Amanda Grange - Captain Wentworth’s Diary

The atmosphere was strained, and it remained so until Mary and the two Musgrove girls found us. Anne immediately quit the room. Then there was the exchange of civilities, after which Hayter and I escorted the young ladies back to the Great House.

The atmosphere on our walk was not a happy one. Miss Musgrove seemed out of spirits and Hayter seemed to be angry, so I declined their invitation to go in.

Once back at Kellynch Hall my steps turned towards the river and I strode along, lost in thought. Why had Anne ignored me? And why had she left the room as soon as she had been able to relinquish her care of little Charles to his mother? Did she really dislike me so much? If I had been the one who had wronged her, I could have understood her manner, but she had wronged me. Could it be that she had resented me for speaking so harshly to Lady Russell?

I pondered the subject until I caught sight of Sophia’s chaise bowling along the drive, and I returned to the Hall in a dissatisfied state of mind. I could not understand Anne’s behaviour. But perhaps it had nothing to do with me. Perhaps she had been late for a visit, delayed by the need to look after Charles, and had had to hurry out as soon as she could leave the boy.

That seemed more likely, for she had spoken barely two words to me since I returned, and she probably never thought of me at all.

Sophia had a letter from Edward this morning, saying he would be away next week, but inviting me to visit him on the 19th. I wrote back and confirmed the arrangement. I am looking forward to meeting his wife and to seeing him again.

Charles Musgrove and I had arranged to spend the morning together and I set out for Uppercross Cottage in good spirits, for it was a beautiful morning with the copper leaves shining in the autumn sunshine. As I drew near the Cottage, however, my steps began to drag, for I did not want to find myself in another embarrassing situation. I need not have worried because I found Musgrove out of doors, ready and waiting for me. Our sport was good for the first half hour, but no sooner had we really begun to enjoy ourselves than we had to return, for the young dog with us was not fully trained and had spoiled our sport.

When we returned to the Cottage, we found that the Miss Musgroves were about to set out on a long walk, accompanied by Mary.

‘Come with us!’ Louisa pleaded.

‘We do not want to spoil your exercise,’ I said.

She laughed at the idea, and cajoled and entreated, until Charles and I gave in, and we all set out together. I walked ahead, with Henrietta on one arm and Louisa on the other, and Anne fell behind with Mary and Charles.

We soon came to a stile and, as it was rather high, Charles helped both Anne and Mary down. It was left to me to help Henrietta, and then Louisa. As she was the smallest of the party, she had to jump, and I caught her round the waist to assist her when she landed. She found the experience so delightful that she climbed back onto the stile and then did it again. We all laughed, and when we reached the next stile, nothing would do for her but that I should jump her down again.

We spoke of generalities and then I mentioned that my sister and her husband had gone on a long drive. As we walked on together, I told Louisa about their habit of overturning, saying, ‘But my sister indulges her husband, and does not mind.’

‘I should do just the same in her place,’ said Louisa gaily. ‘If I loved a man as she loves the admiral, I would always be with him, nothing should ever separate us, and I would rather be overturned by him than driven safely by anybody else.’

‘Really?’ I said with a laugh, catching her tone. ‘I honour you!’

But as we fell silent to negotiate a steep hill, I thought over what she had said, that she would not let anything part her and her husband. She was a resolute young woman, one with plenty of strength, and the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that she would not let anyone tell her what to do. I glanced at Anne and then looked away, though why I should still feel so strongly about something that happened eight years ago I could not imagine.

We reached the top of the hill and below us we could see the Winthrop estate. As we were so near, Charles Musgrove professed his intention of calling at the farm and paying his respects to his aunt. Mary declared she could not walk so far and, after some conferring, it was at last arranged that Miss Musgrove should go with him whilst the rest of us would stay behind.

We sat down to wait. Mary was fractious, and Louisa soon asked me if I would help her glean some nuts. I agreed. We made a good beginning, for there were plenty of nuts to be had. We went up and down the hedgerows and, as we did so, I learned that there was an understanding between Henrietta and Charles Hayter.

At once I understood why he had been annoyed to find me at Uppercross Cottage, and why he had not spoken to me: he had seen in me a rival for his lady’s affections. It seemed that my presence had made an estrangement between them, and that Henrietta had intended to call upon him to set things to rights, but had almost changed her mind when Mary had declared herself too tired to go.

‘What! Would I be turned back from doing a thing that I had determined to do, and that I knew to be right, by the airs and interference of such a person, or of any person, I may say?’ she asked. ‘No, I have no idea of being so easily persuaded. When I have made up my mind, I have made it. And Henrietta seemed entirely to have made up hers to call at Winthrop today; and yet, she was as near giving it up out of nonsensical complaisance!’

‘She would have turned back, then, but for you?’

‘She would, indeed. I am almost ashamed to say it.’

‘Happy for her, to have such a mind as yours at hand! Your sister is an amiable creature; but yours is the character of decision and firmness, I see. Let those who would be happy be firm. If Louisa Musgrove would be beautiful and happy in her November of life, she will cherish all her present powers of mind.’

I realized, when I had finished, how strange my words must have sounded to her, for they reflected on much of my life that had gone before. She was, indeed, silent for a while, but at last she spoke again, turning the conversation. She could not have hit upon a theme closer to my heart.

‘Mary is good-natured enough in many respects, but she does sometimes provoke me excessively by her nonsense and her pride—the Elliot pride. She has a great deal too much of the Elliot pride.’

I silently agreed.

‘We do so wish that Charles had married Anne instead.’

I was dumbfounded. Charles had wanted to marry Anne? I had never suspected it.

‘I suppose you know he wanted to marry Anne?’ asked Louisa.

I could not command myself immediately, but at last I said, to be quite clear, ‘Do you mean that he proposed to her and she refused him?’

‘Oh! yes; certainly.’

‘When did that happen?’

‘I do not exactly know, for Henrietta and I were at school at the time; but I believe it was about a year before he married Mary. I wish she had accepted him. We should all have liked her a great deal better; and Papa and Mama always think it was her great friend Lady Russell’s doing, that she did not. They think Charles might not be learned and bookish enough to please Lady Russell, and that, therefore, she persuaded Anne to refuse him.’

Could it be true? Could Lady Russell once again have persuaded Anne to refuse another suitor?

‘When were Mary and Charles married?’ I asked nonchalantly.

‘Four years ago, in 1810,’ said Louisa.

I was left with much food for thought. Had Lady Russell persuaded Anne to turn down another suitor, or could there be some other explanation? A part of me felt there must be, for I did not believe Lady Russell would be set against Charles Musgrove. He had a respectable home, good prospects, and she had appeared to like him when I saw her with him in the year six.

Could it be that Anne had turned him down on her own account?

I stole another glance at her, trying to read the answer in her face, and I was still trying to solve the riddle when I was startled by the sight of Sophia and Benjamin in their one-horse chaise. They pulled up beside us and asked if any of the ladies would like to be driven home.

‘There is room for one more, and, as we are going through Uppercross, it will cut a mile off the journey,’ said Benjamin.

The ladies declined, but as we crossed the lane I noticed that Anne looked fatigued. I spoke in an aside to my sister, and she said, ‘Miss Elliot, I am sure you are tired. Do let us have the pleasure of taking you home. Here is excellent room for three, I assure you. If we were all like you, I believe we might sit four. You must, indeed, you must.’

Benjamin added his voice to his wife’s, and I assisted Anne into the carriage. As I touched her hand, I felt all the power of my previous emotions. I recalled the times I had touched her before, dancing with her, walking with her, embracing her, and I could not understand how we had grown so estranged.

Had I been wrong to leave in the year six? Had I been wrong not to go back? Had I been a fool not to write to her, as I had almost done, in the year eight, when I found myself with a few thousand pounds? Pride had held me back, and the fear of being rejected again. But if I had conquered my pride and routed my fear of another rejection, then might the last six years have been different?

I watched her as she drove off, still puzzling over what I had heard. She had had a chance to marry respectably, and yet she had declined it. Why? What did it mean? Did it mean that he did not match up to another love?

But no, such thoughts were folly. She had shown neither interest nor enjoyment in my company since my arrival in the neighbourhood; indeed, she had done everything in her power to avoid me and to make any intimate conversation impossible. She had made her feelings clear.

I was unsettled to learn that Anne and I were to be thrust into closer acquaintance, for over breakfast my sister informed me that Anne would shortly be leaving her sister’s house and staying at Kellynch Lodge with Lady Russell.

‘The news is all around Uppercross. Lady Russell will soon be returning from an engagement that has kept her absent for several weeks,’ said Sophia. ‘I hear very good things of her. An intelligent, sensible woman, by all accounts. Did you meet her when you were here before?’

‘I believe so.’

‘And was she as amiable as the reports would have her be?’

‘I saw very little of her,’ was all I would say.

‘It will be good to see some new faces about the place, at church and so forth,’ said Benjamin. ‘Lady Russell and Miss Elliot will add variety to our evening gatherings. Living in our neighbourhood as they will be, we must have them to dine with us.’

I was not sure whether I liked the idea or not. To see Anne again, to be with her, was a strange kind of torment. Why did she turn down Charles Musgrove? Was it for me? The thought plagued me. Yes, she was cold with me. Yes, she avoided me, but could that not be through awkwardness? I wished I knew.

A letter was brought in and I seized it, eager to distract my thoughts from the unanswerable problem of Anne. As I began to read, I found it to be from Harville.

‘Capital!’ I said, as my eyes went down the page.

Sophia looked at me enquiringly.

‘At last, Harville has found a bigger house, in Lyme. He and Harriet are to stay there for the winter. This is a stroke of luck, for it is not twenty miles away! I will ride over there today.’

‘Splendid,’ said Benjamin. ‘You can see how that poor fellow—what was his name?’

‘Benwick.’

‘That’s it, Benwick, you can see how he goes on. Poor man, to return home, only to find his fiancée dead. It is not the way a man expects it to happen. That he might not return he knows, but that the ones on shore should die is a sad blow.’

‘It was a bad business,’ said Sophia.

‘If I can render him or Harville any assistance, I will be happy to do so, for you know that Harville is now lame, wounded badly two years ago. A visit will give me a good opportunity to learn all their news.’