‘What? What is it?’ asked Jenson.
‘Benwick,’ I said. ‘James. He does not know.’
Jenson’s face fell.
‘He has just come back from the Cape, and is under orders for Portsmouth. Harville cannot bring himself to break the news. He asks me to do it for him.’
‘Frederick . . .’ he said, with the deepest sympathy, for it was a task no man would envy.
And yet it could not be avoided. I folded the letter resolutely.
‘I must do it at once. I must write for a leave of absence.’
‘I will take the letter for you.’
‘Thank you, Jenson, from the bottom of my heart. And I must hope it is granted, for I cannot wait for the answer.’
I wrote my letter and then stood up.
‘I must go at once. Poor Benwick. How will he bear it? To lose her just when his hopes were to be realized, when his long engagement was to come to an end, and when he was to take Fanny to wife. He has waited for this moment for years, and now for it to be snatched away from him, and in such a way. It is too cruel.’
He nodded in mute agreement.
And then I left the ship, and set out on my dreadful errand.
AUGUST
Monday 1 August
A terrible day. A terrible, terrible day.
I arrived in Portsmouth in the early hours, having travelled night and day from Plymouth, and rowed out to the Grappler. Benwick was delighted to see me. He was all smiles as he congratulated me on my success, telling me it could not have happened to a more deserving fellow, then demanded my congratulations on his promotion and on his wealth. He was so full of good spirits that he did not notice my dejection, and he broke my heart by saying, ‘At last I will see Fanny. I cannot wait! That was the hardest part of being at sea, Wentworth, having to leave her behind. I have kept her waiting for two years whilst I made my fortune and earned my promotion, but now our engagement can come to an end and we will be married as soon as the banns can be read.’
I could have wept. I did not know how to tell him, I could not find the words. But at last my mood communicated itself to him and he looked at me uncertainly. I told him I had bad news and bade him lead me down below. Once in his cabin, I told him, and he crumpled. I have never seen a man brought so low. He sank down, for his legs would no longer support him, and he was like a man stunned. He neither moved nor spoke. And then, at last, it washed over him, in waves of despair, and I thought he would go mad. I never left his side, but sat with him all day and all night, and as I did so, I hoped I never had to live through such a terrible day, ever again.
Thursday 11 August
At last, Benwick is over the worst. He no longer raves, though I find his quietness sad almost beyond bearing. He is like a hollow man.
I cannot help thinking of him as he was at twelve years old, walking hesitantly into the Academy, looking around him nervously, a small lad for his age, but soon impressing us with his intelligence and his courage. I can see his confident step when he graduated from the Academy, and his interest when he first noticed Fanny at Harville’s wedding. I can remember him smiling when he told me that she had accepted his hand; his regret that he could not marry her until he had won his promotion; and his determination to succeed, for her sake.
And now the life has gone out of him, as though his heart died with Fanny.
Friday 12 August
I had a letter from Sophia this morning, but I hardly had time to glance at it before Harville arrived. I put it away as soon as I saw him, for I was glad of his company, and delighted to see that he had brought Harriet with him. Benwick’s spirits lifted a little as he saw them, and talking to them gave his heart some ease. They spoke of Fanny for hours, and then Harville said that Benwick must go and live with them. Benwick protested at first, saying they did not have room, but Harriet added her entreaties to Harville’s, and at last he agreed. It was a relief to me, for I would not like to think of him being by himself at such a time.
Harville and I had a chance for some conversation alone, as Harriet continued to talk to Benwick. He told me he means to look for a bigger house, one that will afford them more room, and spoke of his hopes to find something by the sea. I wished him luck, and he promised to write to me, to give me his direction, as soon as he was settled.
They set out together this afternoon, a sad party, and I watched them go with a heavy heart. They should have been going to arrange Benwick’s wedding, if fate had been kinder. Instead, they were going to share their grief.
It is my only consolation to know that, with such loving people around him, he will be well looked after, though I fear he is wounded too deep for a full recovery. Fanny Harville was a very superior young woman. He is unlikely to meet her equal, and without another such attachment, what will there be to restore him to life?
Monday 15 August
And so, I find myself in London, almost three weeks later than I expected. I met up with Jenson and told him how Benwick had taken the news. We were neither of us in the mood for company or celebration after that, and we had a quiet dinner at Fladong’s before arranging to meet tomorrow.
Tuesday 16 August
I dined with Jenson again this evening, and our talk naturally turned to Benwick.
‘The only mercy is that he might, in a year or two, recover his spirits,’ said Jenson. ‘If he does, he will still be young enough to look about him and find a wife.’
‘It will be hard for Harville if he does,’ I remarked.
‘But harder for Benwick if he does not.’
I agreed, and then we turned our attention, deliberately, to more cheerful things, for we did not want to dwell on something that could not be changed. Even so, our spirits were low for the rest of the evening, and we parted early, arranging, however, to meet again tomorrow.
Wednesday 17 August
When I arrived in London a few days ago, I was not in a mood for the celebrations that were going on in the city, but today I began to take more interest in them. Jenson and I walked out this morning, and the bustle lifted our spirits. Everywhere around us we saw smiling faces. There was a festival air, and an atmosphere of goodwill. After so many years at war, London was celebrating peace in style.
I turned my thoughts away from the past and thought of the future.
I must buy an estate, and find a woman I can respect, and set about making myself a life.
Saturday 20 August
I had a letter from Sophia this morning, and I was able to give it more attention than her last one, which still lay, half read, in my pocket. I was pleased to learn that she and Benjamin had found an estate to rent, and that they were delighted with it. I read all through her description of elegant furnishings, a fine park and splendid vistas . . . and then her final line confounded me, for she told me its name, and I learnt that the estate she and Benjamin had fixed on was Kellynch Hall.
The name took me back. It reminded me of the summer of the year six, Sir Walter and Miss Elliot, and Anne . . . Anne dancing with me; Anne walking by the river; Anne and I, talking of everything and nothing, lost in each other’s company . . . Anne being persuaded to abandon me, and no doubt being married by now, to a baronet or higher, someone with the rank to satisfy her father’s pride and the fortune to satisfy Lady Russell’s avarice.
I am determined not to regret her, for I am sure she does not regret me. I put her behind me long ago, and her fate no longer concerns me. Apart from some natural curiosity, I have no desire to see her again. As the Elliots are to remove to Bath, it is unlikely that I will come across her, and if we do by any chance meet, it will be as strangers.
Her power with me is gone.
SEPTEMBER
Thursday 29 September
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.
OCTOBER
Monday 3 October
I ha
d 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.
Saturday 8 October
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?
Monday 10 October
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.