by Laura Hile
Both McGillvary and Elizabeth looked round to see a couple in a gig; the man was waving. “Elizabeth!” he shouted out. “I say, would you like a lift? We’re bound for Couling’s!”
Something about the man’s face was familiar. Of course, Wentworth’s brother-in-law! McGillvary looked on as the man—Charles was his name—jumped down to assist Elizabeth. It was a squeeze, but she did not seem to mind. The gig drove off, but McGillvary remained behind.
Directly, he approached the hackney stand, drawing out his wallet as he came.
9 The Water is Wide
Later that night, while the others lingered over dinner, Elizabeth opened the door of her bedchamber. Cautiously she peered out. The hired chaise would be arriving in five minutes; she could delay no longer. She slipped into the deserted hallway and made for the servants’ stairs; the skirts of her ball gown whispered against the floor. After an anxious descent, she reached the ground floor.
Elizabeth was supposed to be sulking in her bedchamber, not on her way to a party. Heaven help her if she were caught leaving the house in a ball gown! Her evening wrap slipped from a shoulder; she hitched it into place. She would make her escape through the garden door, but there were difficulties. The latch might stick or the hinges might squeal. Even worse, Sweetie, now confined in the garden, might see her and make noise.
In the dining room she could hear voices. No one was in the vestibule or the ground floor hall. She ought to leave the house at once. Instead she remained in the shadows, pressed against the wall, listening—for what?
“How pleasant it is,” she heard Mary say, “to dine as one ought, among civilized beings.”
“Why, thank you, Sister Mary.” This was Captain Wentworth’s voice; his tone was teasing. “And may I say how pleasant it is to see you in good health.”
Elizabeth pictured him raising his glass to her in mock salute. Would Mary take offense and begin to argue? She waited, counting her heartbeats.
At last she decided to risk it. Down the hall to the garden door she crept, scarcely daring to breathe. Elizabeth put her hand on the latch, pleading with the hinges to be silent. Then in the vestibule there came a rapping sound. Was someone knocking at the front door?
Yee came out of the dining room to open it. Elizabeth froze. She was in full view. If Yee chanced to look to the end of the hallway, or if callers were taken up to the drawing room and chanced to see her here—
But it was only a delivery. She watched Yee arrange something on a small tray and return with it to the dining room.
~ ~ ~
Anne looked up to find Yee at her elbow. “Your pardon, ma’am,” he said, speaking low. “Miss Ellen, from Lady Russell’s, has brought these with apologies.” He held out a silver salver with three sealed letters.
Anne’s heart gave a jump. These were the letters she had seen on her godmother’s desk!
“Apparently,” Yee continued, “Mr. Longwell was to have delivered these earlier. Miss Ellen says they are urgent business.”
Mary leaned across the table. “Do you mean to say that Longwell forgot? Imagine that. He’ll catch it for sure.”
Anne snatched her letter, broke the seals, and spread the sheet.
Yee came around the table and presented the salver to Mary. “It’s sure to be bad news if Longwell is involved,” she said, taking her letter. “I would not be surprised if he delayed the delivery on purpose, seeing as they are addressed to us. You know how Longwell is.”
Meanwhile Anne continued reading her letter. Presently she gasped.
“Honestly,” grumbled Mary, “Longwell’s put so many seals on this that I can scarcely get it open.”
“Longwell wouldn’t seal it, Lady Russell would,” Charles pointed out.
“Look how rumpled it is,” Mary went on. “Did he keep it in the dust bin?”
“Frederick,” whispered Anne. “Oh, Frederick. They are married.”
Captain Wentworth pushed back his chair; Mary looked up. “Who’s married?” she said. “Do you mean Longwell? Who in her right mind would marry Longwell?”
Wentworth came round the table and knelt beside Anne; she held her letter so that he could see.
“Lady Russell is married,” Anne said. “Lady Russell is married to Father! And they are on their way to … Venice!”
There was a short silence while Mary digested this. Then she began to shriek.
~ ~ ~
Elizabeth had her hand on the latch when the screaming began. What on earth was wrong with Mary? Had someone died? But that could not be right; Mary’s tone was more outraged than mournful.
She hesitated, torn between the longing to know what had happened and the need to escape. But the distraction was too perfect—and the moment would not last. She made a bold choice. Leaving the garden door, she walked straight for the front door and pulled it open. Swiftly she descended to the street, her golden skirts billowing. At the corner of the square a carriage was waiting.
Elizabeth made herself walk sedately. So much could go wrong, but she must not think of that! She focused instead on the carriage. She had asked the cabman for a nice-looking vehicle, and he had not disappointed. Even the horses were well-matched.
The driver tipped his hat to her and climbed down; a footman held open the door. Elizabeth was not impressed with him, for he wore a cap and a dark overcoat. It was too much to expect a job carriage to sport a liveried footman. She settled herself carefully on the seat.
Again the driver tipped his hat. “Where to, miss?”
Elizabeth found her voice. “My Lord Buxted-Heighton’s residence, if you please.”
The footman closed the door, and Elizabeth adjusted her evening wrap and skirts. Although she wore gloves, she could appreciate the feel of the fine leather upholstery. This was a very nice carriage indeed.
~ ~ ~
The box swayed a little as Henry climbed up and took hold of the reins. The footman swung up to join him.
“Where to, Admiral?” Henry said.
Patrick McGillvary shrugged off the driving coat and grinned. “You heard the lady. My Lord Buxted-Heighton’s residence, of course.”
~ ~ ~
Meanwhile, Mary and the others had retired to the drawing room for coffee. Anne was calmer now, though still troubled—and who could blame her?
Mary eyed Captain Wentworth narrowly. He did not seem to be upset at all and was even passing round a plate of chocolates. Her gaze shifted to an empty chair, a favorite of Elizabeth’s.
She put down her cup. “Has Elizabeth no regard for anyone’s feelings but her own? ‘We must present a united front’ she is so fond of saying. But when tragedy arises, she leaves us to deal with the crisis while she hides.”
Charles, who was helping himself to coffee, put down the pot. “There is no crisis, Mary,” he said.
“Upon my word! Have you no proper feelings at all?”
He added another lump of sugar to his coffee and stirred it. “Evidently not,” he said. “I happen to see marriage as a positive thing. I wish them joy.”
“The only positive thing that can be said is that Father has positively ruined his life. The widow of a knight!”
As nobody said anything, Mary went on. “And my own godmother into the bargain! Cream-pot love, they call it.”
Captain Wentworth was studying her over the rim of his cup. “What?” she said.
“Your father obviously does not share your opinion.”
“No, indeed,” added Charles. “Sir Walter is a stickler, and Lady Russell’s still got her figure. That counts for something.”
“Charles!” This was from Anne.
“Don’t eat me,” he said, smiling. “She does.”
“How can you say such a thing?” cried Mary. “You’re a barbarian, that’s what.”
“The way I figure it, Lady Russell’s had no children,” Charles said. “So her figure can’t have been spoilt.”
“Charles!” cried Mary.
Captain Wentworth found a
seat beside Anne. “What I’d like to know, since we’re discussing this rationally, is how much Lady Russell is worth.”
“Frederick!” cried Anne.
“In your father’s situation, a little money will come in handy,” he said.
“And a whopping lot of money will come in handier,” chirped Charles. “Lady Russell can’t be that bad off. I think Sir Walter has made a snug little match.”
“It’s simply dreadful,” said Mary. “Who knows when we shall see Father again? And I find it difficult to believe that Mr. Elliot will be offered the tenancy at Kellynch. I like that!”
Captain Wentworth reached for the coffee pot. “Apparently, your father doesn’t wish for the house to be empty.”
“Smart move, I say,” Charles put in. “I bet he charges Elliot plenty.”
“Lady Russell is nobody’s fool, or should I say Lady Elliot?” Wentworth added. “I’ll wager she put him up to it.”
Mary glared at both men. “Must we now call her Mama? I tell you, I won’t! Father has not remained unmarried all these years to end up with someone like Lady Russell! He ought to have married a noblewoman—someone with taste and beauty and breeding. Not someone old and common like Lady Russell.”
Anne spoke up. “Good heavens, Mary. You speak of her as if she was a hag.”
“Anne, I have eyes. Lady Russell looks every bit her age. Her neck has creases in it. Oh, she tries to disguise them with that pearl collar of hers, but she fools no one.”
Charles gave a snort. “Creases, the mark of impending death. Pity I never noticed them.” His expression changed. “Really, Mary.”
“Lady Russell trapped Father into marrying her, that’s what. She’s been throwing herself at him for years. Even Elizabeth has remarked it.”
“And here I was thinking it was the other way around,” said Captain Wentworth. “If your godmother is happy, what else matters?”
“She’ll make Father beastly unhappy, that’s what,” said Mary. “He is a man of distinction and taste, and he is trapped. Trapped!” She took up her handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.
“He won’t be the first man to be so,” muttered Charles.
Anne set her coffee aside. “I ought to go up and speak to Elizabeth,” she said. “I imagine she has read her letter by now and is as shocked as we are.”
Mary lowered her handkerchief. “Don’t be ridiculous. Elizabeth is fine; you’ll only encourage her. Good gracious, you are as pale as a ghost. And no wonder; you ate almost nothing at dinner.”
“I am fine,” Anne said, and she rose to her feet. Captain Wentworth was at her side at once. “Truly, I am well,” she said to him. “You needn’t come; I ought to speak with Elizabeth.” She hesitated, and then added, “I was wrong to leave her alone for so long.”
Wentworth offered his arm. “I’ll see you up the stairs. What’s all this about not eating?” They left the drawing room together.
With a sigh, Mary laid aside her handkerchief and gazed out the front window. Charles leaned over and helped himself to a chocolate. “These are excellent, don’t you think?”
“Well I don’t know,” said Mary. “Since, according to you, my figure is spoilt, I shouldn’t indulge in sweets of any kind.”
“I didn’t say your figure was spoilt. I said Lady Russell’s figure wasn’t.”
“I know very well what you said, Charles, and I know what you meant. You are very quick to say unkind things to me, always.”
Charles selected another chocolate. “You said some unkind things yourself just now about Lady Russell,” he said. “You upset Anne.”
“It was not my intention to do so. Can I help it if Anne is so sensitive? All the same, perhaps it will do her some good. Anne is far too attached to Lady Russell.”
“That may be, but you had no call to say the things you did.”
Mary put up her chin. “And you have no right to dictate what I should and should not do.”
Charles stood. “I suppose not,” he said. “But you might consider that with your father married to Lady Russell, there will be no need for him to live with us. I call that good news.”
Mary opened her eyes at him. “Father, at Uppercross? Oh surely not.” She selected a chocolate and bit into it. “Father,” she said around the bite, “would have gone to live with Anne.”
“And Elizabeth? If Anne won’t have her, where will she live?”
Mary, being occupied with chewing, did not answer.
“Elizabeth may go to the devil, eh?” Charles took up the newspaper and shook it open.
Mary rose from her chair. “Pray excuse me,” she said. “I have had an exhausting day.”
“As have we all,” said Charles.
~ ~ ~
Anne approached Elizabeth’s door warily. Speaking with her seemed like such a good idea, but now Anne recalled how cold Elizabeth could be. Nevertheless, Elizabeth could not be allowed to shut herself away like this. “Not in my house,” Anne told herself bracingly. She squared her shoulders and rapped on the door.
There was no answer. Anne knocked again, this time more insistently. She heard a door open and close; Elise was at the end of the passageway. Anne called out to her.
Elise came slowly, drying her hands on her apron. “Is Elizabeth well enough to speak with me?”
“Je n’en sais rien, moi,” Elise muttered. She kept her eyes averted.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Anne knocked again. “Elizabeth?” Her hand found the knob and she turned it.
“Elizabeth,” she said, pushing open the door. “I do not mean to intrude, but—”
A branch of candles burned on the dressing table, but the bedchamber was empty. Anne turned. “Elise, where is my sister?”
Elise looked the other way.
Discarded evening gloves were lying on the bed; the smell of expensive scent lingered. “Elise,” Anne said, “has she gone out?”
“Oui.” Elise was trembling now. “With Lady Russell.”
“But Lady Russell is gone. She is on her way to Venice.”
The dressing table, Anne now noticed, was cluttered with discarded items, including several of Elizabeth’s fans. Fans and evening gloves—what did they mean? “Elise,” demanded Anne, “where is my sister?”
“I—do not know, madam,” whispered Elise.
Anne sighed heavily and sat down on the chair. “One more thing,” she said aloud. “It’s always one more thing. And I am so very tired.”
Abruptly Anne dismissed Elise. She knew what she ought to do next—summon Frederick and have him mount a search. For if Elizabeth had been meeting secretly with Admiral McGillvary as Frederick claimed—
Anne’s shoulders sagged. Well, and what of it? Elizabeth was old enough to do as she pleased. Even if Anne objected, Elizabeth would not listen—no more than Charles Musgrove had listened. It hurt to think about Charles. Had everyone in this house run mad?
And now her father had eloped with Lady Russell. Where would it end?
Presently Anne came to a decision. She leaned forward and blew out the candles.
~ ~ ~
The hired carriage was now proceeding at a snail’s pace, the last in a long line of vehicles ascending the lane to the Buxted-Heighton residence. The charm of her escape had worn away, leaving Elizabeth to confront her thoughts. She gazed out the window uneasily. Why did she think attending this ball was such a good idea? She was already a target for snubs, and after tonight she would be even more so.
Moreover, there was no guarantee that William Elliot would be present. Her hostess would likely shun her to her face, and then where would she be? Elizabeth reached for the gilt-edged card of invitation. “But she shan’t!” she whispered fiercely.
A group of ladies and gentlemen strolled by, talking and laughing. Elizabeth sank back against the squabs, watching them. Courage, my girl, she told herself.
There was a clattering on the box above, and the carriage swayed slightly. Presently the door swung open, and the foot
man’s face appeared. “Begging your pardon, Miss,” he said, tugging at his cap with long fingers. “Was you wishful to alight? Or wait till we reach the door?”
His English was so heavily accented that Elizabeth had trouble understanding.
“There’s an awful pile up ahead.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “And them other coves is going in …”
Elizabeth quickly looked away. Even in the dim light the man’s eyes were a sparkling blue.
Like Patrick’s.
“Thank you,” she said primly. “I prefer to wait.”
“Very good, Miss.” His head withdrew and he smartly shut the door. She felt the carriage sway as he climbed back to his seat.
Elizabeth bit her lip. Of all the ridiculous things, to be caught by the memory of Patrick’s laughing eyes! She felt her cheeks grow warm.
Admiral McGillvary. His name is Admiral McGillvary.
She made herself study the ladies and gentlemen as they strolled by.
A woman in a forest gown and turban came into view. “Too dark for spring, my dear,” Elizabeth murmured. A companion came up, laughing. A tulle overskirt—in that shade of pink? Several gentlemen in ball clothes walked past and then a solitary man.
Elizabeth’s eyes came wide; she leaned forward and wiped the window glass with her palm. There was something about the set of the man’s shoulders …
He turned, and she caught her breath in recognition. She would know that profile anywhere! She worked to unfasten the latches; the window came down with a clatter.
“Mr. Elliot!” she called.
Immediately the man turned, and a smile spread over his face. “Elizabeth!” He strode forward and, with a flourish, removed his beaver hat.
The carriage moved forward a pace, and William Elliot with it. “I have been most anxious to speak with you,” he said. “But that is no surprise, eh?”