let out a deep sigh. "You know, there are times I wonder why I come here and look out this window. All I seem to see are couples walking arm-in-arm, gazing fondly to one another." I had no idea how to reply to that; as it turned out, he needed none. "The ones which seem to bother me the most are not the young ones; you know that with most of them, nothing will come of it and they will be on to a new amour in weeks; the older ones are the thorn. There is a look about them and the way they hold on to one another and walk together so perfectly. They stop and look at the same things. Sometimes you see a couple that one is intent on the flowers and the other is not, but stands patiently, awaiting the other. I would have been sixteen years married this year had Claire lived." Patrick stood quietly watching the park. I had begun to wonder what there was that caused men preoccupied by their marital ruminations to confide in me. Dr. Abernathy had done it and now another gent had allowed me a look inside. I must have one of those faces.

He came from the window and sat in the chair next to me. He took the pipe, lit it, and began the labourious tack of getting it to draw. I supposed that the appeal of a pipe had more to do with having your hands occupied than any enjoyment derived from smoking it. He finally spoke. "So, Frederick, have you seen anything of that lady friend of yours from Molland's?"

"No. Oh, I saw her in a carriage the other day, but have not seen her to speak to," I said. I hoped that Patrick had not planned to delve deeply in this subject.

"Well, perhaps we shall amend that. I think you and I should attend a concert tomorrow night." He looked at me with an expression of invitation.

"And how, if I may ask, would my attending a concert with you put me in the way of speaking to Miss Anne Elliot?" I determined it was useless to protest any desire to see her, Patrick was much too perceptive and I was much too transparent.

He smiled in a sly manner, "My daughter informed me, after you left us at Molland's, of all the intrigues and the players involved. Mr. Elliot is Miss Anne Elliot's cousin and rumours are swirling about an imminent engagement, though there is of course nothing official. By-the-bye, do not count too heavily on the reliability of Bath rumours. There are many, including myself, that would be thrice married if left to the mercy of gossip. Back to business. Mr. Elliot has money from his first wife who died nearly eight months ago. He is acceptable in all weather and keeps only the best of company. Miss Anne Elliot has a reputation for kindness and good taste. That alone is enough to make me think well of her. A good reputation in the fair town is nearly impossible to obtain or to keep. Anywise, I am fairly certain that Mr. Elliot will be at this concert. He is a man who likes to see and be seen. The concert is for a prot»g»e of the Viscountess Dalrymple. Who by the way, is another relation of your Miss Elliot, distant but close enough for Bath." Patrick turned his attention back to his pipe.

"I am amazed at your intimate knowledge of the ins and outs of Bath society, but how will Mr. Elliot's musical appreciation benefit me?" This had become a bit too much intrigue for me. I had no desire to become enmeshed in the machinations of Bath's elite. I had proven to myself that too much planning was nearly as fatal as not enough.

Taking his time, he blew out a cloud of smoke and watched it float for a moment, "I will tell you, Frederick. Since Mr. Elliot will no doubt wish to make a pretty tableau, and Miss Elliot is very attractive, he will do everything necessary to persuade her that she is in need of culture, if she is reluctant to attend."

I was amazed that Patrick would have needed a tactician, he seemed to do quite well on his own. It sounded as though he knew of what he spoke, but something had me puzzled, "And how does his escorting An . . . Miss Elliot, put me in a good position? It would be highly improper for me to involve her in more than a civil 'Good evening,' much less meaningful conversation; she being escorted by a man that the town thinks her engaged and all." Having to speak, even in supposition, of Anne being engaged was a torment.

Patrick smiled since he knew he had my interest and had noticed my blunder. "The first set in Bath fancy themselves to be freethinking, but they do stay to a certain amount of propriety. Publicly, mind you. Privately, that is another matter. Mr. Elliot cannot escort any woman anywhere, much less be engaged; he being in mourning you know. But he would most likely place himself in her company once they are both inside. Since you said that she was of long acquaintance, you have claim as a prior connection and therefore have entr»e to her presence. He will not do more than look a bit peevish since you are rather more substantial than he. Wear your uniform and put the fear of God and country in him." He leaned back in his chair and turned his attention to the pipe and watched the smoke drift to the ceiling.

He seemed to have all the objections answered and had left no room for doubt about the success of this plan. Perhaps I should have enlisted his aid on Saturday. I had no desire to attend a concert under these circumstances. When attending, I wish to listen rather than strategise. But, I had few choices and it was time that I do something to put myself in her presence. I had not been successful alone, perhaps Patrick could change that.

"If you are having doubts, think of this as any other tactical manoeuver. In the game of romance, man, one must move to the windward and take the advantage, else you may just as well strike your colours, prepare the decks for Mr. Elliot's boarding party and turn over your sword, Captain."

Leaning forward in the chair, I contemplated the options. They were not many and of all, this felt to be the best. "I suppose that a concert would do me a world of good. What time do the festivities begin?"

"Good, the concert begins at eight. Be early. If nothing else, you will have an opportunity to survey the lay of the place. Now that this has been decided, will you stay the evening? There is still time to send a message home telling of a change in plans. Perhaps we could engage in a bit of chess, brush up your craft for battle. What do you say?"

I could see that Patrick desired company and I had no plans other than tormenting myself over things gone wrong. If I were to leave now, I knew that I would have an entire night dedicated to finding faults with this scheme as well. "I shall stay. A round of chess or two will do me good."

The message was sent and the rest of the evening was spent quietly preparing for battle.

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