Persuasion (The Wild and Wanton Edition) (10 page)

The resolution of doing so helped to form the comfort of their evening.

A very few days more, and Captain Wentworth was known to be at Kellynch, and Mr. Musgrove had called on him, and come back warm in his praise, and he was engaged with the Crofts to dine at Uppercross, by the end of another week. It had been a great disappointment to Mr. Musgrove to find that no earlier day could be fixed, so impatient was he to shew his gratitude, by seeing Captain Wentworth under his own roof, and welcoming him to all that was strongest and best in his cellars. But a week must pass; only a week, in Anne’s reckoning, and then, she supposed, they must meet; and soon she began to wish that she could feel secure even for a week, for she did not know what she would do the
first time she saw him. Ages ago, when they were engaged, he had always picked her up and spun her around while laying a resounding kiss upon her lips as a greeting. That was obviously not going to happen when they first laid eyes on each other now, years later, when they were — Anne did not know what they were. With a sigh, she realized they may be enemies. Not on her part, of course, but she could not blame him for hating her.

Captain Wentworth made a very early return to Mr. Musgrove’s civility, and she was all but calling there in the same half hour. She and Mary were actually setting forward for the Great House, where, as she afterwards learnt, they must inevitably have found him, when they were stopped by the eldest boy’s being at that moment brought home in consequence of a bad fall. The child’s situation put the visit entirely aside; but she could not hear of her escape with indifference, even in the midst of the serious anxiety which they afterwards felt on his account. The flare of relief carried with it a great deal of guilt that she would be able to find any positive emotion in her nephew’s peril.

His collarbone was found to be dislocated, and such injury received in the back, as roused the most alarming ideas. It was an afternoon of distress, and Anne had every thing to do at once; the apothecary to send for, the father to have pursued and informed, the mother to support and keep from hysterics, the servants to control, the youngest child to banish, and the poor suffering one to attend and soothe; besides sending, as soon as she recollected it, proper notice to the other house, which brought her an accession rather of frightened, enquiring companions, than of very useful assistants.

Her brother’s return was the first comfort; he could take best care of his wife; and the second blessing was the arrival of the apothecary. Till he came and had examined the child, their apprehensions were the worse for being vague; they suspected great injury, but knew not where; but now the collarbone was soon replaced, and though Mr. Robinson felt and felt, and rubbed, and looked grave, and spoke low words both to the father and the aunt, still they were all to hope the best, and to be able to part and eat their dinner in tolerable ease of mind; and then it was, just before they parted, that the two young aunts were able so far to digress from their nephew’s state, as to give the information of Captain Wentworth’s visit; staying five minutes behind their father and mother, to endeavour to express how perfectly delighted they were with him, how much handsomer, how infinitely more agreeable they thought him than any individual among their male acquaintance, who had been at all a favourite before. They raved over his blue eyes, and it took all of Anne’s self-control not to correct them. Blue eyes? His eyes were not merely blue. And their description of his physique — broad and muscled — was not right either. Frederick had always been slender. Anne realized she had
again
called him by his Christian name in her thoughts and forced herself to pay attention to the excited Miss Musgroves.

The girls were saying how glad they had been to hear papa invite him to stay for dinner, how sorry when he said it was quite out of his power, and how glad again when he had promised in reply to papa and mamma’s farther pressing invitations to come and dine with them on the morrow — actually on the morrow; and he had promised it in so pleasant a manner, as if he felt all the motive of their attention just as he ought. And in short, he had looked and said everything with such exquisite grace, that they could assure them all, their heads were both turned by him; and off they ran, quite as full of glee as of love, and apparently more full of Captain Wentworth than of little Charles. Anne felt a profound pang of sorrow within her chest that in her younger years might have been jealousy. Anne was too tired now to feel such a thing, and she could not blame them for their ardour. Anne had been their age when she had fallen head-over-heels in love with the handsome boy. How much easier it must be to fall in love with the handsome man.

The same story and the same raptures were repeated, when the two girls came with their father, through the gloom of the evening, to make enquiries; and Mr. Musgrove, no longer under the first uneasiness about his heir, could add his confirmation and praise, and hope there would be now no occasion for putting Captain Wentworth off, and only be sorry to think that the cottage party, probably, would not like to leave the little boy, to give him the meeting. “Oh no; as to leaving the little boy,” both father and mother were in much too strong and recent alarm to bear the thought; and Anne, in the joy of the escape, could not help adding her warm protestations to theirs.

Charles Musgrove, indeed, afterwards, shewed more of inclination; “the child was going on so well, and he wished so much to be introduced to Captain Wentworth, that, perhaps, he might join them in the evening; he would not dine from home, but he might walk in for half an hour.” But in this he was eagerly opposed by his wife, with “Oh! no, indeed, Charles, I cannot bear to have you go away. Only think if anything should happen?”

The child had a good night, and was going on well the next day. It must be a work of time to ascertain that no injury had been done to the spine; but Mr. Robinson found nothing to increase alarm, and Charles Musgrove began, consequently, to feel no necessity for longer confinement. The child was to be kept in bed and amused as quietly as possible; but what was there for a father to do? This was quite a female case, and it would be highly absurd in him, who could be of no use at home, to shut himself up. His father very much wished him to meet Captain Wentworth, and there being no sufficient reason against it, he ought to go; and it ended in his making a bold, public declaration, when he came in from shooting, of his meaning to dress directly, and dine at the other house.

“Nothing can be going on better than the child,” said he; “so I told my father, just now, that I would come, and he thought me quite right. Your sister being with you, my love, I have no scruple at all. You would not like to leave him yourself, but you see I can be of no use. Anne will send for me if anything is the matter.”

Husbands and wives generally understand when opposition will be vain. Mary knew, from Charles’s manner of speaking, that he was quite determined on going, and that it would be of no use to teaze him. She said nothing, therefore, till he was out of the room, but as soon as there was only Anne to hear —

“So you and I are to be left to shift by ourselves, with this poor sick child; and not a creature coming near us all the evening! I knew how it would be. This is always my luck. If there is anything disagreeable going on men are always sure to get out of it, and Charles is as bad as any of them. Very unfeeling! I must say it is very unfeeling of him to be running away from his poor little boy. Talks of his being going on so well! How does he know that he is going on well, or that there may not be a sudden change half an hour hence? I did not think Charles would have been so unfeeling. So here he is to go away and enjoy himself, and because I am the poor mother, I am not to be allowed to stir; and yet, I am sure, I am more unfit than anybody else to be about the child. My being the mother is the very reason why my feelings should not be tried. I am not at all equal to it. You saw how hysterical I was yesterday.”

“But that was only the effect of the suddenness of your alarm — of the shock. You will not be hysterical again. I dare say we shall have nothing to distress us. I perfectly understand Mr. Robinson’s directions, and have no fears; and indeed, Mary, I cannot wonder at your husband. Nursing does not belong to a man; it is not his province. A sick child is always the mother’s property: her own feelings generally make it so.” Anne certainly knew that if she could have been a mother, nothing would have ever separated her from her children, much less one of her children who was ill.

“I hope I am as fond of my child as any mother, but I do not know that I am of any more use in the sick-room than Charles, for I cannot be always scolding and teazing the poor child when it is ill; and you saw, this morning, that if I told him to keep quiet, he was sure to begin kicking about. I have not nerves for the sort of thing.”

“But, could you be comfortable yourself, to be spending the whole evening away from the poor boy?”

“Yes; you see his papa can, and why should not I? Jemima is so careful; and she could send us word every hour how he was. I really think Charles might as well have told his father we would all come. I am not more alarmed about little Charles now than he is. I was dreadfully alarmed yesterday, but the case is very different to-day.”

“Well,” Anne looked at her lap, “if you do not think it too late to give notice for yourself, suppose you were to go, as well as your husband. Leave little Charles to my care.” Anne dared to look at Mary. “Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove cannot think it wrong while I remain with him.” Any worry Anne had over her motives being discovered for wanting to stay behind vanished as Mary’s face lit.

“Are you serious?” cried Mary, her eyes brightening. “Dear me! that’s a very good thought, very good, indeed. To be sure, I may just as well go as not, for I am of no use at home — am I? and it only harasses me. You, who have not a mother’s feelings, are a great deal the properest person.” Anne could not prevent a wince — motherhood had once been her greatest wish — but Mary did not notice. “You can make little Charles do anything; he always minds you at a word. It will be a great deal better than leaving him only with Jemima. Oh! I shall certainly go; I am sure I ought if I can, quite as much as Charles, for they want me excessively to be acquainted with Captain Wentworth, and I know you do not mind being left alone.” Anne did not bother to correct her. “An excellent thought of yours, indeed, Anne. I will go and tell Charles, and get ready directly. You can send for us, you know, at a moment’s notice, if anything is the matter; but I dare say there will be nothing to alarm you. I should not go, you may be sure, if I did not feel quite at ease about my dear child.”

The next moment she was tapping at her husband’s dressing-room door, and as Anne followed her up stairs, she was in time for the whole conversation, which began with Mary’s saying, in a tone of great exultation —

“I mean to go with you, Charles, for I am of no more use at home than you are. If I were to shut myself up for ever with the child, I should not be able to persuade him to do anything he did not like. Anne will stay; Anne undertakes to stay at home and take care of him. It is Anne’s own proposal, and so I shall go with you, which will be a great deal better, for I have not dined at the other house since Tuesday.”

“This is very kind of Anne,” was her husband’s answer, “and I should be very glad to have you go; but it seems rather hard that she should be left at home by herself, to nurse our sick child.”

Anne was now at hand to take up her own cause, and the sincerity of her manner being soon sufficient to convince him, where conviction was at least very agreeable, he had no farther scruples as to her being left to dine alone, though he still wanted her to join them in the evening, when the child might be at rest for the night, and kindly urged her to let him come and fetch her, but she was quite unpersuadable; and this being the case, she had ere long the pleasure of seeing them set off together in high spirits. They were gone, she hoped, to be happy, however oddly constructed such happiness might seem; as for herself, she was left with as many sensations of comfort, as were, perhaps, ever likely to be hers. She knew herself to be of the first utility to the child; and what was it to her if Frederick Wentworth were only half a mile distant, making himself agreeable to others?

She would have liked to know how he felt as to a meeting. Perhaps indifferent, if indifference could exist under such circumstances. He must be either indifferent or unwilling. Had he wished ever to see her again, he need not have waited till this time; he would have done what she could not but believe that in his place she should have done long ago, when events had been early giving him the independence which alone had been wanting.

Anne had not known she’d dozed off in her chair until a hand was roughly shaking her awake.

“Anne.”

Even before she opened her eyes, she knew the man who owned that voice. His hand was warm on her shoulder, the fingers curling over her collarbone. Immediate need clenched within her belly.

Her eyes shot open, and Anne unerringly found his face.

The blue-green eyes were looking at her earnestly. His lips were parted.

“Frederick?”

His face relaxed and his hand against her shoulder softened, his fingers now feeling like a caress. “Anne, I had to see you.”

Anne blinked sleep from her eyes, sure she was mishearing. “You are to be at dinner.”

His lips tipped. “As were you.” His fingers trailed lightly along her collarbone to skim up her neck. “I could wait no longer to see you.”

Anne jerked to her feet and stepped away from his touch, sure any second that his fingers upon her skin would reduce her to a wanton mess. She held her hands out in front of her, palms toward him. “Please, Frederick — ” Her speech tapered off. She was uncertain what to say — what to beg.
Go away
was probably not the correct thing to tell him, though she wished it with all of her being. She could not stand to be in the same room with him and not disgrace herself by doing something entirely untoward.