Amanda Grange - Captain Wentworth’s Diary

Her power with me is gone.

Today was the day fixed upon for my sister to move into Kellynch Hall, and though I was still busy dealing with the affairs that had occupied me for the last few weeks, I spared a thought for her and Benjamin.

I had a letter from Sophia this morning, telling me that she and Benjamin had settled into their new home, and inviting me to stay. I wrote back to accept her invitation, telling her I would be with her next week.

I had a good journey into Somersetshire, but as I drew near the neighbourhood of Uppercross I could not prevent memories from intruding. The last time I was in this town I was buying a new pair of gloves for a ball, I thought ... the last time I passed that tree, I was going on a picnic ... the last time I saw that road, I was full of bitterness and grief ... and then I saw Kellynch Hall, and I remembered when Edward and I had been invited to dinner, and I had spent the whole evening talking to Anne.

And then the carriage was pulling up in front of the door, and I was being shown in, and there was no more time for memories. Sophia rose to greet me. She was brown from all her travels, and was looking very well. She was pleased with her new home, for the house, the grounds and the gardens were all to her liking.

Benjamin and I greeted each other warmly, and tea was brought in.

‘You should find somewhere soon yourself, Frederick,’ said Benjamin. ‘And when you do, make sure you get a good man of business to handle everything for you. We were lucky in Mr Shepherd, for he was competent, and the details were concluded with all expediency. Did you meet him when you were last here?’

‘I believe I may have done,’ I said, unwilling to talk of that time.

‘He seems to take care of Sir Walter,’ Benjamin went on, with a smile and a shake of his head. ‘Just as well, for the man seems to need someone to take care of him.’

‘Hush, Benjamin!’ said my sister, as the tea was brought in. ‘You will give Frederick the wrong impression. Sir Walter is an elegant man of great refinement.’

‘But very little common sense. Wanted to live the life of the first man in the neighbourhood, but did not have the wherewithal to do it, and so he mortgaged his lands, with the result that he incurred debts, and eventually had to rent out his home.’

‘Better than carrying on in the same manner and ruining himself, or refusing to pay his debts and ruining those to whom he was indebted,’ said Sophia. ‘I dare say he will soon come about. He can live much more cheaply in Bath than here, and the income he gains from letting the house will help him to clear his encumbrances.’

I felt a perverse satisfaction in knowing that our fortunes had been reversed, and that the man who had looked down on me as a suitor was now a poor man, whilst I was rich.

‘Miss Elliot is a very handsome woman,’ said Sophia. ‘I was surprised she was not married.’

I felt a jolt. Was she speaking of Miss Elizabeth Elliot, or had Elizabeth married, in which case Anne would be Miss Elliot ... but no, Anne would have married, of course. Perhaps the youngest daughter, Mary, was now Miss Elliot. However, I wanted to be sure.

‘Which Miss Elliot do you mean?’ I asked casually.

‘The eldest daughter, Elizabeth.’

So. She had not married. Mr Elliot had not come up to scratch.

‘Perhaps she found no one to suit. She has inherited all her father’s pride, and I dare say will not be easy to please,’ said Benjamin. ‘Her sister has married, though, and married quite well.’

And there it was, the news that I had expected, and yet which confounded me nonetheless, for although I knew Anne must have married in all that time, it was still a shock to hear of it.

‘She has married Mr Charles Musgrove, one of our new neighbours,’ Sophia went on. ‘They live at Uppercross Cottage and have two little boys. Mr Charles Musgrove is the son of Mr and Mrs Musgrove, who live at the Great House.’

Then she had married Charles Musgrove after all.

‘I am sure I hope she is very happy,’ I said coldly.

‘The Musgroves have been very attentive,’ said Benjamin. ‘Mr Musgrove senior paid us a call almost as soon as we arrived and welcomed us to the neighbourhood. It was very good of him to visit us with such alacrity, and his son, Mr Charles Musgrove, was hardly any less attentive, for he and his wife called soon afterwards. We returned the call, and although we did not find Mr Charles Musgrove at home, his wife was there with her sister.’

Her sister. Miss Mary Elliot, who had been at school when I last visited the neighbourhood.

‘Did you meet Mrs Charles Musgrove when you stayed in the area before?’ asked Sophia.

‘I believe so,’ I replied shortly, unwilling to talk of the past.

The brevity of my answer went unnoticed in the midst of the general conversation.

‘She does not have the pride of her sister, but then she does not have her sister’s beauty, either,’ said Sophia.

‘I always thought her ...’ far more beautiful, I had been going to say, but stopped myself in time, adding, ‘... a pretty girl.’

‘Pretty? I cannot agree with you there, but perhaps she has lost some of her bloom. The two little boys wear her out, I think, and she is inclined to be sickly,’ said Sophia.

‘Or fancy herself so,’ said Benjamin.

She had changed very much indeed, then, I thought, if she was worn out and fancied herself sickly. But it was eight years since I had seen her, and eight years can change a lot of things.

‘The Musgrove girls, though, Mr Charles Musgrove’s sisters, now there are two pretty young ladies, if you please,’ Benjamin went on. ‘Lively manners, and full of fun. You could do worse than pick one of them.’

‘Benjamin,’ said Sophia reprovingly.

‘What?’ he enquired. ‘It is time Frederick was married, and one girl is as good as another, in the end.’

‘Frederick has only just arrived. Do not plague him.’ She turned to me. ‘If you have finished your tea, perhaps you would like to see the park?’ she asked.

I had no desire to see it, and to be reminded of former times, but I could not refuse and so I expressed my readiness to see it at her convenience. Before long, I found myself once again walking through the fields and by the river so familiar to me, and it was a good thing my sister had plenty to say, for I fear my recollections would have made me an indifferent conversationalist if she had fallen silent.

We dined alone, just the three of us, and after a quiet evening playing cards, I retired for the night.

I found my room to be large and spacious, at the front of the house, overlooking the drive, and I wondered whose room it had been when the Elliots were in residence?

Had it been Miss Elliot’s? Or Anne’s?

As we were walking through the park this morning, Benjamin, Sophia and I swapped stories of the Navy. After a while, Benjamin asked me about Harville, and I told him the sad news about Fanny, adding that Harville had taken Benwick to live with him. Benjamin asked where they lived, and I told him that Harville had not yet settled, as he needed a bigger house, but said that Harville had promised to write to me as soon as he was established, and that I, in return, had promised to visit him.

‘I hope you will also be going to see Edward. He is longing to show you his wife,’ Sophia said.

‘As soon as I can find time to go into Shropshire, I will be pleased to meet her. Is she as amiable as Edward says?’

‘Yes, and very pretty.’

‘A beauty,’ said Benjamin.

I am looking forward to meeting her, and to renewing my friendship with my brother.

On my way through the village this morning I found myself being hailed by a number of people who remembered me from my previous visit, and from them I learned all the neighbourhood news. Mr Shepherd’s daughter, Miss Shepherd, married Mr Clay, had two children by him, lost him, and returned to live with her father, only to then be taken up by Miss Elliot, who invited her to Bath.

‘A very lucky thing for her,’ said Mrs Layne. ‘Only think, she is staying with the Elliots and goes with them everywhere. What a chance for her to have some entertainment, for I do not believe her marriage was a happy one, and who knows? Perhaps she might meet an eligible gentleman and contract a more prosperous marriage.’

‘Kitty,’ said her husband reprovingly. ‘Captain Wentworth does not want to hear all the tattle.’

‘Why is it that men call information about their neighbours—people they know, and are therefore interested in— tattle, but call information about people they do not know, have never met, and never will meet news, and put it in the papers for everyone to read?’

‘There is someone I would like to hear news of,’ I said to her. ‘Miss Scott. Is she happy now that peace has been declared?’

‘Yes, indeed. She went to live with her sister, you know. As soon as peace was declared she decided to move. I have no idea why. When she lived here, she was in constant fear of invasion, being so close to the sea, but as soon as all threat had passed, she moved into the heart of the country!’

‘I am sorry not to see her.’

‘I will send her your regrets the next time I write.’

By the time I returned for luncheon, I had learnt the fate of most of my brother’s parishioners, and I had also met his replacement, a studious young man who seemed to be much liked in the parish, and who invited me to dine with him.

Mr Musgrove senior called this morning to pay his respects, and to invite Sophia, Benjamin and me to dine with him and his family at the end of next week. He tried to press for an earlier date, but Benjamin had urgent business to attend to, so that we could accept nothing sooner.

I returned Mr Musgrove’s civility by returning his call today, and found Mr Musgrove at home with his wife and his two daughters.

Miss Musgrove, a young lady of some twenty summers, positively sprang out of her chair when I was announced and dropped me a deep curtsey whilst looking me up and down with admiring eyes. Her sister, Miss Louisa, was no less pretty and no less admiring. They reminded me of playful puppies, full of life and eager to please. My spirits soared, and I thought, Here is just the sort of lighthearted company I need to rid myself of the lingering griefs of the summer.

I was invited to sit down, and treated with so much cordiality that I was soon feeling at home.

‘And how do you find Uppercross, sir?’ asked Mr Musgrove, when we had all taken a seat.

‘I find it a very pleasant place to be. The air is pure, the countryside varied, and the people’—with a bow to him—‘most agreeable.’

He was pleased with my answer, and laughed and rubbed his hands together, and said he was pleased to find such good neighbours in Sir Walter’s tenants. He did not appear to remember me from eight years ago, and, as I had no desire to awaken old memories, I did not remind him.

‘Ah, yes, Uppercross is a fine place,’ said Mrs Musgrove. ‘My family has always lived in the neighbourhood,’ she went on, speaking to me. ‘My sister is married to a gentleman, Mr Hayter, who lives not far away, at Winthrop. You might have seen it? It lies on the other side of the hill.’

I said I had not yet had that pleasure.

‘Uppercross is all very well, though I wish we could go to London, or Bath,’ said Miss Musgrove.

‘What! Go to London or Bath, and miss all the fun at home?’ said her mother. ‘I will remind you of that, the next time we get up a dance.’ She turned to me. ‘We are very fond of dancing in the Great House, Captain.’

‘You must come to our next ball, Captain Wentworth,’ said Miss Musgrove.

I was delighted with the idea, for I was tempted by her wide smile and her bright eyes.