Captain Wentworth's Diary

Wednesday 2 July

I was walking through the village this morning, when I was agreeably surprised to turn a corner and find myself following Miss Anne Elliot. She was in company with her sister, Miss Elliot, and Miss Shepherd. They stopped outside Clark’s shop, there was some conferring, and then Miss Elliot and Miss Shepherd passed into the shop and Miss Anne crossed the road, walking towards a small cottage.

I recognized it as the house of Miss Scott, and guessed that Miss Anne was going to pay her respects. I turned my steps in the same direction and we arrived on the doorstep together. She looked up, surprised, and I made her a bow, remarking that we seemed to be intent on the same purpose. She smiled, and we exchanged pleasantries. She was looking remarkably well, with a bloom on her cheek and a look in her eye that showed me she was not averse to teasing me if the occasion arose.

I was just about to make some remark when we noticed that the door was ajar. Miss Anne looked at me questioningly and I pushed the door open, whilst Miss Anne called out our names so as not to alarm anyone in the house.

We went in, expecting to find the maid, but no one was there, and so we went through to the parlour, where we were confronted by Miss Scott, brandishing the poker.

‘Oh, my dear, I am so sorry, I thought you were Napoleon,’ she said.

She returned the poker to its place by the fire, whilst Miss Anne behaved as though she was mistaken for the scourge of Europe every day, and asked Miss Scott how she did.

‘Very well, I thank you, my dear. It is very good of you to call.’

Miss Anne remarked on the open door, and Miss Scott tutted, and said she had had problems with her new maid, a young girl who spent more time flirting with the baker’s boy than she did in attending to her mistress.

We sympathized with her, and Miss Anne promised to speak to the girl.

‘My dear, I will be so grateful, for I am sure she will listen to you. I have told her until I am blue in the face that the French will be here at any moment, but she does not believe me.’

She went on to regale us with an account of her ailments and her sister’s ailments, before asking after Sir Walter’s health, Miss Elliot’s health, Miss Anne’s health, and Miss Mary’s health.

Miss Anne and I eventually took our leave, and we had just reached the doorstep when my brother happened by. I was disappointed, for I would have liked to savour my last few minutes alone with Miss Anne, but I hid my feelings, and my brother and I escorted her back to the shop together. We parted from her outside, she to go in to her companions, and we to continue on our way.

‘It was very noble of you to call on Miss Scott,’ said my brother, as I walked on with him, ‘or could your visit have had another purpose?’

‘It was entirely prompted by charity,’ I told him.

He did not believe me, but he let it pass, and we went to luncheon together.

Friday 11 July

This morning brought a letter from Harville, telling me that his beloved Harriet had accepted his proposal, and that they had agreed to marry at the start of September.

‘Will you go to the wedding?’ Edward asked me.

‘Certainly. He asked me to stand up with him.’

‘He seems rather young for such as undertaking. He is no older than you, I believe, and you are only three-and-twenty. It is far too soon to be taking a wife.’

‘I agree with you, and I have told him so, many times, but he is determined on the match, and nothing I can say will change his mind.’

‘Can he not put it off? He would do better to enter into an engagement than a marriage at his time of life. Marriage brings with it burdens and responsibilities, and they would only weigh him down.’

‘He has a distrust of long engagements, and, having made up his mind, he feels that he cannot marry too soon, for he could be called back to sea again at any time. I dare say that Harriet does not want to wait any more than he does, and if they miss this opportunity, who knows when he will be at home again? He asks me to go and see him, so that I can meet Harriet,’ I said, folding my letter. ‘I will go next week, if you are agreeable.’

‘Pray do not consult my wishes, I am only your host.’

‘You may pay me back when I buy my estate,’ I said. ‘You may visit as often as you like, and come and go as you wish, without ever giving me word.’

‘When you but your estate, if you want to please me—’

‘It will be my first consideration.’

‘—I beg you to buy one with a living attached, and give it to me,’ he said. ‘Waiting for one to fall vacant is slow work, and with no one to speak for me, I fear I will be a curate ’til I am seventy.’

‘I will do my best,’ I promised him.

‘And make sure it is a good living, with a fine house attached, nothing poky or dark, with plenty of land.’

‘Have you anything else to add?’

‘I would not object to a stretch of river, and a fine library.’

‘And a house in town as well, I suppose.’

He laughed, and said that if he was dreaming, he might as well do it in style.

‘Even so, I wish you might find promotion, and find it soon. Is there no one to speak for you?’ I asked.

‘The bishop is a friend of Melchester’s wife—you remember Melchester? We were at Cambridge together.’

‘Yes, I remember him. A stout fellow, with a liking for port. So will the bishop speak for you, do you think?’

‘He will if he can, but he has his own relatives to think of first, and two of them have entered the church. So you see, it is not very promising.’

‘And is there nothing you might do on your own account?’

‘I am doing all I can. There are one or two possibilities. Mr Abbott, the curate of Leigh Ings, has just been given a living by one of his cousins, and I believe I have a chance of adding the vacant curacy to my own. The duties are light, and it would mean an increase in my stipend. There is also the possibility of a living in Trewithing becoming available, and as there is no one waiting for it, it might fall to me.’

I expressed the hope that it would be so, and then I set about making my arrangements for visiting Harville. I am looking forward to meeting Harriet, and seeing what sort of woman has won the heart of my friend.

Wednesday 16 July

We dined with the Grayshotts this evening, and after dinner the ladies entertained us with music. Miss Denton was persuaded to perform by her mother, and proved herself a great proficient. After being encouraged by her mother to play a second sonata, she relinquished the stool, entreating Miss Anne to play. More hesitantly, Miss Anne approached the instrument. Her father looked up as she began to play and I thought here, at last, was some evidence of paternal feeling, but he turned his attention back to his conversation and continued to talk through her performance. Miss Elliot did not even do that much, and never once glanced in her sister’s direction.

As Miss Anne’s song continued, I was drawn over to the pianoforte, for her voice was sweet and her playing showed a superior taste. I listened with pleasure, and when she had done, I asked her to favour us again. She looked surprised, then she flushed with gratification and began another song. I sang with her, and we entertained ourselves as well as others.

Friday 18 July

I went into town this morning, and on my return I happened to pass a small house, from which came the sound of wailing. I hesitated, but upon hearing Miss Anne’s voice coming from inside I went in, and a strange scene met my eyes. A buxom woman was sitting in the corner of the room with her apron over her head, whilst seven children were rioting by the hearth. Miss Anne, having evidently just arrived, was speaking quietly but firmly to the children, who, it became plain, were arguing over a scrap of a puppy.

She picked the puppy up and cradled it in her arms, for it had been overwhelmed by the boisterous children. The older children jumped at it, but she reprimanded them until they stood quietly, then she soothed the younger children, who were in tears, and spoke bracingly to the woman, who, at last, emerged from behind her apron.

Within a few minutes harmony was restored, or what appeared to pass for harmony in the house, the puppy was placed in the loving arms of the youngest child, and Miss Anne and the woman had the luxury of looking round. This had the unwelcome effect of making my presence noticed.

‘I heard a commotion, and wondered if I could be of any assistance,’ I explained.

The woman said there was never a commotion in her house, I apologized, and I was about to leave when it transpired that Miss Anne was going into the village, and that the eldest girl was to go there also. I offered to escort them, they accepted my offer, and we set out together. The girl soon trailed behind, for which I was not sorry, as it meant I was able to talk freely to Miss Anne. I told her of my forthcoming visit to see Harville.

‘We were at the Naval Academy in Portsmouth together,’ I said. ‘Two young boys, eager to be at sea. I can hardly believe it is ten years since I went there, at the tender age of thirteen.’

‘You must have made many friends there,’ she said.

‘Yes, I did,’ I told her. ‘Benwick, Jenson and Harville. Benwick was younger than the rest of us, joining the academy later, in 1797, but somehow he became one of us. Not that we stayed in the academy all the time. We were put on board ships to gain experience, and very valuable it was.’

‘It sounds exciting,’ said Anne. ‘Very different from my own schooldays.’

She asked me about my training, and about my time as a midshipman, and then she told me about her times at school: her lessons, her masters, her friends—Miss Vance, who had returned to Cornwall to live with her parents; Miss Hamilton, who had married a Mr Smith and gone to live a life of gaiety in London; and Miss Donner, who had married a country squire.

At last we reached the village. I made my bow and left the ladies, returning home to lunch.

Tuesday 22 July

I set out early and arrived at Harville’s this afternoon. Harville greeted me warmly, and could not wait to introduce me to Harriet.

I found her to be a taking young thing, without the intelligence of Miss Anne Elliot, perhaps, and without her dark eyes, but pretty all the same. She seemed to be a degree or two less polished than Harville, but she was evidently very much in love with him, and I was glad to wish him all the happiness the occasion demanded.

I had little chance to talk to him of anything else, for when we returned to his lodgings, he would do nothing but sing Harriet’s praises. In vain did I try to talk to him about our adventures, past and future, for after answering a question sensibly, he would then sigh, and say that Harriet had the prettiest eyes or the tiniest feet or the tenderest heart, and I spoke about battles in vain. I laughed at him for it, but he only bade me wait until I was in love, whereupon I remarked that if love made such fools of men, I would sooner not succumb. He smiled, and said he pitied me, and then said that Harriet’s smile was brighter than the sun.

‘You have missed your vocation. You should have been a poet,’ I told him.

‘Perhaps I will become one yet!’ he said. ‘I am sure poets have an easier time of it than sailors.’

‘Though the pay is even worse,’ I said.

He laughed, and said that, on consideration, he would remain with the Navy.

I tried to go to bed three times, but he would not stop talking, and it was late before I returned to my chamber. I fear I will have little rational conversation over the next few days!

Wednesday 23 July

Harville took great delight in seeing me with his friends and family, and I took no less delight in their company. I had not seen them for three years, and, with regard to his sister Fanny, it was longer, for she was at school the last time I visited. Her appearance was a surprise, for she was no longer a child but a young woman, and a very superior young woman at that. Her mind was cultivated and her wits quick. Her face and figure were such that I knew she would soon have many admirers, and I said as much to Harville.

He seemed much pleased, and to begin with I took it as nothing more than brotherly pride, but as the day wore on, I began to think it might have something more at its root, for when we went out for a stroll, Harville and his family gradually fell behind until I was walking ahead with Fanny alone.

Again, when we returned to the house, there were occasions when we found ourselves sitting alone, on account of the others moving to the far end of the room. In short, they were giving us an opportunity to get to know each other, and the reason was not difficult to find. Harville and I being great friends, and Fanny being seventeen, it was in their minds that we might, one day, marry. But, despite her superior mind and her undoubted beauty, she awakened nothing more in me than brotherly sensations, and I am persuaded that I awakened nothing more than sisterly feelings in her. Harville was sensible enough to see it, and, as we took a turn out of doors together after dinner, he soon gave up hinting at anything between us and returned to his favourite topic of conversation, Harriet.

I let him talk, and I did not begrudge him his happiness, for we have always been the best of friends, but I am glad the visit will be over tomorrow. A man so newly engaged is not good company for anyone except the object of his affections!

Thursday 24 July

I spent the morning with Harville, Harriet and Fanny, and the three of us walked out into the country together. The sun was hot, and the ladies twirled their parasols over their heads as they went along. Harville and I teased them, saying that we had had no such shelter as we toiled under the strong sun of the Bahamas. We regaled them with tales of our water running low on board ship, saying that we often had to sail with parched throats, and by the time we returned to the house, we were all ready for a cooling drink.

I set out for Monkford late in the afternoon, leaving Harville and Harriet making plans for their wedding breakfast. The ride was enjoyable to begin with, as my way took me through varied countryside, but it was marred by a sudden downpour when I was three miles out of Monkford and I was glad to get indoors.

Edward was curious to know about Harville’s chosen bride, and I satisfied him as to her character and habits as soon as I had changed out of my wet clothes.

When I had done, he remarked that, in my absence, we had been invited to a picnic, and that he had accepted on both our behalfs.

Saturday 26 July

I am getting to know the neighbouring countryside very well, and already I feel quite at home here. I had my ride this morning before breakfast, as usual, and, later on, I paid some morning calls. After lunch I went into town for a new hat. I had a faint hope that I might see Miss Anne Elliot. I have seen little of her recently, for she has not attended any gatherings at which Edward and I have been present—they have not been smart enough for the Elliots—but I did not have the good fortune to come across her.

Tuesday 29 July

I saw Miss Anne this evening and I was surprised to discover how much I had missed her company.

I was about to ask her if I could escort her in to dinner when, unluckily, my hostess asked me to escort Miss Barnstaple instead. I bowed, and declared myself delighted, but although Miss Barnstaple was an engaging companion, my eyes were constantly drawn to Miss Anne.

She was seated next to a young man who looked to be a perfect fool, the sort who would not know a mast from a yard-arm. I thought she looked bored, but to my surprise, Miss Barnstaple said, ‘Anne seems to be finding her partner amusing. He is much liked by the ladies, not surprisingly, for he is very handsome.’

I was not struck by his looks myself, for they seemed too soft to me, and his conversation, snatches of which reached me in quiet moments, did not seem to be anything very remarkable. But I could not say so, for Miss Barnstaple might have construed my remarks—quite wrongly—as jealousy.

I could not help my eyes being drawn to his group from time to time, though, and I was gratified to find that Miss Anne’s gaze sought me out on more than one occasion. This small circumstance raised my spirits and allowed me to flatter myself that she would rather be talking to me.

As soon as supper was over, dancing was announced, and I went over to her and asked for the pleasure. She smiled, declared herself delighted, and put her hand in mine. I felt a sense of pride as I led her towards the set that was then forming. It was small, for the room only had space enough for five couples, but I was glad of the opportunity it gave me to talk to her.

‘I have not seen you for ...’ I was going to give an exact number of days, when I thought it might seem too particular, so I said, ‘... a while. Have you been mistaken for Napoleon again in the meantime?’

‘No, not recently,’ she said, as the music began. ‘Miss Scott has seen very little of the newspapers, and has grown calmer as a consequence, so that she is able to think of other things. Only yesterday she told me she had planted three new shrubs in the garden.’

‘Then you have escaped being attacked with the poker.’

‘For the time being, until the next newspaper arrives,’ she said. The dance parted us, but when it brought us back together again, she went on, ‘You have been away, visiting a friend, I understand?’

I was pleased to know that she had noticed my absence, and I began to tell her about Harville. As I related his plans, for the first time it did not seem so strange to me that he had chosen to shackle himself at an early age, and I supposed the change in my opinion must mean I was getting used to the idea; either that, or, having met his Harriet, I thought they would be happy together.

When I had finished telling her about Harville, I asked her casually, ‘Who was the young man you were sitting next to at dinner? I do not believe I know him.’

‘That was Mr Charles Musgrove,’ she said.

‘And is he a particular friend of yours?’ I could not help asking.

‘His family and mine are closely acquainted. The Musgroves live at the Great House at Uppercross.’

‘Ah, a family friend,’ I said, relieved. ‘I remember his parents,’ I continued, feeling suddenly in charity with young Mr Musgrove, and inclined to be expansive. ‘I overheard them once, talking about another son of theirs, Dick. Do they have any other children?’

‘Yes, they do, but they are all younger than Charles, and still in the schoolroom.’

As we talked, I noticed a well-dressed woman at the far side of the room, who was watching me with unfriendly eyes. I was surprised, and turned away, but I was conscious of her eyes on me for the rest of the dance.

When it was over, I reluctantly relinquished Miss Anne’s hand and returning to my brother, asked him, ‘Who is that lady?’

‘Which one?’

‘The one over there, on the other side of the room, well dressed, in an amber silk. Do you see her? She has been watching me as a captain watches an unpromising midshipman, and I am sure I cannot think why. It is impossible for me to have offended her in any way, for I do not know her, indeed I have never spoken to her in my life.’

His eyes turned towards her, and he said, ‘That is Lady Russell.’

‘The widow who was destined by her friends to marry Sir Walter Elliot, after his wife died?’ I asked.

My brother nodded.

I was thoughtful, but still could not think why she had been watching me with hostility.

‘I could understand her looking at me like that if I was Miss Cordingale or some other young beauty, and was intent on stealing Sir Walter away from her,’ I said, ‘but as that is not the case, I cannot think what she is about.’

‘Can you not? Then I will tell you. She is an old friend of the Elliot family, indeed, she was Lady Elliot’s best friend, and she is Miss Anne’s godmother. She has taken an interest in the Elliot girls for the last five years, since Lady Elliot’s untimely death, and she is especially fond of Anne, who favours Lady Elliot in both appearance and character. She is concerned that you are paying her too much attention.’

‘Ah, I see, she is worried that my intentions are not honourable,’ I said, understanding the dark looks she had been casting in my direction.

‘Quite the contrary, she is worried that your attentions are honourable. She wants something better than a commander for her god-daughter.’

I was affronted, but quickly came about.

‘She need have no fear. I do not have marriage in mind,’ I remarked, although, as I said it, I thought there would be worse fates than to marry Miss Anne Elliot.

‘Then I would advise you to be more circumspect. You are singling Miss Anne out for your attentions, and it will soon be noticed by other eyes than mine. You must not make her the subject of gossip, Frederick.’

‘I have scarcely seen her this last fortnight,’ I protested.

‘But you are making up for it this evening.’

‘I have danced with her only once, and I sat next to Miss Barnstaple at supper.’

‘But you did not look at Miss Barnstaple as you look at Miss Anne, with such absorption. No, do not bite my head off,’ he said, as I began to protest, ‘all I am saying is that you should take care. You are not on the high seas now, but in a country village, and you must be careful of her reputation.’

‘I will avoid her for a week, if that is what you wish,’ I said jovially.

‘It might be sensible,’ my brother said.

I had not expected him to agree, for I had spoken in jest, and I felt all the irritation of a person who has to carry through a promise that was not made in earnest. I had to watch Miss Anne accept the hand of Mr Charles Musgrove, and had to offer my own hand to several other young ladies who interested me not at all, in order to reassure my brother—and Lady Russell, whose eyes still turned towards me from time to time.

One such partner was Miss Elliot. I could not help thinking that an Elizabeth was a poor substitute for an Anne, but she was presented to me as a partner in such a way that neither of us could refuse, and it was difficult to know which of us felt they had made the worse bargain: Miss Elliot, who was forced to dance with a sailor, or I, who was unable to prevent myself from comparing Miss Elliot with her far more agreeable sister.

However, I achieved my purpose, for I had protected Miss Anne from gossip, and Lady Russell eventually looked away.

‘Lady Russell does not seem to watch Miss Elliot as jealously as she watches her sister,’ I remarked to my brother, when the dance was over. ‘She seems to have no apprehensions there. I suppose it is because Miss Elliot would never condescend to join herself to a mere sailor?’

‘That, and the fact that Miss Elliot is self-destined for the heir presumptive, William Walter Elliot, Esq.’

‘Ah, I see. By marrying him, she will retain her position as the first lady of the neighbourhood, and she will also retain her home on her father’s death. And does the heir presumptive know of her plan?’

‘He must have some idea, for Sir Walter and Miss Elliot have twice sought him out in London, whither they bend their steps every spring. On each occasion, they invited him to Kellynch Hall. His coming was spoken of as a certainty the first time, and we all looked forward to seeing him here. We were eager to meet him, for it would have fuelled many a pleasant evening’s conversation, when there was little else to talk about. The gentlemen could have contented themselves with talking over his habits, whilst the young ladies’ mothers could have put all their ingenuity into schemes for taking him away from Miss Elliot. It was the dearest wish of all of them that they should secure him for one or the other of their daughters. But alas, he disappointed us all, and he did not come. He was invited again the following year, but again he did not arrive. I do not believe Miss Elliot has quite despaired of him, nor do I believe she will, not until she knows him to be lost forever by virtue of his taking another to wife. But he does not seem to be in any hurry to visit Kellynch Hall.’

‘Is he a young man?’ I asked.

‘I believe so. He is engaged in the study of law.’

‘Then he is young indeed. It is no wonder that he does not wish to saddle himself with responsibilities at so early an age— though perhaps it is strange that he means to fit himself for a profession when he is destined to inherit so much.’

‘It will not be for some time. Remember, he will not inherit anything until Sir Walter’s death, which will not be for many years, and even then, he might be robbed of everything at the last, for it is possible that Sir Walter will remarry and produce a son.’

‘Thereby depriving Mr Elliot of his inheritance,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘He is prudent then, Mr Elliot, and does not rely upon his expectations, but, rather, he wishes to secure a future for himself, irrespective of his claims. I like him.’

‘How can you say so? You have not even met him. He might be a scoundrel,’ said Edward.

‘My dear Edward, if he is training for the law, then of course he is a scoundrel, but he is not an idle scoundrel, at least!’ My eyes turned to Miss Elliot again. ‘Does Miss Elliot know he is studying for the law?’

‘Indubitably. But she expects him to give it up, no doubt, if he marries her. Perhaps we may see him in Uppercross yet.’

I wondered what such a marriage would mean for Miss Anne. Would she be more thought of by her father, if her sister was married, or less? I was tempted to ask her to dance again, but mindful of my brother’s caution, I danced with Miss Shepherd instead. I relinquished her to a Mr Clay, who was staying in the area, when the dance was over, and performed my duty by dancing with a number of other young ladies before it was time to go home.