I'm in a good mood, so your getting yet another chapter today!
Oh, and this is going to sound so odd, but there is this advert on the tv in the UK at the moment about seriously strong cheese. Does anyone else think that the woman, the main woman who looks at them all like their mad when they go silent, looks like the Sophia Wentworth from the Persuasion with Amanda Root?
Or is it just me?
Just me?
Ok.
2nd August 1816
Portsmouth loomed on the horizon.
Frederick stood at the bow of the ship, his meagre belongings in a sac on his back.
From the arrival of the ship in Santa Maria, its porting there for a month, its journey to Gibraltar and then back to Portsmouth, had taken four months.
He could have jumped ship at Gibraltar and attempted to make it across land, but with things in Europe still not settled, it might have taken him even longer getting through the check points. That was if he made it alive.
As soon as the ship docked, and it was safe to do so, he left the vessel, thanking the Captain and his crew for getting him home safely. He knew it was protocol to stop in at the Navy offices on the dockside to check in on a return to port, but he surmised, that if he was listed as being dead then there was no need to do this.
Lyme was as he remembered it.
The house had he had been living in before he left was empty with the tell tale signs that no one had been there for a long time. When he saw that he began to worry that she wasn't there, that she'd moved back with her family and it would be even longer till he saw her again.
He took the road heading down to the shore and ended up walking along the beach for a while. For all she had done to him, for all the lose she had caused and how he resented her for it; the sea still called to him and he still felt like answering.
As he approached his friends old house in the small harbour his steps grew heavier and his mind began to play tricks on him. What if she wasn't here? What if something had happened? Would he find himself in a similar situation to Benwick?
Turning the corner into the small lane of houses he came to a stop.
There she was, standing with her back to him as she sorted the wood for the fire. When a log fell from the stack he automatically took a step towards her to help but pause as he saw her tense, sensing a figure behind her.
She turned slowly, her movements no longer out going and confident, and she did not bring her gaze to his face directly but trailed it up his body slowly. When she did lay eyes on his face, all the colour in her own vanished and she gripped the table behind her.
"Anne," he said, taking a step towards her. She tried to take a step backwards, shaking her head fiercely.
"Margaret!" she called, keeping her eyes wide and fixed on him as though he might vanish if she blinked even just the once.
"Anne?" he heard Margaret Harville say as she stepped from the house, "Is something," and she stopped dead when she followed Anne's gaze and saw him standing there.
With tears raining down her cheeks, "Tell me I'm not seeing things," she asked desperately, gesturing with a hand towards Frederick, "Please," she begged. "Tell me you see him too."
"Maybe there was something in the soup," Margaret said, a tear or two on her own face, "Cause I can see him too."
That was all Anne needed as she launched herself in Frederick's direction. He took two steps forward, opened his arms and braced himself. She hit him with such force that he staggered backwards a step or two, but he didn't let go.
Her hands came up to skim across his arms, chest and face, finally coming to rest back of his neck where she applied a little pressure, encouraging his face down to hers. He needed little encouragement and they came together solidly.
He found himself lost in the feel of her lips against the his, he body pressure tightly to his and the erratic beat of her heart through her chest. He could hear it in his own ears - or maybe that was his own, but it was a solid comforting sound and one he had missed.
Tearing her lips from his she buried her head in his chest and sobbed her heart out, clinging to him as though she might never let him go again. He clung back just as tightly. Gently he rocked them and spoke soothing words to her. He vaguely heard Margaret calling wildly for her husband and his friend appearing at the door to his house, letting loose a shocked shout of joy as he saw who it was.
Neither knew how long they stayed as such. Frederick finally began to feel her shake and her knees give way, so gathered her up in his arms and carried her indoors where he sat in an armchair, pulling her onto his lap and hugging her to his body.
He didn't say anything but closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel, touch and smell the person he had been without for several months. He felt Anne's breathing even out as she fell asleep on his chest and he must have followed suit shortly after as the sun had sunk below the horizon when Margaret shook him awake. The non-stop ride from Portsmouth finally catching up with him.
He silently followed Margaret through the house and upstairs to a small room where he placed Anne down on the bed contained within. Before leaving, Margaret gave him a quick hug of her own. She knew there would be a story behind how he had made it back, one that would outdo every other one she had ever heard before but that would come in due course.
She closed the door quietly behind her and he removed his boots and jacket before slipping into bed with Anne. He slid in behind her, placed an arm over her and hugged her back into his body. Drawing the covers up he placed a kiss on the top of her head before closing his eyes once more and drifting back off to sleep.
