Amanda Grange - Captain Wentworth’s Diary

A fourth person then arrived, but not one to make matters easier, for it was Charles Hayter. He did not seem pleased to see me, and I wondered whether he and Anne were friends, or more than friends, for if they were, then it would explain his attitude towards me. I glanced towards Anne, but there was no sudden smile on her lips, no joyous welcome, and I dismissed such notions. Anne invited him to sit down and wait for the others, and accordingly, he took a seat.

I wanted to make up to him for my coolness on his arrival and so I went over to him, preparing to make a remark about the weather, but he was apparently not disposed for conversation, because he took up the newspaper and buried his head behind it.

And so we sat, not talking, until there was a distraction in the way of a very small boy, who ran into the room.

‘Ah, Walter,’ said Hayter, glancing up once from his newspaper before burying his face once again.

Walter, a stout young man of some two years old, ran over to his brother. As he was of an age to tease his brother rather than to be of any help, however, Anne endeavoured to keep him away, but he was in the mood for attention, and as soon as her back was turned, he made a nuisance of himself by climbing onto it. As she was busy with Charles, she could not rid herself of him, but could only tell him to get down.

Her orders to him were in vain.

She contrived to push him away, but the boy had the greater pleasure in climbing onto her back again.

Hayter looked up from his paper and said, ‘Walter! Leave your aunt in peace,’ but Walter paid him no heed.

Seeing a need for action, I lifted the boy from her back and carried him away to the other side of the room, where I entertained him so that he could not return to plague her.

I received no thanks from her; indeed I looked for none, but I felt a mixture of emotions at having rendered her a service. I should be angry with her for betraying me. I was angry with her. And yet I felt a bittersweet pleasure at being able to help her when she needed it.

The atmosphere was strained, and it remained so until Mary and the two Musgrove girls found us. Anne immediately quit the room. Then there was the exchange of civilities, after which Hayter and I escorted the young ladies back to the Great House.

The atmosphere on our walk was not a happy one. Miss Musgrove seemed out of spirits and Hayter seemed to be angry, so I declined their invitation to go in.

Once back at Kellynch Hall my steps turned towards the river and I strode along, lost in thought. Why had Anne ignored me? And why had she left the room as soon as she had been able to relinquish her care of little Charles to his mother? Did she really dislike me so much? If I had been the one who had wronged her, I could have understood her manner, but she had wronged me. Could it be that she had resented me for speaking so harshly to Lady Russell?

I pondered the subject until I caught sight of Sophia’s chaise bowling along the drive, and I returned to the Hall in a dissatisfied state of mind. I could not understand Anne’s behaviour. But perhaps it had nothing to do with me. Perhaps she had been late for a visit, delayed by the need to look after Charles, and had had to hurry out as soon as she could leave the boy.

That seemed more likely, for she had spoken barely two words to me since I returned, and she probably never thought of me at all.

Sophia had a letter from Edward this morning, saying he would be away next week, but inviting me to visit him on the 19th. I wrote back and confirmed the arrangement. I am looking forward to meeting his wife and to seeing him again.

Charles Musgrove and I had arranged to spend the morning together and I set out for Uppercross Cottage in good spirits, for it was a beautiful morning with the copper leaves shining in the autumn sunshine. As I drew near the Cottage, however, my steps began to drag, for I did not want to find myself in another embarrassing situation. I need not have worried because I found Musgrove out of doors, ready and waiting for me. Our sport was good for the first half hour, but no sooner had we really begun to enjoy ourselves than we had to return, for the young dog with us was not fully trained and had spoiled our sport.

When we returned to the Cottage, we found that the Miss Musgroves were about to set out on a long walk, accompanied by Mary.

‘Come with us!’ Louisa pleaded.

‘We do not want to spoil your exercise,’ I said.

She laughed at the idea, and cajoled and entreated, until Charles and I gave in, and we all set out together. I walked ahead, with Henrietta on one arm and Louisa on the other, and Anne fell behind with Mary and Charles.

We soon came to a stile and, as it was rather high, Charles helped both Anne and Mary down. It was left to me to help Henrietta, and then Louisa. As she was the smallest of the party, she had to jump, and I caught her round the waist to assist her when she landed. She found the experience so delightful that she climbed back onto the stile and then did it again. We all laughed, and when we reached the next stile, nothing would do for her but that I should jump her down again.

We spoke of generalities and then I mentioned that my sister and her husband had gone on a long drive. As we walked on together, I told Louisa about their habit of overturning, saying, ‘But my sister indulges her husband, and does not mind.’

‘I should do just the same in her place,’ said Louisa gaily. ‘If I loved a man as she loves the admiral, I would always be with him, nothing should ever separate us, and I would rather be overturned by him than driven safely by anybody else.’

‘Really?’ I said with a laugh, catching her tone. ‘I honour you!’

But as we fell silent to negotiate a steep hill, I thought over what she had said, that she would not let anything part her and her husband. She was a resolute young woman, one with plenty of strength, and the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that she would not let anyone tell her what to do. I glanced at Anne and then looked away, though why I should still feel so strongly about something that happened eight years ago I could not imagine.

We reached the top of the hill and below us we could see the Winthrop estate. As we were so near, Charles Musgrove professed his intention of calling at the farm and paying his respects to his aunt. Mary declared she could not walk so far and, after some conferring, it was at last arranged that Miss Musgrove should go with him whilst the rest of us would stay behind.

We sat down to wait. Mary was fractious, and Louisa soon asked me if I would help her glean some nuts. I agreed. We made a good beginning, for there were plenty of nuts to be had. We went up and down the hedgerows and, as we did so, I learned that there was an understanding between Henrietta and Charles Hayter.

At once I understood why he had been annoyed to find me at Uppercross Cottage, and why he had not spoken to me: he had seen in me a rival for his lady’s affections. It seemed that my presence had made an estrangement between them, and that Henrietta had intended to call upon him to set things to rights, but had almost changed her mind when Mary had declared herself too tired to go.

‘What! Would I be turned back from doing a thing that I had determined to do, and that I knew to be right, by the airs and interference of such a person, or of any person, I may say?’ she asked. ‘No, I have no idea of being so easily persuaded. When I have made up my mind, I have made it. And Henrietta seemed entirely to have made up hers to call at Winthrop today; and yet, she was as near giving it up out of nonsensical complaisance!’

‘She would have turned back, then, but for you?’

‘She would, indeed. I am almost ashamed to say it.’

‘Happy for her, to have such a mind as yours at hand! Your sister is an amiable creature; but yours is the character of decision and firmness, I see. Let those who would be happy be firm. If Louisa Musgrove would be beautiful and happy in her November of life, she will cherish all her present powers of mind.’

I realized, when I had finished, how strange my words must have sounded to her, for they reflected on much of my life that had gone before. She was, indeed, silent for a while, but at last she spoke again, turning the conversation. She could not have hit upon a theme closer to my heart.

‘Mary is good-natured enough in many respects, but she does sometimes provoke me excessively by her nonsense and her pride—the Elliot pride. She has a great deal too much of the Elliot pride.’

I silently agreed.

‘We do so wish that Charles had married Anne instead.’

I was dumbfounded. Charles had wanted to marry Anne? I had never suspected it.

‘I suppose you know he wanted to marry Anne?’ asked Louisa.

I could not command myself immediately, but at last I said, to be quite clear, ‘Do you mean that he proposed to her and she refused him?’

‘Oh! yes; certainly.’

‘When did that happen?’

‘I do not exactly know, for Henrietta and I were at school at the time; but I believe it was about a year before he married Mary. I wish she had accepted him. We should all have liked her a great deal better; and Papa and Mama always think it was her great friend Lady Russell’s doing, that she did not. They think Charles might not be learned and bookish enough to please Lady Russell, and that, therefore, she persuaded Anne to refuse him.’