For You Alone (Frederick Wentworth, Captain: Book 2) Page 18

  That the cousins shared an acquaintance with the person residing in the Westgate Building was too much of a coincidence to be believed. This fantastical twist of fate could only be surpassed by them each knowing separate individuals and their visits having nothing in common. To ask either of them about the house and its occupant was impossible. The matter required further intelligence.

  There were several people on the street, but the majority were aghast when approached by a man in a well-cut suit and good shoes. He was informed by one raggedy fellow that, “You may be rigged out more generous than most, but I can tell a man with legal connections lookin’ to bring trouble to the undeservin’ poor.” The man made sure Wentworth knew his opinion of such fellows by spitting on the ground just to one side of Wentworth’s left foot and the string of very choice oaths murmured under his breath as he shuffled away.

  “Pay him no mind. He’s got all sorts of troubles. Can I be of help?” a woman’s voice asked. He turned to face an ancient, pleasant-faced woman with an enormous hump and a hat thick with tiny feathers. “I live up there.” With some difficulty, she pointed to the building next to the pavement on which they stood. “Way up, where them tiny windows is on the second floor. I could see everythin’ from there until they put us all out.”

  “I am wondering about the place with the peeling door.” He pointed across the street.

  “May Evans,” she said before she even turned back to face him.

  “A woman named May Evans lives there?”

  “That’s right.” She looked at Wentworth as though he might be a bit simple. “She takes in boarders. Only ladies.”

  “I see.”

  “No men allowed. No exceptions,” she said firmly, now looking at him as though he was immoral, “unless you’re a relative.” The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You been there? You look familiar.”

  “No, I don’t know anyone here on Westgate.”

  “I know I seen you.”

  He could easily lie and say she was mistaken but to what point? She would in no way harm his enquiry. “I was here last week taking a walk.”

  She straightened as much as her crooked spine would allow. “Yeah, I remember. You was with that fella measuring.”

  “Yes.” He hoped that identifying himself with McGillvary would not ruin him.

  “He’s the one wants to toss us out with the trash.”

  Patrick’s cavalier attitude about the occupants of the area was confirmed by the old woman’s inelegant suspicions, but Wentworth had no direct knowledge of whether McGillvary intended to buy the building or what he had planned for it. So he said, “The man did not share with me his intentions. If you remember me from the other day, perhaps you remember a man in a fine carriage who visited at May Evans’ that day as well.”

  “Oh yes! Beautiful work! Honey coloured hair he had...but there was a woman in the coach.”

  Wentworth smiled. “Yes, that’s the one. He was in Mrs. Evans’ for about an hour. Do you know the man?”

  She shook her head but said nothing.

  “Have you seen him go in there before?”

  “No, never.”

  It was Wentworth’s turn to be silent.

  “Maybe he’s just a good son visitin’ his old mum.” She laughed and leant close to Wentworth. “If he’s such a good son, what’s he doin’ drivin’ a new barouche and makin’ the ol’ gal live here, I ask you.” She winked at the joke.

  Indeed, what good son would do such a thing? Wentworth thanked the woman and gave her something for her troubles.

  He decided it would not do for him to be seen on the street when Anne departed. He’d done enough obfuscating in the past few days to suit him. He headed back to Gay Street. As he made his way through the streets of Bath, he wondered if Anne and Mr. Elliot were merely visiting a poor relation? He’d put off that notion when he’d first seen Elliot enter the building, but now he was not sure that was not a reasonable explanation. He wished he’d asked the woman with the feathers if she knew the identities of any of the boarders at May Evans’. All his snooping had accomplished was to give him even more baffling bits and pieces to ponder as the day wore on.

  ~~~~~~~&~~~~~~~

  On Friday morning he sent a note to McGillvary, inquiring if he was at leisure for a visit. There was no immediate answer. Wentworth decided to proceed to Belsom Park and, if he found Patrick home, make a nuisance of himself.

  With the added hope of engineering a casual meeting with Anne, he made an unhurried stroll down Milsom Street, looking in shop windows and observing the passing human parade. This tactic proved fruitless. Occasionally, as he passed through the lower parts of town, he met with a familiar face. None of those he met seemed interested in stopping, and for this Wentworth was glad. He had no desire to redirect his energies away from thoughts of Anne or his pursuit of her.

  “Captain Wentworth!” The voice came from behind him. Turning, he anticipated meeting another acquaintance but was shocked to find Mr. William Elliot addressing him.

  “I am told you reside on Gay Street. You must be a great walker to be so far afield.” The man’s tone was engaging and his look open and amiable. It was no wonder Elliot was able to insinuate himself into good society. Were Frederick not familiar with the damaging information McGillvary had shared, he might be at war with his own interests and be quite disposed to share Anne’s good opinion of her cousin.

  “It is a trivial distance on such a good day, sir.” He offered nothing that could be construed as an invitation to talk. Frankly, the shock of Elliot’s speaking to him left him with nothing to say.

  Elliot smiled, touched his hat, and bid him good day.

  Considers me quite an idiot, I’m sure, Wentworth thought. There was nothing to be gained in examining Elliot’s greeting, and he needed to begin moving closer to a place where he might cross the river. He chose his course and was heading to the bridge when he heard his name again called out. He turned and observed a path clearing on the pavement. Coming through the opening, Charles Musgrove approached him with his customary straight gait and grinning countenance. Behind Musgrove, Timothy Harville struggled with his walking stick to keep up.

  “It is you!” Musgrove called from halfway across the street. “I told Harville I thought it was you. He doubted me, but I never forget a man’s stance once I’ve seen him shoot.” Musgrove touched his hat and grabbed the Captain’s hand, pumping it with an enthusiasm usually frowned upon in the cultured environs of Bath.

  “It is indeed me, Musgrove,” Wentworth replied. He answered Musgrove’s eagerness with an equal measure. There was something about the heartiness of it all that made him want to give in return. A red-faced, heavily breathing Timothy Harville joined them finally. “I am surprised to see you in this fleshpot, Timothy. I thought you were tucked up all safe and pure in Lyme.”

  Captain Harville glanced at Musgrove. “Remember my telling you that Elsa and I were to help in seeing Miss Louisa home to Uppercross?”

  To Wentworth’s embarrassment, he did not. He said nothing.

  “I have an errand to carry out for the groom. One thing led to another, and here we all are.” Harville glanced again and again towards Musgrove, who showed no sign he even noticed.

  “All?”

  Musgrove explained that Mrs. Charles, Mrs. Musgrove, and his sister were also in Bath. For a moment Wentworth was concerned, but this was put to rest when Henrietta was mentioned by name and that she was helping to choose wedding clothes for herself and Louisa.

  “You must come to the inn and say hello to mother. She’s in high gig with the weddings coming up and all the visiting that entails. I’ve also secured a box for tomorrow night for a new play that’s all the rage. If you would visit as well, it would be a splendid touch for the day.”

  Before Wentworth knew it, he was following in Musgrove’s wake and accepting an invitation to join them at the theatre the following evening. The Musgrove party was close by, encamped at the White Hart Inn across from the Pu
mp Room. As they crossed through the common room to the stairs, Charles Musgrove shared a steady flow of humorous, though moderately abusive comments about the inn’s patrons. “Mother’s most likely holding court in the dining room. With all the friends she’s sent notes to, the shopping Mary and Henrietta are planning, and all the sample books for fabric and trimmings that’s been delivered already, that place is a shambles,” he said, making his way to the second floor. “Harville, if she’s here, you should ask Miss Anne if she knows of a reliable framer for Benwick’s portrait,” Musgrove said over his shoulder as he entered a room.

  Wentworth came to a halt and motioned Harville in ahead of him. The possibility that the object of all his desires lay on the opposite side of the door was unnerving. It had not occurred to him in the rush of meeting Musgrove and Harville that their arrival might happily put him in the way of any number of opportunities to be in Anne’s presence. He thought it odd that he’d spent hours imagining what he might say and do if they met by chance on the street, but now, with the possibility very real indeed, his mind was completely blank.

  The room was as crowded as Musgrove had predicted, but finding Anne in the sea of female faces and frames was not difficult. She was seated at the table at Mrs. Musgrove’s elbow. She looked at him with an open expression that he returned with a curt nod. There was no way to draw closer to her without insinuating himself into the ladies circle. He was soon relegated to a chair too far away from her to say anything.

  “Anne, there is Mrs. Clay, I am sure, standing under the colonnade, and a gentleman with her,” Mrs. Charles said, making sure her voice carried over the commotion of female voices around the table. There was nothing interesting in this until she revealed the gentleman to be their cousin, Mr. Elliot. Wentworth had no idea where Mr. Elliot lived, but perhaps he, too, was rather far afield. Considering that he was again meeting Miss Elliot’s companion alone, the Captain wondered how much Anne knew about their association.

  Immediately upon hearing the full details, Anne’s attention was engaged. It troubled him that Elliot’s affairs were of such interest to her. Then he considered that perhaps her interest was roused more by the gentleman’s choice of companion. Might this be a confirmation of something she already suspected?

  “No, it cannot be Mr. Elliot, I assure you. He was to leave Bath at nine this morning and does not come back till tomorrow.” As she spoke, she coloured a bit, and even before finishing the statement, frowned and glanced in Wentworth’s direction. Was her knowledge of Elliot’s activities such a secret that she was embarrassed to have let them slip in front of her family? He was again frustrated to think that Anne was privy to her cousin’s plans.

  “Of course, it is Mr. Elliot. Come and see if I am not right,” Mary said, tapping the glass. Anne did not stir from her seat and appeared unconcerned. Then a flurry of clearing throats amongst the visiting ladies drew the attention of them both. Three of the women in particular seemed to express their own private code of lifted brows, tilted heads, and suppressed smiles. When he looked back to Anne, she was redder than before and fumbled as she rewound a small rack of lace.

  “Do come, Anne, come and look for yourself.” Mary’s voice rose as she begged Anne and then reported that the man was departing from view. “Not know Mr. Elliot, indeed. You seem to have forgotten all about Lyme.”

  Again, Anne glanced Frederick’s way, but he could not see her eye. She sighed and joined her sister. Even the most interested of the visiting ladies would not have noticed Anne’s posture straighten slightly as she looked out the window. Her fingers lightly touched the sill and slid along the glass pane. Wentworth perceived from her response that she was quite interested in Elliot’s meetings with her sister’s companion. If that were true, perhaps the nefarious side of the cousin was coming to light. He took satisfaction in hoping that all the speculations of the good ladies of Bath on Anne’s behalf were beginning to crumble.

  When Anne turned away from the window, she looked surprised, but that quickly changed to an expression of calm disinterest. “Yes, it is Mr. Elliot, certainly. He has changed his hour of going, I suppose, that is all—or I may be mistaken.” Her tone was bland as she shrugged her shoulder and returned to her chair. He sensed she was putting on an air of disinterest but was puzzled as to why. Another ripple of penetrating looks worked their way through some of the visitors.

  So, the whereabouts of Mr. Elliot were not of supreme importance to her. He would take her actions at face value and give her the benefit of the doubt. If he was right, there might be hope for them.

  The visitors stood and gathered their purses, bidding the hostess farewell. Charles was by the open door bowing to each as they departed. “Ladies, it was wonderful to see you. A delight, madam. Come again soon.” Musgrove was all smiles until the last one passed by him, at which point he crossed his eyes and pulled imbecilic faces as he closed the door. Without seeing a thing, Mrs. Musgrove understood what her son had been up to and said as much. Quickly, Charles moved to her side, knelt and immediately began to tell her his plans for the following evening. “I have engaged Captain Wentworth,” he nodded in Frederick’s direction. Looking to his sister-in-law, he added, “Anne will not be sorry to join us, I am sure. We all like a play. Have not I done well?”

  Anne smiled. His rude caper was forgotten. “Charles, a play is just the thing to add to our enjoyment, if your sister and all the others are—”

  “Good heavens, Charles! How can you think of such a thing?” Mrs. Charles was adamant in her reminder that they were invited to Camden Place to meet with Lady Dalrymple, the woman’s daughter, and Mr. Elliot. The Elliot Pride bloomed full and fragrant in Mary Musgrove. At first, she allowed that her husband might have forgotten the engagement. He did away with that notion post-haste. She replied that he had promised her father they would be in attendance. Musgrove countered that he had made no such promise, shoring his claim with quibbles about the exact phrases and the particular words he’d used.

  Harville had obviously made peace with being caught up in such familial banter. He was occupied with Mrs. and Miss Musgrove as they discussed fabrics and trims. Wentworth looked to Anne for a moment. She was following the exchange between her sister and brother but was noticeably uncomfortable that they had chosen to bicker without the slightest concern for the setting and the company.

  “Don’t talk to me about heirs and representatives! I am not one of those who neglect the reigning power to bow to the rising sun. If I would not go for the sake of your father, I should think it scandalous to go for the sake of the heir. What is Mr. Elliot to me?” Charles snorted, his tone half serious. Wentworth doubted that anything, even a summons to meet with the Elliot heir, could dampen his appetite for jesting at the expense of his wife.

  The question was a good one. Who was Mr. Elliot to Charles or to anyone else? He looked to Anne and was surprised to see her observing him. Who is Mr. Elliot to us, Annie? he wished to ask her.

  The Musgroves’ exchange continued in the background, but neither he nor Anne paid it any mind. If her interest in the question was half as strong as his, they could talk until dawn. They both shifted in their seats and then glanced around to make certain no one observed their lack of interest in the main attraction. The impulse to rise seemed to be on both sides, when Anne’s name was spoken.

  “—if Miss Anne could not be with us.”

  Anne turned her attention from him to Mrs. Musgrove’s statement most reluctantly. This pleased him, and he was more pleased still when Anne made it clear that she would take little pleasure in the party and would be all too happy to change it and attend the play with the rest of her friends. However, she knew what was due her father and sister and would reluctantly forego the temptation of such a kind offer. When she finished her piece, she did not look his way, but he was confident she had spoken so directly so as to make it clear his company was preferred over that of her family and their social concerns.

  The energy of his suspicions drove
him from his chair to the fireplace. It brought him physically no closer to her but would work to his advantage. He would take his time and listen as Charles began again to hector his wife, for now, even with his mother’s pronouncement, Charles was threatening to miss the party and attend the play. All the occupants of the table were busy ignoring them, including Anne. She was paging through a book of fabric scraps. Wentworth suspected that she was not very engrossed in them. With everyone thus occupied, he advanced the six short steps from the fireplace to Anne’s side. She detected his presence immediately, closed the book, and looked up.

  At the concert, he’d been careful to keep a respectable distance. This was the closest he’d been to her since their silent, anguishing ride from Lyme to Uppercross. Fortunately, the silence was over. He could now speak openly—within reason—and hope that they could make a new beginning. If he found that her heart was truly engaged elsewhere, he would deal with that later. For now, they were together in this place, amidst an intimate group of friends who were not yet burdened by any expectations or suspicions. Frederick could not help but delight in the great freedom of the circumstance.

  Though there was great freedom, there was no knowing what might be overheard. “You have not been long enough in Bath to enjoy the evening parties of the place.” Something impersonal and bland was a suitable start.

  “Oh no, the usual character of them is nothing for me. I am no card player.” The statement was earnestly said. Immediately, her expression softened and her cheeks glowed. Perhaps she, too, was thinking of his misguided attempts years ago to heighten her interest in cards. If given the opportunity, he would assure her that he had found it charming then and would enjoy an opportunity to instruct again.