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Chapter SixDecember, 1841 "Well, I do not understand it," said Mrs. Musgrove, munching on her dry toast. "I do not understand why Sir William did not leave Kellynch to you, Walter. It is understandable that he did not name Charles heir, as he will have Uppercross one day, but you are nearly four years older than Edward Wentworth and should have precedence." "It makes perfect sense, Mother," said Walter tiredly. This was a discussion in which they had engaged numerous times since the baronet's death six months previously. "My aunt Brydges is the eldest daughter of Sir Walter Elliot, and she has no children, so Sir William left the estate to the only son of the next daughter. That would be Edward. Sir William was entirely fair." In this instance, anyway, he added to himself. His mother had requested that Walter breakfast at the Great House, as his father had planned to go shooting with Sir Frederick and some other gentlemen. Walter was unable to accompany them because of a previously-scheduled meeting with the Uppercross church wardens, and he had agreed to keep his mother company (and spare his father an evening of imagined indisposition, the usual result of what Mrs. Musgrove considered neglect on her husband's part). "I cannot agree with you, Walter," his mother was saying. "If he were fair, he would have left something for my sons, who are, after all, the grandsons of Sir Walter Elliot as well. And I do not think it terribly fair that a baronetcy must remain in the male line. If Sir William could leave his estate to whomever he liked, why not the title?" "Sir William had no control over that, Mamma." "Perhaps not, but in any event it should have been you, Walter, who inherited Kellynch," she added, gazing tenderly at her younger son. "I would so have liked to see you as Sir Walter, master of Kellynch. For you have the Elliot countenance." Walter had a difficult time imagining himself rattling around Kellynch in all his bachelor splendour, with no more living and little with which to occupy his days. "Elliot countenance or no, I have no wish to inherit Kellynch, nor to be Sir anything. My cousin may have it, and welcome." Foiled in her first attack, Mrs. Musgrove changed tactics with a dexterity that her naval brothers-in-law would have greatly admired. "And if he was going to split up the estate, why would he give Kellynch Lodge to Miss Clay? And all that money! Ten thousand pounds! And nothing for you, or your brother or sister! My father must be spinning in his grave!" Walter had his own ideas about why Sir William had provided so well for Gwendolyn, but he kept them to himself. One could hardly fault a man for wishing to assuage his guilt with his final act. His mother sipped her tea angrily. "I never liked that William Walter Elliot, you know, from the time he came sniffing around my father and my sisters when they first moved to Bath. He had a secretive way about him that I always distrusted, and it was borne out when he ran off with Mrs. Clay. Mrs. Clay! The daughter of my father's solicitor, the mistress of Kellynch! 'Twas an absolute disgrace!" As Mrs. Musgrove had consistently fawned over her titled cousin and his wife while they lived, her protestations after their death were not taken seriously by any of her family. They attributed her outbursts to resentment of the disposition of Sir William's estate, which excluded her offspring entirely, and had long ago learned that it was best to nod and offer agreement in such circumstances while keeping their own counsel. Thus Walter frowned, nodded, and "hmmed" as necessary while his mother railed about the iniquity of the late baronet. Mrs. Musgrove finally finished her diatribe, and in a querulous voice professed herself terribly fatigued. Walter, ever the dutiful son, suggested that she repair to her sofa and offered his arm to assist her there. He saw her stretched out on the sofa with a shawl cast gently over her feet, and kissed on her on the cheek. "Rest here awhile, love," he said softly. "You will feel better for a nap. You know you always do." "Thank you, Walter," she said with a sigh. "You are a good son." "I do try, Mamma," he said as he moved toward the door. "I do try." He went out and closed the door softly behind him. Finding himself with some time before his meeting with the church wardens, he made his way to the stables, where he found his brother standing in Wilfred's stall, trimming the creature's mane with an alarmingly large pair of scissors that surprisingly did not seem to trouble the horse in the least. "Good morning, Walter," he said without turning around. "Give me a moment to finish here." He took a last snip and brushed the long, silky black mane. "Does that look even to you?" "Very much so." Charles put down his instruments. "You can come a little closer, brother. Wilfred does not bite." Walter looked askance at the horse, who looked very much as if he would like to render his master's statement untrue. "If you don't mind, I'll stay back here. I declare, that horse despises me." Wilfred snorted in confirmation. "You are being ridiculous. I confess that Wilfred can be a little--standoffish, but to say he despises you is too much. He likes Anne better than me, and I do not take it personally." Charles rubbed the horse's nose, and the stallion nuzzled his shoulder. "Yes, you like your mamma the best, don't you, boy? That is because she gives you sugar and apples and other sweet trash." Walter was appalled. "Charles, please tell me that you did not call your wife that creature's mamma." "Why not? She does." "How is Anne, anyway? I have not seen her for at least a week." Charles sighed heavily. "Poor girl, she is feeling very low. She had a letter from Edward. He is staying in Jamaica for the present. She had hoped he would come home to look after Kellynch when he received word of Sir William's death, but he has a good chance of getting his own command soon, and wishes to stay on the West Indian station." "Anne is from a naval family. I cannot believe that she would wish for Edward to give up his career so young." "She misses her brother," Charles replied with a shrug. "She worries about him, so far away. And that is not good," he added, shaking his head and speaking almost to himself. "That is not good for one in her condition." His brother's words alarmed Walter. "Her condition? Is something wrong with Anne?" Charles looked up in surprise. He stared at Walter for a moment, then relaxed and laughed ruefully. "No, there is nothing wrong. We had not been going to tell everyone until Christmas, but--well, Anne is expecting." "Expecting?" echoed Walter, not immediately grasping Charles' meaning. "A baby," his brother supplied helpfully. "In May, she thinks." He shook his head. "I did very well in my mathematics examination at university, as you will remember, but the calculations involved in determining the date of confinement were frankly beyond my meagre comprehension." "Charles!" cried his very surprised brother. "That is wonderful news! My congratulations!" His brother grinned. "I thank you. I must confess, Anne and I had pretty much accepted that we were not to be blessed with children, so we are delighted, as you might imagine." "Have you told my mother and father?" "No, no one knows except Anne's mother. And you." "I shall keep your counsel until Christmas, if you wish, but no longer!" said Walter, grinning in delight. "What a wonderful holiday we shall have, brother! Eliza is bringing our nephews to visit, and now this news!" "Yes, I am depending upon Eliza's visit to buoy Anne's spirits." He swiped a hand gently down Wilfred's nose, then suddenly turned to his brother. "Will you talk to Anne?" Walter was startled. "Talk to Anne? What about?" "Try to make her feel better about Edward staying in the West Indies. I have tried, but she just cried more." He leaned toward Walter and dropped his voice. "All she does is cry these days. She says it is the baby making her so. It must be, for that is not like Anne!" "No, it is not. But I cannot imagine that I could comfort her better than you." "But you are a clergyman. It will be--different, coming from you." In his two years as rector, Walter had become accustomed to such requests, based on the simple faith that taking holy orders would bestow special gifts of insight and reassurance on a man. Perhaps it did; however unprepared he sometimes felt to counsel his parishioners, Walter had noticed that his words did much to comfort and instruct those to whom he spoke. The first such request he had received was to speak to Sophie Wentworth about her brazen behaviour, which he had done at Charles and Anne's wedding; it had worked, to an extent, as Sophie was still somewhat flirtatious, but certainly not as forward as she had been previously. Thus he agreed to speak with Anne, although he had no idea what he could say that would help her, and followed his brother to the Cottage. "Where is Mrs. Musgrove?" Charles asked the housekeeper. "She's in her chamber, sir," said Mrs. Rudd. "She was feeling poorly." Charles started up the stairs and beckoned his brother to follow him. They went down the passage to the door of the bed-chamber. Charles opened the door and went inside. A short time later, he came out and said to Walter, "She will see you." Walter went inside the room, which was dark and warm. The only light came from the fireplace. He could see that Anne lay on the bed, wrapped in a quilt, with her back to him. He walked around the bed and sat on the edge. She was staring at the fire. "Hello, Anne," he said softly. "Charles told me your good news. My congratulations." Her eyes moved from the fire to his face. "I thank you. I am very happy about it," at which time her face screwed up and the tears began to flow. Walter stroked her hair, which hung loose. "What is it, love? Is something wrong? Can I help?" She shook her head, and a hand emerged from the bundled quilts, clutching a limp handkerchief. "It is nothing. My mother says it is the baby. She said she was the same way and was surprised that my father did not pitch her overboard when she was expecting Edward." The mention of her brother's name unfortunately brought on a fresh bout of tears. "Are you missing Edward?" Walter asked her, still stroking her hair. She nodded. "I do not understand why he does not come home! I have never gone more than a year without seeing him before, and it has been nearly two years now! No one expects him to leave the service, but is it too much to ask for a vi-vi-visit?" Her lip had begun to tremble with her final word, and she managed to get it out, but then began to wail in earnest. Walter waited until the sobs subsided. At last she was calm again, and he asked, "Charles told me that Edward expects to get his own command soon." "Yes, that would be lovely, wouldn't it?" she said with a wan smile. "Captain Wentworth! It sounds delightful." "Perhaps he felt that his chances at such a command were better there than here." "That is not it," said Anne darkly. "I suspect it has something to do with that Catherine Leigh. She must have broken his heart. He acted strangely just before he left, and he stopped talking about coming back in a year. I think that is why he stays in the West Indies. He does not want to take the chance of seeing her in England." Her lip began to tremble again. "Evil witch! I could scratch her eyes out!" She burst into fresh tears, turning the handkerchief in search of a dry spot and finding none. Ever the gentleman, Walter immediately produced his own and handed it to her. "Now, Anne," he said soothingly, "you know you do not really feel so about Miss Leigh." "I do," she sobbed. "She stole my brother away from me, more fully than if she had married him! If she had agreed to marry him he would not stay away!" "You do not know that, love," he cautioned. "You do not know that he proposed to her, do you?" "No," she admitted. "But he loved her, I know it." She lay quietly for a time, so Walter decided to change the subject. "How are you feeling, other than the sadness?" "Oh, I feel well enough. I have no nausea, but I am so tired, Walter! Mamma says it shall pass, though." "That will be a good thing, will not it?" "I suppose so. I shall be able to get out of bed, anyway. I am not accustomed to being such an invalid." "Go over to the Great House. I am sure my mother shall be glad to instruct you." This had its intended effect of making her laugh, but she soon sobered and grew very quiet. "What are you thinking, love?" She looked up at him with an embarrassed expression. "Walter, sometimes I think God is punishing me." Walter was taken aback by her words. "Why in the world would God seek to punish you, Anne?" More tears slipped from her eyes. "Because I am a selfish beast!" "You, selfish? You are one of the most generous women I know!" She shook her head. "You do not know. You do not really know me." She mopped at her eyes and nose. "I have been so happy, these two years with Charles! And in my heart, I have been happy--" she began to sob again. "I have been happy that I did not have a baby yet and I could keep Charles all to myself and not have to share him with a child. There! I have said it. You see now how selfish I truly am!" She sobbed quietly and would not look at her brother-in-law. Walter waited for more, but no more seemed forthcoming. "Is that it, love? You think yourself a selfish beast because you love your husband?" "It is not that simple, Walter!" "It is that simple, Anne. If you had been blessed with a child and not welcomed it, that would have been an evil indeed. But to enjoy your husband's company and his undivided attention--that in itself is not an evil. And you have said that you are happy about this baby--am I correct?" She nodded. "I am happy, so very happy! I feel very ready to be a mother. In truth, I have felt so for some time now. I thought that God punished me for my selfishness by preventing me from conceiving and keeping Edward from me." "Then your punishment must be at least partially complete, for you have conceived." This time she did not laugh. "Dearest Anne, God does not punish us in such ways! He has His reasons for not giving you and Charles a child before now, and for keeping Edward in the West Indies. We are not meant to understand those reasons, just to accept them." Anne had stopped weeping and was gazing up at him steadily. After a moment she said, "Charles is worried about me, is not he?" "Yes, he is." "He is so good to me," she said, her face screwing up again. "He has been so kind and patient--I do not deserve him!" Her wails began afresh; Walter managed not to laugh, and decided that the time was ripe for Charles to step in. "He is waiting outside," he said. "Shall I fetch him?" Anne nodded through her tears, and Walter rose and went to the door. He opened it and saw his brother hovering in the passage, his face anxious. Walter beckoned him inside, and Charles stood in the doorway. "Anne?" he asked hesitantly. She sat up and said, "I am sorry that I worried you." "Do not apologize," he said, moving toward her. "You are not to blame." Anne held her arms out, and Charles sat on the edge of the bed and gathered her to him. She clung to him, sobbing, and he rocked her as one would a child, crooning soft words of comfort. Walter smiled and left them, closing the door behind him gently; neither of them noticed that he was gone.
The next day, Walter was labouring over a sermon. He was a popular rector for many reasons, one being that his sermons were generally short, witty, and to the point, but the grateful parishioners had no idea of the time and effort that the rector put into those sermons. He crossed out, blotted, and struggled, and after several hours had something he considered worthy. He took a fresh sheet of paper to make a fair copy when there was a soft knock on the door of his study. Mrs. Brumby peeked in and said, "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Musgrove, but Sir Frederick is here to see you." Walter smiled and rose from his chair. "Show him in, please, Mrs. Brumby." A moment later, the door opened again and Sir Frederick Wentworth entered the room. Walter noticed that the older man bent slightly as he passed under the door frame; the habit of a tall man who had spent many years in low-ceilinged ships, he supposed. He held out his hand. "Hello, Uncle Frederick!" he cried, knowing that he would be chastised if he used his uncle's title. "It is very good to see you, sir!" Walter had always been very fond of his uncle; one of his earliest memories was of sitting on Sir Frederick's knee, grasping at the buttons on his coat and listening to him sing a song which Walter was later able to identify as "Hearts of Oak." It must have been before then-Captain Wentworth had married Aunt Anne--but no, for she was in the room as well, and he recalled Charles lying ill on a sofa--yes, they must have been married already. What a little beast he had been as a small child; he had been pestering Aunt Anne as she tended to his brother, hanging from her neck until Uncle Frederick peeled his hands from her and took him away to amuse him with the song. Such consideration for his wife; yes, they were certainly married, or at least very close to being so. Sir Frederick shook Walter's hand with a wide smile. "And it is good to see you, young man; you are looking very well indeed." "I thank you, sir! May I offer you some wine, or perhaps some tea?" The Admiral accepted the offer of tea, and Mrs. Brumby nodded and left to fetch it. "How may I be of assistance to you, Uncle?" asked Walter when the door had shut behind the housekeeper. "I am here on a commission from Edward," said Sir Frederick, drawing a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket and passing it to his nephew. "He asked me to give this to you, and to wait for your answer, if you will." His curiosity awakened, Walter broke the seal and read the letter.
Admiralty House, Jamaica Walter could hardly condemn his cousin. There had been few tears shed in Somerset over the deaths of the master and mistress of Kellynch. Walter had felt to compelled to offer to perform a memorial service, but no one had been interested in attending.
It is in your capacity as a clergyman that I address you today. My father informs me that the Kellynch living has had no incumbent these seven years, the late baronet not being a man of churchgoing habits. My father suggested rather strongly that I rectify the situation, and I can think of no one I would prefer to have the living than you, cousin. I know this shall present you with some difficulties; from what you have told me in the past, your bishop may have little patience with pluralism. But the churches being so close together, I have confidence that you shall be able to admirably discharge your duties to both parishes. My father stands ready to speak to the bishop on my behalf if necessary. As Walter finished reading the letter, Mrs. Brumby brought in the tea. The pause to pour and arrange was welcome as Walter fought to control his whirling thoughts. Anne was right, he thought ruefully. Edward's protests have the ring of bitterness. What happened between him and Catherine Leigh? When the housekeeper had again departed, Walter sipped his tea and regarded his uncle thoughtfully. "Was it your suggestion that Edward offer me the living, sir?" he asked. Sir Frederick stared at him in astonishment, then laughed. "Yes, it was. Or more properly, it was my wife's suggestion, although I passed it on to Edward with the letters from the solicitors. Your aunt has very strong family feelings, you know, and it has pained her that the Kellynch church has stood empty these seven years. You may be interested to know that she made a similar request of Sir William, but he chose not to honour it." "I am honoured by Edward's offer, but I do not think that Bishop Prescott will be of a mind to agree to it." "I shall take care of the bishop," sais Sir Frederick with great deliberation. "Have no fear on that account. If a man cannot use his title and position to help his family, then what good is it? And it is an excellent living, Walter, a clear five hundred pounds a year plus glebe land. You have a curate already, and you can let the Kellynch parsonage, if you like; it will be a fine addition to your income." The older man smiled at him and added teasingly, "Perhaps you may feel now that you can marry!" Walter laughed. "Have you a particular young lady in mind for me, Uncle?" "No, although I would be in your debt if you took Sophie off my hands!" The two men laughed together, Walter a bit uncomfortably, wondering if there was perhaps a grain of truth in his uncle's last statement. "Well, what do you say, son?" Sir Frederick asked him kindly. "Will you accept?" "Yes," said Walter decisively. "I will. I thank you, sir. I shall write to Edward directly." "Very good," said Sir Frederick, placing his empty cup on the tray. "I shall have the necessary papers drawn up and bring them to you when they are ready." Walter rose to see him out, but his uncle waved him back to the chair. "I can find the door very well myself." He smiled fondly and added, "You are making your aunt very happy." "My mother shall be delighted as well, you know. And after all, there is nothing like the domestic felicity of women to ease a man's life." The admiral laughed heartily. "You have wisdom beyond your years, Walter! You are indeed ready to marry!" He went off down the passage, chuckling. Walter returned to copying out his sermon, then wrote a letter to Edward, and it was not until several hours later that he realized that he had agreed to be the rector of the parish in which Gwendolyn Clay might very soon be living. ~
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