by Laura Hile
Mercy’s Embrace
Elizabeth Elliot’s Story
A NOVEL IN THREE PARTS
Book 2
So Lively a Chase
Laura Hile
Copyright © 2009 by Laura Hile.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, contact publisher at the address below.
www.LauraHile.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
The characters Patrick McGillvary, Cleora, Claire, and Ronan McGillvary, and the butler, Longwell, are creations of Susan Kaye and are used with permission.
Book Layout ©2017 BookDesignTemplates.com
Cover Design by Damonza
Mercy’s Embrace: So Lively a Chase: Elizabeth Elliot’s Story Book 2/ Laura Hile. – 2nd ed.
ASIN: B078B6VS8D
Table of Chapters
1 Making the Best of It
2 Well You Deserve
3 Strong Reasons Make Strong Actions
4 Pribbles and Prabbles
5 Is She Not Passing Fair?
6 Cause and Effect
7 Hard Down the Helm!
8 Bag and Baggage
9 A Day of Reckoning
10 The Indignity of It All
11 Beat To Quarters!
12 What Price Freedom?
13 At One Fell Swoop
14 This Be War!
15 The Passage To Remorse
16 The Very Riches of Thyself
About Laura Hile
For my loving mother, Janet,
who has so eagerly anticipated this second volume
1 Making the Best of It
With a hammering heart, Elizabeth Elliot pulled open the door to Bailey’s Tearoom and stepped inside. Surely he would be here! There—was he seated at the table in the corner? Or perhaps behind those ladies? That burst of laughter—certainly it was his voice she heard!
Or perhaps not.
The Abbey clock struck the hour—one, two. She became aware of the proprietor’s stare and the knowing look he exchanged with the serving girl. Mortified, Elizabeth turned away. This was not the first time she had come looking for him, and these people obviously remembered. But where else was she to find him?
There was a tightening in her throat, and her chin began to quiver. Elizabeth pulled open the door. She would not cry! He was not worth that! Patrick Gill was nothing to her—nothing! She left the tearoom, banging the door behind her.
It was, she reasoned, her wretched situation that made her so vulnerable to Mr. Gill’s charms. For what was he, really? A clerk in a counting house. To think that she, of all women, would condescend to meet him twice a week for tea. Why, it was laughable!
She had danced with him at that assembly as well. Well, and what did it matter? He had not returned to Bath. Or, more probably, he had decided to end their friendship. In either case Elizabeth was left to play the fool.
Oh, he had made promises. He said something about a pond and a bench and a note beneath the seat. At the time Elizabeth thought he meant the small lake at Belsom Park. But that could not be right—there was no bench at Belsom Park. And so, like a simpleton, she had visited every park in Bath. And didn’t she look the idiot, sitting down on each bench and then feeling underneath for a note!
Elizabeth made her way to the hacking stand. That she must now spend precious pennies to hire a sedan chair was added to the list of Patrick Gill’s offenses. What had possessed her to come today? She should have remained at home.
And here was another source of trouble. She ought to be living with her father in the fine house he had hired on Camden Place. But he had given it up to seek refuge in The Citadel, placing himself under that horrible physician’s care. Elizabeth was now a guest of her newly-married sister, Anne. It was grossly unfair that she, the eldest sister, must become a dependent!
The journey to Anne’s house on St. Peter Square was easily arranged, although the chairmen took their time ascending the hill. Presently the chair was lowered, and Elizabeth counted out the fare. It was then that she noticed a carriage waiting in front of Anne’s house. She sighed. Mr. Rushworth was calling again.
James Rushworth had come every day since the assembly, though she did not always grant him an interview. Those conversations, conducted under Estella’s watchful eyes, were an exercise in perseverance. Yesterday, for example, he laboured on about a French meal he had taken at The Clarendon. Elizabeth did not consider filet de boeuf au jus to be worthy of so much enthusiasm, but there it was.
One of the chairmen came to assist her. “I have changed my mind,” she told him. “Take me to The Citadel—Mr. Savoy’s establishment. Do you know it?”
Elizabeth found her father in his rooms, handsome as ever in a silk brocade dressing gown. Today he was occupied with the pages of a booklet. He rose to his feet when she entered and waved her to a chair.
“My dear,” he said, “listen to this. It’s the most extraordinary thing. Fortuitous, I call it.”
Elizabeth smiled. Only one event would fit this bill. “Have we come in to a fortune, then?”
Over the top of his spectacles he gave her a look. “Mr. Savoy has recommended that I study this.” He held up the booklet for her to see.
Elizabeth leaned in to better read the title. “An almanac? What do you want with an almanac?”
“It is a source of Information.”
“For farmers,” she said. “Or for gentlemen like Mr. Musgrove, who must oversee crops. But surely not for you.”
“There is more here than tables of the moon and tides. There is, you see, the rotation of the stars to consider. The positions of the planets.”
What nonsense was this? “You cannot be serious, Father.”
“Mr. Savoy believes there are messages from the stars themselves.”
“He would. I suppose he’ll have you consulting a fortune teller next?”
“This is an ancient science and one worth attending to. Listen to this. It is the forecast for April.” Sir Walter found the page and read:
The mutual Aspects this month are but few and amicable.
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “That is a prediction?”
“If,” he said severely, “you will kindly refrain from commenting until I have finished?” He cleared his throat and read:
Fear not poor Soldier, I expect thy Condition to be good about these Times. Much civil Action, confident Hopes that we shall recover our Freedom, and enlarge our preceding Privileges.
Elizabeth nearly laughed. “In what way is this helpful?”
“You have not been attending,” cried Sir Walter. “Consider our situation!”
“I am! Father, we are not soldiers.”
“Prisoners, more like,” he said. “Prisoners to debt and deprivation. But this tells me that, due to civil action, I shall recover my freedom. Freedom, Elizabeth! With privileges.”
“Enlarged privileges, according to your gypsy.” She rose to her feet. “I meant to bring the post, but I came away too quickly and forgot to stop at Lady Russell’s.”
He waved her apology aside. “She will be by with it later, I am sure.”
�
�Lady Russell now comes every day?”
“Why not? Now that I may have visitors, you ought to do the same.”
“I haven’t a carriage at my disposal as Lady Russell has. Now that I am here, is there anything I may do for you?”
But Sir Walter had returned to his almanac.
“Father?”
He waved her on. “Farewell, then. Give my regards to your new companion, Cousin Whatever-her-name-is.”
“Estella Stevenson-Bragg. Surely you remember.”
Sir Walter did not look up. “One of the Stevensons. Pity, that.”
“Do not blame me. It was Captain Wentworth who asked her to come.”
He looked up and twinkled. “I trust she is better at backgammon than poor Mrs. Clay?”
This comment stung. Penelope Clay, Elizabeth’s former companion, had been her particular friend—and now she was gone. “I wouldn’t know,” Elizabeth said and went out.
Fortunately the sedan chair was waiting, and so within a short time Elizabeth arrived at St. Peter Square. Of Mr. Rushworth’s carriage there was no sign.
Captain Wentworth had taken what Elizabeth suspected was a second-rate house for his new wife. It was both cluttered and undignified, being the residence of an admiral who was currently out of the country. Elizabeth had lately learned that Anne, scandalized by his artistic taste, had hidden several of his statues and paintings in the attic. This came as no surprise. Everyone knew that admirals were lascivious brutes.
Anne’s butler opened the door with his usual silent precision. Elizabeth eyed him as she surrendered her gloves and hat. With Mr. Yee one never knew. He had, however, become an unlikely ally in her war against Estella.
Yee presented a silver salver on which calling cards were arranged. “Mr. Rushworth has called, Miss Elliot. A matter of some urgency. He plans to return. And,”—Yee’s eyebrow lifted—“a gentleman by the name of Elliot left his card.”
“Botheration,” muttered Elizabeth. Mr. Elliot’s presence in Bath was a nuisance. He also claimed to have urgent business to discuss, a thing she wished to avoid.
Yee made no move to withdraw the salver. “There is a notation on the reverse,” he said softly.
William Elliot was her father’s heir and, save for a brief period last winter, had been at odds with the family for years. That Mr. Elliot should be so attentive now, while her father’s health was in question, did nothing to improve her opinion. Elizabeth turned the card to read:
Off to Brighton for a spell. I’ll call when I return.
Elizabeth tossed the card onto Yee’s tray. As if she cared for Mr. Elliot or his plans! Then she realized there were voices—Estella was speaking to someone. But wasn’t the house empty? Elizabeth rounded on Yee. “She has a caller? In the dining room?”
The dining room was adjacent to the entrance hall, so Estella’s voice carried perfectly. “I must say, this coffee is not at all fresh!”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. Trust Estella to serve coffee in the middle of the day—and in the dining room, of all places! “To whom is my cousin speaking?” she whispered.
Before Yee could answer, Estella spoke again. “Your Mrs. Yee is so inconsistent with her cooking! On some days the coffee is perfectly made, but on others—! Would you like me to ring for a fresh pot, dear Anne?”
Dear Anne? What was this?
“Anne is supposed to be in Shropshire,” Elizabeth whispered to Yee.
“Mrs. Wentworth arrived just after you left,” he murmured.
Anne’s reply to Estella was indistinct, but Elizabeth heard the sound of a bell. Was Estella usurping Anne’s role as hostess? What nerve! Elizabeth caught hold of Yee’s sleeve. “Don’t answer that,” she ordered.
“I think the coffee is perfectly delightful,” said another voice. “So refreshing after our journey.”
But this was her sister Mary! What was Mary doing in Bath?
“Mrs. Charles Musgrove is also here,” Yee remarked.
“Who else?” Elizabeth demanded.
Mary went on talking. “I happen to know that dear Captain Wentworth brought this coffee especially for Captain Benwick. He likes to sample different sorts; I heard him tell Charles so yesterday. This coffee,” she added, “is from Abbey-sinia.”
“Captain Wentworth and Captain Benwick are here?” whispered Elizabeth. “And Charles Musgrove as well?”
“He comes later in the week,” Yee said. “Captain Benwick departs tomorrow. Will you join the ladies for coffee?”
Elizabeth gave Yee a look. “No,” she said evenly. “I’ll learn more this way.”
Yee’s brows went up. “As you wish.”
“Do not look at me like that. All servants listen at doors—even you. How else does one learn anything?”
“I,” said he, “have no need for such tactics.”
Elizabeth returned her attention to the conversation. If Mary was referring to Captain Wentworth as dear, she and Estella had come to dagger drawing! Wasn’t that delightful!
“My best hope,” she confided to Yee, “is that Mrs. Stevenson-Bragg will be sent packing. Won’t that make life easier for all of us?”
The bell sounded again. Apparently Estella was growing impatient.
Again Yee’s eyebrow lifted. “And yet, ‘Hope deferred maketh the heart sick, Miss Elliot,’” he quoted. He made a slight bow and went into the dining room. Straightway Estella began complaining. Yee came out with the coffee pot. He did not look at Elizabeth.
“I trust your time with Elizabeth has been pleasant, Cousin Estella.” This was Anne’s voice. Trust Anne to maintain peace.
“I must say, your sister is not at all the lady I expected.”
“Of course she is a lady!” cried Mary. “What else would she be?”
“I never expected her to be a hermit,” countered Estella. “Which is exactly what she is. And bookish too.”
“Elizabeth, bookish?” Mary sounded incredulous.
“Indeed, yes,” said Estella. “For she loaned me her ‘favorite book,’ a flaming nautical romance, and insisted that I read it.”
“You must forgive our surprise,” said Anne. “We have not found Elizabeth to be fond of reading.”
“Except for the Baronetage,” said Mary, “which is certainly her favourite book. For my part, I think it would be a complete waste of your time. Why should you wish to read about a set of people with whom you are so thinly connected?”
Elizabeth smiled. Mary and Estella were most definitely—what was the saying? Ah, yes—on the warpath!
“I understand from Yee,” said Anne, “that Elizabeth has taken you to see the sights. Did you enjoy yourself? Bath is particularly pleasant in the spring.”
Elizabeth’s smile grew. Poor Anne was desperate if she was calling Bath pleasant. Anne hated Bath.
“The shifts I was put to, to convince your sister to take me anywhere!” Estella cried. “She is so beautiful and so well-connected. I expected her to attend parties and dinners every night of the week, but she did nothing of the sort.”
“Even if she had,” said Mary hotly, “she could hardly have taken you along! If you haven’t noticed, Elizabeth is rather particular about those she is seen with.”
“Mary—” Anne’s voice held a warning tone.
“Don’t come the innocent with me, Anne. You know very well how it is! Elizabeth remained at home because she could do nothing else. Not with Father ill, you gone, and a complete nobody as a guest. Honestly!”
“A nobody?” cried Estella. “I like that!”
Anne spoke more forcefully. “Did you enjoy the assembly, Cousin Estella? As Elizabeth is out, you must tell us all about it.”
“She is either out, or she is sleeping the day away … again,” Estella put in.
“Which is exactly as a lady should do!” said Mary.
“The assembly?” prompted Anne.
There was a pause. “Well. It was very elegant and very crowded,” Estella said at last. “Which came as a surprise, for a
re not many ladies and gentlemen—the most genteel—in London during April?”
“And,” persisted Anne, “did you enjoy the dancing?”
“Oh, ever so! And you needn’t think I was left to languish with the matrons.” Estella spoke more easily now. “Your sister provided me with the most delightful partners.”
“She did?” squeaked Mary. “Imagine that, Elizabeth being considerate! Who were they?”
“Let me see. There was Mr. Rushworth—he is such a funny one and so awkward, though I hear he is fearfully rich. I think he would have preferred to be your sister’s for every dance. He has come to call nearly every day since; he stares and stares at her. And he consumes a great quantity of cake.”
Elizabeth felt a flush rise to her cheeks. What an appalling conquest she’d made!
“Mr. James Rushworth?” Mary sounded puzzled. “Isn’t he the fellow whose wife ran off with another—”
Anne interrupted. “And your other dance partners?”
“There were ever so many; I cannot recall. But how could I forget dear Colonel Wallis?”
“Colonel Wallis?” Anne’s voice was sharp.
“Let me tell you, he is my idea of a gentleman! So courtly and distinguished! But then, I do adore regimentals, even on an older man. But I believe my favourite partner was your cousin. He is so witty and handsome. He dances divinely.”
“My cousin?” Anne sounded dumbfounded. “Do you mean William Elliot?”
“I thought Mr. Elliot had disappeared,” said Mary. “You must mean someone else.”
“No, William Elliot is the man I mean,” said Estella. “And what is more, I think he admires your sister very much. But she does not seem to return the sentiment.”
“Elizabeth, not like Mr. Elliot?” cried Mary. “Nonsense. When I was here last winter, she was very fond of him. He called every evening just to see her. It was the talk of the town.”