Sir Walter could not have borne the degradation of being known to design letting his house. Mr. Shepherd had once mentioned the word “advertise,” but never dared approach it again. Sir Walter spurned the idea of its being offered in any manner; forbad the slightest hint being dropped of his having such an intention; and it was only on the supposition of his being spontaneously solicited by some most unexceptionable applicant, on his own terms, and as a great favour, that he would let it at all.
How quick come the reasons for approving what we like! Lady Russell had another excellent one at hand, for being extremely glad that Sir Walter and his family were to remove from the country. Elizabeth had been lately forming an intimacy, which she wished to see interrupted. It was with the daughter of Mr. Shepherd, who had returned, after an unprosperous marriage, to her father’s house, with the additional burden of two children. She was a clever young woman, who understood the art of pleasing — the art of pleasing, at least, at Kellynch Hall; and who had made herself so acceptable to Miss Elliot, as to have been already staying there more than once, in spite of all that Lady Russell, who thought it a friendship quite out of place, could hint of caution and reserve.
Lady Russell, indeed, had scarcely any influence with Elizabeth, and seemed to love her, rather because she would love her, than because Elizabeth deserved it. She had never received from her more than outward attention, nothing beyond the observances of complaisance; had never succeeded in any point which she wanted to carry, against previous inclination. She had been repeatedly very earnest in trying to get Anne included in the visit to London, sensibly open to all the injustice and all the discredit of the selfish arrangements which shut her out, and on many lesser occasions had endeavoured to give Elizabeth the advantage of her own better judgement and experience; but always in vain: Elizabeth would go her own way; and never had she pursued it in more decided opposition to Lady Russell than in this selection of Mrs. Clay; turning from the society of so deserving a sister, to bestow her affection and confidence on one who ought to have been nothing to her but the object of distant civility.
From situation, Mrs. Clay was, in Lady Russell’s estimate, a very unequal, and in her character she believed a very dangerous companion; and a removal that would leave Mrs. Clay behind, and bring a choice of more suitable intimates within Miss Elliot’s reach, was therefore an object of first-rate importance.
This desire was firmed even more by what Lady Russell discovered one afternoon when she believed Sir Walter to be alone in the house. She had known that Elizabeth was to walk in town that day, and naturally assumed that Mrs. Clay, odious creature that she was, would join her. It would have afforded Lady Russell some much-coveted time with Sir Walter. Lady Russell was already planning the various things they could discuss to excuse her unannounced visit when she was distracted from her musings in the Elliot foyer by some very peculiar noises indeed. Being such a good friend of the family, the Elliot staff had admitted her to the house and promptly left her, knowing Lady Russell could find her own way. But the very feminine moan that echoed throughout Kellynch Hall stopped Lady Russell in her path and had her immediately wishing the Elliot staff had shown perhaps a modicum more of the proper social niceties.
“Oh, dear,” Lady Russell said, wringing her silk purse within her hands in the midst of the foyer. This was quite the conundrum. A feminine moan on its own could be nothing. Perhaps Anne had fallen and injured herself? The moan had sounded quite distressed.
Knowing she was fooling herself, but unable to ignore the very real pang of concern that the thought of Anne in distress caused, Lady Russell began the misbegotten journey toward the parlour.
Just as Lady Russell reached the partially ajar door, the feminine moan sounded again, escalated, and ended with a very enthusiastic shout of “Walter!”
Dread settled like a stone in her belly, but Lady Russell could not prevent her hand from reaching out and pushing the door open a tad more. Her horrified gasp was overshadowed by yet another moan.
Across the parlour, against the bookshelves of all things, Sir Walter and Mrs. Clay were engaged in an act of most impressive fornication. He had her pressed up against the rows of books, her bottom firmly seated on one of the shelves. Her legs were wrapt around his waist, and her skirts were bunched between them. Mrs. Clay’s stocking-clad calves hugged Sir Walter’s naked arse, and said arse was bunching and releasing in the most tantalizing fashion as Lady Russell’s oldest, dearest friend pumped in and out of the world’s vilest tart.
The woman’s head was thrown back, and she emitted another of those throaty moans. Sir Walter picked up his pace and added his own guttural groan.
“Oh, Pen,” Sir Walter muttered desperately. His body stiffened before Lady Russell’s eyes, and, as a shudder ran through him, he made a noise that sounded close to the noise one would make while in midst of most desperate peril.
Lady Russell gasped again, and her hand flew to her lips.
Mrs. Clay’s head snapped up, and those green eyes of hers connected with Lady Russell’s.
There was a moment of horrified silence as Lady Russell wondered if the dreadful woman would out her, but then Mrs. Clay’s lips twisted up into a cruel smile. She wound her arms tighter about Sir Walter and stroked his back while murmuring quiet, soothing words that Lady Russell could not hear.
Lady Russell stumbled back, more wounded by that cat-with-the-cream grin than she cared to admit. She staggered through the manor blindly, and when she once again found herself outside, it took several minutes before her harried thoughts calmed and narrowed down to one:
Mrs. Clay must go.
Chapter 3
“I must take leave to observe, Sir Walter,” said Mr. Shepherd one morning at Kellynch Hall, as he laid down the newspaper, “that the present juncture is much in our favour. This peace will be turning all our rich naval officers ashore. They will be all wanting a home. Could not be a better time, Sir Walter, for having a choice of tenants, very responsible tenants. Many a noble fortune has been made during the war. If a rich admiral were to come in our way, Sir Walter — ”
“He would be a very lucky man, Shepherd,” replied Sir Walter; “that’s all I have to remark. A prize indeed would Kellynch Hall be to him; rather the greatest prize of all, let him have taken ever so many before; hey, Shepherd?”
Mr. Shepherd laughed, as he knew he must, at this wit, and then added —
“I presume to observe, Sir Walter, that, in the way of business, gentlemen of the navy are well to deal with. I have had a little knowledge of their methods of doing business; and I am free to confess that they have very liberal notions, and are as likely to make desirable tenants as any set of people one should meet with. Therefore, Sir Walter, what I would take leave to suggest is, that if in consequence of any rumours getting abroad of your intention; which must be contemplated as a possible thing, because we know how difficult it is to keep the actions and designs of one part of the world from the notice and curiosity of the other; consequence has its tax; I, John Shepherd, might conceal any family-matters that I chose, for nobody would think it worth their while to observe me; but Sir Walter Elliot has eyes upon him which it may be very difficult to elude; and therefore, thus much I venture upon, that it will not greatly surprise me if, with all our caution, some rumour of the truth should get abroad; in the supposition of which, as I was going to observe, since applications will unquestionably follow, I should think any from our wealthy naval commanders particularly worth attending to; and beg leave to add, that two hours will bring me over at any time, to save you the trouble of replying.”
Sir Walter only nodded. But soon afterwards, rising and pacing the room, he observed sarcastically —
“There are few among the gentlemen of the navy, I imagine, who would not be surprised to find themselves in a house of this description.”
“They would look around them, no doubt, and bless their good fortune,” said Mrs. Clay, for Mrs. Clay was present: her father had driven h
er over, nothing being of so much use to Mrs. Clay’s health as a drive to Kellynch: “but I quite agree with my father in thinking a sailor might be a very desirable tenant. I have known a good deal of the profession; and besides their liberality, they are so neat and careful in all their ways!” Mrs. Clay paused a moment in her speech to remember another trait of sailors: their ways in bed. They were so very robust and enthusiastic. Mrs. Clay had never encountered a sailor who did not make her time with them in private well worth her while. With a secret smile upon her lips, she continued, “These valuable pictures of yours, Sir Walter, if you chose to leave them, would be perfectly safe. Everything in and about the house would be taken such excellent care of! The gardens and shrubberies would be kept in almost as high order as they are now. You need not be afraid, Miss Elliot, of your own sweet flower gardens being neglected.”
“As to all that,” rejoined Sir Walter coolly, “supposing I were induced to let my house, I have by no means made up my mind as to the privileges to be annexed to it. I am not particularly disposed to favour a tenant. The park would be open to him of course, and few navy officers, or men of any other description, can have had such a range; but what restrictions I might impose on the use of the pleasure-grounds, is another thing. I am not fond of the idea of my shrubberies being always approachable; and I should recommend Miss Elliot to be on her guard with respect to her flower garden. I am very little disposed to grant a tenant of Kellynch Hall any extraordinary favour, I assure you, be he sailor or soldier.”
After a short pause, Mr. Shepherd presumed to say —
“In all these cases, there are established usages which make everything plain and easy between landlord and tenant. Your interest, Sir Walter, is in pretty safe hands. Depend upon me for taking care that no tenant has more than his just rights. I venture to hint, that Sir Walter Elliot cannot be half so jealous for his own, as John Shepherd will be for him.”
Here Anne spoke —
“The navy, I think, who have done so much for us, have at least an equal claim with any other set of men, for all the comforts and all the privileges which any home can give. Sailors work hard enough for their comforts, we must all allow.”
Everyone in the room paused in what they were doing and turned toward Anne, for all of them had forgotten she was in their presence. Anne, however, noticed none of them. Her mind was otherwise occupied with a disturbing flash of eyes the exact shade of sea foam, and a smile that turned up more on one side than the other. Anne was brushing her fingertips across her bottom lip when an abrupt male voice pulled her from her reverie.
“Very true, very true. What Miss Anne says, is very true,” was Mr. Shepherd’s rejoinder, and “Oh! Certainly,” was his daughter’s; but Sir Walter’s remark was, soon afterwards —
“The profession has its utility, but I should be sorry to see any friend of mine belonging to it.”
“Indeed!” was the reply, and with a look of surprise.
“Yes; it is in two points offensive to me; I have two strong grounds of objection to it. First, as being the means of bringing persons of obscure birth into undue distinction, and raising men to honours which their fathers and grandfathers never dreamt of; and secondly, as it cuts up a man’s youth and vigour most horribly; a sailor grows old sooner than any other man. I have observed it all my life. A man is in greater danger in the navy of being insulted by the rise of one whose father, his father might have disdained to speak to, and of becoming prematurely an object of disgust himself, than in any other line. One day last spring, in town, I was in company with two men, striking instances of what I am talking of; Lord St Ives, whose father we all know to have been a country curate, without bread to eat; I was to give place to Lord St Ives, and a certain Admiral Baldwin, the most deplorable-looking personage you can imagine; his face the colour of mahogany, rough and rugged to the last degree; all lines and wrinkles, nine grey hairs of a side, and nothing but a dab of powder at top. ‘In the name of heaven, who is that old fellow?’ said I to a friend of mine who was standing near, (Sir Basil Morley). ‘Old fellow!’ cried Sir Basil, ‘it is Admiral Baldwin. What do you take his age to be?’ ‘Sixty,’ said I, ‘or perhaps sixty-two.’ ‘Forty,’ replied Sir Basil, ‘forty, and no more.’ Picture to yourselves my amazement; I shall not easily forget Admiral Baldwin. I never saw quite so wretched an example of what a sea-faring life can do; but to a degree, I know it is the same with them all: they are all knocked about, and exposed to every climate, and every weather, till they are not fit to be seen. It is a pity they are not knocked on the head at once, before they reach Admiral Baldwin’s age.”
Anne could not prevent a frown. This was not the case for all sailors. Her mind unwittingly pictured the features she favoured most and added the weathering that must surely mark them now. Wrinkles around the eyes from squinting into the sun; hair bleached and tossed by the elements. Anne’s mouth went dry.
No, a diminished appearance would certainly not be the case for all sailors.
“Nay, Sir Walter,” cried Mrs. Clay, “this is being severe indeed. Have a little mercy on the poor men. We are not all born to be handsome. The sea is no beautifier, certainly; sailors do grow old betimes; I have observed it; they soon lose the look of youth. But then, is not it the same with many other professions, perhaps most other? Soldiers, in active service, are not at all better off: and even in the quieter professions, there is a toil and a labour of the mind, if not of the body, which seldom leaves a man’s looks to the natural effect of time. The lawyer plods, quite care-worn; the physician is up at all hours, and travelling in all weather; and even the clergyman — “she stopt a moment to consider what might do for the clergyman — “and even the clergyman, you know is obliged to go into infected rooms, and expose his health and looks to all the injury of a poisonous atmosphere. In fact, as I have long been convinced, though every profession is necessary and honourable in its turn, it is only the lot of those who are not obliged to follow any, who can live in a regular way, in the country, choosing their own hours, following their own pursuits, and living on their own property, without the torment of trying for more; it is only their lot, I say, to hold the blessings of health and a good appearance to the utmost: I know no other set of men but what lose something of their personableness when they cease to be quite young. Besides, sailors are so active that their bodies greatly benefit from it.”
The last was said in a lecherous purr, and everyone in the room drew back from shock, Anne most of all. Had she not been thinking the same thing? To share such a thought with some one such as Mrs. Clay was alarming to say the least.
Mr. Shepherd chuckled awkwardly and quickly changed the subject back to the benefits of a sailor as tenant.
It seemed as if Mr. Shepherd, in this anxiety to bespeak Sir Walter’s good will towards a naval officer as tenant, had been gifted with foresight; for the very first application for the house was from an Admiral Croft, with whom he shortly afterwards fell into company in attending the quarter sessions at Taunton; and indeed, he had received a hint of the Admiral from a London correspondent. By the report which he hastened over to Kellynch to make, Admiral Croft was a native of Somersetshire, who having acquired a very handsome fortune, was wishing to settle in his own country, and had come down to Taunton in order to look at some advertised places in that immediate neighbourhood, which, however, had not suited him; that accidentally hearing — (it was just as he had foretold, Mr. Shepherd observed, Sir Walter’s concerns could not be kept a secret,) — accidentally hearing of the possibility of Kellynch Hall being to let, and understanding his (Mr. Shepherd’s) connection with the owner, he had introduced himself to him in order to make particular inquiries, and had, in the course of a pretty long conference, expressed as strong an inclination for the place as a man who knew it only by description could feel; and given Mr. Shepherd, in his explicit account of himself, every proof of his being a most responsible, eligible tenant.
“And who is Admiral Croft?” was Sir Walter’s
cold suspicious inquiry.
Anne, who had been paying minimal attention to the conversation as she was again distracted by the exorbitant numbers of the Elliot family financial status on the sheet in front of her, suddenly gasped. When they turned to look at her, she coughed and waved her hand in the direction of her teacup. “Pardon,” she said breathlessly. “I must have swallowed too much tea.”
As the gentlemen returned to their conversation, Mr. Shepherd answered for his being of a gentleman’s family, and mentioned a place; and Anne, her heart thundering in her throat and her mind eight years in the past, after the little pause which followed, added —
“He is a rear admiral of the white. He was in the Trafalgar action, and has been in the East Indies since; he was stationed there, I believe, several years.”
“Then I take it for granted,” observed Sir Walter, “that his face is about as orange as the cuffs and capes of my livery.”
Mr. Shepherd hastened to assure him, that Admiral Croft was a very hale, hearty, well-looking man, a little weather-beaten, to be sure, but not much, and quite the gentleman in all his notions and behaviour; not likely to make the smallest difficulty about terms, only wanted a comfortable home, and to get into it as soon as possible; knew he must pay for his convenience; knew what rent a ready-furnished house of that consequence might fetch; should not have been surprised if Sir Walter had asked more; had inquired about the manor; would be glad of the deputation, certainly, but made no great point of it; said he sometimes took out a gun, but never killed; quite the gentleman.
Mr. Shepherd was eloquent on the subject; pointing out all the circumstances of the Admiral’s family, which made him peculiarly desirable as a tenant. He was a married man, and without children; the very state to be wished for. A house was never taken good care of, Mr. Shepherd observed, without a lady: he did not know, whether furniture might not be in danger of suffering as much where there was no lady, as where there were many children. A lady, without a family, was the very best preserver of furniture in the world. He had seen Mrs. Croft, too; she was at Taunton with the admiral, and had been present almost all the time they were talking the matter over.
Persuasion: The Wild and Wanton Edition Page 3