The art of fainting had never particularly appealed to Miss Anne Elliot. It was, perhaps, expected of a young lady of good breeding to sink down in a graceful fashion upon learning bad news, but she had always rather thought it a bit insipid and beyond that, what was the use?
One might tear one's dress on the way down or worse, hit one's head and all that for the only reward of being provided with nasty smelling salts and the pleasure of being haphazardly carried or shuffled onto a nearby sofa. Anne Elliot preferred to be conscious and useful at any given time, but particularly in a crisis.
She therefore did not faint when upon her first meeting with Mrs Croft she found that the lady was dressed in mourning. It appeared to be a very fresh loss and it took some time, therefore, to reveal who it was that had died, though a sinking heart had informed Anne that very first moment on beholding the black crepe. Mrs Croft's brother was lost at sea.
The admiralty was yet trying to work out what exactly had happened; but the 'Laconia' had gone down after a heavy storm, that much was known, and her crew lost without a trace. The storm might have well swept them far away from the wreck and if so, no body should ever be returned to the mourning families.
Anne sat still, very still as she listened, while Charles and Mrs Musgrove said everything that was right and Mary asked too many questions. Mrs Croft supplied what she knew, which was but little. Anne did not do her part in the conversation. She also did not cry until much later in the evening, when she had no company to think of and no explanation to provide for grieving a man who was nothing to her. When the tears were finally allowed to flow they wet through her pillow with little dramatic flourish, in a quiet and desperate way. Of course, there had to be hope. Frederick was a strong, young man who had been a sailor for the better part of two decades, an experienced post-captain. Surely this had not been the first storm he had weathered. But it had certainly been the first ship under his command which had gone to the bottom and what was the strength of a single man against that of an ocean?
She resolved to be positive and reasonable.
For the next two weeks she busied herself with the children and Mary's needs, tea with the Musgroves, and walks to the village, with embroidery, and sewing, and playing the piano. She kept her hands busy as her mind sought feverishly to find a reason for hope. She read the small paragraph in the newspaper on the sinking of the 'Laconia' again and again, and particularly the sentence about crew and captain being presumed dead. "Presumed" did not mean certainty. She spoke with Mrs Croft whenever the possibility arose, even making the journey to Lady Russell's lodge on occasion in the hope of being allowed a visit to Kellynch Hall under the guise of neighbourly duty.
If Mrs Croft thought it strange that her new acquaintance showed such fervent interest in her dead brother, she did not let on. Indeed she once opened a locket fixed around her neck and showed the miniature she was carrying close to her heart. Anne had some difficulty blinking back the tears as she recognised his still beloved face and from that moment on resolved to be less curious. Yet, try as she might, hope proved an elusive thing and with the weeks it slowly dripped through her fingers, until there was nothing left but despair.
The Musgroves were none the wiser as to her situation, yet Lady Russell, who had the benefit of a deeper knowledge of both her young friend and the past, was not so easily persuaded of her indifference to the events.
"My dear, you must eat," she said to her one day as she visited her at Uppercross cottage. "You are beginning to look very ill."
Mary, of course, could not allow Anne to be ill while she was herself in perfectly good health and so the afternoon was whiled away with both sisters attempting to convince Lady Russell of Anne's vigour. The exertion should be in vain. Lady Russell insisted Anne remove to the lodge immediately to recover under her particular care and Anne, though protesting vehemently, was secretly pleased to see more of Mrs Croft, who she had grown to like a great deal.
She was less pleased with Lady Russell, who soon after the move began to make hints that she understood how Anne must feel it, but that for her part she was satisfied now for having advised against the match in the light of Captain Wentworth's early death. Anne did not say much on such occasions for if she had, words would have been bound to slip out that would've displeased her friend. Perhaps she would have expressed that the last eight years of misery in exchange for having to hide her grief now, rather than being allowed to be his widow, appeared to her not a very good trade at all. Or she might have mentioned that if she had married Frederick in the year six she might've been on the 'Laconia' when it sank and would not have to bother with any of this at all. Alas, such notions could not be voiced without giving offence and Anne was not in the habit of causing pain where she could avoid it.
In Mrs Croft she found a better conversation partner. and even though she could but listen and say all that was right and general on the occasion, for delicacy forbade her from revealing to his sister a secret Frederick Wentworth had chosen to take to his grave, the two ladies found it to their pleasure to wander through Kellynch gardens together on more days than not. Mrs Croft never hesitated in pouring out her feelings to her young friend and praised Anne's tender heart to her husband, for sometimes she thought she saw a whisper of tears in the other woman's eye when they spoke of her brother. The friendship indeed between the two women, once began, could hardly be close enough. There were both sense and feeling on either side and they hardly ever ran out of things to discuss. Even Admiral Croft, who had been very fond of his brother, but didn't think himself much good at the entire procedure of mourning, was very pleased for his wife having gained such a companion in these dire times.
He soon declared his wish that Anne refrain from insisting on ceremony and come and go at Kellynch as she pleased and after threatening to feel himself very ill used if she should once again knock at the front door and bother the butler when she knew perfectly well all the doors leading in from the gardens, and all the rooms in which she might supply them with her welcome company at any given time, Anne at last, though not displeased herself, had to relent to save his feelings.
It was therefore not due to imprudence but this very warm standing invitation that, after having read a book Sophia Croft would lend her in her favourite spot in the Rose Garden, Anne thought of returning it to the library herself rather than bother the servants. The Crofts at this time were usually out in their gig and so she did not expect any more company than perhaps a maid dusting the shelves. She had just returned the novel to its place and picked up the one Mrs Croft had talked of yesterday to contemplate if she would like to read it next, when she thought she heard the lady's voice in the hall. Judging it prudent to greet her friends she walked outside only to find the pair near the door in interview with another visitor. The great coat had not yet been shed, as their guest had only arrived that very moment, which did not allow Anne to make out much of the man who was standing with his back turned, but the voice she immediately recognised.
"Frederick?"
It was but a whisper, but as there was just, as there so often is in these dramatic moments, a lull in the conversation, everybody in the room must hear it. The man turned, his eyes found hers, and the very instant she recognised that ears and memory had not misled her, Anne Elliot dropped into a dead faint.
It may be discussed if such a change of mind on the merits of fainting was to be put down to the great shock of seeing Frederick Wentworth alive or simply women's fickleness, but be it as it may, the lady was quickly surrounded by her concerned friends. Luckily Miss Elliot was a practical as well as an elegant lady and had not torn her dress nor done herself an injury. She was therefore carried on a pair of strong arms back into the library and deposited onto a sofa, where Sophia flung herself down beside her friend and sought to revive her with her smelling salts, while simultaneously demanding an explanation for the scene. As the lady on the sofa was clearly indisposed, it fell to Frederick Wentworth's lot to inform his sister and brother why Miss Elliot should be such affected. While he told the rather short story of their previous courtship, two things became clear to the Captain. For one that a sister angered by having been denied such secrets from both her brother and her friend, while still reeling from having wasted two months and several perfectly good dresses to mourning a living man, was not to be trifled with. The other realisation was that it proved exceedingly hard to hold onto a perfectly sensible grudge against a woman currently softly moaning on the sofa in a state of half-conscience one's own miraculous resurrection had put her in.
When Anne Elliot returned to her senses a few minutes later, she found not, as she was sure romance novels demanded, Frederick Wentworth bent over herself, deep in the grasp of despair at her ill health, but instead all three of her companions collected around her sofa in various other seating arrangements, arguing.
"It was, I assure you, not my wish to alarm you. I was as surprised as you at the news of my sudden demise," Wentworth said, just as Anne struggled to sit up. His gaze fixed on her for a long moment and she thought he might speak, but whatever he might have said was interrupted by the Admiral declaring himself very happy to see his dead brother returned. This was certainly a family affair that Anne rather felt she was intruding in.
"I should leave you..." She did not get any further.
"Please do stay," Sophia said, gently, helping her to sit and pushing a cushion into her back. "It will be best if you do not attempt to rise for a little while yet. And as it was, my brother was just going to tell us how exactly he came to have risen from the dead."
At this she threw Captain Wentworth a stern look that bore no argument. Considering she was both desperately dizzy and curious, Anne relented.
It was quite a story, and not one either of them could have easily guessed. The great storm previously mentioned had not only separated the 'Laconia' from their squadron, but also thrown her against some underwater rocks, causing a tear in the hull. But when the Gale had subsided, the 'Laconia' had been yet above water and though badly damaged and lost, her captain had been in good hopes to limp her to some land mass he could just about make out at the horizon. Unfortunately that had been the moment pirates had decided that the lame navy ship looked like a very good prize, had given fire and then swiftly boarded them. His crew had fought desperately and heroically and in the end had prevailed against the three dozen teeth-less vagabonds of the sea. At that time, however, the 'Laconia' had begun to list dangerously, taking water from the original leak as well as several cannon holes and Captain Wentworth had at last ordered to abandon ship and board the pirates' sloop, only leaving his beloved 'Laconia' when the deck was already knee-deep under water for the drier but less refined boards of the 'Black Darkness'.
"The creakiest old cockleshell it was that ever sailed the seven seas. So, we tried to make out our squadron or some settlement, but the storm had blown us far off course, and in the end, we set down the prisoners on an island and made our way back to England in their ship. And what a journey it was."
"I can well imagine, my boy," the Admiral grinned, lighting his pipe. "And I'm sure the Admiralty had something to say about you losing their ship and bringing them back a worm-eaten sloop for it."
The Captain admitted that their welcome had certainly been a little more frigid than could've been hoped for, but Wentworth was rather satisfied to have saved most, if not all, of his crew and for that he could bear with a reprimand from some yellow Admiral who hadn't left port in several years.
"And as I had the pleasure of restoring all but one of my Mids to the the bosom of their bereaved mothers, and Winter stood firm that we could not have withstood the gale as much of the squadron was scattered that night, the inquiry came to nothing much. So, here I am, alive, well and still a captain, even without a ship at this moment, which is all that I could've hoped for in such a case."
"And you could not, perhaps, have thought of sending us a note?" Sophia asked, when he had finished, "As to prevent me from dyeing my entire wardrobe black?"
Of course, nobody in the room believed that it was truly her dresses Mrs Croft was concerned for, though black really did not suit her very well, as colours went, Anne Elliot thought.
"I do apologise. I admit I was rather preoccupied at the time and it took Winter telling me that I had been proclaimed deceased some weeks ago to realise what Edward and yourself must suffer, and I went to write directly and then got on a horse as soon as I was released."
He grinned with the serenity of a man who was well aware of his certainty to be forgiven.
"Why was it not mentioned in the papers? Surely such a miracle must be reason to rejoice?" Anne asked, her voice still infirm and instantly regretted her question when she found three pairs of eyes measuring her with surprise.
"I suppose it was not quite to the Admiralty's pleasure to announce that the crew heroically lost at sea had been merely misplaced," the Admiral said, blowing smoke rings. "And sailing under a Jolly Roger, no less."
He laughed heartily at his own joke and Anne tried herself on a weak smile. As everything was now explained and the darkness around the edges of her vision had subsided, Anne Elliot struggled from the very soft sofa cushions to her feet.
"I had better go home," she said, to nobody in particular, but before any protestations could be uttered, she added. "There is, perhaps, one thing before I leave."
She took a deep breath, considering if the speech that had been brewing inside her mind was fit for a lady and deciding that she'd rather risk being considered impertinent than unfeeling, she turned to Captain Wentworth.
"I am very pleased indeed to see you alive and well, Sir, and if I may, I would but utter one wish." His eyes had gone wide at being such addressed, but he was as quiet as she could hope for. "Do not ever dare put me through such suspense again! You may despise me for the rest of your days if it pleases you! You may marry any eligible lady in England if you must! But do not ever again rob me of the knowledge of you being somewhere in the world in some semblance of happiness! That is all, Sir, and on this point I must stand firm!"
She had done, turned on her heels and left the room before anyone had gathered all her meaning. Frederick Wentworth sat stunned for a long moment.
"What are you waiting for, my boy?" the Admiral asked happily. Frederick Wentworth scrambled to his feet and chased out into the gardens after his former betrothed. He caught up to her near the rose beds.
"Miss Elliot, a moment if you please," he called. She stopped, but did not immediately turn, appearing to wipe at her eyes before at last she faced him. He beheld the face that had so often haunted him in his dreams at sea. It was perhaps, a little paler in the cheeks and a little redder around the eyes than in his imaginations, but quite lovely all the same.
"Was there anything else, Sir?" she asked in a waterlogged voice.
He took a deep breath.
"I am minded to accept your offer," he said, straightening his shoulders.
"My offer?"
"Yes, the offer of marrying any eligible lady in England."
Her forehead crinkled as she tried to understand his meaning. He found it highly endearing and grasped for her hand. It was not refused him.
"In fact, I find myself inclined to marry this particular one and her recent outburst, or outbursts if I may, lead me to believe that I may not be too late entirely in renewing my addresses."
Tears were now filling her eyes unfettered and her voice close to drowning.
"Indeed, Sir, you are in good time."
Frederick was not certain if Anne was crying for joy or the sorrow she'd suffered over the last months, but as he had offered his handkerchief already to Sophia, and his fingers seemed no match to the floods of tears now springing forth, he did the next best thing he could think of and kissed her.
Inside the library Sophia Croft turned away from the window with some satisfaction.
"Well, Sophy, you gained a brother and a sister this morning, are you not pleased?" her husband asked.
"I could not be more so. But to think that Frederick should've been engaged and not have told a soul of it and never tried to regain Miss Anne in these eight years!"
"What a fortunate thing then that his ship went down," the Admiral said, chewing on his pipe. "Death, they say, tends to rearrange a man's mind."
"I am not certain they do say that," Sophy said slowly. "Be it as it may, I must write to Edward directly. Knowing Frederick, he probably forgot to send his letter as he misplaced ours."
She went to her writing desk, but only shuffled a moment in her papers, before an exclaim roused her husband.
"Bless me, there's my last letter to Frederick still underneath the blotting paper. Of course, I never finished it when the news came."
"He can read it now, if there's anything of interest in it," the Admiral said, himself having taken up the papers to see if any other ships had sunk in the world.
"I mean I had never sent word of us taking Kellynch Hall," his wife explained more pointedly.
"The Admiralty would know where to find us, I am sure," her husband said. Sophia considered this for a moment.
"I suppose so…"
"Or perhaps, his sister was not the first thing on his rearranged mind after all." The Admiral grinned into his newspaper. "Now my dear Sophy, do please change out of those black clothes. Mourning, if you'll forgive me for saying so, really doesn't suit you."