Amanda Grange: Captain Wentworth's Diary

Anne looked down at her plate, but I could see that she was smiling at Miss Poole’s blatant flattery.

‘I cannot abide to talk about war,’ said Miss Elliot, stifling a yawn. ‘It is the most boring of subjects. I believe we must have the yellow room redecorated, Papa, for Mr Elliot’s visit. It is looking shabby, and besides, there is some wallpaper I have seen in Ackerman’s Repository that would look very well. We should have the bed-hangings replaced, and a new carpet as well.’

‘Yes, my dear, I believe you are right. We must not neglect to show him any courtesy, for we do not want him to think that Kellynch Hall is deficient in any way. As the heir presumptive, he will have a natural interest in its upkeep. I believe we should have the drawing-room redecorated as well.’

They continued to discuss their ideas for the improvement of their ancestral home, whilst Miss Poole nodded vigorously and interjected, ‘Oh, yes!’ or, ‘How wonderful!’ every few minutes, and I was free to turn my attention back to Miss Anne.

We had an interesting discussion of the latest books, comparing Scott’s Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border with his latest work, The Lay of the Last Minstrel . It would have been less invigorating, however, if it had not been accompanied by her changing expressions, sparkling eyes and frequent smiles.

All too soon, supper came to an end. Reluctantly, I gave up her company as we returned to the ballroom, and I saw her dancing with a fellow called Lauderdale. I was introduced to two young ladies whose names now escape me, and I did my duty, partnering them on the dance floor, but my heart was not in it, and I made a poor companion.

The evening came to an end. I hoped to snatch a few words with Miss Anne, but it was impossible, and I could do no more than catch a glimpse of her as she left, looking as pretty as she had done when she arrived.

This morning brought a letter from Sophia.

‘I wish our sister would not sail the high seas with her husband, but would settle down on shore,’ Edward grumbled, as he took the letter from the salver. ‘I do not say she should have remained at Deal, but she should have settled near here, in Plymouth, perhaps. It is a fine port, with some respectable houses, and she would not have been lonely, for I would have been able to visit her regularly.’

‘As if the occasional visit from a brother could compensate her for the lack of a husband!’ I snorted, as I helped myself to a plate of ham and eggs. ‘She did not marry Benjamin only to part from him. You know how much she worried when he was away in the North. She could not sleep at night for anxiety about him, fancying him lying on deck, injured or dead, and in the daytime it was no better, for she could not eat because of the same fears. I stayed with her when I had a spell of shore leave, you will remember, and she had never looked paler or thinner. She suffered from all manner of imaginary complaints, and I believe she would have worried herself to death had she not decided to go with him the next time he sailed.’

‘But the seasickness,’ Edward protested.

‘She never suffers from it, at least not after the first twenty-four hours, and there is no healthier life than a life spent at sea.’

‘It must be very uncomfortable for a woman, whatever you say,’ he remarked.

‘Sophia is not just any woman, she is my sister, and she has her share of the Wentworth spirit—’

‘Which I have not?’ he interjected.

‘We cannot all be the same,’ I said kindly, feeling sorry for him that he did not have our bravery.

‘Thank you,’ he returned drily.

‘Besides, I am beginning to think it is a good thing you have no taste for the ocean. With our parents dead and Sophia at sea, where would I go on my shore leave if you were not on dry land?’

‘I am glad I can be of service to you. I took the curacy on purpose,’ he remarked, as he spread out the letter next to him and helped himself to another rasher of ham. ‘I confess, though, that she seems happy. I thought she would soon tire of the life, and urge her husband to put her ashore, but her letter is cheerful enough,’ he went on, beginning to read it to me.

‘And why should it not be? Think of all the places she has seen, and all the things she has done. She has experienced far more of life than she would have done if she had married Mr Wantage, as you wished.’

‘I? Wish her to marry Mr Wantage? You jest. I never liked him. It is just that I thought she would be safer with a lawyer than a sailor. Even now, I cannot think a warship is a suitable accommodation for my sister.’

‘There is nothing finer. She will live like a queen,’ I assured him.

He continued with the letter, in which Sophia mentioned my visit and said that she hoped I had arrived safely, before passing on her hopes that I would soon be given a ship of my own, then she concluded her letter with her best wishes for our health and happiness.

Having finished his breakfast, Edward penned a reply. I added a postscript and it was sent without delay.

‘Though when it will reach her, I am sure I do not know,’ he said.

‘Depend upon it, it will be welcome whenever it arrives. There is nothing better than a reminder of home when one is on the other side of the world. It brings back pleasant thoughts of friends and family, and is treasured up to be read again in quiet moments.’

We talked over our plans for the morning, and I left my brother to his parish duties whilst I set out for a ride. It took the edge off my energy, and this afternoon I went into town to see to some business. I had hoped for an outing this evening, but, no invitations having been issued, I spent a quiet evening with my brother, playing chess. It was a novelty, but, I confess, many such evenings would try my patience sorely. It is a good thing my brother went into the church, and not I!

I was walking through the village this morning, when I was agreeably surprised to turn a corner and find myself following Miss Anne Elliot. She was in company with her sister, Miss Elliot, and Miss Shepherd. They stopped outside Clark’s shop, there was some conferring, and then Miss Elliot and Miss Shepherd passed into the shop and Miss Anne crossed the road, walking towards a small cottage.

I recognized it as the house of Miss Scott, and guessed that Miss Anne was going to pay her respects. I turned my steps in the same direction and we arrived on the doorstep together. She looked up, surprised, and I made her a bow, remarking that we seemed to be intent on the same purpose. She smiled, and we exchanged pleasantries. She was looking remarkably well, with a bloom on her cheek and a look in her eye that showed me she was not averse to teasing me if the occasion arose.

I was just about to make some remark when we noticed that the door was ajar. Miss Anne looked at me questioningly and I pushed the door open, whilst Miss Anne called out our names so as not to alarm anyone in the house.

We went in, expecting to find the maid, but no one was there, and so we went through to the parlour, where we were confronted by Miss Scott, brandishing the poker.

‘Oh, my dear, I am so sorry, I thought you were Napoleon,’ she said.

She returned the poker to its place by the fire, whilst Miss Anne behaved as though she was mistaken for the scourge of Europe every day, and asked Miss Scott how she did.

‘Very well, I thank you, my dear. It is very good of you to call.’

Miss Anne remarked on the open door, and Miss Scott tutted, and said she had had problems with her new maid, a young girl who spent more time flirting with the baker’s boy than she did in attending to her mistress.