A/N: Transitions.

Tides of Bath

Chapter Ten: Translation and Treasures

Be fair or foul or rain or shine,
The joys I have possess'd in spite of fate are mine.
Not heav'n itself upon the past has pow'r,
But what has been has been, and I have had my hour.

— Dryden

The rain stopped on Wednesday. The next morning, the sun condescended to shine on Bath again. And not just to shine, but soon to glare, as if out-of-sorts with the town. It continued to glare on Friday and Saturday and Sunday.

For Anne, the days were anxious and worrying. Elizabeth continued sick, and sick to the same baffling degree. Mr. Murray, for all his efforts, could name her illness with nothing better than the vague phrase, a bilious fever. He hoped, nay, even reckoned, it was not likely to prove fatal — but he had no compelling explanation for why the fever lingered, never completely gone, rarely so high as to be an immediate danger, so hight as to precipitate a crisis.

Elizabeth lay exhausted, nerveless, her face hollow, her eyes sunk in dark circles. The visible increase of her weakness worried Anne most. If the fever continued, and Elizabeth grew weaker, the fever might not have to increase much to push Elizabeth deathward.

Anne did not recall all the particulars of her mother's final illness, but the little she could remember resembled Elizabeth's illness enough for her to speak of it to both Mr. Murray and Nurse Rook. Each received the information calmly and attempted to allay Anne's worries, but Anne could tell that each was disquieted by it. Anne kept herself collected, fought against repining, but could not relax. She did not know if her father discerned the similarities, but if he did, he had not mentioned it or shown it. Anne carried the burden without help from him.

The atmosphere in the sick room became more fraught, more vigilant; Mr. Murray came twice each day. Anne had a bed made for Nurse Rook on the floor of Elizabeth's room, and although Anne cared for Elizabeth by day, Nurse Rook was often there during the day too, tending to both sisters in her wide, fleet way.

Anne was grateful for the help, for the naturally buoyant spirits of the nurse. The woman seemed unsinkable. They began carefully then more comfortably to converse with each other on topics other than Elizabeth, and were, by the week's end, in a fair way to becoming known to each other. It was a friendship her father — and Elizabeth — would contemn, but Anne, feeling so alone as she always (almost always) had, found it a source of solace and comfort.

Lady Russell had visited twice, and each visit had done Anne good. But Lady Russell, though by not afraid of Elizabeth's illness or unwilling to help, was of little use. Lady Russell's temper was good, her understanding excellent, her spirit willing, but her hands were unskillful. In Elizabeth's sickroom, it was Nurse Rook who appeared as the great lady, and Lady Russell the humbler woman. To Lady Russell's credit, she did not resent Nurse Rook for this, and, after sitting by Elizabeth and fussing over Anne, she returned to her other occupations in Bath, of which she had many.

On Sunday afternoon, Anne was seated in the drawing-room. She had been seated there with Sir Walter, but he, judging that Elizabeth was adequately provided for and in no immediate danger and that he had been shut up with sickness long enough despite being well himself, had gone out to take a turn about the town.

The servant entered, disturbing Anne's quiet moment, and announced Mr. Ustus. Mr. Ustus had called every day about Elizabeth. For the most part, he had gotten his reports, such as they were, from Sir Walter, but once or twice he had happened upon Anne, and he had talked briefly to her.

Luckily, the brevity and topic of Elizabeth had kept Miss Ustus and Captain Wentworth from coming up. Anne was relieved and frustrated by that. In her few moments by and for herself, she knew it likely that Miss Ustus and Captain Wentworth were becoming better acquainted, perhaps daily. Anne did not doubt the fascination that Miss Ustus could create, and Anne knew firsthand the fascination that Captain Wentworth could create. She imagined them fascinating to each other.

During long, slow-ebb hours by Elizabeth's bed, Anne had replayed her Pump Room encounter with Captain Wentworth, and each time she regretted more keenly the failure of self-command that caused her to do no more than speak his name and leave the room without further communication, without even a look. He had not seen all that she felt and she had not seen all that he felt. As she had when she ended the engagement, she left him alone, adrift, bereft of any explanation. She did not believe an explanation would have changed things, cooled his anger, and calmed his resentment, but she would have done something, made an effort, instead of running away a second time.

Though Anne did not know it then, she had exited the Pump Room and made way for Miss Ustus. And now that woman's brother was standing, waiting for a report on Elizabeth.

Anne bade him sit and she told him that Elizabeth's condition was still much the same. He sat pensively for a moment, then spoke. "I have missed Sir Walter?"

"Only just. He left not long ago. He should be back soon."

"Would it be asking too much for you to sit with me until he returns?

Anne did not wish to stay but the obligations of politeness were clear. "No, it would not, the nurse is here and with Elizabeth. The nurse is here almost all the time."

Mr. Ustus' expression was grave and he nodded. Yes, Nurse Rook. "Mr. Collins says she is a fine woman, and his wife says the same."

"So she is. She radiates comfort, somehow."

"I hope you know, Miss Elliot, that my concern reaches to you too. This must be a burden to you, however willingly undertaken." He looked into her face and Anne knew he saw her fatigue.

"Thank you, Mr. Ustus. I am well enough. Is your family in health?" Anne asked the question in reflex and then regretted it, fearing to hear more than she wanted to know..

"Yes, my sister is well. She sends her best wishes and will visit soon. She determined that there was no use in us coming together, and creating additional burdens. I have kept her informed about Elizabeth."

"Send her my compliments, sir."

"Assuredly. I am very glad to have gotten to know you, Miss Elliot. You are a remarkable woman,"

The unexpected compliment caused Anne to blush. "Thank you, Mr, Ustus, but, truly, I am not."

"I shall not argue the point with you, but I do not agree."

Sir Walter came into the room. "Oh, Mr. Ustus, I am pleased to find you here! I cut my walk short." He took off his hat and gloves, blowing out a breath. "The heat grows quickly, and the sunlight blinds!"

Mr. Ustus, standing, nodded. "Yes, the rain's ending allowed the heat to return and the glare of the sun has been relentless. Miss Elliot has been telling me about the patient. I am sorry she has not made more progress. My concern for her increases."

Sir Walter put down his hat and gloves. "Yes, it is a sorry business, most vexatious. Not only is my daughter ill, but we have a strange woman in the house and a doctor who comes and goes constantly. I feel caught between my duties here and my duties to Bath itself. I fear Bath suffers..."

"Yes, Sir Walter, indeed it does. But, Bath will survive; no one blames you for putting family first."

Sir Walter stood as if in deep reflection, then shrugged and crossed to a chair. Once he had seated himself, he asked eagerly, "And how is your family, how is Miss Ustus?"

"I was just telling Miss Elliot that my sister is well."

"I long to see her again," Sir Walter said. "Have you been out? There was a concert last night, was there not, but I forgot to ask you yesterday if you were going?"

"There was. We attended it in company with Captain Wentworth, his sister, Mrs. Croft, and her husband, Admiral Croft."

Anne knew of Captain Wentworth's sister and her husband from five years ago. Captain Wentworth had told her of them. But no one had told her they were in Bath. He must be staying with them. He had spoken so warmly of them that Anne had longed to meet them, had held close the thought of one day being their sister. But now she and they were in Bath at the same time and she almost certainly would never meet them.

"Yes," Sir Walter said as he glanced furtively at Anne. "The Admiral and his wife, yes. Two weathered folks. How was the concert?"

"Good — so far as I could tell. The songs were in Italian and I have no fluency with that language."

"Are languages among your sister's accomplishments?" Anne asked.

"No, they are not. She is musical, she draws, she reads seriously, but no, she is not adept at any language other than her mother tongue."

"So you all listened in polite incomprehension?" Anne smiled.

Mr. Ustus smiled in return. "No. The Captain, it turns out, knows a little Italian. I suppose a ship's captain, sailing the world as he has, must pick up a smattering of many languages. The Captain, I have realized, is a man of parts. It turns out he knew enough Italian to translate at sight for my sister, whispering the words to her. But I was on my sister's opposite side," he leaned toward Anne, his voice a mock-whisper, "so I could hear what he said." He leaned back. "I do suppose the words struck me differently than they did my sister." He laughed, as did Sir Walter.

Anne forced her smile to remain in place, willed it to remain. Mr. Ustus considered her as he finished speaking. She felt obliged to respond. "So, have you been in company with Captain Wentworth and the Crofts often?"

"No, last night was the first time. He called on Friday morning and sat with us for a few minutes. It was then he made the offer to attend the concert."

Anne nodded, letting her smile fade as she did. She stood up. "I will go and check on Elizabeth now. I leave you to my father."

Mr. Ustus stood. "Thank you for keeping me company. As always, please let your sister know of my concern for her — and do take care of yourself.."

"Of course, Mr. Ustus."

Anne exited the room and shut the door. She stood in the hallway alone, refocusing her mind and heart. As she walked away from the closed door, she thought she heard Mr. Ustus' voice, just two words from the other side of the door: 'your speculation'. She heard nothing more, nothing that gave the words a context or meaning, and she walked on, trying not to imagine Captain Wentworth whispering, translating the words of an Italian love song to Miss Ustus. Trying not to — but failing.

On Sunday morning, divine service over, Wentworth walked to Camden Place. He had heard from Mrs. Collins — who heard it from Nurse Rook, on one of the Nurse's quick visits home — that Elizabeth Elliot's illness was lingering, and that her sister, Anne, was working, worrying herself to exhaustion with cares. It was not a report Wentworth could hear with indifference, and so, despite feeling awkward about calling, given his slender acquaintance with Sir Walter and Elizabeth, and given his history with Anne, he felt required to call, not just by duty but by inclination.

As he walked, he thought about the evening before, the concert he had attended. He thought about Miss Ustus. She had been lovelier at the concert than at the dance. There was something about her complexion, her eyes, her hair, even her manner, that seemed to make candlelight her métier. In it she was all aglow — as the Admiral said, she shone. She had left Wentworth little doubt of her hopes where he was concerned. She had stayed close to him all evening long, somewhat closer, frankly, than was good for Wentworth's comfort, either comfort about general decorum or about his particular reactions. It had been a long time since he had been so near a woman so receptive to him, so pleased to receive his attentions. Her receptive pleasure delighted him. She was not Anne Elliot, but he had been alone for so long, and, candle-lit, Miss Ustus exuded magic.

Her reaction to his translation of the Italian song had left the strongest impression on Wentworth. He had begun by simply translating, the words an end in themselves, spoken but not meant. And then, at some moment, brought into being by bewitchful stages, Miss Ustus stopped hearing the words themselves and instead listened to Wentworth, as if he were speaking and meaning them. When he understood her subtle but significant shift in posture, he found himself no longer certain if he were just speaking the words or speaking and meaning them.

He shook his head, hoping to dispel the influx of the magic and uncertainty of the evening, re-enlivened by remembrance.

After he shook his head, he realized he was almost at Camden Place. He looked ahead, toward the Elliot's house, and saw Mr. Ustus being ushered inside. Wentworth kept walking past the address. Visiting at the same time as Mr. Ustus was not what he had in mind. Mr. Ustus and Miss Ustus both seemed curious about Wentworth's relationship to the Elliot's, about the time he spent near them when visiting his brother at Monkford. But it was not just that: it was also the likelihood that Mr. Ustus would mention the concert, mention his sister, perhaps in front of Anne. Both brother and sister had not just open but relaxed manners. If Wentworth were present, Mr. Ustus would mention it and perhaps in Anne's hearing. The mere thought of that made Wentworth blush as he walked along.

He stopped at the corner and took a breath. He could send a note to Camden Place. It was not as good as a visit, but it was something.

Wentworth had not gone far when it occurred to him that Mr. Ustus, if suffered to talk long, would almost certainly mention last night whether Wentworth was present or not. Anne might still hear of the evening. He blushed again and, this time, the felt blush nettled him. I wonder if it will matter to her at all? Probably not, except as sop to idle curiosity.

Anne was finishing dinner with Sir Walter when the servant came in with a note. He gave the note to her father. Sir Walter opened it after a quick look at Anne.

"Who is it from, sir?"

"From Captain Wentworth." Sir Walter did not look at Anne again but rather unfolded the note and read it.

Anne waited, her heart pounding, helpless to still it. Her father, at last, looked up. "He writes to inquire about Elizabeth, and about all of us, having heard of her illness. A good, manly note. Would you like to see it?"

Anne, not trusting her voice, nodded. Sir Walter handed it to her.

For a moment, she could stare at it and nothing more. She knew the handwriting; it was still the same: legible, firm, and clear. The note was brief, written with economy and exactness. It said no more than what her father told her it said. But she let her eyes tarry on the signature, its physiognomy matching physiognomy of the man. She folded the note and, hiding the fact, kept it in her palm. She stood and asked to be excused, her hand hidden from her father, behind her.

She took the note to her room and placed it on her bed, then went to her trunk in the room.

Secreted in its bottom, under her clothes, was a small carved box, her treasure box. It held few items — a small painted likeness of her mother, a delicate silver hair barrette that had belonged her mother (but that Anne had never been able to bring herself to wear, though she kept it shining), a folded sheet of music that had been the first she played by request for Frederick, and a note from him, given to her secretly one day (the first tangible proof of his admiration of her, signed with his first name). She carried the box to the bed and put the new note from Captain Wentworth in it, among her other treasures. Softly, she closed the box. I have had my hour. — If resentment is his part, resignation is mine. And at least this note shows that his resentment is not so great that he forgets us.

As Anne secreted her treasure box again, she heard a clamor, a sound of many voices. She shut the trunk and left her room. When she arrived at the door, she found her sister, Mary, standing there, one child in her arms, another holding her hand, both crying, and her husband, Charles Musgrove, beside her, frowning in mid-bow to Sir Walter.

"Anne, I got your letter and as you see, I have come," Mary said, not looking at Anne but at the rooms and furnishings. "I will have my share in nursing poor Elizabeth! What a princely house, sir, what a grand situation!"

Look-ahoy! Hey, how about a review? I was hoping to talk about the story or Austen with some of you.