When they arrived back in Taunton, Dr. Gregory was away on parish business. Edward met them with a letter, and a sober countenance.
“Is aught amiss with Frederick?” was Sophy’s first question before she had even removed hat or gloves.
“Yes. That is, no,” Edward said. “Not with him. My letter was brief. I do not know the individuals in the case. I expect yours explains more.” He proffered it.
Standing inside the vestibule, for Sophy could not wait longer, she and the admiral put their heads together over the letter. It was reassuring to see Frederick’s familiar dashing fist. Nothing was amiss with his hands, or his intellects, at the least.
She ran her gaze rapidly over the few sentences there. “Harville . . . Benwick . . . oh, dear, this is terrible. Poor Miss Harville! And poor, poor Lt. Benwick! Of course it must be Frederick to go to his aid . . .”
“Damme,” the admiral exclaimed, too overset to recollect Mrs. Wentworth, but neither of his young relatives demurred. “Damme, that is just what I would expect of Frederick, never behind when it comes to facing down a French broadside, or addressing a ticklish affair.”
Sophy had never met Miss Harville, but she had heard a great deal about her, and felt all the regret and sorrow due to so tragically early a death. “He says he will join us when he can leave Lt. Benwick. We might be moved to Kellynch Hall by then.”
Edward said, “We will have to send him that address, because my friend Septimus will be here by then, and us on our way to Shropshire.”
o0o
As it transpired, Edward and his wife were the first to depart. Promptly on the 29th September, the Crofts took possession of Kellynch Hall.
They had ordered some changes, and put in hand others that they could oversee, beginning with the admiral’s dressing room. They had not spent a day before he requested Sophy to help him shift some of the many looking glasses into one of the closets.
Sophy liked the servants, who seemed a quiet, attentive set of people; she gave few orders outside of changing the hangings in the sitting room. She preferred to leave the admiral to his own devices, for she could see that he gained a great deal of satisfaction in walking about with the carpenter and—as he put it—banging such things as the laundry door, and other oddments, into shipshape.
Of course they must be called upon, after a decent interval. Scarcely had the fresh hangings dried upon the walls when they received their first visitors. The butler announced “Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove.”
The admiral advanced to greet them, saying, “Welcome, welcome. This is indeed a pleasure—this is treating us as neighbors.”
Introductions being got over, Sophy gazed curiously at Mrs. Charles Musgrove, whose age was difficult to determine. She could be anywhere from twenty-five to thirty-five, with what Sophy had come to regard as distinctively English features: hair of an indeterminate brown, a complexion somewhat the color and consistency of dough, and a pair of dark eyes that darted avidly about.
Mrs. Musgrove spoke in a high, somewhat artificial voice as she asked if they were settled in—how they liked the Hall—did the garden please them—could she explain anything. “Though I have not lived here these four years, having, unlike my sisters, been married,” Mrs. Musgrove said, indicating her husband, who had walked out onto the terrace with the admiral.
Mrs. Musgrove then appeared to think that she might have lowered the prestige of her sisters, adding swiftly, “My eldest sister was used to act as mistress since her sixteenth year, and my second divides her time between Lady Russell, her particular friend, and Uppercross.”
The slight emphasis on ‘Lady Russell’ suggested that this unknown second sister might be as pretentious as the elder Miss Elliot had been, but Sophy caught herself there. She must not assume. She had already been wrong about the eldest sister.
Mrs. Musgrove further offered opinions on neighbors of rank, until the gentlemen rejoined them. Before they left, after the admiral promised to return the call, Mrs. Musgrove said that they should find the entire family at their service—including her sister.
Well, then, Sophy thought. The last of the mystery would soon be solved. She would not guess which of the three Miss Elliots had thrown Frederick over until she had met them all.
In due course, the admiral—still waiting for the gig he had ordered—ordered the aging coachman to drive them in the family chaise to Uppercross, and the cottage wherein resided Mr. Charles Musgrove and his family.
They found Mrs. Musgrove at home with the last of the sisters. More quiet and reserved was Miss Elliot—Miss Anne Elliot, as she was presented by her sister—a slender lady with a fine pair of dark eyes, dressed simply and tastefully. Her complexion was wan, her manner gentle.
Sophy, still uncertain, found it easy enough to settle herself by this intriguing Miss Elliot, leaving her husband to entertain the lively young Musgrove boys with sea-faring tales, and the sort of old tricks and jokes he had once used upon homesick midshipmen, as their mother looked on with a languishing air of boredom.
Sophy exerted herself to draw Miss Anne Elliot out, first by offering an apology lest reference to Kellynch Hall should be awkward. On Miss Anne’s well-bred assurance to the contrary, Sophy then took the opportunity to offer justly deserved praise of the gardens, the situation from the windows, the finest rooms, and watched the wistful expression of Miss Anne’s face.
Miss Anne, in her turn, asked no questions outside of the most general politeness, and so Sophy finally brought herself around to Monkford: “It was you, and not your sister, I find, that my brother had the pleasure of being acquainted with, when he was in this country?”
Miss Anne’s wan complexion, if possible, paled further, and Sophy knew that she had struck home. She shifted her gaze away at once, for the shuttered eyelashes, the compressed breathing called instantly to mind Frederick’s shuttered expression. Sophy’s curiosity must increase, but not for the world would she give pain.
Therefore, since she had brought up the subject and the lady plainly did not want to be detected, she must in compassion shift the context to Edward, so she said in her easiest voice, “Perhaps you may have heard that he is married,” full knowing that Miss Hopgood’s engagement, as a local affair, would have been known to Miss Anne.
It sufficed. Miss Anne’s color betrayed her though her manner did not, and the conventional compliments were offered and received with thanks, before Mrs. Charles Musgrove broke in to talk about what a splendid wedding party had been made up, though the neighbors of the first stare had not all attended.
It was time to bring the call to a close. Sophy signaled the admiral, and he, excellent man, promptly rose to leave. Then with beaming good will he said to Mrs. Musgrove, “We are expecting a brother of Mrs. Croft’s here soon; I dare say you know him by name.”
Mrs. Mary Musgrove began to say, “I have not had the pleasure of—here, Charles, what are you about?”
The little boys had interrupted, and Sophy did not see the effect of these words on Miss Anne. The admiral must give the boys one last joke, one last story, before they were able to make their departure at last, and call at the Great House on their way.
Though it transpired the squire was from home, all the rest of the household was there, including Mr. Charles Musgrove, apparently seeing to estate affairs in his father’s absence. Sophy was delighted to discover the kind of noisy, merry gathering she liked the most. The Miss Musgroves, pretty and friendly, like their mother welcomed the visitors and treated them as old friends. Their insistence that they call again—and to bring the brother when he came—she accepted as meant.
As they drove away, the admiral said, “I like that family. Young Charles is an affable fellow, like his father. No pretense or pomposity about the squire! The little boys, I think, would soon learn discipline aboard a ship and be the better for it, ha ha. Perhaps Frederick will convince them—do you think we ought to introduce him? I am thinking he might be sadly bored with just the two of us rattling around that large house, and not a drop of water in sight, much less a boat to sail in it.”
Sophy remembered that shuttered look—almost of pain—in Miss Anne’s face. “Yes,” she said. “I think we ought.”