บทที่ บทที่ 5 · On the morning appointed for Admiral and Mrs Croft’s seeing Kellynch

. On the morning appointed for Admiral and Mrs Croft’s seeing Kellynch

Hall, Anne found it most natural to take her almost daily walk to Lady

Russell’s, and keep out of the way till all was over; when she found it

most natural to be sorry that she had missed the opportunity of seeing

them.

This meeting of the two parties proved highly satisfactory, and decided

the whole business at once. Each lady was previously well disposed for

an agreement, and saw nothing, therefore, but good manners in the

other; and with regard to the gentlemen, there was such an hearty good

humour, such an open, trusting liberality on the Admiral’s side, as

could not but influence Sir Walter, who had besides been flattered into

his very best and most polished behaviour by Mr Shepherd’s assurances

of his being known, by report, to the Admiral, as a model of good

breeding.

The house and grounds, and furniture, were approved, the Crofts were

approved, terms, time, every thing, and every body, was right; and Mr

Shepherd’s clerks were set to work, without there having been a single

preliminary difference to modify of all that “This indenture sheweth.”

Sir Walter, without hesitation, declared the Admiral to be the

best-looking sailor he had ever met with, and went so far as to say,

that if his own man might have had the arranging of his hair, he should

not be ashamed of being seen with him any where; and the Admiral, with

sympathetic cordiality, observed to his wife as they drove back through

the park, “I thought we should soon come to a deal, my dear, in spite

of what they told us at Taunton. The Baronet will never set the Thames

on fire, but there seems to be no harm in him.”—reciprocal compliments,

which would have been esteemed about equal.

The Crofts were to have possession at Michaelmas; and as Sir Walter

proposed removing to Bath in the course of the preceding month, there

was no time to be lost in making every dependent arrangement.

Lady Russell, convinced that Anne would not be allowed to be of any

use, or any importance, in the choice of the house which they were

going to secure, was very unwilling to have her hurried away so soon,

and wanted to make it possible for her to stay behind till she might

convey her to Bath herself after Christmas; but having engagements of

her own which must take her from Kellynch for several weeks, she was

unable to give the full invitation she wished, and Anne though dreading

the possible heats of September in all the white glare of Bath, and

grieving to forego all the influence so sweet and so sad of the

autumnal months in the country, did not think that, everything

considered, she wished to remain. It would be most right, and most

wise, and, therefore must involve least suffering to go with the

others.

Something occurred, however, to give her a different duty. Mary, often

a little unwell, and always thinking a great deal of her own

complaints, and always in the habit of claiming Anne when anything was

the matter, was indisposed; and foreseeing that she should not have a

day’s health all the autumn, entreated, or rather required her, for it

was hardly entreaty, to come to Uppercross Cottage, and bear her

company as long as she should want her, instead of going to Bath.

“I cannot possibly do without Anne,” was Mary’s reasoning; and

Elizabeth’s reply was, “Then I am sure Anne had better stay, for nobody

will want her in Bath.”

To be claimed as a good, though in an improper style, is at least

better than being rejected as no good at all; and Anne, glad to be

thought of some use, glad to have anything marked out as a duty, and

certainly not sorry to have the scene of it in the country, and her own

dear country, readily agreed to stay.

This invitation of Mary’s removed all Lady Russell’s difficulties, and

it was consequently soon settled that Anne should not go to Bath till

Lady Russell took her, and that all the intervening time should be

divided between Uppercross Cottage and Kellynch Lodge.

So far all was perfectly right; but Lady Russell was almost startled by

the wrong of one part of the Kellynch Hall plan, when it burst on her,

which was, Mrs Clay’s being engaged to go to Bath with Sir Walter and

Elizabeth, as a most important and valuable assistant to the latter in

all the business before her. Lady Russell was extremely sorry that such

a measure should have been resorted to at all, wondered, grieved, and

feared; and the affront it contained to Anne, in Mrs Clay’s being of so

much use, while Anne could be of none, was a very sore aggravation.

Anne herself was become hardened to such affronts; but she felt the

imprudence of the arrangement quite as keenly as Lady Russell. With a

great deal of quiet observation, and a knowledge, which she often

wished less, of her father’s character, she was sensible that results

the most serious to his family from the intimacy were more than

possible. She did not imagine that her father had at present an idea of

the kind. Mrs Clay had freckles, and a projecting tooth, and a clumsy

wrist, which he was continually making severe remarks upon, in her

absence; but she was young, and certainly altogether well-looking, and

possessed, in an acute mind and assiduous pleasing manners, infinitely

more dangerous attractions than any merely personal might have been.

Anne was so impressed by the degree of their danger, that she could not

excuse herself from trying to make it perceptible to her sister. She

had little hope of success; but Elizabeth, who in the event of such a

reverse would be so much more to be pitied than herself, should never,

she thought, have reason to reproach her for giving no warning.

She spoke, and seemed only to offend. Elizabeth could not conceive how

such an absurd suspicion should occur to her, and indignantly answered

for each party’s perfectly knowing their situation.

“Mrs Clay,” said she, warmly, “never forgets who she is; and as I am

rather better acquainted with her sentiments than you can be, I can

assure you, that upon the subject of marriage they are particularly

nice, and that she reprobates all inequality of condition and rank more

strongly than most people. And as to my father, I really should not

have thought that he, who has kept himself single so long for our

sakes, need be suspected now. If Mrs Clay were a very beautiful woman,

I grant you, it might be wrong to have her so much with me; not that

anything in the world, I am sure, would induce my father to make a

degrading match, but he might be rendered unhappy. But poor Mrs Clay

who, with all her merits, can never have been reckoned tolerably

pretty, I really think poor Mrs Clay may be staying here in perfect

safety. One would imagine you had never heard my father speak of her

personal misfortunes, though I know you must fifty times. That tooth of

hers and those freckles. Freckles do not disgust me so very much as

they do him. I have known a face not materially disfigured by a few,

but he abominates them. You must have heard him notice Mrs Clay’s

freckles.”

“There is hardly any personal defect,” replied Anne, “which an

agreeable manner might not gradually reconcile one to.”

“I think very differently,” answered Elizabeth, shortly; “an agreeable

manner may set off handsome features, but can never alter plain ones.

However, at any rate, as I have a great deal more at stake on this

point than anybody else can have, I think it rather unnecessary in you

to be advising me.”

Anne had done; glad that it was over, and not absolutely hopeless of

doing good. Elizabeth, though resenting the suspicion, might yet be

made observant by it.

The last office of the four carriage-horses was to draw Sir Walter,

Miss Elliot, and Mrs Clay to Bath. The party drove off in very good

spirits; Sir Walter prepared with condescending bows for all the

afflicted tenantry and cottagers who might have had a hint to show

themselves, and Anne walked up at the same time, in a sort of desolate

tranquillity, to the Lodge, where she was to spend the first week.

Her friend was not in better spirits than herself. Lady Russell felt

this break-up of the family exceedingly. Their respectability was as

dear to her as her own, and a daily intercourse had become precious by

habit. It was painful to look upon their deserted grounds, and still

worse to anticipate the new hands they were to fall into; and to escape

the solitariness and the melancholy of so altered a village, and be out

of the way when Admiral and Mrs Croft first arrived, she had determined

to make her own absence from home begin when she must give up Anne.

Accordingly their removal was made together, and Anne was set down at

Uppercross Cottage, in the first stage of Lady Russell’s journey.

Uppercross was a moderate-sized village, which a few years back had

been completely in the old English style, containing only two houses

superior in appearance to those of the yeomen and labourers; the

mansion of the squire, with its high walls, great gates, and old trees,

substantial and unmodernized, and the compact, tight parsonage,

enclosed in its own neat garden, with a vine and a pear-tree trained

round its casements; but upon the marriage of the young ’squire, it had

received the improvement of a farm-house elevated into a cottage, for

his residence, and Uppercross Cottage, with its veranda, French

windows, and other prettiness, was quite as likely to catch the

traveller’s eye as the more consistent and considerable aspect and

premises of the Great House, about a quarter of a mile farther on.

Here Anne had often been staying. She knew the ways of Uppercross as

well as those of Kellynch. The two families were so continually

meeting, so much in the habit of running in and out of each other’s

house at all hours, that it was rather a surprise to her to find Mary

alone; but being alone, her being unwell and out of spirits was almost

a matter of course. Though better endowed than the elder sister, Mary

had not Anne’s understanding nor temper. While well, and happy, and

properly attended to, she had great good humour and excellent spirits;

but any indisposition sunk her completely. She had no resources for

solitude; and inheriting a considerable share of the Elliot

self-importance, was very prone to add to every other distress that of

fancying herself neglected and ill-used. In person, she was inferior to

both sisters, and had, even in her bloom, only reached the dignity of

being “a fine girl.” She was now lying on the faded sofa of the pretty

little drawing-room, the once elegant furniture of which had been

gradually growing shabby, under the influence of four summers and two

children; and, on Anne’s appearing, greeted her with—

“So, you are come at last! I began to think I should never see you. I

am so ill I can hardly speak. I have not seen a creature the whole

morning!”

“I am sorry to find you unwell,” replied Anne. “You sent me such a good

account of yourself on Thursday!”

“Yes, I made the best of it; I always do: but I was very far from well

at the time; and I do not think I ever was so ill in my life as I have

been all this morning: very unfit to be left alone, I am sure. Suppose

I were to be seized of a sudden in some dreadful way, and not able to

ring the bell! So, Lady Russell would not get out. I do not think she

has been in this house three times this summer.”

Anne said what was proper, and enquired after her husband. “Oh! Charles

is out shooting. I have not seen him since seven o’clock. He would go,

though I told him how ill I was. He said he should not stay out long;

but he has never come back, and now it is almost one. I assure you, I

have not seen a soul this whole long morning.”

“You have had your little boys with you?”

“Yes, as long as I could bear their noise; but they are so unmanageable

that they do me more harm than good. Little Charles does not mind a

word I say, and Walter is growing quite as bad.”

“Well, you will soon be better now,” replied Anne, cheerfully. “You

know I always cure you when I come. How are your neighbours at the

Great House?”

“I can give you no account of them. I have not seen one of them to-day,

except Mr Musgrove, who just stopped and spoke through the window, but

without getting off his horse; and though I told him how ill I was, not

one of them have been near me. It did not happen to suit the Miss

Musgroves, I suppose, and they never put themselves out of their way.”

“You will see them yet, perhaps, before the morning is gone. It is

early.”

“I never want them, I assure you. They talk and laugh a great deal too

much for me. Oh! Anne, I am so very unwell! It was quite unkind of you

not to come on Thursday.”

“My dear Mary, recollect what a comfortable account you sent me of

yourself! You wrote in the cheerfullest manner, and said you were

perfectly well, and in no hurry for me; and that being the case, you

must be aware that my wish would be to remain with Lady Russell to the

last: and besides what I felt on her account, I have really been so

busy, have had so much to do, that I could not very conveniently have

left Kellynch sooner.”

“Dear me! what can _you_ possibly have to do?”

“A great many things, I assure you. More than I can recollect in a

moment; but I can tell you some. I have been making a duplicate of the

catalogue of my father’s books and pictures. I have been several times

in the garden with Mackenzie, trying to understand, and make him

understand, which of Elizabeth’s plants are for Lady Russell. I have

had all my own little concerns to arrange, books and music to divide,

and all my trunks to repack, from not having understood in time what

was intended as to the waggons: and one thing I have had to do, Mary,

of a more trying nature: going to almost every house in the parish, as

a sort of take-leave. I was told that they wished it. But all these

things took up a great deal of time.”

“Oh! well!” and after a moment’s pause, “but you have never asked me

one word about our dinner at the Pooles yesterday.”

“Did you go then? I have made no enquiries, because I concluded you

must have been obliged to give up the party.”

“Oh yes! I went. I was very well yesterday; nothing at all the matter

with me till this morning. It would have been strange if I had not

gone.”

“I am very glad you were well enough, and I hope you had a pleasant

party.”

“Nothing remarkable. One always knows beforehand what the dinner will

be, and who will be there; and it is so very uncomfortable not having a

carriage of one’s own. Mr and Mrs Musgrove took me, and we were so

crowded! They are both so very large, and take up so much room; and Mr

Musgrove always sits forward. So, there was I, crowded into the back

seat with Henrietta and Louisa; and I think it very likely that my

illness to-day may be owing to it.”

A little further perseverance in patience and forced cheerfulness on

Anne’s side produced nearly a cure on Mary’s. She could soon sit

upright on the sofa, and began to hope she might be able to leave it by

dinner-time. Then, forgetting to think of it, she was at the other end

of the room, beautifying a nosegay; then, she ate her cold meat; and

then she was well enough to propose a little walk.

“Where shall we go?” said she, when they were ready. “I suppose you

will not like to call at the Great House before they have been to see

you?”

“I have not the smallest objection on that account,” replied Anne. “I

should never think of standing on such ceremony with people I know so

well as Mrs and the Miss Musgroves.”

“Oh! but they ought to call upon you as soon as possible. They ought to

feel what is due to you as _my_ sister. However, we may as well go and

sit with them a little while, and when we have that over, we can enjoy

our walk.”

Anne had always thought such a style of intercourse highly imprudent;

but she had ceased to endeavour to check it, from believing that,

though there were on each side continual subjects of offence, neither

family could now do without it. To the Great House accordingly they

went, to sit the full half hour in the old-fashioned square parlour,

with a small carpet and shining floor, to which the present daughters

of the house were gradually giving the proper air of confusion by a

grand piano-forte and a harp, flower-stands and little tables placed in

every direction. Oh! could the originals of the portraits against the

wainscot, could the gentlemen in brown velvet and the ladies in blue

satin have seen what was going on, have been conscious of such an

overthrow of all order and neatness! The portraits themselves seemed to

be staring in astonishment.

The Musgroves, like their houses, were in a state of alteration,

perhaps of improvement. The father and mother were in the old English

style, and the young people in the new. Mr and Mrs Musgrove were a very

good sort of people; friendly and hospitable, not much educated, and

not at all elegant. Their children had more modern minds and manners.

There was a numerous family; but the only two grown up, excepting

Charles, were Henrietta and Louisa, young ladies of nineteen and

twenty, who had brought from school at Exeter all the usual stock of

accomplishments, and were now like thousands of other young ladies,

living to be fashionable, happy, and merry. Their dress had every

advantage, their faces were rather pretty, their spirits extremely

good, their manner unembarrassed and pleasant; they were of consequence

at home, and favourites abroad. Anne always contemplated them as some

of the happiest creatures of her acquaintance; but still, saved as we

all are, by some comfortable feeling of superiority from wishing for

the possibility of exchange, she would not have given up her own more

elegant and cultivated mind for all their enjoyments; and envied them

nothing but that seemingly perfect good understanding and agreement

together, that good-humoured mutual affection, of which she had known

so little herself with either of her sisters.

They were received with great cordiality. Nothing seemed amiss on the

side of the Great House family, which was generally, as Anne very well

knew, the least to blame. The half hour was chatted away pleasantly

enough; and she was not at all surprised, at the end of it, to have

their walking party joined by both the Miss Musgroves, at Mary’s

particular invitation.