Captain Wentworth's Persuasion (23 page)

In horror, Frederick staggered backward, clinging to the wall for support. He exclaimed in the bitterest agony, “Oh, God! Her father and mother!”

“A surgeon!” said Anne.

Frederick caught the word; it seemed to rouse him at once, giving him hope and a purpose. “True, true, a surgeon this instant!” he called and started to dart in the direction of the town.

“Wait!” Anne’s words caught him in mid stride. “Captain Benwick! Captain Benwick! Would not it be better for Captain Benwick? He knows where a surgeon is to be found.”

Everyone capable of thinking felt the advantage of the idea, and in a moment—it was all done in rapid moments—Captain Benwick resigned the poor corpse-like figure entirely to Charles’s care and was off for the town with the utmost rapidity.

“Louisa, talk to me.” Charles patted her face gently, trying to coax his sister back to consciousness.

Mary kept up her laments. “Dead—she is dead! Oh, what will we do? Help me, Charles, I feel so weak!”

Charles looked up from his sister.

“Mary, be quiet!”Anne ordered.“You are not helping.” Then she turned to the sagging Henrietta.“Louisa will be fine; she just took a bad spill.The surgeon will be here in a moment.” Henrietta nodded.

Frederick looked on—the dreadful tableau playing out before his stare. The only thing he could comprehend was Anne would make it right; she would know what to do.

“Anne, Anne,” cried Charles, “what is to be done next? What, in heaven’s name, is to be done next?”

Wentworth’s eyes also turned toward her. Her shoulders shifted, as if shrugging off the weight of the situation. “Had not she better be carried to the inn?” she said with all the calm possible.“Yes, I am sure, carry her gently to the inn.”

“Yes, yes, to the inn,” repeated Wentworth, comparatively collected and eager to be doing something. “I will carry her myself. Musgrove, take care of the others.”

By this time the report of the accident had spread among the workmen and boatmen about the Cobb, and many were collected near them, to be useful if wanted, at any rate, to enjoy the sight of a dead young lady, nay, two dead young ladies, for it proved twice as fine as the first report. To some of the best-looking of these good
people they consigned Henrietta, for, though partially revived, she was quite helpless; and in this manner, Anne walking by her side, and Charles, attending to his wife, they set forward, treading back with feelings unutterable, the ground, which so lately, so very lately, and so light of heart, they had passed along.

They were not off the Cobb before the Harvilles met them. Captain Benwick had flown by their house, with a countenance, which showed something to be wrong, and they had set off immediately, informed and directed, as they passed toward the spot.

Shocked as Captain Harville was, he brought senses and nerves that could be instantly useful; and a look between him and his wife decided what was to be done.“Take her to our house!” Harville ordered.

Without a second thought, Frederick trusted his old friend’s advice. He turned in at the Harville’s door, and the others followed. “Upstairs!” Milly directed him.“Place her in my bed.”

“Oh, no, we cannot take your bed,” Charles protested, although it was a weak effort on his part, having his attention divided by his still sobbing wife and the need to care for both of his sisters.

“Nonsense,” Milly admonished. “Do as I say, Frederick.”Wentworth quickly disappeared through the entranceway and just as quickly conveyed Louisa’s limp body to the waiting bed.“I will tend her until the surgeon arrives. Go back down and help Thomas.”

“Th-Thank you, Milly,” he stammered. “You and Thomas . . .” he began, but he could not finish the thoughts. Ducking his head to clear the doorframe, he made his way slowly down the stairs, needing to digest the ramifications of what just happened, his face pale as death.

At the bottom, he met the surgeon hurrying up the steps. “I guess we wait,” Anne said softly as she helped Captain Harville pour restorative drinks for all who needed them.

After a quarter of an hour, the surgeon reappeared in the Harvilles’ sitting room. Both Charles and Frederick rushed forward to meet him.“Tell us, Doctor,” Charles pleaded.“Will my sister live?”

“Your sister will likely recover. Her head received a severe contusion,
but I have seen people recover from greater injuries. I do not deem the situation hopeless. In fact, the young lady opened her eyes momentarily, although she did not regain consciousness. I take that as a good sign.” A sob was heard from one of the ladies, and several people sighed with relief.“I do not regard your sister’s condition as desperate, but I cannot say how quickly she will convalesce; the brain has its own schedule for recuperation.”

“Thank God,” Frederick heard himself say. Then he collapsed into a nearby chair. Leaning over a table—his hands folded and his face in shadow—overpowered by emotion, he offered a silent prayer for Louisa’s speedy recovery.

It now became necessary for the party to consider what was best to be done, as to their general situation.They were now able to speak to each other and consult. That Louisa must remain where she was, however distressing to her friends to be involving the Harvilles in such trouble, did not admit a doubt. Her removal was impossible.The Harvilles silenced all scruples, and, as much as they could, all gratitude.They looked forward and arranged everything, before the others began to reflect. Captain Benwick must give up his room to them and get a bed elsewhere—and the whole was settled. They were only concerned the house could accommodate no more; and yet perhaps by “putting the children away in the maids’ room or swinging a cot somewhere,” they could hardly bear to think of not finding room for two or three besides, supposing they might wish to stay; though, with regard to any attendance on Miss Musgrove, there need not be the least uneasiness in leaving her to Mrs. Harville’s care entirely. Mrs. Harville was a very experienced nurse; and her nursery maid, who had lived with her long and gone about with her everywhere, was just such another. Between those two, Louisa could want no possible attendance by day or night.And all this was said with a truth and sincerity of feeling irresistible.

Charles, Henrietta, and Frederick were the three in consultation, and for a little while it was only an interchange of perplexity and terror. “Uppercross—the necessity of someone’s going to Uppercross—the news to be conveyed—how it could be broken
to Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove—the lateness of the morning—an hour already gone since they ought to have been off—the impossibility of being in tolerable time.”

At first, they were capable of nothing more to the purpose than such exclamations; but, after a while, Wentworth, exerting himself, said,“We must be decided and without the loss of another minute. Every minute is valuable. Some must resolve on being off for Uppercross instantly. Musgrove, either you or I must go.”

“I cannot leave my sister,” Charles emphasized.“I will sleep in a chair if necessary, but I cannot leave Louisa in such a state.”

Henrietta declared,“I need to stay, too.”

Charles reached for his younger sister’s hand. “I love your resolve, my Dear, but we both know you are not even able to be in the room with Louisa without crying.”

“But I
must
, Charles,” she protested.

“Miss Henrietta,” Frederick reasoned, “you could help Louisa more if you brought comfort to your mother and father. Neither I nor Miss Anne nor Mrs. Charles could offer them what you can.”

“Wentworth is right, Henrietta.”

“You are correct. I need to be with Mama; she will need me, will she not? When do we leave?”

“Then it is settled, Musgrove,” cried Frederick. “You will stay, and I will take your sister home. But as to the rest—as to the others—if one stays to assist Mrs. Harville, I think, it need be only one.—Mrs. Charles will, of course, wish to get back to her children; but, if Anne will stay, no one is so proper, so capable, as Anne!”

Charles added quickly,“I concur.”

Henrietta nodded her agreement. “If not for Anne, where would we be now?”

Frederick rose to greet Anne when she entered the room.“You will stay; I am sure; you will stay and nurse her.” He turned to her and spoke with a glow, and yet a gentleness, which seemed almost restoring the past. She nodded, and he recollected himself and moved away. A thought ricocheted through his head. He had just begged the woman he loved to tend the girl with whom he had
flirted outrageously for a time.

“I would gladly stay with Louisa,” she began with a gentle assurance. “It is just what I was thinking. If Mrs. Harville would make up a bed on the floor of Louisa’s room, it would be sufficient for me.”

“Musgrove, we should leave your father’s carriage here.You will need it in the morning to send an account of Louisa’s night to your parents. I will rent a chaise or a curricle at the inn to take your wife and sister home.”

“Agreed.” Charles turned immediately to the task of informing the others, and Frederick hurried off to make the arrangements.

Less than half an hour later, Frederick returned to see Charles attending his sister and Captain Benwick walking beside Anne. Musgrove, it transpired, had once again given in to his wife’s demands; the man put peace in his household above peace of mind for his sister. If it were Sophia lying in the Harvilles’ bed, nothing and no one would sway Frederick. He would want Anne to nurse her. Mary, he was sure, would soon find any tasks she took on onerous.

Frederick knew arguing with Mary would be futile. And so without delay, he handed Henrietta and Anne into the carriage and placed himself between them. Full of astonishment and vexation, Frederick maneuvered the curricle out onto the road.

Through the early part of the drive, Frederick devoted most of his energy toward Henrietta, trying to support her view—raising her hopes and her spirits. In general, his voice and manner were studiously calm.To spare Henrietta from agitation seemed the governing principle. Frederick knew not what to say to Anne. He knew what he
wanted
to say to her—he wanted to renew his attentions. Now, it was too late. He could not speak words of affection for Anne with Louisa lying unconscious in Harville’s house.

Henrietta leaned against his shoulder as he guided the carriage toward Uppercross. She looked up into his face before speaking.“I wish that we had never gone to Lyme—never seen the Cobb.” Her voice was flat.

“Please—do not talk of it—do not talk of it!” he cried. “Oh,
God! That I had not given way to her at the fatal moment! Had I done as I ought! But so eager and so resolute! Dear, sweet Louisa!” As he said the words, Frederick recalled the conversation he had with Louisa about universal felicity and the advantage of firmness of character. Now, he wished he had encouraged her to realize that, like all other qualities of the mind, independent thinking should have its proportions and limits. He now felt a persuadable temper might sometimes be as much in favor of happiness as a very resolute character.

As they neared Somersetshire, Henrietta slumped against him, having succumbed to the rhythmic swaying of the horses’ gait. “Take the reins for a moment,” he whispered in Anne’s ear.

She took the straps he laid in her palm. “Hold them easy,” he instructed, and she nodded. Turning slightly, he eased Henrietta’s limp form back against the seat. “Thank you,” he spoke quietly as he reached once more for the reins. Their fingers touched for a moment, and Frederick knew real regret. He spoke on impulse, “Anne, I need to tell you—”

“Do
not
say the words, Captain,” she interrupted.

She was correct. Frederick knew he had no right to speak frankly;Anne could not be his now, no matter what he desired. He nodded silently. A few minutes later, he spoke of another matter, “We will be at Uppercross soon.” In a low, cautious voice, he continued, “I was considering what we had best do. Henrietta must not appear at first; she could not stand it. I was thinking whether you had not better remain in the carriage with her, while I go and break it to Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove. Do you think this is a good plan?”

“That seems prudent,” she said thoughtfully. “Mrs. Musgrove will be distressed and would likely send Henrietta into new hysterics. You calm down the mother, and I will instruct Henrietta on what to do to be of service to her parents.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence, both deep in thought of what could be.As they turned into the gates leading to the Great House, Anne placed her hand on top of his and gave it a squeeze. “You will do the honorable thing,” she whispered,“because that is
the kind of man you are.”

“I will return to Lyme tonight as soon as the horses are baited.” He did not turn to look at Anne; his heart would stop if he did, but Frederick concentrated deeply on the feel of her hand on his—memorizing the beauty of the moment.

He disembarked as soon as the carriage came to a halt, and, without looking back at Anne, strode to the house. After rapping twice, a servant finally opened the door. Frederick waited impatiently for Mr. Musgrove in the yellow drawing room. He reflected on how often over the past month he had sat in that same room, making small talk with the Misses Musgrove, but especially with Louisa. He cursed the fact he could have been calling on Anne at the Cottage. “
How foolish I was
,” he chastised himself. “
Anne was there for the taking, and all I wanted was revenge.
”

Mr. Musgrove interrupted his musings. “Captain Wentworth? Is something amiss?You have returned without my family.”

“Your son and Mrs. Charles are still in Lyme with Louisa,” Frederick began.“I regret that I must bring you bad news.”

Mr. Musgrove demanded,“Tell me quickly, Man!”

“Louisa—Louisa fell from the seawall. She has a severe contusion and is at present unconscious.The surgeon feels strongly that she will recover, but there are no guarantees. Your son remains behind to help tend her.”