Chương Chương 6 · Anne had not wanted this visit to Uppercross, to learn that a removal

. Anne had not wanted this visit to Uppercross, to learn that a removal

from one set of people to another, though at a distance of only three

miles, will often include a total change of conversation, opinion, and

idea. She had never been staying there before, without being struck by

it, or without wishing that other Elliots could have her advantage in

seeing how unknown, or unconsidered there, were the affairs which at

Kellynch Hall were treated as of such general publicity and pervading

interest; yet, with all this experience, she believed she must now

submit to feel that another lesson, in the art of knowing our own

nothingness beyond our own circle, was become necessary for her; for

certainly, coming as she did, with a heart full of the subject which

had been completely occupying both houses in Kellynch for many weeks,

she had expected rather more curiosity and sympathy than she found in

the separate but very similar remark of Mr and Mrs Musgrove: “So, Miss

Anne, Sir Walter and your sister are gone; and what part of Bath do you

think they will settle in?” and this, without much waiting for an

answer; or in the young ladies’ addition of, “I hope _we_ shall be in

Bath in the winter; but remember, papa, if we do go, we must be in a

good situation: none of your Queen Squares for us!” or in the anxious

supplement from Mary, of—“Upon my word, I shall be pretty well off,

when you are all gone away to be happy at Bath!”

She could only resolve to avoid such self-delusion in future, and think

with heightened gratitude of the extraordinary blessing of having one

such truly sympathising friend as Lady Russell.

The Mr Musgroves had their own game to guard, and to destroy, their own

horses, dogs, and newspapers to engage them, and the females were fully

occupied in all the other common subjects of housekeeping, neighbours,

dress, dancing, and music. She acknowledged it to be very fitting, that

every little social commonwealth should dictate its own matters of

discourse; and hoped, ere long, to become a not unworthy member of the

one she was now transplanted into. With the prospect of spending at

least two months at Uppercross, it was highly incumbent on her to

clothe her imagination, her memory, and all her ideas in as much of

Uppercross as possible.

She had no dread of these two months. Mary was not so repulsive and

unsisterly as Elizabeth, nor so inaccessible to all influence of hers;

neither was there anything among the other component parts of the

cottage inimical to comfort. She was always on friendly terms with her

brother-in-law; and in the children, who loved her nearly as well, and

respected her a great deal more than their mother, she had an object of

interest, amusement, and wholesome exertion.

Charles Musgrove was civil and agreeable; in sense and temper he was

undoubtedly superior to his wife, but not of powers, or conversation,

or grace, to make the past, as they were connected together, at all a

dangerous contemplation; though, at the same time, Anne could believe,

with Lady Russell, that a more equal match might have greatly improved

him; and that a woman of real understanding might have given more

consequence to his character, and more usefulness, rationality, and

elegance to his habits and pursuits. As it was, he did nothing with

much zeal, but sport; and his time was otherwise trifled away, without

benefit from books or anything else. He had very good spirits, which

never seemed much affected by his wife’s occasional lowness, bore with

her unreasonableness sometimes to Anne’s admiration, and upon the

whole, though there was very often a little disagreement (in which she

had sometimes more share than she wished, being appealed to by both

parties), they might pass for a happy couple. They were always

perfectly agreed in the want of more money, and a strong inclination

for a handsome present from his father; but here, as on most topics, he

had the superiority, for while Mary thought it a great shame that such

a present was not made, he always contended for his father’s having

many other uses for his money, and a right to spend it as he liked.

As to the management of their children, his theory was much better than

his wife’s, and his practice not so bad. “I could manage them very

well, if it were not for Mary’s interference,” was what Anne often

heard him say, and had a good deal of faith in; but when listening in

turn to Mary’s reproach of “Charles spoils the children so that I

cannot get them into any order,” she never had the smallest temptation

to say, “Very true.”

One of the least agreeable circumstances of her residence there was her

being treated with too much confidence by all parties, and being too

much in the secret of the complaints of each house. Known to have some

influence with her sister, she was continually requested, or at least

receiving hints to exert it, beyond what was practicable. “I wish you

could persuade Mary not to be always fancying herself ill,” was

Charles’s language; and, in an unhappy mood, thus spoke Mary: “I do

believe if Charles were to see me dying, he would not think there was

anything the matter with me. I am sure, Anne, if you would, you might

persuade him that I really am very ill—a great deal worse than I ever

own.”

Mary’s declaration was, “I hate sending the children to the Great

House, though their grandmamma is always wanting to see them, for she

humours and indulges them to such a degree, and gives them so much

trash and sweet things, that they are sure to come back sick and cross

for the rest of the day.” And Mrs Musgrove took the first opportunity

of being alone with Anne, to say, “Oh! Miss Anne, I cannot help wishing

Mrs Charles had a little of your method with those children. They are

quite different creatures with you! But to be sure, in general they are

so spoilt! It is a pity you cannot put your sister in the way of

managing them. They are as fine healthy children as ever were seen,

poor little dears! without partiality; but Mrs Charles knows no more

how they should be treated—! Bless me! how troublesome they are

sometimes. I assure you, Miss Anne, it prevents my wishing to see them

at our house so often as I otherwise should. I believe Mrs Charles is

not quite pleased with my not inviting them oftener; but you know it is

very bad to have children with one that one is obligated to be checking

every moment; “don’t do this,” and “don’t do that;” or that one can

only keep in tolerable order by more cake than is good for them.”

She had this communication, moreover, from Mary. “Mrs Musgrove thinks

all her servants so steady, that it would be high treason to call it in

question; but I am sure, without exaggeration, that her upper

house-maid and laundry-maid, instead of being in their business, are

gadding about the village, all day long. I meet them wherever I go; and

I declare, I never go twice into my nursery without seeing something of

them. If Jemima were not the trustiest, steadiest creature in the

world, it would be enough to spoil her; for she tells me, they are

always tempting her to take a walk with them.” And on Mrs Musgrove’s

side, it was, “I make a rule of never interfering in any of my

daughter-in-law’s concerns, for I know it would not do; but I shall

tell _you_, Miss Anne, because you may be able to set things to rights,

that I have no very good opinion of Mrs Charles’s nursery-maid: I hear

strange stories of her; she is always upon the gad; and from my own

knowledge, I can declare, she is such a fine-dressing lady, that she is

enough to ruin any servants she comes near. Mrs Charles quite swears by

her, I know; but I just give you this hint, that you may be upon the

watch; because, if you see anything amiss, you need not be afraid of

mentioning it.”

Again, it was Mary’s complaint, that Mrs Musgrove was very apt not to

give her the precedence that was her due, when they dined at the Great

House with other families; and she did not see any reason why she was

to be considered so much at home as to lose her place. And one day when

Anne was walking with only the Musgroves, one of them after talking of

rank, people of rank, and jealousy of rank, said, “I have no scruple of

observing to _you_, how nonsensical some persons are about their place,

because all the world knows how easy and indifferent you are about it;

but I wish anybody could give Mary a hint that it would be a great deal

better if she were not so very tenacious, especially if she would not

be always putting herself forward to take place of mamma. Nobody doubts

her right to have precedence of mamma, but it would be more becoming in

her not to be always insisting on it. It is not that mamma cares about

it the least in the world, but I know it is taken notice of by many

persons.”

How was Anne to set all these matters to rights? She could do little

more than listen patiently, soften every grievance, and excuse each to

the other; give them all hints of the forbearance necessary between

such near neighbours, and make those hints broadest which were meant

for her sister’s benefit.

In all other respects, her visit began and proceeded very well. Her own

spirits improved by change of place and subject, by being removed three

miles from Kellynch; Mary’s ailments lessened by having a constant

companion, and their daily intercourse with the other family, since

there was neither superior affection, confidence, nor employment in the

cottage, to be interrupted by it, was rather an advantage. It was

certainly carried nearly as far as possible, for they met every

morning, and hardly ever spent an evening asunder; but she believed

they should not have done so well without the sight of Mr and Mrs

Musgrove’s respectable forms in the usual places, or without the

talking, laughing, and singing of their daughters.

She played a great deal better than either of the Miss Musgroves, but

having no voice, no knowledge of the harp, and no fond parents, to sit

by and fancy themselves delighted, her performance was little thought

of, only out of civility, or to refresh the others, as she was well

aware. She knew that when she played she was giving pleasure only to

herself; but this was no new sensation. Excepting one short period of

her life, she had never, since the age of fourteen, never since the

loss of her dear mother, known the happiness of being listened to, or

encouraged by any just appreciation or real taste. In music she had

been always used to feel alone in the world; and Mr and Mrs Musgrove’s

fond partiality for their own daughters’ performance, and total

indifference to any other person’s, gave her much more pleasure for

their sakes, than mortification for her own.

The party at the Great House was sometimes increased by other company.

The neighbourhood was not large, but the Musgroves were visited by

everybody, and had more dinner-parties, and more callers, more visitors

by invitation and by chance, than any other family. They were more

completely popular.

The girls were wild for dancing; and the evenings ended, occasionally,

in an unpremeditated little ball. There was a family of cousins within

a walk of Uppercross, in less affluent circumstances, who depended on

the Musgroves for all their pleasures: they would come at any time, and

help play at anything, or dance anywhere; and Anne, very much

preferring the office of musician to a more active post, played country

dances to them by the hour together; a kindness which always

recommended her musical powers to the notice of Mr and Mrs Musgrove

more than anything else, and often drew this compliment;—“Well done,

Miss Anne! very well done indeed! Lord bless me! how those little

fingers of yours fly about!”

So passed the first three weeks. Michaelmas came; and now Anne’s heart

must be in Kellynch again. A beloved home made over to others; all the

precious rooms and furniture, groves, and prospects, beginning to own

other eyes and other limbs! She could not think of much else on the

29th of September; and she had this sympathetic touch in the evening

from Mary, who, on having occasion to note down the day of the month,

exclaimed, “Dear me, is not this the day the Crofts were to come to

Kellynch? I am glad I did not think of it before. How low it makes me!”

The Crofts took possession with true naval alertness, and were to be

visited. Mary deplored the necessity for herself. “Nobody knew how much

she should suffer. She should put it off as long as she could;” but was

not easy till she had talked Charles into driving her over on an early

day, and was in a very animated, comfortable state of imaginary

agitation, when she came back. Anne had very sincerely rejoiced in

there being no means of her going. She wished, however, to see the

Crofts, and was glad to be within when the visit was returned. They

came: the master of the house was not at home, but the two sisters were

together; and as it chanced that Mrs Croft fell to the share of Anne,

while the Admiral sat by Mary, and made himself very agreeable by his

good-humoured notice of her little boys, she was well able to watch for

a likeness, and if it failed her in the features, to catch it in the

voice, or in the turn of sentiment and expression.

Mrs Croft, though neither tall nor fat, had a squareness, uprightness,

and vigour of form, which gave importance to her person. She had bright

dark eyes, good teeth, and altogether an agreeable face; though her

reddened and weather-beaten complexion, the consequence of her having

been almost as much at sea as her husband, made her seem to have lived

some years longer in the world than her real eight-and-thirty. Her

manners were open, easy, and decided, like one who had no distrust of

herself, and no doubts of what to do; without any approach to

coarseness, however, or any want of good humour. Anne gave her credit,

indeed, for feelings of great consideration towards herself, in all

that related to Kellynch, and it pleased her: especially, as she had

satisfied herself in the very first half minute, in the instant even of

introduction, that there was not the smallest symptom of any knowledge

or suspicion on Mrs Croft’s side, to give a bias of any sort. She was

quite easy on that head, and consequently full of strength and courage,

till for a moment electrified by Mrs Croft’s suddenly saying,—

“It was you, and not your sister, I find, that my brother had the

pleasure of being acquainted with, when he was in this country.”

Anne hoped she had outlived the age of blushing; but the age of emotion

she certainly had not.

“Perhaps you may not have heard that he is married?” added Mrs Croft.

She could now answer as she ought; and was happy to feel, when Mrs

Croft’s next words explained it to be Mr Wentworth of whom she spoke,

that she had said nothing which might not do for either brother. She

immediately felt how reasonable it was, that Mrs Croft should be

thinking and speaking of Edward, and not of Frederick; and with shame

at her own forgetfulness applied herself to the knowledge of their

former neighbour’s present state with proper interest.

The rest was all tranquillity; till, just as they were moving, she

heard the Admiral say to Mary—

“We are expecting a brother of Mrs Croft’s here soon; I dare say you

know him by name.”

He was cut short by the eager attacks of the little boys, clinging to

him like an old friend, and declaring he should not go; and being too

much engrossed by proposals of carrying them away in his coat pockets,

&c., to have another moment for finishing or recollecting what he had

begun, Anne was left to persuade herself, as well as she could, that

the same brother must still be in question. She could not, however,

reach such a degree of certainty, as not to be anxious to hear whether

anything had been said on the subject at the other house, where the

Crofts had previously been calling.

The folks of the Great House were to spend the evening of this day at

the Cottage; and it being now too late in the year for such visits to

be made on foot, the coach was beginning to be listened for, when the

youngest Miss Musgrove walked in. That she was coming to apologize, and

that they should have to spend the evening by themselves, was the first

black idea; and Mary was quite ready to be affronted, when Louisa made

all right by saying, that she only came on foot, to leave more room for

the harp, which was bringing in the carriage.

“And I will tell you our reason,” she added, “and all about it. I am

come on to give you notice, that papa and mamma are out of spirits this

evening, especially mamma; she is thinking so much of poor Richard! And

we agreed it would be best to have the harp, for it seems to amuse her

more than the piano-forte. I will tell you why she is out of spirits.

When the Crofts called this morning, (they called here afterwards, did

not they?), they happened to say, that her brother, Captain Wentworth,

is just returned to England, or paid off, or something, and is coming

to see them almost directly; and most unluckily it came into mamma’s

head, when they were gone, that Wentworth, or something very like it,

was the name of poor Richard’s captain at one time; I do not know when

or where, but a great while before he died, poor fellow! And upon

looking over his letters and things, she found it was so, and is

perfectly sure that this must be the very man, and her head is quite

full of it, and of poor Richard! So we must be as merry as we can, that

she may not be dwelling upon such gloomy things.”

The real circumstances of this pathetic piece of family history were,

that the Musgroves had had the ill fortune of a very troublesome,

hopeless son; and the good fortune to lose him before he reached his

twentieth year; that he had been sent to sea because he was stupid and

unmanageable on shore; that he had been very little cared for at any

time by his family, though quite as much as he deserved; seldom heard

of, and scarcely at all regretted, when the intelligence of his death

abroad had worked its way to Uppercross, two years before.

He had, in fact, though his sisters were now doing all they could for

him, by calling him “poor Richard,” been nothing better than a

thick-headed, unfeeling, unprofitable Dick Musgrove, who had never done

anything to entitle himself to more than the abbreviation of his name,

living or dead.

He had been several years at sea, and had, in the course of those

removals to which all midshipmen are liable, and especially such

midshipmen as every captain wishes to get rid of, been six months on

board Captain Frederick Wentworth’s frigate, the Laconia; and from the

Laconia he had, under the influence of his captain, written the only

two letters which his father and mother had ever received from him

during the whole of his absence; that is to say, the only two

disinterested letters; all the rest had been mere applications for

money.

In each letter he had spoken well of his captain; but yet, so little

were they in the habit of attending to such matters, so unobservant and

incurious were they as to the names of men or ships, that it had made

scarcely any impression at the time; and that Mrs Musgrove should have

been suddenly struck, this very day, with a recollection of the name of

Wentworth, as connected with her son, seemed one of those extraordinary

bursts of mind which do sometimes occur.

She had gone to her letters, and found it all as she supposed; and the

re-perusal of these letters, after so long an interval, her poor son

gone for ever, and all the strength of his faults forgotten, had

affected her spirits exceedingly, and thrown her into greater grief for

him than she had known on first hearing of his death. Mr Musgrove was,

in a lesser degree, affected likewise; and when they reached the

cottage, they were evidently in want, first, of being listened to anew

on this subject, and afterwards, of all the relief which cheerful

companions could give them.

To hear them talking so much of Captain Wentworth, repeating his name

so often, puzzling over past years, and at last ascertaining that it

_might_, that it probably _would_, turn out to be the very same Captain

Wentworth whom they recollected meeting, once or twice, after their

coming back from Clifton—a very fine young man—but they could not say

whether it was seven or eight years ago, was a new sort of trial to

Anne’s nerves. She found, however, that it was one to which she must

inure herself. Since he actually was expected in the country, she must

teach herself to be insensible on such points. And not only did it

appear that he was expected, and speedily, but the Musgroves, in their

warm gratitude for the kindness he had shewn poor Dick, and very high

respect for his character, stamped as it was by poor Dick’s having been

six months under his care, and mentioning him in strong, though not

perfectly well-spelt praise, as “a fine dashing felow, only two

perticular about the schoolmaster,” were bent on introducing

themselves, and seeking his acquaintance, as soon as they could hear of

his arrival.

The resolution of doing so helped to form the comfort of their evening.