I realized, when I had finished, how strange my words must have sounded to her, for they reflected on much of my life that had gone before. She was, indeed, silent for a while, but at last she spoke again, turning the conversation. She could not have hit upon a theme closer to my heart.
‘Mary is good-natured enough in many respects, but she does sometimes provoke me excessively by her nonsense and her pride—the Elliot pride. She has a great deal too much of the Elliot pride.’
I silently agreed.
‘We do so wish that Charles had married Anne instead.’
I was dumbfounded. Charles had wanted to marry Anne? I had never suspected it.
‘I suppose you know he wanted to marry Anne?’ asked Louisa.
I could not command myself immediately, but at last I said, to be quite clear, ‘Do you mean that he proposed to her and 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 it was 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 Mama 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.’
Could it be true? Could Lady Russell once again have persuaded Anne to refuse another suitor?
‘When were Mary and Charles married?’ I asked nonchalantly.
‘Four years ago, in 1810,’ said Louisa.
I was left with much food for thought. Had Lady Russell persuaded Anne to turn down another suitor, or could there be some other explanation? A part of me felt there must be, for I did not believe Lady Russell would be set against Charles Musgrove. He had a respectable home, good prospects, and she had appeared to like him when I saw her with him in the year six.
Could it be that Anne had turned him down on her own account?
I stole another glance at her, trying to read the answer in her face, and I was still trying to solve the riddle when I was startled by the sight of Sophia and Benjamin in their one-horse chaise. They pulled up beside us and asked if any of the ladies would like to be driven home.
‘There is room for one more, and, as we are going through Uppercross, it will cut a mile off the journey,’ said Benjamin.
The ladies declined, but as we crossed the lane I noticed that Anne looked fatigued. I spoke in an aside to my sister, and she said, ‘Miss Elliot, I am sure you are tired. 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.’
Benjamin added his voice to his wife’s, and I assisted Anne into the carriage. As I touched her hand, I felt all the power of my previous emotions. I recalled the times I had touched her before, dancing with her, walking with her, embracing her, and I could not understand how we had grown so estranged.
Had I been wrong to leave in the year six? Had I been wrong not to go back? Had I been a fool not to write to her, as I had almost done, in the year eight, when I found myself with a few thousand pounds? Pride had held me back, and the fear of being rejected again. But if I had conquered my pride and routed my fear of another rejection, then might the last six years have been different?
I watched her as she drove off, still puzzling over what I had heard. She had had a chance to marry respectably, and yet she had declined it. Why? What did it mean? Did it mean that he did not match up to another love?
But no, such thoughts were folly. She had shown neither interest nor enjoyment in my company since my arrival in the neighbourhood; indeed, she had done everything in her power to avoid me and to make any intimate conversation impossible. She had made her feelings clear.
Monday 7 November
I was unsettled to learn that Anne and I were to be thrust into closer acquaintance, for over breakfast my sister informed me that Anne would shortly be leaving her sister’s house and staying at Kellynch Lodge with Lady Russell.
‘The news is all around Uppercross. Lady Russell will soon be returning from an engagement that has kept her absent for several weeks,’ said Sophia. ‘I hear very good things of her. An intelligent, sensible woman, by all accounts. Did you meet her when you were here before?’
‘I believe so.’
‘And was she as amiable as the reports would have her be?’
‘I saw very little of her,’ was all I would say.
‘It will be good to see some new faces about the place, at church and so forth,’ said Benjamin. ‘Lady Russell and Miss Elliot will add variety to our evening gatherings. Living in our neighbourhood as they will be, we must have them to dine with us.’
I was not sure whether I liked the idea or not. To see Anne again, to be with her, was a strange kind of torment. Why did she turn down Charles Musgrove? Was it for me? The thought plagued me. Yes, she was cold with me. Yes, she avoided me, but could that not be through awkwardness? I wished I knew.
A letter was brought in and I seized it, eager to distract my thoughts from the unanswerable problem of Anne. As I began to read, I found it to be from Harville.
‘Capital!’ I said, as my eyes went down the page.
Sophia looked at me enquiringly.
‘At last, Harville has found a bigger house, in Lyme. He and Harriet are to stay there for the winter. This is a stroke of luck, for it is not twenty miles away! I will ride over there today.’
‘Splendid,’ said Benjamin. ‘You can see how that poor fellow—what was his name?’
‘Benwick.’
‘That’s it, Benwick, you can see how he goes on. Poor man, to return home, only to find his fiancée dead. It is not the way a man expects it to happen. That he might not return he knows, but that the ones on shore should die is a sad blow.’
‘It was a bad business,’ said Sophia.
‘If I can render him or Harville any assistance, I will be happy to do so, for you know that Harville is now lame, wounded badly two years ago. A visit will give me a good opportunity to learn all their news.’
‘You might have some news of your own to give him before long,’ said Sophia.
‘Ay, it is about time,’ said Benjamin. ‘You are lagging behind. Harville unfurled his sails years ago and has outraced you, Frederick. He has three children now, has he not?’
‘He has, fine children all of them.’
But whilst he continued to tease me, I refused to be drawn. I set out soon afterwards and rode to Lyme. As I saw the sea, I reined in my horse and feasted my eyes upon it. I let my gaze wander over the pleasant little bay and the line of cliffs stretching out beyond it. I let my eyes drop to the Cobb and thought how useful it was, for it formed an excellent sea wall and provided a place for fishing boats to be tied up.
At last I rode on, going down into the town. I followed the main street as it went down to the sea, until I came to Harville’s house. It was small and dilapidated but it had a splendid location, for it was in a sheltered spot near the foot of the pier and had an unrivalled view of the sea.
I was made very welcome, with Harville and his wife greeting me warmly and the children running round my feet. They had grown since last I saw them, the baby most of all, for he was not a baby anymore, rather a fine lad of three years old who ran along behind the older children, eager for his share of the fun.
‘Well, what do you think of our new home?’ asked Harville.
‘It is almost like being on a ship,’ I said appreciatively.
‘We chose it for that reason,’ he said.
We went in and I saw Benwick sitting by the fire. He welcomed me cordially, but his spirits were low. They brightened a little as the three of us reminisced about out experiences on the Laconia, however.
‘That was a fine ship,’ said Benwick.
‘And with three of the Navy’s finest officers aboard!’ I
said.
But as Harville and I relived one adventure after another, Benwick became quiet, and he retired early. Harville and I sat up talking and, as we did so, Benwick’s past became a subject for us.
‘I am forever grateful to you for breaking the news to him,’ said Harville. ‘Nobody else could have saved poor James. I am only thankful you stayed aboard with him for a week, helping him over the worst of it.’
‘I was glad to do it, though it was little enough.’
I fell silent, thinking of Harville’s sister, the girl I had met back in the year six, and Harville’s hints that he would like us to marry. A pretty girl, with a superior mind, the sort of girl that is not met with every day. I thought sorrowfully of her early death.
‘Do you mean to keep Benwick with you?’ I asked at last.
‘Yes. He has no family, and his health being poor it is difficult for him to set up a home by himself. Besides, Fanny’s memory unites us.’
Tuesday 8 November
The children woke us early and we were soon out of doors, for the morning was fine and the winter sunshine beckoned. We walked down to the Cobb.
‘It is much busier in the summer months,’ said Harville, as the gulls cried above us. ‘The town is full of visitors, and the boarding houses are full. The assembly rooms are open, and there is plenty to do. It is rather quiet over winter, but it suits us.’
I looked at the bathing machines drawn up on the beach and imagined them full of people in the summer.
We reached the Cobb and the two eldest children pleaded to be allowed to go on to the high part.
‘Please, Papa, there is no wind today to blow us off.’
‘Very well,’ said their father. ‘But you must take my hands.’
They did as they were bid. Harriet held little Thomas’s hand, and we all went up together. The air was still and the sun warmed our faces. Benwick quoted poetry, and I thought how much Anne would have enjoyed walking along the Cobb, with such a view, quoting Byron. I thought of the house we had planned to have by the sea, and I was angry with her again for rejecting me. We could have been happy, as Harville and Harriet were happy.
We came to the end of the Cobb and turned back. A breeze sprang up and I could see why Harville would not let the children walk there without holding his hand, for a sudden gust of wind could have blown them over. We reached the end of the Cobb and went down the steps, then returned to Harville’s house in time for an early luncheon.
I set out soon afterwards, for I had a long ride ahead of me, and I wanted to be home before dark. This I almost achieved, and I found that I was ready for my meal.
Sophia and Benjamin were eager to hear about my day, and I, in turn, was eager to hear about theirs. They had spent it exploring the countryside to the north, and Sophia was delighted that they had taken only one tumble!
Wednesday 9 November
I went to Uppercross this morning and I found that I had been missed. The Musgroves complained that I had not been to see them for two whole days, and Louisa teased me about it, saying I no longer cared for them. I explained why I had not been able to call, and I was honoured for my attention to my friend.
‘I have never been to Lyme. What is it like?’ she asked.
‘The countryside is very grand. There is a long hill leading into the town and the main street is steeper still. The bay is small but pleasant, and there are cliffs stretching out to the east of the town. In the summer there is plenty to do, with sea-bathing and assemblies, though everything by the way of amusement is shut up now for the winter.’
‘I am longing to see it,’ she said. ‘We should all go.’
Her suggestion met with an enthusiastic reception, and before long the visit was being planned. The first idea was to go in the morning and return at night, but this was thought to be too arduous for the horses, and when the matter was considered fully, it was apparent that there would not be enough daylight to see the town at this time of year if travelling had to take place in the same day as well. In the end, it was decided we would travel there tomorrow, stay overnight, and return on Friday.
I left the party in high good humour, for they were all looking forward to it.
Thursday 10 November
We met at the Great House for an early breakfast, and then set out. Mary, Henrietta, Louisa and Anne took the coach, whilst Charles and I went in the curricle. The journey was long, and by the time we arrived it was well past noon. We made straight for an inn, at which we secured accommodation and bespoke our dinner, and then we walked down to the sea. Although the public rooms were shut up, there was enough in the grandeur of the landscape and the splendour of the sea to interest the ladies. As we walked, I told them of the neighbouring areas: Charmouth, with its high grounds and its small bay backed by dark cliffs; the village of Up Lyme; and Pinny, with its green chasms and dramatic rocks.
We lingered on the seashore, looking at the ocean, and then I went to call on Harville whilst the others walked on to the Cobb.
Harville was delighted to see me again, and when I told him of my party, nothing would do for him and his wife, and Benwick as well, but that they should come out and meet my friends.
Harville pressed us to dine with him, and Harriet added her entreaties. Only the fact that we had already bespoken dinner at the inn made them accept, reluctantly, that we could not join them. They consoled themselves by inviting us back to their house at once, and we were happy to accept.
It was a time of good cheer and, my gaze being drawn to Anne, as so often happened, I saw something of her former animation, for she was engaged in lively conversation with Harville. Her eyes were bright, and I discovered that the tone of her mind had not changed, for every word she uttered was a word I could have uttered myself.
I found myself once again torn between frustration with her for rejecting me, anger with myself for not writing to her in the year eight, and hope that she might yet be in love with me.
When we left, Louisa was in raptures.
‘How friendly they all were, and how industrious,’ she said. ‘Did you see the toys Captain Harville had made for his children? We never had finer toys ourselves. It seems to me that sailors are the only people who know how to live. They have given us so much, they should be respected and loved by every one of us.’
Her speech was unaffected, but, after Anne’s conversation, it seemed to belong in the schoolroom.
To Anne herself I said little, for I did not know what to say. I could not speak to her intimately in such surroundings, amongst so many people, and yet I could scarcely bear not to speak to her.
All through dinner I was aware of her, and I stole glances at her whenever I could. What was she thinking? What was she feeling? I was longing to speak to her after dinner, but we had a surprise visit from Harville and Benwick, so it was out of the question.
Harville and I gave in to the entreaties of the Miss Musgroves and entertained them with stories of our adventures aboard the Laconia, but again and again I found my glance wandering to Anne. She had gone to sit by Benwick, who had retreated to a quiet corner, for his spirits were still low and would not easily stand such a noisy gathering.
It was like her kind and generous spirit to bear him company, and from what little I heard of their conversation, I could tell they were talking of poetry. I wished that I was the one sitting in the corner with her, talking to her in such a free and open way, instead of being forced to entertain the other ladies.
Harville and Benwick left at last, and once again I hoped I might have a chance to speak to Anne, but the ladies retired straight away.