I danced twice with each of the Musgrove girls, and twice with each of the Hayter girls, and it was impossible not to be cheered by their enjoyment, though somehow it was not as cheering as it should have been, for I was ever conscious of Anne at the pianoforte.
At last the dancing came to an end. Anne left her seat and went over to the sofa to join Mrs Musgrove, and I went over to the instrument and tried to pick out an air for Miss Musgrove. I had got no further than the first line, however, when Anne returned, and saying, ‘I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat,’ I relinquished it.
I hoped to see some spark of the former Anne, some light in her eye, but there was nothing.
‘No, not at all,’ she said, drawing back.
And that was all I said to her. But although I continued to talk to the Miss Musgroves and the Miss Hayters, now and then sharing a word with Charles Musgrove or Charles Hayter, all the time I was conscious only of Anne: Anne talking low to Mr Musgrove, Anne moving over to the table, Anne taking a seat next to Miss Hayter.
Anne, always Anne.
Wednesday 26 October
I had been at home so little this week that Benjamin feigned astonishment to find me in the drawing-room just before dinner.
‘What, not going to Uppercross?’ he asked.
‘I am not there every day, you know!’ I replied.
‘As near as makes no difference! I cannot say I blame you. The Musgrove girls are very pretty, and the Miss Hayters are almost as well-looking. And none of them is averse to being wooed by a captain home from the sea. Or do you go there for the pleasure of Mr and Mrs Musgrove’s company?’ he asked.
‘But of course! They are most agreeable people.’
Sophia smiled, then said, ‘And when are you going into Shropshire? The Musgroves are not the only agreeable people in England, you know. Your brother is very agreeable, too. He is longing to introduce you to his new wife.’
‘A country parson cannot hope to compete with the joys of a house full of young women, even if he has a wife!’ said Benjamin jovially. ‘Frederick has been spoiled by the flattery of those girls.’
I cried out against it, but he is right, I am very fond of their society. They never tire of hearing about the naval battles I have passed through, or my life on board ship, or my promotion, or the ports I have visited. And in return, they never tire of telling me about their friends, their family, their neighbours, their gowns and bonnets. And when all has been said, there is dancing and music to occupy us in a most enjoyable way.
‘Come, Frederick, tell us, have you still not decided between them?’ asked Benjamin teasingly.
‘I am in no hurry,’ I said.
‘Miss Musgrove is the prettiest,’ said Benjamin, ‘and I like the eldest Miss Hayter, but I think I like Miss Louisa more. She is as spirited a girl as I ever hope to meet.’
‘When you have finished finding Frederick a wife, perhaps you would turn your attention to encouraging him to visit his brother. You should not neglect Edward,’ said Sophia to me. ‘He wants you to meet his wife, you know, for she is a very fine young lady, and you promised him a visit.’
‘Never fear, I will go and see him before very long, but for now, I will have to take her virtues on credit.’
‘He wants to show you the house, too,’ said Benjamin. ‘You are not the only one who has been lucky in your advancement.’
‘No, indeed, he has been fortunate to achieve his own living, particularly such a good one,’ said Sophia.
‘Ay, it is not easy to find preferment in the church,’ I said, ‘far less easy than in the Navy, where a man’s battles will speak for him. Even with some interest it is difficult. I was speaking to Charles Hayter about it only yesterday. You know Charles Hayter? He is brother to the Miss Hayters, and cousin to the Miss Musgroves. He lives with his family at Winthrop, just over the hill from Uppercross.’
‘Yes, we have met him,’ said Sophia.
‘He has a curacy, but it is six miles distant. Fortunately, residency is not required, so he lives with his father at Winthrop. There was talk last night of his getting the curacy of Uppercross, a very good thing, for it would mean only a two mile journey to attend to his duties instead of his current six-mile trip.’
‘You must talk to Edward about it when you visit him,’ said Sophia. ‘I will be writing to him tomorrow. Shall I give him notice of your arrival?’
‘Tell him, if it is convenient for him, I will call in a fortnight,’ I said.
She was pleased, and we went into dinner.
Thursday 27 October
This morning when I went to visit the Miss Musgroves I found them from home. Mrs Musgrove assured me they had gone to the Cottage to see their nephew so I followed them, but when I was shown into the drawing-room I was taken aback to find Anne there instead. She was quite alone, apart from the little invalid Charles, who was lying on the sofa.
‘I thought the Miss Musgroves would be here,’ I said, walking over to the window to rid myself of my sudden agitation. ‘Mrs Musgrove told me I should find them here.’
‘They are upstairs with my sister. They will be down in a few moments, I dare say,’ she replied.
She did not seem comfortable; no more was I; but fortunately the child called to her and we were able to escape our embarrassment, she by kneeling down by the sofa to tend to Charles, and I by remaining at the window.
I did not know what to say. Were we destined to treat each other coldly, because of what had passed between us? Could we not put it behind us and be civil, at least? I almost suggested it, but such a tide of feeling rose within me at the thought of mentioning the past, or even alluding to it, that I remained silent.
A fourth person then arrived, but not one to make matters easier, for it was Charles Hayter. He did not seem pleased to see me, and I wondered whether he and Anne were friends, or more than friends, for if they were, then it would explain his attitude towards me. I glanced towards Anne, but there was no sudden smile on her lips, no joyous welcome, and I dismissed such notions. Anne invited him to sit down and wait for the others, and accordingly, he took a seat.
I wanted to make up to him for my coolness on his arrival and so I went over to him, preparing to make a remark about the weather, but he was apparently not disposed for conversation, because he took up the newspaper and buried his head behind it.
And so we sat, not talking, until there was a distraction in the way of a very small boy, who ran into the room.
‘Ah, Walter,’ said Hayter, glancing up once from his newspaper before burying his face once again.
Walter, a stout young man of some two years old, ran over to his brother. As he was of an age to tease his brother rather than to be of any help, however, Anne endeavoured to keep him away, but he was in the mood for attention, and as soon as her back was turned, he made a nuisance of himself by climbing onto it. As she was busy with Charles, she could not rid herself of him, but could only tell him to get down.
Her orders to him were in vain.
She contrived to push him away, but the boy had the greater pleasure in climbing onto her back again.
Hayter looked up from his paper and said, ‘Walter! Leave your aunt in peace,’ but Walter paid him no heed.
Seeing a need for action, I lifted the boy from her back and carried him away to the other side of the room, where I entertained him so that he could not return to plague her.
I received no thanks from her; indeed I looked for none, but I felt a mixture of emotions at having rendered her a service. I should be angry with her for betraying me. I was angry with her. And yet I felt a bittersweet pleasure at being able to help her when she needed it.