Captain Wentworth's Diary, Page 2

  ‘And who are all these people?’ I asked my brother, then said: ‘No, let me guess.’ My eyes alighted on a good-looking man of perhaps forty or forty-five years of age. His hair was swept back in the latest fashion and he was dressed with the greatest style. ‘That must be Sir Walter Elliot,’ I said. ‘And the gentleman next to him is . . . ?’

  ‘Mr Poole, with his daughter, Miss Poole.’ Miss Poole was a plain lady of indeterminate age. ‘And the young lady next to Sir Walter—’

  ‘Is his daughter Elizabeth,’ I said. ‘You are right, brother, she is very handsome.’

  Edward was uncomfortable, and said with an embarrassed laugh, ‘That is not Miss Elliot. Sir Walter’s daughters are not here tonight, they are indisposed. A soaking at a picnic has given them a chill. No, the lady next to him is Miss Cordingale. We all thought he would marry Lady Russell when his wife died, for Lady Russell is a widow, they are old friends and they are of an age, but—’

  ‘Sir Walter, like many men before him, wanted a younger wife. It is the way of the world,’ I said.

  Mr Poole stepped forward and spoke to my brother, then greeted me. We exchanged pleasantries, then he introduced me to Sir Walter.

  Sir Walter looked at me with a critical eye.

  ‘You have just won your promotion, I am told,’ he said, in a stately manner. ‘I must congratulate you . . .’ I was about to say that it was nothing, that I had only done what any sailor would do, and that I was proud to serve my country, when he continued: ‘. . . you have kept your complexion remarkably well. There are signs of leatheriness, of course, but it is not yet ruined. It will soon be destroyed, however, for an outdoor life is, above all things, an enemy to the skin. I would advise you to wear a hat, sir, and a veil, when in sunny climes.’

  ‘Thank you, but I believe I must carry on without them, for there is no time to think about veils in the heat of battle. There is a ship to be manoeuvred and an enemy to subdue.’

  ‘A sad comment on the preoccupations of the naval man,’ he said. ‘With a tolerable figure, the uniform is not unbecoming, but a ruddy complexion ruins all.’

  ‘But think of what good work the Navy does in protecting us!’ said Mr Poole, turning to me apologetically. ‘Without such courageous men, we would have been overrun by Napoleon long ago.’

  ‘So the newspapers would have us believe, but who writes them? Gentlemen? I think not,’ said Sir Walter. ‘There is not a single man of note amongst such scribblers.’

  ‘So there is not,’ said Miss Poole, much struck. ‘You are right, Sir Walter, there is not a one.’

  ‘Believe me, Mr Poole, it will take more than a French rabble to overrun England. One Englishman is worth ten Frenchmen,’ said Sir Walter.

  ‘Ordinarily, perhaps, but under the guidance of Napoleon Bonaparte, who knows? He seems intent on subduing Europe, and so far, he is succeeding. The man is a monster!’ Mr Poole was brave enough to remark.

  ‘How can one expect otherwise, when his father is a lawyer?’ returned Sir Walter, not to be outdone. ‘It is not to be supposed that he would act with propriety. On the contrary, he was destined from an early age to run contrary to everything that is decent and good.’

  Miss Poole bobbed and smiled at Sir Walter’s side in silent flattery, mutely agreeing with every word, whilst Mr Poole looked as though he was about to speak and then thought better of it.

  ‘Nevertheless he has managed to make himself emperor,’ I remarked.

  ‘Any man may make himself an emperor, but an emperor is not a king. It takes centuries of breeding to make a king,’ returned Sir Walter.

  ‘And to make a baronet!’ remarked Miss Poole breathlessly.

  Sir Walter rewarded this perspicacious remark with a regal smile, and I made my bow and moved on, glad to leave Sir Walter behind.

  I was introduced to a succession of other guests, amongst whom were Mr Shepherd, a local lawyer, and his daughter; Mrs Layne; and Mr Denton. Then I took my place, for the music was about to begin.

  Mrs Fenning had hired a harpist and I listened attentively, until the sight of Miss Welling dropping her fan attracted my attention. From her glance in my direction, I suspected the incident was not altogether accidental, and that it had been intended to attract my notice. She was a very pretty young woman, as my brother had said, with soft fair hair and a most engaging figure, and I looked forward to speaking to her after the music was finished.

  I was not disappointed, and we engaged in an agreeable flirtation before the evening came to an end.

  Sunday 8 June

  The worthies of the neighbourhood were all at church today, with Sir Walter paying a great deal of attention to Miss Cordingale, much to Miss Poole’s chagrin. However, as Miss Cordingale blushed prettily when Mr Sidders glanced in her direction, and as Mr Sidders is a young man of about her own age, very handsome, and with a large fortune, I fear Sir Walter will have to look elsewhere for a bride. Perhaps Miss Poole will have him yet!

  There were some pretty farmers’ daughters in church, and three young ladies whose smiles brightened the morning as I was introduced to them outside, after the service. To my surprise, I found I was enjoying my shore leave even more than my time at sea!

  Monday 9 June

  I saw the chestnut this morning and was very taken with it. The price asked was too high, but after some haggling I bought it for a reasonable sum. My brother shook his head, asking what I would do with it when I returned to sea, but nevertheless, he had to admit it was a fine animal.

  This evening we attended a private ball at the house of Mr and Mrs Durbeville, a couple of impeccable ancestry and fortune, or so my brother informed me. I found them to be agreeable people, and not above their company, for they welcomed me warmly and hoped I would enjoy the ball.

  I recognized a number of people as I walked in. I saw the Pooles, and then my eye fell on one of the pretty young ladies I had met outside the church, Miss Denton, and I led her onto the floor. So well did I like dancing with her, that I asked her for another dance later in the evening. She blushed prettily and expressed herself delighted to accept.

  There followed a minuet with Miss Welling, who flirted most agreeably, but alas! the farmers’ daughters were not there, so I had to content myself with Mrs Layne for the next dance. She regaled me with talk of her children, and I believe I managed to sound interested in all their myriad virtues, before the dance was over and I found myself once again standing with my brother at the side of the room.

  I soon found my eye drawn to Sir Walter Elliot, who had just arrived, and who was standing next to Mr Poole at the other side of the room. He was marvellously turned out again, his clothes just so, and topped with a handsome head that had been primped and preened by his valet. There was a handsome young lady next to him, and I remarked to my brother: ‘Another of Sir Walter’s amours?’

  ‘No, that is his daughter, Miss Elliot.’

  I could see why she had a reputation for beauty. Her face and figure were both good, and there was something about her carriage that showed she knew her own place in the world. I was much taken with her, and began to cross the room, intending to ask Mr Poole to perform the necessary introduction. As I approached, however, I heard her speaking to her companion, a poor, dowdy creature, in the most slighting way. Her father encouraged her in this behaviour, and it gave me such a disgust of them that I changed the direction of my steps ever so little, and approached the companion instead. A set was forming, and I asked her, ‘Might I have the honour of this dance?’

  Sir Walter looked at me as though I had confirmed all his worst suspicions about those beneath the rank of baronet, and his daughter was no more pleased. The companion started, coloured slightly, looked doubtingly at Miss Elliot, and then, with a hesitant ‘Thank you,’ took my arm.

  I noticed several surprised glances from those around us as I took her onto the floor.

  ‘You should not have asked me to dance,’ she said mildly, as we took our places in the set. ‘We have not
yet been introduced.’

  ‘Then why did you accept?’ I asked.

  She coloured, and I thought that, although she did not have Miss Elliot’s striking beauty, she was extremely pretty, with her delicate features and dark eyes.

  ‘I hardly know, unless it is because I have so few opportunities to dance that I cannot afford to ignore one,’ she said.

  I was about to feel sorry for her, when a spark in her eye showed me that her words, although no doubt true, were uttered with a spirit of mischief, and I found myself growing more pleased with my choice of partner.

  ‘You should not allow your mistress to dictate to you. Even a companion has a right to some entertainment once in a while,’ I said, as we began to dance.

  Her eyes widened, then she said, ‘What makes you think I am Miss Elliot’s companion?’

  ‘I have not been at sea so long that I have forgotten how to detect a difference in rank,’ I said. ‘Even to my unpractised eye it is obvious. Your dress, whilst well cut, is not as elegant as Miss Elliot’s. You do not have her confidence or her air, and she speaks to you as though you are beneath her notice. Her father supports her in this, and encourages her to slight you. And then there is the fact that, as we walked onto the floor, you did not receive the deference from others that is her lot, indeed, they looked surprised to see that you had been chosen. You also have a shy and retiring disposition, suited to your role in life. But never fear,’ I went on kindly, ‘you are no doubt far more interesting than the beautiful Miss Elliot, for all she is the daughter of a baronet. And now, let us have done with Miss Elliot, I would rather talk of you. Have you lived in the neighbourhood for long?’

  ‘I have lived here all my life,’ she replied gravely.

  ‘That is a mercy. At least you have not been separated from your friends and family, in keeping with the cruel fate of most of your kind. Your mother and father are pleased to see you so well settled, I suppose?’

  There was a small silence, and then she said: ‘My mother is dead.’

  I cursed myself for my rough manners.

  ‘Forgive me. I have been a long time at sea, and I have forgotten how to behave in company. I have presumed too much on our short acquaintance, but please believe me when I say that I did not mean to distress you. Do you enjoy balls?’ I asked her, thinking that this would be a safe topic of conversation.

  ‘I like them very well. But you do not need to change the subject, and you must not worry that you have wounded me. My mother has been dead these five years. I miss her, but I have grown used to the pain.’

  I was relieved, for I did not want to wound so delicate a creature.

  ‘And is your father living?’ I asked her, hoping that she was not an orphan, for then her lot in life would be hard indeed.

  ‘He is.’

  ‘That is a blessing. He is pleased to see you living at Kellynch Hall, I suppose?’ I asked.

  ‘Certainly. He regards it as the finest house in the neighbourhood.’

  ‘And he approves of the Elliots? He shares Sir Walter Elliot’s opinions and beliefs?’

  ‘I believe I may safely say that their thoughts coincide in every particular,’ she said.

  Poor girl, I thought, if her father is another such a one as Sir Walter, but I did not say it. Instead, I asked her to tell me something of my new neighbours, in order to put her at her ease.

  ‘The lady to your left is Miss Scott,’ she said, indicating an elderly spinster of a timid disposition. ‘She is easily alarmed, and it is better not to speak to her about the war, for she lives in fear of the French invading England. Her sister sends her newspapers every month, telling her of some new threat, and I believe she will not rest easy until peace has been declared. Opposite is Mr Denton; he lives at Harton House. Next to him is Mrs Musgrove, and beyond her is Miss Neville.’

  The dance was over all too soon. She had a surprising grace when she danced, which I found pleasing, and as a result of my attentions she had lost her downtrodden look. By the end of the dance, there was a light in her eye and some colour in her cheek, so that she was almost blooming. I escorted her to the side of the room and left her, reluctantly, with a displeased Miss Elliot, before rejoining Edward.

  ‘And what do you think of Miss Anne?’ he asked me.

  I regarded him enquiringly.

  ‘Miss Anne Elliot,’ he elaborated.

  ‘I have not seen her. I assumed she was still at home with a chill,’ I said. ‘You must point her out to me—though if her father and sister are any indication, I do not think I wish to meet her. She will, no doubt, be proud and disagreeable, full of her own beauty and importance, and holding other people in contempt.’

  ‘But you have just been dancing with her!’ he said.

  I was astonished.

  ‘What?’

  I looked across the room at Miss Anne. She happened to glance round at that moment, and I caught her eye. Upon seeing me, she smiled and turned away.

  ‘So, that is Miss Anne!’ I exclaimed, as our conversation took on a whole new meaning. I could not help laughing. ‘I am beginning to enjoy my shore leave.’

  ‘I hope you are not thinking of a flirtation,’ said my brother. ‘She is very young, only nineteen, and no match for a man of your age and experience.’

  ‘Is she not, though? I think she is a very good match indeed. She has already given me one broadside, and I suspect she would be capable of giving me another.’

  My brother looked at me doubtfully, but I clapped him on the back and told him not to worry, saying that I had no intention of harming the lady, but that a mild flirtation would help to pass the time until I return to the sea.

  I am looking forward to it. I believe it will provide her with some much-needed attention, too. There is nothing like being singled out by an eligible bachelor to raise a young lady in the estimation of her friends.

  Wednesday 11 June

  I fell in with my brother’s idea of joining him on his duties around the village this morning, for I had nothing else to do. Whilst he pointed out the houses of every member of his congregation, and introduced me to those who were at their windows or in their gardens—which seemed to be all of them—I found myself wishing for a sight of Miss Anne Elliot. Unfortunately, the closest I came to such an encounter was when Sir Walter and Miss Elliot drove by in their carriage, going through a puddle and splashing my boots. Edward laughed, but I was not amused, for I had no servant, and when we returned to his house, I had to polish them myself.

  This afternoon, after putting the shine back on my boots, I rode out into the country. I was enlivened by the sight of a milkmaid with rosy cheeks, who was carrying two pails across her shoulders by means of a yoke. I helped her to put it down as she took a drink at the well, and was rewarded with a kiss and a smile.

  I was beginning to think that life in the country was very pleasant, and to understand why Edward had chosen to stay on shore, when an evening playing whist with the local worthies reminded me why I went to sea.

  Friday 13 June

  I rose early, full of energy, and was soon out of doors. How my brother could bear to lie in bed on such a beautiful morning I did not know. I walked through the village and then on into the country, going through fields and copses until I came to the river. I jumped it at its narrowest point, in the exuberance that comes with an early morning in summer, and went on, through verdant fields. I had just come to a small weir when a familiar figure came into view. Miss Anne Elliot was walking there, and she was coming towards me.