Chapter 1
"And pray, what would be your point in going to Kellynch, of all
places in this vast world?" Frederick Wentworth asked, with an
unmistakable edge to his voice. He and James Benwick were taking the
late morning sun outside the Harvilles' door. As Benwick stood, Captain
Wentworth sat on a large coil of rope, carving nothing in particular on
a piece of driftwood.
"Well, Captain, if you must know, Miss Anne had recommended some
authors I might read. Authors familiar with endurance and suffering. I
procured some and I believe them to be a good beginning to my cure of
this despair. I want to discuss with Miss Anne some finer points I have
perceived. I think it would be good for her to know that her
ministrations have done me well." Benwick said looking past Wentworth,
to The Cobb. "I am sorry . . . I am rambling."
Wentworth knew what a look like that meant. It was a look that told
him there may have been more on James Benwick's mind to do with Anne
Elliot than some finer points of suffering and endurance.
"I think, what you need Benwick, is a few days in Plymouth. Get you
from here and all the commotion of the Harvilles and Musgroves. Meet
some of our old mates and remember the glory days of the past,"
Wentworth said with as much fervor as his melancholy emotions could
muster.
"Begging your pardon, sir. The past for me has no glory. My past
reaches only to June when Fanny died. No further," Benwick said warmly.
He turned away and went inside.
"My God, what a cold, unthinking tyrant I have become!" Wentworth
berated himself. "I am willing to say and do the most heedless things
to get my own way." He rose knowing that he must hurriedly apologize to
Benwick.
It had been Wentworth himself who had told Benwick of Fanny
Harville's death. It had been he, who, for a se'en night had held
Benwick through the rages and the sobbing spells. It had been he who
had sometimes used Benwick's grief to cover his own tears of loss and
pain. For what or who they had manifest, he could not say. The worst of
times were the silences. They had frightened both Wentworth and
Benwick. After all this, how could he speak so thoughtlessly?
Rising from the coil of rope he had been seated upon, Wentworth
entered into the house. This house that lately had become as much a
prison to him as his anger and resentfulness had been these past eight
years and a half. The prison now was the expectation of his marriage to
Louisa Musgrove. Captain Harville had, the prior evening revealed he
and his wife's assumption that Wentworth and Louisa were quite attached
and set to wed. Wentworth had immediately denied any plans of the kind.
Though, just as immediately, his own imprudence and unguarded behavior
came to haunt and accuse. As he fastened the latch, Wentworth shook his
head to clear his mind of the melancholy thoughts.
Since Louisa's 'fall' from The Cobb, (for no one was so unkind as to
call it a jump, that would imply more imprudence than anyone had the
stomach attach), the Harville home had become well organized, but none
the less, chaos. The Charles Musgroves, while staying at the inn, still
came frequently during the day. Mrs. Mary Musgrove was very careful to
make all about her notice what prodigious care she took when it came to
Louisa's nursing. Though with Louisa awake and recovering, care had
more to do with soothing nightmares and trying to keep the household
quiet. Mrs. Harville, who carried the lion's share of the work, seemed
to take no notice.
Wentworth credited this to her sense and knowledge of her own worth
in this situation. He admired her humility and could not help his
thoughts going to Anne. She was such as that. Her humility in the face
of all he had done these past weeks mortified him. As he had
thoughtlessly hurt Benwick earlier, he had surely done the same to her.
It had not been a conscious plan to wound, but when one acts with only
the barest civility, and only in situations most extreme . . . it was
becoming clear to him, his behavior had been contemptible.
His musings were interrupted by the senior Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove
coming to visit the patient. He stood in greeting, still feeling the
sting of guilt in their presence. He had been assured many times that
he was not at fault, that they held no ill feelings toward him, that he
was welcome, most welcome, in their family circle any time.
"How are you this morning Captain?" Mrs. Musgrove asked without
waiting an answer, "I think we will have a fine day when those few
clouds move off. This has actually been quite a fine November for us.
How is Louisa today?" She waited not for an answer as she moved to her
daughter's room.
He smiled. Mrs. Musgrove did not mean to be rude. He knew these
actions rose from familiarity. Mrs. Musgrove had taken him to her heart
from the moment she realized he had captained Dick Musgrove, her inept
and profligate son. He was much familiar to them now. Much too
familiar. .He had begun to think that removing himself from the area
would be wise. He had not been vital to Louisa's recovery. He had
barely looked on her. When guilt had not held him back, the growing
realization that the woman he had lost, and her vast superiority to
Miss Musgrove, did.
Captain Benwick appeared from seemingly nowhere. It amazed Wentworth
how so many people could be in this tiny house and still, he could be
caught off his guard.
"I must speak with you, James," he said stepping forward. "I was
more delinquent of feeling than I can say, that I would speak of the
past in such a cavalier fashion, especially to you. Please forgive my
thoughtlessness, old friend?" he asked while putting out his hand to
shake on it.
"Certainly . . . Frederick. I realize it is difficult for everyone.
I am sure that your almost losing Louisa has made you see how life
changes when the one you love is gone and there is no hope of return,"
he said as they shook hands. He took a book from the shelf and had a
seat.
His words pierced to the core of Frederick Wentworth's soul. "When
the one you love is gone and there is no hope of return indeed. Truer
words were never spoken, James." This was more than he could struggle
with any longer. Anne was gone and there was no hope of return. He
could no longer pretend he had forgotten her, so that ruse was gone
from him. An assumption of attachment to Louisa where there was none
and all attending that. The tiny house grew smaller by the moment, he
had to disengage himself.
"You are feeling ill, Frederick? You look pale as a ghost!" Captain
Harville exclaimed. He had come from the back of the house to announce
luncheon. Benwick looked up from his book, startled at Captain
Wentworth's change in countenance.
"Please come outside, Harville. I must speak with you," Captain Wentworth said as he passed through the door.
"What is wrong, Frederick, you look like death itself? You're
breathing like you just ran from Uppercross to Lyme. Please sit before
you fall in a faint," Captain Harville said with great alarm.
"Harville, I do not even know myself anymore," Wentworth began to
pace. " I cannot even speak to a dear friend without harming," pointing
in toward Benwick. "The entire situation here is going to be my
undoing. I do not have any solutions other than leaving. But that
leaves you with a mess of my making," he cried.
"All this agitation began last night when I told you of our
expectation concerning you and Louisa. You told me there was no
engagement Frederick, but all this . . . I cannot help thinking there
is much more involved here than I know. Am I right?" Harville gently
demanded.
"Yes, quite. There is much more. My pride has done much harm over
the years and I see no way to amend. My imprudent behavior with Louisa
has been shameful and all because of it I fear our lives will take a
turn that will bring nothing good for either of us," he said. He paused
for a moment. "Harville, have you ever looked inside yourself and found
nothing decent?" Captain Wentworth said quietly.
"No . . . and I do not think that you are devoid of all decency. For
some reason you have lost hope. I do not even know what it is about,
but I know that I have seen you in hopeless situations before. At sea,
you have held hundreds of lives in your hands, that hand was steady on
the helm and all came out well. I know the All Mighty has guided you
before and, if you will allow, He will again. If you will not tell me
the details, at least allow me to assure you, your leaving here will
not leave us a mess. This was an unfortunate happening and there are
more than enough hands to take care of things. I do need to know where
you are off to, so I am able to make a plausible excuse for your
absence," Harville said looking intently at Wentworth.
"I will quit to Plymouth. I shall leave at first light. I appreciate
this Harville. I know we have been through much together. I wish I
could share this burden with you, but my pride fears your good opinion
will quite collapse if you knew the genuine Frederick Wentworth. Thank
you my good friend," he said as he took Harville's hand.
Harville, not being satisfied to shake hands, dropped his cane and
embraced his hurting friend. He hoped to infuse Frederick with some
hope for the future.
Captain Wentworth held Harville steady and retrieved the cane. As he
gave it to him, he said, "Thank you again, friend." He managed a smile
as he turned and left.
Captain Harville watched as Wentworth walked away to the inn. He
knew there was a long, lonely day and a sleepless night in his friend's
future. He wished that the hard ride to Plymouth would help shake
things into place. He wished this, but did not believe it would happen.
Chapter Two
Captain Wentworth dismounted his horse. "I could not even
keep from abusing you, you poor beast," he said, looking at the
lathered coat of his mount. Excepting one stop in Exeter for water and
some quarter hours rest, the ride from Lyme had been hard and fast.
Other than the sound of pounding hooves, Wentworth had allowed nothing
else to his mind. No words, no faces . . . nothing.
It was still early, there had been sun with his ride but clouds were
moving in quickly. He decided to stable his horse and find a room.
After that was accomplished, there was nothing to do but reacquaint
himself with Plymouth. Little had changed. The docks, the shops and
houses. It was strange that he found no familiar faces. This he took as
a blessing for he felt no need of company or fellowship. He wandered
for several hours, not wanting to closet himself in his lodgings, but
the evening was coming on and grew cold. In the twilight, candles were
being lit in the homes he passed, this added to his disquiet. The
warmth of home and family . . .
While ambling about the town, Wentworth had resolved to obtain a
bottle of the most vile liquor available and spend the night completely
and throughly drunk. So the purchase had been made. The actual
objective was the blinding headache and nausea that would come upon
awakening. He laughed to himself that if there was a man who deserved
that kind of pain, it was he. So, Captain Frederick Wentworth, a man
who valued firmness of conviction above most all things, with great
conviction, proceeded to become drunk as a piper. He had chosen a very
expensive rum. "I shall punish my purse as well as my head," he
thought. Rum was his choice as he despised its tang and it had, in the
past sickened him as nothing else could. There would be no enjoyment in
this what so ever.
"Gad! How does one keep this swill in them?" Captain Wentworth
thought as he gulped the first shot. He idly wondered how his brother,
the parson would look upon his evening's activities. When he had first
gone to sea, Wentworth had much a share in cup draining, but early
training at home and the wise admonishments of that same parson,
Reverend Edward Wentworth had brought him back to moderation. The
strongest he had imbibed these past years were Madeira and the
occasional ale. Not the picture of a hard drinking sailor was he.
He poured another shot and placed the glass along with the bottle on
the bed table. Loosening his neck scarf and cuffs, then pulling off his
boots, he settled on the bed. The mattress was hard and the pillow
flat, with an odor he hesitated to identify. No matter, once the rum
took hold he might add to it, who was to say. As he stared ahead, he
began to follow a crack in the plaster of the wall opposite him. It
took a meandering course and diverged into a web like pattern. It was
time to take another drink. For a man determined to do himself a little
harm, Frederick Wentworth was not going about it with much enthusiasm.
He knew that another man in pursuit of a soak would attack it with much
more spirit. "Frederick, you are a wit, 'attack drinking with spirit'.
If this is your best humor, no wonder you are here my friend," he said
to himself. He raised the glass in a toast to..."Louisa Musgrove, the
future Mrs. Wentworth," he whispered. He took the shot and allowed the
rum to slowly burn its way down his throat.
Louisa Musgrove was very amiable, pretty and high spirited. Though,
since the business at Lyme he had expanded his view. Looking back, in
light of all that had taken place, he saw also willfulness and a
tendency to manipulate. As Henrietta had quitted the field in favor of
Charles Hayter, Louisa had taken the advantage with a vengeance. For
the two days before her fall, she had made it perfectly plain she was
amenable to a more intimate acquaintance. She had on two occasions made
herself quite available to be kissed by him. Because of the
circumstance and locations, escape, without explanation had been
utilized. Although the knot in his stomach had remained with him a long
quarter hour each time, he was no worse for the wear. As these thoughts
made themselves to home in his mind, Wentworth felt the need of another
round.
After downing the third, he continued the course of his thoughts,
paining as they were becoming. Reclining his head against the bed
board, he allowed the memories to flow in. Since the year six, Anne
Elliot was the only woman he had placed himself in the way of to kiss.
The captain was anomalous among his officer brethren. While many of
them placed carnality chiefest of activities, he had labored otherwise.
The truth, as he now must face it, was that Anne Elliot had spoiled all
other women for him. He now saw that any woman he may have shown
interest in was held against a secret standard only his heart knew and
none could meet the measure. Her warm, dark eyes from years ago were
still the same. The bloom of her youth was vanished, though he noticed
some return of it at Lyme, the eyes had remained. He knew also that her
gracious mind and sweet manner were still in full force. This she had
proven in beginning Benwick's revival. He had observed her and was
willing to acknowledge, the Anne now was mellowed and tempered by time,
not ravaged, not made wretched. Changed to be sure, but as with
anything rare, made more valuable with the passing of time.
With the same force Louisa's advances had repelled Wentworth, all
those years ago Anne's quiet propriety had compelled. Living many
months of his adult years with his brother, a man called to the church,
had left him with precious little experience of women. As little was
the knowledge he possessed, she owned less. Even at that, she was able
to put off his youthful eagerness in such a way that appealed to his
manly discipline rather than focused on inappropriate desires. She had
however, allowed some few kisses which assured a passion for him and
that told of her eagerness to marry. When the engagement was broken,
all this was lost. Since then, the physical desire occasionally
presented itself, the emotional . . . never.
"Ah . . . another drink is very much in order after that," the
Captain muttered as he sat up. "Those thoughts are precisely the type
this foul liquid is to stanch. I am certain that my head aches more now
than it shall surely tomorrow. Do your work filthy brew, I must have
some relief," he said quietly. He placed the bottle to his lips, drank
deeply and coughed much after swallowing. He lay back on the bed and
found his watch. I was just now eleven-twenty. "A long night ahead I
fear," were the last words he said aloud.
Chapter Three
As the morning light came to his eyes, Wentworth waited for the
agonizing pain to begin. There was none. He raised his head. There was
no spinning, no nausea, no vile taste in his mouth, well not much. In
short, there had been no effect from the rum. Damn! He had not drank to
excess for years, how was it possible he had handled all that liquor
with no ill consequences? When he rose from the bed, he observed that
there were no more than four drinks from the bottle and the glass was
almost full. He had merely put himself into a deep sleep instead of a
drunken stupor. Then Wentworth realized, with his increased
responsibility, he had taken up temperance with a vengeance. It had
served him very ill last night
In the midst of all his agitation about Anne and Louisa, this proved
to be quite diverting. The first unforced smile in days came to his
lips. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He began to
study the face he saw. Other than evidence of an irregular night sleep,
this was the same face he had taken to Kellynch a few weeks back. At
Lyme, he could almost believe that all the ugliness he felt within was
becoming visible to anyone caring to look. But as he examined the
image, there was no beast, no ogre-like features overtaking his visage.
Merely a man. One who had confidently faced the world with firm
convictions about his ability and reward of it. One who had had those
convictions confirmed many times and rewarded handsomely. One who now
knew that firm convictions must give way to humility if one was to
achieve supreme happiness.
Captain Wentworth donned his coat and hat, at first intending to
ride the countryside, then deciding to walk. He began to remember
another walk some weeks ago. The walk to Winthrop had been long and
grating. After a failed hunt, Musgrove and he had met the ladies
setting out. The party was lively enough at the prospect for a long
walk, so the gentlemen had joined. As the group ebbed and flowed, he
and Miss Louisa Musgrove eventually kept pace together. He had been
charmed by her freshness of face and opinion. She seemed to be firm in
all she thought, said and did.
At various times during the walk, he had notice Anne. She kept much
to herself and behind the rest, except when Mary Musgrove insisted on
hectoring her. This she had endured quietly until Mrs. Musgrove felt
the need for more sympathetic responses. He remembered wondering what
Anne contemplated, how she looked on their being brought back together.
In their former aquaintance, he had discovered a mind rarely at rest,
one always observing and reasoning about all she saw and heard. It had
troubled him that, for a moment, he had thought of her in this light
instead of with his customary, cold politeness. He had pushed the
thoughts away and renewed his conversation with Louisa more vigorously
than before.
Captain Wentworth had begun his walk on a main street through the
city. While distracted with his thoughts, he had traversed the
populated area and was now moving through fields and muddy lanes. There
had been rain the previous evening, it had ended before he awakened. He
stopped and sought his bearings. The hills to the north had a gentle
rise and looked an easy climb. North was the direction, the hill top
his goal. When he had charted his path to the ridge, he began thinking
about the walk again.
Reaching the summit of the greatest hill separating Uppercross from
Winthrop, Mrs. Musgrove had recognised her location and insisted on
being taken home immediately. Seeing that Charles and Henrietta
intended to pay their respects, she made it clear, she would not. As
the pair made their way down the hill, the rest of the party looked for
a diversion. Mrs. Musgrove talked of bad connexions, Anne showed
resignation, so he and Louisa had followed her suggestion of gleaning
nuts in the large hedgerow nearby. He listened absently to her talk of
Henrietta and Charles Hayter. There was an understanding which seemed
to be damaged by some misapprehension or other on his part. That had
been the purpose of the walk chiefly. There also seemed to be the
irritation of Mrs. Musgrove's interference and that the family would
have been happier had Charles married Anne. Charles had wanted Anne to
be his wife! He had covered himself well but this had shaken him
thoroughly. For the rest of the afternoon, this was to interrupt his
thoughts, frequently.
After about three quarters of an hour, the two could be seen coming
up the hill. Along with them was, he presumed, Charles Hayter. The
assumption proved correct and proper introductions were made. Whatever
breach had been, was evidently, healed and as Mr. Hayter made his way
back to Winthrop, the rest made their way home to Uppercross.
The return was slower and more quiet. The autumn scenery , the
condition of the roads and paths, and the fine weather had all been
commented upon as they went. This left little to discuss as they
returned. Louisa and Henrietta were busily discussing what had
transpired at Winthrop. Wentworth graciously left them in private. Mrs.
Musgrove rattled at Charles for his lack of manners in conducting her
through high grass. He in turn began to ignore her and hunt small
rodents that were scared up along the way. This left Anne to her own
company.
Wentworth glanced in her direction now and again. She was weary and
each step was becoming more fatiguing than the last. He knew in his
heart, if he were truly the gentleman he thought himself, he would
offer his arm to her. He had bristled at taking such action, but kept a
watch for something that might give her relief. After all, eight years
and a half ago, he would have taken her in his arms and carried her to
Winthrop and back had she only asked. It angered him that he had
allowed his opinion of her to sink so low.
Relief presented itself in the form of Sophy and the Admiral. They
were ending their rounds of the parish and heading back to Kellynch.
They offered a ride to any of the ladies and Wentworth had obliged Anne
to accompany them. As he had handed her up, the familiarity of that
one, simple courtesy had struck him. Taking her hand, steadying her as
he lifted...this act he had performed so many times for her, opened his
mind to a flood of others. All he was able to do after placing her in
the gig was look away. Had he merely glanced her way just then, there
was a certainty his opinion would raise higher than his angry pride
could allow.
He pulled himself from his reverie for he had reached the summit and
begun to scan the area. A pile of stones had been fashioned into a
makeshift seat by some other climber. Wentworth seated himself. From
here he could take in much of the coastline and the hills making up the
interior. The sea was most calm today. He longed to be on her again.
This sound was as familiar to him as his own face. He knew the noise
and smells of these docks. He knew it all. There were many memories of
his here. And of others. It had been on these docks that Harville's
reunion with his wife had taken place. Though it distasteful to allow
women and children on his ship, it had been that reunion that had
caused him to contemplate a wife. The joy, the passion and the
tenderness of their meeting had at once embarrassed and fascinated him.
He knew Harville as well as any man knows another and what he saw in
that scene made him ache. To have that connection with another, to know
there was another in the world that desired your touch and presence as
they did one another. This made his fortune, his command, all that he
was, pale in comparison.
His mind quieted some, he watched a sloop move slowly out to sea.
How easy it would be for him to escape. Leave all the tangle behind. It
would be simple enough, with time, to find a brother officer to take
him quietly on. His abilities would be an asset to any commander and
his state of mind would well lend itself to following rather than
giving orders. There was no quarter of the world to which he was
opposed. This would facilitate a quick departure. He owned nothing of
value that would have been left a Kellynch. There was absolutely no
reason why he should not proceed with this plan. No other except he had
not a real intention of doing such a despicable thing. He was, after
all, an honorable man. Well, honorable in this at least.
It startled him how quickly, just a matter of weeks, he could
descend from being merely unkind and ungallant to thinking of
abandonment of career, family, the very life he had endeavored to
create. In every situation, running away is always an alternative.
Always. This was no different. Wentworth thought about the dangers he
had faced sailing and battling for the Crown. The action off St.
Domingo and its losses, the two years commanding the unseaworthy Asp
with all its attending difficulties, the various storms and privations
that come while asea. None of this had ever brought him so low as the
realization that angry pride kept him from renewing the relationship
with Anne upon his arrival at Kellynch and unguarded behavior may have
him engaging a young woman he didn't love. Painful circumstances are
made much worse when we see the evidence of our own hand.
