CHAPTER 34

Lady Raynor’s search in Willingden Abbots for her chambermaid had come to nothing.The doctors’ practice had closed by the time she got there and the doctors and their nurse had departed.There was nothing to be done. One Dr. Kendall had gone away and no one in the neighborhood knew where Dr.Wellscott and his assistant had disappeared to. It was thought he had been destined for the North of England, but it could not be confirmed that he ever got there.

Her delight therefore on discovering, in a letter from Dr. Brown, that her dear little Jane was living in Sanditon, was immense. The letter, however, was scant in its detail. It was too much of general matters. Such brevity in correspondence was not to be accepted. How disappointing it is to pay the post only to find the chief of a letter taken up with the mundane. If one wanted particulars, one must find them out. To go to Sanditon became Lady Raynor’s new scheme. She was determined to take her daughter, Rosamunde, with her. Once she had persuaded her husband and rid him of his propensity for strictness with every firm assurance of caution, this plan was approved.

Edward Denham’s presence in Sanditon was not welcomed by the Raynors. On learning of his being there, Rosamunde made it clear she did not want to see him. He, likewise, had no desire to see her and he hid himself in the library, in his house, or in the drawing rooms of any young ladies who would have him whenever she was near. The avoidance was a success. Rosamunde Raynor and Sir Edward Denham only once laid eyes on each other and this was the cause of more pain to him that it was to her. Rosamunde Raynor cared not for Sir Edward now that she had the attentions of one Lieutenant Smith who, despite his love of life on the ocean, found himself quite steady and satisfied with love on dry land.The thought of setting sail in the spring now held less promise for him.

When blue shoes were no longer the fashion, Mr. Heeley proved his acumen by producing slippers of different colors and boots of every style in every material. Mrs. Whitby’s library prospered and her visitor list increased with each year that passed. She ensured enough of the Romantics filled her shelves and Edward Denham (the “Sir” so little suits him now that we shall dispense with it) was often seen there seeking out an excerpt, looking for a particular line and generally aiming to improve his eligibility by means of increasing his romantic appeal.

Arthur Parker improved so dramatically in health that Diana and Susan quite despaired of him. “All the years we thought him afflicted! To think, sister,” said Diana, “that our whole lives were dedicated to his improvement to no avail. I do not resent the sacrifice, we did what we thought was right in the way of duty, but you know I now think we must blame Arthur, and Arthur alone, for our spinster states. We have wasted ourselves and our best years are gone, Susan. But he is so boisterous now, so unlike himself, I find it hard to believe he was ever so unspirited. It does seem, does it not, that his ailments were all in his mind.”

Thank Heaven for Waterloo Lodge and its visitors. By this new venture the Parker sisters, completely resigned to ending old maids as Arthur had taken up the whole of their youth, kept occupied. There was a new Arthur to be seen to every week. And in the winter months, when the frail or antisocial sought to escape the dirt of London or the madness of the season, they found themselves permanently engaged, ordering hot milk possets and other restoratives. Each sister delighted in complaining, with the vigor of persons far more healthy than they would admit to being, that they felt themselves very poorly used indeed.

Arthur, now free of both his ailments and his zealous sisters’ attentions, lost his inclination to be sickly along with the greater part of his appetite.Abigail Parker was no fusser.Arthur would have green tea if she served it and Arthur would live. Arthur’s right side would not be stricken, numbed, or immobilized. Arthur, in truth, had never in his life stopped to think that he might be anything other than sick, but with a wife, and the fresh Sanditon air to uphold him he was never to look at a leech again. And, as for buttered toast, his penchant there remained unshakeable. Arthur Parker also discovered the joy of seabathing but was instructed by his wife, with the harshest of penalties threatened, that he must remain clothed in the water whatever the fashion dictated. In this, he was, thankfully, inclined to obedience.

 

One hot summer afternoon, many years later, when her children were at play in the garden and her husband was in his surgery attending to matters of business, Mrs. Wellscott happened to see from the drawing room window that a passing carriage, taking the road rather too eagerly, had overturned. A gentleman and his wife tumbled out. Both were unsteady and bruised. The gentleman, though, in attempting to walk, realized his injury—a sprained foot. When he had finished reprimanding the driver and satisfying himself that his wife was not harmed, he sat himself down, unable to stay standing.

“Something is not right here,” said he, gesturing to his ankle. “But all will be well, my dear. This is the very place, if one must endure an injury.We couldn’t have overturned in more fortuitous a spot. Soon we shall be assisted.There, I am sure, is the means to my recovery.”

It is certain that the gentleman was right, for where better to be, if an injury is to be suffered, than Sanditon with its curative briny sea, cloudless skies, fresh air, and accomplished doctor? If ills can be ameliorated anywhere in the world, then Sanditon is the very place and this truth was never more clearly fixed in the mind of anyone than it was in Mrs. Charlotte Parker’s. She, in her part of the town, was taking in the sight of the sparkling sea that had greeted her arrival as a single girl all those years before. She breathed the air and the essence of the place, heard the gentle waves rolling on the shore and the gulls screeching overhead, and knew no evils could survive in the good wholesome atmosphere of the place. White curtains fluttered at open windows, gay hats were worn by lady walkers, and smiles and greetings were exchanged along the promenade like gladly given gifts. Her husband often laughed about the place, it was a habit he was loathe to forego, but in his heart he acknowledged that it had something at once mysterious and bewitching and so entirely its own as to make him bound to stay there for the rest of his days.

The ailing were inclined to seek out the place and plunge themselves into the sea by way of a cure and the healthy were just as devoted to visiting it, but the main portion of the visitors came in search of something less definable, more elusive, and infinitely more satisfying if it could be found.They came in pursuit of love, of romance, of the steady yet passionate mutual devotion that Sanditon’s husbands and wives enjoyed. Thus the place prospered and its people thrived.

Moreover, there was never any hint of scandal heard about the place again. But you will not be deceived so easily; that no hint of scandal was ever heard is not proof enough to say with surety that no sensation ever erupted there. If any praise is due, it is to the good citizens of the place that they guarded their business so well as to keep it confidential. If you ever go that way, to that spot, to that little part of the Sussex coast that lies between Hastings and Eastbourne, you would be best advised to remember that the sea holds many secrets; not least of them being a selection of letters. One lot, tightly bound with a satin ribbon and closely written in an amorous style by one “adoring Edward” to one “dearest sweet Clara,” and another, less substantial batch, by the same author, in his usual provocative style to a Miss Lambe.

 

One more letter went to the waves, in tone and expression it was quite apart from the rest, penned in the summer of 1817 by a young woman who, it had been presumed, could neither read nor write.

There is one final thing, which is not to be overlooked: Lady Raynor, quite infatuated with Sanditon, always made it her holiday place. When others went to Bath, she went to Sanditon. She bought trinkets in the library, spending so much money that Mrs. Whitby, her confidence in her little business boosted by having such a generous and extravagant customer, improved her range and started a very lucrative line in silverware.

That a lost butler and a lost chambermaid could reunite so successfully with their former mistress was nothing short of astounding.That a soup ladle could likewise find its way back into the hands of its rightful owner is a little more astonishing.

It was, of course, recognized at once by Lady Raynor on account of its monogrammed H, and she made no quibble about paying Mrs.Whitby her price for it, saying only,“It is what is right, Mrs.Whitby.”

Sir Thomas Raynor, on hearing of the recovery of his heirloom, was full of praise for his wife.“You amaze me, my dear,” said he, “nothing is ever lost to you.” His satisfaction at having his canteen complete again was short-lived, however, for his wife’s intention to give the piece, as a gesture of her affection, to Dr. and Mrs. Wellscott was revealed. But he could not long maintain any bitterness of spirit. His daughter’s youthful bloom had returned, she was to be married to Lieutenant Smith, and all levels of peace and harmonious living at Heddingham House were to be restored.

 

The sea at Sanditon is certainly bluer than any you would find if you traveled the length of the world, for the ink of a good deal of letters is run into it. But if the water tastes saltier on the tongue than the waters of other resorts, you might recall that many tears, shed more for pleasure than for pain, have been cried into it. Ah, Sanditon: all who enter there prosper or recover and some who enter there never depart.

 

Finis