by Laura Hile
“Robbins will show you to your quarters, ladies and gentlemen,” said the second mate, very politely. “Best to be about the business of stowing your gear. Tide’ll be turning shortly. Then we’ll be off.”
Sir Walter was only too eager to examine his cabin, but immediately he came out and went searching for the captain. The hampers, which he had specially ordered from Fortnum’s, had not been delivered. On this occasion, Sir Walter exerted himself, but the captain was nowhere to be found. He asked every sailor he saw about the hampers, but no one knew anything. What could one do with such shiftless fellows?
At last Sir Walter retreated to the forward bridge-rail. Miss Neville and Lady Sarah were there, watching the men at work below. The cargo waiting on the wharf was being lifted, sling load by sling load, into the ship’s hold. Men shouted and swore as they worked.
“Isn’t this exciting?” exclaimed Miss Neville. “Look there. The Blue Peter.” She pointed to a blue-and-white flag flying on the foremast. “It means we’re ready to sail. Time must be short indeed. See how hard the men are working!”
Sir Walter smiled and nodded, his gaze fastened on the wharf. Where was the delivery boy? He’d given plenty of notice regarding the change of departure. The clerk at Fortnum’s had assured him that the delivery would be made on time! Sir Walter’s gloved fingers tapped the rail impatiently.
He looked sidelong at Miss Neville and Lady Sarah, wondering if he should ask them. This required uncommon tact, for relations between them were somewhat strained. Miss Neville was cheerful enough, but Lady Sarah Jevington had been rather cool.
For this he blamed Mrs. Clay. Such an artful, scheming young woman! And that scene outside the post office—it was beyond anything! Naturally, the ladies were sympathetic and believed Mrs. Clay’s stories. Even Lord Aldeburgh looked disapproving. In the end, Sir Walter had been forced to part with several of his gold sovereigns and the address of Anne’s house in Bath. If Mrs. Clay wished to seek for William Elliot, she could certainly find him through Anne.
“That’s the last of it,” a man’s voice called. “Swing those booms inboard!”
This order was repeated. Sir Walter wrinkled his nose. Were these shiftless sailors also hard of hearing? He could believe it, for the noise on the wharf was past bearing!
“Look,” cried Miss Neville. “Over there! They’re doing something with the sails. I believe they’re about to—what is the word?” She gave her tittering laugh. “Oh yes. Cast off.”
Sir Walter hid a grimace. Miss Neville’s laugh was becoming more annoying by the minute—and so was her tendency to point out the obvious!
“All ashore that’s going ashore,” called an officer, and one of the sailors repeated it. But Sir Walter was not listening. For there, running along the dock, was a wiry boy in a smart suit. He struggled to carry two very large, very white wicker baskets—the hampers!
The boy paused to consult a paper. “Here!” screamed Sir Walter. “Over here!” He waved his hat. The boy looked up.
Sir Walter almost jumped for joy. He took off running, pushing aside Miss Neville and Lord Aldeburgh in his haste to reach the gangway. His hat fell, unheeded, from his head.
“Sir?” said Robbins, who was about to haul up the gangway. “You heard the Cap’n. He gave the All Ashore!”
“Leave be!” shrieked Sir Walter, pushing past.
“But sir,” said Robbins. He turned, and in answer to the first mate’s question, gave an elaborate shrug.
Sir Walter took the gangway with quick, tottering steps. “You there! Boy!” he cried.
Once on the dock Sir Walter paused, panting, to dig a coin from his pocket. This took some doing, for most of the coins were large, and he knew the boy could not give the proper change.
“Sir,” screamed Robbins. “Mind the ship!”
“I said, leave be!” cried Sir Walter. He put a shilling into the boy’s eager hand. “Good gracious, he went on, “can’t they leave a fellow in peace? Now let me see. You did put in the cherry tarts? I was quite particular about those. And the spiced nuts.”
Robbins turned to the captain and threw up his hands. “I dunno, sir,” he shouted. “He said leave!”
The captain jammed his hands into his pockets. “Landsmen,” he muttered. “Let go ashore!” he called deeply.
“And,” continued Sir Walter, “in addition, I asked for truffles. I trust those were included with the rest?”
“Please, sir,” said the boy, “I don’t know.”
“Then let go of the hamper, and I shall have a look. One cannot be too careful these days.”
“Aye, sir, let go ashore!” yelled the first mate.
The gangway was taken up and shipped. This was a noisy process, but Sir Walter did not notice. At the mate’s direction, a dockhand ran from bollard to bollard and threw off the hawsers.
“Starboard a bit!” said the captain.
The wheelman turned the wheel. “Starboard a bit.”
The sail snapped taught in the breeze, and ship’s bow edged out from the wharf.
Too late Sir Walter realized what was happening. His mouth dropped open. “Come back,” he wailed, waving his arms. “Come back!”
He began running along the dock, dodging obstacles. “Wait for me!”
But his shoe caught on a coil of rope. With a shriek and a loud kerplash! Sir Walter Elliot landed in the filthy water of the Thames.
~ ~ ~
Mary left off packing in order to visit the Pump Room one final time. Elizabeth declined to accompany her, but Charles was willing. “Best for everyone,” he whispered to Elizabeth with a wink.
It did not take Elise long to empty Elizabeth’s wardrobe and bureau. Elise would be staying on with Anne, as there was no room for her in Mary’s house. What need would Elizabeth have for a lady’s maid? The empty bedchamber made Elizabeth nervous. She decided to take a turn in the garden.
How quickly life changes. Just yesterday she was lamenting having to live with Anne, and today she was packing to leave. Would Anne invite her to return in the fall? Not if Captain Wentworth had his say! Then again, there was always Mr. Elliot’s offer. Yesterday, this had been laughable, unthinkable! Elizabeth gave herself a shake. It was just as unthinkable today. One did not marry a man one hated.
A polite bark called to her. Sweetie, Ronan’s greyhound, strained at his tether. She came over to him. “I’ve nothing for you today,” she said to him.
Nevertheless, Sweetie pushed his nose into her hand. “I ought to return you to Ronan McGillvary,” she said, stroking him, “for he was asking about you.”
This would mean parting Sweetie from Mr. Yee, who had taken a liking to him. The dog’s coat was sleek, and he looked fatter. “Here,” said Elizabeth, untying the knot that tethered Sweetie to the house. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Together they strolled along the path behind the mews. Sweetie edged past as soon as Elizabeth opened the gate, pulling at the rope. Elizabeth bent over, and the emerald pendant swung and hit against her breast. It was foolish to wear such a valuable piece into the garden, but how else could she keep it safe? She did not wish to part with it.
“Come,” she said to Sweetie, and then halted. “That isn’t right. What does one say to a dog? Ah yes, heel.”
Sweetie took a few steps and looked back at her, tongue lolling. “What a well-behaved dog you are,” said Elizabeth. “Has Yee been training you?”
She stroked his fur. “We never walked about town together, did we? That is a pity, for you are a handsome fellow.”
Sweetie’s slender tail beat against her leg. “And now I must leave you.” Sweetie pulled at the lead, and together they walked up the grass-covered knoll.
At the top Elizabeth halted. This was his land. And there, just out of view behind the trees, was his house. Her hand closed over the pendant. He’d given her this, and he’d sent flowers and a note that read Until Tonight. There was no signature, but that did not matter. The stationery and the writing were Patrick�
��s.
And the chocolates? Mr. Elliot had enclosed his card and a letter. His message filled an entire sheet. The memory of it made her wince. She had paid little attention to what he wrote, but she could not forget what he said about needing a wife. She needed a husband, but not this much.
Instead she would live with Mary—as a spinster aunt, forced to care for Mary’s children and endure the society of the Musgroves. Eventually she would be thrown into company with her father, for Lady Russell’s money would enable them to return to Kellynch Hall. Would they invite her to live with them?
She stroked the pendant. Would Patrick understand her departure? Would he follow her to Uppercross? Probably not.
Sweetie strained at the lead. Elizabeth bent and untied the rope from his collar. “Go,” she said, giving him a pat.
The dog streaked down the grassy slope, lost in the joy of running. Around and around the lake he went, his slender legs consuming the ground. At last Sweetie slowed his pace and began to explore his surroundings.
Such a graceful, gentle creature, and yet she could not offer him a home. Indeed, she had all but stolen him from Ronan McGillvary.
“Go home!” she called, her voice suddenly husky.
He raised his head and looked at her. “Go home,” Elizabeth repeated. She turned and retraced her steps to the gate. Sweetie came loping up and, panting, pushed his nose into her hand.
“Go back,” whispered Elizabeth. “Please.”
He pressed more closely against her. Elizabeth knelt and threw her arms around him. “I cannot keep you! You must go!”
~ ~ ~
“I say, if all you’re going to do is sigh and mope, we might as well leave today,” said Charles.
Mary’s lips formed into a pout. “I am not well, Charles. How can you be so glib? This might be my last time to visit Bath for many years.” She gave him a sidelong look. “Being purse-pinched as we are, we must live buried alive at Uppercross. Here there is music and gaiety and company.”
“There’s company in Bath, all right,” said Charles. “Look there. Isn’t that your rummy cousin?”
Mary looked in the direction he pointed. “Why, yes,” she cried. “And Elizabeth’s friends, Miss Bingley and Mr. Hurst. Yoo-hoo!” called Mary. “Mr. Elliot!”
She turned to her husband. “Come, Charles,” she said, pulling on his arm. “We must speak with them.” Mary’s illness dissolved into a series of smiles. “Is it not lovely to have friends in Bath?” she gushed. “One feels so at home when friends are near.”
“Too much at home, sometimes,” said Charles. “Don’t forget to tell them we are leaving.”
“As if I could forget. Dear Miss Bingley will be so disappointed to learn that Elizabeth is going away.”
“I rather doubt that,” said Charles. “Miss Bingley seems to enjoy your cousin’s company far more.”
“Gracious, as if you knew anything about matchmaking,” said Mary. “At one time you had him paired with Elizabeth, and you can see what came of that.”
~ ~ ~
The day wore away, and at last the clock struck half past six. Elizabeth leaned on the sill of her bedchamber window and gazed out at the park beyond. It was no use; she could not see enough of the park to tell where Sweetie might be. She had left him to find his way back to the mansion. Weren’t dogs able to find their way home? She hoped so.
It seemed heartless to leave Sweetie like that. Now she wished she had listened to Charles Musgrove’s rambling conversations. The man was a bore, but he did know quite a lot about dogs.
Elizabeth sat down on her bed and studied the wardrobe. This prospect was no better. Three gowns hung there: her red evening dress, a nightdress, and her dark blue travelling dress. Her time at St. Peter Square had come to this: a dinner, a few hours of sleep, and hasty farewells in the morning.
She did not like to wear the red dress tonight, but this could not be helped. What did matter were the shoes, and Elise had remembered to leave them out of the trunk. They were in the hall waiting to be polished, although whether that would happen was anyone’s guess. Elise was ages late, having to dance attendance on Mary first.
There was no point in arguing. Mary would respond spitefully and her sour mood would carry throughout the night. Besides, what was the use? The evening was ruined already.
The clock struck six forty-five. The door opened; Mary put her head in. “Are you planning to lounge about in your underdress all evening? Why hasn’t Elise done your hair?”
Elizabeth raised herself on an elbow. “Because she was occupied with yours.”
“Mine was finished ages ago.”
“Gloria must have needed her to help with Anne’s. You know how difficult Anne’s hair can be.”
Mary gave a sniff. “I am going down,” she announced. “Someone ought to be on hand to greet the guests. No one can say I have not done my duty for Anne.”
Elizabeth said nothing.
“Ten to one that Owen woman will come early,” Mary went on. “How I’m to converse with her I do not know.”
Elizabeth sat up. “You will keep a civil tongue in your head, my dear, and remember that Miss Owen spent days minding your children.”
“The viper.”
Elizabeth got to her feet. “Don’t be a goose, Mary. If Charles has fallen to Miss Owen’s charms, which I doubt, you might recall that after tonight he will never see her again.”
Elizabeth went to the wardrobe and took down the red evening gown. “There are benefits to living a secluded life in the country, my dear. There are fewer temptations.”
“There are always serving maids.”
“Such as your housekeeper? Please. Charles has some taste, surely.” Elizabeth shook out the dress and stepped into it. “Since you’re here, be a dear and do up the buttons, will you?”
Mary complied. “I hope you don’t expect me to do anything about your hair.”
Elizabeth shifted the braid out of Mary’s way. “Of course not. Nor do I expect you to polish my shoes. They’re still in the hall, are they not?”
“I nearly tripped over them when I came in.” Mary finished the buttoning and studied Elizabeth’s image in the mirror. “That emerald looks dreadful with your gown. Surely you aren’t planning to wear it.”
Elizabeth covered it with a protective hand. “There is no other way to keep it safe.”
“We have a strong box.”
“I am taking only this. Anne may keep the rest.”
“That’s hardly fair. Anne certainly needs no more. Not after Captain Wentworth gave her those rubies!”
“You needn’t look daggers at me. It isn’t as if mother’s jewels are valuable. Father has replaced so many of the stones with paste.”
“That is a lie.”
Elizabeth shrugged. “Ask Anne. She knows.”
Mary made an adjustment to her feathered turban. “Well!” she said. “If you choose to look like a circus performer tonight, it’s nothing to me. A red gown with an emerald. And I used to think you had such good taste.”
Mary was out the door before Elizabeth had time to reply.
~ ~ ~
Sir Walter Elliot sat primly as the Mail coach swayed side to side. On the floor between his feet was one of his precious hampers from Fortnum’s. The other he cradled on his lap. Beside him sat a hefty, cross-looking woman with a black lapdog and a man who Sir Walter decided must be a tradesman. The bench opposite held a thin, pale clergyman who coughed, and a young mother with a baby, and her little boy.
Sir Walter shrank as far from the large woman as possible, for her dog kept baring his teeth and growling. He could see the whites of the animal’s eyes.
“Nice poochie,” he said.
The dog snapped and gave a sharp yelp; the boy began to whimper. The clergyman glanced up from his book with a look of reproof.
“Do you mind?” said the large woman.
Sir Walter looked at her with distaste. She smelled strongly of spirits and lavender water. Wheneve
r the coach leaned to one side, her plump thigh pressed against his. Sir Walter’s fine coat and breeches were stained with oil and filth from the harbor water, and he reeked of fish. As his trunks were on their way to Gibraltar, what could he do? He now decided that wearing soiled clothing was quite the perfect revenge.
Still, it had been a close-run thing in the harbour. The contents of his money belt acted like an anchor. If he’d not managed to locate a rope dangling in the water, his body would now be at the bottom of the Thames. Sir Walter shuddered at the thought. Of all the fates to befall his person, being eaten by fish was surely the worst!
But it was a challenge for Sir Walter to remain still. The woman beside him had fleas, or else her dog did. He kept feeling an urge to scratch his neck. He fought this urge, for a gentleman did not scratch in public. Instead of going away, the feeling intensified. Something was crawling on him!
Sir Walter dug his fingers under his collar. There was something there—something alive!
He jerked his hand away. A tiny brown creature fell to the floor. It had half-curled legs like a spider and a pair of claw-like pincers. Sir Walter shrieked and brought the hamper down on top of it. The dog began to snarl, which frightened the sleeping baby. It began to cry.
With a weary sigh, the young mother hugged both children to her breast. The wheezy clergyman gave Sir Walter a black look. The large woman sniffed loudly. “Do you mind?” she said.
Sir Walter did mind. He could not get to Bath soon enough!
~ ~ ~
The guests assembled in Wentworth’s drawing room were convivial, and most were familiar to McGillvary: Admiral and Mrs. Croft, Captain Yates and his wife, and Captain Spurlock. The rest were Wentworth’s neighbours and family members. Of particular interest were Mr. Minthorne and his vivacious fiancée, who was confined to a wheeled chair. Of Elizabeth there was no sign. Wentworth’s wife seemed concerned about this.